No More Learning

Life was a serious thing with the colonists of Massachusetts Bay, and
Hildreth was guilty of no attempt to brighten their annals or to turn
any part of their records into a history of merry-making. And thus,
in those first three volumes, one looks utterly in vain for the pictur-
esque or the amusing.

RICHARD HILDRETH


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RICHARD HILDRETH
7372
The last three volumes (written several years later), which deal
almost entirely with the growth of the Constitution and the political
forces at work, are more vivid and at the same time much more valu-
able to the student. The facts are absolutely accurate (unless where
new records have come to light since), and have been gathered with
much care from the original public documents and State papers. He
is on the whole wonderfully free from prejudice; his tone is one of
calm and clear conviction, and produces the same attitude in the
reader. His characterization of individuals is the best example: few
things of the kind have been better done. His criticism of men and
motives is sometimes most scathing, yet his manner is so quiet and
restrained that a full assent is instinctively given to his opinions,
without the critical hesitation which a more vehement style would
call forth. Nothing, for instance, could be further from the verdict
which posterity has passed on John Quincy Adams, than Hildreth's
portrayal of him as a crafty and self-seeking political soldier of for-
tune; but Hildreth's judicial manner and tone of severe impartiality
still produce much effect.
Hildreth was a writer of some repute before his History appeared.
Born at Deerfield, Massachusetts, in 1807, and educated at Harvard, he
did a good deal of newspaper and editorial work in his younger
days, and wrote papers on a variety of subjects. His work on
'Banks, Banking, and Paper Currency,' published in 1837, is said to
have had considerable influence in fostering the growth of the free-
banking system; and his other papers also attracted a gratifying atten-
tion. He was also the author of a tale called 'The Slave; or, Memoir
of Archy Moore,' later re-named 'The White Slave; or, Memoirs of a
Fugitive, which has the distinction of being the first American anti-
slavery novel published. His literary career, however, may be said to
have closed with the appearance of his History. Appointed consul at
Trieste, Italy, in 1861, he at once entered zealously upon his duties.
His health failed, however, and he removed to Florence, where in 1865
he died.
Richard Hildreth's name will be remembered chiefly from his
'History of the United States,' and the solid and judicial qualities
of that work will make it endure for many years to come. He will
never be popular with the general reader, however. His narrative is
too prosy, not vivid enough for a moment to enwrap the attention
of the casual reader; and his occasional attempts at picturesqueness
or descriptions of pageantry are very painful. The historian never
arouses us with his enthusiasm, nor makes people and events live
anew for us by the power of his inspiration. Nor is his writing in the
least philosophical. Other historians make us see clearly the great
sweeps and curves of the nation in its onward march, and they point


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RICHARD HILDRETH
7373
out how its various trendings have led hither and thither. But Hil-
dreth leaves us to trace out for ourselves the great highway, while
he stops to explore some undiscovered and overgrown by-path, bestow-
ing upon it the same painstaking research that he gives to conspicu-
ous and important events.
Yet in spite of all these negatives, Hildreth will always-and
rightly command attention and admiration. His work is full of
purpose, and has in it the energy of a forceful and zealous student.
It is direct, untrammeled, and courageous. If it grows dull for the
casual reader, it is a delight to the close student. The primitive
historical instinct in its most finished state filled him; for in spite of
its surface faults, his narration, in straightforwardness, accuracy, and
firmness, is an admirable work of high and solid merit.
-
CUSTOMS OF THE COLONISTS
From the History of the United States >
Α
CCORDING to the system established in Massachusetts, the
Church and State were most intimately blended. The magis-
trates and General Court, aided by the advice of the elders,
claimed and exercised a supreme control in spiritual as well as
temporal matters; while even in matters purely temporal, the
elders were consulted on all important questions. The support of
the elders, the first thing considered in the first Court of Assist-
ants held in Massachusetts, had been secured by a vote to build
houses for them, and to provide them a maintenance at the pub-
lic expense.
This burden, indeed, was spontaneously assumed by
such of the plantations as had ministers. In some towns a tax
was levied; in others a contribution was taken up every Sunday,
called voluntary, but hardly so in fact, since every person was
expected to contribute according to his means. This method of
contribution, in use at Plymouth, was adopted also at Boston;
but in most of the other towns the taxing system obtained pref-
erence, and subsequently was established by law. Besides the
Sunday services, protracted to a great length, there were fre-
quent lectures on week-days,- an excess of devotion unreasonable
in an infant colony, and threatening the interruption of necessary
labor; so much so, that the magistrates presently found them-
selves obliged to interfere by restricting them to one a week in
each town. These lectures, which people went from town to town
to attend; an annual fast in the spring, corresponding to Lent;


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7374
RICHARD HILDRETH
and a Thanksgiving at the end of autumn, to supersede Christ-
mas, stood in place of all the holidays of the papal and English.
churches, which the colonists soon came to regard as no better
than idolatrous, and any disposition to observe them-even the
eating of mince pies on Christmas Day- as superstitious and
wicked. In contempt of the usage of those churches, marriage
was declared no sacrament, but a mere civil contract, to be sanc-
tioned not by a minister but a magistrate. The magistrates also
early assumed the power of granting divorces, not for adultery
only, but in such other cases as they saw fit. Baptism, instead
of being dispensed to all, as in the churches of Rome and Eng-
land, was limited, as a special privilege, to church members and
their "infant seed. " Participation in the sacrament of the Sup-
per was guarded with still greater jealousy, none but full church
members being allowed to partake of it.
-
Besides these religious distinctions, there were others of a
temporal character, transferred from that system of semi-feudal
English society in which the colonists had been born and bred.
A discrimination between "gentlemen" and those of inferior con-
dition was carefully kept up. Only gentlemen were entitled to
the prefix of "Mr. "; their number was quite small, and depri-
vation of the right to be so addressed was inflicted as a punish-
ment. "Goodman" or "good woman," by contraction "goody,"
was the address of inferior persons. Besides the indented serv-
ants sent out by the company, the wealthier colonists brought
others with them. But these servants seem in general to have
had little sympathy with the austere manners and opinions of
their masters, and their frequent transgressions of Puritan deco-
rum gave the magistrates no little trouble.
The system of manners which the founders of Massachusetts
labored to establish and maintain was indeed exceedingly rigorous
and austere. All amusements were proscribed; all gayety seemed
to be regarded as a sin. It was attempted to make the colony,
as it were, a convent of Puritan devotees,-except in the allow-
ance of marriage and money-making,-subjected to all the rules.
of the stricter monastic orders.
Morton of Merry Mount, who had returned again to New
England, was seized and sent back, his goods confiscated, and
his house burned, as the magistrate alleged, to satisfy the
Indians; but this according to Morton was a mere pretext. A
similar fate happened to Sir Christopher Gardiner, a Knight, or


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RICHARD HILDRETH
7375
<<
pretended Knight, of the Holy Sepulchre,- an ambiguous char-
acter, attended by a young damsel and two or three servants.
Suspected as the agent of some persons who claimed a prior
right to some parts of Massachusetts Bay, he was charged with
having two wives in England, and with being a secret Papist.
He fled to the woods, but was delivered up by the Indians and
sent home, as were several others whom the magistrates pro-
nounced "unfit to inhabit there. " Walford the smith, the old
settler at Charlestown, banished for contempt of authority,"
retired to Piscataqua, which soon became a common asylum of
refugees from Massachusetts. The sociable and jolly disposition
of Maverick-described by Josselyn, an early traveler, as "the
only hospitable man in the colony"- gave the magistrates an
abundance of trouble, and subjected Maverick himself to frequent
fines and admonitions. Others who slandered the government
or churches, or wrote home discouraging letters, were whipped,
cropped of their ears, and banished.
THE CAPTURE OF ANDRÉ
From the History of the United States >
D
URING Washington's absence at Hartford [for his interview
with Rochambeau in September 1780], a plot came to light
for betraying the important fortress of West Point and the
other posts of the Highlands into the hands of the enemy; the
traitor being no other than Arnold, the most brilliant officer and
one of the most honored in the American army. The qualities
of a brilliant soldier are unfortunately often quite distinct from
those of a virtuous man and a good citizen. Arnold's arrogant,
overbearing, reckless spirit, his disregard of the rights of others,
and his doubtful integrity, had made him many enemies; but his
desperate valor at Behmus's Heights, covering up all his blem-
ishes, had restored him to the rank in the army which he coveted.
Placed in command at Philadelphia, his disposition to favor the
disaffected of that city had involved him, as has been mentioned
already, in disputes with Governor Reed and the Pennsylvania
Council.
Arnold's vanity and love of display overwhelmed him with
debts. He had taken the best house in the city, that formerly
occupied by Governor Penn. He lived in a style of extravagance


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7376
RICHARD HILDRETH
far beyond his means, and he endeavored to sustain it by enter-
ing into privateering and mercantile speculations, most of which
proved unsuccessful. He was even accused of perverting his
military authority to purposes of private gain. The complaints on
this point made to Congress by the authorities of Pennsylvania
had been at first unheeded; but being presently brought forward
in a solemn manner, and with some appearance of offended
dignity on the part of the Pennsylvania Council, an interview
took place between a committee of that body and a committee of
Congress, which had resulted in Arnold's trial by a court-martial.
Though acquitted of the more serious charges, on two points he
had been found guilty, and had been sentenced to be reprimanded
by the commander-in-chief.
Arnold claimed against the United States a large balance,
growing out of the unsettled accounts of his Canada expedition.
This claim was greatly cut down by the treasury officers, and
when Arnold appealed to Congress, a committee reported that
more had been allowed him than was actually due.
Mortified and soured, and complaining of public ingratitude,
Arnold attempted, but without success, to get a loan from the
French minister. Some months before, he had opened a corre-
spondence with Sir Henry Clinton under a feigned name, carried
on through Major André, adjutant-general of the British army.
Having at length made himself known to his correspondents, to
give importance to his treachery he solicited and obtained from
Washington, who had every confidence in him, the command in
the Highlands, with the very view of betraying that important
position into the hands of the enemy.
To arrange the terms of the bargain, an interview was neces-
sary with some confidential British agent; and André, though not
without reluctance, finally volunteered for that purpose. Sev-
eral previous attempts having failed, the British sloop-of-war
Vulture, with André on board, ascended the Hudson as far as
the mouth of Croton River, some miles below King's Ferry. In-
formation being sent to Arnold under a flag, the evening after
Washington left West Point for Hartford he dispatched a boat to
the Vulture, which took André on shore for an interview on the
west side of the river, just below the American lines. Morning
appeared before the arrangements for the betrayal of the fortress
could be definitely completed, and André was reluctantly per-
suaded to come within the American lines, and to remain till


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RICHARD HILDRETH
7377
the next night at the house of one Smith, a dupe or tool of
Arnold's, the same who had been employed to bring André
from the ship. For some reason not very clearly explained,
Smith declined to convey André back to the Vulture, which had
attracted the attention of the American gunners, and in conse-
quence of a piece of artillery brought to bear upon her had
changed her position, though she had afterward returned to her
former anchorage.
Driven thus to the necessity of returning by land, André laid
aside his uniform, assumed a citizen's dress, and with a pass from
Arnold in the name of John Anderson, a name which André had
often used in their previous correspondence, he set off toward sun-
set on horseback, with Smith for a guide. They crossed King's
Ferry, passed all the American guards in safety, and spent the
night near Crom Pond with an acquaintance of Smith's. The
next morning, having passed Pine's Bridge across Croton River,
Smith left André to pursue his way alone. The road led through
a district extending some thirty miles above the island of New
York, not included in the lines of either army, and thence known
as the "Neutral Ground"; a populous and fertile region, but very
much infested by bands of plunderers called "Cow-Boys" and
"Skinners. " The "Cow-Boys" lived within the British lines, and
stole or bought cattle for the supply of the British army. The
rendezvous of the "Skinners" was within the American lines.
They professed to be great patriots, making it their ostensible
business to plunder those who refused to take the oath of alle-
giance to the State of New York. But they were ready in fact to
rob anybody, and the cattle thus obtained were often sold to the
Cow-Boys in exchange for dry-goods brought from New York.
By a State law, all cattle driven toward the city were lawful
plunder when beyond a certain line; and a general authority was
given to anybody to arrest suspicious travelers.
The road to Tarrytown, on which André was traveling, was
watched that morning by a small party on the lookout for cattle
or travelers; and just as André approached the village, while
passing a small brook a man sprang from among the bushes and
seized the bridle of his horse. He was immediately joined by
two others; and André, in the confusion of the moment, deceived
by the answers of his captors, who professed to belong to the
"Lower" or British party, instead of producing his pass avowed
himself a British officer, on business of the highest importance.
XIII-462


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7378
RICHARD HILDRETH
Discovering his mistake, he offered his watch, his purse, anything
they might name, if they would suffer him to proceed. His
offers were rejected; he was searched, suspicious papers were
found in his stockings, and he was carried before Colonel Jame-
son, the commanding officer on the lines.
Jameson recognized in the papers, which contained a full
description of West Point and a return of the forces, the hand-
writing of Arnold; but unable to realize that his commanding
officer was a traitor, while he forwarded the papers by express
to Washington at Hartford, he directed the prisoner to be sent
to Arnold, with a letter mentioning his assumed name, his pass,
the circumstances of his arrest, and that papers of "a very sus-
picious character" had been found on his person. Major Tal-
madge, the second in command, had been absent while this was
doing. Informed of it on his return, with much difficulty he
procured the recall of the prisoner; but Jameson persisted in
sending forward the letter to Arnold. Washington, then on his
return from Hartford, missed the express with the documents;
his aides-de-camp, who preceded him, were breakfasting at Ar-
nold's house when Jameson's letter arrived. Pretending an
immediate call to visit one of the forts on the opposite side of
the river, Arnold rose from table, called his wife up-stairs, left
her in a fainting-fit, mounted a horse which stood saddled at the
door, rode to the river-side, threw himself into his barge, passed
the forts waving a handkerchief by way of flag, and ordered his
boatman to row for the Vulture. Safe on board, he wrote a
letter to Washington, asking protection for his wife, whom he
declared ignorant and innocent of what he had done.
Informed of Arnold's safety, and perceiving that no hope of
escape existed, André in a letter to Washington avowed his name
and true character. A board of officers was constituted to con-
sider his case, of which Greene was president and Lafayette and
Steuben were members. Though cautioned to say nothing to
criminate himself, André frankly told the whole story, declaring
however that he had been induced to enter the American lines
contrary to his intention, and by the misrepresentations of Arnold.
Upon his own statements, without examining a single witness,
the board pronounced him a spy, and as such doomed him to
speedy death.
Clinton, who loved André, made every effort to save him. As
a last resource, Arnold wrote to Washington, stating his view of


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RICHARD HILDRETH
7379
the matter, threatening retaliation, and referring particularly to
the case of Gadsden and the other South Carolina prisoners at
St. Augustine. The manly and open behavior of André, and his
highly amiable private character, created no little sympathy in
his behalf; but martial policy was thought to demand his execu-
tion.
He was even denied his last request to be shot instead
of hanged. Though in strict accordance with the laws of war,
André's execution was denounced in England as inexorable and
cruel. It certainly tended to aggravate feelings already suffi-
ciently bitter on both sides.
JAMES MADISON
From the History of the United States>
S°
O FAR as Madison was concerned, had the majority for Cal-
houn's [internal improvements] bill been more decided and
more Southern, his scruples might perhaps have been less.
The political character of the retiring President sprang natur-
ally enough from his intellectual temperament and his personal
and party relations. Phlegmatic in his constitution, moderate in
all his feelings and passions, he possessed remarkable acuteness,
and an ingenuity sufficient to invest with the most persuasive
plausibility whichsoever side of a question he espoused. But he
wanted the decision, the energy, the commanding firmness neces-
sary in a leader. More a rhetorician than a ruler, he was made
only for second places, and therefore never was but second, even
when he seemed to be first. A Federalist from natural large-
ness of views, he became a Jeffersonian Republican because that
became the predominating policy of Virginia. A peace man in
his heart and judgment, he became a war man to secure his
re-election to the Presidency, and because that seemed to be the
prevailing bias of the Republican party. Having been, in the
course of a long career, on both sides of almost every political
question, he made friends among all parties, anxious to avail
themselves, whenever they could, of his able support, escaping
thereby much of that searching criticism so freely applied, with
the unmitigated severity of party hatred, to his more decided and
consistent compatriots and rivals.
Those ultra-Federal Democrats who rose, by his compliance,
upon the ruins of the old Republican party, subscription to and


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7380
RICHARD HILDRETH
applause of whose headlong haste in plunging the country into
the war with England became for so many years the absolute
test of political orthodoxy, found it their policy to drop a pious
veil over the convenient weaknesses of a man who, in consent-
ing against his own better judgment to become in their hands
a firebrand of war, was guilty of the greatest political wrong and
crime which it is possible for the head of a nation to commit.
Could they even fail to load with applauses one whose Federal-
ism served as an excuse for theirs?
Let us however do Madison the justice to add, that as he
was among the first, so he was, all things considered, by far the
ablest and most amiable of that large class of our national
statesmen, become of late almost the only class, who, instead of
devotion to the carrying out of any favorite ideas or measures
of their own, put up their talents, like mercenary lawyers as too
many of them are, to be sold to the highest bidder; espousing
on every question that side which for the moment seems to offer
the surest road to applause and promotion.


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THOMAS HOBBES.


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2
2
+


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7381
THOMAS HOBBES
(1. 588-1679)
HOMAS HOBBES, whose name in the history of English philoso-
phy is a large one, was the son of a Wiltshire vicar, and
was born April 5th, 1588. His mother, who was of yeoman
stock, gave birth to him prematurely, upon hearing the news of the
Spanish Armada. The father is represented as a man of violent
temper and small education. Hobbes began his schooling at the age
of four, and when six was engaged with Greek and Latin, translating
Euripides into Latin iambics before he was fourteen, and showing
himself to be a youth of unusual thoughtfulness. The schools at
Malmesbury and Westport gave him his preliminary training, and in
1602 or 1603 he entered Magdalen Hall, Oxford. At this time the old
scholastic methods obtained, and disputes between Churchmen and
Puritans were rife. This state of things was distasteful to the young
Hobbes, and he neglected his studies and read in a desultory fashion.
He took his degree in 1607.
After his college days, Hobbes became tutor to the eldest son of
William Cavendish, later Earl of Devonshire, and was attached to
this family for many years, teaching the Cavendishes, father and son,
traveling with them abroad, and being pensioned by them in his old
age. This life brought him into contact with people of gifts and
station, both in England and on the Continent; and gradually Hobbes,
by study and conversation with leaders of thought, developed his
theory of psychology and of the State. He lived for years at a time
in Paris, when he feared to remain in his own land because of the
hostility excited by his works on 'Human Nature' and 'De Corpore
Politico. In 1661, at the age of seventy-three, he returned to Eng-
land and made his headquarters at the Cavendishes' town and country
houses, rounding out his philosophical system, and enjoying the friend-
ship of such men as Selden of 'Table Talk' fame, and Harvey the
scholar. Always a controversialist, seldom free from an intellectual
quarrel with members of the Royal Society, his last days were no
exception; and he no doubt wasted much time, better spent upon his
main philosophical treatises, in bickerings about mathematics and
other abstruse matters, keeping this up until his death at the rare
old age of ninety-one. He died December 4th, 1679, at Hardwicke
Hall.


## p. 7382 (#180) ###########################################

7382
THOMAS HOBBES
Hobbes maintained his intellectual and physical powers to the
very end. His health was poor in his youth, but improved in middle
life. He wrote his autobiography at eighty-four, and when eighty-six
translated Homer. In person he is described as over six feet in
height, erect, keen-eyed, with black hair. He had a contempt for
physicians, was regular in his dietary and other habits; used tobacco,
and states gravely that during his long life he calculated he had
been drunk one hundred times. After he was sixty he took no wine.
At seventy-five he played tennis. Intellectually audacious, he had
personal timidity; charges of time-serving made against him have not
been substantiated, however, as even so harsh a critic as Cunning-
ham confesses. That Hobbes was a man of marked social attraction
can be inferred easily. His friendships with Descartes, Bacon, Lord
Herbert, Ben Jonson, and many other typical great men of his day,
indicate it, and there was much in his experience to develop that side
of his character.
Hobbes's fame as thinker and writer rests solidly on two great
works: Human Nature: or, The Fundamental Principles of Policy
concerning the Faculties and Passions of the Human Soul' (1650);
and Leviathan: or, The Matter, Forme, and Power of a Common-
wealth, Ecclesiastical and Civil' (1651). The former states his philo-
sophical, the latter his political views. In the Human Nature' his
materialistic conception of the origin of man's faculties is developed:
he regarded matter in motion as an ultimate fact, and upon it built
up his psychology, deriving all the higher faculties from the senses.
"There is no conception in a man's mind," said he, "which hath not
at first, totally or by parts, been begotten upon the organ of sense. "
And he assumed selfishness as the motor power of human conduct,
and made his explanation of right and wrong to rest upon purely
utilitarian reasons. The modernness of this position may be seen
at a glance. It anticipates nineteenth-century psychology and the
tenets of a Spencer. In one passage where he speaks of the incom-
prehensibility of God to a human faculty, latter-day agnosticism is
foreshadowed. In the 'Leviathan' we get his equally radical views
of the State. He conceives that in a state of nature, men war upon
each other without restraint. For mutual benefit and protection in
the pursuit of their own interests, the social compact is made, and
the powers of rule relegated to some one best fitted to exercise it.
That some one, in Hobbes's opinion, should be and is the king as an
embodiment of the State; hence he preaches an absolute monarchy
as the ideal form of government, the leviathan of the human deep.
And he would have ecclesiastical as well as other authority subserv-
ient to the State. Very briefly stated, these are the cardinal points
of his two great works.


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THOMAS HOBBES
7383
Of course, Hobbes's theories were bitterly assailed. Because of
his ethics he was dubbed "atheist "; and his opponents included
thinkers like Clarendon, Cudworth, Henry More, and Samuel Clarke.
He was one of the best hated men of his time. His teaching in the
'Leviathan' naturally brought the clergy about his ears, and the
work was burned at Oxford after his death. But his principles made
much stir, especially abroad; and looking back upon Hobbes from the
present vantage-point, it is plain that he is part of the great move-
ment for thought expansion in which Bacon, Galileo, Kepler, Harvey,
and Descartes are other parts. Locke probably was little influenced
by Hobbes; but the Dutch Spinoza and the German Leibnitz were,
and in France, Diderot, Rousseau, and De Maistre felt his thought.
Comparing his two main works, Hobbes is most satisfactory in his
political philosophy. His psychology is deduced, rather than estab-
lished by the Baconian method of induction, and his reading was not
wide enough for such an inquiry. As an explanation of man, his
philosophy is too fragmentary and too subjective, though brilliant,
original, often logical. But the 'Leviathan' is a complete exposition
from certain premises, and a wonderful example of philosophic think-
ing. Moreover, it is by far the most attractive of his writings as
literature. Its style is terse, weighty, at times scintillating with sar-
castic humor, again impressive with stately eloquence. Among works.
in its field it is remarkable for these qualities. Hobbes's style, says
Cunningham, who abhorred the other's views, "is perhaps the finest
model of philosophical composition;" and the praise hardly seems
excessive.
Thomas Hobbes overthrew scholasticism, showed the error in the
argument for innate ideas, prepared the way for Locke.
He was a
pioneer of thought in the seventeenth century; a liberalizing influ-
ence, however much it is necessary to modify his notions concerning
human nature and the State. The standard edition of his works is
that by Sir William Molesworth (1839-45), in sixteen volumes, five of
them in Latin.
OF LOVE
From Human Nature>
L
OVE, by which is understood the joy man taketh in the frui-
tion of any present good, hath been already spoken of in
the first section, chapter seven, under which is contained
the love men bear to one another or pleasure they take in one
another's company; and by which nature men are said to be
sociable. But there is another kind of love which the Greeks


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7384
THOMAS HOBBES
call Eros, and is that which we mean when we say that a man
is in love: forasmuch as this passion cannot be without diversity
of sex, it cannot be denied but that it participateth of that indefi-
nite love mentioned in the former section. But there is a great
difference betwixt the desire of a man indefinite and the same
desire limited ad hunc: and this is that love which is the great
theme of poets; but notwithstanding their praises, it must be
defined by the word need, for it is a conception a man hath of
his need of that one person desired. The cause of this passion
is not always nor for the most part beauty, or other quality in
the beloved, unless there be withal hope in the person that loveth;
which may be gathered from this, that in great difference of per-
sons the greater have often fallen in love with the meaner, but
not contrary. And from hence it is that for the most part they
have much better fortune in love whose hopes are built on some-
thing in their person than those that trust to their expressions
and service; and they that care less than they that care more:
which not perceiving, many men cast away their services as one
arrow after another, till in the end, together with their hopes
they lose their wits.
CERTAIN QUALITIES IN MEN
From 'Leviathan >
Hˆ
AVING showed in the precedent chapters that sense proceedeth
from the action of external objects upon the brain, or some
internal substance of the head; and that the passions pro-
ceed from the alterations there made, and continued to the heart:
it is consequent in the next place (seeing the diversity of degrees
of knowledge in divers men to be greater than may be ascribed
to the divers tempers of their brain) to declare what other causes
may produce such odds and excess of capacity as we daily ob-
serve in one man above another. As for that difference which
ariseth from sickness, and such accidental distempers, I omit the
same, as impertinent to this place; and consider it only in such
as have their health, and organs well disposed. If the differ-
ence were in the natural temper of the brain, I can imagine no
reason why the same should not appear first and most of all in
the senses; which being equal both in the wise and less wise,
infer an equal temper in the common organ (namely the brain)
of all the senses.


## p. 7385 (#183) ###########################################

THOMAS HOBBES
7385
But we see by experience that joy and grief proceed not in
all men from the same causes, and that men differ very much
in the constitution of the body; whereby that which helpeth and
furthereth vital constitution in one, and is therefore delightful,
hindereth it and crosseth it in another, and therefore causeth
grief. The difference therefore of wits hath its original from the
different passions, and from the ends to which the appetite lead-
eth them.
And first, those men whose ends are sensual delight, and gen-
erally are addicted to ease, food, onerations and exonerations of
the body, must needs be the less thereby delighted with those
imaginations that conduce not to those ends; such as are imagi-
nations of honor and glory, which, as I have said before, have
respect to the future. For sensuality consisteth in the pleasure
of the senses, which please only for the present, and take away
the inclination to observe such things as conduce to honor;
and consequently maketh men less curious and less ambitious,
whereby they less consider the way either to knowledge or other
power: in which two consisteth all the excellency of power cog-
nitive. And this is it which men call dullness; and proceedeth
from the appetite of sensual or bodily delight. And it may well
be conjectured that such passion hath its beginning from a gross-
ness and difficulty of the motion of the spirit about the heart.
The contrary hereunto is that quick ranging of mind de-
scribed Chap. iv. , Sect. 3, which is joined with curiosity of com-
paring the things that come into the mind, one with another: in
which comparison a man delighteth himself either with finding
unexpected similitude of things otherwise much unlike (in which
men place the excellency of fancy, and from whence proceed
those grateful similes, metaphors, and other tropes, by which both
poets and orators have it in their power to make things please
and displease, and show well or ill to others, as they like them-
selves), or else in discerning suddenly dissimilitude in things that
otherwise appear the same. And this virtue of the mind is that
by which men attain to exact and perfect knowledge; and the
pleasure thereof consisteth in continual instruction, and in distinc-
tion of places, persons, and seasons, and is commonly termed by
the name of judgment: for to judge is nothing else but to dis-
tinguish or discern; and both fancy and judgment are commonly
comprehended under the name of wit, which seemeth to be a
tenuity and agility of spirits, contrary to that restiness of the
spirits supposed in those that are dull.


## p. 7386 (#184) ###########################################

7386
THOMAS HOBBES
There is another defect of the mind, which men call levity,
which betrayeth also mobility in the spirits, but in excess. An
example whereof is in them that in the midst of any serious dis-
course have their minds diverted to every little jest or witty
observation; which maketh them depart from their discourse by
a parenthesis, and from that parenthesis by another, till at length
they either lose themselves, or make their narration like a dream,
or some studied nonsense. The passion from whence this pro-
ceedeth is curiosity, but with too much equality and indifference;
for when all things make equal impression and delight, they
equally throng to be expressed.
The virtue opposite to this defect is gravity, or steadiness; in
which the end being the great and master delight, directeth and
keepeth in the way thereto all other thoughts.
The extremity of dullness is that natural folly which may be
called stolidity; but the extreme of levity, though it be natural
folly distinct from the other, and obvious to every man's observa-
tion, I know not how to call it.
There is a fault of the mind called by the Greeks amathia,
which is indocibility, or difficulty in being taught; the which
must needs arise from a false opinion that they know already the
truth of what is called in question: for certainly men are not
otherwise so unequal in capacity, as the evidence is unequal
between what is taught by the mathematicians and what is com-
monly discoursed of in other books; and therefore if the minds
of men were all of white paper, they would almost equally be
disposed to acknowledge whatsoever should be in right method
and by right ratiocination delivered to them. But when men
have once acquiesced in untrue opinions, and registered them as
authentical records in their minds, it is no less impossible to
speak intelligibly to such men than to write legibly upon a
paper already scribbled over. The immediate cause therefore of
indocibility is prejudice; and of prejudice, false opinion of our
own knowledge. ·
Another and a principal defect of the mind is that which men
call madness; which appeareth to be nothing else but some imagi-
nation of some such predominacy above the rest, that we have
no passion but from it: and this conception is nothing else but
excessive vain-glory, or vain dejection; which is most probable
by these examples following, which proceed in appearance every
one of them from pride, or some dejection of mind. As first, we
have had the example of one that preached in Cheapside from a


## p. 7387 (#185) ###########################################

THOMAS HOBBES
7387
cart there, instead of a pulpit, that he himself was Christ, which
was spiritual pride or madness. We have had also divers exam-
ples of learned madness, in which men have manifestly been dis-
tracted upon any occasion that hath put them in remembrance of
their own ability. Amongst the learned men may be remembered
(I think also) those that determine of the time of the world's
end, and other such the points of prophecy. And the gallant
madness of Don Quixote is nothing else but an expression of
such
height of vain-glory as reading of romance may produce
in pusillanimous men. Also rage, and madness of love, are but
great indignations of them in whose brains is predominant con-
tempt from their enemies or their mistresses. And the pride
taken in form and behavior hath made divers men run mad, and
to be
so accounted, under the name of fantastic.
And as these are the examples of extremities, so also are there
examples too many of the degrees, which may therefore be well
accounted follies: as it is a degree of the first for a man, with-
out certain evidence, to think himself to be inspired, or to have
any other effect of God's holy spirit than other godly men have;
of the second, for a man continually to speak his mind in a cento
of other men's Greek or Latin sentences; of the third, much of
the present gallantry in love and duel. Of rage, a degree is
malice; and of fantastic madness, affectation.
As the former examples exhibit to us madness and the degrees
thereof, proceeding from the excess of self-opinion, so also there
be other examples of madness and the degrees thereof, proceed-
ing from too much vain fear and dejection; as in those melan-
choly men that have imagined themselves brittle as glass, or have
had some other like imagination: and degrees hereof are all those
exorbitant and causeless fears which we commonly observe in
melancholy persons.
OF ALMIGHTY GOD
From 'Leviathan'
H
ITHERTO of the knowledge of things natural, and of the
passions that arise naturally from them. Now forasmuch
as we give names not only to things natural but also to
supernatural, and by all names we ought to have some meaning
conception, it followeth in the next place to consider what
thoughts and imaginations of the mind we have, when we take
and


## p. 7388 (#186) ###########################################

7388
THOMAS HOBBES
into our mouths the most blessed name of God, and the names
of those virtues we attribute unto him; as also, what image
cometh into the mind at hearing the name of spirit, or the name
of angel, good or bad.
And forasmuch as God Almighty is incomprehensible, it fol-
loweth that we can have no conception or image of the Deity;
and consequently all his attributes signify our inability and defect
of power to conceive anything concerning his nature, and not any
conception of the same, excepting only this, That there is a God.
For the effects we acknowledge naturally do include a power
of their producing, before they were produced; and that power
presupposeth something existent that hath such power: and the
thing so existing with power to produce, if it were not eternal,
must needs have been produced by somewhat before it, and that
again by something else before that, till we come to an eternal
(that is to say, the first) Power of all powers, and first Cause of
all causes: and this is it which all men conceive by the name
of God, implying eternity, incomprehensibility, and omnipotency.
And thus all that will consider, may know that God is, though
not what he is: even a man that is born blind, though it be not
possible for him to have any imagination what kind of thing fire
is, yet he cannot but know that something there is that men call
fire, because it warmeth him.
And whereas we attribute to God Almighty seeing, hearing,
speaking, knowing, loving, and the like, by which names we un-
derstand something in men to whom we attribute them,— we
understand nothing by them in the nature of God. For, as it is
well reasoned, Shall not the God that made the eye, see, and the
ear, hear? so it is also, if we say, Shall God, which made the eye,
not see without the eye; or that made the ear, not hear without
the ear; or that made the brain, not know without the brain; or
that made the heart, not love without the heart? The attributes,
therefore, given unto the Deity are such as signify either our
incapacity or our reverence: our incapacity, when we say Incom-
prehensible and Infinite; our reverence, when we give him those
names which amongst us are the names of those things we most
magnify and commend, as Omnipotent, Omniscient, Just, Merci-
ful, etc. And when God Almighty giveth those names to himself
in the Scriptures, it is but anthropopathos,-that is to say, by
descending to our manner of speaking; without which we are not
capable of understanding him.


## p. 7389 (#187) ###########################################

7389
ERNST THEODOR WILHELM HOFFMANN
(1776-1822)
HI
OFFMANN'S character is one of the most singular and contra-
dictory in all that eccentric group of German Romanticists.
His sarcastic wit and flashes of humor made him popular
with his companions, and his society was much sought after; but he
inspired rather fear than love, for he was reckless in his indiscretions
and ruthless in giving offense. Of all art he took a serious view,-
"There is no art which is not sacred," he said, - and yet he felt a
repugnance to looking at things from their serious side: "These are
odiosa »
was one of his familiar phrases. In
his character as in his work there is much
that suggests Poe, and the quality of his
weird and often delicate fancy reminds one
of Hawthorne. The unquestioned mastery
of language and description that he displays
is weakened by his uncontrolled manner-
isms, and his wayward imagination often
injures his finest flights of fancy. He de-
lighted to make his studies of men in the
borderlands between reason and madness;
for him the step was always a short one
into the misty realm of ghosts and doubles
and startling visions. This love of the mar-
velous increased as he grew older. And
yet, as Professor Kuno Francke has said, "Hoffmann with all his
somnambulism and madness was at the same time a master of realis-
tic description and of psychological analysis. "
E. T. W. HOFFMANN
Ernst Theodor Wilhelm Hoffmann was born at Königsberg on
January 24th, 1776. The unpleasant relations subsisting between his
parents led to their separation when he was still a child; and to the
lack of happy home influences he attributed much of the misery
which his habits brought upon him in later years. He adopted the
legal profession, in which his father had distinguished himself, and
he began his career under promising auspices. He served a term as
assessor in Posen, in the then newly acquired Polish provinces; but
in consequence of a thoughtless bit of folly he was transferred to the
remote little town of Plozk, whither he went with his young Polish



## p. 7390 (#188) ###########################################

7390
ERNST THEODOR WILHELM HOFFMANN
wife in 1802, and where he gave himself up to wild and extrava-
gant gayety. Life seemed to open up brightly before him once more
when he received an appointment to Warsaw; but his career in that
"motley world" was brought to an abrupt end in 1806 by the troops
of Napoleon.
The bit of folly which led to Hoffmann's removal to Plozk reveals
incidentally his remarkable versatility. He was an excellent draughts-
man, and some of the best remembered caricatures of Napoleon were
made by him. It was a series of witty caricatures of prominent men
in Posen that gave offense to certain high officials there, upon whose
complaint he was removed. Throughout his life Hoffmann continued
to practice this art: during his "martyr years" in Bamberg he eked
out his scanty income by painting family portraits, and he acted as
scene-painter for a theatrical company with which he subsequently
became connected.
But his professional work in Bamberg was of quite a different
character. In the period of penury and hardship that followed the
loss of his government post, Hoffmann had gone to Berlin and cast
about for any employment that would afford him support. He
secured the position of musical director of the theatre at Bamberg.
Hoffmann was a composer of no mean talent. His work had suffi-
cient merit to win and hold the esteem of Weber, although in the
strife between the Italian school and the new national German
school, of which the 'Freischütz' was the symbol and example, Hoff-
mann sided with Spontini and the Italians. Nevertheless he was an
ardent admirer of the genius of Beethoven, for whose work he made
propaganda, and in his passionate admiration of Mozart he went so
far as to adopt the name of Amadeus instead of his own Wilhelm.
Indeed, to most of his readers, perhaps, he is known as E. T. A.
rather than E. T. W. Hoffmann. His masterly analysis of Don Gio-
vanni' is a choice piece of musical criticism, not without value to-day.
In his management of the Bamberg theatre Hoffmann was guided
by high artistic ideals; through his influence several of Calderon's
plays were produced. But the incubus of the Napoleonic wars rested
upon every enterprise, and the theatre had to be closed. Hoffmann
still held the post of correspondent of the Musical Gazette of Leipzig,
but had no adequate income. He led a wretched life as musical
director of a troupe which played alternately in Leipzig and in Dres-
den. He was in Dresden during the siege, and while the bullets
flew thick around him he wrote with enthusiastic exaltation one of
his best tales, 'Der Goldene Topf' (The Golden Pot), which Carlyle
translated for his collection of German romances. It was during
this period also that he set Fouqué's 'Undine' to music, and the
opera was produced at the Berlin opera-house.


## p. 7391 (#189) ###########################################

ERNST THEODOR WILHELM HOFFMANN
7391
All this is aside from Hoffmann's literary work, upon which his
fame is solely founded. His early years, with their varied experi-
ences in strange places and amid exciting scenes, supplied his pen
with inexhaustible material. His first characteristic contribution to
literature was the 'Fantasiestücke in Callots Manier' (Fantasy-pieces
in the style of Callot). These were a collection of his articles that
had been published in the Musical Gazette; striking pen sketches in
the manner of the celebrated and eccentric French engraver of the
early seventeenth century, Jacques Callot. In the following year,
1815, appeared 'Die Elixire des Teufels' (The Devil's Elixir). This
work made his literary reputation sure. Among the most widely
known of his numerous books is the collection of tales bearing the
general title of 'Die Serapionsbrüder' (The Serapion Brethren). The
name was derived from an association of kindred spirits in Berlin,
which happened to hold its first meeting on the night of the anniver-
sary of St. Serapion. Among the occasional guests of this coterie
was Oehlenschläger, who in introducing a young countryman of his
wrote to Hoffmann: "Dip him also a little into the magic sea of your
humor, respected friend, and teach him how a man can be a phi-
losopher and seer of the world under the ironical mantle of the mad-
house, and what is more, an amiable man as well. " These words
admirably characterize the peculiar quality of Hoffmann's strange
blending of wit, wisdom, and madness. His amiability appears prob-
ably most conspicuously in the 'Kater Murr' (Tom-Cat Murr's Views
of Life). The satire is keen but genial, and of the author's more
ambitious works this is his most finished production. But it is in the
shorter tales that the artist displays his highest excellence: the seri-
ous philosopher in the garb of a madman, and the tender-hearted
poet telling quaint fairy tales. Spiritually he is related to Jean Paul,
but missed his depth and greatness. The lyric swing, the wild imagi-
nation, the serious undercurrent beneath the sprightly wit, the biting
satire, and the playful fancy, assure him generations of readers among
his countrymen, and numerous translations attest his popularity in
England and America.
The rest of the story of Hoffmann's sad life is soon told. After
the peace which concluded the Napoleonic wars he was restored to
his official position in 1816, this time in the high tribunal of Berlin;
and his seniority was acknowledged as if he had served without a
break. Here he found himself in the midst of a choice and con-
genial circle: Hitzig his biographer, Fouqué, Chamisso. His dissolute
ways, however, never completely abandoned, led finally to the disease
which terminated in his death. He died literally inch by inch, though
eager to live in what pitiable condition soever; and to the end, when
his vital functions were almost suspended, his mind and imagination
remained unimpaired. He died on June 25th, 1822.


## p. 7392 (#190) ###########################################

7392
ERNST THEODOR WILHELM HOFFMANN
Hoffmann's writings, like himself, are full of strange contradic-
tions. He was an epicurean to the point of weakness and a stoic to
the point of heroic endurance. At the very portals of death he con-
tinued to write in his own fantastic vein; and at the same time was
inspired to compose a tale, 'Des Vetters Eckfenster' (The Cousin's
Corner Window), which is so unlike his usual style that lovers of
Émile Souvestre would take pleasure in its serene and grave phi-
losophy. "He preferred to remain a riddle to himself, a riddle which
he always dreaded to have solved," wrote a friend; and he demanded
that he should be regarded as a "sacred inexplicable hieroglyph. "
FROM THE GOLDEN POT›
ST
TIR not the emerald leaves of the palm-trees in soft sighing
and rustling, as if kissed by the breath of the morning wind?
Awakened from their sleep, they move, and mysteriously
whisper of the wonders which from the far distance approach
like tones of melodious harps! The azure rolls from the walls,
and floats like airy vapor to and fro; but dazzling beams shoot
through it; and whirling and dancing, as in jubilee of childlike
sport, it mounts and mounts to immeasurable height, and vaults
itself over the palm-trees. But brighter and brighter shoots beam
on beam, till in boundless expanse opens the grove where I be-
hold Anselmus. Here glowing hyacinths and tulips and roses lift
their fair heads; and their perfumes in loveliest sound call to the
happy youth: "Wander, wander among us, our beloved; for thou
understandest us! Our perfume is the longing of love; we love
thee, and are thine for evermore! " The golden rays burn in
glowing tones: "We are fire, kindled by love. Perfume is long-
ing; but fire is desire; and dwell we not in thy bosom? We are
thy own! " The dark bushes, the high trees, rustle and sound:
"Come to us, thou loved, thou happy one! Fire is desire; but
hope is our cool shadow. Lovingly we rustle round thy head;
for thou understandest us, because love dwells in thy breast! "
The brooks and fountains murmur and patter: "Loved one, walk
not so quickly by; look into our crystal! Thy image dwells in us,
which we preserve with love, for thou hast understood us. " In
the triumphal choir, bright birds are singing: "Hear us! Hear
us! We are joy, we are delight, the rapture of love! " But
anxiously Anselmus turns his eyes to the glorious temple which
rises behind him in the distance. The fair pillars seem trees,


## p. 7393 (#191) ###########################################

ERNST THEODOR WILHELM HOFFMANN
7393
and the capitals and friezes acanthus leaves, which in wondrous
wreaths and figures form splendid decorations. Anselmus walks
to the temple; he views with inward delight the variegated mar-
ble, the steps with their strange veins of moss. "Ah, no! ” cries
he, as if in the excess of rapture, "she is not far from me now;
she is near! " Then advances Serpentina, in the fullness of beauty
and grace, from the temple; she bears the golden pot, from which
a bright lily has sprung. The nameless rapture of infinite long-
ing glows in her meek eyes; she looks at Anselmus and says,
"Ah! dearest, the lily has sent forth her bowl; what we longed
for is fulfilled. Is there a happiness to equal ours? " Anselmus
clasps her with the tenderness of warmest ardor; the lily burns
in flaming beams over his head. And louder move the trees and
bushes; clearer and gladder play the brooks; the birds, the shining
insects dance in the waves of perfume; a gay, bright, rejoicing
tumult, in the air, in the water, in the earth, is holding the fes-
tival of love! Now rush sparkling streaks, gleaming over all the
bushes; diamonds look from the ground like shining eyes; strange
vapors are wafted hither on sounding wings; they are the spirits
of the elements, who do homage to the lily, and proclaim the
happiness of Anselmus. Then Anselmus raises his head, as if
encircled with a beamy glory. Is it looks? Is it words? Is it
song? You hear the sound: "Serpentina! Belief in thee, love of
thee has unfolded to my soul the inmost spirit of nature! Thou
hast brought me the lily, which sprung from gold, from the pri-
meval force of the world, before Phosphorus had kindled the
spark of thought; this lily is knowledge of the sacred harmony
of all beings; and in this do I live in highest blessedness for
evermore. Yes, I, thrice happy, have perceived what was high-
est; I must indeed love thee forever, O Serpentina! Never shall
the golden blossoms of the lily grow pale; for, like belief and
love, this knowledge is eternal. "
Carlyle's Translation.
XIII-463


## p. 7394 (#192) ###########################################

ERNST THEODOR WILHELM HOFFMANN
7394
NUTCRACKER AND THE KING OF MICE
From The Serapion Brethren ›
As
S SOON as Marie was alone, she set rapidly to work to do the
thing which was chiefly at her heart to accomplish, and
which, though she scarcely knew why, she somehow did
not like to set about in her mother's presence. She had been
holding Nutcracker, wrapped in the handkerchief, carefully in
her arms all this time; and she now laid him softly down on the
table, gently unrolled the handkerchief, and examined his wounds.
Nutcracker was very pale, but at the same time he was smil-
ing with a melancholy and pathetic kindliness which went straight
to Marie's heart.
"O my darling little Nutcracker! " said she very softly, “don't
you be vexed because brother Fritz has hurt you so: he didn't
mean it, you know; he's only a little bit hardened with his sol-
diering and that; but he's a good nice boy, I can assure you: and
I'll take the greatest care of you and nurse you till you're quite,
quite better and happy again. And your teeth shall be put in
again for you, and your shoulder set right; godpapa Drosselmeier
will see to that; he knows how to do things of the kind—”
Marie could not finish what she was going to say, because at
the mention of godpapa Drosselmeier, friend Nutcracker made a
most horrible ugly face. A sort of green sparkle of much sharp-
ness seemed to dart out of his eyes. This was only for an
instant, however; and just as Marie was going to be terribly
frightened, she found that she was looking at the very same nice,
kindly face, with the pathetic smile, which she had seen before,
and she saw plainly that it was nothing but some draught of air
making the lamp flicker that had seemed to produce the change.
"Well! " she said, "I certainly am a silly girl to be so easily
frightened, and think that a wooden doll could make faces at
me! But I'm too fond really of Nutcracker, because he's so
funny, and so kind and nice; and so he must be taken the great-
est care of, and properly nursed till he's quite well. "
With which she took him in her arms again, approached the
cupboard, and kneeling down beside it, said to her new doll:-
"I'm going to ask a favor of you, Miss Clara: that you will
give up your bed to this poor, sick, wounded Nutcracker, and
make yourself as comfortable as you can on the sofa here.
Remember that you're quite well and strong yourself, or you
-


## p. 7395 (#193) ###########################################

ERNST THEODOR WILHELM HOFFMANN
7395
wouldn't have such fat red cheeks, and that there are very
few dolls indeed who have as comfortable a sofa as this to lie
upon.
>>
and
Miss Clara, in her Christmas full dress, looked very grand
disdainful, and said not so much as "Muck! "
«Very well," said Marie, "why should I make such a fuss,
and stand on any ceremony? " took the bed and moved it for-
ward; laid Nutcracker carefully and tenderly down on it; wrapped
another pretty ribbon, taken from her own dress, about his hurt.
shoulder, and drew the bed-clothes up to his nose.
―――――――
"But he shan't stay with that nasty Clara," she said, and
moved the bed, with Nutcracker in it, up to the upper shelf, so
that it was placed near the village in which Fritz's hussars had
their cantonments. She closed the cupboard and was moving
away to go to bed, when-listen, children! - there began a low
soft rustling and rattling, and a sort of whispering noise, all
round, in all directions, from all quarters of the room,- behind
the stove, under the chairs, behind the cupboards. The clock on
the wall "warned" louder and louder, but could not strike.
Marie looked at it, and saw that the big gilt owl which was on
the top of it had drooped its wings so that they covered the
whole of the clock, and had stretched its cat-like head, with the
crooked beak, a long way forward. And the "warning" kept
growing louder and louder, with distinct words: "Clocks, clock-
ies, stop ticking. No sound, but cautious warning. ' Mousey
king's ears are fine. Prr-prr. Only sing 'poom, poom'; sing the
olden song of doom! prr-prr; poom, poom. Bells go chime!
Soon rings out the fated time! " And then came
<< Poom! poom! "
quite hoarsely and smothered, twelve times.
Marie grew terribly frightened, and was going to rush away
as best she could, when she noticed that godpapa Drosselmeier
was up on the top of the clock instead of the owl, with his yel-
low coat-tails hanging down on both sides like wings. But she
manned herself, and called out in a loud voice of anguish:-
"Godpapa! godpapa! what are you up there for? Come down
to me, and don't frighten me so terribly, you naughty, naughty
godpapa Drosselmeier! »
But then there began a sort of wild kickering and queaking,
everywhere, all about, and presently there was a sound as of
running and trotting, as of thousands of little feet behind the
walls and thousands of little lights began to glitter out between


## p. 7396 (#194) ###########################################

7396
ERNST THEODOR WILHELM HOFFMANN
the chinks of the woodwork. But they were not lights; no, no!
little glittering eyes; and Marie became aware that everywhere
mice were peeping and squeezing themselves out through every
chink. Presently they were trotting and galloping in all directions
over the room; orderly bodies, continually increasing, of mice,
forming themselves into regular troops and squadrons, in good
order, just as Fritz's soldiers did when manoeuvres were going
on.