No More Learning

It needs all thy country's assurance to keep the blush of shame
from mantling in thy cheeks. ”


## p. 247 (#277) ############################################

WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH
247
«The seminary you revile,” replied the Scot, haughtily, "has
been the nursery of our Scottish kings. Nay, the youthful James
Stuart pursued his studies under the same roof, beneath the same
wise instruction, and at the self-same time as our noble and gifted
James Crichton, whom you have falsely denominated an advent-
urer, but whose lineage is not less distinguished than his learn-
ing. His renown has preceded him hither, and he was not
unknown to your doctors when he affixed his programme to these
college walls. Hark! ” continued the speaker, exultingly, “and
listen to yon evidence of his triumph. ”
And as he spoke, a loud and continued clapping of hands pro-
ceeding from within was distinctly heard above the roar of the
students.
“That may be at his defeat," muttered the Spaniard, between
his teeth.
«No such thing,” replied the Scot. “I heard the name of
Crichton mingled with the plaudits. ”
“And who may be this Phoenix — this Gargantua of intel-
lect - who is to vanquish us all, as Panurge did Thaumast, the
Englishman ? ” asked the Sorbonist of the Scot. “Who is he that
is more philosophic than Pythagoras ? — ha! »
“Who is more studious than Carneades! ” said the Bernardin.
More versatile than Alcibiades! ” said Montaigu.
More subtle than Averroës ! » cried Harcourt.
"More mystical than Plotinus! ” said one of the Four Nations.
More visionary than Artemidorus! ” said Cluny.
« More infallible than the Pope! ” added Lemoine.
"And who pretends to dispute de omni scibili,” shouted the
Spaniard.
« Et quolibet ente! ” added the Sorbonist.
«Mine ears are stunned with your vociferations,” replied the
Scot. “You ask me who James Crichton is, and yourselves give
the response. You have mockingly said he is a rara avis, a
prodigy of wit and learning: and you have unintentionally spoken
the truth. He is so. But I will tell you that of him of which
you are wholly ignorant, or which you have designedly over-
looked. His condition is that of a Scottish gentleman of high
rank. Like your Spanish grandee, he need not doff his cap to
kings. On either side hath he the best of blood in his veins.
His mother was a Stuart directly descended from that regal line.
His father, who owneth the fair domains of Eliock and Cluny,


## p. 248 (#278) ############################################

248
WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH
»
was Lord Advocate to our bonny and luckless Mary (whom
Heaven assoilzie! ) and still holds his high office. Methinks the
Lairds of Crichton might have been heard of here.
How-
beit, they are well known to me, who being an Ogilvy of
Balfour, have often heard tell of a certain contract or obliga-
tion, whereby — »
"Basta ! ” interrupted the Spaniard, “heed not thine own
affairs, worthy Scot. Tell us of this Crichton — ha! ”
"I have told you already more than I ought to have told,”
replied Ogilvy, sullenly. “And if you lack further information
respecting James Crichton's favor at the Louvre, his feats of
arms, and the esteem in which he is held by all the dames of
honor in attendance upon your Queen Mother, Catherine de'
Medicis, and moreover,” he added, with somewhat of sarcasm,
«with her fair daughter, Marguerite de Valois - you will do well
to address yourself to the king's buffoon, Maître Chicot, whom I
see not far off. Few there are, methinks, who could in such
short space have won so much favor, or acquired such bright
renown.
“Humph! ” muttered the Englishman, "your Scotsmen stick
by each other all the world over. This James Crichton may or
may not be the hero he is vaunted, but I shall mistrust his
praises from that quarter, till I find their truth confirmed. ”
“He has, to be sure, acquired the character of a stout swords-
man," said the Bernardin, “to give the poor devil his due. ”
“He has not met with his match at the salle-d'armes, though
he has crossed blades with the first in France,” replied Ogilvy.
"I have seen him at the Manége,” said the Sorbonist, "go
through his course of equitation, and being a not altogether
unskillful horseman myself, I can report favorably of his per-
formance. ”
« There is none among your youth can sit a steed like him,"
returned Ogilvy, “nor can any of the jousters carry off the ring
with more certainty at the lists. I would fain hold my tongue,
but you enforce me to speak in his praise. ”
Body of Bacchus! ” exclaimed the Spaniard, half unsheathing
the lengthy weapon that hung by his side. “I will hold you a
wager of ten rose-nobles to as many silver reals of Spain, that
with this stanch Toledo I will overcome your vaunted Crichton
in close fight in any manner or practice of fence or digladiation
which he may appoint — sword and dagger, or sword only —


## p. 249 (#279) ############################################

WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH
249
stripped to the girdle or armed to the teeth. By our Saint
Trinidad! I will have satisfaction for the contumelious affront
he hath put upon the very learned gymnasium to which I
belong; and it would gladden me to clip the wings of this loud-
crowing cock, or any of his dunghill crew,” added he, with a
scornful gesture at the Scotsman.
“If that be all you seek, . you shall not need to go far in your
quest,” returned Ogilvy. “Tarry till this controversy be ended,
and if I match not your Spanish blade with a Scottish broad-
sword, and approve you as recreant at heart as you are boastful
and injurious of speech, may Saint Andrew forever after with-
hold from me his protection.
«The Devil! ” exclaimed the Spaniard. «Thy Scottish saint
will little avail thee, since thou hast incurred my indignation.
Betake thee, therefore, to thy paternosters, if thou has grace
withal to mutter them; for within the hour thou art assuredly
food for the kites of the Pré-aux-Clercs-sa-ha! ”
"Look to thyself, vile braggart! ” rejoined Ogilvy, scornfully:
"I promise thee thou shalt need other intercession than thine
own to purchase safety at my hands. ”
"Courage, Master Ogilvy,” said the Englishman, “thou wilt
do well to slit the ears of this Spanish swashbuckler. I war-
rant me he hides a craven spirit beneath that slashed pourpoint.
Thou art in the right, man, to make him eat his words. Be
this Crichton what he may, he is at least thy countryman, and
in part mine own. "
« And as such I will uphold him," said Ogilvy, "against any
odds. ”
"Bravo! my valorous Don Diego Caravaja," said the Sorbon-
ist, slapping the Spaniard on the shoulder, and speaking in his
ear. "Shall these scurvy Scots carry all before them ? -1 war-
rant me, no. We will make common cause against the whole
beggarly nation; and in the meanwhile we intrust thee with this
particular quarrel. See thou acquit thyself in it as beseemeth a
descendant of the Cid. ”
"Account him already abased,” returned Caravaja. “By Pe.
layo, I, would the other were at his back, that both might be
transfixed at a blow -- ha! ”
“To return to the subject of difference,” said the Sorbonist,
who was too much delighted with the prospect of a duel to allow
the quarrel a chance of subsiding, while it was in his power to


## p. 250 (#280) ############################################

250
WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH
fan the flame; "to return to the difference,” said he, aloud,
glancing at Ogilvy: "it must be conceded that as a wassailer this
Crichton is without a peer. None of us may presume to cope
with him in the matter of the flask and the flagon, though we
number among us some jolly topers. Friar John, with the
Priestess of Bacbuc, was a washy bibber compared with him. ”
"He worships at the shrines of other priestesses besides hers
of Bacbuc, if I be not wrongly informed,” added Montaigu, who
understood the drift of his companion.
«Else, wherefore our rejoinder to his cartels ? » returned the
Sorbonist. “Do you not call to mind that beneath his arrogant
defiance of our learned body, affixed to the walls of the Sor-
bonne, it was written, That he who would behold this miracle
of learning must hie to the tavern or bordel ? '
Was it not so,
my hidalgo ? »
“I have myself seen him at the temulentive tavern of the
Falcon,” returned Caravaja, and at the lupanarian haunts in the
Champ Gaillard and the Val-d'Amour. You understand me — ha! ”
“Ha! ha! ha! » chorused the scholars. "James Crichton is
no stoic. He is a disciple of Epicurus. Vel in puellam impingit,
vel in poculum — ha! ha! ”
« 'Tis said that he hath dealings with the Evil One,” observed
the man of Harcourt, with a mysterious air; "and that, like
Jeanne d'Arc, he hath surrendered his soul for his temporal wel.
fare. Hence his wondrous lore; hence his supernatural beauty
and accomplishments; hence his power of fascinating the fair sex;
hence his constant run of luck with the dice; hence, also, his
invulnerableness to the sword. ”
« 'Tis said, also, that he has a familiar spirit, who attends him
in the semblance of a black dog,” said Montaigu.
«Or in that of a dwarf, like the sooty imp of Cosmo Rug-
gieri,” said Harcourt. “Is it not so? ” he asked, turning to the
Scot.
«He lies in his throat who says so, cried Ogilvy, losing all
patience. « To one and all of you I breathe defiance; and there
is not a brother in the college to which I belong who will not
maintain my quarrel. ”
A loud laugh of derision followed this sally; and, ashamed of
having justly exposed himself to ridicule by his idle and unworthy
display of passion, the Scotsman held his peace and endeavored
to turn a deaf ear to their taunts.
-
1


## p. 251 (#281) ############################################

WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH
251
The gates of the College of Navarre were suddenly thrown
open, and a long-continued thunder of applause bursting from
within, announced the conclusion of the debate. That it had
terminated in favor of Crichton could no longer be doubted, as
his name formed the burden of all the plaudits with which the
courts were ringing. All was excitement: there was a general
movement. Ogilvy could no longer restrain himself. Pushing
forward by prodigious efforts, he secured himself a position at
the portal.
The first person who presented himself to his inquiring eyes
was a gallant figure in a glittering steel corselet crossed by a
silken sash, who bore at his side a long sword with a magnificent
handle, and upon his shoulder a lance of some six feet in length,
headed with a long scarlet tassel, and brass half-moon pendant.
“Is not Crichton victorious ? ” asked Ogilvy of Captain Larchant,
for he it was.
«He hath acquitted himself to admiration,” replied the guards-
man, who, contrary to the custom of such gentry (for captains of
the guard have been fine gentlemen in all ages), did not appear
to be displeased at this appeal to his courtesy, and the rector
hath adjudged him all the honors that can be bestowed by the
university. ”
«Hurrah for old Scotland,” shouted Ogilvy, throwing his
bonnet in the air; “I was sure it would be so; this is a day
worth living for. Hæc olim meminisse juvabit. ”
« Thou at least shalt have reason to remember it,” muttered
Caravaja, who, being opposite to him, heard the exclamation -
"and he too, perchance," he added, frowning gloomily, and draw-
ing his cloak over his shoulder.
« If the noble Crichton be compatriot of yours, you are in
the right to be proud of him," replied Captain Larchant, for
the memory of his deeds of this day will live as long as learn-
ing shall be held in reverence. Never before hath such a mar-
velous display of universal erudition been heard within these
schools. By my faith, I am absolutely wonder-stricken, and not
I alone, but all. In proof of which I need only tell you, that
coupling his matchless scholarship with his extraordinary accom-
plishments, the professors in their address to him at the close
of the controversy have bestowed upon him the epithet of
Admirable -- an appellation by which he will ever after be dis-
tinguished. ”


## p. 252 (#282) ############################################

252
MARK AKENSIDE
« The Admirable Crichton! ” echoed Ogilvy - hear you that!
- a title adjudged to him by the whole conclave of the univer-
sity — hurrah! The Admirable Crichton! 'Tis a name will find
an echo in the heart of every true Scot. By Saint Andrew! this
is a proud day for us. ”
In the mean time,” said Larchant, smiling at Ogilvy's ex-
ultations, and describing a circle with the point of his lance, "I
must trouble you to stand back, Messieurs Scholars, and leave
free passage for the rector and his train - Archers advance, and
make clear the way, and let the companies of the Baron D'Eper-
non and of the Vicomte de Joyeuse be summoned, as well as the
guard of his excellency, Seigneur René de Villequier. Patience,
messieurs, you will hear all particulars anon. ”
So saying, he retired, and the men-at-arms, less complaisant
than their leaders, soon succeeded in forcing back the crowd.
MARK AKENSIDE
(1721-1770)
M
ARK AKENSIDE is of less importance in genuine poetic rank
than in literary history. He was technically a real poet;
but he had not a great, a spontaneous, nor a fertile poeti-
cal mind. Nevertheless, a writer who gave pleasure to a generation
cannot be set aside. The fact that the mid-eighteenth century ranked
him among its foremost poets is interest-
ing and still significant. It determines the
poetic standard and product of that age;
and the fact that, judged thus, Akenside
was fairly entitled to his fame.
He was the son of a butcher, born No-
vember 9th, 1721, in Newcastle-on-Tyne,
whence Eldon and Stowell also sprang.
He attracted great attention by an early
poem, "The Virtuoso. ' The citizens of that
commercial town have always appreciated
their great men and valued intellectual dis-
tinction, and its Dissenters sent him at
MARK AKENSIDE
their own expense to Edinburgh to study
for the Presbyterian ministry. A year later
he gave up theology for medicine — honorably repaying the money



## p. 253 (#283) ############################################

MARK AKENSIDE
253
advanced for his divinity studies, if obviously out of some one's else
pocket.
After some struggle in provincial towns, his immense literary
reputation – for at twenty-four he was a star of the first magnitude
in Great Britain — and the generosity of a friend enabled him to ac-
quire a fashionable London practice. He wrote medical treatises
which at the time made him a leader in his profession, secured a
rich clientage, and prospered greatly, In 1759 he was made physi-
cian to Christ's Hospital, where, however valued professionally, he is
charged with being brutal and offensive to the poor; with indulging
his fastidiousness, temper, and pomposity, and with forgetting that
he owed anything to mere duty or humanity.
Unfortunately, too, Akenside availed himself of that mixture of
complaisance and arrogance by which almost alone a man of no birth
can rise in a society graded by birth. He concealed his origin and
was ashamed of his pedigree. But the blame for his flunkeyism
belongs, perhaps, less to him than to the insolent caste feeling of
society, which forced it on him as a measure of self-defense and of
advancement. He wanted money, loved place and selfish comfort,
and his nature did not balk at the means of getting them, — includ-
ing living on a friend when he did not need such help. To become
physician to the Queen, he turned his coat from Whig to Tory; but
no one familiar with the politics of the time will regard this as an
unusual offense. It must also be remembered that Akenside pos-
sessed a delicate constitution, keen senses, and irritable nerves; and
that he was a parvenu, lacking the power of self-control even among
strangers. These traits explain, though they do not excuse, his bad
temper to the unclean and disagreeable patients of the hospital, and
they mitigate the fact that his industry was paralyzed by material
prosperity, and his self-culture interfered with by conceit. His early
and sweeping success injured him as many a greater man has been
thus injured.
Moreover, his temper was probably soured by secret bitternesses.
His health, his nerves, an entire absence of the sense of humor, and
his lack of repartee, made him shun like Pope and Horace Walpole
the bibulous and gluttonous element of eighteenth-century British
society. For its brutal horseplay and uncivil practical joking which
passed for wit, Akenside had no tolerance, yet he felt unwilling to
go where he would be outshone by inferior men. His strutty arro-
gance of manner, like excessive prudery in a woman, may have been
a fortification to a garrison too weak to fight in the open field. And
it must be admitted that, as so often happens, Akenside's outward
ensemble was eminently what the vulgar world terms “guyable. He
was not a little of a fop. He was plain-featured and yet assuming


## p. 254 (#284) ############################################

254
MARK AKENSIDE
in manner. He hobbled in walking from lameness of tell-tale origin,
a cleaver falling on his foot in childhood, compelling him to wear
an artificial heel — and he was morbidly sensitive over it. His prim
formality of manner, his sword and stiff-curled wig, his small and
sickly face trying to maintain an expression impressively dignified,
made him a ludicrous figure, which his contemporaries never tired
of ridiculing and caricaturing. Henderson, the actor, said that "Aken-
side, when he walked the streets, looked for all the world like one
of his own Alexandrines set upright. ” Smollett even used him as
a model for the pedantic doctor in Peregrine Pickle,' who gives a
dinner in the fashion of the ancients, and dresses each dish according
to humorous literary recipes.
But there were those who seem to have known an inner and supe-
rior personality beneath the brusqueness, conceit, and policy, beyond
the nerves and fears; and they valued it greatly, at least on the
intellectual side. A wealthy and amiable young Londoner, Jeremiah
Dyson, remained a friend so enduring and admiring as to give the
poet a house in Bloomsbury Square, with £300 a year and a chariot,
and personally to extend his medical practice. We cannot suppose
this to be a case of patron and parasite. Other men of judgment
showed like esteem. And in congenial society, Akenside was his best
and therefore truest self. He was an easy and even brilliant talker,
displaying learning and immense memory, taste, and philosophic re-
flection; and as a volunteer critic he has the unique distinction of a
man who had what books he liked given him by the publishers for
the sake of his oral comments!
The standard edition of Akenside's poems is that edited by Alex-
ander Dyce (London, 1835). Few of them require notice here. His
early effort, “The Virtuoso,' was merely an acknowledged and servile
imitation of Spenser. The claim made by the poet's biographers
that he preceded Thomson in reintroducing the Spenserian stanza is
groundless. Pope preceded him, and Thomson renewed its popu-
larity by being the first to use it in a poem of real merit, “The
Castle of Indolence. ) Mr. Gosse calls the Hymn to the Naiads)
“beautiful,” _ of transcendent merit," – perhaps the most elegant
of his productions. ” The 'Epistle to Curio,' however, must be held
his best poem,
doubtless because it is the only one which came
from his heart; and even its merit is much more in rhetorical energy
than in art or beauty. As to its allusion and object, the real and
classic Curio of Roman social history was a protégé of Cicero's, a rich
young Senator, who began as a champion of liberty and then sold
himself to Cæsar to pay his debts. In Akenside's poem, Curio repre-
sents William Pulteney, Walpole's antagonist, the hope of that younger
generation who hated Walpole's system of parliamentary corruption
-


## p. 255 (#285) ############################################

MARK AKENSIDE
255
and official jobbing. This party had looked to Pulteney for a clean
and public-spirited administration. Their hero was carried to a brief
triumph on the wave of their enthusiasm. But Pulteney disappointed
them bitterly: he took a peerage, and sunk into utter and perma-
nent political damnation, with no choice but Walpole's methods and
tools, no policy save Walpole's to redeem the withdrawal of so much
lofty promise, and no aims but personal advancement. From Aken-
side's address to him, the famous Epistle to Curio,' a citation is
made below. Akenside's fame, however, rests on the Pleasures of
the Imagination. ' He began it at seventeen; though in the case of
works begun in childhood, it is safer to accept the date of finishing
as the year of the real composition. He published it six years later,
in 1744, on the advice and with the warm admiration of Pope, a man
never wasteful of encomiums on the poetry of his contemporaries. It
raised its author to immediate fame.
It secures him a place among
the accepted English classics still. Yet neither its thought nor its
style makes the omission to read it any irreparable loss. It is culti-
vated rhetoric rather than true poetry. Its chief merit and highest
usefulness are that it suggested two far superior poems, Campbell's
Pleasures of Hope and Rogers's Pleasures of Memory. ' It is the
relationship to these that really keeps Akenside's alive.
In scope, the poem consists of two thousand lines of blank verse.
It is distributed in three books. The first defines the sources, meth-
ods, and results of imagination; the second its distinction from phi-
losophy and its enchantment by the passions; the third sets forth
the power of imagination to give pleasure, and illustrates its mental
operation. The author remodeled the poem in 1757, but it is gener-
ally agreed that he injured it. Macaulay says he spoiled it, and
another critic delightfully observes that he “stuffed it with intel-
lectual horsehair. ”
The year of Akenside's death (1770) gave birth to Wordsworth.
The freer and nobler natural school of poetry came to supplant the
artificial one, belonging to an epoch of wigs and false calves, and to
open toward the far greater one of the romanticism of Scott and
Byron.


## p. 256 (#286) ############################################

256
MARK AKENSIDE
FROM THE EPISTLE TO CURIO
[With this earlier and finer form of Akenside's address to the unstable
Pulteney (see biographical sketch above) must not be confused its later
embodiment among his odes; of which it is (IX: to Curio. ) Much of its
thought and diction were transferred to the Ode named; but the latter by no
means happily compares with the original (Epistle. Both versions, however,
are of the same year, 1744. ]
TH
HRICE has the spring beheld thy faded fame,
And the fourth winter rises on thy name,
Since I exulting grasped the votive shell,
In sounds of triumph all thy praise to tell;
Blest could my skill through ages make thee shine,
And proud to mix my memory with thine.
But now the cause that waked my song before,
With praise, with triumph, crowns the toil no more.
If to the glorious man whose faithful cares,
Nor quelled by malice, nor relaxed by years,
Had awed Ambition's wild audacious hate,
And dragged at length Corruption to her fate;
If every tongue its large applauses owed,
And well-earned laurels every muse bestowed;
If public Justice urged the high reward,
And Freedom smiled on the devoted bard:
Say then,- to him whose levity or lust
Laid all a people's generous hopes in dust,
Who taught Ambition firmer heights of power
And saved Corruption at her hopeless hour,
Does not each tongue its execrations owe?
Shall not each Muse a wreath of shame bestow?
And public Justice sanctify the award ?
And Freedom's hand protect the impartial bard ?
There are who say they viewed without amaze
The sad reverse of all thy former praise;
That through the pageants of a patriot's name,
They pierced the foulness of thy secret aim;
Or deemed thy arm exalted but to throw
The public thunder on a private foe.
But I, whose soul consented to thy cause,
Who felt thy genius stamp its own applause,
Who saw the spirits of each glorious age
Move in thy bosom, and direct thy rage, -


## p. 257 (#287) ############################################

MARK AKENSIDE
257
I scorned the ungenerous gloss of slavish minds,
The owl-eyed race, whom Virtue's lustre blinds.
Spite of the learned in the ways of vice,
And all who prove that each man has his price,
I still believed thy end was just and free;
And yet, even yet believe it — spite of thee.
Even though thy mouth impure has dared disclaim,
Urged by the wretched impotence of shame,
Whatever filial cares thy zeal had paid
To laws infirm, and liberty decayed;
Has begged Ambition to forgive the show;
Has told Corruption thou wert ne'er her foe;
Has boasted in thy country's awful ear,
Her gross delusion when she held thee dear;
How tame she followed thy tempestuous call,
And heard thy pompous tales, and trusted all
Rise from your sad abodes, ye curst of old
For laws subverted, and for cities sold !
Paint all the noblest trophies of your guilt,
The oaths you perjured, and the blood you spilt;
Yet must you one untempted vileness own,
One dreadful palm reserved for him alone:
With studied arts his country's praise to spurn,
To beg the infamy he did not earn,
To challenge hate when honor was his due,
And plead his crimes where all his virtue knew.
When they who, loud for liberty and laws,
In doubtful times had fought their country's cause,
When now of conquest and dominion sure,
They sought alone to hold their fruit secure;
When taught by these, Oppression hid the face,
To leave Corruption stronger in her place,
By silent spells to work the public fate,
And taint the vitals of the passive state,
Till healing Wisdom should avail no more,
And Freedom loath to tread the poisoned shore:
Then, like some guardian god that flies to save
The weary pilgrim from an instant grave,
Whom, sleeping and secure, the guileful snake
Steals near and nearer thro' the peaceful brake,-
Then Curio rose to ward the public woe,
To wake the heedless and incite the slow,
1--17


## p. 258 (#288) ############################################

258
MARK AKENSIDE
Against Corruption Liberty to arm,
And quell the enchantress by a mightier charm.
Lo! the deciding hour at last appears;
The hour of every freeman's hopes and fears!
See Freedom mounting her eternal throne,
The sword submitted, and the laws her own!
See! public Power, chastised, beneath her stands,
With eyes intent, and uncorrupted hands!
See private life by wisest arts reclaimed!
See ardent youth to noblest manners framed!
See us acquire whate'er was sought by you,
If Curio, only Curio will be true.
-
'Twas then O shame! O trust how ill repaid !
O Latium, oft by faithless sons betrayed! -
'Twas then — What frenzy on thy reason stole?
What spells unsinewed thy determined soul ?
Is this the man in Freedom's cause approved ?
The man so great, so honored, so beloved ?
This patient slave by tinsel chains allured ?
This wretched suitor for a boon abjured ?
This Curio, hated and despised by all ?
Who fell himself to work his country's fall ?
O lost, alike to action and repose!
Unknown, unpitied in the worst of woes!
With all that conscious, undissembled pride,
Sold to the insults of a foe defied!
With all that habit of familiar fame,
Doomed to exhaust the dregs of life in shame!
The sole sad refuge of thy baffled art
To act a stateman's dull, exploded part,
Renounce the praise no longer in thy power,
Display thy virtue, though without a dower,
Contemn the giddy crowd, the vulgar wind,
And shut thy eyes that others may be blind.
O long revered, and late resigned to shame!
If this uncourtly page thy notice claim
When the loud cares of business are withdrawn,
Nor well-drest beggars round thy footsteps fawn;


## p. 259 (#289) ############################################

MARK AKENSIDE
259
In that still, thoughtful, solitary hour,
When Truth exerts her unresisted power,
Breaks the false optics tinged with fortune's glare,
Unlocks the breast, and lays the passions bare:
Then turn thy eyes on that important scene,
And ask thyself — if all be well within.
Where is the heart-felt worth and weight of soul,
Which labor could not stop, nor fear control ?
Where the known dignity, the stamp of awe,
Which, half abashed, the proud and venal saw ?
Where the calm triumphs of an honest cause ?
Where the delightful taste of just applause ?
Where the strong reason, the commanding tongue,
On which the Senate fired or trembling hung!
All vanished, all are sold — and in their room,
Couched in thy bosom's deep, distracted gloom,
See the pale form of barbarous Grandeur dwell,
Like some grim idol in a sorcerer's cell!
To her in chains thy dignity was led;
At her polluted shrine thy honour bled;
With blasted weeds thy awful brow she crowned,
Thy powerful tongue with poisoned philters bound,
That baffled Reason straight indignant few,
And fair Persuasion from her seat withdrew:
For now no longer Truth supports thy cause;
No longer Glory prompts thee to applause;
No longer Virtue breathing in thy breast,
With all her conscious majesty confest,
Still bright and brighter wakes the almighty flame,
To rouse the feeble, and the willful tame,
And where she sees the catching glimpses roll,
Spreads the strong blaze, and all involves the soul;
But cold restraints thy conscious fancy chill,
And formal passions mock thy struggling will;
Or, if thy Genius e'er forget his chain,
And reach impatient at a nobler strain,
Soon the sad bodings of contemptuous mirth
Shoot through thy breast, and stab the generous birth,
Till, blind with smart, from truth to frenzy tost,
And all the tenor of thy reason lost,
Perhaps thy anguish drains a real tear;
While some with pity, some with laughter hear.


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260
MARK AKENSIDE
Ye mighty foes of liberty and rest,
Give way, do homage to a mightier guest!
Ye daring spirits of the Roman race,
See Curio's toil your proudest claims efface! -
Awed at the name, fierce Appius rising bends,
And hardy Cinna from his throne attends:
“He comes,” they cry, “to whom the fates assigned
With surer arts to work what we designed,
From year to year the stubborn herd to sway,
Mouth all their wrongs, and all their rage obey;
Till owned their guide, and trusted with their power,
He mocked their hopes in one decisive hour;
Then, tired and yielding, led them to the chain,
And quenched the spirit we provoked in vain. ”
But thou, Supreme, by whose eternal hands
Fair Liberty's heroic empire stands;
Whose thunders the rebellious deep control,
And quell the triumphs of the traitor's soul,
O turn this dreadful omen far away!
On Freedom's foes their own attempts repay;
Relume her sacred fire so near suppressed,
And fix her shrine in every Roman breast:
Though bold corruption boast around the land,
“Let virtue, if she can, my baits withstand! »
Though bolder now she urge the accursed claim,
Gay with her trophies raised on Curio's shame;
Yet some there are who scorn her impious mirth,
Who know what conscience and a heart are worth.
ASPIRATIONS AFTER THE INFINITE
From Pleasures of the Imagination)
W*
Ho that, from Alpine heights, his laboring eye
Shoots round the wide horizon, to survey
Nilus or Ganges rolling his bright wave
Thro' mountains, plains, thro' empires black with shade,
And continents of sand, will turn his gaze
To mark the windings of a scanty rill
That murmurs at his feet? The high-born soul
Disdains to rest her heaven-aspiring wing
Beneath its native quarry. Tired of earth
And this diurnal scene, she springs aloft
Through fields of air; pursues the flying storm;


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MARK AKENSIDE
261
.
Rides on the volleyed lightning through the heavens;
Or, yoked with whirlwinds and the northern blast,
Sweeps the long tract of day. Then high she soars
The blue profound, and, hovering round the sun,
Beholds him pouring the redundant stream
Of light; beholds his unrelenting sway
Bend the reluctant planets to absolve
The fated rounds of Time. Thence, far effused,
She darts her swiftness up the long career
Of devious comets; through its burning signs
Exulting measures the perennial wheel
Of Nature, and looks back on all the stars,
Whose blended light, as with a milky zone,
Invests the orient. Now, amazed she views
The empyreal waste, where happy spirits hold
Beyond this concave heaven, their calm abode;
And fields of radiance, whose unfading light
Has traveled the profound six thousand years,
Nor yet arrived in sight of mortal things. .
Even on the barriers of the world, untired
She meditates the eternal depth below;
Till half-recoiling, down the headlong steep
She plunges; soon o'erwhelmed and swallowed up
In that immense of being. There her hopes
Rest at the fated goal. For from the birth
Of mortal man, the sovereign Maker said,
That not in humble nor in brief delight,
Nor in the fading echoes of Renown,
Power's purple robes, nor Pleasure's flowery lap,
The soul should find enjoyment: but from these
Turning disdainful to an equal good,
Through all the ascent of things enlarge her view,
Till every bound at length should disappear,
And infinite perfection close the scene.
ON A SERMON AGAINST GLORY
C®
OME then, tell me, sage divine,
Is it an offense to own
That our bosoms e'er incline
Toward immortal Glory's throne ?
For with me nor pomp nor pleasure,
Bourbon's might, Braganza's treasure,


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262
PEDRO ANTONIO DE ALARCÓN
So can Fancy's dream rejoice,
So conciliate Reason's choice,
As one approving word of her impartial voice.
If to spurn at noble praise
Be the passport to thy heaven,
Follow thou those gloomy ways:
No such law to me was given,
Nor, I trust, shall I deplore me
Faring like my friends before me;
Nor an holier place desire
Than Timoleon's arms acquire,
And Tully's curule chair, and Milton's golden lyre.
PEDRO ANTONIO DE ALARCÓN
(1833-1891)
his novelist, poet, and politician was born at Guadix, in Spain,
near Granada, March 1oth, 1833, and received his early train-
ing in the seminary of his native city. His family destined
him for the Church; but he was averse to that profession, subse-
quently studied law and modern languages at the University of
Granada, and took pains to cultivate his natural love for literature
and poetry. In 1853 he established at Cadiz the literary review Eco
del Occidente (Echo of the West). Greatly interested in politics, he
joined a democratic club with headquarters at Madrid. During the
revolution of 1854 he published El Látigo (The Whip), a pamp
which he satirized the government. The spirit of adventure being
always strong in him, he joined the African campaign under O'Don-
nell in 1859.
His next occupation was the editorship of the journals La Epoca
and La Politica. Condemned to a brief period of exile as one of the
signers of a protest of Unionist deputies, he passed this time in
Paris. Shortly after his return he became involved in the revolution
of 1868, but without incurring personal disaster. After Alfonso XII.
came to the throne in 1875, he was appointed Councilor of State.
It was in the domain of letters, however, and more especially as a
novelist, that he won his most enduring laurels. In 1855 he produced
El Final de Norma' (The End of Norma), which was his first
romance of importance. Four years later he began to publish that
series of notable novels which brought him fame, both at home and
abroad. The list includes (El Sombrero de Tres Picos' (The Three-


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PEDRO ANTONIO DE ALARCÓN
263
Cornered Hat), a charming genre sketch famous for its pungent wit
and humor, and its clever portraiture of provincial life in Spain at
the beginning of this century: La Alpujarra'; El Escándalo' (The
Scandal), a story which at once created a profound sensation because
of its ultramontane cast and opposition to prevalent scientific opinion;
'El Niño de la Bola” (The Child of the Ball), thought by many to be
his masterpiece; El Capitán Veneno' (Captain Veneno); Novelas
Cortas (Short Stories), 3 vols. ; and (La Pródiga' (The Prodigal).
Alarcón is also favorably known as poet, dramatic critic, and an
incisive and effective writer of general prose.
His other publications comprise :- Diario de un Testigo de la
Guerra de Africa' (Journal of a Witness of the African War), a work
which is said to have netted the publishers a profit of three million
pesetas ($600,000); De Madrid à Nápoles' (from Madrid to Naples);
(Poesias Serias y Humorísticas? (Serious and Humorous Poems);
Judicios Literários y Artísticos' (Literary and Artistic Critiques);
Viages por España) (Travels through Spain): El Hijo Pródigo'
(The Prodigal Son), a drama for children; and Ultimos Escritos )
(Last Writings). Alarcón was elected a member of the Spanish
Academy December 15th, 1875. Many of his novels have been trans-
lated into English and French. He died July 20th, 1891.
A WOMAN VIEWED FROM WITHOUT
From The Three-Cornered Hat)
The last and perhaps the most powerful reason which the
Tas ,
with the bishop and the corregidor— had for visiting the
mill so often in the afternoon, was to admire there at leisure one
of the most beautiful, graceful, and admirable works that ever
left the hands of the Creator: called Seña [Mrs. ] Frasquita. Let
us begin by assuring you that Seña Frasquita was the lawful
spouse of Uncle Luke, and an honest woman; of which fact all
the illustrious visitors of the mill were well aware. Indeed, none
of them ever seemed to gaze on her with sinful eyes or doubtful
purpose. They all admired her, indeed, and sometimes paid her
compliments, — the friars as well as the cavaliers, the prebend-
aries as well as the magistrate, -as a prodigy of beauty, an
honor to her Creator, and as a coquettish and mischievous sprite,
who innocently enlivened the most melancholy of spirits. “She
is a handsome creature,” the most virtuous prelate used to say.
«She looks like an ancient Greek statue,” remarked a learned


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264
PEDRO ANTONIO DE ALARCÓN
advocate, who was an Academician and corresponding member on
history. “She is the very image of Eve," broke forth the prior
of the Franciscans. She is a fine woman,” exclaimed the colonel
of militia. “She is a serpent, a witch, a siren, an imp,” added the
corregidor. “But she is a good woman, an angel, a lovely creat-
ure, and as innocent as a child four years old,” all agreed in
saying on leaving the mill, crammed with grapes or nuts, on their
way to their dull and methodical homes.
This four-year-old child, that is to say, Frasquita, was nearly
thirty years old, and almost six feet high, strongly built in pro-
portion, and even a little stouter than exactly corresponded to her
majestic figure. She looked like a gigantic Niobe, though she
never had any children; she seemed like a female Hercules, or
like a Roman matron, the sort of whom there are still copies to
be seen in the Rioni Trastevere. But the most striking feature
was her mobility, her agility, her animation, and the grace of her
rather large person.
For resemblance to a statue, to which the Academician com-
pared her, she lacked statuesque repose. She bent her body like
a reed, or spun around like a weather-vane, or danced like a top.
Her features possessed even greater mobility, and in consequence
were even less statuesque. They were lighted up beautifully by
five dimples: two on one cheek, one on the other, another very
small one near the left side of her roguish lips, and the last-
and a very big one — in the cleft of her rounded chin. Add to
these charms her sly or roguish glances, her pretty pouts, and the
various attitudes of her head, with which she emphasized her
talk, and you will have some idea of that face full of vivacity
and beauty, and always radiant with health and happiness.
Neither Uncle Luke nor Seña Frasquita was Andalusian by
birth: she came from Navarre, and he from Murcia. He went
to the city of when he was but fifteen years old, as half
page, half servant of the bishop, the predecessor of the present
incumbent of that diocese. He was brought up for the Church
by his patron, who, perhaps on that account, so that he might
not lack competent maintenance, bequeathed him the mill in his
will. But Uncle Luke, who had received only the lesser orders
when the bishop died, cast off his ecclesiastical garb at once and
enlisted as a soldier; for he felt more anxious to see the world
and to lead a life of adventure than to say mass or grind corn.
He went through the campaign of the Western Provinces in


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PEDRO ANTONIO DE ALARCÓN
265
1793, as the orderly of the brave General Ventura Caro; he was
present at the siege of the Castle of Piñon, and remained a long
time in the Northern Provinces, when he finally quitted the serv-
ice. In Estella he became acquainted with Seña Frasquita, who
was then simply called Frasquita; made love to her, married
her, and carried her to Andalusia to take possession of the mill,
where they were to live so peaceful and happy during the rest
of their pilgrimage through this vale of tears.
When Frasquita was taken from Navarre to that lonely place
she had not yet acquired any Andalusian ways, and was very
different from the countrywomen in that vicinity. She dressed
with greater simplicity, greater freedom, grace, and elegance
than they did. She bathed herself oftener; and allowed the sun
and air to caress her bare arms and uncovered neck. To a cer-
tain extent she wore the style of dress worn by the gentlewomen
of that period; like that of the women in Goya's pictures, and
somewhat of the fashion worn by Queen Maria Louisa: if not
exactly so scant, yet so short that it showed her small feet, and
the commencement of her superb limbs; her bodice was low,
and round in the neck, according to the style in Madrid, where
she spent two months with her Luke on their way from Navarre
to Andalusia. She dressed her hair high on the top of her head,
displaying thus both the graceful curve of her snowy neck and
the shape of her pretty head. She wore earrings in her small
ears, and the taper fingers of her rough but clean hands were
covered with rings. Lastly, Frasquita's voice was as sweet as a
flute, and her laugh was so merry and so silvery it seemed like
the ringing of bells on Saturday of Glory or Easter Eve.
HOW THE ORPHAN MANUEL GAINED HIS SOBRIQUET
From "The Child of the Ball)
Thr
HE unfortunate boy seemed to have turned to ice from the
cruel and unexpected blows of fate; he contracted a death-
like pallor, which he never again lost. No one paid any
attention to the unhappy child in the first moments of his
anguish, or noticed that he neither groaned, sighed, nor wept.
When at last they went to him they found him convulsed and
rigid, like a petrifaction of grief; although he walked about,
heard and saw, and covered his wounded and dying father with
kisses. But he shed not a single tear, either during the death


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266
PEDRO ANTONIO DE ALARCÓN
agony of that beloved being, when he kissed the cold face after
it was dead, or when he saw them carry the body away forever;
nor when he left the house in which he had been born, and
found himself sheltered by charity in the house of a stranger.
Some praised his courage, others criticized his callousness.
Mothers pitied him profoundly, instinctively divining the cruel
tragedy that was being enacted in the orphan's heart for want
of some tender and compassionate being to make him weep by
weeping with him.
Nor did Manuel utter a single word from the moment he
saw his beloved father brought in dying. He made no answer
to the affectionate questions asked him by Don Trinidad after the
latter had taken him home; and the sound of his voice was never
heard during the first three years which he spent in the holy
company of the priest. Everybody thought by this time that
he would remain dumb forever, when one day, in the church of
which his protector was the priest, the sacristan observed him
standing before a beautiful image of the “Child of the Ball,”
and heard him saying in melancholy accents:-
Child Jesus, why do you not speak either ? »
Manuel was saved. The drowning boy had raised his head
above the engulfing waters of his grief. His life was no longer
in danger. So at least it was believed in the parish.
Toward strangers — from whom, whenever they came in con-
tact with him, he always received demonstrations of pity and
kindness — the orphan continued to maintain the same glacial
reserve as before, rebuffing them with the phrase, stereotyped on
his disdainful lips, “Let me alone, now;" having said which, in
tones of moving entreaty, he would go on his way, not with-
out awakening superstitious feelings in the minds of the persons
whom he thus shunned.
Still less did he lay aside, at this saving crisis, the profound
sadness and precocious austerity of his character, or the obstinate
persistence with which he clung to certain habits. These were
limited, thus far, to accompanying the priest to the church;
gathering flowers or aromatic herbs to adorn the image of the
“Child of the Ball,” before which he would spend hour after
hour, plunged in a species of ecstasy; and climbing the neighbor-
ing mountain in search of those herbs and flowers, when, owing
to the severity of the heat or cold, they were not to be found in
the fields.
.


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PEDRO ANTONIO DE ALARCÓN
267
This adoration, while in consonance with the religious prin-
ciples instilled into him from the cradle by his father, greatly
exceeded what is usual even in the most devout.
It was a
fraternal and submissive love, like that which he had entertained
for his father; it was a confused mixture of familiarity, pro-
tection, and idolatry, very similar to the feeling which the
mothers of men of genius entertain for their illustrious sons; it
was the respectful and protecting tenderness which the strong
warrior bestows on the youthful prince; it was an identification
of himself with the image; it was pride; it was elation as for a
personal good. It seemed as if this image symbolized for him
his tragic fate, his noble origin, his early orphanhood, his poverty,
his cares, the injustice of men, his solitary state in the world,
and perhaps too some presentiment of his future sufferings.
Probably nothing of all this was clear at the time to the mind
of the hapless boy, but something resembling it must have been
the tumult of confused thoughts that palpitated in the depths of
that childlike, unwavering, absolute, and exclusive devotion. For
him there was neither God nor the Virgin, neither saints nor
angels; there was only the “Child of the Ball,” not with relation
to any profound mystery, but in himself, in his present form,
with his artistic figure, his dress of gold tissue, his crown of
false stones, his blonde head, his charming countenance, and the
blue-painted globe which he held in his hand, and which was
surmounted by a little silver-gilt cross, in sign of the redemption
of the world.
And this was the cause and reason why the acolytes of Santa
María de la Cabéza first, all the boys of the town afterward, and
finally the more respectable and sedate persons, bestowed on
Manuel the extraordinary name of “The Child of the Ball”: we
know not whether by way of applause of such vehement idolatry,
and to commit him, as it were, to the protection of the Christ-
Child himself; or as a sarcastic antiphrasis, - seeing that this
appellation is sometimes used in the place as a term of compar-
ison for the happiness of the very fortunate; or as a prophecy
of the valor for which the son of Venegas was to be one day
celebrated, and the terror he was to inspire,— since the most
hyperbolical expression that can be employed in that district, to
extol the bravery and power of any one, is to say that “he does
not fear even the Child of the Ball. ) »
Selections used by permission of Cassell Publishing Company


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268
ALCÆUS
(Sixth Century B. C. )
was
LCÆUS, a contemporary of the more famous poet whom he
addressed as "violet-crowned, pure, sweetly-smiling Sappho,
was a native of Mitylene in Lesbos. His period of work
fell probably between 610 and 580 B. C. At this time his native
town was disturbed by an unceasing contention for power between
the aristocracy and the people; and Al-
cæus, through the vehemence of his zeal
and his ambition, was among the leaders
of the warring faction. By the accidents
of birth and education he was an aristo-
crat, and in politics he was what is now
called a High Tory. With his brothers,
Cicis and Antimenidas, two influential
young nobles as arrogant and haughty
as himself, he resented and opposed the
slightest concession to democracy. He
a stout soldier, but he threw away
his arms at Ligetum when he saw that
ALCÆUS
his side was beaten, and afterward wrote
a poem on this performance, apparently not in the least mortified by
the recollection. Horace speaks of the matter, and laughingly con-
fesses his own like misadventure.
When the kindly Pittacus was chosen dictator, he was compelled
to banish the swashbuckling brothers for their abuse of him. But
when Alcæus chanced to be taken prisoner, Pittacus set him free,
remarking that «forgiveness is better than revenge. ” The irrecon-
cilable poet spent his exile in Egypt, and there he may have seen
the Greek oligarch who lent his sword to Nebuchadnezzar, and whom
he greeted in a poem, a surviving fragment of which is thus para-
phrased by John Addington Symonds:-
From the ends of the earth thou art come,
Back to thy home;
The ivory bilt of thy blade
With gold is embossed and inlaid ;
Since for Babylon's host a great deed
Thou didst work in their need,
Slaying a warrior, an athlete of might,
Royal, whose height
Lacked of five cubits one span
A terrible man.



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ALCÆUS
269
Alcæus is reputed to have been in love with Sappho, the glorious,
but only a line or two survives to confirm the tale. Most of his
lyrics, like those of his fellow-poets, seem to have been drinking
songs, combined, says Symonds, with reflections upon life, and
appropriate descriptions of the different seasons. «No time was
amiss for drinking, to his mind: the heat of summer, the cold of
winter, the blazing dog-star and the driving tempest, twilight with
its cheerful gleam of lamps, mid-day with its sunshine -all suggest
reasons for indulging in the cup. Not that we are justified in
fancying Alcæus a mere vulgar toper: he retained Æolian sumptu-
ousness in his pleasures, and raised the art of drinking to an æsthetic
attitude. ”
Alcæus composed in the Æolic dialect; for the reason, it is said,
that it was more familiar to his hearers. After his death his poems
were collected and divided into ten books. Bergk has included the
fragmentsand one of his compositions has come down to us entire
- in his Poetæ Lyrici Græci. '
His love of political strife and military glory led him to the
composition of a class of poems which the ancients called “Stasiotica'
(Songs of Sedition). To this class belong his descriptions of the
furnishing of his palace, and many of the fragments preserved to us.
Besides those martial poems, he composed hymns to the gods, and
love and convivial songs.
His verses are subjective and impassioned. They are outbursts of
the poet's own feeling, his own peculiar expression toward the world
in which he lived; and it is this quality that gave them their
strength and their celebrity. His metres were lively, and the care
which he expended upon his strophes has led to the naming of one
metre the Alcaic. " Horace testifies (Odes ii. 13. ii. 26, etc.