'^am^ ^ PS 3500 .T3 S5 1916 Copy 1 kSHRX •hilt lii! iiHi })i>.'ii ;tljif llill If H ri iliil!: m i)\ 111' l!!. \\\m\\ ^OO (km§it^t ..^-^ i COPMRIGHT DEPOSHi THE SINGER By J. T. BOSTON THE GORHAM PRESS 1916 Copyright, 1916, by Richard G. Badger All Rights Reserved OCT -2 I9!6 The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. CI,A438666 The singer dedicated, (con amore, and cer- tain notes,) to those whom it may concern By J. T. ''The world is a glass wherein we may contem- plate the eternal power and majesty of God ; it is that great book of so large a character that a man may run and read it." — Pure has. "Justice is their virtue." — Daniel, "Generosity their vice." — Anon. CONTENTS PAGE Remark 8 The Singer 9 Shorter Jets Remark 132 Love in 1915 133 Werther Exhumed 134 William in Belgium 136 Ballad of England's Secret 137 David in Heaven 145 War-Poetry 148 A Quarter of a Century of Song 151 The Advancement of Learning 154 The Giant 155 Flowers 156 The Last Stand 157 THE SINGER REMARK On the advice of a friend whose opinion I value very highly, I have abandoned my original intention of giving this collection the title of THE SAFETY-VALVE Perhaps, as he hinted, this does have a mechanical tang about it, and suggests rather an escape of super- heated steam (he was much too polite to say 'gas,') than the gentle effluence of emotion, which I thought it conjured up in a decidedly poetical manner, — quite in our best modern vein. He proposed the caption SONGS OF PRAISE, which my natural modesty forbids me to adopt. Praise, from some lips, is presumptuous. So also is blame. Therefore, I choose the temperate middle course, and neither praise nor blame, but relate — for the sake of the story, only. — J. T. THE SINGER It was long ago in the harsh, dead past ; He was first of his line, mayhap the last. Young was the Singer but versed in wile, And the light of his lips was a doubtful smile. One came to him, — his trusted friend : "Our kind Prince bids yourself attend And wait on his wish in the Silver Hall Where he holds right royal festival. There is forward a joyous joust of wit, The tables are spread and the tapers lit, And all sit down to their bread and wine — Soldier and Sage, the grave Divine, Sweet white nuns who know not fault And merrier women bitter as salt, — A goodly sprinkling of carles and thegns, (For our Prince is a man with blood in his veins), - In short, of all sorts a gathering Whose pleasant wish is to hear you sing." "Tell, I pray, your hidden rede," The Singer smiled; "has the young prince need Of such as I when the great are there? Can my song make the fair more fair, Is mine a tune to woo or win Some fresher mistress to daintier sin?" "Yea; I will speak the naked truth: All day have they jousted with goodly sooth, 9 • Song upon song and tale on tale, But equally all, — none might prevail ; So strange the lays and so excellent The various ways of their merriment, That the Prince himself might not decide " Who should wear the bays in lawful pride . . . Then I thought of the songs you sang to me When my head but reached to your worshipped knee — (Twelve years ago! how long it seems, But I hear them still in my happier dreams), — And I felt once more your sterner lays Strike on my heart in swift amaze With the wonder of manhood and infinite night. So I said in my mind; 'His song will smite Straight through their hearts, — a flaming sword. And they'll hail him Master with one accord !' " Again he smiled on his follower; "Did thoughts make all this busy stir?" "Nay, Friend and Master, memory Spoke with my tongue, o'ermastering me. So I cried aloud: 'Prince! I know one Who will vanquish these Stars as the mighty Sun Slays the night with a single shaft;' Then the Prince looked over his Court and laughed : 'O Stars! would you see the Sun arise?' 'Yea!' rang out the shout, 'though he blind our eyes!' 'So be it then! If he lightens mirth. Or throws new splendours over our earth Deepening laughter in life's cold shade So we look on death nowise afraid, lO If he shows us valleys we never knew, And rivers undreamed, I swear to you No more shall he hunger or go athirst, And ere I eat shall he eat first; He shall want for naught in this fruitful land. He shall sing alone at his soul's command. — Though the nations crown him with iron and scorn A gift of God is the singer born: Go, bid him hither, his friend you are, If he is the Sun I will be a Star.' " Sad was the Singer, no more he smiled : "O innocent heart of an innocent child, My one disciple and priceless gain After infinite years of infinite pain. How can you know what the gray world longs — The passionate grief in its changeless wrongs, The hope that is greater than men or years. The doubts they have watered with all their tears? Men know it not, yet they moan in sleep For the living springs their memories keep: Though the fountains gush from the waters of grief They freshen a Tree to eternal leaf, And all would behold that living green That few have dreamed and fewer seen. . . . What should I sing when their woe is real, Is mine a smile to soothe and heal? Shall words of mine make misery less Or clothe the poor in their wretchedness? Oh, how could you know the world, so young! — Or I with my breathing songs unsung? Nought have I sung or even said. And the vast night thunders overhead. . . . Yet will I sing if the Prince desire, II He too, perchance may taste the fire; I will do my best, — let the soul go free — For you, lone friend, have believed in me." "I knew you would ! and I know you'll win, Those other songs seemed so weak and thin ; Which will you sing them. Master mine? That clear, keen chant of the sparkling brine, Or the midnight's hosts over uttermost seas — Or that golden one with the summer's bees?" Then smiled the Singer: "Trusting Friend, Let my done old songs have a peaceful end. Whatever I sing shall be naked-new. And all my words shall be doubly true; I will sing for all people," He smiled, and said: "My own true tongue shall win me bread; Each man shall have what he would hear, I will comfort the coward and drive out fear; The harlot I'll praise with right good will And nuns shall land my double skill; When I glorify virtue, the courtesan Shall smile in her heart, 'This is my man!' I will please them all with a two-edged phrase. For wisdom tarries in many ways. . . . If tears may cleanse the Magdalene Men shall not call my song unclean; If they follow a false guide down to hell My bitter reproach may please them well. For each may damn his foes with fire When he hears in my song his own desire; Or one may turn from the Past and bless Man sublime in his nakedness, 12 And say in his mind, *I am -divine, No god shall ever have groan of mine, We are the gods, this singer saith. And the old gods die a dawnless death — Like smoke they arose from the mind of man, Their end was told when the days began — When the first sun rose they vanished as dreams, For man's own thought is that Sun's keen beams/ But this man's brother hearing my word — The selfsame song his brother heard. Shall say: 'He is gathered unto our fold. True is he, and God's own gold His wonderful harp with its silver strings — Tears of the Saints, — and the song he sings Their griefs forgotten in living praise, — Hymns to the Highest, our Ancient of Days, — Praise that is pure as those holy tears. Endless and strong as the chain of years'. . . . If seed must fall on shallow soil Some will pluck the fruit of my song and spoil Or better, — who knows? — delights of the mind In far-ofif echoes, mayhap refined, Perchance made coarse, thus, some may sing After my voice, remembering: — 'They trample my pearls, but what care I, If they make of this earth a filthy sty? Is it grief of mine if their sodden brains Tingle with joy when my soul complains? The ancient stars are untroubled yet. And they shall remember when men forget ; Our tears are not all of this gray world's woe. The seas know grief we shall never know . . . Vast is the web and splendidly spun, Larger than us is the lordly Sun: Time is a marvel no man designed, 13 Vast above time is the living mind : Though for some the stars are cold and far And men more precious than any star, Till man towers over all Time, supreme Over stars as sparks in his flaming dream — Imagining Time with an infinite might Makes all things for man's delight — Though some false prophets teach these things They are not in the song our compeer sings' . . Foolish or wise ? not I will say, And each may travel his chosen way; He may find black hell in his own black heart. He shall not find me, for I dwell apart." . . He was laughing now as he thought and planned. Till his follower asked, "Will they understand If you only offer them far-off things? Why not Tove,' — as everyone sings — Even a carle or broken thegn Would clap and clap till you sang again." "Right, as ever! clear-seeing Friend; Who would scale the heights must ever ascend;" And the Singer smiled his doubtful smile, — "But some say aught of the body is vile And Nature's self a thing obscene — False or true, what a word may mean ! Love, — of the body? Lust, — of the mind? But fear you not, I will sing one kind; Carles and princes, courtesans, nuns. All know a way that one love runs. Though in following after fickle feet 14 Their various wendings seldom meet — This will I sing as my breath is given And none shall die of love unshriven." Then with a curious smile he said : "I can imagine some white old head Solemnly nodding when it hears My song of love; — 'For all these years Have I waited for one to sing the Truth ; Love is not shown to callow youth : Strong is the love of men, and true, But the mind's deep faith is known to few; Though maidens follow and women cling They stay not love on his vaster wing ; Though they touch his feet in their mortal night Few know Love or whither his flight: Some say 'flesh' and some say 'air. Surely his breathing-place is there?' But the mind's true faith is purer than this And draws but death from the spirit's kiss, Shared by none it dwells alone, Yet the chosen may enter and find their own.' " "If your song of love," said his follower, "Can do these things and let each infer What is next his heart, they will be content. And I'll not ask how 'Love' is meant. But one other thing all are doing now — Wiping the sweat from labour's brow. All those great singers who strove to-day In the Silver Hall had much to say (For they seldom sang) of the 'common man,' 15 — Or 'brother,' some called hfm, — many a plan For 'federation' and 'strong uplift' — All through their 'song's diviner gift, The silent voice to the heart alone That cheers the weary and stills his moan' These men put forward in confidence That 'spirit and matter are one in sense, One pulse of the Infinite through our veins Diversely felt, but evil restrains The free expression ' of self — such Their preludes; I understood not much Of all that followed, but only heard As an oft-recurring refrain one word — 'Labour,' and one loud peal of 'lowly' — Or, now I remember, perchance 'twas 'holy' — So strong were their voices I could not hear. If you sing not thus, you'll lose, I fear. Your present rewards and pass unheard." "Sweet, some say, is a joy deferred" — The Singer smiled his inscrutable smile, "If I sang for fame were it worth my while To ape those others? — Be not afraid. There are men in my song and many a maid, All sorts I sing if they care to hear. And God, not I, gave the listening ear. Am I or the ear deformed to blame If they who hear put my song to shame? — If anew one sings it, mishearing me, Chanting ; 'This leader set me free, I will echo afar in my own high thought The fearless thing my master taught; — l6 Wide is the world and men abound Who are not shallow nor yet profound, These are the sinews of war and state, They shall praise my song, saying, 'we are great; The words of this singer none shall gainsay — Let us crown his brows with the deathless bay:' Then with his lips this man may laugh, 'Song is the wheat, nations but chafif; I will take their bays, — may their business thrive For their foolish breath keeps the Fire alive; Without their gold I might not live, Though they understand not what I give Let them take and make of it what they will And wallow in torpor after their fill'. . . . If one, my Friend should report me so Need I rise from the dead to strike a blow In my self-defense or his support? — My own true song is the fit retort. Another shall swear I am one of them Wearing life's thorns as a diadem, And the humble shall say, 'How he loved our kind, He sang sweet praise of the People's mind : Great above kings the People are For they follow their destiny as a star Leading them on till the many meet. One in their might, and smelling sweet — Annointed with righteousness, yea, with love. Meek as their Master who leans from above — In His arms a lamb, and gentleness Kind in His eyes that heal and bless'. . . . Many will call me insincere, Shall I bare my soul to their easy sneer 17 Or spread my life for their filthy praise? Let God be with them, I go my ways." But he said these things with a merry jest, And what he meant his God knows best. Troubled now, the younger man Doubtfully said: *'A well- thought plan. . . . But in truth, O Master, do' you scorn The faithful, the humble and love's forlorn? Have you nought of pity for mankind weak Wantonly erring, or man grown meek — Broken under the years that bruise? Do the hard bright words of your song refuse Comfort to those who grudge their days. Who faint and fall by forgotten ways?" Smiling no longer save in his eyes, The Singer answered : "Strange surprise On my strange glad day such questions bring; Have you, lone Friend, not heard me sing? Would you have me interrupt my song by rules ? Such labours delight the hearts of fools. Whatever I sing, that shall be true As I see the Truth my young years knew. For the cold nights hide my fire away And my light grows dimmer, ray by ray". ^*0 Master mine! if I doubt again Let your love for me be swiftly slain ; Your true song echoes what all men hear. Each in his heart, but a numbing fear Chills the life in me down to dread, For their cowardly wrath will be on your head i8 When you waken in some the slumbering brute, And I would, O Master, your tongue were mute!" Thus parleying, they reached the Hall — The Silver Hall, where expectant, all Turned from their broken bread, and smiled; But the smile went out when they saw him mild, Humble of mien and yet austere; And there stole on their hearts a nameless fear. Then one to his neighbour whispering Said: ''He is the Sun and the Singers' King;" And she replied in swift surprise, — "There is that which I fear in his awful eyes." "Death," said another, "surely wears A sneer like that his cold lip bears?" "Nay;" spoke her sister, "he is kind. The light of his lips would heal the blind." In silence all the throng rose up. And the Prince came down, in his hand a cup. Offering wine, but the Singer said: — "The life of my song Is not wine-red. It needs not grapes nor their ruddy flame For it rushes like fire whence all song came — From the flaming oceans beneath all truth. Whence dreams arise and the visions of youth; For the song I sing shall stream through me As a iiery tongue from that uttermost sea, 19 If aught I utter worthily Praise the Sea, but thank not me." Answered the Prince then, marvelling: — "As you will, let the free tongue sing." A hush fell over the wondering Court: Here was a man of strange report, "Proclaiming himself? — a braggart he?" And they sat them down uneasily. A pause: he lifted his voice and sang: At the first full note the hushed hearts rang, Thrilled with the wonder of one clear star Shining on valleys and waters afar — Ages beyond the Sun's first dawn, Deep in a night forever gone. . . . In afteryears when they heard that note Soar in the night and slowly float Through dawnless dreams like a golden sun, Over lives accomplished and deeds undone, Over untold ages yet to be, Under windless waves of the uttermost sea, — No words they knew might ever recall Its splendid rise or imperial fall, Nor might their wise men prophesy If that star will arise in a mortal sky. "Before their eyes that Sun went dim" — One who remembered thus wrote of him ; "Then he showed them a valley where shadows dwell, To some it seemed a forgotten hell, 20 Others leaned forward with eager eyes Their fair lips moulded to 'Paradise!' This too passed out, a thing of sleep, A memory no man may keep. . . . Through untravelled ways a perilous guide, By mountainous lands and waters wide He led them on in hope and fear; By marsh and fen and starlit mere Where huge bulks huddled uncouth and dim, Up staggering crags they followed him, — Leaped the abyss at his airiest nod And walked on the thunders, lightning-shod. In awe they trod that black-ribbed place Where the flame-haired meteors blindly race Shorn of their locks ere they redly sear The tingling blue of an atmosphere; Then, quitting those fields for a vaster mead They soared with him on his pinions freed — Clean of all airs that trammel and cling, — Cleft through the ether on tireless wing." What were the things his music told. Is the Song remembered, the Singer cold? Long in the afteryears one said: "I followed a host the Singer led; Vast was the throng, but a night more vast Swallowed it up as sand that is cast A handful, to stay the hungering sea, And a storm blew strong from Infinity. . . Where the throng sank under, I saw a vine Spring from the dark and intertwine Tendrils of suns with nebulae Clusterwise, a tracery 21 Of rustling fire over trellised night Whereon red grapes of massive light Shone in bunches thick on the vine, And drop by drop an amber wine Fell from the clusters in flaming spheres Golden as noon or corn's ripe ears Rich in the harvest, — suns these were, Large as our own, but mellower; And this vast vine was the Living Tree Whose fruit renews perpetually Flame in the stars and fire in day. For its root is the light suns cast away. Tendril by spiral tendril clung Closer to night where closely hung Grapes now purple, now clear sea-green. Changing as pearls with a glossy sheen, — Dimmed as the wind from Infinity Sprinkled their globules dustily With worlds thick-strown and worn-out stars ; But as the bloom nor fouls nor mars Fruits of Earth when the spring is gone. Those ripened clusters fairer shone, And it seemed I heard a far voice sing: 'Now is the hour for the gathering; Now will the aeons bind up their sheaves, And the vine shall shed its flaming leaves — Fires on all ages yet unborn. For the vine's last day is heaven's first morn ; This is life's first autumntide. But the life in the seed shall ever abide. What never began shall never end; Though under all ages the fires descend Like eternal corn shall they spring again As the grass flames forth from the frozen plain. . . .* 2,Z Once more I saw the host he led, High on the vine-leaves overhead — Transparent as fire the vast leaves grew, On each a red stain smouldering through Showed where the grains of that handful fell — Ruby as molten hearts in hell ; Stronger blew the freshened gale, Could the clinging might of the stems prevail Against the life in that ghostly force? The first leaf fluttered a spiral course. Aimlessly wheeled and idly spun Red through the void like a drunken sun, Thus fell the first leaf; suddenly A wild blast broke like a tidal sea Down on the vine from the void vast night. And nothingness strewn with flakes of light Streamed past my vision: a boundless flood. An orgy of amber and flaming blood, A torrent of life and burning wine Rushed from the roots of the riven vine, — Gushed from the tendrils that burst and bled. And the life in each cluster crimsonly shed Rained on the torrent its scarlet heart — A fierce quick rain asting and asmart. Then was the whole vine rooted up ; Life poured the wine. Death held the cup, But whose harsh feet had trodden the press Only a god's grim mind might guess. I looked where the bottomless river ran ; From rim to rim of its infinite span The thick-strewn leaves of the rent vine raced — Crimson streaks, all parallel traced As sparks on the night from the forge that roars By titans blown on Sicilian shores. . . . 23 Each living streak was an erstwhile flake, And I felt the floor of Eternity shake Under a clamour that stunned the night, For no lone sky in its fall may smite Chaos to wonder or any sound, But a multitude rustling on Time's profound Filled the ages with choral strife — Enharmonized peals of reverberant life; And thus on the base of things I stood. Jarred by the grinding amplitude Of those various voices that swelled and pealed Louder and stronger in wills revealed To master all aeons, each voice its own ; But over them all rang a rising tone, Grave at first, from the torrent it rose An overtone of a wind that blows Warm with summer on autumn's trees; With a shaken moan as of outraged seas The low note trembled and rocked the void, Drowned all discords, as God destroyed All voice but its own and pealed supreme. For this was the voice of the Living Stream Where its volume towered in pent-up might An awful instant above all night — As the leaves raced by with a crisp dry hiss — Thundered and plunged adown the abyss. . Over all chaos the red life sprayed For the Living Stream was rent and frayed By the billowing blast from Infinity: Then I saw the Dawn of Divinity. . . . Lo ! those flaming leaves were seized and hurled Each as a universe, world on world, Each as a boundless firmament — 24 Whirled with a vortical life unspent Sheer and wide on the sundering Vast. I saw one leaf on the striding blast Loiter and pause ere it fluttered small — A transient gleam on Death's black pall, As a mote that swims athwart the dark Catching the ray of a glow-worm's spark, And through the length of its central vein As a slumbering fire ran a crimson stain : Then I knew in my mind, *a grain of the sand That first god strewed with relentless hand On the unsoiled sea is living there, Transmuted anew to stranger despair; Thus are the gods born, thus,' I said, 'Shall a firmament flame from the seed of the dead.' Once more through the Song the Singer sang His first note pealed supreme, so rang Purer than hope over this vast thing . . . Thus it was that I heard him sing." But he who told the Singer's word In the afteryears, may have falsely heard; Another recalling as from a dream This selfsame thing, said: "Why blaspheme As this rash man in the Singer's name?" Then, proud as a rose; "I have no shame, No cowardly fear," said she, ''to tell That he sang my lover back from hell 25 Where I know full-well he burns for me; Yea, ours was a strange adultery. ... I saw once more my true love's eyes Under the splendour of midnight skies, And a wind surged through the olive grove Where old love slain with young love strove, So all the branches bent one way — I shall see those trees till my dying day . . . All things came back with the Singer's voice . . . Not to slumber in heaven would I change my choice!" A silent priest, when he told his beads In his last sad hour, said : 'Where he leads May I follow him still though ever afar; I have dreamed the wonder of vine and star All these years . . . but what of our host — I will tell you friend, for I yield the ghost . Down from those vaster meads we came Led by the Singer's changeful flame; Prince and courtesan, priest and carle Followed his feet on the heaving marl That hissed and spouted in sullen jets Crimson as blood when the battle-sun sets; By worlds new-born whose fiery cauls Outsmouldered the splendours of hell's red palls Where they lift and deepen with sultry breath Draping the damned in their second death ; By frozen stars whose icy glare Blinded the night to a leprous stare. By trudging moons that dogged the dead Where senile suns reeled overhead Splintered and riven to rotten crags Shapeless, obscene as the foul night-hags, 26 The Singer led, and we followed him Till a Plain leaned up from the chasm's rim". . But he passed out with his last bead told, And the flaming thing on his lips fell cold. A Sage, who remembered that starry place Told in his old age: "Sheer from space As a scintillant disk the galaxy wheeled ; What he deemed a Plain, shone out, revealed A swarm of outnumbered stars revolved In spinning whorls, and our minds resolved Misty wisps of it into spray, The spray to drops as a sudden Day Drenched our vision with absolute light. . . Then the ages marched before my sight. . . . Till gathering, ever swifter passed As foam in a tempest's briny blast ; Spangled with fire the aeons were As with stars, but dustier. More quickly strown than stars on that shore Where thunders time's ocean forevermore. The spindrift stung my blinded eyes, Lashed my mind to a dim surmise That here were all winds of all ages met In a tempest supreme the stars forget; Time was a coiled-up serpent, dead. And on wings not of years the ages sped Aglitter with galaxies blown from the spray, And the dream of Permanence flamed away, Red for an instant, ere whitely wan On those cleaving wings as the smile of dawn." This selfsame Sage, whose manhood's years 27 Had wasted their promise on crystal spheres Dreaming in vain of the Night's true face And of eyes that watch unseen from space, Told ere his death what the Song revealed, (Truth was in those dark eyes concealed,) He said: * 'Though to you who pray I seem To curse my God, — as the fools blaspheme Who know all things and as men pretend To the wisdom of God, — this is my end; Would I face the Light my lips one lie ? I fear you not for I shall die, I will this thing ; it shall come to pass. . . . Once more I behold as in a glass What the Singer showed so long ago. . . . I see his looms weave to and fro Through argent robes for eternity The threads of life and its mystery: As a prophet he stood on a mountain-peak. From the valley below I heard him speak; Though his words were mingled of cloud and fire I heard the end of my life's desire, For his words were an epic of life, and the scroll Of manifold heavens, man's larger soul, And I heard the answer to questioning thought ; The universe came to my mind unsought — Yielded its mystery up like a smile. Then I said in my doubt: 'Here surely guile? Is the meaning of all so simple a thing?' . . . Oh ! you who' seek, when you hear one sing Whose fire gushes up from the living Sea, Give ear to him attentively; Remember this when my clay is cold If you must forget what the Singer told: There is truth in song that is living song, 28 Elusive truth, though men search long They shall see at last the fire one found Ages before them in life's profound: Give ear, and rerhember! . . . Thus I saw Where the Singer burned, eternal law, — The thing I had groped for all my days Lay smiling and bland before my gaze . . . But as an ocean lacks a soul Till moons or winds long billows roll Over withered deserts desolate, I knew that smile was uncreate Of mind, bereft of meaning; thus I turned from snares most perilous Then through my gloom a golden note Slowly pealed, and sublimely smote The void to more than a living dream. For this was the breath of the vacant scheme, And the whole unwound, a simplicity — A moving wonder of unity ; His first full note swelled through the whole And gave cold meaning a breathing soul. Give ear! I will tell how the Singer sang What All Things mean, and whence all sprang, Whither they go, and how shall end — If aught ever ends; give ear! my Friend, Priest and Confessor, Comrade, hear!" Then all fell back in a beastlike fear And a shrill voice cracked in terror thin : "Great God ! it is the Unpardonable Sin !" From the chamber of death like swine they fled. Brave with the dawn, they found him dead : 29 "Come, Brothers! Consign his soul to Hell!" What they did with his body their chronicles tell. . . . A daughter of Joy when her end drew near After many a weary bitter year — Long after all others who heard him slept, Said of the Singer: "One stave I kept, One full ripe sheaf of his golden song A comfort through sin and shameless wrong, This was the Prelude's peaceful end. Though I walked the thunders, might I amend The woeful joy of my ruined ways. Though I dreamed with him through the aeons' haze Of glories gone over and passed away, Were the Stars for me, or the River? — Nay. Oh the World he sang was young and clean; I have never seen a field so green Or a kindly sky so mild and blue As the glad land's heaven he led me through: Birds flew there that I called my own, A meadowlark sang for me alone And I laid me dow^n by a river's brim Dreaming, dreaming, alas of him I shall touch no more though I join the dead, For he loved a maid and they were wed. . . . Under those skies he thought me true. The stains on me he never knew, Nor in those fields might he ever know. There, the sweet winds ever freshening blow Taint from the foulest, even I Dreamed I was clean as the summer sky. None roamed that World but we happy two 30 And all our joy shone young and new; Never Eden was so fair Nor Paradise so strange to care As our own green glade in the dawn's cool place And my love bent down and touched my face. . . . This thing of all the Song I kept, And when he ceased, I turned, and wept." As this woman told, he ended thus His Prelude: straightway clamourous Silence fell on their wonderment; Prince and carle in deep content Gazed on each other with absent eyes, Dreaming of vines over drifting skies. Then asked the Prince; — "This your Song? May I put the question to all our throng?" "Nay," said the Singer, "only the start, But ask, if you will, have I touched one heart?" So spoke the Prince: \ "Shall he sing for us? You have heard his Prelude, yourselves discuss Its merits or faults, myself will wait — Your speech is free; I do not dictate." Neighbor turned to neighbor then: "Nought says he of beasts or men, Nought of our State, of our People no thing; 31 y I find his Song mere bewildering." But some made answer in mild surprise: **Saw you not the well-sown skies Heard you not his first full note? If your mind is deaf need I requote What your dull ears heard and hearkened not? 'How has he lightened my heavy lot,' You ask, 'has he cheered my water to wine?' No; nor was his Song a whine. Has he shown you no great thing to do? Come close, let me whisper it to you; — In your life's broad field be diligent, If you lack a mind your good intent At last may win you a golden crown; Rejoice in your strength! Be not cast down That the stars are forever over your head. That the Singer gave you dreams for bread ; Labour right well, you shall have your toil, He can sow no seed where there is no soil." And some, as the wonder died away (Wise these men for their beards were gray,) Wagged their heads and doubtful grew; "What is true in his song cannot be new. What new, not true, — it controverts Much that our older Song asserts. Throws dust in the face of clear-eyed Truth, — Wisdom is not given to youth: With age he may find the true Sublime — Man and Life; let us bide our time." Across the table a young man sat, Smoothly white were his hands, and fat. As he crumbled a crust and sipped his wine 32 He sighed ; — "I thought the song divine — In certain passages, — quite a gem — A Star in Song's bright diadem;" Then, to the graybeard judges: birs, I hear you speak of an older Verse ; You confuse two elements, Sense with Sound, Now, our Modern Song is more profound — " He spoke much wisdom with delicate grace Till the graybeards yawned in his fatuous face, And openly mocked him, saying; — "Here Is that Judge we have sought for many a year; Wiser than us, this young upstart Languidly murmurs of 'plangent art,' 'Obvious artifice,' — soaring high He coins a phrase, 'the lyric cry' — Or steals the same from the dead old great ; 'We must, kind Sirs, appreciate!' — Let him work at the trade he understands. His brain is smooth as his blameless hands." So they quarrelled like curs in a kennel fight, And God alone knows which was right. Impatient, the Prince now turned to one Large with authority:^ "This the Sun? I. A learned friend, to whom I appealed for help in regard to the interpretation, etc., of the several ver- sions of the incidents, recorded in the Ancient Chron- icles, upon which The Singer and the Song is based, kindly collated the many manuscripts in our great Library, and, in addition to this laborious task, gener- ously gave me much further valuable assistance. I had 33 You have heard his Prelude, can he sing, You who have crowned full many a king been particularly at a loss in regard to the discourse of One large with authority, — thereafter referred to in these Notes as OUR AUTHORITY. The following ex- tracts from my friend's letters, will, I am sure, be read with interest by all those to whom this Chronicle is dedicated. Others will not need the assistance of the Notes, and indeed, would in no sense profit by reading them, even if such extra help with the Discourse were, for them, a natural necessity. The extracts fol- low. /. T. Parolensis, April 17, 1915. "My dear T. : . . . the footnotes to the Discourse had, fortunate- ly, been supplied by the Speaker himself, and all, I am sure, will hold these evidences of a broad and pro- found scholarship in no slight esteem, but rather, with me, frequently express their heartfelt thanks that one so eminent in that high Profession which he gracefully adorned, has ungrudgingly given us from his bound- less store these additional lights upon a somewhat dif- ficult subject — the reconstruction of a forgotten song. . . . He was the greatest Scholar of his time ; and since then, few have equalled, and none surpassed him. . . . It is indeed fortunate that, although the actual notes of the song have long since perished irrevocably, the profounder Notes and observations upon the mere music by OUR AUTHORITY, have been preserved almost intact. We can, under these circumstances, cheerfully support the loss of the song. ... I have taken the liberty of adding, here and there, a Note of my own to the apparatus criticus, — these are all en- closed in [] and signed with my rubric, the Greek letter Vt — in further elucidation of certain points in OUR AUTHORITY'S treatment that yield only to a pro- longed study, — such as it would be unfair to expect your readers to expend without the originals before them. . . ." In view of the absorbing interest of OUR AUTHOR- ITY'S Notes and my friend's observations, I transcribe all in their entirety. /. T. 34 in Song's wide realm; is he your lord? May I will him the bays in just reward?" He wiped his lips with exquisite care, Solidly settled himself in his chair, And in words well-chosen answered the Prince: "Mere technique cannot convince; Though in this, — indeed Song's lesser part — I miss the susurrus of artless Art; In the Soul's high upper register His colour Vv^ere richer if mellower, — The phrasing fails of audacity That je ne sais pas quoi, comme on dii, ' esprW Novv here lightens the graver lines — As, instance in Aufwarter's^ large designs; So too, for Anschauung he offers us Bilder, — highly dubious However pleasing to the sense. The coloratura, too intense. Confusing the shading, obscures the touch — Strives after quality overmuch; In fine, he fails to discriminate Dolce far niente^s weight And dulce et decorum est Pro patria moris lightsomest. There are other judges more competent Than I to appraise the instrument; Let us look at the matter, — the manner may pass, And candidly ask, 'Does he hold the Glass^ [2. Designer of the Town Pump at Schweinkopft. Flourished before the German Renaissance. — f^.] [3. In passing I call the attention of all Shakes- pearean scholars to this astounding anticipation (cf. Notes 5a, 5b), on the part of OUR AUTHORITY, of one of the most justly and widely celebrated 35 To Life? Is his that magna ars^ That sprinkles a daisyfield with stars? rt Teyvn ixinelrai rrjv cbv(nv> — oi such ofioLODfia has he a single touch ?^ passages in the whole range of Shakespeare's works. Also, I now and here claim for myself the priority in this epoch-making discovery of a Shakespearean Source which is indeed a veritable fountain head. There can be no doubt that Shakespeare had 'read, marked, learned and inwardly digested' OUR AUTHORITY'S Discourse. In the proper place I will fully consider this new light in all its aspects. — ^] This Note was sent by my friend upon learning that I intended giving publicity to his observations upon OUR AUTHORITY. His enthusiasm is pardonable. /. T. 4. There are three kinds of Art: (i) White Art; (ii) Black Art; (iii) Great Art. Of these, (iii) is the greatest, although included in a certain sense, in (ii). I find that the Singer does not possess (i), apparently never heard of (ii), and is ignorant of (iii). Hence his claim to the title of Artist must rest upon other grounds, if any, than upon a knowledge of Art, which is wholly comprised in (i), (ii) and (iii). [OUR AUTHORITY, when composing this Note (4), doubt- less had in mind the somewhat similar sentiment which is familiar to all, expressed in I Cor. XIII ; 13 : "And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these (is) charity."-— 0.] [5. G. Washington Culpepper, Ph. D., LL.D., Litt. D., etc., Professor of Pre-Socratic Philosophy, Dra- vidian Morals And Pleistocene Metaphysics in the John Peabody Jones University at Hotwater, to whom I referred this remarkable utterance of OUR AUTHOR- ITY, replied : ". . . although I am unable to trace the quotation, it would appear to be from 'A^tcrroTeAov?, (ttc/oi 7rotr7TiK77?). Internal evidence seems to indicate that these two lines are an interpolation of some later Editor who had read the whole account, and not merely the Discourse. Allow me to state briefly my reasons for this conjecture, they are: 36 Is his characterization firmly true — Gracefully touched with light bon goutf Do men and women live once more Where his song recalls the heroes of yore For our later years to follow afar, Till we see ourselves as we really are?^^ So many questions arise in my mind^^ a. The Speaker nowhere, except here, resorts to paradox in order to emphasize his point. b. This is certainly a paradox. c. The hypothetical Editor was thoroughly con- versant with middle mediaeval metaphysics. d. The form of paradox is analagous to that known as the Epimenides, and yet is quite distinct. It is more closely allied to the Sokrates-Plato, which, according to Albertus de Saxonia (Vienna ante 1390) is as fol- lows : Ponantur, quod Socrates dicat illam, "Plato dicit falsum," et Plato dicat illam, "Socrates dicit verum." From a, b, c, d it follows immediately that the passage is, as I have suggested, an interpolation. . . . I am extremely glad to have had this opportunity to examine at first hand a work which refutes absolutely the preposterous claims of the new school of mathe- matical logistics, — namely, that certain modern so-called logicians have discovered anything new. All their pre- tended novelties were well-known in the insolubilia of the middle ages. . . ." I give Dr. Culpepper's concluding remarks without comment for what they may be worth. Logic, and indeed Science and all its works, is, to me (fortunate- ly!) a permanently closed and sealed book. — O.] fSa. Another anticipation ! and this time of that most unforseeable genius, Robert Burns : "O wad some Power the giftie gie us To see oursel's as ithers see us." — ^.] 5b. I can best describe my sensations as a "sub- liminal uprush." fCf . F. W. H. Myers : "Human Personality and its Survival after Bodily Death." Unless I am greatly 37 That only with difficulty may I find The vital spot in much that is weak — The solar plexus,^ so to speak. To get the matter before us, say That Life is a Feast/ with guests some gay, Some sad, som.e empty, some replete, But all, — as is natural, — willing to eat.^ mistaken, we have here conclusive proof of Myers' Theories. — fi.] I fail to follow my friend here. The proof is not necessarily conclusive. The use of the term "sub- liminal uprush" may not be due to OUR AUTHORITY at all, but to some later Editor. Time is much in these matters. /. T. 6. It may assist those who are so unfortunate as to lack the Latin Tongue, if I give Galen's happily concise definition of the solar plexus: "The nexus of potential miseries." 7. Cf. Horatii Carminum; Lib. Ill; Car. I, 17-20: Destrictus ensis cut super impia cervice pendet, non siculae dopes dulcem elaborunt saporem, . . . How often, when lingering between the walnuts and the wine, and gazing at the flushed and happy or dyspeptically apprehensive faces about me, has this profoundly touching sentiment recurred to my mind! My treatment of the simulacrum is, I believe, new. 8. I well realize that the willingness to eat on the part of those who already are replete will be a stumb- ling block to many who regard only the obviousness of phenomena, and who do not, consequentl}'-, view all things in that intense light which a profound scholar- ship alone can give. For these "unfinished men" avBooTroKhdyoi), add the following gloss from Holy Writ: "Who can eat more* than I? (Eccl. 2:25); eat, and not have enough (Hag. 1 :6). Take thine ease, eat (Lu. 12 :19) ; eat this rollf (Ezek. 3 :1, 2, 3) ; eat with unwashen§ hands (Mat. 15:20). Let us eat and be merry (Lu. 15:23). Eat ye that which is good (Isa. 55:2); can this man$ give us flesh to eat? (John 38 To make my fancy vivider Let us call this Singer a caterer : To Life's rich banquet he brings his dish — An outlandish mixture, neither fish 6:52). Thy princes$$ eat in the morning (Eccl, 10:16) the fathersft have eaten sour grapes§§ (Ezek. 18 :2) words were found and I did eat them** (Jer. 15 :16).' [How much a word may mean when used by a Scholar of OUR AUTHORITY'S calibre! His thoughts on eat appear to be (see diacritical marks above) : *The insatiable hunger of OUR AUTHORITY for spiritual nourishment. fEvidently addressed to those who starve amidst intellectual plenty. §The proletariat was present in great number (cf. Chronicles), when the Discourse was delivered. OUR AUTHORITY, with large democracy' invites all to partake of his good things, each in his own manner. tA rhetorical question ; the Singer, as pointed out by OUR AUTHORITY, has neither fish (unless anchov- ies), fowl, nor flesh, to offer. WCan this be a delicate suggestion to the Prince to burn more midnight oil ? ttReferring no doubt to those previously designated in the Chronicles, as the "Graybeards." §§The Graybeards were jealous of OUR AUTHOR- ITY'S brilliant exposition. **This gloss, is, I confess, obscure to me.*** No- where in the Chronicles can I find the least scintilla of evidence that OUR AUTHORITY was ever induced to eat anything, much less words. For that matter, how can anyone eat words? The error is not, however, due to OUR AUTHORITY, but rather to the slovenly and unscholarly work of the translators of the OLD TES- TAMENT. OUR AUTHORITY was well aware of the correct rendition of the Hebrew, — as also will all who read these Notes be, — but, with customary and engaging modesty he prefers to let us infer for our- selves the truth from a tissue of misrepresentation, simply because the false is more widely spread than 39 (Unless anchovies), fowl, nor flesh, And calmly says, 'My Lords, refresh Your fainting souls on this' ! Too light Pour V entree, even somew^hat slight As an hors d'oeuvre^ his ofiEering stands And cools by our unaccustomed hands — A suspicion of olives, a hint of cheese. With such a soupgon he hopes to please ! So, unregarding, w^e turn aw^ay, His effort is too bizarre, outre. And the Common Man, may he thrive On hints of meat, — keep his soul alive On promises? Where, In all his song Is that AcTT d8oT€/>ia;(o?€Aa;(oy aAeoKp dvi- oXeLxavoSplfivTroTpLfifi dTocn\cf>io7r d- pdfieXlTOK drdK€.KVixevoKL\XeinKO's- OVaTTO'7r€pL(TT€pdX.€)(pVOV07rT€y- the true, and any oversetting of the People's idols would smack of pedantry. — fi.] [***0n reconsideration, the text is easily ex- plained. OUR AUTHORITY would show us in this subtle manner, that while others may care for grosser diet (e. g. rolls), he himself is satisfied with purely spiritual food at the Banquet of Life.— fi.] 9. The distinction between an entree and an hors d'oeuvre, which I make here, may, in the nostrils of the many (©t TrpAApt) savour of meticulosity and the lamp. The distinction is nice, but only through these and similar careful membra disjecta can Judgment achieve that large exhibition of its personalia which is requisite and necessary for the comprehension of the toute ensemble. 40 kea\oKLyKk OTreXeioXdywoalpaLo/S a- Tftpdy avoirepvyaiv^^ which the People long? lo. Many, no doubt will be agreeably surprised upon encountering this beautiful word,§§§ the richest, the most varied, the most highly suggestive of all words in that richest, most variously subtle and diversified of all tongues, the Greek, — in my poor Discourse. But lest I appear falsely to shine with a glory that is not my own, — would that it were ! — allow me to fairly acknowledge^ that I did not myself trace this im- portant and brilliant light to its source of irradiation, but was drawn to it by those indefatigable seekers ('researchers,' is a more appropriate term, I submit) after the more elusive rara of Hellenistic scholarship — • Messrs. Liddell and Scott, in whose Greek-English Lexicon^ — in every way a truly admirable and monu- mental work, a Masterpiece indeed ! — it may be found. The exact reference (in my copy) is: p. 837; col. 2; lines 29-36. [§§§Some copyist has written opposite this word in the Mss. the inexplicable comment "Anglo- Saxon hash is a shorter and more beautiful equiv- alent."— H.] [a. This Note, sublime as it is in the main, — its lofty and high-minded justice to another, and noble denial of self, must make an irresistible appeal to all scholars, — nevertheless contains un- mistakable signs of corruption. I shudder when I think that OUR AUTHORITY could, in cold blood as it were, split an infinitive. After this we can look with equanimity upon the recent violation of Belgium. But he did not do it! Culture is in- capable of such gross violence to the Laws of Nature, — to unfeelingly rend apart that which God has joined, was not in OUR AUTHORITY'S make-up or being. Some later and brutal hand has poisoned the well of his purity. He stands acquitted before the Bar of Scholarly Opinion Ifff tttAll scholars will respond to my Friend's pas- sionate appeal, which I would echo if I only could. — /. T. 41 (1 speak, of course, of the Spirit's fare. But we Judges must suggest, compare.) Have I made my meaning clear? Bien! Vaste est la nuite mais la lune est pleine/^- Henceforth all will be open as day. Let us look at things in a larger way: To criticise is to recreate,^^ [b. Surely a slight oversight has been commit- ted here. Neither Mr. Liddell nor Mr. Scott— if the Dictionary of National Biography is to be trusted — was born until several centuries after OUR AUTHORITY'S demise. But, I admit, that on the other hand it may be extremely probable that OUR AUTHORITY is modestly ofifering us a living specimen of his phenomenal powers of prevision, to which a thinly veiled allusion is made in the Discourse, (see the eighth line after that to which Note lo — the present — is appended.) Cf. also the text accompanying. OUR AUTHORITY designates this remarkable power by the term an- ticipation. To doubters of his ability in this prov- ince, let me say this : in any event, such discrim- inations as I have just suggested — between what possibly might have been and what actually was — belong, as pointed out long ago by Aristotle, prop- erly not to the large and just accuracy of Scholar- ship, but rather to the hypersensitive niggling of an unimaginative criticism. — fi.] II. The high and romantic mysticism of this beau- tiful line, will, I hope, win many to a more attentive hearing of an almost forgotten — unjustly forgotten — Singer, Transon de Bruyiere, from whose Chansons d'un Chou I have borrowed this jewel to lighten for a splendid moment with its transcendant loveliness the austere brow of sombre Reason. [i2. The profound justice and illuminative truth of the theory adequately set forth in this sparkling jewel "five words long" — to quote a modern Singer — seems to have been strangely forgotten during the dark ages between OUR AUTHORITY'S day and 42 (May I add, in a measure anticipatef^^) Life is the body, Art the soul. Their union in Song brings forth the Whole. Or, if Life is a toad, the jewel in its head Is Art, — as Windausgusser^* sagely said our own. It is well exemplified in OUR AUTHORI- TY'S reconstruction of the Song which he is dis- cussing. Without his Discourse, the Song would not be so much as a puff of dust, an evanescent memory; with it, the whole sounds once more 'n our ears, — but mellowed, amplified. — i^.] [13. Cf. my note b to note 10. — 0.] 14. G. H. Windausgusser, not to be confused with his grandson, the illustrious author of Liehe und Pdckclh'dringe, and of that immortal world-poem, Wind und Wasser, die ewige Weihlichkeit, which has touched the hearts of so many maidens young and old in all times and lands, and which has softened man}^ an ob- durate masculine mind or hardened brain to tears of humble thankfulness for the goodness of God to man, — especially to His chosen, that greatest and most hu- mane of all peoples, who have mounted ever upward and onward upon the wings of a sublime spirituality to their rightful Place in the Sun — that Place which even the most covetous of men or nations does not envy them. It must be highly gratifying to all lovers of song to reflect that this stupendous world-empire (Weltmacht) has been attained through the material manifestation of this same spirit of womanly tender- ness and gentle forbearance which is so splendidly cel- ebrated in Wind und IVasser, by the greatest genius and noblest character of a race which is justly famed for its kindly treatment of the lowly and helpless. As an eminent Authority of their Land recently expressed himself to me, "the zvhole character and ideal of our People is adequately set forth in Wind und Wasser, and in the blameless and manly life of its divine Au- thor. His ideals in action have been ours: unflinching severity to the seducers of young and ignorant coun- try girls, kitchen-maids and countesses, so long as the seduction is wanton and not in the sacred interests of 43 In Wind und Dichtung, — a gemlike phrase. Now, not for a moment would I dispraise^^ the free expression of an untrammelled genius or of a natural necessity, but the highest award of honor in our bestowal to him who sacrifices his primitive re- ticence and continence in the interests of his Genius. Such was he and such are we." Song which can ac- complish these things, and raise a People to the World- Head-Place-in-the-Sun, is indeed Song! Proudly I claim that Motherland as my spiritual Home ! — The younger Windausgusser's initials were, H. G. [I must, in the interests of impartial scholarship, re- cord a view which is diametrically opposed to that of OUR AUTHORITY. It is now commonly held that Windausgusser's nation misunderstood him completely, and that die ewige Weiblichkeit had little or no part in their encyclopaedic conquest of the world. OUR AU- THORITY is not to blame for this false judgment — he is too fine a critic to blunder grossly, — he simply had not seen the great Chromatic Books, which were not published by the Conquerors until long after OUR AU- THORITY had passed away.— «.] As Windausgusser's song was not in any event, re- sponsible for his life, I fail to see the point in my friend's note. OUR AUTHORITY lays down an in- fallible rule (near the end of his Discourse) which should dispose of any such difficulty or its converse. I venture no opinion on either side of the controversy; my office is simply to record the (contradictory) data given me by my friend. In fairness then, may I ask that none will impute to me personally the less favorable view? /. T. [15. In OUR AUTHORITY'S personal copy of the Discourse occurs, in a Note to this line which (the Note) has been cancelled, the following curious couplet : APPRECIATION : Dead Gods' brains breed maggots fat with praise And stored up light from Suns of yesterdays. The cancellation indicates that OUR AUTHORITY'S thoughts had been straying. Zeus, no less than Homer, it would appear, nods occasionally. — ^.] 44 That art which sings of sun and star — But are these things not rather far?^® Man is the one great central fact, He becomes a poem when handled with tact, With that savoir faire we all admire — And this one spark in a singer's breast May make us forget the Stars and the rest, For is this not Life, the Infinite Vast? Is man not the Present, the Future, the Past? Or, consider^^ the Stars !^^^ who fashioned them? God,^^ for the night's fair diadem. [i6. I take pleasure in calling attention to OUR AUTHORITY'S great breadth of vision and knowl- edge, and invariably scrupulous statements, — even in a field like that he now refers to — Astronomy, which I sympathetically feel must have been extremely repug- nant to his beauty-loving mind. The Astronomer Royal of Timbuctoo, to whom I applied for information on this obscure point, wrote me : "... the statement is precisely accurate, as the star nearest the Earth is distant 9,988,776,655,443,322,- 1 10,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000, - 000,000,000,000.5 miles from the North Pole at the Vernal Equinox. . . . But how any one at that remote day could have known this, I confess, puzzles me. . . . Possibly he learned in some way from the Arabs, who were notorious star-gazers. . . ." This conjecture is undoubtedly the correct one. OUR AUTHORITY wrote poems in the Arabic to the lady whom he once hoped — in a moment of weakness — ^to make his wife, but who incontinently jilted him for a fellow of the baser sort, who knew only a paltry forty- seven languages, — and one of those imperfectly. Schol- arship can triumph even over the telescope! — 0.] 17. It is said that this singer once mentioned a star. If so, I here meet him on his own domain. What could be fairer? 17a. Cf. Sophocles: Oedipus Tyrranus; i. 546: rovT avTO vvv tiov iroSiT aKovaov ws coco- 18, Cf. Kikero; De Deorum Natura. 45 Who showed us the ways of the stars in the sky? Who, but the mind's deep-seeing eye?^® And whose was the mind but Man's? Aye, whose? Grant me this, you cannot refuse-'^ My main contention : that Song alone Is worth a thought that makes Man its own, Transmuting ages new and old To a splendid metal of human gold.^^ [19. Sir Edward Cholmondely tells me that this is the earliest reference known to the pineal gland, which, he says, has precisely those powers ascribed to it by OUR AUTHORITY.— 1^.] [20. After this masterly and stirring exposition of the scheme of the universe, who could refuse anything to OUR AUTHORITY?— n.] [21. Referring to the phrase human gold. Profes- sor Aloysius Seeley Smith, Ph.D., (Cornfield College and Gottingcn) has the following- highly instructive Note. — Professor Smith's Arbeit was undertaken in the high and arduous field of the Discourse : His Note reads : "This difficult passage has given me much la- bor, — but it has been a labor of love. Gold is an impersonal object, how then human? We receive no iielij from the context, for, if transmuted refers to gold, how are we to reconcile this with the indisputa- ble fact that at the period in which this Discourse was evidently composed, lead had not yet been transmuted into gold, and it seems certain, moreover, that radioac- tive knowledge was confined exclusively to the more daring of the Alchemists f [The italics are mine. — ^.1 I think . . . therefore . . . that we have plainly before us here indisputable evidence that the text has suffered corruption at t!:e . . . careless hands of some . . . pretentious copyist or equally . . . unscrupulous editor. In this conclusion I am happy to have the invaluable support of that daring young French numismatist, M. Augustin Marie Josef An- toine Parapluie, who, with his brilliant Gallic insight, suggests for the two lines beginning Transmuting ages . . ., the following sparkling emendation : 46 So much for the larger aspects; now For our present application: how May this wonderful Whole reveal its parts In the secret workings of men's own hearts ? In what small hour is the Aoyos^^ expressed ; How is the eOoveoD£va<% djueAtvots to^oi? Sajnevre?- I do not, it will be noticed, advocate drunkenness as a means of liberation for the many ; such must always remain the high privilege of the few who in their Cups hear the cloven hoofs of the Satyrs. Pindar was right, water (cf. TreAavei) is meet and proper for the mob. 25. It has been significantly noted by both Hip- pokrates and Aretaeus that high feeling superinduces 48 There shall leap from some pregnant time (Perchance not under our selfish clime) A Singer whose words are coals of flame; His Song shall consume with intolerable shame The hearts of those who deny their Lord, His eyes shall pierce as a terrible sword Sheer through their pride to the pity beneath Till all in torment cry out, 'resheath. Avenger of Man your most just ire. Pluck out from our souls your awful fire, We burn and perish; O Wrath, relent! Our hearts are ashes and we repent.' Then shall the empty be filled and cheered, And they who have smugly sat and sneered At each poor hope these wretches hugged. Shall depart from the Feast, their dead souls drug- ged With the stale last drops of their lives' false wine Only Song^^^ like this is divine, an accelerated pulse. The priority in this important physiological discovery would seem to rest with Hip- pokrates, altho' Aretaeus nowhere refers to him. [Possibly the observation was made by the two men independently of each other, but this is a ques- tion which can be answered (if at all) only upon much further research. May I take the liberty of calling the attention of our leading Hellenists to this difficult enquiry? — It would form an admirable piece of work to put before the more brilliant candidates for the Doctorate. — fi.] Possibly I misunderstand the question, and under- estimate the difficulty of attack, but as a layman, I offer the suggestion that chronology may have some- thing to do with it. /. T. 25a. Cf . Bacchylides : Dithyramboi : XVIII, 37-39. lnoi ix\v ovv d(ja\e(TTaTOv d ttoos eayar oima 49 Song that comforts the humble and meek. Pardon, Prince, if I seem to speak More of these things than of him who sang, I could not restrain it, — the Truth just sprang Forth from my lips like a lion.-*^ Now, let us re- sume," Here he cast a glance round the drows)'' room,^®^ "What of all this has our Singer said? Has a single word of his comforted That scullion-^ yonder? Well, who knows? 26. Cf. the vulgarism Murder will out. [In view of the events subsequent to OUR AU- THORITY'S Discourse, this Note of his has a peculiar — almost prophetic — significance. It is but another in- stance of his unparalleled powers of Anticipation. — fi.] [26a. In the justifiable, if somewhat coarse words of the Chronicles: Although he spoke right lustily there Tx'cre many who slumbered and slept like swine. — fi.] 27. Some will no doubt misunderstand* this part of my Discourse. These will accuse me of erecting a man of straw in order but to demolish him. Perhaps my scullion,^ in the last anah-sis, is a man of straw, a mere lay-figure as it were. In any event, he served my immediate purpose admirablv enough. [*I. for one. do not. OUR AUTHORITY never indulges in this reprehensible practice, so common in our own times. — a practice which is inevitably in doubtful taste.— ^.] For once I disagree with m}'- Friend. It does seem to me that OUR AUTHORITY'S assump- tions in regard to the scullion's feelings are unjusti- fiable, and that he has. this once. 3-ielded to the seductive weakness. — so prevalent, as my Friend remarks, in certain newer phases of Art. — of set- ting up a straw-man just for the fun of seeing him blown to bits. But. after all. it is not such a serious matter, and we may forgive OUR AU- THORITY his little joke, which he will have in spite of his high purpose. /. T. t[An interesting side-light. It would appear that there actually was one scullion present. — ^.] 50 Not you, wise Prince, I may suppose, Nor I ; yet, for argument I'll imagine the scullion's more content Then he was, let us say, an hour ago. And what but rebellion's angry glow Flushes his cheeks with unwonted red? Who put wild thoughts in his foolish head? Who, but the Singer? perverting this youth With spurious gold of fair untruth, Showing him wonders beyond his ken,^^^ Teaching him stars are greater than men — Or that men and the stars are all of a piece? When will such damnable doctrine cease Its insidious whispering to our youth? Freedom of utterance ! license, forsooth Must disport its indecencies under that flag. For the old beliefs he flings us a rag, Saying, 'This my Lords is your proper cloak' !^^ 27a. Cf. Sophocles ; I.e. ; 527 : vvSaTO txev rdS » otSa cr ov yvto/x7y tlvl [28. This is one of the most famous of the cruces in the Discourse. Volumes have been written upon it to no avail, and the battle yet rages stubbornly around this Salient of Eternity. In spite of Professor Fat- kopft's lifework upon this point, it yet remains as much of a mystery as ever how a rag could become a cloak. The reverse is, of course, obvious. Now I do not wish to be considered as rushing in where greater feet than mine can ever be, have trod, but may I sug- gest, — just suggest, no more — that we have here one of those two frequent transpositions which the copy- ists of Mediaeval manuscripts were so prone to make? --OUR AUTHORITY'S personal copy of the Dis- course is, unfortunately, mutilated at this passage. — If, as I suggest, we transpose rag and cloak, the diffi- culty vanishes. Some color is lent to this theory by the fact that, in OUR AUTHORITY'S time, cloak was pronounced clag, and rag was pronounced roke. But, 51 I ask you, Prince, should this provoke Our condemnation, -or should it not? The very thought makes my wrath run hot.^^* Thus I come to the core of the thing: It matters not how one may sing Provided only his words uphold That which our Fathers held of old,^® Or, if he must reform, — or complain — Let all his measures be soundly sane.^^ I repeat, this is merely a suggestion. May we hope that Professor Fish will allow his powerful intellect to play upon this crux when he has dissolved the runa- way eyes? — fi.] 28a. Cf. Note 25. This condition is, I believe, pe- culiar to myself. Nowhere in Galenus, Hippokrates or Aretaeus do I find the slightest mention of any similar [29. Is OUR AUTHORITY anticipating that stir- ring old hymn which has softened so many a stub- born heart to tears? — "Faith of our Fathers, strong to save" . . ., — fi.] 30. Cf. Mens sana, sano in corpore. I have suc- ceeded in tracing this profound axiom of conviviality to Kwang tse fu, who gives it in the slightly different form : i-g [An eminent Sinicaist informs me that the Chinese in this Note is irreproachable. OUR AUTHORITY was indeed a Scholar ! — fi.] [Touching this Note, I disregard as trivial the sug- 52 Be he right or wrong is not the point, But this throwing of Custom out of joint^^ Is a damnable thing; that State shall live Which is broadly and wisely conservative.^^^ — To sum^^*' up this Singer: he satisfies gestion offered by Tonkins Saratoga Grant, A. B., Dean of the Graduate School at the University of Char- go, that we have here strong ~internal evidence that OUR AUTHORITY patronized a Chinese Laundry. Marco Polo had not yet discovered the Northwest Pas- sage, so how could OUR AUTHORITY have made the necessary arrangements for transportation? — 0.] 31. Cf. My Note 3. I would hardly venture to sug- gest, without further research, that OUR AUTHORI- TY, and neither Francis, Lord Bacon, nor Queen Eliz- abeth, wrote Hamlet, but, I have my suspicions. These are greatly strengthened by the obvious observation that OUR AUTHORITY, is trying to set his Age right. — fi.] 31a. Cf. media via; — golden mean. [31b. Being happily ignorant of Science in all its branches, this utterance of OUR AUTHORITY long baffled me. Much against my better impulse and emo- tion, I consulted Georg Sanger, the notorious Teutonic mathematician. In a rather sneering tone he said : "Ein Teufel!" when I showed the passage in the Dis- course. Asked to explain, he continued : "Your AU- THORITY speaks of the sum of the parts and leaves you to infer with Eukleides von Berlin und Alexandria that this is equal to the whole, which he indeed stated to be the case invariably. The assertion is true only of finite assemblages. Now, it was rigorously proved by the Scholastics as early as 1066, that the power (mdchtigkeit) of the Angels is infinite, and that the power of any fiend is transfinite, — or, if you prefer, in the sub-case under consideration, infinite, — when and only when that fiend coincides with, (or can be put in one-one correspondence with) the Devil himself. Hence, as I stated, the Singer was a devil." — The proof is lucid, and is but another proof of OUR AUTHORITY'S universal learning. — ^.] 33 None; throws dust^^° in humble eyes, Till he who was honest as common sod Thinking he knows his kinship to God,^^*^ Moults off his decent plumage^^® to preen Like a peacock-fooP^ ^^^ in lendings obscene Herr Sanger has overlooked (purposely, no doubt) the trivial case, — that of men, whose power is also said to be finite. /. T. 31C. Dust; cf. St one -blind; dry as dust. I quaffed three tankards over this phrase, throws dust. Long did I hesitate between mustard-seed and gravel, until a happy inspiration filled my mind with the divine afflatus, and I sighed dust! — the golden section, the sublime mean. I note these facts in no vain spirit of boastful- ness, but in order that young Scholars may not despair if occasionally the coy Aphrodite prefers the chaste seclusion of great Jove's head to the wide ocean of Truth and Poetical Expression, if not infrequently the Muse must be delivered as was the mother of the greatest of the Caesars, if, I say, untried virgins in the holy matrimony of Learning shrink in dismay from the fulfillment of their sublime destiny, let such take com- fort in the contemplation of this joyous child of my mind whose rosy young life cost me untold pangs of parturition, — pangs which I forgot in the supreme mo- ment of achieved fatherhood. Only by such descents into the Valley of the Shadow can that lasting air of inevitability be summoned to life. 3 id. All men are related, — more or less distantly, it is true, — ^to God, but I am here speaking of an insidious- ly intimate democratisation which, in some cases, comes dangerously near begetting a contempt. It is this against which my voice is raised in reverential protest. 3ie. That is, deliberately plucks from his own shoul- ders the first downy intimations of angelic parentage. 32. Those who confound this bird with the peahen, which, as the merest tyro knows is the female of the genus Pavo, have grossly misunderstood the Treatise of Aristotles upon Taw?. The two are in no essential way related. [32a. Peacock-fool, In this flashing phrase, we have 54 This 'singer' sheds. Shall Freedom reign? Verily, slavery is vain;^^ But we, who protect the People's mind Must not suffer his lawless kind — The Vagrant^* Singers — to instigate Disbelief and unreasoning hate; This man is a stranger in Heaven's high courts, He scorns the beliefs our State supports. His theory of God is a heresy And his judgment of Life rank blasphemy. Were I your Highness, he should kiss^^ the rod an anticipation of the Paulo-Post-Futurists, the Sym- bolists, and the Cubists by OUR AUTHORITY. From his simile it is apparent that foolishness is, in colour, a dull blue. The Rev. D. Proudflesh, Prebendary of Toadcaster, informs me that heresy is a somewhat more violent shade of the same hue, — which it will be extremely illuminating to remember in following the course of events subsequent to the Discourse, espe- cially when it is mentioned by one chronicler that the Prince's cloak was blue. This accounts for much. Rev. Proudflesh adds also : "As represented by our more advanced thinkers in the pictorial Art, the riffled Sea, on a sunny day, is an irrepressible riot of schism and feathers."— f2.] 33. [I cannot pass this over in silence. Had OUR AUTHORITY been with us in i860, the terrible blood- shed of the American Civil War might easily have been averted by his timely utterance of a truth which it cost the American People untold millions in blood and treas- ure to learn. Cf. OUR AUTHORITY'S beliefs con- cerning the power for good of Song (Disc.) — ^.] 34. [The use of this word by OUR AUTHORITY shows conclusively that he was, in the highest sense of the word, a gentleman. That he was a scholar, we have already sufficiently seen. — fi.] 35. I trust that none will misunderstand me : kiss the rod, but, post facto. Rods, where there is more than an intangible suspicion of false judgment, have a 55 And humbly before us acknowledge our God — A mere suggestion, — no offence, Your Highness knows my reverence. And last ; as to character, what is his ? Is he fit to tell us aught that Is? His private life is his own concern — We need it not in order to learn That, which for Judges, is relevant: What we do not know we may invent^^ — far nobler end than a supine submission to the lewd and lascivious embraces of the unrighteous, 36. Lest the unscholarly should, in their darkness, impute to me a dishonesty only less black than was his who sang, let me remark, that here, as ever, I use words in their true etymological significance. Invent is from the Latin invenire, which is, in the vulgar tongue, to come upon, to discover, to uncover, to infer, to lay bare that which is hidden, to show up deceit, to unmask falsehood, to do justice to truth, to punish hypocrisy, to give even the Devil his due, to be harsh toward none and charitably just to all, to palliate irrelevant peccadilloes of youth or inexperience, and to glorify and exalt those things in the life, character and work of a man which are of permanent good and enduring worth in the sight of Him to Whom a cup of water of- fered to the thirsty is a greater thing than the Temple with all its gold and burnt offerings. It is in these larger senses that I use the word invent, and, in drawing my conclusions, I rely solely upon the irrefragible Principle of Internal Evidence. Is it upon my head if the evidence be infernalf Justice is not mawkish sen- timentality. [Who is not touched and deeply stirred by the firm manliness in OUR AUTHORITY'S tone and method of Judgment? Incidentally we have made a discovery of the very first magnitude in the History of Criticism. It was none other than OUR AUTHORITY who dis- covered the great and enduring foundation stone of criticism which he reveals to us with so much can- dour and skill, and which has, in comparatively re- 36 From the song itself. He stands confessed To stores of knowledge he never possessed, — The blackest dishonesty, I submit; So too, the licentiousness of his wit, — In his song is no High Seriousness,^^ His foul lips^'^ curse when they should bless, Nothing is sacred from his sneer Till his meanest words wear an evil leer; For all that is holy, irreverence. For all red-rotten, his quick defence; His heart is dead and his soul is sick, His show of love^"^ but a gaudy trick — His attacks on straws^* are passing bold But our burning issues leave him cold f^^ cent times crushed with conspicuous success such ar- rant pretenders as John Keats, Lord Byron, Percy Bysshe Shelley, Edgar Allan Poe, Oscar Wilde**'*' and a host of less widely unsavory imposters. It is estab- lished once for all by OUR AUTHORITY that it is quite unnecessary to rake up a man's private life in order to learn the truth of what even the most un- righteous of men has contributed to Art. — fi.] ***[Cf. also my Note 42 and the accompanying Text of the Discourse. — ^.] S7. Gk. (X7rovBa2o