diff --git a/Book_Sentiment_Plot.png b/Book_Sentiment_Plot.png new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bd93198 Binary files /dev/null and b/Book_Sentiment_Plot.png differ diff --git a/README.md b/README.md index 05aa109..1373ef7 100644 --- a/README.md +++ b/README.md @@ -1,3 +1,42 @@ # Text-Analysis-Project - Please read the [instructions](instructions.md). +########### Project Overview ############## +I have designed this project to provide a simple Sentiment Analysis on literary text especialized from Project Gutenberg. It has been seperated into four parts as it made tracking all the different parts much easier. The first part was designed to Clean and proccess the txt files; removing punctuation, "stopwords" and pronouns. In the same file it calculates word counts, summarized statistics(words, Unique Words, and Average Word Length), lastly it prints the most used 5 words in each article. + +########### Data Used ############### +I utilized two types of files while testing the project +Type 1: Text Analysis Files, these were the trial points for understanding the positive and negative junctions of my project +Type 2: Positive and Negative Identifying Files, these 2 Files were brought in too create a wide scope of what counts as a positive or negative sentiment word and these were obtained from Kaggle as a Sentiment Analysis Database +########### Methods and Processing ############## +Step 1: Text Loading - essential step to read and remove Project Gutenberg's header and footer +Step 2: Clean and Filter - coverts all text into lowercase; removing case seperation caused by Capitalization. In additon to removing punctuation, and filtering out stopwords and pronouns; because it would be noise to the analysis, since needer words should hold a polarity +Step 3: Counting - provides counts of simple summarized stats (total words, unique words, and avg word length) for the simple reason of understanding more from the text +Step 4: Sentiment Analysis - My personal favorite part of the project as it allowed me to explore the method of understanding a simple sentiment analysis, while also giving me ideas of developing my own version of understanding (There's much room for improvement). Ultimately this step required the loading of two files to identify positive or negative and using a simple count for each, we can calculate a score in the range of -1 or +1 +Step 5: Visualization - This step was much more complicated for me, struggled with packages and python versions left me using with the intent of creating 2 types of charts. A plotted version of the Sentiment Analysis of all books, and a histogram plot of the top 15 words from each text (I failed to accomplish this one). + + +########### Output Description ############# +The analysis found that *Little Women* and *Laugh and Live* had the most positive sentiment scores, +while *The Iron Heel* and *Studies in Pessimism* leaned more negative. +The text leviathan showed minimal polarity which can be expected from a book covering concepts of a bad present needing change for a better future +The visualization highlights the contrast between texts with uplifting themes and darker philosophies. + +Some possible outputs include: +Laugh and Live.txt: +0.264 +Leviathan.txt: +0.070 +Little Women; Or, Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy.txt: +0.207 +Optimism An Essay by Helen Keller.txt: +0.106 +The Essays of Arthur Schopenhauer; Studies in Pessimism.txt: -0.093 +The Great Gatsby.txt: -0.095 +The Iron Heel.txt: -0.153 +We.txt: -0.009 + +####################################################### Section 3 +####################################################### +During the Course of the project the usage of AI was primaraly used to understand the different segments within the Instuctions, as a formating tool that provided a checklist of all necessary components, as a debugging tool, and lastly as a learning tool when it came to understanding the Viusalization library that was completely new to me. (In addition to helping fix my directories and library downloads) + +################ Sources ################ +## References +- Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org/) +- Kaggle-Prajwal Kanade- Sentiment Analysis Word Lists Dataset(2023) (https://www.kaggle.com/datasets/prajwalkanade/sentiment-analysis-word-lists-dataset? esource=download&select=positive-words.txt) +- Babson OIM3640 Text Analysis Project Instructions diff --git a/Text_Words/negative-words.txt b/Text_Words/negative-words.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..68e9cc0 --- /dev/null +++ b/Text_Words/negative-words.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4783 @@ +2-faced +2-faces +abnormal +abolish +abominable +abominably +abominate +abomination +abort +aborted +aborts +abrade +abrasive +abrupt +abruptly +abscond +absence +absent-minded +absentee +absurd +absurdity +absurdly +absurdness +abuse +abused +abuses +abusive +abysmal +abysmally +abyss +accidental +accost +accursed +accusation +accusations +accuse +accuses +accusing +accusingly 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+warmth +wealthy +welcome +well +well-backlit +well-balanced +well-behaved +well-being +well-bred +well-connected +well-educated +well-established +well-informed +well-intentioned +well-known +well-made +well-managed +well-mannered +well-positioned +well-received +well-regarded +well-rounded +well-run +well-wishers +wellbeing +whoa +wholeheartedly +wholesome +whooa +whoooa +wieldy +willing +willingly +willingness +win +windfall +winnable +winner +winners +winning +wins +wisdom +wise +wisely +witty +won +wonder +wonderful +wonderfully +wonderous +wonderously +wonders +wondrous +woo +work +workable +worked +works +world-famous +worth +worth-while +worthiness +worthwhile +worthy +wow +wowed +wowing +wows +yay +youthful +zeal +zenith +zest +zippy diff --git a/main.py b/main.py new file mode 100644 index 0000000..54de5d0 --- /dev/null +++ b/main.py @@ -0,0 +1,43 @@ +from text_processing import Load_Txt, clean_and_filter,count_words,summary_stats +from sentiment import Pos_or_Neg, sentiment_score +from visualization import plot_sentiment #, top_n_counts_per_file + +def main(): + # Folder and Text Loader + text_folder = "text" + files = Load_Txt(text_folder, skip_header=True) + if not files: + return + for name, raw in files: + cleaned = clean_and_filter(raw) # clean the text + counts = count_words(cleaned) # dict: word -> freq + stats = summary_stats(cleaned) # your words/unique/TTR/avg len stats + items = counts.items() + sorted_items = sorted(items, key=lambda x: x[1], reverse=True) + top5 = sorted_items[:5] # top 5 words for a quick glance + for word, count in top5: + print(f"{word}: {count}") + print(f"\n{name}") + print(f" words: {stats['words']}") + print(f" unique_words: {stats['unique_words']}") + print(f" type_token_ratio: {stats['type_token_ratio']:.3f}") + print(f" avg_word_len: {stats['avg_word_len']:.2f}") + print(" top5:", ", ".join(f"{w}({c})" for w, c in top5)) + + # (simple) Sentiment Analysis + lexicon_folder = "Text_Words" + POS, NEG = Pos_or_Neg(lexicon_folder) + + scores = {} + for name, text in files: + cleaned = clean_and_filter(text) + score = sentiment_score(cleaned, POS, NEG) + scores[name] = score + print(f"{name}: {score:+.3f}") + + # Visualization + plot_sentiment(scores) + # top_n_counts_per_file(files, n=15, cleaner=None) + +if __name__ == "__main__": + main() diff --git a/sentiment.py b/sentiment.py new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f9038c2 --- /dev/null +++ b/sentiment.py @@ -0,0 +1,45 @@ +import os + +def Pos_or_Neg(folder: str): + """Load positive and negative word lists from a folder.""" + pos_words = set() # Creates a blank positive word set + neg_words = set() # Creates a blank negative word set + + if not os.path.isdir(folder): # Checks if my (Text_Words) folder exist + print(f"[!] Folder '{folder}' not found.") + return pos_words, neg_words + + for i in os.listdir(folder): # For each file in my folder(text) goes through and reads them + if i.lower().endswith(".txt"): # Converts file names into lowercase (Removing the case errors around capitalization) + path = os.path.join(folder, i) # Creates a valid path to each txt (Easier Access to the file) + try: # Reads files expecting utf-8 format + with open(path, "r", encoding="utf-8") as f: + words = set(f.read().split()) # reads the text, splits it into a list, and lastly stores as a set of unique words + except UnicodeDecodeError: # allows the opportunity to skip the first error and try to read in a different encoding + with open(path, "r", encoding="latin-1") as f: + words = set(f.read().split()) + + if "pos" in i.lower(): # Checks what file it came from + pos_words.update(words) # will place the words into the blank positive set + elif "neg" in i.lower(): + neg_words.update(words) + + print(f"Loaded {len(pos_words)} positive and {len(neg_words)} negative words.") + return pos_words, neg_words # Returns 2 sets that can be used in the future + + +def sentiment_score(text: str, pos_set, neg_set) -> float: + """Simple sentiment score between -1 and +1.""" + words = text.split() + pos = 0 + neg = 0 + for w in words: + if w in pos_set: + pos += 1 + for w in words: + if w in neg_set: + neg+= 1 + total = pos + neg + if total == 0: + return 0.0 + return (pos - neg) / total diff --git a/text/Laugh and Live.txt b/text/Laugh and Live.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c090a21 --- /dev/null +++ b/text/Laugh and Live.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3696 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Laugh and Live + +This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online +at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, +you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located +before using this eBook. + +Title: Laugh and Live + +Author: Douglas Fairbanks + +Contributor: George Creel + +Release date: July 12, 2004 [eBook #12887] + Most recently updated: October 28, 2024 + +Language: English + +Credits: Produced by Steven desJardins and Distributed Proofreaders. + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAUGH AND LIVE *** + +[ILLUSTRATION: _Laugh and Live_] + + +Laugh and Live + +By DOUGLAS FAIRBANKS + + +ILLUSTRATED + +NEW YORK +BRITTON PUBLISHING COMPANY + +1917 + + + + +TO MY MOTHER + + + + +CONTENTS + + I. "Whistle and Hoe--Sing As We Go" + + II. Taking Stock of Ourselves + + III. Advantages of an Early Start + + IV. Profiting by Experience + + V. Energy, Success and Laughter + + VI. Building Up a Personality + + VII. Honesty, the Character Builder + + VIII. Cleanliness of Body and Mind + + IX. Consideration for Others + + X. Keeping Ourselves Democratic + + XI. Self-Education by Good Reading + + XII. Physical and Mental Preparedness + + XIII. Self-indulgence and Failure + + XIV. Living Beyond Our Means + + XV. Initiative and Self-Reliance + + XVI. Failure to Seize Opportunities + + XVII. Assuming Responsibilities + +XVIII. Wedlock in Time + + XIX. Laugh and Live + + XX. A "Close-Up" of Douglas Fairbanks + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + +Laugh and Live +Do You Ever Laugh? +Over the Hedge and on His Way +Preparing to Pair With the Prickly Pear +A Little Spin Among the Saplings +Over the Hills and Far Away--Father and Son +A Scene from "His Picture in the Papers" +A Scene from "The Americano"--Matching Wits for Gold +Taking on Local Color +A Scene from "His Picture in the Papers" +Douglas Fairbanks in "The Good Bad-Man" +Squaring Things With Sister--From "The Habit of Happiness" +A Scene from "In Again--Out Again" +Bungalowing in California +Demonstrating the Monk and the Hand-Organ to a Body of Psychologists +"Wedlock in Time"--The Fairbanks' Family +Here's Hoping +A Close-Up + + + + +LIVE AND LAUGH + + + + +CHAPTER I + +"WHISTLE AND HOE--SING AS WE GO" + + +There is one thing in this good old world that is positively +sure--happiness is for _all_ who _strive_ to _be_ happy--and those who +laugh _are_ happy. + +Everybody is eligible--you--me--the other fellow. + +Happiness is fundamentally a state of mind--not a state of body. + +And mind controls. + +Indeed it is possible to stand with one foot on the inevitable "banana +peel" of life with both eyes peering into the Great Beyond, and still be +happy, comfortable, and serene--if we will even so much as smile. + +It's all a state of mind, I tell you--and I'm sure of what I say. That's +why I have taken up my fountain pen. I want to talk to my friends--you +hosts of people who have written to me for my recipe. In moving pictures +all I can do is act my part and grin for you. What I say is a matter of +your own inference, but with my pen I have a means of getting around the +"silent drama" which prevents us from organizing a "close-up" with one +another. + +In starting I'm going to ask you "foolish question number 1."-- + +Do you ever laugh? + +I mean do you ever laugh right out--spontaneously--just as if the police +weren't listening with drawn clubs and a finger on the button connecting +with the "hurry-up" wagon? Well, if you don't, you should. _Start off +the morning with a laugh and you needn't worry about the rest of the +day._ + +I like to laugh. It is a tonic. It braces me up--makes me feel +fine!--and keeps me in prime mental condition. Laughter is a +physiological necessity. The nerve system requires it. The deep, +forceful chest movement in itself sets the blood to racing thereby +livening up the circulation--which is good for us. Perhaps you hadn't +thought of that? Perhaps you didn't realize that laughing automatically +re-oxygenates the blood--_your_ blood--and keeps it red? It does all of +that, and besides, it relieves the tension from your brain. + +_Laughter is more or less a habit._ To some it comes only with practice. +But what's to hinder practising? Laugh and live long--if you had a +thought of dying--laugh and grow well--if you're sick and +despondent--laugh and grow fat--if your tendency is towards the lean and +cadaverous--laugh and succeed--if you're glum and "unlucky"--laugh and +nothing can faze you--not even the Grim Reaper--for the man who has +laughed his way through life has nothing to fear of the future. His +conscience is clear. + +Wherein lies this magic of laughter? For magic it is--a something that +manufactures a state of felicity out of any condition. We've got to +admit its charm; automatically and inevitably a laugh cheers us up. If +we are bored--nothing to do--just laugh--that's something to do, for +laughter is synonymous with action, and action dispels gloom, care, +trouble, worry and all else of the same ilk. + +Real laughter is spontaneous. Like water from the spring it bubbles +forth a creation of mingled action and spontaneity--two magic potions in +themselves--the very essence of laughter--the unrestrained emotion +within us! + +So, for me, it is to laugh! Why not stick along? The experiment won't +hurt you. All we need is will power, and that is a personal matter for +each individual to seek and acquire for himself. Many of us already +possess it, but many of us do not. + +Take the average man on the street for example. Watch him go plodding +along--no spring, no elasticity, no vim. He is in _check-rein_--how can +he laugh when his _pep_ is all gone and the _sand in his craw_ isn't +there any more? What he needs is _spirit_! Energy--the power to force +himself into action! For him there is no hope unless he will take up +physical training in some form that will put him in normal physical +condition--after that everything simplifies itself. The brain responds +to the new blood in circulation and thus the mental processes are ready +to make a fight against the inertia of stagnation which has held them in +bondage. + +[Illustration: _Do You Ever Laugh?_ (_White Studio_)] + +And, mind you, physical training doesn't necessarily mean going to an +expert for advice. One doesn't have to make a mountain out of a +molehill. Get out in the fresh air and walk briskly--and don't forget to +wear a smile while you're at it. Don't over-do. Take it easy at first +and build on your effort day by day. A little this morning--a little +more tonight. The first chance you have, when you're sure of your wind +and heart, get out upon the country road, or cross-country hill and +dale. Then run, run, run, until you drop exhausted upon some grassy +bank. Then laugh, loud and long, for you're on the road to happiness. + +Try it now--don't wait. _Today is the day to begin._ Or, if it is night +when you run across these lines, drop this book and trot yourself +around the block a few times. Then come back and you'll enjoy it more +than you would otherwise. Activity makes for happiness as nothing else +will and once you stir your blood into little bubbles of energy you will +begin to think of other means of keeping your bodily house in order. +Unless you make a first effort the chances are you will do very little +real thinking of any kind--_we need pep to think_. + +Think what an opportunity we miss when stripped at night if we fail to +give our bodies a round of exercise. It is so simple, so easy, and has +so much to do with our sleep each night and our work next day that to +neglect to do so is a crime against nature. And laugh! Man alive, if you +are not in the habit of laughing, _get the habit_. Never miss a chance +to laugh aloud. Smiling is better than nothing, and a chuckle is better +still--but _out and out laughter_ is the real thing. Try it now if you +dare! And when you've done it, analyze your feelings. + +I make this prediction--if you once start the habit of exercise, and +couple with it the habit of laughter, even if only for one short +week--you'll keep it up ever afterwards. + +And, by the way, Friend Reader,--don't be alarmed. The personal pronouns +"_I_" and "_you_" give place in succeeding chapters to the more +congenial editorial "_we_." I couldn't resist the temptation to enjoy +one brief spell of intimacy just for the sake of good acquaintance. +_Have a laugh on me._ + + + + +CHAPTER II + +TAKING STOCK OF OURSELVES + + +Experience is the real teacher, but the matter of how we are going to +succeed in life should not be left to ordinary chance while we are +waiting for things to happen. Our first duty is to prepare ourselves +against untoward experiences, and that is best done by taking stock of +our mental and physical assets at the very outset of our journey. What +weaknesses we possess are excess baggage to be thrown away and that is +our reason for taking stock so early. It is likely to save us from +riding to a fall. + +There is one thing we don't want along--_fear_. We will never get +anywhere with that, nor with any of its uncles, aunts or cousins--_Envy, +Malice and Greed_. In justice to our own best interests we should search +every crook and cranny of our hearts and minds lest we venture forth +with any such impedimenta. There is no excuse, and we have no one to +blame if we allow any of them to journey along with us. We know whether +they are there or not just as we would know _Courage, Trust and Honor_ +were they perched behind us on the saddle. + +It is idle to squeal if through association with the former we find +ourselves ditched before we are well under way--for it is coming to us, +sooner or later. We might go _far_, as some have done, through the lanes +and alleys of ill-gotten gains and luxurious self-indulgence, but we +would pay in the end. So, why not charge them up to "profit and loss" at +the start and kick them off into the gutter where they belong? They are +not for us on our eventful journey through life, and the time to get rid +of them once and for all is when we are young, and mentally and +physically vigorous. Later on when the fires burn low and we still have +them with us they will be hard to push aside. + +"To thine own self be true," says the great Shakespeare and how can we +be true to our own selves if we train with inferiors? We are known by +our companionships. We will be rated according to association--good or +bad. The two will not mix for long and we will be one sort of a fellow +or the other. We can't be both. + +There was a time, long years ago, in the days of our grandfathers, when +men went to the "bow-wows" and, later on, "came back" as it were, by +making a partial success in life--measured largely by the money they +succeeded in accumulating. That was before the "check-up" system was +invented. Today things are different. Questions are asked--"Where were +you last?"--"Why did you leave there?"--"Have you credentials?"--and +when we shake our weary head and walk away, we fondly wish we had "taken +stock" back there when the "taking" was good. + + "To thine own self be true; and it must follow as the night the + day, thou canst not then be false to any man." + +When we can analyze ourselves and find that we are living up to the +quoted lines above we may safely lift the limit from our aspirations. +Right here it is well to say that success is not to be computed in +dollars and cents, nor that the will to achieve a successful life is to +be predicated upon the mere accumulation of wealth. First of all, good +health and good minds--then we may laugh loud and long--we're safe on +"first." + +So, with these two weapons we may dig down into our aspirations, and, +keeping in view that our policy is that of honesty to ourselves and +toward our fellow man, all we need to do is to go about the program of +life cheerfully and stout of heart--_for now we are in a state of +preparedness_. + +We are at the point where vision starts. Along with this vision must +come the courage of convictions in order that we may feel that our ideas +are important, and because we have such thoughts, _we shall surely +succeed_. It has often been noticed that when we have had a large +conception and have with force, character, and strength of will carried +it into effect, immediately thereafter a host of people have been able +to say: "I thought of that myself!" Most of us have had the same +experience after reading of a great discovery that we had thrown +overboard because it must not have been "worth while" or someone else +would already have thought of it. + +The man who puts life into an idea is acclaimed a genius, because he +does _the right thing at the right time_. Therein lies the difference +between the _genius_ and a _commonplace_ man. + +We all have ambitions, but only the few achieve. A man thinks of a good +thing and says: "Now if I only had the money I'd put that through." The +word "if" was a dent in his courage. With character fully established, +his plan well thought out, he had only to go to those in command of +capital and it would have been forthcoming. He had something that +capital would cheerfully get behind if he had the courage to back up his +claims. To fail was nothing less than moral cowardice. _The will to do_ +had not been efficient. There was a flaw in the character, after all. + +Going back, therefore, to the prescription, we find that a _sound +body_, a _good mind_, an _honest purpose_, and a _lack of fear_ are the +essential elements of success. So, when we have conceived something for +the good of the world and have allowed it to go by default we have +dropped the monkey-wrench into the machinery of our preparedness. We +must look about us for a reason. Have we fallen by the wayside of +carelessness? Have we allowed ourselves to be discouraged by cowardly +"ifs"? _Did we lack the sand_? Exactly so; we didn't have the courage of +our convictions. + +Life is the one great experience, and those who fail to win, if sound of +body, can safely lay the blame to their lack of mental equipment. What +does it matter if disappointments follow one after the other if we can +_laugh and try again_? Failures must come to all of us in some degree, +but we may rise from our failures and win back our losses if we are only +shrewd enough to realize that good health, sound mind, and a cheerful +spirit are necessary adjuncts. As Tennyson says: + + "I held it truth, with him who sings + To one clear harp in divers tones, + That men may rise on stepping-stones + Of their dead selves to higher things." + +All truly great men have been healthy--otherwise they would have fallen +short of the mark. Prisons are filled with nervous, diseased creatures. +There is no doubt but that most of these who, through ignorance, sifted +through to the bottomless pits could have saved themselves had they +realized the truth and "taken stock" of themselves, _in time_--of +course, allowing for those, who are victims of circumstantial evidence. + +The prime necessity of life is health. With this, for mankind, nothing +is impossible. But if we do not make use of this good health it will +waste itself away and never come back. It often disappears entirely for +lack of interest on the part of its thoughtless owner. A little energy +would have saved the day. _A little "pep"--and we laugh and live._ +Laughter clings to good health as naturally as the needle clings to the +magnet. It is the outward expression of an unburdened soul. It bubbles +forth as a fountain, always refreshing, always wholesome and sweet. + +[Illustration: _Over the Hedge and on His Way_] + +In taking stock of ourselves we should not forget that fear plays a +large part in the drama of failure. That is the first thing to be +dropped. Fear is a mental deficiency susceptible of correction, if taken +in hand before it gains an ascendency over us. Fear comes with the +thought of failure. Everything we think about should have the +possibility of success in it if we are going to build up courage. We +should get into the habit of reading _inspirational books_, looking at +_inspirational pictures_, hearing _inspirational music_, associating +with _inspirational friends_ and above all, we should cultivate the +habit of mind of thinking clean, and of doing, wholesome things. + +"Guard thyself!" That is the slogan. Let us "take stock" often and see +where we stand. We will not be afraid of the weak points. We will _get +after them_ and get hold of ourselves at the same time. Some book might +give us help--a fine play, or some form of athletics will start us to +thinking. Self-analysis teaches us to see ourselves in a true light +without embellishments or undue optimism. We can gauge our chances in no +better way. If we grope in the darkness we haven't much of a chance. +"Taking stock" throws a searchlight on the dark spots and points the way +out of the danger zone. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +ADVANTAGES OF AN EARLY START + + +It is the young man who has the best chance of winning. Then why +shouldn't youthfulness be made a permanent asset? We have recovered from +the idea of putting a man into a sanatorium just because a few grey +hairs show themselves in his head. We should not ask him how old he is +... we should ask: "_What can he do_?" The young man may have the +advantage of years but the older one has the advantage of experience and +knowledge. Now if this older man could carry along with him that spirit +of youth which actuated his earlier activities he would be prepared +against incapacity. Our fate hangs on how we conduct ourselves in youth. +The world has great need of the sober, thoughtful men _above the fifty +line_. By right of experience and knowledge they should become our +leaders in the shaping of our policies. It is all a matter of how a man +comes through, mentally, physically and spiritually. Age should not +count against him. + +The first thought is to keep healthy. In fact, we cannot harp on this +too much. The second requirement is confidence in ourselves, without +which our career is short lived. + +Already we perceive that one must keep track of his _inner self_. This +breeds confidence. The very fact that one stops to probe into that +hidden land of thought shows that he is keeping tab on himself with a +sharp eye. That's the stuff! _We mustn't fool ourselves._ The majority +of failures come as a result of not being able to trust one's self. The +moment we doubt, or acknowledge that we cannot conquer a weakness, then +we begin to go down hill. It is a subtle process. We hardly realize it +at the time but as the days go by, the years roll on, the final day of +reckoning draws near and relentlessly we are swept along as driftwood +toward the lonely beaches of obscurity. And all because _we lacked +self-confidence_! We did not realize it until it was too late. We were +too busy with self-indulgence to struggle for success. + +Most of our troubles in later life started with _failure to take hold of +ourselves_ when we were young. It may be that we put off making our +choice of something to do. If we had been companionable to ourselves we +might have thought out the proper course while taking long walks in +pursuit of physical development. That would have been a _fine_ time in +which to fight out the whole problem--the time when optimism and _the +will to do_ are as natural as the laughter of a child, or the song of a +bird. That was the time when the world appeared roseate and beautiful, +when success lay just beyond the turn of the road, when failure seemed +something illusory and improbable. Then was the time to jump in with +both feet and _a big hearty laugh_ to solve the problem of what to do +and how to go about it. It is surprising how readily the world follows +the individual with confidence. It is willing to believe in him, to +furnish funds, to assist in any way within its power. And that is where +the man _with a smile_ is sure to win--for the man who smiles has +confidence in himself. + +So long as we carry along with us our atmosphere of hearty good will and +enthusiasm we know no defeat. The man who is gloomy, taciturn and lives +in a world of doubt seldom achieves more than a bare living. There have +been a few who have groaned their way through to a competence but in +proportion to that overwhelming number of souls who carry cheer through +life they are as nothing--mere drops in the bucket. If the truth were +told their success came probably through mere chance and nothing else. +Such people are not the ones for us to endeavor to follow. _We cannot +afford to allow our visions to sour._ + +Beginning early takes away timidity and builds for success while we are +young enough to enjoy the benefits. Although it is never too late to +start a cheerful life we don't have to kill ourselves in the attempt. +There is no necessity for throwing all caution to the winds, but we +should press our advantages. With _self-analysis_ comes a certain +poise, a certain dignity and kindliness that tempers every move with +precision. + +Once we get the proper start we have only to take stock now and then in +order to keep our machinery in a fine state of repair. If we have chosen +wisely we love our work and stick to it closely--not forgetting the home +duties and our share in its success. Right here we run up against the +danger signal if our business success wins us away from the hearthstone. +_Love of home_ is a quality of the workers of the earth. "What doth it +profit a man to win the whole world if he _loseth_ his own soul?" + +To sum up the case--once we have made up our minds to win and how we are +going to do it, the next step is to act. _Health is synonymous with +action._ The healthy man does things, the unhealthy man hesitates. And +when we get ready to act we will act with the air of a conqueror. We +must supply from our own store our atmosphere of confidence in order to +win confidence. The successful man is the one who _knows he is right_ +and makes us realize it. + +It is always worth while to study the successes among our +acquaintances. Are they gloomy, morose and irritable? If they were to +that extent they would not be successful. On the contrary, they are +robust, confident individuals who have taken advantage of every rightful +opportunity and possessed _the power to smile_ when all about them were +in the dumps. When everyone else thought that there wasn't a chance to +win these fellows stepped in and took charge. + +When we interview the failures we find that all of them give one excuse: +"_I didn't have the confidence._" They may not say it in exactly these +words but the meaning is plain. They ran through the whole gamut of +_self-distrust_ which is the natural result of not having started early +in the study of self--the serious realization of their own capabilities. + +[Illustration: _Preparing to Pair With the Prickly Pear_] + +This makes it easy to understand their plight. If we know ourselves we +are strengthened that much, because we can bolster up our weaknesses. We +will know enough to combat timidity. We can then know what we are +capable of, and thus become conscious of our innate powers that only +need to be called into action in order to become useful. We cannot +imagine for an instant a great violinist going out on the concert +platform in ignorance of the condition of his instrument. And yet +failures go out on the stage of life knowing nothing of their strengths +and weaknesses--_and still expect to win_! + +If we are to become successes we must _keep success in mind_--banish all +thought of losing. Success is just as natural as anything else. It is +only a matter of the mind anyhow. We are all successes _as long as we +continue to think so_. Self-depreciation is a disease. Once it gets a +hold on us--good-bye! + +And that is why it is wise to begin early--to take hold of affairs while +we are young. Superiority over our fellow man comes from a superiority +of mind and body. A healthy mind breeds a healthy body. The most +superficial study will convince us of this fact. + +Appearance counts for much in this world. We judge largely by +appearances. We haven't time to know everyone we meet intimately and as +a result must base our opinions upon _first impressions_. The fellow who +comes in an office with his head hanging down between his shoulders and +a frown upon his face doesn't get far with us. We find ourselves looking +over his sagging shoulders toward the individual behind him who comes in +with a swinging step and the confidence born of health and good spirits. + +Self-confidence in youth makes for self-confidence in after years. This +is far from meaning that one can be brazen and inclined towards +freshness and get away with it. It merely means the marshalling of one's +forces, _the command of one's self_ and the ability to make others +recognize that we are on the map because we belong there. And one of the +quickest ways to accomplish this is to have a smile tucked away for +instant use. Again, this does not mean that we are to carry round a +ready-to-wear grin which we wear only as we are ushered into the +presence of another. _A real smile, or a hearty laugh, is not to be +counterfeited._ We easily know the genuine from the spurious. A real +laugh springs naturally out of a pure, unadulterated confidence and a +good physical condition. What triumphs, what splendid battles, have been +won through the ability to laugh at the right moment. + +Whenever we find that we are losing our ability to smile let's have no +false notions. We are neglecting our physical well being. Let us then +and there drop the sombre thoughts and get out into the open air. Run +down the street and if possible out into the country. If we see a tree +and have the inclination to climb it--well, then, climb it. If we are +sensitive about what our neighbors might say--too bad! But we can romp +with easy grace. If we but knew how gladly our neighbors would emulate +our gymnastics if they knew the value of them the laugh would be on us +for dreading their opinion. One thing we do know--_they will envy us our +good health and spirits_. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +PROFITING BY EXPERIENCE + + +_Experience comes by contact._ There is no way we can have experiences +without passing directly through them. If we are up and doing they come +thick and fast into our lives, some of them weighted down by the +peculiar twists and turns of circumstances, others simple, easily +understood, and still others complicated to the point of not being +understood at all. + +People are divided into two classes--_those who profit by experience and +those who do not_. The unfortunate part of it all is that the latter +class is by far the larger of the two. + +The man of vigorous purpose, fine constitution, and the full knowledge +of self, sees through an experience as clearly as through a window. The +glass may be foggy, but he knows what lies beyond. Self-reliant and +strong he seeks knowledge through experience, while the weak man, the +unhealthy-minded, the inefficient, stands aside and gives him the right +of way. In later years, however, they bitterly complain that they were +not given the same chance to succeed. + +The man of experience having long since passed through the stages of +indecision has, through careful self-analysis learned to bridge +difficulties that would make others tremble with fear. He knows that +every lane has a turning. He may not see it at the moment. He may not +know where it is. _But that doesn't worry him._ He picks up his bundle +and trudges ahead, confident that victory awaits him somewhere along the +line. + +The fact that he believes in himself, sets him apart from ordinary +mankind. Many great men have been at loss to understand why they +attained success. It is well nigh impossible for them to outline the +causes that led them to the top rungs of the ladder. The reason is that +_their lack of fear_ of experiences was an unconscious one, rather than +a conscious one. However, they are willing to admit that acting on the +principle of profiting by experience _loaned them initiative_ with which +to proceed. They soon came to know opportunity at sight and had only to +look around to find it. + +The young man standing on the threshold of life is, from lack of +experience, puzzled over the future. He looks above him and sees the +towering successes. He reads in the papers of the massive characters who +have risen from the bottom to the top. Naturally he would like to meet +one of these giants of success and hear what he has to say. The +interview is quite needless. "_Get busy and profit by experience_," is +about all the advice one man can give to another. There is no way to +profit by experience until we have had experience so there is nothing to +do but get busy and experience will come as fast as we can absorb it. +Our duty is to strive for success and not expect to attain it except by +successive steps. A wholesale consignment would be our undoing. Quick +successes through luck or good fortune have not the lasting value of +those won by virtue of knowing how--of accomplishing what we started +out to do. + +Faith in one's self does not come from the outside--it must spring up +naturally _from within_. A healthy body and a sane mind are the best +foundations for this. The young man who begins his career with these +facts in mind is given a running start over his competitors. Poverty and +failure are the result of _an ignorance of the value of experience_. +Worry, anxiety, fear of not doing the right thing, lack of insight into +character ... these, too, are the result of a lack of experience. + +Good health is necessary to experience, but a majority neglect to take +care of it. If we are to profit by what we learn we _must have the vim_ +with which to push forward. We must have every ounce of vitality we +possess at command--ready for use. This we conserve for the _big +emergency_ which we know is coming. New experiences are pushing us +forward and previous experiences are helping to move the load. +Experience tells us what to do at this point and that--and at last puts +its shoulder to the wheel and "_over she goes_!" + +Every mind is in possession of an enormous amount of dormant power and +only experience can release it into proper action. We often hear a fond +mother say that her son is full to bursting with the _old nick_, which +means that the youngster is overflowing with _pent-up energy_. With +experience he could find good use for it--but without it this surplus +may turn out to be a dangerous possession. Young men of this type should +be guarded most carefully and advised to "get busy" _early in life_ at +something worth while. Many a bright fellow brimming with excess power +has gone as a lamb to the slaughter into the maelstrom of vice because +of being held back from _legitimate occupation_. He just had to blow off +steam so he did it in a gin mill rather than a rolling mill. + +This dynamo called the mind can be trained to do anything. Not only can +it be guided at the start but it can be guided by all that follows. It +can be used for building additional dynamos to be called into action in +times of need. This statement may seem at first far-fetched. If we think +so it is proof that we have not _profited by our experiences_ and should +get down to "stock taking" before it is too late. + +The practical man, after all, is only _one who takes advantage of +opportunities_. He could double and triple his power if he only realized +how superficial the average setback really is. The young man has just as +much chance of being considered practical as the so-called older one, +always provided that he has a store of experiences to profit by. The +first _big experience_ of life usually makes or breaks us. For this +experience we need to be prepared. We must have a _strong heart_ that we +may bear defeat nobly from this is not to be our last kick--our last +breath--_not by a jugful_! + +We are going to start all over again after our setback and we are not +going to wait any longer than it takes to bury the dead. This will be +done decently and in good order--our training will admit of no +indecorum. If the smash was a bad one we will assume the liability, +nevertheless, and get back on the job. We are out to win and +_eventually we will win_. + +And that is what we mean by taking profit from experience. _The powers +that break down are also the powers that build up._ The electrician who +handles the motor could just as well end his own existence by that +mysterious current as he could make use of it for the good of humanity. +He spends years of conscientious study and masters the knowledge of it +so that its uses are as simple as his A B C's. There is no doubt in the +world but that he had to learn by experience. He had to go into the shop +and _climb up from the bottom_. There was no other way by which he could +come to know how to turn a deadly force into a well-trained necessity. + +Yet the average man goes into life with as little knowledge of its +forces as the baby who puts its foot upon the third rail. That fact +keeps the thoughtless man down until experience comes to the rescue. +When it does come, _if he has the sand, the common sense, the will to +do_, there is naught to hold him away from his goal. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +ENERGY, SUCCESS AND LAUGHTER + + +There are many essentials to success, but there is one that is of such +importance that without it all the others become as naught. The man who +wins success is invariably impelled to do the great work allotted him by +_something within_ that tells him _he can_. He may not know exactly what +it is, but he knows he possesses it and is able to _act on that faith_, +accomplishing things which seem utterly impossible to other people. This +_inner determination_, once firmly implanted in one's nature, cannot be +destroyed or conquered. And this element is _energy_--energy of mind, +which rules the body. But where does this come from? How do the great +minds generate this glorious means of self-propulsion? The answer is +that _in a healthy body it is inherent_ from birth, and proper care of +the body therefore accentuates within their minds the will to do. + +If the preceding chapters have been carefully read we may readily +believe that the successful youth must start with a wholesome, generous +viewpoint, a good constitution, and a clean mind. We have had an inkling +by this time of what one must do to achieve success in a world where +competition is keen. We are beginning to realize that these matters are +of vital importance and that we are face to face with a problem. + +Energy is the natural outpouring of a healthy body. It must be directed, +it must be controlled, the same as any other living force. Not only is +it a positive necessity to the winner, but it must grow and become _a +natural quality_. It does not stand after years of abuse. It does not +spring up in the night after a long season of neglect and ill-health. +All of us possess it in varying ways. That fact ought to convince us +that we can get hold of ourselves and build up that which nature has +given us, rather than allow it to die away. We all have a certain amount +of energy ... _why shouldn't we all be successes_? We might to a +certain extent, but that doesn't mean that we shall all get rich in the +money sense of the world. + +When we say: "Why shouldn't we all be successes?" we do not mean that +everybody in the world must be greedy for money, nor for power and +position. It does not mean that we should be selfish and eager to take +everything away from the other fellow. On the contrary, it means that, +with energy, we shall be successful _according to our brain tendency_. + +Going back to our second chapter we find the phrase "taking stock" of +ourselves. Done rightly that alone will inspire success. Now if we are a +little farther along on the way towards sane living and the _ability to +laugh_ and we know that after this struggle is over the battle is won we +must use the powers that self-analysis gives us--_to fight_. The mere +recognition of them is power and we must not let them go to waste. + +Energy is like steam--it cannot be generated under the boiling point. In +other words, _half-heartedness_ never produced it nor made it a +practical working tool. We must be energetic in order to augment +energy. We must have confidence along with it ... the more the merrier. +The greater the confidence in ourselves the greater the energy which +brought it about. Some minds naturally feel confident. These are the +lucky ones, the slender few who have grasped life's meaning at the start +by "_taking stock_" before they were threatened with defeat. Success +comes to them as easily as rolling off the proverbial log. They come +sweeping along, conquering, sure of themselves, confident, aspiring, +true to their inner selves, ready for work, unafraid of experiences, and +_sure of a smile when the clouds are darkest_. + +This does not mean that these successes have exceptional ability. If +that were the case we would not waste time either in reading or writing +about the matter. If we didn't feel that we were potentially able to +become successes and possessed the elements of victory in our present +make-up not another moment would be spent on the subject. The very +simplicity of this use of energy proves to us that it is a quality +bubbling forth _in the least of us_ and the strongest. It only needs to +be put to work and it becomes self-strengthening. _Living in the open +air, sleeping out of doors, taking the proper exercise, looking +wholesomely upon life, believing in ourselves_, are all parts of the +sane existence which leads to success and laughter. + +We ought to feel that everything in life possesses elements akin to +human feeling. We should not arrogate to ourselves the sole right to +rule and reason. And what has this to do with energy? It is only one of +the many vistas that open to us when we learn how to laugh and live. And +man alive! _If we never learn to laugh we will never learn to live._ + +We must not forget that there can be more than one use made of energy. +In the same way that electricity might be misused so might energy be +placed in the wrong service. We must not waste any time, therefore, in +getting this energy of ours worked into _enthusiasm_ ... enthusiasm for +our life work, for our fellow man, _for the zest of life_. We must +throw ourselves into the battle and carry the standard. We must leap to +the front, not waiting for the other fellow to show the way. Spend your +enthusiasm freely and be surprised at how it thrives on usage. + +Enthusiasm being produced by energy must of a necessity depend largely +upon that. Now the point is, how shall we guard and keep fresh this +element in ourselves? We know that the body is producing this quality. +Like the steam engine we are keeping the fires going by exercise, +wholesome thinking and sincerity of purpose. We are the engineers. Our +hand is on the throttle. Sharp turns lie ahead but our eyes look forward +fearlessly. We glance about us to see that we are in the pink of +condition. We know that our mind is functioning properly and that the +awakened confidence is already inherent in our natures and stands beside +us night and day like the officer upon the bridge of the ship. _Indeed +we are on our way!_ + +[Illustration: _A Little Spin Among the Saplings_] + +Out of energy and enthusiasm comes something else that must not be +neglected ... in fact it must be cultivated and guarded from the very +beginning ... _laughter_. The mere possession of energy and enthusiasm +makes us feel like laughing. We want to leap and jump and dance and +sing. If we feel like that don't let us be afraid to do it. _Get out in +the air and run like a school boy. Jump ditches, vault fences, swing the +arms!_ Never fail to get next to nature when responsive to the call. +Indeed we may woo this call from within ourselves until it comes to be +second nature. And when we rise in the morning let us be determined that +we will start the day with a hearty laugh anyhow. Laugh because you are +alive, laugh with everything. _Let yourself go._ That is the secret--the +ability to let one's self go! + +If we follow this religiously we will be surprised how successful the +day will be. Everything gives way before it. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +BUILDING UP A PERSONALITY + + +More and more personality is coming into its own as man's greatest +asset. There was never a day when it was not, but in former years this +essential quality was not listed under the name ... _personality_. Had +we lived in the days of our fathers' youth we would have heard about +"remarkable men," "men of big caliber," "large character," "splendid +presence," and the like. But it remained for our day and generation to +discover the real word--_personality_--meaning the _most perfect +combination possible of man's highest attributes_. At least that would +be the definition in its fullest sense. + +Of course everyone has a certain personality and, no matter in what +degree, its possession is valuable. Personality is an acorn, so to +speak, which may be cultivated into a sturdy oak. Personality is one's +_inner self outwardly expressed_. It represents the conquest of our +weaknesses and naturally impresses our strength of character upon +others. + +With personality our foundation is firm. On this pedestal we may stand +squarely and face life with equanimity. For such there is no end to +achievement while good health and youthful spirit remain. + +It is impossible to come into the presence of a personality without +becoming immediately aware of it. It is reflected by people of _small +stature ... poor physiques ... homely visages_, as well as men of the +highest physical development. The great Napoleon was just above five +feet while Lincoln towered over the six-foot line. Men of personality +are the last to say die. Their store of _combativeness_ carries them +beyond their real span of existence either in years or achievement. +Thus, the mind shows its mastery over matter. Alexander Pope was still +writing while propped upon the pillows of his death bed. Mark Twain +joked with friends when he knew his hour was at hand. + +_Personality is magnetic._ It can charm the friend or put fear into the +heart of the enemy. Joan of Arc, a frail woman, won battles at the head +of her troops. History is filled with incidents where men of personality +have turned defeat into victory by leading their soldiers back into the +fray. + +Wholesome personality is the fulfillment of +self-development--physically, mentally and spiritually. But all +personality is not wholesome for it often shows in the face of the man +_who is a rogue at heart_. Therefore, all personality is not for the +good of the world. It is only of the wholesome kind that we speak. To +such as possess it the goal is divine. Personality could never be +perfected without living a _life of preparedness_ backed up by our most +earnest and honest convictions. Personality is made up of many qualities +and differs in man only as man is different from his brother man. +Perfect personality requires constant care in its development and +constant guard for its safety. It cannot be purchased in the open +market. It must be built upon piece by piece and everything we are +becomes a part of it. + +Personality would be indeed imperfect if it did not give us _full +poise_. If we neglect our physical poise we pull down our mental poise, +likewise our spiritual poise. That is why personality must be kept +constantly protected against encroachment; but this can be so fixed by +purpose, plan, and power of will that it becomes automatically +safeguarded. Once in possession we have only to make it part of our +natural selves and _wear it unconsciously_ to the last breath of life. + +Then the question is, why should we allow ourselves to be satisfied with +an imperfect personality? It only reflects back upon ourselves. Haven't +we often heard a man say: "_He is all right but_...!" Perhaps the +personality in question was untidy, or that his walk was that of a +laggard, or that he affected an egotistical air of +superiority--whatever the impairment it should have been done away with. + +A man of personality should never be haunted with worry from the sneers +of his inferiors because of their own laxity. Some men perfect their +manner of speech to a degree which takes it above that of their weaker +fellows, others develop fine qualities which are viewed by ordinary +individuals as affectations but which are in reality the result of +_innate refinement_. + +The man of no refinement has indeed an uphill fight but with persistence +and ambition to succeed he can win. Lincoln, the rail splitter, is the +most shining example of _the power to will victory_. For him to have +fallen by the wayside would have caused no comment for it would have +been expected in those early days of struggle, but to those who have the +benefit of inherited tendencies toward personality, to fail in its +development is in the nature of a crime. + +Personality does not mean over-refinement. _Sturdy qualities_ are the +necessary ones. Over-refinement leads to the softer life and ofttimes to +degeneracy. Exalted ego is an indication of degeneracy and may have +been inherited. Of those things we inherit that are good we must hold, +and everlastingly must we watch those which are bad. It is never wise to +wander far away from basic principles into preachment. What we need is +guidance along the road to the goal of personality. First of all we need +_health_ and second, _the will to do_. Next, we must use these weapons +in the right direction, for personality is at its zenith when backed up +by _strong physique and brain power_. + +From previous chapters we have learned that success of any kind is +predicated upon keeping ourselves in trim, and in good humor. Keeping in +trim is no trick at all. We can make it a part of every physical action +and as keeping in trim means perfection of body and soundness of mind we +should never neglect to utilize any effort that will help us toward +bodily efficiency. _There is exercise in stooping over to pick up a pin +if we will go about it the right way. We can correct an ill-formed body +by adopting and maintaining a certain carriage. We may hold our chin in +such a way as to provide against stooped shoulders._ + +We have opportunities both morning and evening to indulge in various +forms of light, systematic exercises which will push forward the day's +work with zest and vim. + +Poise has everything to do with personality, therefore the physical +structure must come in for its share of proper attention. No man of +refined personality would walk the streets with a soiled face or +uncombed hair. Such things do not give poise. They are the evidences of +a laggard spirit. The more we exercise the more energetic we become, the +surer we are of ourselves, the farther we get in the development of our +personality. + +[Illustration: _Over the Hills and Far Away--Father and Son_] + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +HONESTY, THE CHARACTER BUILDER + + +Just as the straight line is the shortest distance between two points so +is honesty the only proper attitude of one person toward another. +Without it there is no understanding possible. It must always remain +supreme as a quality without which character becomes a sham, a +superficial thing that has no basis in fact. _The ability to look the +other fellow in the eye_ is as necessary to character as the foundation +is to a house. It comes out of that "_great within_" which we are now +exploring. It arises from the courageous facing of our weaknesses and +becomes a part of the man _who knows himself and laughs with life_, at +the mere joy of living, doing, accomplishing ... winning against all +odds. + +Honesty accompanies a proper self-esteem and its cultivation should +become a part of our earliest education. It doesn't grow anywhere +except within ourselves and will never be handed to us on a silver +platter. If we fail to find it when we are young it will have small +chance of obtaining a grip on us later. _It is the one quality with +which to crown our highest attributes._ It is final proof that we are +capable of just thought and square dealing, and is proof positive that +we are part and parcel of the wholesome spirit which rules the universe. +Its possession is greater than riches for its dividend is happiness and +contentment and we cannot go wrong if we so live that we can look any +man in the eye and _tell him the truth_. + +To live in the full sense means to be alert. Whatever high moral plane +we shall achieve must be held against all temptation. There is no +compromise. _Self-deceit_ is nothing less than _self-stultification_. We +only fool ourselves and soon find ourselves slipping down hill. It will +be hard climbing getting back. And what of the wear and tear on our +ambitions meanwhile! + +Honesty does not grow naturally out of a dull, uninspired life. It goes +with the energetic, the forceful. The dull soul who is content to plod +along year after year in the same rut may be honest, and this one +redeeming feature may be of such inestimable value to him that it +sweetens and softens his entire days. It will bring him friends ... +true-blue friends, who will excuse all other shortcomings _because of +his honesty_. It gives him the unadulterated trust of his employer and +it arouses a certain admiration among his narrow circle of +acquaintances. If this is true with the dullard, the weakling, then what +must it mean _when possessed by the great_? We know, for instance, how +the nation instinctively turned to General Washington when it came to +choosing their President after the Revolutionary War. He may have been +gifted, he may have been one of the world's greatest captains, but the +one quality which endeared him to his countrymen was a tremendous moral +superiority. "_He never told a lie_" rang around the world. Summed up, +his virtues amounted to those five words. Some statesmen may have been +more astute but Washington was honest--"_he never told a lie_." The +people knew they could trust this man so they elected him to fill the +highest place within their gift. + +Honesty with ourselves is the first thing to remember. Unless we are, it +will be impossible for us to enter into that spiritual contentment +enjoyed by those who _are_ honest with themselves. If we are untrue to +ourselves how can we be true to others? The framework of a man's moral +being must be that of honesty. It must become his very nature and become +automatic in its processes. It belongs to the healthy, those who keep +themselves well through _vigorous exercise and temperate living_. It is +not a quality set aside for the lucky few. Every man, woman and child +possesses it in some degree and only its constant neglect trims it to a +minimum. It is one of those fundamentals of life, one of those powerful +and moving forces that rule society. _We are either honest or we are +not._ We cannot be _nearly honest_ and get away with it. + +When one stops to consider honesty, even for a moment, its full +importance is realized. For example, imagine having a dishonest friend. +Could we go to him with the secrets of our heart? Could we trust him? +Would we trust anyone who might turn traitor? Again: suppose we were +untrue to ourselves, and the fact became known. Could we blame others if +they passed us up as a companion? Never in a thousand years. _We must +sleep in the beds we prepare for ourselves._ + +Men have grown accustomed through the years to certain standards. These +are now the moral laws which control and guide the destinies of entire +races, whole generations. There must have been a good reason for these +laws or they could never have come into being. Society does not adopt +many unnecessary rules, but among the vital laws _honesty stands out in +bold relief_. It has become deeply imbedded in the minds of mankind that +everyone must be true to himself. It is taken for granted that those who +are not would naturally be _false to everybody_. + +The reason for this lies in the fact that society will not proceed with +any course of action without being able to trust its members. The +general in charge of an army would have a hard time of it if he were +unable to place faith in the subordinate to whom he gave instructions +that might lead to a crisis in the battle. Society would dash itself +upon the rocks were it not conscious that certain people are +courageously honest, _and in these it finds its leaders_. + +To rise in life means that our fellow man believes in us and wishes us +to do so. Without his co-operation it would be futile to arouse our own +ambitions. We could not hope to win a victory all alone and against the +great majority who believe in certain standards and conditions. We might +fool ourselves into thinking that because of some stroke of fortune we +had established an immunity for ourselves. But some day _our +consciences_ would tell us how feebly we had succeeded. + +There is only one method, only one way ... rise through honesty and an +optimistic belief in self. And let us not plume ourselves because of +our virtue. _Personal honesty is our due to ourselves and our fellow +man._ + +One of the distinctive elements in the honest man's make-up is that of +laughter. The ones who live up to their ideals, do not feel that life is +such a dark place, after all. It may mean hard work, little play and +often delayed rewards but the fact that there is a world, and that it is +filled with other honest souls is reward enough to give us courage to +laugh as we go along. _We can always afford to laugh--when we're +honest_. + +The man who is innately honest has no reason to fear the snares of +fortune. He knows that he can win the trust of men; he knows that he +already has it. He has no dread of looking into the other fellow's eye. +He knows where he stands in life. He has won that which he has through +struggle, and he does not intend to lose it. He does not intend to fail. +_He cannot fail--he cannot lose._ No matter how things might go at this +moment or that the next will find him on the rising tide of new +opportunities---new chances. His reputation travels before him like the +advance agent. His coming is heralded and he is welcomed into any +community. + +It isn't as though there were only a few honest men. This welcome, this +"glad hand," is always extended by society to the honest man as a token +of approval. The world's work is a tremendous matter. There is always +room for another worker to handle some part of it. And only the true, +the sincere, are capable of doing this in the proper way. The leaders of +society in the broader sense are those _who win the faith of the average +man_. We look up to Lincoln because we know that he was the one man in a +million to accomplish the greatest task ever set before a human being. +We realize that he was honest--_honest in the huge sense_ so necessary +to the accomplishment of big ideals. And we know that in order to win +some part of that great trust we must obey the standards of honesty and +decency that lie below the surface and only need to be called to life +and action in order to be used. + +And laughter will arouse that sense as quickly as anything else. The man +who is capable of laughing heartily is not apt to be the one who +carries some _conscience-stricken thought around with him_. It is the +easiest thing in the world to detect an untrue laugh. The real laugh +springs out of the depths of being and comes with a ringing sense of +security and _faith in one's self_. It goes with the workman in the +early morning when he swings along the road to the factory. It +accompanies the soldier into battle. It arouses the clerk from lethargy. +It brightens the sick room. It raises us all to unexplored heights, and +as evidence of our state of mind it can only mean one thing--honesty and +sincerity. No character can exist without this outward exhibition of an +inward honesty. _The mere cultivation of laughter would eventually lead +to honesty._ The fact that you are laughing, enjoying life, awakens you +to a spirit of security and a feeling of the joy of living. Gloomy men +are the ones whose tendency is toward crime and trouble. Laughing men +are the ones who stir the world with new desires and make life worth +living. Therefore we say--_laugh and live_! + +[Illustration: _A Scene from "His Picture in the Papers"_] + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +CLEANLINESS OF BODY AND MIND + + +If we interview many of life's failures we will find that the +overwhelming majority went down because of their neglect to get out of +an environment that was not stimulating and because their ambitions had +grown rusty and inefficient to cope with depressing circumstances. The +prisons and other institutions are filled with people who did not make +any attempt to get away from the vicious surroundings in which they +lived. They were like tadpoles that had never grown to frogs ... they +just kept swimming around in their muddy puddles and, not having grown +legs with which they could leap out onto the banks and away to other +climes, they continued to swim in monotonous circles until they died. In +other words, the failure is a man who dwells in muddy atmosphere all his +days, who is content to remain a tadpole and who never attempts to take +advantage of any opportunity. He becomes unclean, so to speak. And that +is what we mean by this chapter heading "_Cleanliness of Body and +Mind_." It was not intended to point out the proper way to keep our +faces and hands clean, or as a sermon, but rather to show ourselves that +_the clean body begets the clean mind_, the two together constituting +compelling tendencies toward _the clean spirit_. A move in the direction +of these takes us out of the rut of life. + +No matter what cause we dig up with which to explain our success in life +we cannot neglect this most important one--_the careful selection of our +acquaintances_. And this doesn't mean that one must be a snob. Far from +it. It only means that the successful man, the man who wishes to rise in +life, should not spend his days in the company of _illiterate +companions_ who do not possess _ambition of heart or the will to do the +work of the world_. It means that life is too short to hang around the +loafing places with the driftwood of humanity listening to their stories +of failure and drinking in with liquor some of their bitterness against +those who have toiled and won the fruits of their toil. It means that we +will not go out of our way to seek the friendship of men and women who +are simply endeavoring to gain happiness in life without paying for it. +It means that we will do all in our power to win friends who _aspire +nobly_ and by so doing inspire those with whom they come in contact. +Such men are naturally clean of mind and body. + +We must remember always to live in a world of clear thought that will +_stimulate our ambitions_. Dwelling in the dark corners of life and +traveling with the débris of humanity will not arouse us to action and +give us that swinging vigor of heart and mind so necessary to the +accomplishment of great things. While we will ever lend the helping hand +to those who need it we will naturally associate with those who have vim +and courage. We will not be _dragged down by our associates_. Until we +meet the right kind we will hold aloof, and we will not be morose and +gloomy because it happens that at this moment our acquaintanceship does +not include these successes. When we have succeeded in doing something +big they will come to us and _if we think big things we are likely to do +them_. It is all a matter of the will to do. + +"Nothing succeeds like success," said some very wise man and if there +ever was a phrase that rang with truth this does. It means that the +_thought of success_, the courage that _comes with success_, leads to +_more and more success_. It means that the thinker of these thoughts is +living in a clean, wholesome atmosphere along with those who are +determined and in earnest. It means that they have caught the fervor of +true life ... a healthy, contagious fervor which permeates the blood +swiftly once it gets a hold, and like electricity it vivifies and stirs +the spirit with renewed energy _day after day, year after year_. Once it +wins us it will stick with us. The success of those about us will shake +our lethargic limbs and stimulate us to a desire to do as they do. We +will be in a world of clean thought and action and our lives will mirror +their lives, our thoughts will be filled with wholesome things and with +good health. We will win in spite of all obstacles. + +Cleanliness is _the morale of the body and the mind_. The man who is +careful of his linen and who does not neglect his morning plunge is not +apt to be gloomy and morose. We notice him in the car or on the street +in the morning. He comes striding along, fresh and full of _the zest of +living_. His mind is clear and unclouded. His eyes are full of that +vigorous light of conscientious desire to win and do so honestly. He has +none of the hypocritical elements in his nature strong enough to rule +him. There may be and probably are many weaknesses in his character. His +very strength consists in his ability to _crush them and make them his +slaves_. + +The man who has taken his morning plunge and dressed himself agreeable +to comfort and grace, has his battles of the day won in advance. He +knows the value of keeping himself in trim. He does it for the sake of +_his own_ feelings. Our approval of his appearance goes without saying. +If a man thinks well of himself in matters of appearance his general +deportment is likely to coincide. Such men never overdo. They are at +ease with themselves and thus impart ease to others who come in contact +with them. They have, in other words, a distinction of their own and +_their distinction is their power_. They know that the highest moral law +of nature is that of cleanliness, that filthiness should not be allowed +to dominate any man's ethics or physical condition. They rule such +things out of their lives. + +A vast magnetic force comes out of those friends of ours who are _doing +things_ and making the world _sit up and take notice_. The mere fact +that we live near to them, know them and associate with them is +proof-positive that we, too, shall go through life with clean minds and +bodies. They would not tolerate us if we were to slip into shoddy ways. +Nothing is revealed quicker to our intimates than _the losing of +ambition_ ... the slipping into careless habits. We cannot conceal it +from them. We fool only those who brush by. The loss of this +self-respect has a terrible effect upon the system and every tendency +toward success is thereby stunted and weakened. _We have fallen into +unclean ways!_ It will not be long before we sink to the bottom or else +remain among the vast crowd who have neither the courage to fall nor the +courage to rise. + +Nothing produces failure quicker than filthiness of mind and body. Those +who are successful keep away from the very thought of such a condition. +They live as much as possible _in the open_. They take morning and +evening exercises. They read good books, attend good plays and are +continually in touch with the finer developments of thought and art in +the world. Their faces are open and full of sunlight. They are +determined that life will not beat them in a game that only requires +sureness of aim and the ability to take advantage of the thousand and +one opportunities that surround them on every side. + +Cleanliness stands _paramount_ in its importance to _success_. Perhaps +no other one thing has so vital a hold upon the individual who succeeds. +The general of an army first looks to the _morale_ of his troops. He +knows that with clean minds and bodies his soldiers are capable of doing +big things. The battleship, that efficient and highly-developed +instrument of war, is so immaculate that one could eat his meals on its +very decks. Its officers are wholesome, athletic fellows; its crew +consists of hardy men who live sanely and vigorously and who have plenty +to occupy their minds. And if cleanliness is fundamental in their case +why not in our own? + +When we come to analyze ourselves we find that we are like a great +institution of some kind. Here is the brain, the heart, the lungs, the +stomach, the nerves and the muscles. Each department acts separately and +yet is connected absolutely with all the others. The entire system is +under one supreme department ... _the mind_. Now if this ruling +department is kept clean and full, of kindly, beautiful thoughts does it +not seem natural that the rest will follow its lead being so completely +in its power? We realize this and the mere realization is something done +towards the accomplishment of an ideal life in a world of cleanliness +and beauty. + +System is one of the finest tools in existence with which to build one's +life into something worth while. The _body_ must be run on a system as +well as the _mind_. The stomach must not be overloaded with unnecessary +food. The lungs must not be filled with impure air. The nerves must not +be worn threadbare in riotous and ridiculous living. The muscles must be +kept in trim with consistent exercise of the proper sort. We must +recognize the wants, the needs of the physical system and see that they +are supplied. + +Roosevelt, perhaps more than any other living man today, has given +vitality to the supreme necessity of _cleanliness of mind and body_. He +has, by reason of his great prominence, been able to emphasize these two +vital essentials. He called a spade a spade and his message went far. +From those who knew the value of his words came nods of +approval--_others took heed_. From boyhood he has systematized his life, +taking the exercise needed, filling his mind with the learning of the +world, winning when others would have failed, profiting by experience +allotted to him through fate's kindly offices and association with the +_healthy, true men_. What has been the result? He has risen to the very +pinnacle of human endeavor ... _no honors await him_. He has lived +consistently and cleanly and he can look any man in the eye and say +honestly: "_I have lived as I have believed._" + +It is not necessary to become President in order to live sanely, to gain +from circumstances the fruits that are ours for the asking and which +have fallen into Roosevelt's hands with such profusion. We cannot all +become Presidents but we can all _emulate a shining example of mental +and bodily morale_. + +Just as we plunge into the cold water in the early morning so should we +regularly during the day plunge into the society of those whose splendid +enthusiasm is helping to make the world a better place to live in. They +are the kind who go into the struggle with heads high and with clean +hearts. Their eyes see beyond the daily toil of life. They are in touch +with the big things and it is up to us to keep step with them. They want +us and they will give us the "glad hand." All they want to know is +whether our courage is equal to our ambitions and whether our _house of +life is kept in good order_. And so we journey along together in all +good nature, not forgetting to laugh as we live. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +CONSIDERATION FOR OTHERS + + +Consideration for others is man's noblest attitude toward his fellow +man. For every seed of human kindness he plants, _a flower blooms in the +garden of his own heart_. In him who gives in such a way there is no +hypocritical feeling of charity bestowed. His very act disarms the +thought. It is as natural for an honorable man to show consideration to +others as it is for him to eat and sleep. Acts of kindness are the +_outward manifestations of gentle breeding_--a refinement of character +in the highest sense of the word. + +What would we do in this world without the helping hand, the friendly +word of cheer, the thought that others shared our losses and cheered our +victories? If consideration for our feelings and thoughts did not exist +on this earth we would never know the depths of the love of our friends. +There would be no such thing as an earthly reward of merit. We know that +no matter what happens to us in the battle of life there will be someone +to cheer us on our way. We may be strong and thoroughly able to rely +upon ourselves but there comes a time when we need friendship and +sympathy. Society would crumble into dust without these influences. The +family circle would degenerate into a hollow mockery if consideration +each for the other was absent. It sweetens and makes wholesome what +otherwise might only be an existence of monotonous toil. + +Consideration for others is _the milk of human kindness_. For what we do +for others our recompense is _in the act itself_ ... we should claim no +other reward. Observation brings to view that they who give in real +charity _cloak their acts from the eyes of all save the recipient_. +Givers of this type rise to the supreme heights of greatness. It is a +part of their wisdom to know what is best to be done and they go about +it as a pleasure as well as a duty. + +Consideration for others pays big dividends. It is a virtue that makes +for strong friendships and true affections. Those who possess it have a +hard time hiding their light under a bushel. In teaching fortitude to +others they partake of the same knowledge. In the hours of their own +affliction they retain their courage and keep their minds unsoured. They +are the _sure-enough "good fellows" of life_ and their presence is the +signal for instantaneous good cheer. We all know them by their gentle +knock at the door. In a thousand ways they impress themselves upon our +lives, have entered into our councils, have given us the right advice at +the right time--and when the sad day comes along _their strong shoulders +are there for us to lean upon_. + +Consideration for others is apt to be an inherent quality, but like +everything else it can be accentuated or modified according to our own +determination. It is a growth that should be inculcated _early in the +lives of children_--the earlier the better. A child's most +impressionable age is said to be between its fourth and fifth years. +Then is the time to teach it the little niceties of life--the closing of +a door softly--tip-toeing quietly that mother may not be awakened from +her nap--tidiness--cleanliness--good morals--all of which are to become +vital factors in a life of consideration for others. + +A great many of us have the desire to be of service to others but +_timidity_ holds us back. Say, for instance, one might see a person in +great distress and because of diffidence withhold the proffered +hand--someone we've known who comes to the point of penury but has _too +much pride_ to ask assistance--we pass by fearful that we might offend. +How many times has this happened to us? Who knows but the best friend we +have at this very moment would give anything in the world if his pride +would let him bridge that distance between us. + +[Illustration: _A Scene from "The Americano"--Matching Wits for Gold_] + +Nevertheless the desire to do the right thing was in itself helpful. The +thought of doing something for someone was a correct impulse and +should have been carried into action. Early in life we should have +started our foundation for doing things in the cause of others. Putting +off the time when we shall begin to obey our higher impulses toward +helpfulness to our fellows is but a reaction in our own characters which +_dulls determination_. We want to do but we don't. As time goes on we +just _don't_--that's all. Our good intentions have gone to pave the +bottomless pits containing our unfulfilled heart promptings. We meant +well--_but we failed to act_--we didn't have the courage. Our failures +spread a gloom before us. _We lost our chances for a happy life!_ + +The man with the ability to laugh has little diffidence about these +matters. Having confidence in himself and being happy and alert he goes +to the friend in need with courage and the kind of help that helps. If +he doesn't do it directly he finds a way to reach him through mutual +friends. He does not go about _parading_ his kindness, either. He has +gained a sincere and beautiful pleasure out of aiding an old friend and +he can go on his way rejoicing that life is worth living when he has +lived up to its higher ideals. + +Consideration for others does not necessarily involve only the big +things. It is the sum and total of numberless acts and thoughts that +make for friendships and kindliness. People who are thoughtful surely +brighten the world. They are ever ready to do some little thing at the +correct moment and after a time we begin to realize how much their +presence means to us. We may not notice them the first time, or the +third, or the fifth, but after a while we become conscious of their +persistence and we esteem them accordingly. Such men are the products of +_clean, straightforward lives._ They are never too busy to exchange a +pleasant word. They do not flame into anger on a pretext. Their code of +existence is well ordered and filled to the brim with lots to do and +lots to think about. The old saying: "_If you want anything go to a busy +man_," applies to them in this regard. The busier men are the more time +they seem to have for _kindliness_. + +Another word for consideration is service. Nothing brings a greater +self-reward than a service done in an hour of need, or a favor granted +during a day's grind. The generous man who climbs to the top of the +ladder helps many others on their way. The more he does for someone else +the more he does for _himself_. The stronger he becomes--the greater his +influence in his community. Doing things for others may not bring in +_bankable dividends_ but it does bring in _happiness_. Such actions +scorn a higher reward. We have only to try out the plan to learn the +truth for ourselves. A good place to begin is _at home_. Then, _the +office_, or wherever life leads us. And in doing these things we will +laugh as we go along--we will laugh and get the most out of living. + +Our little day-by-day kindnesses when added together constitute in time +a huge asset on the right side of our ledger of life. We should start +the day with something that helps another get through his day ... even +if it isn't any more than a smile and a wave of the hand. And he will +remember us for it. + +It is said that advice is cheap and for that reason is given freely. +But the proper kind of advice is about as rare as the proverbial hen's +tooth. In order to give real advice we must understand the man who asks +for it. If what we say to him is to become of value we must see to it +that his mind is put in proper shape to receive advice. Be sure that he +laughs, or smiles at least, before we seriously take up his case. And +when we have done our stunt in the way of advice let's send him away +with a fine good humor. A friendly pat on the back as he goes out our +doorway may mean a bracer to his determination. "_You'll put it over_," +we shout after him--and thus we have been of real help. He needed +sympathy and courage. He needed a cheerful spirit--so came to us and we +didn't let him go away until we gave him all these. Bully for us! + +Consideration for others does not admit of ostentation and hypocrisy. We +never allow our left hand to know what our right hand does in charity, +nor do we _boast of our helpful attitude toward our fellow men_. It is +well to make a point of this fact--in this world are many +"_ne'er-do-wells"_ who fail to profit by advice and thereby become +professional in the seeking of favors. Consideration owes them nothing +and to withstand their persistent appeals would in time _dull our +natural tendencies_ toward helping others. + +The world helps those who help themselves. We have little admiration for +the man who is forever whining. Society has no work for such people as +these. When we have exhausted every means of helping such a man we must +in self-defense pass him up before he contaminates our sense of justice. +_We must keep our visions clear._ + +Consideration for others is a prime refinement of character. To be able +to use it in our daily lives becomes one of our greatest consolations. +Sympathy begets affection and kindly deeds--in a relative sense it binds +together the properties which go to make _the soul within us_. +Browbeating, scolding, irascibility and the like are microbes which +react against the milk of human kindness, to which, if we succumb, +leaves us stranded and alone amid a world of friendliness and good +fellowship. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +KEEPING OURSELVES DEMOCRATIC + + +Big words and pomposity never were designed for the highest types of +men. Our great national figures have almost without exception had one +quality which was a keynote to their ultimate success--this was their +_simplicity_. Next was their _accessibility_. There are numberless +big-hearted and big-brained individuals in the world whose duties are so +manifold that in order to accomplish what has been placed in their hands +they must be saved from interruption, but the truly great individual is +never hidden away entirely from his fellow man. He never becomes such a +slave to detail that he does not find time to fraternize with ordinary +mortals. We do not find him concealed behind impenetrable barriers, +guarded and pampered by courtiers like unto a king on his throne--or +tucked away in some dark office. He wants to know _everybody worth +while_ and everybody worth while is welcomed by him. He doesn't affect +to know so much that he cannot be told something new. He is not the sort +to refuse to see us at any reasonable time. + +We should not confound _greatness_, however, with _notoriety_. A man who +by virtue of large publicity has compelled public notice isn't +necessarily a great man no matter how hard he may strive to make himself +appear so. Especially is this true of the man who does not make a +personal success corresponding to his advertised fame. In time he may +have the "ear-marks" of notability but, as Lincoln said: "_You can't +fool all of the people all of the time._" + +It is to be noted with satisfaction that the big captains of industry +keep themselves free from petty details. "I surrounded myself with +clever men," said Andrew Carnegie in accounting for his success and by +the same token the men who took over his great affairs and gave them +larger scope and power surrounded themselves with still other clever +men, thus reserving their judgment and thought _for the higher policies +of their institutions_. They keep themselves in readiness for +consultation, and having men of _initiative_ and _self-reliance_ +underneath them, they find time to take in hand other affairs than those +of the tremendous businesses they manage. Men of this type often become +prominent in public affairs and develop into highly important citizens. + +The bigger the man, the less he encumbers himself with matters which can +be delegated to others. His desk is clear of all litter and +minutia--_likewise his mind_. Such men keep their physiques and +mentalities in fine working order and are not to be goaded into _ill +temper_. A refinement of mind is supremely essential to the man who +desires to climb to the very top of the ladder. He cannot afford to +close his brain to outside information. He is forced to keep it open in +order to let in continuous currents of new thought. He doesn't want his +visage to "_cream and mantle as a standing pond_" as Shakespeare aptly +puts it--therefore the windows of his thinking department are kept open +for refreshing draughts from the outside. He reasons that always there +are new guests, new faces, new things to talk about at the banquet board +of life. + +[Illustration: _Taking on Local Color_] + +And here is the point--if men who carry on the great industries of the +world find a way to keep themselves democratic surely men of less +importance should be able to do the same? The snob is about as offensive +a person as could be described. He is usually a hypocrite or an +ignoramus--sometimes both. His pomposity is naturally repellent. We +easily become accustomed to dodging such characters. The detriment is +theirs--not ours. They are left by the wayside and sooner or later wake +up to the fact that they stand alone in the world. + +The world loves the man with _an open mind_. This is the usual spirit of +the progressive citizen. _He wants to know_--and by reason of his +accessibility knowledge is brought to him. No one cares to take up the +task of informing the egotist who already knows it all. Such is his +inherent cussedness that we would rather let him warp in the oven of +his own half-baked knowledge. Life is too short to waste our time in +educating him. + +"How can I see Mr. So-and-so?" says one man to another. + +"Don't try," is the answer. "He's not worth seeing. You can't tell _him_ +anything." + +And this sort of a chap misses the big opportunities just because he +chooses to build up a reputation for being exclusive. He digs himself a +hole and crawls into it _and pulls the hole in after him_. We can safely +imagine him treating the members of his family as though they were +servants, and his employees as though they were slaves. He may succeed +in small things but in the big game of life we may write him down as a +failure. + +If we have a big idea we take it to a big man--_the man of vision_. +Anything less is to putter around aimlessly. The bigger he is, the more +democratic. He will not look for imperfections in our personal make-up +when we show him the _new process_ we have discovered. + +To be democratic is a triumph of the soul--tending to bring us in close +touch with the throbbing heart of humanity. There is no isolation for +those of unaffected charm and manner--no barrier in the way of +friendship worth having. It is our lack of judgment if we hide ourselves +so that we cannot be approached. No matter how high we rise, for the +sake of our own brains we must allow _men of ideas_ to get to us. We +must not allow our minds to become stagnant. If we fail to get into +daily contact with other people, we soon grow dull and uninteresting +even to ourselves. Great men may have no time to fritter away but they +have plenty of leisure for men worth while--_the pushers and the +thinkers_. + +A democratic spirit does not come to the selfish man. He is absorbed in +himself and is quite a hopeless case. He is a natural born faultfinder +and grouchy by nature. For him life holds no joy save the one in sight. +Taking the big look at the man of this type we can only be sorry for him +because of his lack of early training. He started off on the wrong foot +and thereafter drifted along. Seldom do we overcome the habits with +which we arrive at man's estate. Those who do are entitled to a right +hand seat among the chosen. + +Being democratic is another phrase for being _human and kind_. It means +that we ought to be able to see behind every face and find the truth of +that individual's existence. It means that life is largely a matter of +how we look at it and being human is one way to get the proper slant at +things. + +The human mind has _great adaptive power_ and can be molded into a +thousand ways of thinking. The intelligent man, the man who has taken +stock of himself, is able to smile and extend a hearty handclasp whether +he feels tip-top or not. He doesn't have to look glum simply because the +world hasn't thrown itself at his feet. He has only to persevere and +success will come eventually. + +We must correct our failings as we go along or we will slip down into +the rut and stay there. It is a simple matter to be good natured and +full of the zest of life if we poise ourselves right--_keep ourselves +democratic_. It is this great soul quality which brings us true friends +and boosts us into the fulfillment of our ambitions. Then we may truly +_laugh and live_. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +SELF-EDUCATION BY GOOD READING + + +The character of a man expresses itself by the books he reads. Every +well-informed man since the invention of printing has been a close +reader of a few books that stand out from among the many. We read of +Lincoln devouring the few books he had, over and over again and studying +from cover to cover and word for word the Webster's dictionary of his +day. We know that Grant had his favorite volumes from which he drew +inspiration and solace. These men made eternal friends of certain great +thinkers and drank in their learning with all the fervor of their +natures. + + "A few good books, digested well, do feed + The mind." + +"Feed the mind!" That's the idea--_but how shall we feed it_? The answer +is easy--with something _worth while_--something that will inform and +inspire. We can cram our minds to the point of indigestion with useless, +frivolous information just as easily as we may cram our stomachs with +certain foods that tear down rather than build up. The habit of reading +the right sort of books should begin early in life and continue +throughout our days. + +Good books are real ... and as we read we feel, hear, see and understand +in the way the author did. If what is said appeals to our way of +thinking _a new world_ is unfolded to our vision filled to the brim with +things we can think about and add to our stock of knowledge. While we +are buried in its leaves we may live over the thoughts that the writer +lived. For the time being he becomes as real and vital to us as the +dearest friend we possess. Gradually, as the time passes by, he creeps +into our affections until our lives would not be complete without the +comradeship of his cherished book. + +Books that become our "pals" are not necessarily books of the so-called +classical type. Little known volumes may prove to have enough thought +stored away between their covers to keep us interested all our days. The +great books will prove their worth in a short time no matter how poor +the binding, how bad the type or how cheap the paper. These things are +after all only the outward manifestations and though we like to see our +friends dressed well yet we know that the clothes do not make character +unless there is character there in the first place. And so it is with +books. These little ungainly volumes which we purchase on the stands may +be the classics of tomorrow ... who knows? + +We select our library carefully. No matter if we live in a tiny hall +bedroom on the top floor of a boarding house we have a shelf somewhere +with a few good books on it. Emerson's "Essays" can be had in one volume +and are well worth having. No other American writer has been so +inspiring, so invigorating as this thinker of Concord. One cannot read +his essays without having a desire to _get up and do_. It is like a +breath of fresh air ... a tonic ... a stiff morning walk. It stirs the +mind to action and inspires us to lift ourselves out of the rut into +which we have fallen. One returns to them time after time, each reading +opening up new vistas of thought, new lines of mental development. + +[Illustration: _A Scene from "His Picture in the Papers"_] + +_As a man's stomach is what he eats, a man's mind is what he reads._ It +goes without saying that no healthy, active mind could exist without the +companionship of Shakespeare. Nowadays it is possible to secure the +entire works of the immortal poet in one volume. There is a special +Oxford University edition which can be had for a small sum. The type is +large, the paper good and there are many notes to help one over the +rocky places. There is no doubt of the truth of the saying that a man +who reads Shakespeare consistently and with understanding needs no other +education. Like the philosopher Emerson he boiled down the world's +thoughts into terse sentences and one goes into a new universe when +reading any of the plays. It is a good thing to learn parts of them by +heart so that we can apply them to our own lives. They strengthen the +mind ... their beauty lifts us into a great realism of splendid thought +... and they fill the heart with a longing to do something great. Such +books should become steady companions through life. No matter where our +duties call us we should see to it that we do not leave behind the +thoughts of this master mind of Shakespeare. The very fact that we have +them near us lifts us out of the monotony of nothing to do. + +Among the books about America for Americans perhaps Roosevelt's "Winning +of the West" is among the best. Not only has he thrown the whole vigor +of his interesting personality into the writing of it, but he has given +us a vivid picture of the conquest of the States by the settlers. No man +could read it without being thrilled at the dangers our forefathers +faced ... at the great courage they possessed ... at their hardihood ... +their bulldog tenacity. The reading of such a book is like going back +over the years and living with them, sharing their troubles and their +enthusiasms. The man who contemplates gathering a small library could +not afford to do without the inspiration of what his countrymen have +done for him. + +In choosing our books we must bear in mind one thing--_let them be +inspiring_. Let them be of such a nature that when we read them we will +feel like going out into the world to accomplish something _big_! + +That is probably the mission of great books--to inspire and uplift. The +world's greatest men have been readers--would they have cared for books +unless they were inspiring? It is said that when Napoleon was being +taken to St. Helena he advised one of the officers never to stop +reading. + +Most of the things worth while are at some time or other stored away in +books by the thinkers. Every phase of history, every movement to better +mankind and lift it above the drudgery of mere toil, every beautiful +thought is to be found in them and the better the book the more will be +found in it of these very things. When we have finished the day's work +we can pull down a volume from the shelf and in a moment be lost in an +entirely different world. The man who neglects to read surely misses the +one best means of broadening his mind. + +All books of the better class furnish food for thought and are excellent +tools for the man of initiative. To read means keeping in touch with the +big visions. We cherish these dreams and make them real in plans of our +own. Aspiration is behind the pages of every worth-while volume. It was +the motive power which drove the author to produce it and it should +become a part of the forces which drive us on to victory. Without such +inspiration we grope as children in the dark. We are without a light to +guide us on our way. + +Books by such men as Marden and Hubbard are great generators of the +electricity of doing things. They have put into words those innermost +emotions which are the instruments of success. They point out a way we +may safely follow. They loan us inspiration which causes us to act for +ourselves. They give us thoughts that are useful and practical which we +never would have gained by virtue of our own reasoning power. They made +it a life work to coin into phrases words that inspire. Out of their +large experience came the logical sequences of cause and effect. Not to +profit by their teachings is a crime against our own prospects--without +them we lag behind. Instead of progressing we look on in wonder at what +is going on in the world. Somehow we cannot connect ourselves with the +big enterprises. And all because we failed to feed our minds properly. + +There is much to be gained both in pleasure and knowledge by reading +historical novels, and the lives of great men. The books of Sir Walter +Scott and James Fenimore Cooper are rated among the best in the world. +Grant's autobiography and the personal stories of other famous Americans +provide fascinating material with which to establish and fortify our +test for good literature. The tales of modern American financiers is +another field of absorbing interest. + +The man with small means can provide himself with a working library for +a very little money. Books are cheap. The public library is always +nearby and there is hardly a town of any size but what has one. When we +purchase a book we should be sure to obtain the best edition and be +careful that it is printed from good type and on clear paper. Books are +likely to become warm friends. We should never purchase an abridged +edition. + +Binding is not such an important factor, although we like to have _our +favorite books_ put up in a handsome fashion. With Shakespeare, Emerson, +Roosevelt, Scott, Cooper, Marden and Hubbard one would have quite a +representative collection for a start. It would be easy to expand the +list into many more. Of course, those collecting a small library who +have a specialty, will want books dealing with the subjects in which +they are interested. However, every practical library includes books of +inspirational character, and if one makes a study of the books written +by great authors it will be found that all of them profited by the +reading of books which caused them to think. _The Bible causes us to +think!--and no library is complete without it._ + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +PHYSICAL AND MENTAL PREPAREDNESS + + +It is not the object of this chapter to deal with a set course of +physical culture, but rather to emphasize the necessity of keeping our +physical house in order. There are plenty of books on physical culture +which can be relied upon and also any number of physical instructors who +are able to advise and help along a set program. There are hundreds of +places, institutions, clubs, Y.M.C.A.'s, and the like, which provide +gymnasiums and every other facility for those who determine to build +themselves up through consistent physical exercise. That is all very +well to begin with, but afterward we must have some simple methods of +our own which will not make it a hardship or a chore to keep ourselves +in trim--_a state of physical preparedness_. It should become a part of +our daily scheme to obey certain, simple rules which tend toward an +_automatic effort_ instead of a discipline, and we should persevere in +these until they become _fixed habits_. + +It is no trouble at all to take exercise unconsciously, and we only +arrive at this by turning into an exercise any of our ordinary physical +actions during the day as we go along. For instance, we can sit down in +a chair and in so doing can add a certain amount of exercise to the +action itself--also in rising. With very little effort we can come into +the habit of sitting correctly--posing the body as it should be--holding +the shoulders in proper position--also the chin so that it becomes a +hardship to sit improperly. + +All of this has to do with _general physique_. In walking we can go +along with a spring, elasticity, and vigor of motion which forces a fine +blood circulation throughout the entire system. We can stoop over in the +act of picking up some object from the floor and at the same time make +it a matter of physical exercise, and we may take a hat from the rack +while standing away from it, thus stretching ourselves, as it were, +into a little needful action. Putting on an overcoat, or any part of our +clothing, may be done in such a way as to set the blood to racing +through the body. Morning and night--upon getting up and upon +retiring--there is every reason to make it a rule to exercise freely. + +The morning exercise wakes us up and sits us down finally at the +breakfast table with a zest for the food set before us. The morning bath +is an agency for good in this direction after we have given ourselves a +good shake-up from head to foot. By the same token, exercises at night +before retiring induces sound sleep and takes away the strain of the +preceding day. + +A very successful system is that of exercising in bed. Instead of +immediately jumping to the floor in the morning it is very inviting to +go through some simple form of gymnastics in which the physical +structure is brought into play. + +Physical exercise is something which can be carried to extremes. We can +go at the work so intensely that we become muscle-bound and develop some +structural enlargements that we do not need. This happens very often +among athletes. The ordinary man should fight shy of such plans. +Superfluous strength is only for those who have need of it. What we +really want is strength enough to carry us through our daily rounds with +comfort and _a feeling of efficiency_. + +In a sense we all live by our wits and these decline when not properly +fed by our general physical organization. Prize fighters are not the +longest lived people, nor are the professional athletes. Their calling +requires extra building up which would be a positive handicap to the +average man whose manner of life doesn't require this super-development. +In other words, there are intemperate methods of exercising just as +there are of eating and drinking. We may easily go too far. Again, we +can sin just as greatly by not going far enough. There was a time when +men of forty were as worn and old as men of sixty-five and seventy are +today. As a matter of fact, nowadays a half-century mark is no longer a +badge of senility when a man has kept himself fit and treated himself +right. + +We all have friends who are pretty well along in years by virtue of +their carefully planned physical training, plus their _cheerful +dispositions_. They are as sprightly and companionable as though they +were many years younger. We should come to know early in life what a +large part _good humor_ plays in _physical fitness_. In previous +chapters hearty laughter was extolled as one of the very best of +exercises. It is an organizer in itself and opens up the heart and lungs +as nothing else will do. It makes the blood go galloping all through the +system. It is one of the best automatic _blood circulators_ in the +business. + +Laughter takes the stress off of the mind, and whatever is ahead of us +for the day that seems likely to become a burden is soon turned into an +ordinary circumstance. We smile as we go about doing it. + +A friend once said to a banker: + +"How do you know when to lend money?" + +The banker replied: + +"I look a man in the eye and then _I do or I don't_." + +The friend said: + +"I would like to borrow ten thousand dollars--now!" + +"You shall have it, Sir," the banker replied. + +This meant that the man who asked for the loan was in a state of +physical and mental preparedness. If he had gone into the banker's +office looking like an animated tombstone he wouldn't have had much of a +chance to borrow the ten thousand. It goes without saying that the +open-faced, hearty fellow inspires confidence. There is nothing coming +to the dried-up, sour chap, and that's what he usually gets. And what we +get is largely a matter of our physical well being. A modern philosopher +observed that "the blues are the product of bad livers"--and there is no +doubt but that he was right. + +The problem of life is to fill our days with sunshine. In so doing we +shall find that the "little graces" are those which will lend us the +most help. Tiny favors extended, words of encouragement, courtesies of +all sorts, unselfish work carried out in an open manner, true +friendships and love, a hearty laugh, a sincere appreciation of the +other fellow's struggle to keep his head above water, the conscientious +carrying out of all tasks assigned us--these are our helpmates and they +are the products of our physical and mental equipment. Through these we +come into our knack of detecting friends among those who are _the salt +of the earth_. + +It is impossible for the person who desires good health to obtain it, or +having it, to retain it, without consistent effort. A watch will not run +without the proper regulation of the mainspring. We must keep up our +activities. We have taken the earth and are turning it into something to +serve us--therefore the need of fine bodily preparedness. Nothing can +take the place of achievement and it comes through physical and mental +efficiency. The one must not be neglected for the other; both must be +cultivated and developed alike in order that each may help the other. + +Happiness comes only to those who take care of themselves. It is the +natural product of _clean-mindedness_. No pleasure can surpass that of a +conscious feeling of our strength of character. It is an all important +element in men who aspire to succeed. The man who rises in the morning +from a healthy slumber and plunges into the bath after some vigorous +exercise is prepared to undertake anything. His world seems fair, and +though the sun may not be shining literally, it is to all intents and +purposes. Thus, we go swinging along with a cheery smile, carrying the +message of hope and joy to all those with whom we come in contact. Oh! +it's fine to be physically and mentally fit! + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +SELF-INDULGENCE AND FAILURE + + +The correct definition of self-indulgence is _failure_--because +self-indulgence is comprised of an aggregation of vices, large and +small, and failure is the logical sequence thereof. Even the habit of +eating may be cultivated into a vice. Indeed, there are those who gorge +without restraint, which in itself is unchaste and immoral. We've often +seen them as, with napkin under foot or tucked under the collar, they +eat their way through mountains of food and wash it down as they reach +for more. + +No use to say how and what we feel when we attend such performances. It +is all right to say "Look the Other Way," _but it can't be done_. It is +human nature to gaze upon horror--sometimes in sympathy, but more often +in amazement. Sometimes a well staged scene of gormandizing viewed from +a seat in the second or third row center of a softly lighted, thick +carpeted food emporium _saves us the price of our own meal_. We no +longer hunger on our own account. Our appetite is appeased by proxy, so +to speak, and we calmly fix our eyes on the "big show" and _sigh for a +baseball bat_. + +No wonder a noted bachelor of medicine declares "People are what they +eat!" The exclamation point is our own. We quite agree with our medical +brother for we have seen people eat until we thought _we_ would never be +hungry again. + +But there is more to self-indulgence than the food specialist has to +answer for, so we will be on our way. For instance, there is _the +spendthrift_; surely he is entitled to a short stanza. We all know him. +He goes on the theory that he has all the spending money in the world, +and that long after he is dead those on whom he spent it will remember +his generosity. Vain hope!--Whatever memory of him remains will be of a +different kind. Those who have been bored by his gratuitous attentions +will take up the threads of their existence where they left off when he +drove them away from their usual haunts. No longer will they have to +dodge down alleys and run up strange stairways in an effort to avoid his +overtures. + +[Illustration: _Douglas Fairbanks in "The Good Bad-Man"_] + +When alive and in full operation he knew more about what was best for us +than we could possibly think of knowing. Left to his own devices he +would have us smoke his particular brands, drink his labels, eat his +selections, wear his kind of a cravat, overcoat, cap, hat, shoes, and +underwear. And to make his proposition sound business like he would +willingly pay the bills! In this little amusement we are supposed to +play the part of receiver and _praise his generosity_. + +Whatever may be our verdict on this chap we must keep in mind that his +inordinate desire to waste his substance was no less than a vice if for +no other reason than its example upon others; it is just as bad to be _a +"receiver"_ as it is to be _a spendthrift_. If we cannot build up a +reputation for generosity without becoming ostentatious we might better +take lessons in refinement from someone "to the manor born." + +There is no desire to single out and set down by name and number every +sort of self-indulgence. _Excesses of any kind are indulgences_, and it +is easy to fall into them if we have not built up our stamina to resist. + +Our failures are usually traceable to ourselves. No matter what excuses +may be offered in our behalf we know in our own minds that we are to +blame. Somewhere along the line of our endeavors we faltered--_then we +fell_. Our conservatism reinforced by our strength of character finally +gave way at a given point and put the whole plant out of business. Our +system of inspection had become cursory instead of painstaking. +Everything had been running along so smoothly we forgot that everything +_must_ wear out in time if it isn't looked after properly. + +A previous chapter entitled, "Taking Stock of Ourselves," has a specific +bearing upon the subject in hand. It emphasizes the necessity of taking +stock of ourselves early in life in order that we may know our weak +spots and take immediate steps to dig them out by the roots and replace +them with "_hardy perennials_" which thrive on and on unto the last day. + +And that reminds us that it is well to take stock of ourselves every +little while. Even "hardy perennials" have to be looked after--the +ground kept fertile and watered against the draughts of forgetfulness +and neglect. And so it must be with our mental and physical processes in +order that each day of our lives we may go forth with renewed +forcefulness--with every atom of character in full working order. + +Having started off on the right foot, we are less likely to have trouble +with our higher resolves during the lean and hungry years of our youth +when we go plunging headlong toward the goal of our ambitions. Usually +it is not until we come into "Easy Street" that we find that we dropped +something somewhere along the line which we must replace at once or we +will be laid up for repairs. But lo and behold! "Easy Street" is fair to +look upon. It dazzles the eye--it takes hold of the sensibilities. +Everybody wears "Sunday clothes" on this street and seems to be +superlatively happy. Surely it wouldn't hurt to linger awhile and see +what is going on. Why, this is the most talked about street in the +world! Some of the people we have dealt with have told us about it. They +said it was _the only street_ for a man of means, for there could be +found the very things for which we strive in life. They told us that the +people we would meet represented the higher order of intelligence, +brainy, alert, accomplished--a grand thoroughfare for those who would +know life in the fullness thereof. + +Now it is a fact that "Easy Street" may be crossed and recrossed in +safety every day of our lives if we do not tarry. Financial competence +might permit of it, but competent efficiency demands that we trot +along--_keep moving_--get away before we settle down into its ways. The +action we need is not along this brilliant lane. + +But suppose we do take a chance just to test the serene confidence which +we think is so safely nailed down within us. The very thought of it +makes the "caution bell" tinkle in our ears--but caution is a species of +cowardice, after all, we say--a man of _courage_ may dare anything +_once_. And just at the moment we waver who comes along but our old +friend _Self-indulgence_!--the well dressed, carefree fellow who once +told us all about "Easy Street" and invited us to look in on him +sometime. Nothing would please him more than to show us the whole +works--and here he is shaking us by the hand and pulling us along--for +he is an affable fellow and will not take "no" for an answer. + +Our struggle is feeble--a huge chunk of our strength of character falls +off into space then and there. Even at the gilded entrance we try again +to beg off--to slip away--but Self-indulgence will not hear. So together +we go through the portals leading into a grandeur we had never +known--beyond our experience and power to believe. _This is likely to +become the turning point in our career._ + +Bill Nye once said "When we start down hill we usually find everything +greased for the occasion." We might add--"_except the bumps_!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +LIVING BEYOND OUR MEANS + + +Living beyond our means is a big subject that must be treated broadly, +for circumstances alter cases. There is a sane way to look at every +problem, and the matter of living beyond our means is one of the major +problems we have to face. If every man was alike and every avocation in +life was on a parity, it would be possible to dispose of this subject in +a paragraph. But men are not alike. What one could do successfully might +easily baffle another. Therefore, it seems advisable to consider the +subject by looking into its depths. + +To most people debt is terrifying. To some it means nothing--and thus we +have individual temperament as an angle from which to consider. Living +beyond our ability to pay means going into debt via the shortest route. +Getting out of debt means a revision of our code to the extent of +ceasing to live beyond our means and saving something with which to pay +off what we owe. Some men can do this successfully--others fail while +seemingly trying their best to succeed--and still others do nothing to +stem the tide. With these it is a matter of how the tide serves. If +favoring winds should drive them to opulence they would more than likely +pay up, particularly those imbued with _sufficient personal honor_ to +"make good." + +Such are the exigencies of life, we may as well concede that a vast +majority at some time or other find it necessary to owe more than they +can readily pay. Emergencies arise which force us into expenses that +require credit, and if we have so ordered our lives that when the pinch +comes _we have no credit established_ the fact that we pay out our last +dollar and go hungry to bed does not bring us much sympathy. Thus it +would seem that to be able to say: "I pay as I go," or, "I owe no man a +dollar," or, "I never live beyond my means" is not much of a boast, +when, after a death in the family, or other unforeseen circumstances, +we find ourselves broke and nowhere to turn for accommodation. + +It has been aptly said that "_People can save themselves to death._" In +other words, one may develop the saving habit to such an extent that +"Laugh and Live" can find no room beside us on the perch of our +existence. We must admit that the systematic saver of pennies misses a +lot as he goes along, and, with time, degenerates into a sort of "Kill +Joy." In the matter of regulating his family to his way of thinking he +usually has an uphill job. Sons leave home as soon as they can; +daughters marry and breathe a sigh of relief, leaving mother behind to +slave on _in order that the hoard may grow_. + +While all of this is true it only represents extreme cases, therefore it +should not be construed that this chapter is launched against _the habit +of saving_. Rather, its purpose is to suggest the thought of not +"_over-saving_" at the expense of _personal welfare_. Our best plan +would be to save in reason, not forgetting that life is here to enjoy +as we go along. Then, too, we must have a _credit rating_ among our +fellow mortals, just the same as a business person must have credit +rating among financial institutions. + +[Illustration: _Squaring Things With Sister--From "The Habit of +Happiness"_] + +Credit in business is worth more than money because it allows for +expansion whereas money in the bank is only good _as far as it goes_. +Many a merchant who bought and sold for cash all his life found when he +came to enlarge his business that one thing was lacking--_credit_. The +fact that he had always paid cash threw a doubt upon his financial +condition when he proposed to borrow. He had neglected to build up a +credit as he went along. The business world only knew him as a man who +paid cash and exacted cash. Taken at his fullest inventory he had +"scalped" a living out of the world for which he had done but little to +make happier or better. One calamity might easily scuttle his prospects +forever--for instance, a fire, or a bank failure. And without credit it +would be difficult to start over again. + +By all means we must save something for the "rainy day" as we go +along--and our savings can be made up of other things than actual cash +in bank. One item of our savings is the habit of _keeping up our +appearances_. Living beyond our means does not incorporate the thought +that, in order to save every possible cent, we should become slipshod +and shabby. Carelessness in dress takes away from our rating as nothing +else will for it has to do with first impressions of those with whom we +come in contact. Gentility pays dividends of the highest order, being, +as it is, a badge of character. Neatness _bespeaks character_, and it is +just as cheap in dollars and cents to keep ourselves respectably clothed +as to indulge in shoddy apparel under the delusion that we have saved +money on the purchase price. Good clothing, costing more at the start, +lasts long _and looks well as long as it lasts_. Shoddy apparel never is +anything else but shoddy, and well might it proclaim the shoddy man. + +When we throw away our opportunity to present a genteel appearance, just +for the sake of the bank roll, we doom ourselves to defeat in the +pursuit of knowledge. We cannot get all we want to know by the mere +reading of books. We must mingle with people; we must interchange +thought that we may crystallize what we know into practical knowledge so +it can be made into tools to work with. While a man of brains is welcome +everywhere the matter of his appearance has a lot to do with how he is +received and with whom he may fraternize. + +"Isn't it a pity," we hear people say, "that, with all his brains, he +hasn't sense enough to make himself presentable?" But the worst phase of +the situation is that the unkempt man sooner or later loses faith in +himself and either ceases to hoard at the expense of his gentility or he +gives up his opportunity to mingle with others and lapses into habits +consistent with miserly thoughts. + +The phrase "_a happy medium_" is well known and decidedly applicable to +the subject of saving as we go along so that we may avert the sorrows +which follow in the wake of _living beyond our means_. It suggests a +desirable middle course which permits us to adopt a sane policy, rather +than flying to an extreme. + +It cannot be said that we are living beyond our means when by reason of +our association with men of affairs we need to spend more money and +thereby save less in preparing ourselves for the larger opportunities +which will naturally follow. Young men often go through college on their +"uppers," so to speak. There is not a cent which they could honestly +save as they went along without cheating themselves. The point is that +their situations in life force them to spend rather than to save money. +But in so doing the real saving was in the spending thereof. _They +enlarged their knowledge and decreased their bank accounts for the time +being._ What man parts with in an emergency is no license, however, for +him to fall back into profligacy. Never should a man entirely lose the +idea of putting something by. The college boy in this case has simply +invested his money in an education instead of a bank account. + +Once on the highroad of life with a plan of action well defined and a +regular income _the habit of putting money away should become a fixed +procedure_. In no other way do we accumulate except by investment, and +investment means putting away money at interest or in some project which +promises better returns. + +If we were to interview a thousand men on the subject of saving and draw +upon their experiences we would find that by investing money at interest +we pursue the safest course, far safer, in fact, than the seeking of +outside investments that _promise_ greater returns. The latter invites +the mind away from the regular avocation and educates it in time to +_take chances_ that are likely to turn into _setbacks_. The mind, +instead of applying itself to the duty of making the most out of its +regular employment, allows its interest to become scattered over too +broad a field. + +It is not within the province of all men to become wealthy and, after +all, wealth is not the only desideratum; the happiest of mortals are +found in the middle walks of life and not in the extremes. The struggle +should be to escape the life which saps our strength, keeps our nerves +on edge and drives us away from the _green pastures_. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +INITIATIVE AND SELF-RELIANCE + + +The late Elbert Hubbard defined the man with initiative as the one who +did the right thing at the right time without being told. At this point +it may be definitely stated that such a man would naturally be +_self-reliant._ Such a man would not lean on his friends. He would +_stand up_ with them.... He would be found fighting his own battles +without crying for help. + +Once a cub reporter was ordered by his city editor to go and interview a +certain man. After an awkward pause the youngster inquired: "Where can I +find him?" Smiling scornfully into his eyes the city editor replied: +"Wherever he is." + +This would seem to have been the start and finish of this youngster's +newspaper career, but quite the reverse was true. He took the lesson +well to heart, thus starting himself on the road to self-reliance. If +he had repeated the offense it is likely he would have lost his job and +also _his nerve_--thereby spoiling his chances for a successful career. +The fact that he did not, but went on and made of himself a famous +newspaper man, proves that he lost no time in developing _initiative and +self-reliance_. + +There is no questioning the vast importance these two words mean to all +of us. Many a man who did not grasp the significance of initiative +became a "_leaner_" for the rest of his life. Many a man also missed his +chances by doing _just as he was told_ and nothing more. His work ended +there. In due course it is inevitable that such a man should become part +of the great army of discontented ne'er-do-wells who help to block the +pavements in front of the loafing places. + +Hesitation, vacillation and growing diffidence take the place of +self-reliance. He falls to the bottom like a stone. And there he +rests--a drag anchor in the mire. His job gets the best of him because +he lacks initiative. Once stranded he becomes an arrant +coward--_afraid of his own shadow_. + +[Illustration: _A Scene from "In Again--Out Again"_] + +We must _make our own opportunities_ otherwise we are children of +circumstance. What becomes of us is a matter of guesswork. We have no +hand in compelling our own future. _Diffidence is a species of +cowardice._ It causes a man's courage to ooze out at his toes faster +than it comes into his heart. _Such men often have big ideas, but having +no confidence in themselves they lack the power to compel confidence in +others._ When they go into the presence of a man of personality they +lose their self-confidence and all of the pent-up courage which drove +them forward flies out at the window. Their weakness multiplies with +each failure until finally "the jig is up"--_their impotency is +complete_. + +Very largely those who have big ideas to present expect to be taken in +on them and to be given an opportunity to succeed along with their +scheme. When a man becomes so unfortunate as to be unable through +diffidence to explain himself, his big idea goes into the waste basket +and with it all of the hopes he has built upon it. _Another nail has +been driven into his casket of failures._ + +To such a man, all pity, but we will not allow him to escape until we +have given him a pat on the back and pointed out the right road to +travel. We mustn't preach to him or undertake to force him to do +anything, but we will at least give him a helping hand and show him that +there is _a royal road to his goal_. + +This man needs first of all to build upon his physique. Perhaps he has a +_bad stomach_, and likewise _bad teeth_. Exercise--regular exercise, +should be the first thing on his program. Fresh air, long walks, deep +breathing, dumb bells, boxing, rowing, skating in season--_and wholesome +companionship day by day_. In the long run boxing will become his most +efficient exercise. When a man can take a blow between the eyes and come +back for more he has begun to _fortify his own combativeness_. That is +what he needs in life's battles--the nerve to _come back for more_ after +a slam on the jaw that would lay another man low. And when it's all +said and done and the exercise game has become a feature of his day's +work, he must settle down to _good plain food and plenty of sleep_. +There is nothing in all the world like these things combined for the +upbuilding and upholding of health and courage. + +Our success is a matter of our courage. A man who can steel himself to +be knocked down and get up immediately afterwards and hand the other +fellow a ripping punch has added to his own "pep." _All courage is of +the same cloth, whether physical, moral or spiritual._ To build upon one +is to build up the others--the human system being constructed on such a +basis that if one part is affected all the rest follow suit. + +A man who isn't afraid of a physical combat will readily match his wits +with his fellow man. Physical training is therefore all important to +_initiative and self-reliance_. + +Our natural aim is to make for ourselves a true personality that does +not know defeat. When we come to an obstacle we must be able to hurdle +it. It is all very well to say that the longest way around is the +shortest way across, but it doesn't sound like initiative and +self-reliance. There is one thing about men who rely upon +themselves--they make no excuses, nor do they puff up over victory. + +Posing for applause is as distasteful to them as standing for abuse. All +they ask is a square deal and the confidence of their associates. If +they fall down on a proposition they get up and go at it again until +success crowns their efforts. Such men have a way of _turning defeat +into victory_. + +How immeasurably inferior to such a spirit is the fellow who whines and +moans at every evil twist of fortune. He has no confidence in himself +and nothing else to do except confide his woes to all who will listen to +his cowardly story of defeat. Such men are least useful in the important +work of this world. They are the humdrum hirelings--the dumb followers. +The pitiful part of it all is that they could have succeeded had they +but taken stock of themselves when the taking was good. But while there +is life there is hope--likewise a chance. _It is up to us._ + +One of the startling things about men of initiative is the way they +come forward in times of trouble. We don't have to point to Andrew +Jackson in the War of 1812. We can look around us. Take, for example, a +great fire. Haven't we often read of the brave fireman who sprang +forward and by doing the right thing instantly, saved a multitude of +lives? Well, such a man is possessed of self-reliance. He is trained for +the hazardous life he leads. When the emergency arose he was ready in a +jiffy to do the work expected of him. + +It is safe to say that without training such men would have botched the +job and instead of being praised to the skies would have sunk into +oblivion under the heap of public scorn. Sometimes it happens that a man +accidentally becomes a hero, but it was no accident that he was _able to +become one_. He must have had initiative--he must have had +self-reliance. Archibald C. Butt was such a man. He went down on the +_Titanic_. The last act of his life was to help women and children into +the boats and calm their minds as they were lowered away. Astor was of +the same metal--_both sublimely oblivious to the terrible fate which +hung over them_. Here was initiative and self-reliance in its highest +form. + +And this sort of man is everywhere. The car in which we ride to work +every morning contains one or more of them. Let something happen and we +will see them spring forward with a line of action already formed. At +their word of command we automatically obey--and then when the worst is +over a kindly voice reassures us and we go on our way rejoicing. + +What would the world do without these men? History is filled with the +tales of heroes and heroines. And for every Joan of Arc there are +thousands upon thousands who have done heroic things without a word of +praise. Moreover, the really brave soul declines all ovation. No real +hero claims reward. _To have done the right thing at the right time is +reward in itself._ + +This quality of self-strength and self-dependence is not confined to any +race of people, but in nations where personal liberty survives +initiative is at its best. Somehow, whenever the emergency, _the man +comes forth to do and dare_. The great world war, still raging as these +lines are penned, has furnished untold thousands of examples of +courageous action---enough to last until the end of human affairs, but +they will go on and on in multiplied form, each day's score superseding +those of the day before. It would be bully to know that we are doing our +share in _safeguarding the supply_ of Initiative and Self-reliance +needed in this world. + +We must keep moving. The fellow who gets in a rut through lack of +initiative finds that with advancing years it becomes harder and harder +to get out of it, so that the best plan is to make the move now while +there is time to succeed. When we come to think of it, there are plenty +of positions in the world for the right man, and if we have something to +say for ourselves that lends credit to our ability we stand a chance for +the job. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +FAILURE TO SEIZE OPPORTUNITIES + + +There is an old saying to the effect that "opportunity knocks but once +at our door"--and that is all _fol de rol_. Opportunity knocks at some +people's doors nearly every day of their lives and is given a royal +welcome. That's what Opportunity likes--_appreciation_. It goes often to +the home where the latchstring hangs on the outside. It's like a sign +reading "Hot coffee at all hours, day or night"--very inviting. Very +much different, however, from the abode whose windows shed no light and +whose door _is barred from within_. + +"Nobody Home!" that's the sign for this door. + +Mister Numbskull lives here and most of the time _he sleeps_. When +anyone knocks on his door he pulls the covers up over his head to shut +out the noise. He's down on his luck anyhow, therefore it would be a +waste of good shoe leather for him to be up and puttering around. If +Opportunity ever knocked at his door he could say in all truth that _he +never heard it_. He had often heard of Opportunity being in the +neighborhood, but one thing is certain--_someone else had invariably +seen him first_. He felt sure he would know Opportunity if ever he met +him face to face, and if ever he did he would have it out with him then +and there. + +Meanwhile--dadgast the luck!--always the fates pursued him with some +sort of hoodoo. And his neighbors--well, some of them had sense enough +to keep their distance and let him alone. Others, however, had not been +considerate of the fact that a "Jinx" was on his trail, and were given +to making sarcastic remarks concerning him. And thus it was that Mister +Numbskull spent his days, dodging his neighbors, sidestepping the +highways and obscuring himself from the very individual he wanted so +much to behold--_Opportunity_. At last there came a time when, in +despair, _and in disrepute_, he took to the woods and is yet to be +heard from. Opportunity still visits the neighborhood, but the path +leading to Mister Numbskull's home is grown up in weeds. + +The fact is that our real opportunity _knocks from within_. Through +experience, built upon consecutively by continuous effort, our vision +expands and pounds its way out through the portals of our brain. We see +the thing that we ought to do and _we go to it_! To the man who didn't +see it _the opportunity did not exist_. + +"What we don't know doesn't hurt us any"--so runs the old saw. And +here's a case where we who didn't see, _were_ hurt, but we didn't know +it. + +For those of us who have vision there are all sorts of opportunities, +but many of them are not good for us. The ones we make for ourselves are +the healthy ones, and generally they are the best for us. "Our own baby" +is the one we will take the greatest pride in and enjoy the most. Then +we become masters of our own destiny in a sense and can be more +independent through having no senior partners in the enterprise. Often +our dreams bring forth a need for many kinds of special knowledge and +for these we go into the open market offering opportunity to many others +in return for their assistance. Thus we find that everything we do is in +relation to other things and dependent in part on other people. + +This should make us careful and a wee bit wary. Opportunities are widely +divergent in nature--through a stroke of hard luck one might have +difficulty in finding employment. The first opportunity might lead to a +job in a bar-room, but having fortified ourselves by developing our +highest attributes such as honesty, integrity, cleanliness of body and +mind--we are able to somehow or other pinch along until something better +shows itself. First-class principles are not to be thrown away upon the +first provocation, therefore, in order to take away the temptation, we +might as well figure out that a great many employments in the world do +not represent _real opportunities_ and therefore should not be +considered. + +Failure to seize such so-called opportunities becomes a virtue in the +same sense that the failure to seize a decent opportunity becomes a +shame. + +Often opportunity comes through meeting men of affairs who have power +and wealth at their command. These are usually in connection with +enterprises of the greater magnitude. Those of us who have the power to +control our destinies to a reasonable degree should not stand back in +our support of these. If we have carefully built up our initiative, +self-reliance, preparedness in the way of efficiency, good health and +the will to do, there is no reason why we should not aspire to take a +hand in anything in which we are confident we can succeed. Among the men +who control the big affairs of the business world we find a true +democracy--_they want the man_. The fact that he appears before them +neatly attired, bright of eye and ready of wit will surely count in his +favor. + +In other words, we should live up to the opportunity in whatever form it +presents itself after we have accepted its responsibilities. To make +this perfectly plain _we must live up to the job_! If we are to be +superintendent of a coal mine "underneath the ground" we will put on +our overalls and jumpers, but if we are to be manager of a grand opera +house we will appear in our dress suits. The thought is obvious, but as +we journey along we find many of our fellow mortals neglecting to live +in line with what they are doing. + +We mention this fact hopeful that we will not fail to seize our +opportunities by setting up obstacles whereby we may become _persona non +grata_ through lack of discernment. + +Opportunity is within ourselves and when we have seized our rightful +share, then we may look with pride upon our endeavor and proceed to +_laugh and live_! + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +ASSUMING RESPONSIBILITIES + + +Those who fear to assume responsibility necessarily _take orders from +others_. The punishment fits the crime perfectly and being +self-inflicted there is no injustice. It is true that many men possessed +of great brain power play "second fiddle" to shallow-minded men of +inferior wisdom from sheer lack of forcefulness on their own part. They +lack the full quality of leadership while possessing all save one +essential--_courage_. Fear abides in their hearts and spreads itself as +a mantle of gloom over their super-sensitive souls until finally they +struggle no more. Henceforth they are doomed and become the subject of +apology on the part of friends and relations. "He's all right," they +say, "but he suffers from over-refinement." He lacks something--we +cannot make out just what. It is altogether too bad for he is such a +superior man among _his social equals_. + +We must take our hats off to those who have the goodness of heart to +make allowance for our shortcomings. A disinterested listener, however, +is seldom taken into camp by such well intended argument. He knows that +"friend husband" or "friend brother" as the case may be, needs some sort +of swift kick that will stir his combativeness into action--that will +cause him to turn upon his mental inferior and have it out with him then +and there--once and for all. As a courage builder _fighting for justice_ +is not to be sneezed at. + +Courage can be built up just the same as any other soul quality. It is +all a matter of early training as to which we start out with--courage or +fear. Unthinking parents have a lot to do with the propagation of fear +in the hearts of children. A _neglectful father_ plus a _fear-stricken +mother_ constitute the most logical forces which tend toward the +overdevelopment of fear in a child. Once the seed is thoroughly +implanted the growth can be depended upon. How to get rid of it later +is not so easy to figure out. Had the child been born with a "clubfoot" +these same parents would have spent their last dollar in an effort to +straighten it into natural condition. They could see the unshapely foot +day by day with their own eyes--and so could their neighbors. But the +fear-warped little brain struggling for courage with which to combat its +weakness needs must battle alone with chances largely against it. + +The mere thought of what is in store for this little one as it stumbles +along from one period to another, fearful of this, and fearful of that, +is disconcerting to say the least. We can almost trace our friend +"Second Fiddle" directly back to such a childhood. We can almost hear +his fond mother shout, "Keep away from the brook, darling, you might get +your feet wet and _catch your death of a cold_." Another well known and +highly respected admonition belonging to childhood's hour is, "Come in, +deary, it's getting dark--Bogie man will get you if you don't watch +out." + +[Illustration: _Bungalowing in California_] + +Some years later when little son runs breathless into the home portal +after being chased from school by some "turrible" boys we can hear this +same little mother as she storms about the place and tells what "papa +must do" about the matter. According to her notion, if teachers could +not control the "criminal element" among their pupils then it was high +time for the police to step in. Never a word about little son taking his +own part! Father listens in silence and half formulates the notion of +going direct to the parents and laying down the law, while little son +listens in fear and trembling in anticipation of what is coming to him +if father carries out his threat. + +Tall oaks from little acorns grow--_if the twig is not bent in the +sprouting_. + +Little son is bound to grow into manhood some day and when he arrives he +must have one particular attribute--_courage_. Somehow he will get along +if he has that. He may also wear a "clubfoot" or a "hunch back," but +with courage as a running mate he will assume his responsibilities and +become a force in the world. + +Once a great orator sat upon a rostrum listening to a speech by a man +who cautioned his countrymen against taking steps to defend the national +honor. "We'll outlive the taunts of those who would drag us into war!" +he bellowed forth. Whereupon the orator jumped to his feet and with +clarion voice shouted, "God hates a coward!" and then sat down again. + +Dazed at first the vast throng sat stupefied--but only for a moment. +Then as one man they jumped to their feet and by reason of prolonged +cheering gave national impulse to a thought which has since been +sermonized from thousands of pulpits. The orator had simply paraphrased +and put "pep" into the old Biblical slogan: "The Lord helps those who +help themselves." The effect was electrical. The whole country rallied +to the idea with the result that we saved ourselves from war by showing +the solid front of being ready and willing to defend ourselves. + +Everything that tends to build up courage is an asset in life. The more +we have of it the further we go and the more interesting our lives +become. For _the man of the lion heart_ all things unfold and unto him +the timid must bring their offerings. No one of ordinary gumption +consults the human "flivver." Advice from him would be unavailing. His +point of view would be inadequate--his ability to advise, impotent. We +go to the man who does things and say to him: "Here is my little +idea--do you want to help me put it over?" If it is good, he does. If +not, his experience tells him so, for men of courage are naturally +possessed of large vision. Their lack of fear has given them +right-of-way over vast areas of the world of action. They fail only as +"their lights go out forever." + +With courage we order our own lives and take orders only from those of +superior wisdom. This we can never afford _not to do_. The courageous +man of largest vision commands by his power to reason logically and +therefore assumes the air of comradeship rather than "overseer" or +"boss." Only through lack of moral and physical courage are we to +become the slaves of these. + +Courage--the child of _Hope--the despair of Failure_. Born of Good Cheer +it links its fate with the higher attributes and tramples under foot the +fears which spring up before it. When _sown early_ into the hearts of +the young its companionship becomes unerring in its efficiency for good +throughout their lives. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +WEDLOCK IN TIME + + +It is a happy idea to marry while we are young--a fine thing--a good +thing--_a pleasant duty indeed_ to marry the woman of our choice at a +time of life when both are at an age when adjustment is natural and +lasting loyalties are implanted in our hearts and minds for all time. We +make a sad mistake when we postpone so important a step just for the +sake of becoming a rich man first so that our bride-to-be may step into +luxurious quarters and never have to lift her dainty hands except to sip +from the glass of nectar we have set before her. The real facts compiled +by the statistical "System Sams" are against this idea. The balance +comes up in red ink _on the wrong side of the ledger_. + +According to these gentlemen the average mortal is likely to be very fat +and much over forty before he can make an offering according to his +first generous impulses and the chances are he will never reach the goal +in this life. By the time he might be financially ready there is a hard +glint in his eye, and he will be looking for the mote in the eye of his +lady love. The waiting game is a hard one _and it makes us worldly_. +After the lapse of years what once seemed a _rose_ might appear to be +more of a _hollyhock_. + +Naturally we never blame ourselves for the changes. Had we obeyed the +grand impulse in the hour of our youth we might have kept the garden +full of roses and the hollyhocks would never have sprouted there. Then +the home nest would have tinged our sensibilities with its loveliness +and our affections would have been nailed down hard and fast _forever +and a day_. + +Among the many baffling problems which the young man faces, and for that +matter, any man, is marriage. More thought, more energy and more time is +taken up over this one decisive step than over any other. The reasons +are obvious. It involves for life the happiness of the contracting +parties--not only in a direct and personal way, but also in a general +sense. The man's business success largely depends upon the helpmate he +has in his home. _His career is at her mercy._ For example, if the wife +should turn out to be unsympathetic, and uninterested in his ambitions, +this fact might warp his prospects by causing him to _lose heart_ in +facing the large problems awaiting him along the road of opportunity. +However, if she is of a cheerful, energetic disposition and willing to +do all that she can to help him over the rough spots as they travel +along together he will be _inspired into action_ and will do his level +best. He will be conscious as he goes about his work that there is _one_ +person above all upon whom he can depend--_his wife_. + +Marriage is a _serious business_ and usually we concede that point in +the beginning. However, this is not aimed as a blow at life's greatest +romance ... it is merely the recognition of an elemental fact.... +Marriage must have its _practical side_. To become successful in the +highest degree man and wife _must establish a comradeship_. It is not +the part of wisdom that either should rule the other, but rather that +each should have the interest of the other at heart and should strive to +be helpful one unto the other. Two men can go through life the best of +friends, each holding the respect and confidence of the other. So can +two women. _Then, why not a man and wife?_ Needless to say they can, and +do. Such partnerships are sure of success. It is only through lack of +comradeship that love flies out of the window--_and lights on a +sea-going aeroplane_. + +The marriage state is a long contract--it should not be stumbled into by +man or woman. Nor should we become cowardly to the point of backing out +of it altogether. Love is blind _only to the blind_. Either party to the +tie that binds has a chance to know in advance whether the venture is +safe and sane. All a man has to consider after he knows his own heart is +that the woman of his choice is sensible, considerate and healthy. Other +things being equal he can take the leap without hesitancy. We shouldn't +borrow trouble. + +[Illustration: _Demonstrating the Monk and the Hand-Organ to a Body of +Psychologists_] + +Of course there are those who _should never marry_. They do, however, +and when they do they loan themselves to the mockery of the marriage +state. There is no time to dwell on this thought for it is just +something that goes on happening anyway and has no bearing upon the +advisability of "wedlock in time" between _people of horse sense_. + +Given a good wife, after his own heart, no manly man has a righteous +kick coming against the fates. Under such circumstances if things go +wrong he will find the fault within himself. Of course we should, to the +fullest possible extent, be prepared for marriage before assuming its +responsibilities. We should at least have a ticket before embarking--and +it is the _real_ man's duty to provide the ticket. Since it is to be a +long voyage a "round trip" isn't necessary. In other words, a man +needn't be rich when he marries--but he should not be broke, either. +Lack of funds a few days after the honeymoon is too hard a test for +matrimony to bear nobly. It is too much like inviting a catastrophe +through lack of good, hard sense to begin with. It shows poor +generalship at the very start--and there is the liability of causing +great distress and hardship to a tender-hearted little woman. It would +be a sad blow to her to find that the man of her choice was, after all, +just an ordinary fellow--_a man without foresight_. + +There are four seasons in married life--spring, summer, fall and winter, +and we are going to need a comrade as we go through each of them. And +the one we want _is the one we start with_--the gentle partner in all +our joys and sorrows. It is she who will stand back of us when all +others fail. When the children come along to bless our days and inspire +us to greater efforts we are glad to look into their happy, smiling +faces and find that they resemble their mother--their soft cheeks are +like hers, their hands, their dainty ways, their caresses. And when mama +looks into those same bright eyes they make her think of their daddy. +The fond affection bestowed upon the children by both parents is but +another mode of expressing their regard for each other. + +Springtime days, these! When little tots climb up and entwine their +arms about our necks. If this were married life's only compensation it +would not prove in vain--for when the babies enter the home the tie that +binds becomes hard and fast--_if the man is a manly man_. To become the +father of a bright-eyed babe is an experience of the highest importance +to a young man getting started. It reinforces his courage, doubles up +his ambitions and _puts him on his metal_. He has a new responsibility +and it adds to his strength of character to assume it in all its phases. +Another thing it brings comfort and joy to the mother during the long +days while her man is out in the fray. _It drives ennui out of the +household throughout our springtime days._ + +And when summer comes along new hopes dawn within us. Springtime had +found us up and doing and when it merged into the new season we found +our aspirations even stronger than before. Children must be educated and +their futures prepared in advance as far as may be. They must not go +into the world _without tools to work with_. Meanwhile the household +teems with plans and becomes a veritable dreamland of youthful fervor. +We find that having helped our children into attractive personalities +they have become magnets with which to draw about us their comrades. +Thus we hold on to our youth by virtue of our surroundings--creatures of +our thoughtfulness concerning "_wedlock in time_." + +That the fall season is coming has no terrors for us. There will be the +weddings and plannings for new homes _close by_--if we have our say. And +in due course, the grandchildren will come who will favor grandpa and +grandma and once again youth knocks at our door. There will be no dread +winter days for us for we have been forehanded--we have a _new crew on +board to chase away the cares of old age and infirmities_. + +Try how we will there is no way to forestall the operation of the law of +compensation. We reap as we sow. The world will be good to those who +compel its respect by becoming the right sort of citizens. _Wedlock in +time--that's the answer_! + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +LAUGH AND LIVE + + +Again I find it expedient to resort to the personal pronoun and +therefore this final chapter is to be devoted to "_you_ and _me_." There +are facts you may want to know _for sure_ and one of them is whether or +not I live up to my own prescription. + +I do--_and it's easy_! + +I have kept myself happy and well through keeping my physical department +in first class order. If that had been left to take care of itself I +would surely have fallen by the wayside in other departments. Once we +sit down in security the world seems to _hand us things we do not need_. + +Fresh air is my intoxicant--and it keeps me in high spirits. My system +doesn't crave artificial stimulation because _my daily exercise_ +quickens the blood sufficiently. Then, too, I manage to _keep busy_. +That's the real elixir--_activity_! Not always physical activity, +either, for I must read good books in order to exercise my mind in other +channels than just my daily routine--and add to my store of knowledge as +well. + +Then there is my _inner-self_ which must have attention now and then. +For this a little solitude is helpful. We have only to sense the +phenomena surrounding us to know that we must have a _working +faith_--something _practical_ to live by, which automatically keeps us +on our course. The mystery of life somehow loses its density _if we +retain our spark of hope_. + +All of my life since childhood I have held Shakespeare in constant +companionship. Aside from the Bible--which is entirely apart from all +other books--Shakespeare has no equal. My father, partly from his love +for the great poet, and partly for the purpose of aiding me to memorize +accurately, taught me to recite Shakespeare before I was old enough to +know the meaning of the words. I remembered them, however, and in later +years I grew to know their full significance. Then I became an ardent +follower of the Master Philosopher, than whom no greater interpreter of +human emotions ever lived. In the matter of sage advice there has never +been his equal. In "_Hamlet_" we find the wonderful words of admonition +from _Polonius_ in his farewell speech to his son _Laertes_--as good +today as four hundred years ago, and they will continue to be so until +the end of time. + +It matters not how familiar we may be with these lines it is no waste of +time to read them over again once in awhile. They seem to fit the +_practical side of life_ perfectly. If we have any complaint by reason +of their brusqueness we have only to temper our interpretation according +to our own sense of justice. In other words if we wanted to loan a +"ten-spot" now and then we would just go ahead and do it--meanwhile, to +save you the trouble of looking up these lines, here they are in "Laugh +and Live"-- + + And these few precepts in thy memory + See thou charácter--Give thy thoughts no tongue, + Nor any unproportioned thought his act. + Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. + The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, + Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel; + But do not dull thy palm with entertainment + Of each new-hatch'd, unfledged comrade. Beware + Of entrance to a quarrel: but, being in, + Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee. + Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice: + Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. + Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, + But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy: + For the apparel oft proclaims the man; + And they in France of the best rank and station + Are of a most select and generous sheaf in that. + Neither a borrower nor a lender be; + For loan oft loses both itself and friend, + And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry, + This above all--_to thine ownself be true; + And it must follow, as the night the day, + Thou canst not then be false to any man_. + +[Illustration: "Wedlock in Time"--The Fairbanks' Family] + +The time has come to close this little book. It has been a great +pleasure to write it and a greater pleasure to hope that it will be +received in the same spirit it has been written. These are busy days for +all of us. We go in a gallop most of the time, but there comes the quiet +hour when we must sit still and "take stock." I know this from the +letters that come to me asking my opinion on all sorts of subjects. +People believe I am happy because my laughing pictures seem to denote +this fact--_and it is a fact_! In the foregoing chapters I have told +why. If, in the telling I shall have been instrumental in adding to _the +world's store of happiness_ I shall ever thank my "lucky stars." + + +Very Sincerely + +Douglas Fairbanks + + + + +A "CLOSE-UP" OF DOUGLAS FAIRBANKS + +by George Creel + +Reprinted from Everybody's Magazine by Permission of The Ridgway +Company, New York. + + +CHAPTER XX + +A "CLOSE-UP" OF DOUGLAS FAIRBANKS + + +Young Mr. Douglas Fairbanks, star alike in both the "speakies" and the +"movies," is well worth a story. He is what every American might be, +ought to be, and frequently is _not_. More than any other that comes to +mind, he is possessed of the indomitable optimism that gives purpose, +"punch," and color to any life, no matter what the odds. + +He holds the world's record for the standing broad grin. There isn't a +minute of the day that fails to find him glad that he's alive. Nobody +ever saw him with a "grouch," or suffering from an attack of the +"blues." Nobody ever heard him mention "hard luck" in connection with +one of his failures. The worse the breaks of the game, the gloomier the +outlook, the wider his grin. He has made cheerfulness a habit, and it +has paid him in courage, in bubbling energy, and buoyant resolve. + +We are a young nation and a great nation. Judging from the promise of +the morning, there is nothing that may not be asked of America's noon. A +land of abundance, with not an evil that may not be banished, and yet +there is more whining in it than in any other country on the face of the +globe. If we are to die, "Nibbled to Death by Ducks" may well be put on +the tombstone. Little things are permitted to bring about paroxysms of +peevishness. Even our pleasures have come to be taken sadly. We are +irritable at picnics, snarly at clambakes, and bored to death at +dinners. + +The Government ought to hire Douglas Fairbanks, and send him over the +country as an agent of the Bureau of Grins. Have him start work in +Boston, and then rush him by special train to Philadelphia. If the +wealth of the United States increased $41,000,000,000 during the last +three peevish, whining years, think what would happen if we learned the +art of joyousness and gained the strength that comes from good humor +and optimism! + +"Doug" Fairbanks--now that he is in the "movies" we don't have to be +formal--is the living, breathing proof of the value of a grin. His rise +from obscurity to fame, from poverty to wealth, has no larger foundation +than his ever-ready willingness to let the whole world see every tooth +in his head. + +Good looks? Artistry? Bosh! The Fairbanks features were evidently picked +out by a utilitarian mother who preferred use to ornament; and as for +his acting, critics of the drama, imbued with the traditions of Booth +and Barrett, have been known to sob like children after witnessing a +Fairbanks performance. + +It is the joyousness of the man that gets him over. It's the 100 per +cent interest that he takes in everything he goes at that lies at the +back of his success. He does nothing by halves, is never indifferent, +never lackadaisical. + +At various stages in his brief career he has been a Shakespearean actor, +Wall Street clerk, hay steward on a cattle-boat, vagabond, and business +man, knowing poverty, hunger, and discomfort at times, but never, +_never_ losing the grin. Things began to move for him when he left a +Denver high school back in 1900 for the purpose of entering college. As +he says, "A man can't be too careful about college." + +He started for Princeton, but met a youth on the train who was going to +Harvard. He took a special course at Cambridge--just what it was he +can't remember--but at the end of the year it was hinted to him that +circus life was more suited to his talents, particularly one with three +rings. + +A friend, however, suggested the theatre, and gave him a card to +Frederick Warde, the tragedian. Mr. Warde fell for the Fairbanks grin, +and as a first part assigned him the role of _François_, the lackey, in +"Richelieu." What he lacked in experience he made up for in activity and +unflagging merriment. It got to be so that Warde was almost afraid to +touch the bell, for he never knew whether the amazing _François_ would +enter through the door or come down from the ceiling. + +After the company had done its worst to "Richelieu," it changed to +Shakespearean repertoire, and for one year young Fairbanks engaged in +what Mr. Warde was pleased to term a "catch-as-catch-can bout with the +immortal Bard." When friends of Shakespeare finally protested in the +name of humanity, the strenuous Douglas accepted an engagement with +Herbert Kelcey and Effie Shannon in "Her Lord and Master." + +Five months went by before the two stars broke under the strain, and by +that time news had come to Mr. Fairbanks that Wall Street was Easy +Money's other name. Armed with his grin, he marched into the office of +De Coppet & Doremus, and when the manager came out of his trance +Shakespeare's worst enemy was holding down the job of order man. + +"The name Coppet appealed to me," he explains. + +He is still remembered in that office, fondly but fearfully. He did his +work well enough; in fact, there are those who insist that he invented +scientific management. + +"How about that?" I asked him, for it puzzled me. + +"Well, you see, it was this way: For five days in a week I would say, +'Quite so' to my assistant, no matter what he suggested. On Saturday I +would dash into the manager's office, wag my head, knit my brow, and +exclaim, 'What we need around here is _efficiency_.' And once I urged +the purchase of a time-clock." + +The way he filled his spare time was what bothered. What with his +tumbling tricks, boxing, wrestling, leap-frog over chairs, and other +small gaieties, he mussed up routine to a certain extent. But he was +_not_ discharged. At a point where the firm was just one jump ahead of +nervous prostration, along came "Jack" Beardsley and "Little" Owen, two +husky football players with a desire to see life without the safety +clutch. + +The three approached the officials of a cattle-steamship, and by +persistent claims to the effect that they "had a way" with dumb +animals, got jobs as hay stewards. + +"We found the cows very nice," comments Mr. Fairbanks. "No one can get +me to say a word against them. But those stokers! And those other +stable-maids! Pow! We had to fight 'em from one end of the voyage to the +other, and it got so that I bit myself in my sleep. The three of us got +eight shillings apiece when we landed at Liverpool, and tickets back, +but there were several little things about Europe that bothered us, and +we thought we'd see what the trouble was." + +They "hoboed" it through England, France, and Belgium, working at any +old job until they gathered money enough to move along, whether it was +carrying water to English navvies or unloading paving-blocks from a +Seine boat. After three joyous months, they felt the call of the cattle, +and came home on another steamer. + +Back on his native heath, young Fairbanks took a shot from the hip at +law, but missed. Then he got a job in a machine-manufacturing plant, +but one day he found that his carelessness had permitted fifty dollars +to accumulate, and he breezed down to Cuba and Yucatan to see what +openings there were for capital. Back from that tramping trip, he +figured that since he had not annoyed the stage for some time it +certainly owed him something. + +His return to the drama took place in "The Rose of Plymouth Town," a +play in which Miss Minnie Dupree was the star. Meeting Miss Dupree, I +asked her what sort of an actor Fairbanks was in those days. + +"Well," she said judiciously, "I think that he was about the nicest case +of St. Vitus' dance that ever came under my notice." + +William A. Brady got him next. Mr. Brady is quite a dynamo himself, and +there was also a time in his life when he managed James J. Corbett. The +two fell into each other's arms with a cry of joy, and for seven years +they touched off dramatic explosions that strewed fat actors all over +the landscape and tore miles of scenery into ribbons. + +"Some boy!" was Mr. Brady's tribute. "Put him in a death scene, and +he'd find a way to break the furniture." + +There was never a part that "Doug" Fairbanks lay down on. To every role +he brought joy and interest and enthusiasm, and the night came +inevitably that saw his name in electric letters. + +It is not claimed that his work as a star "elevated" the drama, but it +may safely be claimed that he never appeared in any play that was not +wholesome, stimulating, and helpful. + +Nothing was more natural than that the movies should seek such an actor, +and they set the trap with attractive bait. + +"Come over to us," they said, "and we'll let you do anything you want. +Outside of poison gas and actual murder, the sky's the limit." + +Without even waiting to kick off his shoes, "Doug" Fairbanks made a +dive. + +The movie magnates got what they wanted, and Fairbanks got what he +wanted. For the first time in his life he was able to "let go" with all +the force of his dynamic individuality, and he took full advantage of +the opportunity. + +In "The Lamb," his first adventure before the camera, he let a +rattlesnake crawl over him, tackled a mountain lion, jiu-jitsued a bunch +of Yaqui Indians until they bellowed, and operated a machine-gun. + +In "His Picture in the Papers," he was called upon to run an automobile +over a cliff, engage in a grueling six-round go with a professional +pugilist, jump off an Atlantic liner and swim to the distant shore, mix +it up in a furious battle royal with a half dozen husky gunmen, leap +twice from swiftly moving trains, and also to resist arrest by a squad +of Jess Willards dressed up in police uniforms. + +"The Half-Breed" carried him out to California, and, among other things, +threw him into the heart of a forest fire that had been carefully +kindled in the redwood groves of Calaveras County. Amid a rain of +burning pine tufts, and with great branches falling to the ground all +around him, "Douggie" was required to dash in and save the gallant +sheriff from turning into a cinder. Hair and eyelashes grew out again, +however, his blisters healed, and in a few days he was as good as new. + +"The Habit of Happiness" was rich in stunts that would have made even +Battling Nelson turn to tatting with a sigh of relief. Five gangsters, +sicked on to their work by the villain, waylaid our hero on the stairs, +and in the rough-and-tumble that followed, it was his duty to beat each +and every one of them into a state of coma. He performed his task so +conscientiously that his hands were swollen for a week, not to mention +his eyes and nose. As for the five extra men who posed as the gangsters, +all came to the conclusion that dock-walloping was far less strenuous +than art, and went back to their former jobs. + +"The Good Bad Man" was a Western picture that contained a thrill to +every foot of film. Our hero galloped over mountains, jumping from crag +to crag, held up an express train single-handed in order to capture the +conductor's ticket-punch, grappled with gigantic desperadoes every few +minutes, shot up a saloon, and was dragged around for quite a while at +the end of a lynching party's rope. + +"Reggie Mixes In" was one joyous round of assault and battery from +beginning to end. Happening to fall in love with a dancer in a Bowery +cabaret, _Reggie_ puts family and fortune behind him and takes a job as +"bouncer" so as to be near his lady-love. Aside from his regular duties, +he is required to work overtime on account of the hatred of a +gang-leader who also loves the girl. Five scoundrels jump _Reggie_, and, +after manhandling four, he drops from a second-story window to the neck +of the fifth, and chokes him with hands and legs. After which he carries +the senseless wretch down the street, and gaily flicks him, as it were, +through a window at the villain's feet. As a tasty little finish, +_Reggie_ and his rival lock themselves in an empty room, and engage in a +contest governed by packing-house rules. + +Three days after the combat, by the way, the company heads were pleased +to announce that both men were out of danger unless blood-poisoning +set in. + +[Illustration: _Here's Hoping!_ (_White Studio_)] + +"The Mystery of the Leaping Fish" was what is known as a "water +picture," and "Doug," as a comedy detective, was compelled to make a +human submarine of himself, not to mention several duels in the dark +with Japanese thugs and opium smugglers. + +"Another day of it," he grinned, "and I'd have grown fins." + +"Manhattan Madness" was really nothing more than St. Vitus's dance set +to ragtime. Our hero climbed up eaves-pipes, plunged through trap-doors +down into dungeons, jumped from the roof of a house into a tree, kicked +his way in and out of secret closets, and engaged in hair-raising +combats with desperate villains every few minutes. + +It is not only the case that "Doug" Fairbanks made good with the movie +fans. What is more to the point, he made good with the "bunch" itself. +In nine cases out of ten, the "legitimate" star, going over into +pictures, evades and avoids the "rough stuff." To some humble, hardy +"double" is assigned the actual work of falling off the cliff, riding at +full speed across granite hedges, taking a good hard punch in the nose, +or plunging from the top of the burning building. + +Many an honest cowpuncher, taking his girl to the show with him to let +her see what a daredevil he is, has died the death upon discovering that +he was merely "doubling" for some cow-eyed hero who lacked the nerve to +do the stunt himself. + +"Doug" Fairbanks is one of the few movie heroes who have never had a +"double." He asks no man to do that which he is afraid to do himself. No +fall is too hard for him, no fight too furious, no ride too dangerous. +There is not a single one of his pictures in which he hasn't taken a +chance of breaking his neck or his bones; but, as one bronco-buster +observed, "He jes' licks his lips an' asks for more." + +To be sure, few actors have brought such super-physical equipment to the +strenuous work of the movies. Fairbanks, in addition to being blessed +with a strong, lithe body, has developed it by expert devotion to every +form of athletic sport. He swims well, is a crack boxer, a good polo +player, a splendid wrestler, a skilful acrobat, a fast runner, and an +absolutely fearless rider. + +There is never a picture during the progress of which he does not +interpolate some sudden bit of business as the result of his quick wit +and dynamic enthusiasm. In one play, for instance, he was supposed to +enter a house at sight of his sweetheart beckoning to him from an upper +window. As he passed up the steps, however, his roving eye caught sight +of the porch railing, a window-ledge, and a balcony, and in a flash he +was scaling the facade of the house like any cat. + +In another play he was trapped on the roof of a country home. Suddenly +Fairbanks, disregarding the plan of retreat indicated by the author, +gave a wild leap into a near-by maple, managed to catch a bough, and +proceeded to the ground in a series of convulsive falls that gave the +director heart-failure. + +During "The Half-Breed" picture, some of the action took place about a +fallen redwood that had its great roots fully twenty feet into the air. + +"Climb up on top of those roots, Doug," yelled the director. + +Instead of that, "Douggie" went up to a young sapling that grew at the +base of the fallen tree. Bending it down to the ground, as an archer +bends his bow, he gave a sudden spring, and let the tough birch catapult +him to the highest root. + +"What do you want me to do now?" he grinned. + +"Come back the same way," grinned the director. + +Most "legitimate" actors--the valuation is their own--find the movies +rather dull. Time hangs very heavily upon their hands. As one remarked +to me in tones that were thick with a divine despair: "There's +absolutely nothing for a chap to do. In lots of the God-forsaken holes +they drag you to, there isn't even a hotel. No companionship, no +diversion of any kind, and oftentimes no bathtubs." + +Douglas Fairbanks enters no such complaint. He draws upon the energy and +interest that ought to be in every human being, and when entertainment +is not in sight, he goes after it. When they were making "The +Half-Breed" pictures in the Carquinez woods of Northern California, he +was never seen around the camp except when actually needed by the camera +man. Upon his return from these absences, it was noticed that his hands +were usually bleeding, and his clothing stained and torn. + +"What in the name of mischief have you been doing now?" the director +demanded on a day when Fairbanks's wardrobe was almost a total loss. + +"Trappin'," chirped the star. + +Beating about the woods, Bret Harte in hand, he had managed to discover +an old woodsman who still held to the ancient industries of his youth. +The trapper's specialty was "bob cats," and the bleeding hands and torn +clothes came from "Doug's" earnest efforts to handle the "varmints" just +as his venerable preceptor handled them. Out of the experience, at +least, he brought an intimate knowledge of field, forest, and stream, +for over the fire and in their walks he had pumped the old man dry. + +In the same way he made "The Good Bad Man" hand him over everything of +value that frontier life contained. The picture was taken out in the +Mohave desert; for the making of it the director had scoured the West +for riders and ropers and cowboys of the old school. "He men"--every one +of them, and for a time they looked with dislike and suspicion upon the +"star," but when they saw that Fairbanks did not ask for any "double," +and took the hardest tumble with a grin, they received him into their +fellowship with a heartfelt yell. + +Dull in the Mohave desert? Why, he had to sit up nights to keep even +with his engagements. From one man he learned bronco-busting, from +another fancy roping, and from others all that there is to know about +horses, cattle, mountain, and plain. And around the camp-fires he got +stories of the winning of the West such as never found their way into +histories. + +When one picture called for jiu-jitsu work, he didn't rest satisfied +with learning just enough to "get by." Every spare moment found him in a +clinch with the Japanese expert, mastering every secret, perfecting +himself in every hold. Same way with boxing. When no pugilists came +handy, he put on the gloves with anyone willing to take chances on a +black eye, keeping at it until today they have to hire professionals +when he figures in a movie fight. + +When they made a "water" picture he never stopped until he could +duplicate every trick known to the "professor" who drilled the extra +men. He took advantage of a biplane flight to make friends with the +aeronaut, and by the time the picture was done, he was as good a driver +as the expert. + +No matter where he is, or what the job, he finds something of interest +because he goes upon the theory that every minute is meant to be lived. +Maroon him at a cross-roads, with five hours until train time, and he'd +have the operator's first name in ten minutes and be learning the Morse +alphabet, after which he would rush up to his new friend's house to see +the babies or to pass judgment on a Holstein calf or a Black Minorca +brood. + +It is the tremendously human quality, more than anything else, that gets +him across. People like him because he likes them. He attracts interest +because he takes interest. Talk with any of the big men in the +motion-picture industry, that is, those with brains and education, and +they will tell you that personality counts more in pictures than it does +on the stage. + +H.B. Aitken, president of the Triangle Film Corporation, said to me: +"The screen is intimate. The camera brings the actor right into your +lap. In the speaking drama, make-up and footlights change and hide, but +not the least flicker of expression is lost in the picture. It's a test +of real-ness, and it takes a real man or a real woman to stand it. Art +isn't the thing at all, nor do looks count for half as much as people +suppose. It's what's back of the art and the looks that makes the hit, +and if they haven't got _something_, the artist and the beauty don't +last long. We picked Douglas Fairbanks as a likely film star, not on +account of his stunts, as the majority think, but because of the +splendid humanness that fairly oozed out of him." + +[Illustration: A Close-Up (Lumiere)] + +When he isn't before the camera, or fooling with an airship or a motor, +or playing with children, or "gettin' acquainted" with a tramp or a +trapper, or practising stunts with a rope or a horse, young Mr. +Fairbanks fills in his spare time writing scenarios. As everyone knows, +the motion-picture drama has been a tawdry thing for the most +part--either a rehash of old stage plays, novels, and short stories, or +else mediocre "originalities" that epitomized banality. Young Mr. +Fairbanks dissented from the established custom from the very start. + +"It's all wrong," he declared. "We've got to stand on our own feet. +Develop your own dramatists!" + +Practically every play in which he has appeared sprang from his personal +suggestion, and in many of them he has collaborated with the scenario +writer. The three things that he demands are Action, Wholesomeness, and +Sentiment that rings true. + +Never make the mistake of thinking that Douglas Fairbanks starts and +finishes with mere good humor and physical exuberance. There is more to +him than his grin, for his mind is as strong and vigorous as his body. +He reads and thinks, and behind his smile is a quick and eager sympathy +that takes account of the sadnesses of life as well as its promises. + +"The Habit of Happiness" was very much his own idea, and in it he took +occasion to show a midnight bread-line, the misery of the slums, and +various forms of social injustice. It isn't that he thinks himself +called to uplift and reform, but, as he expresses it, "Every little bit +helps." + +In the last talk that I had with him, he was enthusiastic over the +future of the movies as a world force. He speaks in ideas rather than +words, for when he feels that he has indicated the thought he never +troubles to finish the particular sentence. + +"Pictures are like music," he declared. "They speak a universal +language. Great industry--just in its infancy--before long films will +pass from one country to another--internationalism. Why not? Love, hate, +grief, ambition, laughter--they belong to one race as much as +another--all peoples understand them. It's hard to hate people after you +know them. Pictures will let us know each other. They'll break down the +hard national lines that now make for war and suspicion." + +Other things followed, for we discussed everything from cabbages to +kings, and then I plumped the question at him that I had been waiting to +ask from the first. + +"How do you like the movies as compared to the speaking drama? Come now, +cross your heart and hope to die. When the night comes down and the +lights go up, isn't there a blue minute now and then?" + +"Surest thing you know," he grinned. "It isn't because there's such a +radical difference between the 'talkies' and the movies, however." [He +refers to musical comedy as the "screamies."] "The play in the theatre +is largely a matter of pantomime, you know. Dialogue is employed to +advance the actual plot only when it is impossible or impracticable to +do it with dumb show. And when I think of some of the lines I've been +called upon to spout, I can't say that I regret the movies' lack of +dialogue. + +"What does hurt, though," he admitted, "is the absence of response. I +don't mean applause, but the something that comes up over the footlights +to you from the audience, the big something that tells you instantly +whether you have hit it or missed, whether you are ringing true or +false. You don't get that in the pictures. Your audience is the +director, and you know that it will be weeks or months before your work +is going to get its test. + +"But in everything else, the movie has the talkie skinned a mile. +Instead of mouthing somebody else's words, you are doing the thing +yourself. There's action, and life--one day you are in the forest, the +next in the desert, the next on the sea." + +"Nonsense!" I exclaimed. "I understand that it's all done in a studio." + +"I had the idea myself," he laughed. "But no more. When I was in the +'talkies,' I used to hear a lot about realism. Father must wash in a +real basin with real water and real soap. There had to be two hens at +least in every barnyard scene, and when Lottie came home from the cruel +city, she had to have a real baby in her arms. Lordy, I never knew what +realism was until I struck the movies. They've gone crazy over it. + +"'The Half-Breed,' you know, was adapted from one of Bret Harte's +stories, and nothing would do the director but a trip up to the +Carquinez woods in northern California. A forest fire figured in one of +the scenes, but I never thought much about it until I saw them bringing +up some chemical engines, hose reels, and five or six fire-brigades. + +"'What's the idea?' I asked. + +"'To keep the flames from spreading,' they told me. + +"And let me tell you, it was _some_ fire. After I got out of it I felt +like a shave from a Mexican barber." + +"What effect is the movie going to have on the speaking drama?" was my +next question. + +"Look at the effect it's had already," he said. "Shaw is the only +playwright clever enough to write dialogue that will hold any number of +people in the theatre. The motion picture has made the public demand +_action_. It has changed the plot and progress of the drama completely." + +"Do you think that a good thing? Doesn't it mean the substitution of +feeling for thinking?" + +"Well," he answered slowly, "the world goes forward through the heart +rather than through the head. Happiness, to my mind, is emotional, not +mental. And the movie _has_ brought happiness to millions whose lives +were formerly drab and sordid. I love to go into these little halls in +out-of-the-way places, and see the men, women, and children packed there +of an evening. Theatrical companies never reached the villages, and the +men had no place but the saloon, the women no place but the kitchen or +the front porch. The camera has brought the world to their doors, and +life is richer, happier, and better for it." + +Take him as he stands, and Douglas Fairbanks comes close to being the +"real thing." Men like him as well as women, and, best proof of all, the +"kids" adore him. On a recent visit to Denver, his old home town, +youngsters followed him in droves, clamoring for a chance to "feel his +muscle." The mayor, no less, had him address a public meeting, the +feature of which, by the way, was this piped inquiry from the gallery: + +"Say, Doug, can youse whip William Farnum?" + +And let no one quarrel with this popularity. It is a good sign, a +healthful sign, a token that the blood of America still runs warm and +red, and that chalk has not yet softened our bones. + + + + + + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAUGH AND LIVE *** + + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ +concept and trademark. 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If you are not located in the United States, +you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located +before using this eBook. + +Title: Leviathan + +Author: Thomas Hobbes + +Release date: May 1, 2002 [eBook #3207] + Most recently updated: September 17, 2025 + +Language: English + +Credits: Edward White and David Widger + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEVIATHAN *** + + + + +LEVIATHAN + +By Thomas Hobbes + +1651 + + +LEVIATHAN OR THE MATTER, FORME, & POWER OF A COMMON-WEALTH +ECCLESIASTICAL AND CIVILL + +Thomas Hobbes of Malmesbury + + +Printed for Andrew Crooke, at the Green Dragon in St. Paul’s Churchyard, +1651. + + + +TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES ON THE E-TEXT: + +This E-text was prepared from the Pelican Classics edition of Leviathan, +which in turn was prepared from the first edition. I have tried to +follow as closely as possible the original, and to give the flavour of +the text that Hobbes himself proof-read, but the following differences +were unavoidable. + +Hobbes used capitals and italics very extensively, for emphasis, for +proper names, for quotations, and sometimes, it seems, just because. + +The original has very extensive margin notes, which are used to show +where he introduces the definitions of words and concepts, to give in +short the subject that a paragraph or section is dealing with, and to +give references to his quotations, largely but not exclusively biblical. +To some degree, these margin notes seem to have been intended to serve +in place of an index, the original having none. They are all in italics. + +He also used italics for words in other languages than English, and +there are a number of Greek words, in the Greek alphabet, in the text. + +To deal with these within the limits of plain vanilla ASCII, I have done +the following in this E-text. + +I have restricted my use of full capitalization to those places where +Hobbes used it, except in the chapter headings, which I have fully +capitalized, where Hobbes used a mixture of full capitalization and +italics. + +Where it is clear that the italics are to indicate the text is quoting, +I have introduced quotation marks. Within quotation marks I have +retained the capitalization that Hobbes used. + +Where italics seem to be used for emphasis, or for proper names, or just +because, I have capitalized the initial letter of the words. This has +the disadvantage that they are not then distinguished from those that +Hobbes capitalized in plain text, but the extent of his italics would +make the text very ugly if I was to use an underscore or slash. + +Where the margin notes are either to introduce the paragraph subject, +or to show where he introduces word definitions, I have included them as +headers to the paragraph, again with all words having initial capitals, +and on a shortened line. + +For margin references to quotes, I have included them in the text, +in brackets immediately next to the quotation. Where Hobbes included +references in the main text, I have left them as he put them, except to +change his square brackets to round. + +For the Greek alphabet, I have simply substituted the nearest ordinary +letters that I can, and I have used initial capitals for foreign +language words. + +Neither Thomas Hobbes nor his typesetters seem to have had many +inhibitions about spelling and punctuation. I have tried to reproduce +both exactly, with the exception of the introduction of quotation marks. + +In preparing the text, I have found that it has much more meaning if +I read it with sub-vocalization, or aloud, rather than trying to read +silently. Hobbes’ use of emphasis and his eccentric punctuation and +construction seem then to work. + + + +TO MY MOST HONOR’D FRIEND Mr. FRANCIS GODOLPHIN of GODOLPHIN + + +HONOR’D SIR. + +Your most worthy Brother Mr SIDNEY GODOLPHIN, when he lived, was pleas’d +to think my studies something, and otherwise to oblige me, as you know, +with reall testimonies of his good opinion, great in themselves, and the +greater for the worthinesse of his person. For there is not any vertue +that disposeth a man, either to the service of God, or to the service +of his Country, to Civill Society, or private Friendship, that did not +manifestly appear in his conversation, not as acquired by necessity, +or affected upon occasion, but inhaerent, and shining in a generous +constitution of his nature. Therefore in honour and gratitude to him, +and with devotion to your selfe, I humbly Dedicate unto you this my +discourse of Common-wealth. I know not how the world will receive it, +nor how it may reflect on those that shall seem to favour it. For in a +way beset with those that contend on one side for too great Liberty, and +on the other side for too much Authority, ’tis hard to passe between the +points of both unwounded. But yet, me thinks, the endeavour to advance +the Civill Power, should not be by the Civill Power condemned; nor +private men, by reprehending it, declare they think that Power too +great. Besides, I speak not of the men, but (in the Abstract) of the +Seat of Power, (like to those simple and unpartiall creatures in the +Roman Capitol, that with their noyse defended those within it, not +because they were they, but there) offending none, I think, but those +without, or such within (if there be any such) as favour them. That +which perhaps may most offend, are certain Texts of Holy Scripture, +alledged by me to other purpose than ordinarily they use to be by +others. But I have done it with due submission, and also (in order to +my Subject) necessarily; for they are the Outworks of the Enemy, from +whence they impugne the Civill Power. If notwithstanding this, you find +my labour generally decryed, you may be pleased to excuse your selfe, +and say that I am a man that love my own opinions, and think all true I +say, that I honoured your Brother, and honour you, and have presum’d on +that, to assume the Title (without your knowledge) of being, as I am, + +Sir, + +Your most humble, and most obedient servant, Thomas Hobbes. + +Paris APRILL 15/25 1651. + + + + +CONTENTS OF THE CHAPTERS + + +THE FIRST PART + + +OF MAN + + +INTRODUCTION + +1. OF SENSE + +2. OF IMAGINATION + +3. OF THE CONSEQUENCES OR TRAIN OF IMAGINATIONS + +4. OF SPEECH + +5. OF REASON AND SCIENCE + +6. OF THE INTERIOUR BEGINNINGS OF VOLUNTARY MOTIONS, COMMONLY CALLED THE +PASSIONS; AND THE SPEECHES BY WHICH THEY ARE EXPRESSED + +7. OF THE ENDS OR RESOLUTIONS OF DISCOURSE + +8. OF THE VERTUES, COMMONLY CALLED INTELLECTUALL, AND THEIR CONTRARY +DEFECTS + +9. OF THE SEVERALL SUBJECTS OF KNOWLEDGE + +10. OF POWER, WORTH, DIGNITY, HONOUR, AND WORTHINESSE + +11. OF THE DIFFERENCE OF MANNERS + +12. OF RELIGION + +13. OF THE NATURALL CONDITION OF MANKIND AS CONCERNING THEIR FELICITY +AND MISERY + +14. OF THE FIRST AND SECOND NATURALL LAWES, AND OF CONTRACT + +15. OF OTHER LAWES OF NATURE + +16. OF PERSONS, AUTHORS, AND THINGS PERSONATED + + +THE SECOND PART + + +OF COMMON-WEALTH + + +17. OF THE CAUSES, GENERATION, AND DEFINITION OF A COMMON-WEALTH + +18. OF THE RIGHTS OF SOVERAIGNES BY INSTITUTION + +19. OF SEVERALL KINDS OF COMMON-WEALTH BY INSTITUTION; AND OF SUCCESION +TO THE SOVERAIGN POWER + +20. OF DOMINION PATERNALL, AND DESPOTICALL + +21. OF THE LIBERTY OF SUBJECTS + +22. OF SYSTEMES SUBJECT, POLITICALL, AND PRIVATE + +23. OF THE PUBLIQUE MINISTERS OF SOVERAIGN POWER + +24. OF THE NUTRITION, AND PROCREATION OF A COMMON-WEALTH + +25. OF COUNSELL + +26. OF CIVILL LAWES + +27. OF CRIMES, EXCUSES, AND EXTENUATIONS + +28. OF PUNISHMENTS, AND REWARDS + +29. OF THOSE THINGS THAT WEAKEN, OR TEND TO THE DISSOLUTION OF A +COMMON-WEALTH + +30. OF THE OFFICE OF THE SOVERAIGN REPRESENTATIVE + +31. OF THE KINGDOM OF GOD BY NATURE + + + +THE THIRD PART + + +OF A CHRISTIAN COMMON-WEALTH + + +32. OF THE PRINCIPLES OF CHRISTIAN POLITIQUES + +33. OF THE NUMBER, ANTIQUITY, SCOPE, AUTHORITY, AND INTERPRETERS OF THE +BOOKS OF HOLY SCRIPTURE + +34. OF THE SIGNIFICATION, OF SPIRIT, ANGELL, AND INSPIRATION IN THE +BOOKS OF HOLY SCRIPTURE + +35. OF THE SIGNIFICATION IN SCRIPTURE OF THE KINGDOME OF GOD, OF HOLY, +SACRED, AND SACRAMENT + +36. OF THE WORD OF GOD, AND OF PROPHETS + +37. OF MIRACLES, AND THEIR USE + +38. OF THE SIGNIFICATION IN SCRIPTURE OF ETERNALL LIFE, HEL, SALVATION, +THE WORLD TO COME, AND REDEMPTION + +39. OF THE SIGNIFICATION IN SCRIPTURE OF THE WORD CHURCH + +40. OF THE RIGHTS OF THE KINGDOME OF GOD, IN ABRAHAM, MOSES, THE HIGH +PRIESTS, AND THE KINGS OF JUDAH + +41. OF THE OFFICE OF OUR BLESSED SAVIOUR + +42. OF POWER ECCLESIASTICALL + +43. OF WHAT IS NECESSARY FOR MANS RECEPTION INTO THE KINGDOME OF HEAVEN + + + +THE FOURTH PART + +OF THE KINGDOME OF DARKNESSE + + +44. OF SPIRITUALL DARKNESSE FROM MISINTERPRETATION OF SCRIPTURE + +45. OF DAEMONOLOGY, AND OTHER RELIQUES OF THE RELIGION OF THE GENTILES + +46. OF DARKNESSE FROM VAINE PHILOSOPHY, AND FABULOUS TRADITIONS + +47. OF THE BENEFIT PROCEEDING FROM SUCH DARKNESSE; AND TO WHOM IT +ACCREWETH + + + +48. A REVIEW AND CONCLUSION + + + + +THE INTRODUCTION + + +Nature (the art whereby God hath made and governes the world) is by the +art of man, as in many other things, so in this also imitated, that it +can make an Artificial Animal. For seeing life is but a motion of Limbs, +the begining whereof is in some principall part within; why may we not +say, that all Automata (Engines that move themselves by springs and +wheeles as doth a watch) have an artificiall life? For what is the +Heart, but a Spring; and the Nerves, but so many Strings; and the +Joynts, but so many Wheeles, giving motion to the whole Body, such as +was intended by the Artificer? Art goes yet further, imitating that +Rationall and most excellent worke of Nature, Man. For by Art is created +that great LEVIATHAN called a COMMON-WEALTH, or STATE, (in latine +CIVITAS) which is but an Artificiall Man; though of greater stature +and strength than the Naturall, for whose protection and defence it +was intended; and in which, the Soveraignty is an Artificiall Soul, as +giving life and motion to the whole body; The Magistrates, and other +Officers of Judicature and Execution, artificiall Joynts; Reward and +Punishment (by which fastned to the seat of the Soveraignty, every joynt +and member is moved to performe his duty) are the Nerves, that do the +same in the Body Naturall; The Wealth and Riches of all the particular +members, are the Strength; Salus Populi (the Peoples Safety) its +Businesse; Counsellors, by whom all things needfull for it to know, +are suggested unto it, are the Memory; Equity and Lawes, an artificiall +Reason and Will; Concord, Health; Sedition, Sicknesse; and Civill War, +Death. Lastly, the Pacts and Covenants, by which the parts of this Body +Politique were at first made, set together, and united, resemble that +Fiat, or the Let Us Make Man, pronounced by God in the Creation. + +To describe the Nature of this Artificiall man, I will consider + +First the Matter thereof, and the Artificer; both which is Man. + +Secondly, How, and by what Covenants it is made; what are the Rights and +just Power or Authority of a Soveraigne; and what it is that Preserveth +and Dissolveth it. + +Thirdly, what is a Christian Common-Wealth. + +Lastly, what is the Kingdome of Darkness. + +Concerning the first, there is a saying much usurped of late, That +Wisedome is acquired, not by reading of Books, but of Men. Consequently +whereunto, those persons, that for the most part can give no other proof +of being wise, take great delight to shew what they think they have read +in men, by uncharitable censures of one another behind their backs. +But there is another saying not of late understood, by which they might +learn truly to read one another, if they would take the pains; and that +is, Nosce Teipsum, Read Thy Self: which was not meant, as it is now +used, to countenance, either the barbarous state of men in power, +towards their inferiors; or to encourage men of low degree, to a +sawcie behaviour towards their betters; But to teach us, that for the +similitude of the thoughts, and Passions of one man, to the thoughts, +and Passions of another, whosoever looketh into himselfe, and +considereth what he doth, when he does Think, Opine, Reason, Hope, +Feare, &c, and upon what grounds; he shall thereby read and know, +what are the thoughts, and Passions of all other men, upon the like +occasions. I say the similitude of Passions, which are the same in all +men, Desire, Feare, Hope, &c; not the similitude or The Objects of the +Passions, which are the things Desired, Feared, Hoped, &c: for these the +constitution individuall, and particular education do so vary, and they +are so easie to be kept from our knowledge, that the characters of mans +heart, blotted and confounded as they are, with dissembling, lying, +counterfeiting, and erroneous doctrines, are legible onely to him that +searcheth hearts. And though by mens actions wee do discover their +designee sometimes; yet to do it without comparing them with our own, +and distinguishing all circumstances, by which the case may come to +be altered, is to decypher without a key, and be for the most part +deceived, by too much trust, or by too much diffidence; as he that +reads, is himselfe a good or evill man. + +But let one man read another by his actions never so perfectly, it +serves him onely with his acquaintance, which are but few. He that is +to govern a whole Nation, must read in himselfe, not this, or that +particular man; but Man-kind; which though it be hard to do, harder than +to learn any Language, or Science; yet, when I shall have set down my +own reading orderly, and perspicuously, the pains left another, will be +onely to consider, if he also find not the same in himselfe. For this +kind of Doctrine, admitteth no other Demonstration. + + + + +PART I. +OF MAN + + + + +CHAPTER I. OF SENSE + + +Concerning the Thoughts of man, I will consider them first Singly, and +afterwards in Trayne, or dependance upon one another. Singly, they +are every one a Representation or Apparence, of some quality, or other +Accident of a body without us; which is commonly called an Object. Which +Object worketh on the Eyes, Eares, and other parts of mans body; and by +diversity of working, produceth diversity of Apparences. + +The Originall of them all, is that which we call Sense; (For there is +no conception in a mans mind, which hath not at first, totally, or by +parts, been begotten upon the organs of Sense.) The rest are derived +from that originall. + +To know the naturall cause of Sense, is not very necessary to the +business now in hand; and I have els-where written of the same at large. +Nevertheless, to fill each part of my present method, I will briefly +deliver the same in this place. + +The cause of Sense, is the Externall Body, or Object, which presseth the +organ proper to each Sense, either immediatly, as in the Tast and Touch; +or mediately, as in Seeing, Hearing, and Smelling: which pressure, by +the mediation of Nerves, and other strings, and membranes of the body, +continued inwards to the Brain, and Heart, causeth there a resistance, +or counter-pressure, or endeavour of the heart, to deliver it self: +which endeavour because Outward, seemeth to be some matter without. And +this Seeming, or Fancy, is that which men call sense; and consisteth, as +to the Eye, in a Light, or Colour Figured; To the Eare, in a Sound; To +the Nostrill, in an Odour; To the Tongue and Palat, in a Savour; and +to the rest of the body, in Heat, Cold, Hardnesse, Softnesse, and such +other qualities, as we discern by Feeling. All which qualities called +Sensible, are in the object that causeth them, but so many several +motions of the matter, by which it presseth our organs diversly. Neither +in us that are pressed, are they anything els, but divers motions; (for +motion, produceth nothing but motion.) But their apparence to us is +Fancy, the same waking, that dreaming. And as pressing, rubbing, +or striking the Eye, makes us fancy a light; and pressing the Eare, +produceth a dinne; so do the bodies also we see, or hear, produce the +same by their strong, though unobserved action, For if those Colours, +and Sounds, were in the Bodies, or Objects that cause them, they could +not bee severed from them, as by glasses, and in Ecchoes by reflection, +wee see they are; where we know the thing we see, is in one place; the +apparence, in another. And though at some certain distance, the reall, +and very object seem invested with the fancy it begets in us; Yet still +the object is one thing, the image or fancy is another. So that Sense in +all cases, is nothing els but originall fancy, caused (as I have said) +by the pressure, that is, by the motion, of externall things upon our +Eyes, Eares, and other organs thereunto ordained. + +But the Philosophy-schooles, through all the Universities of +Christendome, grounded upon certain Texts of Aristotle, teach another +doctrine; and say, For the cause of Vision, that the thing seen, sendeth +forth on every side a Visible Species(in English) a Visible Shew, +Apparition, or Aspect, or a Being Seen; the receiving whereof into the +Eye, is Seeing. And for the cause of Hearing, that the thing heard, +sendeth forth an Audible Species, that is, an Audible Aspect, or Audible +Being Seen; which entring at the Eare, maketh Hearing. Nay for the +cause of Understanding also, they say the thing Understood sendeth forth +Intelligible Species, that is, an Intelligible Being Seen; which +comming into the Understanding, makes us Understand. I say not this, +as disapproving the use of Universities: but because I am to speak +hereafter of their office in a Common-wealth, I must let you see on +all occasions by the way, what things would be amended in them; amongst +which the frequency of insignificant Speech is one. + + + +CHAPTER II. OF IMAGINATION + + +That when a thing lies still, unlesse somewhat els stirre it, it will +lye still for ever, is a truth that no man doubts of. But that when a +thing is in motion, it will eternally be in motion, unless somewhat els +stay it, though the reason be the same, (namely, that nothing can change +it selfe,) is not so easily assented to. For men measure, not onely +other men, but all other things, by themselves: and because they find +themselves subject after motion to pain, and lassitude, think every +thing els growes weary of motion, and seeks repose of its own accord; +little considering, whether it be not some other motion, wherein that +desire of rest they find in themselves, consisteth. From hence it is, +that the Schooles say, Heavy bodies fall downwards, out of an appetite +to rest, and to conserve their nature in that place which is most proper +for them; ascribing appetite, and Knowledge of what is good for their +conservation, (which is more than man has) to things inanimate absurdly. + +When a Body is once in motion, it moveth (unless something els hinder +it) eternally; and whatsoever hindreth it, cannot in an instant, but in +time, and by degrees quite extinguish it: And as wee see in the water, +though the wind cease, the waves give not over rowling for a long +time after; so also it happeneth in that motion, which is made in the +internall parts of a man, then, when he Sees, Dreams, &c. For after the +object is removed, or the eye shut, wee still retain an image of the +thing seen, though more obscure than when we see it. And this is it, +that Latines call Imagination, from the image made in seeing; and apply +the same, though improperly, to all the other senses. But the Greeks +call it Fancy; which signifies Apparence, and is as proper to one sense, +as to another. Imagination therefore is nothing but Decaying Sense; and +is found in men, and many other living Creatures, as well sleeping, as +waking. + + + + +Memory + +The decay of Sense in men waking, is not the decay of the motion made in +sense; but an obscuring of it, in such manner, as the light of the Sun +obscureth the light of the Starres; which starrs do no less exercise +their vertue by which they are visible, in the day, than in the night. +But because amongst many stroaks, which our eyes, eares, and other +organs receive from externall bodies, the predominant onely is sensible; +therefore the light of the Sun being predominant, we are not affected +with the action of the starrs. And any object being removed from our +eyes, though the impression it made in us remain; yet other objects more +present succeeding, and working on us, the Imagination of the past is +obscured, and made weak; as the voyce of a man is in the noyse of the +day. From whence it followeth, that the longer the time is, after the +sight, or Sense of any object, the weaker is the Imagination. For the +continuall change of mans body, destroyes in time the parts which in +sense were moved: So that the distance of time, and of place, hath one +and the same effect in us. For as at a distance of place, that which wee +look at, appears dimme, and without distinction of the smaller parts; +and as Voyces grow weak, and inarticulate: so also after great distance +of time, our imagination of the Past is weak; and wee lose( for example) +of Cities wee have seen, many particular Streets; and of Actions, many +particular Circumstances. This Decaying Sense, when wee would express +the thing it self, (I mean Fancy it selfe,) wee call Imagination, as I +said before; But when we would express the Decay, and signifie that the +Sense is fading, old, and past, it is called Memory. So that Imagination +and Memory, are but one thing, which for divers considerations hath +divers names. + +Much memory, or memory of many things, is called Experience. Againe, +Imagination being only of those things which have been formerly +perceived by Sense, either all at once, or by parts at severall +times; The former, (which is the imagining the whole object, as it was +presented to the sense) is Simple Imagination; as when one imagineth a +man, or horse, which he hath seen before. The other is Compounded; as +when from the sight of a man at one time, and of a horse at another, we +conceive in our mind a Centaure. So when a man compoundeth the image of +his own person, with the image of the actions of an other man; as when a +man imagins himselfe a Hercules, or an Alexander, (which happeneth often +to them that are much taken with reading of Romants) it is a compound +imagination, and properly but a Fiction of the mind. There be also other +Imaginations that rise in men, (though waking) from the great impression +made in sense; As from gazing upon the Sun, the impression leaves an +image of the Sun before our eyes a long time after; and from being long +and vehemently attent upon Geometricall Figures, a man shall in the +dark, (though awake) have the Images of Lines, and Angles before his +eyes: which kind of Fancy hath no particular name; as being a thing that +doth not commonly fall into mens discourse. + + + + +Dreams + +The imaginations of them that sleep, are those we call Dreams. And these +also (as all other Imaginations) have been before, either totally, or +by parcells in the Sense. And because in sense, the Brain, and Nerves, +which are the necessary Organs of sense, are so benummed in sleep, as +not easily to be moved by the action of Externall Objects, there can +happen in sleep, no Imagination; and therefore no Dreame, but what +proceeds from the agitation of the inward parts of mans body; which +inward parts, for the connexion they have with the Brayn, and other +Organs, when they be distempered, do keep the same in motion; whereby +the Imaginations there formerly made, appeare as if a man were waking; +saving that the Organs of Sense being now benummed, so as there is +no new object, which can master and obscure them with a more vigorous +impression, a Dreame must needs be more cleare, in this silence of +sense, than are our waking thoughts. And hence it cometh to pass, that +it is a hard matter, and by many thought impossible to distinguish +exactly between Sense and Dreaming. For my part, when I consider, that +in Dreames, I do not often, nor constantly think of the same Persons, +Places, Objects, and Actions that I do waking; nor remember so long a +trayne of coherent thoughts, Dreaming, as at other times; And because +waking I often observe the absurdity of Dreames, but never dream of +the absurdities of my waking Thoughts; I am well satisfied, that being +awake, I know I dreame not; though when I dreame, I think my selfe +awake. + +And seeing dreames are caused by the distemper of some of the inward +parts of the Body; divers distempers must needs cause different Dreams. +And hence it is, that lying cold breedeth Dreams of Feare, and raiseth +the thought and Image of some fearfull object (the motion from the +brain to the inner parts, and from the inner parts to the Brain being +reciprocall:) and that as Anger causeth heat in some parts of the Body, +when we are awake; so when we sleep, the over heating of the same parts +causeth Anger, and raiseth up in the brain the Imagination of an Enemy. +In the same manner; as naturall kindness, when we are awake causeth +desire; and desire makes heat in certain other parts of the body; so +also, too much heat in those parts, while wee sleep, raiseth in the +brain an imagination of some kindness shewn. In summe, our Dreams are +the reverse of our waking Imaginations; The motion when we are awake, +beginning at one end; and when we Dream, at another. + + + + +Apparitions Or Visions + +The most difficult discerning of a mans Dream, from his waking thoughts, +is then, when by some accident we observe not that we have slept: +which is easie to happen to a man full of fearfull thoughts; and +whose conscience is much troubled; and that sleepeth, without the +circumstances, of going to bed, or putting off his clothes, as one that +noddeth in a chayre. For he that taketh pains, and industriously layes +himselfe to sleep, in case any uncouth and exorbitant fancy come unto +him, cannot easily think it other than a Dream. We read of Marcus +Brutes, (one that had his life given him by Julius Caesar, and was also +his favorite, and notwithstanding murthered him,) how at Phillipi, +the night before he gave battell to Augustus Caesar, he saw a fearfull +apparition, which is commonly related by Historians as a Vision: but +considering the circumstances, one may easily judge to have been but +a short Dream. For sitting in his tent, pensive and troubled with the +horrour of his rash act, it was not hard for him, slumbering in the +cold, to dream of that which most affrighted him; which feare, as by +degrees it made him wake; so also it must needs make the Apparition by +degrees to vanish: And having no assurance that he slept, he could have +no cause to think it a Dream, or any thing but a Vision. And this is no +very rare Accident: for even they that be perfectly awake, if they be +timorous, and supperstitious, possessed with fearfull tales, and alone +in the dark, are subject to the like fancies, and believe they see +spirits and dead mens Ghosts walking in Churchyards; whereas it is +either their Fancy onely, or els the knavery of such persons, as make +use of such superstitious feare, to pass disguised in the night, to +places they would not be known to haunt. + +From this ignorance of how to distinguish Dreams, and other strong +Fancies, from vision and Sense, did arise the greatest part of the +Religion of the Gentiles in time past, that worshipped Satyres, Fawnes, +nymphs, and the like; and now adayes the opinion than rude people have +of Fayries, Ghosts, and Goblins; and of the power of Witches. For as for +Witches, I think not that their witch craft is any reall power; but yet +that they are justly punished, for the false beliefe they have, that +they can do such mischiefe, joyned with their purpose to do it if they +can; their trade being neerer to a new Religion, than to a Craft or +Science. And for Fayries, and walking Ghosts, the opinion of them has I +think been on purpose, either taught, or not confuted, to keep in +credit the use of Exorcisme, of Crosses, of holy Water, and other such +inventions of Ghostly men. Neverthelesse, there is no doubt, but God can +make unnaturall Apparitions. But that he does it so often, as men need +to feare such things, more than they feare the stay, or change, of the +course of Nature, which he also can stay, and change, is no point of +Christian faith. But evill men under pretext that God can do any thing, +are so bold as to say any thing when it serves their turn, though +they think it untrue; It is the part of a wise man, to believe them no +further, than right reason makes that which they say, appear credible. +If this superstitious fear of Spirits were taken away, and with it, +Prognostiques from Dreams, false Prophecies, and many other things +depending thereon, by which, crafty ambitious persons abuse the +simple people, men would be much more fitted than they are for civill +Obedience. + +And this ought to be the work of the Schooles; but they rather nourish +such doctrine. For (not knowing what Imagination, or the Senses are), +what they receive, they teach: some saying, that Imaginations rise of +themselves, and have no cause: Others that they rise most commonly from +the Will; and that Good thoughts are blown (inspired) into a man, by +God; and evill thoughts by the Divell: or that Good thoughts are powred +(infused) into a man, by God; and evill ones by the Divell. Some say +the Senses receive the Species of things, and deliver them to the +Common-sense; and the Common Sense delivers them over to the Fancy, and +the Fancy to the Memory, and the Memory to the Judgement, like +handing of things from one to another, with many words making nothing +understood. + + + + +Understanding + +The Imagination that is raysed in man (or any other creature indued with +the faculty of imagining) by words, or other voluntary signes, is that +we generally call Understanding; and is common to Man and Beast. For a +dogge by custome will understand the call, or the rating of his Master; +and so will many other Beasts. That Understanding which is peculiar to +man, is the Understanding not onely his will; but his conceptions and +thoughts, by the sequell and contexture of the names of things into +Affirmations, Negations, and other formes of Speech: And of this kinde +of Understanding I shall speak hereafter. + + + +CHAPTER III. OF THE CONSEQUENCE OR TRAYNE OF IMAGINATIONS + + +By Consequence, or Trayne of Thoughts, I understand that succession +of one Thought to another, which is called (to distinguish it from +Discourse in words) Mentall Discourse. + +When a man thinketh on any thing whatsoever, His next Thought after, is +not altogether so casuall as it seems to be. Not every Thought to every +Thought succeeds indifferently. But as wee have no Imagination, whereof +we have not formerly had Sense, in whole, or in parts; so we have no +Transition from one Imagination to another, whereof we never had the +like before in our Senses. The reason whereof is this. All Fancies +are Motions within us, reliques of those made in the Sense: And those +motions that immediately succeeded one another in the sense, continue +also together after Sense: In so much as the former comming again to +take place, and be praedominant, the later followeth, by coherence of +the matter moved, is such manner, as water upon a plain Table is drawn +which way any one part of it is guided by the finger. But because +in sense, to one and the same thing perceived, sometimes one thing, +sometimes another succeedeth, it comes to passe in time, that in the +Imagining of any thing, there is no certainty what we shall Imagine +next; Onely this is certain, it shall be something that succeeded the +same before, at one time or another. + + + + +Trayne Of Thoughts Unguided + +This Trayne of Thoughts, or Mentall Discourse, is of two sorts. The +first is Unguided, Without Designee, and inconstant; Wherein there is no +Passionate Thought, to govern and direct those that follow, to it self, +as the end and scope of some desire, or other passion: In which case the +thoughts are said to wander, and seem impertinent one to another, as +in a Dream. Such are Commonly the thoughts of men, that are not onely +without company, but also without care of any thing; though even then +their Thoughts are as busie as at other times, but without harmony; as +the sound which a Lute out of tune would yeeld to any man; or in tune, +to one that could not play. And yet in this wild ranging of the mind, +a man may oft-times perceive the way of it, and the dependance of one +thought upon another. For in a Discourse of our present civill warre, +what could seem more impertinent, than to ask (as one did) what was the +value of a Roman Penny? Yet the Cohaerence to me was manifest enough. +For the Thought of the warre, introduced the Thought of the delivering +up the King to his Enemies; The Thought of that, brought in the Thought +of the delivering up of Christ; and that again the Thought of the 30 +pence, which was the price of that treason: and thence easily followed +that malicious question; and all this in a moment of time; for Thought +is quick. + + + + +Trayne Of Thoughts Regulated + +The second is more constant; as being Regulated by some desire, and +designee. For the impression made by such things as wee desire, or +feare, is strong, and permanent, or, (if it cease for a time,) of quick +return: so strong it is sometimes, as to hinder and break our sleep. +From Desire, ariseth the Thought of some means we have seen produce the +like of that which we ayme at; and from the thought of that, the +thought of means to that mean; and so continually, till we come to some +beginning within our own power. And because the End, by the greatnesse +of the impression, comes often to mind, in case our thoughts begin to +wander, they are quickly again reduced into the way: which observed by +one of the seven wise men, made him give men this praecept, which is +now worne out, Respice Finem; that is to say, in all your actions, +look often upon what you would have, as the thing that directs all your +thoughts in the way to attain it. + + + + +Remembrance + +The Trayn of regulated Thoughts is of two kinds; One, when of an effect +imagined, wee seek the causes, or means that produce it: and this +is common to Man and Beast. The other is, when imagining any thing +whatsoever, wee seek all the possible effects, that can by it be +produced; that is to say, we imagine what we can do with it, when wee +have it. Of which I have not at any time seen any signe, but in man +onely; for this is a curiosity hardly incident to the nature of any +living creature that has no other Passion but sensuall, such as are +hunger, thirst, lust, and anger. In summe, the Discourse of the Mind, +when it is governed by designee, is nothing but Seeking, or the faculty +of Invention, which the Latines call Sagacitas, and Solertia; a hunting +out of the causes, of some effect, present or past; or of the effects, +of some present or past cause, sometimes a man seeks what he hath lost; +and from that place, and time, wherein hee misses it, his mind runs +back, from place to place, and time to time, to find where, and when +he had it; that is to say, to find some certain, and limited time and +place, in which to begin a method of seeking. Again, from thence, his +thoughts run over the same places and times, to find what action, or +other occasion might make him lose it. This we call Remembrance, +or Calling to mind: the Latines call it Reminiscentia, as it were a +Re-Conning of our former actions. + +Sometimes a man knows a place determinate, within the compasse whereof +his is to seek; and then his thoughts run over all the parts thereof, +in the same manner, as one would sweep a room, to find a jewell; or as +a Spaniel ranges the field, till he find a sent; or as a man should run +over the alphabet, to start a rime. + + + + +Prudence + +Sometime a man desires to know the event of an action; and then he +thinketh of some like action past, and the events thereof one after +another; supposing like events will follow like actions. As he that +foresees what wil become of a Criminal, re-cons what he has seen follow +on the like Crime before; having this order of thoughts, The Crime, +the Officer, the Prison, the Judge, and the Gallowes. Which kind +of thoughts, is called Foresight, and Prudence, or Providence; and +sometimes Wisdome; though such conjecture, through the difficulty of +observing all circumstances, be very fallacious. But this is certain; by +how much one man has more experience of things past, than another; by +so much also he is more Prudent, and his expectations the seldomer faile +him. The Present onely has a being in Nature; things Past have a being +in the Memory onely, but things To Come have no being at all; the Future +being but a fiction of the mind, applying the sequels of actions Past, +to the actions that are Present; which with most certainty is done by +him that has most Experience; but not with certainty enough. And though +it be called Prudence, when the Event answereth our Expectation; yet in +its own nature, it is but Presumption. For the foresight of things to +come, which is Providence, belongs onely to him by whose will they are +to come. From him onely, and supernaturally, proceeds Prophecy. The best +Prophet naturally is the best guesser; and the best guesser, he that is +most versed and studied in the matters he guesses at: for he hath most +Signes to guesse by. + + + + +Signes + +A Signe, is the Event Antecedent, of the Consequent; and contrarily, +the Consequent of the Antecedent, when the like Consequences have been +observed, before: And the oftner they have been observed, the lesse +uncertain is the Signe. And therefore he that has most experience in +any kind of businesse, has most Signes, whereby to guesse at the Future +time, and consequently is the most prudent: And so much more prudent +than he that is new in that kind of business, as not to be equalled by +any advantage of naturall and extemporary wit: though perhaps many young +men think the contrary. + +Neverthelesse it is not Prudence that distinguisheth man from beast. +There be beasts, that at a year old observe more, and pursue that which +is for their good, more prudently, than a child can do at ten. + + + + +Conjecture Of The Time Past + +As Prudence is a Praesumtion of the Future, contracted from the +Experience of time Past; So there is a Praesumtion of things Past taken +from other things (not future but) past also. For he that hath seen +by what courses and degrees, a flourishing State hath first come into +civill warre, and then to ruine; upon the sights of the ruines of any +other State, will guesse, the like warre, and the like courses have been +there also. But his conjecture, has the same incertainty almost with the +conjecture of the Future; both being grounded onely upon Experience. + +There is no other act of mans mind, that I can remember, naturally +planted in him, so, as to need no other thing, to the exercise of it, +but to be born a man, and live with the use of his five Senses. Those +other Faculties, of which I shall speak by and by, and which seem proper +to man onely, are acquired, and encreased by study and industry; and of +most men learned by instruction, and discipline; and proceed all from +the invention of Words, and Speech. For besides Sense, and Thoughts, and +the Trayne of thoughts, the mind of man has no other motion; though by +the help of Speech, and Method, the same Facultyes may be improved to +such a height, as to distinguish men from all other living Creatures. + +Whatsoever we imagine, is Finite. Therefore there is no Idea, or +conception of anything we call Infinite. No man can have in his mind an +Image of infinite magnitude; nor conceive the ends, and bounds of +the thing named; having no Conception of the thing, but of our own +inability. And therefore the Name of GOD is used, not to make us +conceive him; (for he is Incomprehensible; and his greatnesse, and power +are unconceivable;) but that we may honour him. Also because whatsoever +(as I said before,) we conceive, has been perceived first by sense, +either all at once, or by parts; a man can have no thought, representing +any thing, not subject to sense. No man therefore can conceive any +thing, but he must conceive it in some place; and indued with some +determinate magnitude; and which may be divided into parts; nor that any +thing is all in this place, and all in another place at the same time; +nor that two, or more things can be in one, and the same place at once: +for none of these things ever have, or can be incident to Sense; but are +absurd speeches, taken upon credit (without any signification at all,) +from deceived Philosophers, and deceived, or deceiving Schoolemen. + + + +CHAPTER IV. OF SPEECH + + + + +Originall Of Speech + +The Invention of Printing, though ingenious, compared with the invention +of Letters, is no great matter. But who was the first that found the use +of Letters, is not known. He that first brought them into Greece, men +say was Cadmus, the sonne of Agenor, King of Phaenicia. A profitable +Invention for continuing the memory of time past, and the conjunction of +mankind, dispersed into so many, and distant regions of the Earth; and +with all difficult, as proceeding from a watchfull observation of the +divers motions of the Tongue, Palat, Lips, and other organs of Speech; +whereby to make as many differences of characters, to remember them. +But the most noble and profitable invention of all other, was that of +Speech, consisting of Names or Apellations, and their Connexion; whereby +men register their Thoughts; recall them when they are past; and also +declare them one to another for mutuall utility and conversation; +without which, there had been amongst men, neither Common-wealth, nor +Society, nor Contract, nor Peace, no more than amongst Lyons, Bears, +and Wolves. The first author of Speech was GOD himselfe, that instructed +Adam how to name such creatures as he presented to his sight; For the +Scripture goeth no further in this matter. But this was sufficient +to direct him to adde more names, as the experience and use of the +creatures should give him occasion; and to joyn them in such manner by +degrees, as to make himselfe understood; and so by succession of time, +so much language might be gotten, as he had found use for; though not so +copious, as an Orator or Philosopher has need of. For I do not find any +thing in the Scripture, out of which, directly or by consequence can +be gathered, that Adam was taught the names of all Figures, Numbers, +Measures, Colours, Sounds, Fancies, Relations; much less the names +of Words and Speech, as Generall, Speciall, Affirmative, Negative, +Interrogative, Optative, Infinitive, all which are usefull; and least of +all, of Entity, Intentionality, Quiddity, and other significant words of +the School. + +But all this language gotten, and augmented by Adam and his posterity, +was again lost at the tower of Babel, when by the hand of God, every man +was stricken for his rebellion, with an oblivion of his former language. +And being hereby forced to disperse themselves into severall parts of +the world, it must needs be, that the diversity of Tongues that now is, +proceeded by degrees from them, in such manner, as need (the mother of +all inventions) taught them; and in tract of time grew every where more +copious. + + + + +The Use Of Speech + +The generall use of Speech, is to transferre our Mentall Discourse, into +Verbal; or the Trayne of our Thoughts, into a Trayne of Words; and that +for two commodities; whereof one is, the Registring of the Consequences +of our Thoughts; which being apt to slip out of our memory, and put +us to a new labour, may again be recalled, by such words as they were +marked by. So that the first use of names, is to serve for Markes, +or Notes of remembrance. Another is, when many use the same words, +to signifie (by their connexion and order,) one to another, what they +conceive, or think of each matter; and also what they desire, feare, +or have any other passion for, and for this use they are called +Signes. Speciall uses of Speech are these; First, to Register, what by +cogitation, wee find to be the cause of any thing, present or past; and +what we find things present or past may produce, or effect: which in +summe, is acquiring of Arts. Secondly, to shew to others that knowledge +which we have attained; which is, to Counsell, and Teach one another. +Thirdly, to make known to others our wills, and purposes, that we may +have the mutuall help of one another. Fourthly, to please and delight +our selves, and others, by playing with our words, for pleasure or +ornament, innocently. + + + + +Abuses Of Speech + +To these Uses, there are also foure correspondent Abuses. First, +when men register their thoughts wrong, by the inconstancy of the +signification of their words; by which they register for their +conceptions, that which they never conceived; and so deceive themselves. +Secondly, when they use words metaphorically; that is, in other sense +than that they are ordained for; and thereby deceive others. Thirdly, +when by words they declare that to be their will, which is not. +Fourthly, when they use them to grieve one another: for seeing nature +hath armed living creatures, some with teeth, some with horns, and some +with hands, to grieve an enemy, it is but an abuse of Speech, to grieve +him with the tongue, unlesse it be one whom wee are obliged to govern; +and then it is not to grieve, but to correct and amend. + +The manner how Speech serveth to the remembrance of the consequence +of causes and effects, consisteth in the imposing of Names, and the +Connexion of them. + + + + +Names Proper & Common Universall + +Of Names, some are Proper, and singular to one onely thing; as Peter, +John, This Man, This Tree: and some are Common to many things; as Man, +Horse, Tree; every of which though but one Name, is nevertheless the +name of divers particular things; in respect of all which together, it +is called an Universall; there being nothing in the world Universall +but Names; for the things named, are every one of them Individual and +Singular. + +One Universall name is imposed on many things, for their similitude in +some quality, or other accident: And whereas a Proper Name bringeth to +mind one thing onely; Universals recall any one of those many. + +And of Names Universall, some are of more, and some of lesse extent; the +larger comprehending the lesse large: and some again of equall extent, +comprehending each other reciprocally. As for example, the Name Body is +of larger signification than the word Man, and conprehendeth it; and the +names Man and Rationall, are of equall extent, comprehending mutually +one another. But here wee must take notice, that by a Name is not +alwayes understood, as in Grammar, one onely word; but sometimes by +circumlocution many words together. For all these words, Hee That In +His Actions Observeth The Lawes Of His Country, make but one Name, +equivalent to this one word, Just. + +By this imposition of Names, some of larger, some of stricter +signification, we turn the reckoning of the consequences of things +imagined in the mind, into a reckoning of the consequences of +Appellations. For example, a man that hath no use of Speech at all, +(such, as is born and remains perfectly deafe and dumb,) if he set +before his eyes a triangle, and by it two right angles, (such as are the +corners of a square figure,) he may by meditation compare and find, that +the three angles of that triangle, are equall to those two right angles +that stand by it. But if another triangle be shewn him different in +shape from the former, he cannot know without a new labour, whether the +three angles of that also be equall to the same. But he that hath the +use of words, when he observes, that such equality was consequent, not +to the length of the sides, nor to any other particular thing in his +triangle; but onely to this, that the sides were straight, and the +angles three; and that that was all, for which he named it a Triangle; +will boldly conclude Universally, that such equality of angles is in +all triangles whatsoever; and register his invention in these generall +termes, Every Triangle Hath Its Three Angles Equall To Two Right Angles. +And thus the consequence found in one particular, comes to be registred +and remembred, as a Universall rule; and discharges our mentall +reckoning, of time and place; and delivers us from all labour of the +mind, saving the first; and makes that which was found true Here, and +Now, to be true in All Times and Places. + +But the use of words in registring our thoughts, is in nothing so +evident as in Numbering. A naturall foole that could never learn by +heart the order of numerall words, as One, Two, and Three, may observe +every stroak of the Clock, and nod to it, or say one, one, one; but can +never know what houre it strikes. And it seems, there was a time when +those names of number were not in use; and men were fayn to apply their +fingers of one or both hands, to those things they desired to keep +account of; and that thence it proceeded, that now our numerall words +are but ten, in any Nation, and in some but five, and then they begin +again. And he that can tell ten, if he recite them out of order, will +lose himselfe, and not know when he has done: Much lesse will he be +able to add, and substract, and performe all other operations of +Arithmetique. So that without words, there is no possibility of +reckoning of Numbers; much lesse of Magnitudes, of Swiftnesse, of Force, +and other things, the reckonings whereof are necessary to the being, or +well-being of man-kind. + +When two Names are joyned together into a Consequence, or Affirmation; +as thus, A Man Is A Living Creature; or thus, If He Be A Man, He Is A +Living Creature, If the later name Living Creature, signifie all that +the former name Man signifieth, then the affirmation, or consequence is +True; otherwise False. For True and False are attributes of Speech, not +of things. And where Speech in not, there is neither Truth nor Falshood. +Errour there may be, as when wee expect that which shall not be; or +suspect what has not been: but in neither case can a man be charged with +Untruth. + +Seeing then that Truth consisteth in the right ordering of names in our +affirmations, a man that seeketh precise Truth, had need to remember +what every name he uses stands for; and to place it accordingly; or els +he will find himselfe entangled in words, as a bird in lime-twiggs; the +more he struggles, the more belimed. And therefore in Geometry, (which +is the onely Science that it hath pleased God hitherto to bestow on +mankind,) men begin at settling the significations of their words; which +settling of significations, they call Definitions; and place them in the +beginning of their reckoning. + +By this it appears how necessary it is for any man that aspires to true +Knowledge, to examine the Definitions of former Authors; and either +to correct them, where they are negligently set down; or to make them +himselfe. For the errours of Definitions multiply themselves, according +as the reckoning proceeds; and lead men into absurdities, which at last +they see, but cannot avoyd, without reckoning anew from the beginning; +in which lyes the foundation of their errours. From whence it happens, +that they which trust to books, do as they that cast up many little +summs into a greater, without considering whether those little summes +were rightly cast up or not; and at last finding the errour visible, +and not mistrusting their first grounds, know not which way to cleere +themselves; but spend time in fluttering over their bookes; as birds +that entring by the chimney, and finding themselves inclosed in a +chamber, flitter at the false light of a glasse window, for want of wit +to consider which way they came in. So that in the right Definition +of Names, lyes the first use of Speech; which is the Acquisition of +Science: And in wrong, or no Definitions’ lyes the first abuse; from +which proceed all false and senslesse Tenets; which make those men that +take their instruction from the authority of books, and not from their +own meditation, to be as much below the condition of ignorant men, as +men endued with true Science are above it. For between true Science, +and erroneous Doctrines, Ignorance is in the middle. Naturall sense and +imagination, are not subject to absurdity. Nature it selfe cannot erre: +and as men abound in copiousnesse of language; so they become more wise, +or more mad than ordinary. Nor is it possible without Letters for any +man to become either excellently wise, or (unless his memory be hurt by +disease, or ill constitution of organs) excellently foolish. For words +are wise mens counters, they do but reckon by them: but they are the +mony of fooles, that value them by the authority of an Aristotle, a +Cicero, or a Thomas, or any other Doctor whatsoever, if but a man. + + + + +Subject To Names + +Subject To Names, is whatsoever can enter into, or be considered in an +account; and be added one to another to make a summe; or substracted one +from another, and leave a remainder. The Latines called Accounts of mony +Rationes, and accounting, Ratiocinatio: and that which we in bills or +books of account call Items, they called Nomina; that is, Names: and +thence it seems to proceed, that they extended the word Ratio, to the +faculty of Reckoning in all other things. The Greeks have but one word +Logos, for both Speech and Reason; not that they thought there was no +Speech without Reason; but no Reasoning without Speech: And the act of +reasoning they called syllogisme; which signifieth summing up of the +consequences of one saying to another. And because the same things may +enter into account for divers accidents; their names are (to shew that +diversity) diversly wrested, and diversified. This diversity of names +may be reduced to foure generall heads. + +First, a thing may enter into account for Matter, or Body; as Living, +Sensible, Rationall, Hot, Cold, Moved, Quiet; with all which names the +word Matter, or Body is understood; all such, being names of Matter. + +Secondly, it may enter into account, or be considered, for some accident +or quality, which we conceive to be in it; as for Being Moved, for Being +So Long, for Being Hot, &c; and then, of the name of the thing it selfe, +by a little change or wresting, wee make a name for that accident, which +we consider; and for Living put into account Life; for Moved, Motion; +for Hot, Heat; for Long, Length, and the like. And all such Names, are +the names of the accidents and properties, by which one Matter, and Body +is distinguished from another. These are called Names Abstract; Because +Severed (not from Matter, but) from the account of Matter. + +Thirdly, we bring into account, the Properties of our own bodies, +whereby we make such distinction: as when any thing is Seen by us, we +reckon not the thing it selfe; but the Sight, the Colour, the Idea of +it in the fancy: and when any thing is Heard, wee reckon it not; but the +Hearing, or Sound onely, which is our fancy or conception of it by the +Eare: and such are names of fancies. + +Fourthly, we bring into account, consider, and give names, to Names +themselves, and to Speeches: For, Generall, Universall, Speciall, +Oequivocall, are names of Names. And Affirmation, Interrogation, +Commandement, Narration, Syllogisme, Sermon, Oration, and many other +such, are names of Speeches. + + + + +Use Of Names Positive + +And this is all the variety of Names Positive; which are put to mark +somewhat which is in Nature, or may be feigned by the mind of man, as +Bodies that are, or may be conceived to be; or of bodies, the Properties +that are, or may be feigned to be; or Words and Speech. + + + + +Negative Names With Their Uses + +There be also other Names, called Negative; which are notes to signifie +that a word is not the name of the thing in question; as these words +Nothing, No Man, Infinite, Indocible, Three Want Foure, and the +like; which are nevertheless of use in reckoning, or in correcting of +reckoning; and call to mind our past cogitations, though they be not +names of any thing; because they make us refuse to admit of Names not +rightly used. + + + + +Words Insignificant + +All other names, are but insignificant sounds; and those of two +sorts. One, when they are new, and yet their meaning not explained by +Definition; whereof there have been aboundance coyned by Schoole-men, +and pusled Philosophers. + +Another, when men make a name of two Names, whose significations are +contradictory and inconsistent; as this name, an Incorporeall Body, or +(which is all one) an Incorporeall Substance, and a great number more. +For whensoever any affirmation is false, the two names of which it +is composed, put together and made one, signifie nothing at all. For +example if it be a false affirmation to say A Quadrangle Is Round, +the word Round Quadrangle signifies nothing; but is a meere sound. So +likewise if it be false, to say that vertue can be powred, or blown up +and down; the words In-powred Vertue, In-blown Vertue, are as absurd +and insignificant, as a Round Quadrangle. And therefore you shall hardly +meet with a senselesse and insignificant word, that is not made up of +some Latin or Greek names. A Frenchman seldome hears our Saviour called +by the name of Parole, but by the name of Verbe often; yet Verbe and +Parole differ no more, but that one is Latin, the other French. + + + + +Understanding + +When a man upon the hearing of any Speech, hath those thoughts which the +words of that Speech, and their connexion, were ordained and constituted +to signifie; Then he is said to understand it; Understanding being +nothing els, but conception caused by Speech. And therefore if Speech +be peculiar to man (as for ought I know it is,) then is Understanding +peculiar to him also. And therefore of absurd and false affirmations, +in case they be universall, there can be no Understanding; though many +think they understand, then, when they do but repeat the words softly, +or con them in their mind. + +What kinds of Speeches signifie the Appetites, Aversions, and Passions +of mans mind; and of their use and abuse, I shall speak when I have +spoken of the Passions. + + + + +Inconstant Names + +The names of such things as affect us, that is, which please, and +displease us, because all men be not alike affected with the same thing, +nor the same man at all times, are in the common discourses of men, of +Inconstant signification. For seeing all names are imposed to signifie +our conceptions; and all our affections are but conceptions; when we +conceive the same things differently, we can hardly avoyd different +naming of them. For though the nature of that we conceive, be the +same; yet the diversity of our reception of it, in respect of different +constitutions of body, and prejudices of opinion, gives everything a +tincture of our different passions. And therefore in reasoning, a man +bust take heed of words; which besides the signification of what we +imagine of their nature, disposition, and interest of the speaker; such +as are the names of Vertues, and Vices; For one man calleth Wisdome, +what another calleth Feare; and one Cruelty, what another Justice; +one Prodigality, what another Magnanimity; one Gravity, what another +Stupidity, &c. And therefore such names can never be true grounds of any +ratiocination. No more can Metaphors, and Tropes of speech: but these +are less dangerous, because they profess their inconstancy; which the +other do not. + + + +CHAPTER V. OF REASON, AND SCIENCE. + + + + +Reason What It Is + +When a man Reasoneth, hee does nothing els but conceive a summe totall, +from Addition of parcels; or conceive a Remainder, from Substraction of +one summe from another: which (if it be done by Words,) is conceiving of +the consequence of the names of all the parts, to the name of the whole; +or from the names of the whole and one part, to the name of the other +part. And though in some things, (as in numbers,) besides Adding and +Substracting, men name other operations, as Multiplying and Dividing; +yet they are the same; for Multiplication, is but Addition together of +things equall; and Division, but Substracting of one thing, as often as +we can. These operations are not incident to Numbers onely, but to +all manner of things that can be added together, and taken one out of +another. For as Arithmeticians teach to adde and substract in Numbers; +so the Geometricians teach the same in Lines, Figures (solid and +superficiall,) Angles, Proportions, Times, degrees of Swiftnesse, Force, +Power, and the like; The Logicians teach the same in Consequences +Of Words; adding together Two Names, to make an Affirmation; and Two +Affirmations, to make a syllogisme; and Many syllogismes to make a +Demonstration; and from the Summe, or Conclusion of a syllogisme, they +substract one Proposition, to finde the other. Writers of Politiques, +adde together Pactions, to find mens Duties; and Lawyers, Lawes and +Facts, to find what is Right and Wrong in the actions of private men. +In summe, in what matter soever there is place for Addition and +Substraction, there also is place for Reason; and where these have no +place, there Reason has nothing at all to do. + + + + +Reason Defined + +Out of all which we may define, (that is to say determine,) what that +is, which is meant by this word Reason, when wee reckon it amongst +the Faculties of the mind. For Reason, in this sense, is nothing but +Reckoning (that is, Adding and Substracting) of the Consequences of +generall names agreed upon, for the Marking and Signifying of our +thoughts; I say Marking them, when we reckon by our selves; and +Signifying, when we demonstrate, or approve our reckonings to other men. + + + + +Right Reason Where + +And as in Arithmetique, unpractised men must, and Professors themselves +may often erre, and cast up false; so also in any other subject of +Reasoning, the ablest, most attentive, and most practised men, may +deceive themselves, and inferre false Conclusions; Not but that Reason +it selfe is always Right Reason, as well as Arithmetique is a certain +and infallible art: But no one mans Reason, nor the Reason of any +one number of men, makes the certaintie; no more than an account is +therefore well cast up, because a great many men have unanimously +approved it. And therfore, as when there is a controversy in an account, +the parties must by their own accord, set up for right Reason, the +Reason of some Arbitrator, or Judge, to whose sentence they will +both stand, or their controversie must either come to blowes, or be +undecided, for want of a right Reason constituted by Nature; so is +it also in all debates of what kind soever: And when men that think +themselves wiser than all others, clamor and demand right Reason for +judge; yet seek no more, but that things should be determined, by no +other mens reason but their own, it is as intolerable in the society of +men, as it is in play after trump is turned, to use for trump on every +occasion, that suite whereof they have most in their hand. For they do +nothing els, that will have every of their passions, as it comes to +bear sway in them, to be taken for right Reason, and that in their own +controversies: bewraying their want of right Reason, by the claym they +lay to it. + + + + +The Use Of Reason + +The Use and End of Reason, is not the finding of the summe, and truth +of one, or a few consequences, remote from the first definitions, and +settled significations of names; but to begin at these; and proceed from +one consequence to another. For there can be no certainty of the last +Conclusion, without a certainty of all those Affirmations and Negations, +on which it was grounded, and inferred. As when a master of a family, +in taking an account, casteth up the summs of all the bills of expence, +into one sum; and not regarding how each bill is summed up, by those +that give them in account; nor what it is he payes for; he advantages +himselfe no more, than if he allowed the account in grosse, trusting to +every of the accountants skill and honesty; so also in Reasoning of all +other things, he that takes up conclusions on the trust of Authors, and +doth not fetch them from the first Items in every Reckoning, (which are +the significations of names settled by definitions), loses his labour; +and does not know any thing; but onely beleeveth. + + + + +Of Error And Absurdity + +When a man reckons without the use of words, which may be done in +particular things, (as when upon the sight of any one thing, wee +conjecture what was likely to have preceded, or is likely to follow upon +it;) if that which he thought likely to follow, followes not; or that +which he thought likely to have preceded it, hath not preceded it, this +is called ERROR; to which even the most prudent men are subject. But +when we Reason in Words of generall signification, and fall upon a +generall inference which is false; though it be commonly called Error, +it is indeed an ABSURDITY, or senseless Speech. For Error is but a +deception, in presuming that somewhat is past, or to come; of which, +though it were not past, or not to come; yet there was no impossibility +discoverable. But when we make a generall assertion, unlesse it be a +true one, the possibility of it is unconceivable. And words whereby we +conceive nothing but the sound, are those we call Absurd, insignificant, +and Non-sense. And therefore if a man should talk to me of a Round +Quadrangle; or Accidents Of Bread In Cheese; or Immaterial Substances; +or of A Free Subject; A Free Will; or any Free, but free from being +hindred by opposition, I should not say he were in an Errour; but that +his words were without meaning; that is to say, Absurd. + +I have said before, (in the second chapter,) that a Man did excell +all other Animals in this faculty, that when he conceived any thing +whatsoever, he was apt to enquire the consequences of it, and what +effects he could do with it. And now I adde this other degree of the +same excellence, that he can by words reduce the consequences he findes +to generall Rules, called Theoremes, or Aphorismes; that is, he can +Reason, or reckon, not onely in number; but in all other things, whereof +one may be added unto, or substracted from another. + +But this priviledge, is allayed by another; and that is, by the +priviledge of Absurdity; to which no living creature is subject, but man +onely. And of men, those are of all most subject to it, that professe +Philosophy. For it is most true that Cicero sayth of them somewhere; +that there can be nothing so absurd, but may be found in the books of +Philosophers. And the reason is manifest. For there is not one of them +that begins his ratiocination from the Definitions, or Explications of +the names they are to use; which is a method that hath been used onely +in Geometry; whose Conclusions have thereby been made indisputable. + + + + +Causes Of Absurditie + +The first cause of Absurd conclusions I ascribe to the want of Method; +in that they begin not their Ratiocination from Definitions; that +is, from settled significations of their words: as if they could cast +account, without knowing the value of the numerall words, One, Two, and +Three. + +And whereas all bodies enter into account upon divers considerations, +(which I have mentioned in the precedent chapter;) these considerations +being diversly named, divers absurdities proceed from the confusion, and +unfit connexion of their names into assertions. And therefore + +The second cause of Absurd assertions, I ascribe to the giving of names +of Bodies, to Accidents; or of Accidents, to Bodies; As they do, that +say, Faith Is Infused, or Inspired; when nothing can be Powred, or +Breathed into any thing, but body; and that, Extension is Body; that +Phantasmes are Spirits, &c. + +The third I ascribe to the giving of the names of the Accidents of +Bodies Without Us, to the Accidents of our Own Bodies; as they do that +say, the Colour Is In The Body; The Sound Is In The Ayre, &c. + +The fourth, to the giving of the names of Bodies, to Names, or Speeches; +as they do that say, that There Be Things Universall; that A Living +Creature Is Genus, or A Generall Thing, &c. + +The fifth, to the giving of the names of Accidents, to Names and +Speeches; as they do that say, The Nature Of A Thing Is In Its +Definition; A Mans Command Is His Will; and the like. + +The sixth, to the use of Metaphors, Tropes, and other Rhetoricall +figures, in stead of words proper. For though it be lawfull to say, (for +example) in common speech, The Way Goeth, Or Leadeth Hither, Or Thither, +The Proverb Sayes This Or That (whereas wayes cannot go, nor Proverbs +speak;) yet in reckoning, and seeking of truth, such speeches are not to +be admitted. + +The seventh, to names that signifie nothing; but are taken up, and +learned by rote from the Schooles, as Hypostatical, Transubstantiate, +Consubstantiate, Eternal-now, and the like canting of Schoole-men. + +To him that can avoyd these things, it is not easie to fall into any +absurdity, unlesse it be by the length of an account; wherein he may +perhaps forget what went before. For all men by nature reason alike, and +well, when they have good principles. For who is so stupid, as both to +mistake in Geometry, and also to persist in it, when another detects his +error to him? + + + + +Science + +By this it appears that Reason is not as Sense, and Memory, borne with +us; nor gotten by Experience onely; as Prudence is; but attayned by +Industry; first in apt imposing of Names; and secondly by getting a good +and orderly Method in proceeding from the Elements, which are Names, +to Assertions made by Connexion of one of them to another; and so to +syllogismes, which are the Connexions of one Assertion to another, till +we come to a knowledge of all the Consequences of names appertaining to +the subject in hand; and that is it, men call SCIENCE. And whereas +Sense and Memory are but knowledge of Fact, which is a thing past, and +irrevocable; Science is the knowledge of Consequences, and dependance +of one fact upon another: by which, out of that we can presently do, we +know how to do something els when we will, or the like, another time; +Because when we see how any thing comes about, upon what causes, and by +what manner; when the like causes come into our power, wee see how to +make it produce the like effects. + +Children therefore are not endued with Reason at all, till they have +attained the use of Speech: but are called Reasonable Creatures, for the +possibility apparent of having the use of Reason in time to come. And +the most part of men, though they have the use of Reasoning a little +way, as in numbring to some degree; yet it serves them to little use in +common life; in which they govern themselves, some better, some worse, +according to their differences of experience, quicknesse of memory, and +inclinations to severall ends; but specially according to good or evill +fortune, and the errors of one another. For as for Science, or certain +rules of their actions, they are so farre from it, that they know +not what it is. Geometry they have thought Conjuring: but for other +Sciences, they who have not been taught the beginnings, and some +progresse in them, that they may see how they be acquired and generated, +are in this point like children, that having no thought of generation, +are made believe by the women, that their brothers and sisters are not +born, but found in the garden. + +But yet they that have no Science, are in better, and nobler condition +with their naturall Prudence; than men, that by mis-reasoning, or by +trusting them that reason wrong, fall upon false and absurd generall +rules. For ignorance of causes, and of rules, does not set men so farre +out of their way, as relying on false rules, and taking for causes of +what they aspire to, those that are not so, but rather causes of the +contrary. + +To conclude, The Light of humane minds is Perspicuous Words, but by +exact definitions first snuffed, and purged from ambiguity; Reason is +the Pace; Encrease of Science, the Way; and the Benefit of man-kind, the +End. And on the contrary, Metaphors, and senslesse and ambiguous words, +are like Ignes Fatui; and reasoning upon them, is wandering amongst +innumerable absurdities; and their end, contention, and sedition, or +contempt. + + + + +Prudence & Sapience, With Their Difference + +As, much Experience, is Prudence; so, is much Science, Sapience. For +though wee usually have one name of Wisedome for them both; yet +the Latines did always distinguish between Prudentia and Sapientia, +ascribing the former to Experience, the later to Science. But to make +their difference appeare more cleerly, let us suppose one man endued +with an excellent naturall use, and dexterity in handling his armes; and +another to have added to that dexterity, an acquired Science, of where +he can offend, or be offended by his adversarie, in every possible +posture, or guard: The ability of the former, would be to the ability +of the later, as Prudence to Sapience; both usefull; but the later +infallible. But they that trusting onely to the authority of books, +follow the blind blindly, are like him that trusting to the false rules +of the master of fence, ventures praesumptuously upon an adversary, that +either kills, or disgraces him. + + + + +Signes Of Science + +The signes of Science, are some, certain and infallible; some, +uncertain. Certain, when he that pretendeth the Science of any thing, +can teach the same; that is to say, demonstrate the truth thereof +perspicuously to another: Uncertain, when onely some particular events +answer to his pretence, and upon many occasions prove so as he sayes +they must. Signes of prudence are all uncertain; because to observe by +experience, and remember all circumstances that may alter the successe, +is impossible. But in any businesse, whereof a man has not infallible +Science to proceed by; to forsake his own natural judgement, and be +guided by generall sentences read in Authors, and subject to many +exceptions, is a signe of folly, and generally scorned by the name of +Pedantry. And even of those men themselves, that in Councells of the +Common-wealth, love to shew their reading of Politiques and History, +very few do it in their domestique affaires, where their particular +interest is concerned; having Prudence enough for their private +affaires: but in publique they study more the reputation of their owne +wit, than the successe of anothers businesse. + + + +CHAPTER VI. OF THE INTERIOUR BEGINNINGS OF VOLUNTARY MOTIONS + +COMMONLY CALLED THE PASSIONS. AND THE SPEECHES BY WHICH THEY ARE +EXPRESSED. + + + + +Motion Vitall And Animal + +There be in Animals, two sorts of Motions peculiar to them: One called +Vitall; begun in generation, and continued without interruption through +their whole life; such as are the Course of the Bloud, the Pulse, the +Breathing, the Concoctions, Nutrition, Excretion, &c; to which Motions +there needs no help of Imagination: The other in Animal Motion, +otherwise called Voluntary Motion; as to Go, to Speak, to Move any of +our limbes, in such manner as is first fancied in our minds. That Sense, +is Motion in the organs and interiour parts of mans body, caused by +the action of the things we See, Heare, &c.; And that Fancy is but the +Reliques of the same Motion, remaining after Sense, has been already +sayd in the first and second Chapters. And because Going, Speaking, and +the like Voluntary motions, depend alwayes upon a precedent thought of +Whither, Which Way, and What; it is evident, that the Imagination is +the first internall beginning of all Voluntary Motion. And although +unstudied men, doe not conceive any motion at all to be there, where +the thing moved is invisible; or the space it is moved in, is (for the +shortnesse of it) insensible; yet that doth not hinder, but that such +Motions are. For let a space be never so little, that which is moved +over a greater space, whereof that little one is part, must first be +moved over that. These small beginnings of Motion, within the body +of Man, before they appear in walking, speaking, striking, and other +visible actions, are commonly called ENDEAVOUR. + + + + +Endeavour; Appetite; Desire; Hunger; Thirst; Aversion + +This Endeavour, when it is toward something which causes it, is called +APPETITE, or DESIRE; the later, being the generall name; and the other, +oftentimes restrayned to signifie the Desire of Food, namely Hunger and +Thirst. And when the Endeavour is fromward something, it is generally +called AVERSION. These words Appetite, and Aversion we have from the +Latines; and they both of them signifie the motions, one of approaching, +the other of retiring. So also do the Greek words for the same, which +are orme and aphorme. For nature it selfe does often presse upon men +those truths, which afterwards, when they look for somewhat beyond +Nature, they stumble at. For the Schooles find in meere Appetite to go, +or move, no actuall Motion at all: but because some Motion they must +acknowledge, they call it Metaphoricall Motion; which is but an absurd +speech; for though Words may be called metaphoricall; Bodies, and +Motions cannot. + +That which men Desire, they are also sayd to LOVE; and to HATE those +things, for which they have Aversion. So that Desire, and Love, are the +same thing; save that by Desire, we alwayes signifie the Absence of +the object; by Love, most commonly the Presence of the same. So also +by Aversion, we signifie the Absence; and by Hate, the Presence of the +Object. + +Of Appetites, and Aversions, some are born with men; as Appetite of +food, Appetite of excretion, and exoneration, (which may also and more +properly be called Aversions, from somewhat they feele in their Bodies;) +and some other Appetites, not many. The rest, which are Appetites of +particular things, proceed from Experience, and triall of their effects +upon themselves, or other men. For of things wee know not at all, or +believe not to be, we can have no further Desire, than to tast and try. +But Aversion wee have for things, not onely which we know have hurt us; +but also that we do not know whether they will hurt us, or not. + + + + +Contempt + +Those things which we neither Desire, nor Hate, we are said to Contemne: +CONTEMPT being nothing els but an immobility, or contumacy of the Heart, +in resisting the action of certain things; and proceeding from that the +Heart is already moved otherwise, by either more potent objects; or from +want of experience of them. + +And because the constitution of a mans Body, is in continuall mutation; +it is impossible that all the same things should alwayes cause in him +the same Appetites, and aversions: much lesse can all men consent, in +the Desire of almost any one and the same Object. + + + + +Good Evill + +But whatsoever is the object of any mans Appetite or Desire; that is +it, which he for his part calleth Good: And the object of his Hate, +and Aversion, evill; And of his contempt, Vile, and Inconsiderable. +For these words of Good, evill, and Contemptible, are ever used with +relation to the person that useth them: There being nothing simply and +absolutely so; nor any common Rule of Good and evill, to be taken from +the nature of the objects themselves; but from the Person of the man +(where there is no Common-wealth;) or, (in a Common-wealth,) From the +Person that representeth it; or from an Arbitrator or Judge, whom men +disagreeing shall by consent set up, and make his sentence the Rule +thereof. + + + + +Pulchrum Turpe; Delightfull Profitable; Unpleasant Unprofitable + +The Latine Tongue has two words, whose significations approach to +those of Good and Evill; but are not precisely the same; And those are +Pulchrum and Turpe. Whereof the former signifies that, which by some +apparent signes promiseth Good; and the later, that, which promiseth +evill. But in our Tongue we have not so generall names to expresse them +by. But for Pulchrum, we say in some things, Fayre; in other Beautifull, +or Handsome, or Gallant, or Honourable, or Comely, or Amiable; and +for Turpe, Foule, Deformed, Ugly, Base, Nauseous, and the like, as the +subject shall require; All which words, in their proper places signifie +nothing els, but the Mine, or Countenance, that promiseth Good and +evill. So that of Good there be three kinds; Good in the Promise, +that is Pulchrum; Good in Effect, as the end desired, which is called +Jucundum, Delightfull; and Good as the Means, which is called Utile, +Profitable; and as many of evill: For evill, in Promise, is that +they call Turpe; evill in Effect, and End, is Molestum, Unpleasant, +Troublesome; and evill in the Means, Inutile, Unprofitable, Hurtfull. + + + + +Delight Displeasure + +As, in Sense, that which is really within us, is (As I have sayd +before) onely Motion, caused by the action of externall objects, but in +apparence; to the Sight, Light and Colour; to the Eare, Sound; to the +Nostrill, Odour, &c: so, when the action of the same object is continued +from the Eyes, Eares, and other organs to the Heart; the real effect +there is nothing but Motion, or Endeavour; which consisteth in Appetite, +or Aversion, to, or from the object moving. But the apparence, or sense +of that motion, is that wee either call DELIGHT, or TROUBLE OF MIND. + + + + +Pleasure Offence + +This Motion, which is called Appetite, and for the apparence of it +Delight, and Pleasure, seemeth to be, a corroboration of Vitall motion, +and a help thereunto; and therefore such things as caused Delight, were +not improperly called Jucunda, (A Juvando,) from helping or fortifying; +and the contrary, Molesta, Offensive, from hindering, and troubling the +motion vitall. + +Pleasure therefore, (or Delight,) is the apparence, or sense of Good; +and Molestation or Displeasure, the apparence, or sense of evill. And +consequently all Appetite, Desire, and Love, is accompanied with some +Delight more or lesse; and all Hatred, and Aversion, with more or lesse +Displeasure and Offence. + + + + +Pleasures Of Sense; Pleasures Of The Mind; Joy Paine Griefe + +Of Pleasures, or Delights, some arise from the sense of an object +Present; And those may be called Pleasures Of Sense, (The word Sensuall, +as it is used by those onely that condemn them, having no place till +there be Lawes.) Of this kind are all Onerations and Exonerations of the +body; as also all that is pleasant, in the Sight, Hearing, Smell, +Tast, Or Touch; Others arise from the Expectation, that proceeds from +foresight of the End, or Consequence of things; whether those things in +the Sense Please or Displease: And these are Pleasures Of The Mind of +him that draweth those consequences; and are generally called JOY. In +the like manner, Displeasures, are some in the Sense, and called PAYNE; +others, in the Expectation of consequences, and are called GRIEFE. + +These simple Passions called Appetite, Desire, Love, Aversion, Hate, +Joy, and griefe, have their names for divers considerations diversified. +As first, when they one succeed another, they are diversly called from +the opinion men have of the likelihood of attaining what they +desire. Secondly, from the object loved or hated. Thirdly, from the +consideration of many of them together. Fourthly, from the Alteration or +succession it selfe. + + +Hope-- For Appetite with an opinion of attaining, is called HOPE. + +Despaire-- The same, without such opinion, DESPAIRE. + +Feare-- Aversion, with opinion of Hurt from the object, FEARE. + +Courage-- The same, with hope of avoyding that Hurt by resistance, +COURAGE. + +Anger-- Sudden Courage, ANGER. + +Confidence-- Constant Hope, CONFIDENCE of our selves. + +Diffidence-- Constant Despayre, DIFFIDENCE of our selves. + +Indignation-- Anger for great hurt done to another, when we conceive the +same to be done by Injury, INDIGNATION. + +Benevolence-- Desire of good to another, BENEVOLENCE, GOOD WILL, +CHARITY. If to man generally, GOOD NATURE. + +Covetousnesse-- Desire of Riches, COVETOUSNESSE: a name used alwayes in +signification of blame; because men contending for them, are displeased +with one anothers attaining them; though the desire in it selfe, be to +be blamed, or allowed, according to the means by which those Riches are +sought. + +Ambition-- Desire of Office, or precedence, AMBITION: a name used also +in the worse sense, for the reason before mentioned. + +Pusillanimity-- Desire of things that conduce but a little to our ends; +And fear of things that are but of little hindrance, PUSILLANIMITY. + +Magnanimity-- Contempt of little helps, and hindrances, MAGNANIMITY. + +Valour-- Magnanimity, in danger of Death, or Wounds, VALOUR, FORTITUDE. + +Liberality-- Magnanimity in the use of Riches, LIBERALITY + +Miserablenesse-- Pusillanimity, in the same WRETCHEDNESSE, +MISERABLENESSE; or PARSIMONY; as it is liked or disliked. + +Kindnesse-- Love of Persons for society, KINDNESSE. + +Naturall Lust-- Love of Persons for Pleasing the sense onely, NATURAL +LUST. + +Luxury-- Love of the same, acquired from Rumination, that is Imagination +of Pleasure past, LUXURY. + +The Passion Of Love; Jealousie-- Love of one singularly, with desire to +be singularly beloved, THE PASSION OF LOVE. The same, with fear that the +love is not mutuall, JEALOUSIE. + +Revengefulnesse-- Desire, by doing hurt to another, to make him condemn +some fact of his own, REVENGEFULNESSE. + +Curiosity-- Desire, to know why, and how, CURIOSITY; such as is in no +living creature but Man; so that Man is distinguished, not onely by his +Reason; but also by this singular Passion from other Animals; in whom +the appetite of food, and other pleasures of Sense, by praedominance, +take away the care of knowing causes; which is a Lust of the mind, +that by a perseverance of delight in the continuall and indefatigable +generation of Knowledge, exceedeth the short vehemence of any carnall +Pleasure. + +Religion Superstition; True Religion-- Feare of power invisible, feigned +by the mind, or imagined from tales publiquely allowed, RELIGION; not +allowed, superstition. And when the power imagined is truly such as we +imagine, TRUE RELIGION. + +Panique Terrour-- Feare, without the apprehension of why, or what, +PANIQUE TERROR; called so from the fables that make Pan the author of +them; whereas in truth there is always in him that so feareth, first, +some apprehension of the cause, though the rest run away by example; +every one supposing his fellow to know why. And therefore this Passion +happens to none but in a throng, or multitude of people. + +Admiration-- Joy, from apprehension of novelty, ADMIRATION; proper to +man, because it excites the appetite of knowing the cause. + +Glory Vaine-glory-- Joy, arising from imagination of a man’s own power +and ability, is that exultation of the mind which is called GLORYING: +which, if grounded upon the experience of his own former actions, is +the same with Confidence: but if grounded on the flattery of others, or +onely supposed by himselfe, for delight in the consequences of it, +is called VAINE-GLORY: which name is properly given; because a +well-grounded Confidence begetteth attempt; whereas the supposing of +power does not, and is therefore rightly called Vaine. + +Dejection-- Griefe, from opinion of want of power, is called dejection +of mind. + +The Vaine-glory which consisteth in the feigning or supposing of +abilities in ourselves, which we know are not, is most incident to young +men, and nourished by the Histories or Fictions of Gallant Persons; and +is corrected often times by Age, and Employment. + +Sudden Glory Laughter-- Sudden glory, is the passion which maketh those +Grimaces called LAUGHTER; and is caused either by some sudden act of +their own, that pleaseth them; or by the apprehension of some +deformed thing in another, by comparison whereof they suddenly applaud +themselves. And it is incident most to them, that are conscious of the +fewest abilities in themselves; who are forced to keep themselves in +their own favour, by observing the imperfections of other men. +And therefore much Laughter at the defects of others is a signe of +Pusillanimity. For of great minds, one of the proper workes is, to help +and free others from scorn; and compare themselves onely with the most +able. + +Sudden Dejection Weeping-- On the contrary, Sudden Dejection is the +passion that causeth WEEPING; and is caused by such accidents, as +suddenly take away some vehement hope, or some prop of their power: and +they are most subject to it, that rely principally on helps externall, +such as are Women, and Children. Therefore, some Weep for the loss of +Friends; Others for their unkindnesse; others for the sudden stop made +to their thoughts of revenge, by Reconciliation. But in all cases, both +Laughter and Weeping, are sudden motions; Custome taking them both away. +For no man Laughs at old jests; or Weeps for an old calamity. + +Shame Blushing-- Griefe, for the discovery of some defect of ability +is SHAME, or the passion that discovereth itself in BLUSHING; and +consisteth in the apprehension of some thing dishonourable; and in young +men, is a signe of the love of good reputation; and commendable: in +old men it is a signe of the same; but because it comes too late, not +commendable. + +Impudence-- The Contempt of good reputation is called IMPUDENCE. + +Pitty-- Griefe, for the calamity of another is PITTY; and ariseth +from the imagination that the like calamity may befall himselfe; and +therefore is called also COMPASSION, and in the phrase of this present +time a FELLOW-FEELING: and therefore for Calamity arriving from +great wickedness, the best men have the least Pitty; and for the same +Calamity, those have least Pitty, that think themselves least obnoxious +to the same. + +Cruelty-- Contempt, or little sense of the calamity of others, is that +which men call CRUELTY; proceeding from Security of their own fortune. +For, that any man should take pleasure in other mens’ great harmes, +without other end of his own, I do not conceive it possible. + +Emulation Envy-- Griefe, for the success of a Competitor in wealth, +honour, or other good, if it be joyned with Endeavour to enforce our own +abilities to equal or exceed him, is called EMULATION: but joyned with +Endeavour to supplant or hinder a Competitor, ENVIE. + +Deliberation-- When in the mind of man, Appetites and Aversions, Hopes +and Feares, concerning one and the same thing, arise alternately; and +divers good and evill consequences of the doing, or omitting the thing +propounded, come successively into our thoughts; so that sometimes we +have an Appetite to it, sometimes an Aversion from it; sometimes Hope to +be able to do it; sometimes Despaire, or Feare to attempt it; the whole +sum of Desires, Aversions, Hopes and Feares, continued till the thing be +either done, or thought impossible, is that we call DELIBERATION. + +Therefore of things past, there is no Deliberation; because manifestly +impossible to be changed: nor of things known to be impossible, or +thought so; because men know, or think such Deliberation vaine. But +of things impossible, which we think possible, we may Deliberate; not +knowing it is in vain. And it is called DELIBERATION; because it is a +putting an end to the Liberty we had of doing, or omitting, according to +our own Appetite, or Aversion. + +This alternate succession of Appetites, Aversions, Hopes and Feares is +no less in other living Creatures than in Man; and therefore Beasts also +Deliberate. + +Every Deliberation is then sayd to End when that whereof they +Deliberate, is either done, or thought impossible; because till then wee +retain the liberty of doing, or omitting, according to our Appetite, or +Aversion. + + + + +The Will + +In Deliberation, the last Appetite, or Aversion, immediately adhaering +to the action, or to the omission thereof, is that wee call the +WILL; the Act, (not the faculty,) of Willing. And Beasts that have +Deliberation must necessarily also have Will. The Definition of the +Will, given commonly by the Schooles, that it is a Rationall Appetite, +is not good. For if it were, then could there be no Voluntary Act +against Reason. For a Voluntary Act is that, which proceedeth from the +Will, and no other. But if in stead of a Rationall Appetite, we shall +say an Appetite resulting from a precedent Deliberation, then the +Definition is the same that I have given here. Will, therefore, Is The +Last Appetite In Deliberating. And though we say in common Discourse, a +man had a Will once to do a thing, that neverthelesse he forbore to +do; yet that is properly but an Inclination, which makes no Action +Voluntary; because the action depends not of it, but of the last +Inclination, or Appetite. For if the intervenient Appetites make any +action Voluntary, then by the same reason all intervenient Aversions +should make the same action Involuntary; and so one and the same action +should be both Voluntary & Involuntary. + +By this it is manifest, that not onely actions that have their beginning +from Covetousness, Ambition, Lust, or other Appetites to the thing +propounded; but also those that have their beginning from Aversion, +or Feare of those consequences that follow the omission, are Voluntary +Actions. + + + + +Formes Of Speech, In Passion + +The formes of Speech by which the Passions are expressed, are partly the +same, and partly different from those, by which we express our Thoughts. +And first generally all Passions may be expressed Indicatively; as, I +Love, I Feare, I Joy, I Deliberate, I Will, I Command: but some of them +have particular expressions by themselves, which nevertheless are not +affirmations, unless it be when they serve to make other inferences, +besides that of the Passion they proceed from. Deliberation is expressed +Subjunctively; which is a speech proper to signifie suppositions, with +their consequences; as, If This Be Done, Then This Will Follow; and +differs not from the language of Reasoning, save that Reasoning is in +generall words, but Deliberation for the most part is of Particulars. +The language of Desire, and Aversion, is Imperative; as, Do This, +Forbear That; which when the party is obliged to do, or forbear, is +Command; otherwise Prayer; or els Counsell. The language of Vaine-Glory, +of Indignation, Pitty and Revengefulness, Optative: but of the Desire to +know, there is a peculiar expression called Interrogative; as, What Is +It, When Shall It, How Is It Done, and Why So? Other language of the +Passions I find none: for Cursing, Swearing, Reviling, and the like, do +not signifie as Speech; but as the actions of a tongue accustomed. + +These forms of Speech, I say, are expressions, or voluntary +significations of our Passions: but certain signes they be not; because +they may be used arbitrarily, whether they that use them, have such +Passions or not. The best signes of Passions present, are either in the +countenance, motions of the body, actions, and ends, or aims, which we +otherwise know the man to have. + + + + +Good And Evill Apparent + +And because in Deliberation the Appetites and Aversions are raised by +foresight of the good and evill consequences, and sequels of the action +whereof we Deliberate; the good or evill effect thereof dependeth on the +foresight of a long chain of consequences, of which very seldome any man +is able to see to the end. But for so far as a man seeth, if the Good +in those consequences be greater than the evill, the whole chain is that +which Writers call Apparent or Seeming Good. And contrarily, when the +evill exceedeth the good, the whole is Apparent or Seeming Evill: so +that he who hath by Experience, or Reason, the greatest and surest +prospect of Consequences, Deliberates best himself; and is able, when he +will, to give the best counsel unto others. + + + + +Felicity + +Continual Successe in obtaining those things which a man from time to +time desireth, that is to say, continual prospering, is that men call +FELICITY; I mean the Felicity of this life. For there is no such thing +as perpetual Tranquillity of mind, while we live here; because Life +itself is but Motion, and can never be without Desire, nor without +Feare, no more than without Sense. What kind of Felicity God hath +ordained to them that devoutly honour him, a man shall no sooner know, +than enjoy; being joys, that now are as incomprehensible, as the word of +School-men, Beatifical Vision, is unintelligible. + + + + +Praise Magnification + +The form of speech whereby men signifie their opinion of the Goodnesse +of anything is PRAISE. That whereby they signifie the power and +greatness of anything is MAGNIFYING. And that whereby they signifie +the opinion they have of a man’s felicity is by the Greeks called +Makarismos, for which we have no name in our tongue. And thus much is +sufficient for the present purpose to have been said of the passions. + + + +CHAPTER VII. OF THE ENDS OR RESOLUTIONS OF DISCOURSE + + +Of all Discourse, governed by desire of Knowledge, there is at last +an End, either by attaining, or by giving over. And in the chain of +Discourse, wheresoever it be interrupted, there is an End for that time. + + + + +Judgement, or Sentence Final; Doubt + +If the Discourse be meerly Mentall, it consisteth of thoughts that the +thing will be, and will not be; or that it has been, and has not been, +alternately. So that wheresoever you break off the chayn of a mans +Discourse, you leave him in a Praesumption of It Will Be, or, It Will +Not Be; or it Has Been, or, Has Not Been. All which is Opinion. And that +which is alternate Appetite, in Deliberating concerning Good and Evil, +the same is alternate Opinion in the Enquiry of the truth of Past, and +Future. And as the last Appetite in Deliberation is called the Will, so +the last Opinion in search of the truth of Past, and Future, is called +the JUDGEMENT, or Resolute and Final Sentence of him that Discourseth. +And as the whole chain of Appetites alternate, in the question of Good +or Bad is called Deliberation; so the whole chain of Opinions alternate, +in the question of True, or False is called DOUBT. + +No Discourse whatsoever, can End in absolute knowledge of Fact, past, or +to come. For, as for the knowledge of Fact, it is originally, Sense; and +ever after, Memory. And for the knowledge of consequence, which I have +said before is called Science, it is not Absolute, but Conditionall. No +man can know by Discourse, that this, or that, is, has been, or will +be; which is to know absolutely: but onely, that if This be, That is; if +This has been, That has been; if This shall be, That shall be: which +is to know conditionally; and that not the consequence of one thing to +another; but of one name of a thing, to another name of the same thing. + + + + +Science Opinion Conscience + +And therefore, when the Discourse is put into Speech, and begins with +the Definitions of Words, and proceeds by Connexion of the same into +general Affirmations, and of these again into Syllogismes, the end or +last sum is called the Conclusion; and the thought of the mind by it +signified is that conditional Knowledge, or Knowledge of the consequence +of words, which is commonly called Science. But if the first ground of +such Discourse be not Definitions, or if the Definitions be not rightly +joyned together into Syllogismes, then the End or Conclusion is again +OPINION, namely of the truth of somewhat said, though sometimes in +absurd and senslesse words, without possibility of being understood. +When two, or more men, know of one and the same fact, they are said +to be CONSCIOUS of it one to another; which is as much as to know it +together. And because such are fittest witnesses of the facts of one +another, or of a third, it was, and ever will be reputed a very Evill +act, for any man to speak against his Conscience; or to corrupt or force +another so to do: Insomuch that the plea of Conscience, has been always +hearkened unto very diligently in all times. Afterwards, men made use +of the same word metaphorically, for the knowledge of their own secret +facts, and secret thoughts; and therefore it is Rhetorically said that +the Conscience is a thousand witnesses. And last of all, men, vehemently +in love with their own new opinions, (though never so absurd,) and +obstinately bent to maintain them, gave those their opinions also that +reverenced name of Conscience, as if they would have it seem unlawful, +to change or speak against them; and so pretend to know they are true, +when they know at most but that they think so. + + + + +Beliefe Faith + +When a mans Discourse beginneth not at Definitions, it beginneth either +at some other contemplation of his own, and then it is still called +Opinion; Or it beginneth at some saying of another, of whose ability to +know the truth, and of whose honesty in not deceiving, he doubteth +not; and then the Discourse is not so much concerning the Thing, as the +Person; And the Resolution is called BELEEFE, and FAITH: Faith, In the +man; Beleefe, both Of the man, and Of the truth of what he sayes. So +then in Beleefe are two opinions; one of the saying of the man; the +other of his vertue. To Have Faith In, or Trust To, or Beleeve A Man, +signifie the same thing; namely, an opinion of the veracity of the man: +But to Beleeve What Is Said, signifieth onely an opinion of the truth +of the saying. But wee are to observe that this Phrase, I Beleeve In; +as also the Latine, Credo In; and the Greek, Pisteno Eis, are never used +but in the writings of Divines. In stead of them, in other writings are +put, I Beleeve Him; I Have Faith In Him; I Rely On Him: and in Latin, +Credo Illi; Fido Illi: and in Greek, Pisteno Anto: and that this +singularity of the Ecclesiastical use of the word hath raised many +disputes about the right object of the Christian Faith. + +But by Beleeving In, as it is in the Creed, is meant, not trust in the +Person; but Confession and acknowledgement of the Doctrine. For not +onely Christians, but all manner of men do so believe in God, as to hold +all for truth they heare him say, whether they understand it, or not; +which is all the Faith and trust can possibly be had in any person +whatsoever: But they do not all believe the Doctrine of the Creed. + +From whence we may inferre, that when wee believe any saying whatsoever +it be, to be true, from arguments taken, not from the thing it selfe, or +from the principles of naturall Reason, but from the Authority, and +good opinion wee have, of him that hath sayd it; then is the speaker, or +person we believe in, or trust in, and whose word we take, the object of +our Faith; and the Honour done in Believing, is done to him onely. And +consequently, when wee Believe that the Scriptures are the word of God, +having no immediate revelation from God himselfe, our Beleefe, Faith, +and Trust is in the Church; whose word we take, and acquiesce therein. +And they that believe that which a Prophet relates unto them in the +name of God, take the word of the Prophet, do honour to him, and in him +trust, and believe, touching the truth of what he relateth, whether he +be a true, or a false Prophet. And so it is also with all other History. +For if I should not believe all that is written By Historians, of the +glorious acts of Alexander, or Caesar; I do not think the Ghost of +Alexander, or Caesar, had any just cause to be offended; or any body +else, but the Historian. If Livy say the Gods made once a Cow speak, and +we believe it not; wee distrust not God therein, but Livy. So that it is +evident, that whatsoever we believe, upon no other reason, than what is +drawn from authority of men onely, and their writings; whether they be +sent from God or not, is Faith in men onely. + + + +CHAPTER VIII. OF THE VERTUES COMMONLY CALLED INTELLECTUAL; AND THEIR +CONTRARY DEFECTS + + + + +Intellectuall Vertue Defined + +Vertue generally, in all sorts of subjects, is somewhat that is valued +for eminence; and consisteth in comparison. For if all things +were equally in all men, nothing would be prized. And by Vertues +INTELLECTUALL, are always understood such abilityes of the mind, as men +praise, value, and desire should be in themselves; and go commonly under +the name of a Good Witte; though the same word Witte, be used also, to +distinguish one certain ability from the rest. + + + + +Wit, Naturall, Or Acquired + +These Vertues are of two sorts; Naturall, and Acquired. By Naturall, I +mean not, that which a man hath from his Birth: for that is nothing else +but Sense; wherein men differ so little one from another, and from brute +Beasts, as it is not to be reckoned amongst Vertues. But I mean, that +Witte, which is gotten by Use onely, and Experience; without Method, +Culture, or Instruction. This NATURALL WITTE, consisteth principally +in two things; Celerity Of Imagining, (that is, swift succession of one +thought to another;) and Steddy Direction to some approved end. On the +Contrary a slow Imagination, maketh that Defect, or fault of the mind, +which is commonly called DULNESSE, Stupidity, and sometimes by other +names that signifie slownesse of motion, or difficulty to be moved. + + + + +Good Wit, Or Fancy; Good Judgement; Discretion + +And this difference of quicknesse, is caused by the difference of mens +passions; that love and dislike, some one thing, some another: and +therefore some mens thoughts run one way, some another: and are held to, +and observe differently the things that passe through their imagination. +And whereas in his succession of mens thoughts, there is nothing to +observe in the things they think on, but either in what they be Like One +Another, or in what they be Unlike, or What They Serve For, or How They +Serve To Such A Purpose; Those that observe their similitudes, in case +they be such as are but rarely observed by others, are sayd to have a +Good Wit; by which, in this occasion, is meant a Good Fancy. But they +that observe their differences, and dissimilitudes; which is called +Distinguishing, and Discerning, and Judging between thing and thing; in +case, such discerning be not easie, are said to have a Good Judgement: +and particularly in matter of conversation and businesse; wherein, +times, places, and persons are to be discerned, this Vertue is called +DISCRETION. The former, that is, Fancy, without the help of Judgement, +is not commended as a Vertue: but the later which is Judgement, and +Discretion, is commended for it selfe, without the help of Fancy. +Besides the Discretion of times, places, and persons, necessary to a +good Fancy, there is required also an often application of his thoughts +to their End; that is to say, to some use to be made of them. This done; +he that hath this Vertue, will be easily fitted with similitudes, that +will please, not onely by illustration of his discourse, and adorning it +with new and apt metaphors; but also, by the rarity or their invention. +But without Steddinesse, and Direction to some End, a great Fancy is one +kind of Madnesse; such as they have, that entring into any discourse, +are snatched from their purpose, by every thing that comes in their +thought, into so many, and so long digressions, and parentheses, that +they utterly lose themselves: Which kind of folly, I know no particular +name for: but the cause of it is, sometimes want of experience; whereby +that seemeth to a man new and rare, which doth not so to others: +sometimes Pusillanimity; by which that seems great to him, which other +men think a trifle: and whatsoever is new, or great, and therefore +thought fit to be told, withdrawes a man by degrees from the intended +way of his discourse. + +In a good Poem, whether it be Epique, or Dramatique; as also in Sonnets, +Epigrams, and other Pieces, both Judgement and Fancy are required: +But the Fancy must be more eminent; because they please for the +Extravagancy; but ought not to displease by Indiscretion. + +In a good History, the Judgement must be eminent; because the goodnesse +consisteth, in the Method, in the Truth, and in the Choyse of the +actions that are most profitable to be known. Fancy has no place, but +onely in adorning the stile. + +In Orations of Prayse, and in Invectives, the Fancy is praedominant; +because the designe is not truth, but to Honour or Dishonour; which is +done by noble, or by vile comparisons. The Judgement does but suggest +what circumstances make an action laudable, or culpable. + +In Hortatives, and Pleadings, as Truth, or Disguise serveth best to the +Designe in hand; so is the Judgement, or the Fancy most required. + +In Demonstration, in Councell, and all rigourous search of Truth, +Judgement does all; except sometimes the understanding have need to be +opened by some apt similitude; and then there is so much use of Fancy. +But for Metaphors, they are in this case utterly excluded. For seeing +they openly professe deceipt; to admit them into Councell, or Reasoning, +were manifest folly. + +And in any Discourse whatsoever, if the defect of Discretion be +apparent, how extravagant soever the Fancy be, the whole discourse +will be taken for a signe of want of wit; and so will it never when the +Discretion is manifest, though the Fancy be never so ordinary. + +The secret thoughts of a man run over all things, holy, prophane, +clean, obscene, grave, and light, without shame, or blame; which verball +discourse cannot do, farther than the Judgement shall approve of the +Time, Place, and Persons. An Anatomist, or a Physitian may speak, or +write his judgement of unclean things; because it is not to please, +but profit: but for another man to write his extravagant, and pleasant +fancies of the same, is as if a man, from being tumbled into the dirt, +should come and present himselfe before good company. And ’tis the want +of Discretion that makes the difference. Again, in profest remissnesse +of mind, and familiar company, a man may play with the sounds, and +aequivocal significations of words; and that many times with encounters +of extraordinary Fancy: but in a Sermon, or in publique, or before +persons unknown, or whom we ought to reverence, there is no Gingling of +words that will not be accounted folly: and the difference is onely in +the want of Discretion. So that where Wit is wanting, it is not Fancy +that is wanting, but Discretion. Judgement therefore without Fancy is +Wit, but Fancy without Judgement not. + + + + +Prudence + +When the thoughts of a man, that has a designe in hand, running over a +multitude of things, observes how they conduce to that designe; or what +designe they may conduce into; if his observations be such as are not +easie, or usuall, This wit of his is called PRUDENCE; and dependeth on +much Experience, and Memory of the like things, and their consequences +heretofore. In which there is not so much difference of Men, as there is +in their Fancies and Judgements; Because the Experience of men equall +in age, is not much unequall, as to the quantity; but lyes in different +occasions; every one having his private designes. To govern well a +family, and a kingdome, are not different degrees of Prudence; but +different sorts of businesse; no more then to draw a picture in little, +or as great, or greater then the life, are different degrees of Art. A +plain husband-man is more Prudent in affaires of his own house, then a +Privy Counseller in the affaires of another man. + + + + +Craft + +To Prudence, if you adde the use of unjust, or dishonest means, such +as usually are prompted to men by Feare, or Want; you have that Crooked +Wisdome, which is called CRAFT; which is a signe of Pusillanimity. For +Magnanimity is contempt of unjust, or dishonest helps. And that which +the Latines Call Versutia, (translated into English, Shifting,) and is +a putting off of a present danger or incommodity, by engaging into +a greater, as when a man robbs one to pay another, is but a shorter +sighted Craft, called Versutia, from Versura, which signifies taking +mony at usurie, for the present payment of interest. + + + + +Acquired Wit + +As for Acquired Wit, (I mean acquired by method and instruction,) there +is none but Reason; which is grounded on the right use of Speech; and +produceth the Sciences. But of Reason and Science, I have already spoken +in the fifth and sixth Chapters. + +The causes of this difference of Witts, are in the Passions: and +the difference of Passions, proceedeth partly from the different +Constitution of the body, and partly from different Education. For if +the difference proceeded from the temper of the brain, and the organs of +Sense, either exterior or interior, there would be no lesse difference +of men in their Sight, Hearing, or other Senses, than in their Fancies, +and Discretions. It proceeds therefore from the Passions; which are +different, not onely from the difference of mens complexions; but also +from their difference of customes, and education. + +The Passions that most of all cause the differences of Wit, are +principally, the more or lesse Desire of Power, of Riches, of Knowledge, +and of Honour. All which may be reduced to the first, that is Desire of +Power. For Riches, Knowledge and Honour are but severall sorts of Power. + + + + +Giddinesse Madnesse + +And therefore, a man who has no great Passion for any of these things; +but is as men terme it indifferent; though he may be so farre a good +man, as to be free from giving offence; yet he cannot possibly have +either a great Fancy, or much Judgement. For the Thoughts, are to the +Desires, as Scouts, and Spies, to range abroad, and find the way to the +things Desired: All Stedinesse of the minds motion, and all quicknesse +of the same, proceeding from thence. For as to have no Desire, is to +be Dead: so to have weak Passions, is Dulnesse; and to have Passions +indifferently for every thing, GIDDINESSE, and Distraction; and to have +stronger, and more vehement Passions for any thing, than is ordinarily +seen in others, is that which men call MADNESSE. + +Whereof there be almost as many kinds, as of the Passions themselves. +Sometimes the extraordinary and extravagant Passion, proceedeth from the +evill constitution of the organs of the Body, or harme done them; and +sometimes the hurt, and indisposition of the Organs, is caused by the +vehemence, or long continuance of the Passion. But in both cases the +Madnesse is of one and the same nature. + +The Passion, whose violence, or continuance maketh Madnesse, is either +great Vaine-Glory; which is commonly called Pride, and Selfe-Conceipt; +or great Dejection of mind. + + + + +Rage + +Pride, subjecteth a man to Anger, the excesse whereof, is the Madnesse +called RAGE, and FURY. And thus it comes to passe that excessive desire +of Revenge, when it becomes habituall, hurteth the organs, and becomes +Rage: That excessive love, with jealousie, becomes also Rage: Excessive +opinion of a mans own selfe, for divine inspiration, for wisdome, +learning, forme, and the like, becomes Distraction, and Giddinesse: +the same, joyned with Envy, Rage: Vehement opinion of the truth of any +thing, contradicted by others, Rage. + + + + +Melancholy + +Dejection, subjects a man to causelesse fears; which is a Madnesse +commonly called MELANCHOLY, apparent also in divers manners; as in +haunting of solitudes, and graves; in superstitious behaviour; and in +fearing some one, some another particular thing. In summe, all Passions +that produce strange and unusuall behaviour, are called by the generall +name of Madnesse. But of the severall kinds of Madnesse, he that +would take the paines, might enrowle a legion. And if the Excesses be +madnesse, there is no doubt but the Passions themselves, when they tend +to Evill, are degrees of the same. + +(For example,) Though the effect of folly, in them that are possessed of +an opinion of being inspired, be not visible alwayes in one man, by any +very extravagant action, that proceedeth from such Passion; yet when +many of them conspire together, the Rage of the whole multitude is +visible enough. For what argument of Madnesse can there be greater, than +to clamour, strike, and throw stones at our best friends? Yet this is +somewhat lesse than such a multitude will do. For they will clamour, +fight against, and destroy those, by whom all their lifetime before, +they have been protected, and secured from injury. And if this be +Madnesse in the multitude, it is the same in every particular man. For +as in the middest of the sea, though a man perceive no sound of +that part of the water next him; yet he is well assured, that part +contributes as much, to the Roaring of the Sea, as any other part, of +the same quantity: so also, thought wee perceive no great unquietnesse, +in one, or two men; yet we may be well assured, that their singular +Passions, are parts of the Seditious roaring of a troubled Nation. And +if there were nothing else that bewrayed their madnesse; yet that very +arrogating such inspiration to themselves, is argument enough. If some +man in Bedlam should entertaine you with sober discourse; and you desire +in taking leave, to know what he were, that you might another time +requite his civility; and he should tell you, he were God the Father; +I think you need expect no extravagant action for argument of his +Madnesse. + +This opinion of Inspiration, called commonly, Private Spirit, begins +very often, from some lucky finding of an Errour generally held by +others; and not knowing, or not remembring, by what conduct of reason, +they came to so singular a truth, (as they think it, though it be many +times an untruth they light on,) they presently admire themselves; as +being in the speciall grace of God Almighty, who hath revealed the same +to them supernaturally, by his Spirit. + +Again, that Madnesse is nothing else, but too much appearing Passion, +may be gathered out of the effects of Wine, which are the same with +those of the evill disposition of the organs. For the variety of +behaviour in men that have drunk too much, is the same with that of +Mad-men: some of them Raging, others Loving, others laughing, all +extravagantly, but according to their severall domineering Passions: +For the effect of the wine, does but remove Dissimulation; and take from +them the sight of the deformity of their Passions. For, (I believe) the +most sober men, when they walk alone without care and employment of the +mind, would be unwilling the vanity and Extravagance of their thoughts +at that time should be publiquely seen: which is a confession, that +Passions unguided, are for the most part meere Madnesse. + +The opinions of the world, both in antient and later ages, concerning +the cause of madnesse, have been two. Some, deriving them from the +Passions; some, from Daemons, or Spirits, either good, or bad, which +they thought might enter into a man, possesse him, and move his organs +is such strange, and uncouth manner, as mad-men use to do. The former +sort therefore, called such men, Mad-men: but the Later, called them +sometimes Daemoniacks, (that is, possessed with spirits;) sometimes +Energumeni, (that is agitated, or moved with spirits;) and now in +Italy they are called not onely Pazzi, Mad-men; but also Spiritati, men +possest. + +There was once a great conflux of people in Abdera, a City of the +Greeks, at the acting of the Tragedy of Andromeda, upon an extream hot +day: whereupon, a great many of the spectators falling into Fevers, had +this accident from the heat, and from The Tragedy together, that they +did nothing but pronounce Iambiques, with the names of Perseus and +Andromeda; which together with the Fever, was cured, by the comming on +of Winter: And this madnesse was thought to proceed from the Passion +imprinted by the Tragedy. Likewise there raigned a fit of madnesse in +another Graecian city, which seized onely the young Maidens; and caused +many of them to hang themselves. This was by most then thought an act of +the Divel. But one that suspected, that contempt of life in them, +might proceed from some Passion of the mind, and supposing they did not +contemne also their honour, gave counsell to the Magistrates, to strip +such as so hang’d themselves, and let them hang out naked. This the +story sayes cured that madnesse. But on the other side, the same +Graecians, did often ascribe madnesse, to the operation of the +Eumenides, or Furyes; and sometimes of Ceres, Phoebus, and other Gods: +so much did men attribute to Phantasmes, as to think them aereal living +bodies; and generally to call them Spirits. And as the Romans in this, +held the same opinion with the Greeks: so also did the Jewes; For they +calle mad-men Prophets, or (according as they thought the spirits +good or bad) Daemoniacks; and some of them called both Prophets, and +Daemoniacks, mad-men; and some called the same man both Daemoniack, and +mad-man. But for the Gentiles, ’tis no wonder; because Diseases, and +Health; Vices, and Vertues; and many naturall accidents, were with them +termed, and worshipped as Daemons. So that a man was to understand by +Daemon, as well (sometimes) an Ague, as a Divell. But for the Jewes to +have such opinion, is somewhat strange. For neither Moses, nor Abraham +pretended to Prophecy by possession of a Spirit; but from the voyce of +God; or by a Vision or Dream: Nor is there any thing in his Law, +Morall, or Ceremoniall, by which they were taught, there was any such +Enthusiasme; or any Possession. When God is sayd, (Numb. 11. 25.) to +take from the Spirit that was in Moses, and give it to the 70. Elders, +the Spirit of God (taking it for the substance of God) is not divided. +The Scriptures by the Spirit of God in man, mean a mans spirit, enclined +to Godlinesse. And where it is said (Exod. 28. 3.) "Whom I have filled +with the Spirit of wisdome to make garments for Aaron," is not meant a +spirit put into them, that can make garments; but the wisdome of their +own spirits in that kind of work. In the like sense, the spirit of +man, when it produceth unclean actions, is ordinarily called an unclean +spirit; and so other spirits, though not alwayes, yet as often as the +vertue or vice so stiled, is extraordinary, and Eminent. Neither did the +other Prophets of the old Testament pretend Enthusiasme; or, that God +spake in them; but to them by Voyce, Vision, or Dream; and the Burthen +Of The Lord was not Possession, but Command. How then could the Jewes +fall into this opinion of possession? I can imagine no reason, but that +which is common to all men; namely, the want of curiosity to search +naturall causes; and their placing Felicity, in the acquisition of the +grosse pleasures of the Senses, and the things that most immediately +conduce thereto. For they that see any strange, and unusuall ability, or +defect in a mans mind; unlesse they see withall, from what cause it may +probably proceed, can hardly think it naturall; and if not naturall, +they must needs thinke it supernaturall; and then what can it be, but +that either God, or the Divell is in him? And hence it came to passe, +when our Saviour (Mark 3.21.) was compassed about with the multitude, +those of the house doubted he was mad, and went out to hold him: but +the Scribes said he had Belzebub, and that was it, by which he cast out +divels; as if the greater mad-man had awed the lesser. And that (John +10. 20.) some said, "He hath a Divell, and is mad;" whereas others +holding him for a Prophet, sayd, "These are not the words of one that +hath a Divell." So in the old Testament he that came to anoynt Jehu, (2 +Kings 9.11.) was a Prophet; but some of the company asked Jehu, "What +came that mad-man for?" So that in summe, it is manifest, that whosoever +behaved himselfe in extraordinary manner, was thought by the Jewes to be +possessed either with a good, or evill spirit; except by the Sadduces, +who erred so farre on the other hand, as not to believe there were at +all any spirits, (which is very neere to direct Atheisme;) and thereby +perhaps the more provoked others, to terme such men Daemoniacks, rather +than mad-men. + +But why then does our Saviour proceed in the curing of them, as if they +were possest; and not as if they were mad. To which I can give no other +kind of answer, but that which is given to those that urge the Scripture +in like manner against the opinion of the motion of the Earth. The +Scripture was written to shew unto men the kingdome of God; and to +prepare their mindes to become his obedient subjects; leaving the +world, and the Philosophy thereof, to the disputation of men, for the +exercising of their naturall Reason. Whether the Earths, or Suns motion +make the day, and night; or whether the Exorbitant actions of men, +proceed from Passion, or from the Divell, (so we worship him not) it is +all one, as to our obedience, and subjection to God Almighty; which is +the thing for which the Scripture was written. As for that our Saviour +speaketh to the disease, as to a person; it is the usuall phrase of all +that cure by words onely, as Christ did, (and Inchanters pretend to +do, whether they speak to a Divel or not.) For is not Christ also said +(Math. 8.26.) to have rebuked the winds? Is not he said also (Luk. 4. +39.) to rebuke a Fever? Yet this does not argue that a Fever is a Divel. +And whereas many of these Divels are said to confesse Christ; it is not +necessary to interpret those places otherwise, than that those mad-men +confessed him. And whereas our Saviour (Math. 12. 43.) speaketh of an +unclean Spirit, that having gone out of a man, wandreth through dry +places, seeking rest, and finding none; and returning into the same +man, with seven other spirits worse than himselfe; It is manifestly a +Parable, alluding to a man, that after a little endeavour to quit his +lusts, is vanquished by the strength of them; and becomes seven times +worse than he was. So that I see nothing at all in the Scripture, that +requireth a beliefe, that Daemoniacks were any other thing but Mad-men. + + + + +Insignificant Speech + +There is yet another fault in the Discourses of some men; which may also +be numbred amongst the sorts of Madnesse; namely, that abuse of words, +whereof I have spoken before in the fifth chapter, by the Name of +Absurdity. And that is, when men speak such words, as put together, have +in them no signification at all; but are fallen upon by some, through +misunderstanding of the words they have received, and repeat by rote; by +others, from intention to deceive by obscurity. And this is incident to +none but those, that converse in questions of matters incomprehensible, +as the Schoole-men; or in questions of abstruse Philosophy. The common +sort of men seldome speak Insignificantly, and are therefore, by those +other Egregious persons counted Idiots. But to be assured their words +are without any thing correspondent to them in the mind, there would +need some Examples; which if any man require, let him take a Schoole-man +into his hands, and see if he can translate any one chapter concerning +any difficult point; as the Trinity; the Deity; the nature of Christ; +Transubstantiation; Free-will. &c. into any of the moderne tongues, so +as to make the same intelligible; or into any tolerable Latine, such +as they were acquainted withall, that lived when the Latine tongue was +Vulgar. What is the meaning of these words. "The first cause does not +necessarily inflow any thing into the second, by force of the Essential +subordination of the second causes, by which it may help it to worke?" +They are the Translation of the Title of the sixth chapter of Suarez +first Booke, Of The Concourse, Motion, And Help Of God. When men write +whole volumes of such stuffe, are they not Mad, or intend to make others +so? And particularly, in the question of Transubstantiation; where +after certain words spoken, they that say, the White-nesse, Round-nesse, +Magni-tude, Quali-ty, Corruptibili-ty, all which are incorporeall, &c. +go out of the Wafer, into the Body of our blessed Saviour, do they not +make those Nesses, Tudes and Ties, to be so many spirits possessing his +body? For by Spirits, they mean alwayes things, that being incorporeall, +are neverthelesse moveable from one place to another. So that this kind +of Absurdity, may rightly be numbred amongst the many sorts of Madnesse; +and all the time that guided by clear Thoughts of their worldly lust, +they forbear disputing, or writing thus, but Lucide Intervals. And thus +much of the Vertues and Defects Intellectuall. + + + +CHAPTER IX. OF THE SEVERALL SUBJECTS OF KNOWLEDGE + + +There are of KNOWLEDGE two kinds; whereof one is Knowledge Of Fact: the +other Knowledge Of The Consequence Of One Affirmation To Another. The +former is nothing else, but Sense and Memory, and is Absolute Knowledge; +as when we see a Fact doing, or remember it done: And this is the +Knowledge required in a Witnesse. The later is called Science; and is +Conditionall; as when we know, that, If The Figure Showne Be A Circle, +Then Any Straight Line Through The Centre Shall Divide It Into Two +Equall Parts. And this is the Knowledge required in a Philosopher; that +is to say, of him that pretends to Reasoning. + +The Register of Knowledge Of Fact is called History. Whereof there be +two sorts: one called Naturall History; which is the History of such +Facts, or Effects of Nature, as have no Dependance on Mans Will; Such as +are the Histories of Metals, Plants, Animals, Regions, and the like. The +other, is Civill History; which is the History of the Voluntary Actions +of men in Common-wealths. + +The Registers of Science, are such Books as contain the Demonstrations +of Consequences of one Affirmation, to another; and are commonly called +Books of Philosophy; whereof the sorts are many, according to the +diversity of the Matter; And may be divided in such manner as I have +divided them in the following Table. + + I. Science, that is, Knowledge of Consequences; which is called + also PHILOSOPHY + + A. Consequences from Accidents of Bodies Naturall; which is + called NATURALL PHILOSOPHY + + 1. Consequences from the Accidents common to all Bodies Naturall; + which are Quantity, and Motion. + + a. Consequences from Quantity, and Motion Indeterminate; + which, being the Principles or first foundation of + Philosophy, is called Philosophia Prima + + PHILOSOPHIA PRIMA + + b. Consequences from Motion, and Quantity Determined + + 1) Consequences from Quantity, and Motion Determined + + a) By Figure, By Number + + 1] Mathematiques, + + GEOMETRY + ARITHMETIQUE + + 2) Consequences from the Motion, and Quantity of Bodies in + Speciall + + a) Consequences from the Motion, and Quantity of the + great parts of the World, as the Earth and Stars, + + 1] Cosmography + + ASTRONOMY + GEOGRAPHY + + b) Consequences from the Motion of Speciall kinds, and + Figures of Body, + + 1] Mechaniques, Doctrine of Weight + + Science of + ENGINEERS + ARCHITECTURE + NAVIGATION + + 2. PHYSIQUES, or Consequences from Qualities + + a. Consequences from the Qualities of Bodies Transient, such + as sometimes appear, sometimes vanish + + METEOROLOGY + + b. Consequences from the Qualities of Bodies Permanent + + 1) Consequences from the Qualities of the Starres + + a) Consequences from the Light of the Starres. Out of + this, and the Motion of the Sunne, is made the + Science of + + SCIOGRAPHY + + b) Consequences from the Influence of the Starres, + + ASTROLOGY + + 2) Consequences of the Qualities from Liquid Bodies that + fill the space between the Starres; such as are the + Ayre, or substance aetherial. + + + 3) Consequences from Qualities of Bodies Terrestrial + + a) Consequences from parts of the Earth that are + without Sense, + + 1] Consequences from Qualities of Minerals, as + Stones, Metals, &c +. 2] Consequences from the Qualities of Vegetables + + b) Consequences from Qualities of Animals + + 1] Consequences from Qualities of Animals in + Generall + + a] Consequences from Vision, + + OPTIQUES + + b] Consequences from Sounds, + + MUSIQUE + + c] Consequences from the rest of the senses + + 2] Consequences from Qualities of Men in Speciall + + a] Consequences from Passions of Men, + + ETHIQUES + + b] Consequences from Speech, + + i) In Magnifying, Vilifying, etc. + + POETRY + + ii) In Persuading, + + RHETORIQUE + + iii) In Reasoning, + + LOGIQUE + + iv) In Contracting, + + The Science of + JUST and UNJUST + + + B. Consequences from the Accidents of Politique Bodies; which is + called POLITIQUES, and CIVILL PHILOSOPHY + + 1. Of Consequences from the Institution of COMMON-WEALTHS, to + the Rights, and Duties of the Body Politique, or Soveraign. + + 2. Of Consequences from the same, to the Duty and Right of + the Subjects. + + + +CHAPTER X. OF POWER, WORTH, DIGNITY, HONOUR AND WORTHINESS + + + + +Power + +The POWER of a Man, (to take it Universally,) is his present means, +to obtain some future apparent Good. And is either Originall, or +Instrumentall. + +Naturall Power, is the eminence of the Faculties of Body, or Mind: as +extraordinary Strength, Forme, Prudence, Arts, Eloquence, Liberality, +Nobility. Instrumentall are those Powers, which acquired by these, or +by fortune, are means and Instruments to acquire more: as Riches, +Reputation, Friends, and the Secret working of God, which men call +Good Luck. For the nature of Power, is in this point, like to Fame, +increasing as it proceeds; or like the motion of heavy bodies, which the +further they go, make still the more hast. + +The Greatest of humane Powers, is that which is compounded of the Powers +of most men, united by consent, in one person, Naturall, or civill, that +has the use of all their Powers depending on his will; such as is the +Power of a Common-wealth: or depending on the wills of each particular; +such as is the Power of a Faction, or of divers factions leagued. +Therefore to have servants, is Power; To have Friends, is Power: for +they are strengths united. + +Also Riches joyned with liberality, is Power; because it procureth +friends, and servants: Without liberality, not so; because in this case +they defend not; but expose men to Envy, as a Prey. + +Reputation of power, is Power; because it draweth with it the adhaerance +of those that need protection. + +So is Reputation of love of a mans Country, (called Popularity,) for the +same Reason. + +Also, what quality soever maketh a man beloved, or feared of many; or +the reputation of such quality, is Power; because it is a means to have +the assistance, and service of many. + +Good successe is Power; because it maketh reputation of Wisdome, or good +fortune; which makes men either feare him, or rely on him. + +Affability of men already in power, is encrease of Power; because it +gaineth love. + +Reputation of Prudence in the conduct of Peace or War, is Power; because +to prudent men, we commit the government of our selves, more willingly +than to others. + +Nobility is Power, not in all places, but onely in those Common-wealths, +where it has Priviledges: for in such priviledges consisteth their +Power. + +Eloquence is Power; because it is seeming Prudence. + +Forme is Power; because being a promise of Good, it recommendeth men to +the favour of women and strangers. + +The Sciences, are small Power; because not eminent; and therefore, not +acknowledged in any man; nor are at all, but in a few; and in them, but +of a few things. For Science is of that nature, as none can understand +it to be, but such as in a good measure have attayned it. + +Arts of publique use, as Fortification, making of Engines, and other +Instruments of War; because they conferre to Defence, and Victory, +are Power; And though the true Mother of them, be Science, namely the +Mathematiques; yet, because they are brought into the Light, by the hand +of the Artificer, they be esteemed (the Midwife passing with the vulgar +for the Mother,) as his issue. + + + + +Worth + +The Value, or WORTH of a man, is as of all other things, his Price; +that is to say, so much as would be given for the use of his Power: +and therefore is not absolute; but a thing dependant on the need and +judgement of another. An able conductor of Souldiers, is of great Price +in time of War present, or imminent; but in Peace not so. A learned and +uncorrupt Judge, is much Worth in time of Peace; but not so much in +War. And as in other things, so in men, not the seller, but the buyer +determines the Price. For let a man (as most men do,) rate themselves as +the highest Value they can; yet their true Value is no more than it is +esteemed by others. + +The manifestation of the Value we set on one another, is that which is +commonly called Honouring, and Dishonouring. To Value a man at a high +rate, is to Honour him; at a low rate, is to Dishonour him. But high, +and low, in this case, is to be understood by comparison to the rate +that each man setteth on himselfe. + + + + +Dignity + +The publique worth of a man, which is the Value set on him by the +Common-wealth, is that which men commonly call DIGNITY. And this Value +of him by the Common-wealth, is understood, by offices of Command, +Judicature, publike Employment; or by Names and Titles, introduced for +distinction of such Value. + + + + +To Honour and Dishonour + +To pray to another, for ayde of any kind, is to HONOUR; because a signe +we have an opinion he has power to help; and the more difficult the ayde +is, the more is the Honour. + +To obey, is to Honour; because no man obeyes them, whom they think +have no power to help, or hurt them. And consequently to disobey, is to +Dishonour. + +To give great gifts to a man, is to Honour him; because ’tis buying +of Protection, and acknowledging of Power. To give little gifts, is to +Dishonour; because it is but Almes, and signifies an opinion of the +need of small helps. To be sedulous in promoting anothers good; also +to flatter, is to Honour; as a signe we seek his protection or ayde. To +neglect, is to Dishonour. + +To give way, or place to another, in any Commodity, is to Honour; being +a confession of greater power. To arrogate, is to Dishonour. + +To shew any signe of love, or feare of another, is to Honour; for both +to love, and to feare, is to value. To contemne, or lesse to love or +feare then he expects, is to Dishonour; for ’tis undervaluing. + +To praise, magnifie, or call happy, is to Honour; because nothing but +goodnesse, power, and felicity is valued. To revile, mock, or pitty, is +to Dishonour. + +To speak to another with consideration, to appear before him with +decency, and humility, is to Honour him; as signes of fear to offend. +To speak to him rashly, to do anything before him obscenely, slovenly, +impudently, is to Dishonour. + +To believe, to trust, to rely on another, is to Honour him; signe of +opinion of his vertue and power. To distrust, or not believe, is to +Dishonour. + +To hearken to a mans counsell, or discourse of what kind soever, is to +Honour; as a signe we think him wise, or eloquent, or witty. To sleep, +or go forth, or talk the while, is to Dishonour. + +To do those things to another, which he takes for signes of Honour, or +which the Law or Custome makes so, is to Honour; because in approving +the Honour done by others, he acknowledgeth the power which others +acknowledge. To refuse to do them, is to Dishonour. + +To agree with in opinion, is to Honour; as being a signe of approving +his judgement, and wisdome. To dissent, is Dishonour; and an upbraiding +of errour; and (if the dissent be in many things) of folly. + +To imitate, is to Honour; for it is vehemently to approve. To imitate +ones Enemy, is to Dishonour. + +To honour those another honours, is to Honour him; as a signe of +approbation of his judgement. To honour his Enemies, is to Dishonour +him. + +To employ in counsell, or in actions of difficulty, is to Honour; as a +signe of opinion of his wisdome, or other power. To deny employment in +the same cases, to those that seek it, is to Dishonour. + +All these wayes of Honouring, are naturall; and as well within, as +without Common-wealths. But in Common-wealths, where he, or they that +have the supreme Authority, can make whatsoever they please, to stand +for signes of Honour, there be other Honours. + +A Soveraigne doth Honour a Subject, with whatsoever Title, or Office, or +Employment, or Action, that he himselfe will have taken for a signe of +his will to Honour him. + +The King of Persia, Honoured Mordecay, when he appointed he should be +conducted through the streets in the Kings Garment, upon one of the +Kings Horses, with a Crown on his head, and a Prince before him, +proclayming, "Thus shall it be done to him that the King will honour." +And yet another King of Persia, or the same another time, to one that +demanded for some great service, to weare one of the Kings robes, gave +him leave so to do; but with his addition, that he should weare it as +the Kings foole; and then it was Dishonour. So that of Civill Honour; +such as are Magistracy, Offices, Titles; and in some places Coats, and +Scutchions painted: and men Honour such as have them, as having so many +signes of favour in the Common-wealth; which favour is Power. + +Honourable is whatsoever possession, action, or quality, is an argument +and signe of Power. + +And therefore To be Honoured, loved, or feared of many, is Honourable; +as arguments of Power. To be Honoured of few or none, Dishonourable. + +Good fortune (if lasting,) Honourable; as a signe of the favour of God. +Ill fortune, and losses, Dishonourable. Riches, are Honourable; for +they are Power. Poverty, Dishonourable. Magnanimity, Liberality, +Hope, Courage, Confidence, are Honourable; for they proceed from the +conscience of Power. Pusillanimity, Parsimony, Fear, Diffidence, are +Dishonourable. + +Timely Resolution, or determination of what a man is to do, is +Honourable; as being the contempt of small difficulties, and dangers. +And Irresolution, Dishonourable; as a signe of too much valuing of +little impediments, and little advantages: For when a man has weighed +things as long as the time permits, and resolves not, the difference +of weight is but little; and therefore if he resolve not, he overvalues +little things, which is Pusillanimity. + +All Actions, and Speeches, that proceed, or seem to proceed from much +Experience, Science, Discretion, or Wit, are Honourable; For all these +are Powers. Actions, or Words that proceed from Errour, Ignorance, or +Folly, Dishonourable. + +Gravity, as farre forth as it seems to proceed from a mind employed on +some thing else, is Honourable; because employment is a signe of +Power. But if it seem to proceed from a purpose to appear grave, it is +Dishonourable. For the gravity of the Former, is like the steddinesse of +a Ship laden with Merchandise; but of the later, like the steddinesse of +a Ship ballasted with Sand, and other trash. + +To be Conspicuous, that is to say, to be known, for Wealth, Office, +great Actions, or any eminent Good, is Honourable; as a signe of the +power for which he is conspicuous. On the contrary, Obscurity, is +Dishonourable. + +To be descended from conspicuous Parents, is Honourable; because they +the more easily attain the aydes, and friends of their Ancestors. On the +contrary, to be descended from obscure Parentage, is Dishonourable. + +Actions proceeding from Equity, joyned with losse, are Honourable; +as signes of Magnanimity: for Magnanimity is a signe of Power. On the +contrary, Craft, Shifting, neglect of Equity, is Dishonourable. + +Nor does it alter the case of Honour, whether an action (so it be great +and difficult, and consequently a signe of much power,) be just or +unjust: for Honour consisteth onely in the opinion of Power. Therefore +the ancient Heathen did not thinke they Dishonoured, but greatly +Honoured the Gods, when they introduced them in their Poems, committing +Rapes, Thefts, and other great, but unjust, or unclean acts: In so much +as nothing is so much celebrated in Jupiter, as his Adulteries; nor +in Mercury, as his Frauds, and Thefts: of whose praises, in a hymne +of Homer, the greatest is this, that being born in the morning, he had +invented Musique at noon, and before night, stolen away the Cattell of +Appollo, from his Herdsmen. + +Also amongst men, till there were constituted great Common-wealths, +it was thought no dishonour to be a Pyrate, or a High-way Theefe; but +rather a lawfull Trade, not onely amongst the Greeks, but also amongst +all other Nations; as is manifest by the Histories of antient time. And +at this day, in this part of the world, private Duels are, and alwayes +will be Honourable, though unlawfull, till such time as there shall be +Honour ordained for them that refuse, and Ignominy for them that make +the Challenge. For Duels also are many times effects of Courage; and the +ground of Courage is alwayes Strength or Skill, which are Power; though +for the most part they be effects of rash speaking, and of the fear of +Dishonour, in one, or both the Combatants; who engaged by rashnesse, are +driven into the Lists to avoyd disgrace. + +Scutchions, and coats of Armes haereditary, where they have any eminent +Priviledges, are Honourable; otherwise not: for their Power consisteth +either in such Priviledges, or in Riches, or some such thing as is +equally honoured in other men. This kind of Honour, commonly called +Gentry, has been derived from the Antient Germans. For there never was +any such thing known, where the German Customes were unknown. Nor is it +now any where in use, where the Germans have not inhabited. The antient +Greek Commanders, when they went to war, had their Shields painted with +such Devises as they pleased; insomuch as an unpainted Buckler was a +signe of Poverty, and of a common Souldier: but they transmitted not the +Inheritance of them. The Romans transmitted the Marks of their Families: +but they were the Images, not the Devises of their Ancestors. Amongst +the people of Asia, Afrique, and America, there is not, nor was ever, +any such thing. The Germans onely had that custome; from whom it has +been derived into England, France, Spain, and Italy, when in great +numbers they either ayded the Romans, or made their own Conquests in +these Westerne parts of the world. + +For Germany, being antiently, as all other Countries, in their +beginnings, divided amongst an infinite number of little Lords, or +Masters of Families, that continually had wars one with another; those +Masters, or Lords, principally to the end they might, when they were +Covered with Arms, be known by their followers; and partly for ornament, +both painted their Armor, or their Scutchion, or Coat, with the picture +of some Beast, or other thing; and also put some eminent and visible +mark upon the Crest of their Helmets. And his ornament both of the +Armes, and Crest, descended by inheritance to their Children; to the +eldest pure, and to the rest with some note of diversity, such as the +Old master, that is to say in Dutch, the Here-alt thought fit. But when +many such Families, joyned together, made a greater Monarchy, this duty +of the Herealt, to distinguish Scutchions, was made a private Office +a part. And the issue of these Lords, is the great and antient Gentry; +which for the most part bear living creatures, noted for courage, and +rapine; or Castles, Battlements, Belts, Weapons, Bars, Palisadoes, and +other notes of War; nothing being then in honour, but vertue military. +Afterwards, not onely Kings, but popular Common-wealths, gave divers +manners of Scutchions, to such as went forth to the War, or returned +from it, for encouragement, or recompence to their service. All which, +by an observing Reader, may be found in such ancient Histories, Greek +and Latine, as make mention of the German Nation, and Manners, in their +times. + + + + +Titles of Honour + +Titles of Honour, such as are Duke, Count, Marquis, and Baron, are +Honourable; as signifying the value set upon them by the Soveraigne +Power of the Common-wealth: Which Titles, were in old time titles +of Office, and Command, derived some from the Romans, some from the +Germans, and French. Dukes, in Latine Duces, being Generalls in War: +Counts, Comites, such as bare the Generall company out of friendship; +and were left to govern and defend places conquered, and pacified: +Marquises, Marchiones, were Counts that governed the Marches, or bounds +of the Empire. Which titles of Duke, Count, and Marquis, came into the +Empire, about the time of Constantine the Great, from the customes of +the German Militia. But Baron, seems to have been a Title of the Gaules, +and signifies a Great man; such as were the Kings, or Princes men, whom +they employed in war about their persons; and seems to be derived from +Vir, to Ber, and Bar, that signified the same in the Language of the +Gaules, that Vir in Latine; and thence to Bero, and Baro: so that such +men were called Berones, and after Barones; and (in Spanish) Varones. +But he that would know more particularly the originall of Titles of +Honour, may find it, as I have done this, in Mr. Seldens most excellent +Treatise of that subject. In processe of time these offices of Honour, +by occasion of trouble, and for reasons of good and peacable government, +were turned into meer Titles; serving for the most part, to distinguish +the precedence, place, and order of subjects in the Common-wealth: and +men were made Dukes, Counts, Marquises, and Barons of Places, wherein +they had neither possession, nor command: and other Titles also, were +devised to the same end. + + + + +Worthinesse Fitnesse + +WORTHINESSE, is a thing different from the worth, or value of a man; and +also from his merit, or desert; and consisteth in a particular power, +or ability for that, whereof he is said to be worthy: which particular +ability, is usually named FITNESSE, or Aptitude. + +For he is Worthiest to be a Commander, to be a Judge, or to have any +other charge, that is best fitted, with the qualities required to the +well discharging of it; and Worthiest of Riches, that has the qualities +most requisite for the well using of them: any of which qualities being +absent, one may neverthelesse be a Worthy man, and valuable for +some thing else. Again, a man may be Worthy of Riches, Office, and +Employment, that neverthelesse, can plead no right to have it before +another; and therefore cannot be said to merit or deserve it. For Merit, +praesupposeth a right, and that the thing deserved is due by promise: Of +which I shall say more hereafter, when I shall speak of Contracts. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. OF THE DIFFERENCE OF MANNERS + + + + +What Is Here Meant By Manners + +By MANNERS, I mean not here, Decency of behaviour; as how one man should +salute another, or how a man should wash his mouth, or pick his teeth +before company, and such other points of the Small Morals; But those +qualities of man-kind, that concern their living together in Peace, and +Unity. To which end we are to consider, that the Felicity of this life, +consisteth not in the repose of a mind satisfied. For there is no such +Finis Ultimus, (utmost ayme,) nor Summum Bonum, (greatest good,) as is +spoken of in the Books of the old Morall Philosophers. Nor can a man +any more live, whose Desires are at an end, than he, whose Senses and +Imaginations are at a stand. Felicity is a continuall progresse of the +desire, from one object to another; the attaining of the former, being +still but the way to the later. The cause whereof is, That the object +of mans desire, is not to enjoy once onely, and for one instant of time; +but to assure for ever, the way of his future desire. And therefore the +voluntary actions, and inclinations of all men, tend, not only to the +procuring, but also to the assuring of a contented life; and differ +onely in the way: which ariseth partly from the diversity of passions, +in divers men; and partly from the difference of the knowledge, or +opinion each one has of the causes, which produce the effect desired. + + + + +A Restlesse Desire Of Power, In All Men + +So that in the first place, I put for a generall inclination of all +mankind, a perpetuall and restlesse desire of Power after power, that +ceaseth onely in Death. And the cause of this, is not alwayes that a man +hopes for a more intensive delight, than he has already attained to; or +that he cannot be content with a moderate power: but because he cannot +assure the power and means to live well, which he hath present, without +the acquisition of more. And from hence it is, that Kings, whose power +is greatest, turn their endeavours to the assuring it a home by Lawes, +or abroad by Wars: and when that is done, there succeedeth a new desire; +in some, of Fame from new Conquest; in others, of ease and sensuall +pleasure; in others, of admiration, or being flattered for excellence in +some art, or other ability of the mind. + + + + +Love Of Contention From Competition + +Competition of Riches, Honour, command, or other power, enclineth to +Contention, Enmity, and War: because the way of one Competitor, to the +attaining of his desire, is to kill, subdue, supplant, or repell the +other. Particularly, competition of praise, enclineth to a reverence of +Antiquity. For men contend with the living, not with the dead; to these +ascribing more than due, that they may obscure the glory of the other. + + + + +Civil Obedience From Love Of Ease + +Desire of Ease, and sensuall Delight, disposeth men to obey a common +Power: because by such Desires, a man doth abandon the protection might +be hoped for from his own Industry, and labour. + + + + +From Feare Of Death Or Wounds + +Fear of Death, and Wounds, disposeth to the same; and for the same +reason. On the contrary, needy men, and hardy, not contented with their +present condition; as also, all men that are ambitious of Military +command, are enclined to continue the causes of warre; and to stirre up +trouble and sedition: for there is no honour Military but by warre; nor +any such hope to mend an ill game, as by causing a new shuffle. + + + + +And From Love Of Arts + +Desire of Knowledge, and Arts of Peace, enclineth men to obey a common +Power: For such Desire, containeth a desire of leasure; and consequently +protection from some other Power than their own. + + + + +Love Of Vertue, From Love Of Praise + +Desire of Praise, disposeth to laudable actions, such as please them +whose judgement they value; for of these men whom we contemn, we contemn +also the Praises. Desire of Fame after death does the same. And though +after death, there be no sense of the praise given us on Earth, as being +joyes, that are either swallowed up in the unspeakable joyes of Heaven, +or extinguished in the extreme torments of Hell: yet is not such Fame +vain; because men have a present delight therein, from the foresight +of it, and of the benefit that may rebound thereby to their posterity: +which though they now see not, yet they imagine; and any thing that is +pleasure in the sense, the same also is pleasure in the imagination. + + + + +Hate, From Difficulty Of Requiting Great Benefits + +To have received from one, to whom we think our selves equall, greater +benefits than there is hope to Requite, disposeth to counterfiet love; +but really secret hatred; and puts a man into the estate of a desperate +debtor, that in declining the sight of his creditor, tacitely wishes +him there, where he might never see him more. For benefits oblige; and +obligation is thraldome; which is to ones equall, hateful. But to have +received benefits from one, whom we acknowledge our superiour, enclines +to love; because the obligation is no new depession: and cheerfull +acceptation, (which men call Gratitude,) is such an honour done to +the obliger, as is taken generally for retribution. Also to receive +benefits, though from an equall, or inferiour, as long as there is hope +of requitall, disposeth to love: for in the intention of the receiver, +the obligation is of ayd, and service mutuall; from whence proceedeth +an Emulation of who shall exceed in benefiting; the most noble and +profitable contention possible; wherein the victor is pleased with his +victory, and the other revenged by confessing it. + + + + +And From Conscience Of Deserving To Be Hated + +To have done more hurt to a man, than he can, or is willing to expiate, +enclineth the doer to hate the sufferer. For he must expect revenge, or +forgivenesse; both which are hatefull. + + + + +Promptnesse To Hurt, From Fear + +Feare of oppression, disposeth a man to anticipate, or to seek ayd by +society: for there is no other way by which a man can secure his life +and liberty. + + + + +And From Distrust Of Their Own Wit + +Men that distrust their own subtilty, are in tumult, and sedition, +better disposed for victory, than they that suppose themselves wise, +or crafty. For these love to consult, the other (fearing to be +circumvented,) to strike first. And in sedition, men being alwayes in +the procincts of Battell, to hold together, and use all advantages of +force, is a better stratagem, than any that can proceed from subtilty of +Wit. + + + + +Vain Undertaking From Vain-glory + +Vain-glorious men, such as without being conscious to themselves of +great sufficiency, delight in supposing themselves gallant men, are +enclined onely to ostentation; but not to attempt: Because when +danger or difficulty appears, they look for nothing but to have their +insufficiency discovered. + +Vain-glorious men, such as estimate their sufficiency by the flattery +of other men, or the fortune of some precedent action, without assured +ground of hope from the true knowledge of themselves, are enclined to +rash engaging; and in the approach of danger, or difficulty, to retire +if they can: because not seeing the way of safety, they will rather +hazard their honour, which may be salved with an excuse; than their +lives, for which no salve is sufficient. + + + + +Ambition, From Opinion Of Sufficiency + +Men that have a strong opinion of their own wisdome in matter of +government, are disposed to Ambition. Because without publique +Employment in counsell or magistracy, the honour of their wisdome is +lost. And therefore Eloquent speakers are enclined to Ambition; for +Eloquence seemeth wisdome, both to themselves and others + + + + +Irresolution, From Too Great Valuing Of Small Matters + +Pusillanimity disposeth men to Irresolution, and consequently to lose +the occasions, and fittest opportunities of action. For after men have +been in deliberation till the time of action approach, if it be not +then manifest what is best to be done, tis a signe, the difference of +Motives, the one way and the other, are not great: Therefore not to +resolve then, is to lose the occasion by weighing of trifles; which is +pusillanimity. + +Frugality,(though in poor men a Vertue,) maketh a man unapt to atchieve +such actions, as require the strength of many men at once: For it +weakeneth their Endeavour, which is to be nourished and kept in vigor by +Reward. + +Confidence In Others From Ignorance Of The Marks Of Wisdome and +Kindnesse Eloquence, with flattery, disposeth men to confide in them +that have it; because the former is seeming Wisdome, the later seeming +Kindnesse. Adde to them Military reputation, and it disposeth men to +adhaere, and subject themselves to those men that have them. The two +former, having given them caution against danger from him; the later +gives them caution against danger from others. + + + + +And From The Ignorance Of Naturall Causes + +Want of Science, that is, Ignorance of causes, disposeth, or rather +constraineth a man to rely on the advise, and authority of others. For +all men whom the truth concernes, if they rely not on their own, +must rely on the opinion of some other, whom they think wiser than +themselves, and see not why he should deceive them. + + + + +And From Want Of Understanding + +Ignorance of the signification of words; which is, want of +understanding, disposeth men to take on trust, not onely the truth they +know not; but also the errors; and which is more, the non-sense of them +they trust: For neither Error, nor non-sense, can without a perfect +understanding of words, be detected. + +From the same it proceedeth, that men give different names, to one and +the same thing, from the difference of their own passions: As they that +approve a private opinion, call it Opinion; but they that mislike it, +Haeresie: and yet haeresie signifies no more than private opinion; but +has onely a greater tincture of choler. + +From the same also it proceedeth, that men cannot distinguish, without +study and great understanding, between one action of many men, and many +actions of one multitude; as for example, between the one action of +all the Senators of Rome in killing Catiline, and the many actions of a +number of Senators in killing Caesar; and therefore are disposed to take +for the action of the people, that which is a multitude of actions done +by a multitude of men, led perhaps by the perswasion of one. + +Adhaerence To Custome, From Ignorance Of The Nature Of Right And Wrong +Ignorance of the causes, and originall constitution of Right, Equity, +Law, and Justice, disposeth a man to make Custome and Example the rule +of his actions; in such manner, as to think that Unjust which it +hath been the custome to punish; and that Just, of the impunity and +approbation whereof they can produce an Example, or (as the Lawyers +which onely use the false measure of Justice barbarously call it) a +Precedent; like little children, that have no other rule of good and +evill manners, but the correction they receive from their Parents, and +Masters; save that children are constant to their rule, whereas men are +not so; because grown strong, and stubborn, they appeale from custome +to reason, and from reason to custome, as it serves their turn; receding +from custome when their interest requires it, and setting themselves +against reason, as oft as reason is against them: Which is the cause, +that the doctrine of Right and Wrong, is perpetually disputed, both by +the Pen and the Sword: whereas the doctrine of Lines, and Figures, is +not so; because men care not, in that subject what be truth, as a thing +that crosses no mans ambition, profit, or lust. For I doubt not, but if +it had been a thing contrary to any mans right of dominion, or to the +interest of men that have dominion, That The Three Angles Of A Triangle +Should Be Equall To Two Angles Of A Square; that doctrine should have +been, if not disputed, yet by the burning of all books of Geometry, +suppressed, as farre as he whom it concerned was able. + +Adhaerence To Private Men, From Ignorance Of The Causes Of Peace +Ignorance of remote causes, disposeth men to attribute all events, to +the causes immediate, and Instrumentall: For these are all the causes +they perceive. And hence it comes to passe, that in all places, men that +are grieved with payments to the Publique, discharge their anger upon +the Publicans, that is to say, Farmers, Collectors, and other Officers +of the publique Revenue; and adhaere to such as find fault with the +publike Government; and thereby, when they have engaged themselves +beyond hope of justification, fall also upon the Supreme Authority, for +feare of punishment, or shame of receiving pardon. + + + + +Credulity From Ignorance Of Nature + +Ignorance of naturall causes disposeth a man to Credulity, so as +to believe many times impossibilities: for such know nothing to +the contrary, but that they may be true; being unable to detect the +Impossibility. And Credulity, because men love to be hearkened unto in +company, disposeth them to lying: so that Ignorance it selfe without +Malice, is able to make a man bothe to believe lyes, and tell them; and +sometimes also to invent them. + + + + +Curiosity To Know, From Care Of Future Time + +Anxiety for the future time, disposeth men to enquire into the causes +of things: because the knowledge of them, maketh men the better able to +order the present to their best advantage. + + + + +Naturall Religion, From The Same + +Curiosity, or love of the knowledge of causes, draws a man from +consideration of the effect, to seek the cause; and again, the cause of +that cause; till of necessity he must come to this thought at last, that +there is some cause, whereof there is no former cause, but is eternall; +which is it men call God. So that it is impossible to make any profound +enquiry into naturall causes, without being enclined thereby to believe +there is one God Eternall; though they cannot have any Idea of him in +their mind, answerable to his nature. For as a man that is born blind, +hearing men talk of warming themselves by the fire, and being brought +to warm himself by the same, may easily conceive, and assure himselfe, +there is somewhat there, which men call Fire, and is the cause of the +heat he feeles; but cannot imagine what it is like; nor have an Idea of +it in his mind, such as they have that see it: so also, by the visible +things of this world, and their admirable order, a man may conceive +there is a cause of them, which men call God; and yet not have an Idea, +or Image of him in his mind. + +And they that make little, or no enquiry into the naturall causes of +things, yet from the feare that proceeds from the ignorance it selfe, +of what it is that hath the power to do them much good or harm, are +enclined to suppose, and feign unto themselves, severall kinds of Powers +Invisible; and to stand in awe of their own imaginations; and in time +of distresse to invoke them; as also in the time of an expected good +successe, to give them thanks; making the creatures of their own +fancy, their Gods. By which means it hath come to passe, that from the +innumerable variety of Fancy, men have created in the world innumerable +sorts of Gods. And this Feare of things invisible, is the naturall Seed +of that, which every one in himself calleth Religion; and in them that +worship, or feare that Power otherwise than they do, Superstition. + +And this seed of Religion, having been observed by many; some of those +that have observed it, have been enclined thereby to nourish, dresse, +and forme it into Lawes; and to adde to it of their own invention, +any opinion of the causes of future events, by which they thought they +should best be able to govern others, and make unto themselves the +greatest use of their Powers. + + + +CHAPTER XII. OF RELIGION + + + + +Religion, In Man Onely + +Seeing there are no signes, nor fruit of Religion, but in Man onely; +there is no cause to doubt, but that the seed of Religion, is also onely +in Man; and consisteth in some peculiar quality, or at least in some +eminent degree thereof, not to be found in other Living creatures. + + + + +First, From His Desire Of Knowing Causes + +And first, it is peculiar to the nature of Man, to be inquisitive into +the Causes of the Events they see, some more, some lesse; but all men so +much, as to be curious in the search of the causes of their own good and +evill fortune. + + + + +From The Consideration Of The Beginning Of Things + +Secondly, upon the sight of any thing that hath a Beginning, to think +also it had a cause, which determined the same to begin, then when it +did, rather than sooner or later. + + + + +From His Observation Of The Sequell Of Things + +Thirdly, whereas there is no other Felicity of Beasts, but the enjoying +of their quotidian Food, Ease, and Lusts; as having little, or no +foresight of the time to come, for want of observation, and memory +of the order, consequence, and dependance of the things they see; Man +observeth how one Event hath been produced by another; and remembreth in +them Antecedence and Consequence; And when he cannot assure himselfe of +the true causes of things, (for the causes of good and evill fortune for +the most part are invisible,) he supposes causes of them, either such +as his own fancy suggesteth; or trusteth to the Authority of other men, +such as he thinks to be his friends, and wiser than himselfe. + +The Naturall Cause Of Religion, The Anxiety Of The Time To Come The +two first, make Anxiety. For being assured that there be causes of all +things that have arrived hitherto, or shall arrive hereafter; it is +impossible for a man, who continually endeavoureth to secure himselfe +against the evill he feares, and procure the good he desireth, not to +be in a perpetuall solicitude of the time to come; So that every man, +especially those that are over provident, are in an estate like to that +of Prometheus. For as Prometheus, (which interpreted, is, The Prudent +Man,) was bound to the hill Caucasus, a place of large prospect, where, +an Eagle feeding on his liver, devoured in the day, as much as was +repayred in the night: So that man, which looks too far before him, in +the care of future time, hath his heart all the day long, gnawed on by +feare of death, poverty, or other calamity; and has no repose, nor pause +of his anxiety, but in sleep. + + + + +Which Makes Them Fear The Power Of Invisible Things + +This perpetuall feare, alwayes accompanying mankind in the ignorance of +causes, as it were in the Dark, must needs have for object something. +And therefore when there is nothing to be seen, there is nothing to +accuse, either of their good, or evill fortune, but some Power, or Agent +Invisible: In which sense perhaps it was, that some of the old Poets +said, that the Gods were at first created by humane Feare: which spoken +of the Gods, (that is to say, of the many Gods of the Gentiles) is +very true. But the acknowledging of one God Eternall, Infinite, and +Omnipotent, may more easily be derived, from the desire men have to +know the causes of naturall bodies, and their severall vertues, and +operations; than from the feare of what was to befall them in time to +come. For he that from any effect hee seeth come to passe, should reason +to the next and immediate cause thereof, and from thence to the cause +of that cause, and plonge himselfe profoundly in the pursuit of causes; +shall at last come to this, that there must be (as even the Heathen +Philosophers confessed) one First Mover; that is, a First, and an +Eternall cause of all things; which is that which men mean by the name +of God: And all this without thought of their fortune; the solicitude +whereof, both enclines to fear, and hinders them from the search of the +causes of other things; and thereby gives occasion of feigning of as +many Gods, as there be men that feigne them. + + + + +And Suppose Them Incorporeall + +And for the matter, or substance of the Invisible Agents, so fancyed; +they could not by naturall cogitation, fall upon any other conceipt, but +that it was the same with that of the Soule of man; and that the Soule +of man, was of the same substance, with that which appeareth in a Dream, +to one that sleepeth; or in a Looking-glasse, to one that is awake; +which, men not knowing that such apparitions are nothing else but +creatures of the Fancy, think to be reall, and externall Substances; +and therefore call them Ghosts; as the Latines called them Imagines, +and Umbrae; and thought them Spirits, that is, thin aereall bodies; and +those Invisible Agents, which they feared, to bee like them; save that +they appear, and vanish when they please. But the opinion that such +Spirits were Incorporeall, or Immateriall, could never enter into the +mind of any man by nature; because, though men may put together words of +contradictory signification, as Spirit, and Incorporeall; yet they +can never have the imagination of any thing answering to them: +And therefore, men that by their own meditation, arrive to the +acknowledgement of one Infinite, Omnipotent, and Eternall God, +choose rather to confesse he is Incomprehensible, and above their +understanding; than to define his Nature By Spirit Incorporeall, and +then Confesse their definition to be unintelligible: or if they give him +such a title, it is not Dogmatically, with intention to make the Divine +Nature understood; but Piously, to honour him with attributes, of +significations, as remote as they can from the grossenesse of Bodies +Visible. + + + + +But Know Not The Way How They Effect Anything + +Then, for the way by which they think these Invisible Agents wrought +their effects; that is to say, what immediate causes they used, in +bringing things to passe, men that know not what it is that we call +Causing, (that is, almost all men) have no other rule to guesse by, but +by observing, and remembring what they have seen to precede the like +effect at some other time, or times before, without seeing between the +antecedent and subsequent Event, any dependance or connexion at all: +And therefore from the like things past, they expect the like things to +come; and hope for good or evill luck, superstitiously, from things that +have no part at all in the causing of it: As the Athenians did for their +war at Lepanto, demand another Phormio; the Pompeian faction for their +warre in Afrique, another Scipio; and others have done in divers other +occasions since. In like manner they attribute their fortune to a +stander by, to a lucky or unlucky place, to words spoken, especially +if the name of God be amongst them; as Charming, and Conjuring (the +Leiturgy of Witches;) insomuch as to believe, they have power to turn a +stone into bread, bread into a man, or any thing, into any thing. + + + + +But Honour Them As They Honour Men + +Thirdly, for the worship which naturally men exhibite to Powers +invisible, it can be no other, but such expressions of their reverence, +as they would use towards men; Gifts, Petitions, Thanks, Submission +of Body, Considerate Addresses, sober Behaviour, premeditated Words, +Swearing (that is, assuring one another of their promises,) by invoking +them. Beyond that reason suggesteth nothing; but leaves them either to +rest there; or for further ceremonies, to rely on those they believe to +be wiser than themselves. + + + + +And Attribute To Them All Extraordinary Events + +Lastly, concerning how these Invisible Powers declare to men the things +which shall hereafter come to passe, especially concerning their good +or evill fortune in generall, or good or ill successe in any particular +undertaking, men are naturally at a stand; save that using to conjecture +of the time to come, by the time past, they are very apt, not onely to +take casuall things, after one or two encounters, for Prognostiques +of the like encounter ever after, but also to believe the like +Prognostiques from other men, of whom they have once conceived a good +opinion. + + + + +Foure Things, Naturall Seeds Of Religion + +And in these foure things, Opinion of Ghosts, Ignorance of second +causes, Devotion towards what men fear, and Taking of things Casuall for +Prognostiques, consisteth the Naturall seed of Religion; which by reason +of the different Fancies, Judgements, and Passions of severall men, hath +grown up into ceremonies so different, that those which are used by one +man, are for the most part ridiculous to another. + + + + +Made Different By Culture + +For these seeds have received culture from two sorts of men. One sort +have been they, that have nourished, and ordered them, according to +their own invention. The other, have done it, by Gods commandement, and +direction: but both sorts have done it, with a purpose to make those men +that relyed on them, the more apt to Obedience, Lawes, Peace, Charity, +and civill Society. So that the Religion of the former sort, is a part +of humane Politiques; and teacheth part of the duty which Earthly Kings +require of their Subjects. And the Religion of the later sort is +Divine Politiques; and containeth Precepts to those that have yeelded +themselves subjects in the Kingdome of God. Of the former sort, were all +the Founders of Common-wealths, and the Law-givers of the Gentiles: Of +the later sort, were Abraham, Moses, and our Blessed Saviour; by whom +have been derived unto us the Lawes of the Kingdome of God. + + + + +The Absurd Opinion Of Gentilisme + +And for that part of Religion, which consisteth in opinions concerning +the nature of Powers Invisible, there is almost nothing that has a +name, that has not been esteemed amongst the Gentiles, in one place or +another, a God, or Divell; or by their Poets feigned to be inanimated, +inhabited, or possessed by some Spirit or other. + +The unformed matter of the World, was a God, by the name of Chaos. + +The Heaven, the Ocean, the Planets, the Fire, the Earth, the Winds, were +so many Gods. + +Men, Women, a Bird, a Crocodile, a Calf, a Dogge, a Snake, an Onion, +a Leeke, Deified. Besides, that they filled almost all places, with +spirits called Daemons; the plains, with Pan, and Panises, or Satyres; +the Woods, with Fawnes, and Nymphs; the Sea, with Tritons, and other +Nymphs; every River, and Fountayn, with a Ghost of his name, and with +Nymphs; every house, with it Lares, or Familiars; every man, with his +Genius; Hell, with Ghosts, and spirituall Officers, as Charon, Cerberus, +and the Furies; and in the night time, all places with Larvae, Lemures, +Ghosts of men deceased, and a whole kingdome of Fayries, and Bugbears. +They have also ascribed Divinity, and built Temples to meer Accidents, +and Qualities; such as are Time, Night, Day, Peace, Concord, Love, +Contention, Vertue, Honour, Health, Rust, Fever, and the like; which +when they prayed for, or against, they prayed to, as if there were +Ghosts of those names hanging over their heads, and letting fall, or +withholding that Good, or Evill, for, or against which they prayed. They +invoked also their own Wit, by the name of Muses; their own Ignorance, +by the name of Fortune; their own Lust, by the name of Cupid; their +own Rage, by the name Furies; their own privy members by the name of +Priapus; and attributed their pollutions, to Incubi, and Succubae: +insomuch as there was nothing, which a Poet could introduce as a person +in his Poem, which they did not make either a God, or a Divel. + +The same authors of the Religion of the Gentiles, observing the second +ground for Religion, which is mens Ignorance of causes; and thereby +their aptnesse to attribute their fortune to causes, on which there +was no dependence at all apparent, took occasion to obtrude on their +ignorance, in stead of second causes, a kind of second and ministeriall +Gods; ascribing the cause of Foecundity, to Venus; the cause of Arts, to +Apollo; of Subtilty and Craft, to Mercury; of Tempests and stormes, +to Aeolus; and of other effects, to other Gods: insomuch as there was +amongst the Heathen almost as great variety of Gods, as of businesse. + +And to the Worship, which naturally men conceived fit to bee used +towards their Gods, namely Oblations, Prayers, Thanks, and the rest +formerly named; the same Legislators of the Gentiles have added their +Images, both in Picture, and Sculpture; that the more ignorant sort, +(that is to say, the most part, or generality of the people,) thinking +the Gods for whose representation they were made, were really included, +and as it were housed within them, might so much the more stand in feare +of them: And endowed them with lands, and houses, and officers, and +revenues, set apart from all other humane uses; that is, consecrated, +and made holy to those their Idols; as Caverns, Groves, Woods, +Mountains, and whole Ilands; and have attributed to them, not onely +the shapes, some of Men, some of Beasts, some of Monsters; but also the +Faculties, and Passions of men and beasts; as Sense, Speech, Sex, Lust, +Generation, (and this not onely by mixing one with another, to propagate +the kind of Gods; but also by mixing with men, and women, to beget +mongrill Gods, and but inmates of Heaven, as Bacchus, Hercules, +and others;) besides, Anger, Revenge, and other passions of living +creatures, and the actions proceeding from them, as Fraud, Theft, +Adultery, Sodomie, and any vice that may be taken for an effect of +Power, or a cause of Pleasure; and all such Vices, as amongst men are +taken to be against Law, rather than against Honour. + +Lastly, to the Prognostiques of time to come; which are naturally, but +Conjectures upon the Experience of time past; and supernaturall, divine +Revelation; the same authors of the Religion of the Gentiles, partly +upon pretended Experience, partly upon pretended Revelation, have +added innumerable other superstitious wayes of Divination; and made men +believe they should find their fortunes, sometimes in the ambiguous +or senslesse answers of the priests at Delphi, Delos, Ammon, and other +famous Oracles; which answers, were made ambiguous by designe, to own +the event both wayes; or absurd by the intoxicating vapour of the place, +which is very frequent in sulphurous Cavernes: Sometimes in the leaves +of the Sibills; of whose Prophecyes (like those perhaps of Nostradamus; +for the fragments now extant seem to be the invention of later times) +there were some books in reputation in the time of the Roman Republique: +Sometimes in the insignificant Speeches of Mad-men, supposed to +be possessed with a divine Spirit; which Possession they called +Enthusiasme; and these kinds of foretelling events, were accounted +Theomancy, or Prophecy; Sometimes in the aspect of the Starres at their +Nativity; which was called Horoscopy, and esteemed a part of judiciary +Astrology: Sometimes in their own hopes and feares, called Thumomancy, +or Presage: Sometimes in the Prediction of Witches, that pretended +conference with the dead; which is called Necromancy, Conjuring, and +Witchcraft; and is but juggling and confederate knavery: Sometimes in +the Casuall flight, or feeding of birds; called Augury: Sometimes in +the Entrayles of a sacrificed beast; which was Aruspicina: Sometimes +in Dreams: Sometimes in Croaking of Ravens, or chattering of Birds: +Sometimes in the Lineaments of the face; which was called Metoposcopy; +or by Palmistry in the lines of the hand; in casuall words, called +Omina: Sometimes in Monsters, or unusuall accidents; as Ecclipses, +Comets, rare Meteors, Earthquakes, Inundations, uncouth Births, and the +like, which they called Portenta and Ostenta, because they thought them +to portend, or foreshew some great Calamity to come; Sometimes, in meer +Lottery, as Crosse and Pile; counting holes in a sive; dipping of Verses +in Homer, and Virgil; and innumerable other such vaine conceipts. So +easie are men to be drawn to believe any thing, from such men as have +gotten credit with them; and can with gentlenesse, and dexterity, take +hold of their fear, and ignorance. + +The Designes Of The Authors Of The Religion Of The Heathen And therefore +the first Founders, and Legislators of Common-wealths amongst the +Gentiles, whose ends were only to keep the people in obedience, and +peace, have in all places taken care; First, to imprint in their minds a +beliefe, that those precepts which they gave concerning Religion, might +not be thought to proceed from their own device, but from the dictates +of some God, or other Spirit; or else that they themselves were of a +higher nature than mere mortalls, that their Lawes might the more easily +be received: So Numa Pompilius pretended to receive the Ceremonies he +instituted amongst the Romans, from the Nymph Egeria: and the first King +and founder of the Kingdome of Peru, pretended himselfe and his wife to +be the children of the Sunne: and Mahomet, to set up his new Religion, +pretended to have conferences with the Holy Ghost, in forme of a Dove. +Secondly, they have had a care, to make it believed, that the same +things were displeasing to the Gods, which were forbidden by the +Lawes. Thirdly, to prescribe Ceremonies, Supplications, Sacrifices, and +Festivalls, by which they were to believe, the anger of the Gods might +be appeased; and that ill success in War, great contagions of Sicknesse, +Earthquakes, and each mans private Misery, came from the Anger of +the Gods; and their Anger from the Neglect of their Worship, or the +forgetting, or mistaking some point of the Ceremonies required. And +though amongst the antient Romans, men were not forbidden to deny, that +which in the Poets is written of the paines, and pleasures after this +life; which divers of great authority, and gravity in that state have +in their Harangues openly derided; yet that beliefe was alwaies more +cherished, than the contrary. + +And by these, and such other Institutions, they obtayned in order to +their end, (which was the peace of the Commonwealth,) that the common +people in their misfortunes, laying the fault on neglect, or errour in +their Ceremonies, or on their own disobedience to the lawes, were the +lesse apt to mutiny against their Governors. And being entertained with +the pomp, and pastime of Festivalls, and publike Gomes, made in +honour of the Gods, needed nothing else but bread, to keep them from +discontent, murmuring, and commotion against the State. And therefore +the Romans, that had conquered the greatest part of the then known +World, made no scruple of tollerating any Religion whatsoever in the +City of Rome it selfe; unlesse it had somthing in it, that could not +consist with their Civill Government; nor do we read, that any Religion +was there forbidden, but that of the Jewes; who (being the peculiar +Kingdome of God) thought it unlawfull to acknowledge subjection to any +mortall King or State whatsoever. And thus you see how the Religion of +the Gentiles was a part of their Policy. + +The True Religion, And The Lawes Of Gods Kingdome The Same But where God +himselfe, by supernaturall Revelation, planted Religion; there he +also made to himselfe a peculiar Kingdome; and gave Lawes, not only of +behaviour towards himselfe; but also towards one another; and thereby +in the Kingdome of God, the Policy, and lawes Civill, are a part of +Religion; and therefore the distinction of Temporall, and Spirituall +Domination, hath there no place. It is true, that God is King of all the +Earth: Yet may he be King of a peculiar, and chosen Nation. For there is +no more incongruity therein, than that he that hath the generall command +of the whole Army, should have withall a peculiar Regiment, or Company +of his own. God is King of all the Earth by his Power: but of his +chosen people, he is King by Covenant. But to speake more largly of the +Kingdome of God, both by Nature, and Covenant, I have in the following +discourse assigned an other place. + + + + +The Causes Of Change In Religion + +From the propagation of Religion, it is not hard to understand +the causes of the resolution of the same into its first seeds, or +principles; which are only an opinion of a Deity, and Powers invisible, +and supernaturall; that can never be so abolished out of humane nature, +but that new Religions may againe be made to spring out of them, by the +culture of such men, as for such purpose are in reputation. + +For seeing all formed Religion, is founded at first, upon the faith +which a multitude hath in some one person, whom they believe not only to +be a wise man, and to labour to procure their happiness, but also to +be a holy man, to whom God himselfe vouchsafeth to declare his will +supernaturally; It followeth necessarily, when they that have the +Goverment of Religion, shall come to have either the wisedome of those +men, their sincerity, or their love suspected; or that they shall +be unable to shew any probable token of divine Revelation; that the +Religion which they desire to uphold, must be suspected likewise; and +(without the feare of the Civill Sword) contradicted and rejected. + + + + +Injoyning Beleefe Of Impossibilities + +That which taketh away the reputation of Wisedome, in him that formeth +a Religion, or addeth to it when it is allready formed, is the enjoyning +of a beliefe of contradictories: For both parts of a contradiction +cannot possibly be true: and therefore to enjoyne the beliefe of them, +is an argument of ignorance; which detects the Author in that; and +discredits him in all things else he shall propound as from revelation +supernaturall: which revelation a man may indeed have of many things +above, but of nothing against naturall reason. + + + + +Doing Contrary To The Religion They Establish + +That which taketh away the reputation of Sincerity, is the doing, or +saying of such things, as appeare to be signes, that what they require +other men to believe, is not believed by themselves; all which doings, +or sayings are therefore called Scandalous, because they be stumbling +blocks, that make men to fall in the way of Religion: as Injustice, +Cruelty, Prophanesse, Avarice, and Luxury. For who can believe, that he +that doth ordinarily such actions, as proceed from any of these +rootes, believeth there is any such Invisible Power to be feared, as he +affrighteth other men withall, for lesser faults? + +That which taketh away the reputation of Love, is the being detected of +private ends: as when the beliefe they require of others, conduceth or +seemeth to conduce to the acquiring of Dominion, Riches, Dignity, or +secure Pleasure, to themselves onely, or specially. For that which men +reap benefit by to themselves, they are thought to do for their own +sakes, and not for love of others + + + + +Want Of The Testimony Of Miracles + +Lastly, the testimony that men can render of divine Calling, can be no +other, than the operation of Miracles; or true Prophecy, (which also is +a Miracle;) or extraordinary Felicity. And therefore, to those points +of Religion, which have been received from them that did such Miracles; +those that are added by such, as approve not their Calling by some +Miracle, obtain no greater beliefe, than what the Custome, and Lawes of +the places, in which they be educated, have wrought into them. For as +in naturall things, men of judgement require naturall signes, +and arguments; so in supernaturall things, they require signes +supernaturall, (which are Miracles,) before they consent inwardly, and +from their hearts. + +All which causes of the weakening of mens faith, do manifestly appear +in the Examples following. First, we have the Example of the children +of Israel; who when Moses, that had approved his Calling to them by +Miracles, and by the happy conduct of them out of Egypt, was absent but +40 dayes, revolted from the worship of the true God, recommended to +them by him; and setting up (Exod.32 1,2) a Golden Calfe for their God, +relapsed into the Idolatry of the Egyptians; from whom they had been +so lately delivered. And again, after Moses, Aaron, Joshua, and that +generation which had seen the great works of God in Israel, (Judges +2 11) were dead; another generation arose, and served Baal. So that +Miracles fayling, Faith also failed. + +Again, when the sons of Samuel, (1 Sam.8.3) being constituted by their +father Judges in Bersabee, received bribes, and judged unjustly, the +people of Israel refused any more to have God to be their King, in other +manner than he was King of other people; and therefore cryed out to +Samuel, to choose them a King after the manner of the Nations. So that +Justice Fayling, Faith also fayled: Insomuch, as they deposed their God, +from reigning over them. + +And whereas in the planting of Christian Religion, the Oracles ceased +in all parts of the Roman Empire, and the number of Christians encreased +wonderfully every day, and in every place, by the preaching of the +Apostles, and Evangelists; a great part of that successe, may reasonably +be attributed, to the contempt, into which the Priests of the Gentiles +of that time, had brought themselves, by their uncleannesse, avarice, +and jugling between Princes. Also the Religion of the Church of Rome, +was partly, for the same cause abolished in England, and many other +parts of Christendome; insomuch, as the fayling of Vertue in the +Pastors, maketh Faith faile in the People: and partly from bringing +of the Philosophy, and doctrine of Aristotle into Religion, by the +Schoole-men; from whence there arose so many contradictions, and +absurdities, as brought the Clergy into a reputation both of Ignorance, +and of Fraudulent intention; and enclined people to revolt from them, +either against the will of their own Princes, as in France, and Holland; +or with their will, as in England. + +Lastly, amongst the points by the Church of Rome declared necessary for +Salvation, there be so many, manifestly to the advantage of the Pope, +and of his spirituall subjects, residing in the territories of other +Christian Princes, that were it not for the mutuall emulation of those +Princes, they might without warre, or trouble, exclude all forraign +Authority, as easily as it has been excluded in England. For who is +there that does not see, to whose benefit it conduceth, to have it +believed, that a King hath not his Authority from Christ, unlesse a +Bishop crown him? That a King, if he be a Priest, cannot Marry? That +whether a Prince be born in lawfull Marriage, or not, must be judged by +Authority from Rome? That Subjects may be freed from their Alleageance, +if by the Court of Rome, the King be judged an Heretique? That a King +(as Chilperique of France) may be deposed by a Pope (as Pope Zachary,) +for no cause; and his Kingdome given to one of his Subjects? That the +Clergy, and Regulars, in what Country soever, shall be exempt from the +Jurisdiction of their King, in cases criminall? Or who does not see, to +whose profit redound the Fees of private Masses, and Vales of Purgatory; +with other signes of private interest, enough to mortifie the most +lively Faith, if (as I sayd) the civill Magistrate, and Custome did not +more sustain it, than any opinion they have of the Sanctity, Wisdome, +or Probity of their Teachers? So that I may attribute all the changes +of Religion in the world, to one and the some cause; and that is, +unpleasing Priests; and those not onely amongst Catholiques, but even in +that Church that hath presumed most of Reformation. + + + +CHAPTER XIII. OF THE NATURALL CONDITION OF MANKIND, +AS CONCERNING THEIR FELICITY, AND MISERY + + +Nature hath made men so equall, in the faculties of body, and mind; as +that though there bee found one man sometimes manifestly stronger +in body, or of quicker mind then another; yet when all is reckoned +together, the difference between man, and man, is not so considerable, +as that one man can thereupon claim to himselfe any benefit, to which +another may not pretend, as well as he. For as to the strength of body, +the weakest has strength enough to kill the strongest, either by secret +machination, or by confederacy with others, that are in the same danger +with himselfe. + +And as to the faculties of the mind, (setting aside the arts grounded +upon words, and especially that skill of proceeding upon generall, and +infallible rules, called Science; which very few have, and but in few +things; as being not a native faculty, born with us; nor attained, +(as Prudence,) while we look after somewhat els,) I find yet a greater +equality amongst men, than that of strength. For Prudence, is but +Experience; which equall time, equally bestowes on all men, in those +things they equally apply themselves unto. That which may perhaps make +such equality incredible, is but a vain conceipt of ones owne wisdome, +which almost all men think they have in a greater degree, than the +Vulgar; that is, than all men but themselves, and a few others, whom by +Fame, or for concurring with themselves, they approve. For such is the +nature of men, that howsoever they may acknowledge many others to be +more witty, or more eloquent, or more learned; Yet they will hardly +believe there be many so wise as themselves: For they see their own wit +at hand, and other mens at a distance. But this proveth rather that men +are in that point equall, than unequall. For there is not ordinarily a +greater signe of the equall distribution of any thing, than that every +man is contented with his share. + + + + +From Equality Proceeds Diffidence + +From this equality of ability, ariseth equality of hope in the attaining +of our Ends. And therefore if any two men desire the same thing, which +neverthelesse they cannot both enjoy, they become enemies; and in the +way to their End, (which is principally their owne conservation, and +sometimes their delectation only,) endeavour to destroy, or subdue one +an other. And from hence it comes to passe, that where an Invader hath +no more to feare, than an other mans single power; if one plant, sow, +build, or possesse a convenient Seat, others may probably be expected to +come prepared with forces united, to dispossesse, and deprive him, not +only of the fruit of his labour, but also of his life, or liberty. And +the Invader again is in the like danger of another. + + + + +From Diffidence Warre + +And from this diffidence of one another, there is no way for any man to +secure himselfe, so reasonable, as Anticipation; that is, by force, or +wiles, to master the persons of all men he can, so long, till he see no +other power great enough to endanger him: And this is no more than his +own conservation requireth, and is generally allowed. Also because there +be some, that taking pleasure in contemplating their own power in +the acts of conquest, which they pursue farther than their security +requires; if others, that otherwise would be glad to be at ease within +modest bounds, should not by invasion increase their power, they would +not be able, long time, by standing only on their defence, to subsist. +And by consequence, such augmentation of dominion over men, being +necessary to a mans conservation, it ought to be allowed him. + +Againe, men have no pleasure, (but on the contrary a great deale of +griefe) in keeping company, where there is no power able to over-awe +them all. For every man looketh that his companion should value him, at +the same rate he sets upon himselfe: And upon all signes of contempt, +or undervaluing, naturally endeavours, as far as he dares (which amongst +them that have no common power, to keep them in quiet, is far enough +to make them destroy each other,) to extort a greater value from his +contemners, by dommage; and from others, by the example. + +So that in the nature of man, we find three principall causes of +quarrel. First, Competition; Secondly, Diffidence; Thirdly, Glory. + +The first, maketh men invade for Gain; the second, for Safety; and +the third, for Reputation. The first use Violence, to make themselves +Masters of other mens persons, wives, children, and cattell; the second, +to defend them; the third, for trifles, as a word, a smile, a different +opinion, and any other signe of undervalue, either direct in their +Persons, or by reflexion in their Kindred, their Friends, their Nation, +their Profession, or their Name. + + + + +Out Of Civil States, There Is Alwayes Warre Of Every One Against Every +One + +Hereby it is manifest, that during the time men live without a common +Power to keep them all in awe, they are in that condition which is +called Warre; and such a warre, as is of every man, against every man. +For WARRE, consisteth not in Battell onely, or the act of fighting; but +in a tract of time, wherein the Will to contend by Battell is +sufficiently known: and therefore the notion of Time, is to be +considered in the nature of Warre; as it is in the nature of Weather. +For as the nature of Foule weather, lyeth not in a showre or two of +rain; but in an inclination thereto of many dayes together: So the +nature of War, consisteth not in actuall fighting; but in the known +disposition thereto, during all the time there is no assurance to the +contrary. All other time is PEACE. + + + + +The Incommodities Of Such A War + +Whatsoever therefore is consequent to a time of Warre, where every man +is Enemy to every man; the same is consequent to the time, wherein men +live without other security, than what their own strength, and their +own invention shall furnish them withall. In such condition, there is +no place for Industry; because the fruit thereof is uncertain; and +consequently no Culture of the Earth; no Navigation, nor use of the +commodities that may be imported by Sea; no commodious Building; no +Instruments of moving, and removing such things as require much force; +no Knowledge of the face of the Earth; no account of Time; no Arts; no +Letters; no Society; and which is worst of all, continuall feare, and +danger of violent death; And the life of man, solitary, poore, nasty, +brutish, and short. + +It may seem strange to some man, that has not well weighed these things; +that Nature should thus dissociate, and render men apt to invade, +and destroy one another: and he may therefore, not trusting to this +Inference, made from the Passions, desire perhaps to have the same +confirmed by Experience. Let him therefore consider with himselfe, when +taking a journey, he armes himselfe, and seeks to go well accompanied; +when going to sleep, he locks his dores; when even in his house he +locks his chests; and this when he knows there bee Lawes, and publike +Officers, armed, to revenge all injuries shall bee done him; what +opinion he has of his fellow subjects, when he rides armed; of his +fellow Citizens, when he locks his dores; and of his children, and +servants, when he locks his chests. Does he not there as much accuse +mankind by his actions, as I do by my words? But neither of us accuse +mans nature in it. The Desires, and other Passions of man, are in +themselves no Sin. No more are the Actions, that proceed from those +Passions, till they know a Law that forbids them; which till Lawes be +made they cannot know: nor can any Law be made, till they have agreed +upon the Person that shall make it. + +It may peradventure be thought, there was never such a time, nor +condition of warre as this; and I believe it was never generally so, +over all the world: but there are many places, where they live so now. +For the savage people in many places of America, except the government +of small Families, the concord whereof dependeth on naturall lust, have +no government at all; and live at this day in that brutish manner, as +I said before. Howsoever, it may be perceived what manner of life there +would be, where there were no common Power to feare; by the manner of +life, which men that have formerly lived under a peacefull government, +use to degenerate into, in a civill Warre. + +But though there had never been any time, wherein particular men were in +a condition of warre one against another; yet in all times, Kings, and +persons of Soveraigne authority, because of their Independency, are +in continuall jealousies, and in the state and posture of Gladiators; +having their weapons pointing, and their eyes fixed on one another; +that is, their Forts, Garrisons, and Guns upon the Frontiers of their +Kingdomes; and continuall Spyes upon their neighbours; which is a +posture of War. But because they uphold thereby, the Industry of their +Subjects; there does not follow from it, that misery, which accompanies +the Liberty of particular men. + + + + +In Such A Warre, Nothing Is Unjust + +To this warre of every man against every man, this also is consequent; +that nothing can be Unjust. The notions of Right and Wrong, Justice and +Injustice have there no place. Where there is no common Power, there is +no Law: where no Law, no Injustice. Force, and Fraud, are in warre the +two Cardinall vertues. Justice, and Injustice are none of the Faculties +neither of the Body, nor Mind. If they were, they might be in a man that +were alone in the world, as well as his Senses, and Passions. They +are Qualities, that relate to men in Society, not in Solitude. It is +consequent also to the same condition, that there be no Propriety, no +Dominion, no Mine and Thine distinct; but onely that to be every mans +that he can get; and for so long, as he can keep it. And thus much +for the ill condition, which man by meer Nature is actually placed in; +though with a possibility to come out of it, consisting partly in the +Passions, partly in his Reason. + + + + +The Passions That Incline Men To Peace + +The Passions that encline men to Peace, are Feare of Death; Desire of +such things as are necessary to commodious living; and a Hope by their +Industry to obtain them. And Reason suggesteth convenient Articles of +Peace, upon which men may be drawn to agreement. These Articles, are +they, which otherwise are called the Lawes of Nature: whereof I shall +speak more particularly, in the two following Chapters. + + + +CHAPTER XIV. OF THE FIRST AND SECOND NATURALL LAWES, AND OF CONTRACTS + + + + +Right Of Nature What + +The RIGHT OF NATURE, which Writers commonly call Jus Naturale, is the +Liberty each man hath, to use his own power, as he will himselfe, for +the preservation of his own Nature; that is to say, of his own Life; +and consequently, of doing any thing, which in his own Judgement, and +Reason, hee shall conceive to be the aptest means thereunto. + + + + +Liberty What + +By LIBERTY, is understood, according to the proper signification of the +word, the absence of externall Impediments: which Impediments, may oft +take away part of a mans power to do what hee would; but cannot hinder +him from using the power left him, according as his judgement, and +reason shall dictate to him. + + + + +A Law Of Nature What + +A LAW OF NATURE, (Lex Naturalis,) is a Precept, or generall Rule, +found out by Reason, by which a man is forbidden to do, that, which +is destructive of his life, or taketh away the means of preserving the +same; and to omit, that, by which he thinketh it may be best preserved. +For though they that speak of this subject, use to confound Jus, and +Lex, Right and Law; yet they ought to be distinguished; because RIGHT, +consisteth in liberty to do, or to forbeare; Whereas LAW, determineth, +and bindeth to one of them: so that Law, and Right, differ as much, +as Obligation, and Liberty; which in one and the same matter are +inconsistent. + + + + +Naturally Every Man Has Right To Everything + +And because the condition of Man, (as hath been declared in the +precedent Chapter) is a condition of Warre of every one against every +one; in which case every one is governed by his own Reason; and there +is nothing he can make use of, that may not be a help unto him, in +preserving his life against his enemyes; It followeth, that in such a +condition, every man has a Right to every thing; even to one anothers +body. And therefore, as long as this naturall Right of every man to +every thing endureth, there can be no security to any man, (how strong +or wise soever he be,) of living out the time, which Nature ordinarily +alloweth men to live. + + + + +The Fundamental Law Of Nature + +And consequently it is a precept, or generall rule of Reason, "That +every man, ought to endeavour Peace, as farre as he has hope of +obtaining it; and when he cannot obtain it, that he may seek, and use, +all helps, and advantages of Warre." The first branch, of which Rule, +containeth the first, and Fundamentall Law of Nature; which is, "To seek +Peace, and follow it." The Second, the summe of the Right of Nature; +which is, "By all means we can, to defend our selves." + + + + +The Second Law Of Nature + +From this Fundamentall Law of Nature, by which men are commanded to +endeavour Peace, is derived this second Law; "That a man be willing, +when others are so too, as farre-forth, as for Peace, and defence of +himselfe he shall think it necessary, to lay down this right to all +things; and be contented with so much liberty against other men, as +he would allow other men against himselfe." For as long as every man +holdeth this Right, of doing any thing he liketh; so long are all men in +the condition of Warre. But if other men will not lay down their Right, +as well as he; then there is no Reason for any one, to devest himselfe +of his: For that were to expose himselfe to Prey, (which no man is bound +to) rather than to dispose himselfe to Peace. This is that Law of the +Gospell; "Whatsoever you require that others should do to you, that do +ye to them." And that Law of all men, "Quod tibi feiri non vis, alteri +ne feceris." + + + + +What it is to lay down a Right + +To Lay Downe a mans Right to any thing, is to Devest himselfe of the +Liberty, of hindring another of the benefit of his own Right to the +same. For he that renounceth, or passeth away his Right, giveth not to +any other man a Right which he had not before; because there is nothing +to which every man had not Right by Nature: but onely standeth out of +his way, that he may enjoy his own originall Right, without hindrance +from him; not without hindrance from another. So that the effect which +redoundeth to one man, by another mans defect of Right, is but so much +diminution of impediments to the use of his own Right originall. + + + + +Renouncing (or) Transferring Right What; Obligation Duty Justice + +Right is layd aside, either by simply Renouncing it; or by Transferring +it to another. By Simply RENOUNCING; when he cares not to whom the +benefit thereof redoundeth. By TRANSFERRING; when he intendeth the +benefit thereof to some certain person, or persons. And when a man hath +in either manner abandoned, or granted away his Right; then is he said +to be OBLIGED, or BOUND, not to hinder those, to whom such Right is +granted, or abandoned, from the benefit of it: and that he Ought, and it +his DUTY, not to make voyd that voluntary act of his own: and that such +hindrance is INJUSTICE, and INJURY, as being Sine Jure; the Right being +before renounced, or transferred. So that Injury, or Injustice, in +the controversies of the world, is somewhat like to that, which in the +disputations of Scholers is called Absurdity. For as it is there called +an Absurdity, to contradict what one maintained in the Beginning: so in +the world, it is called Injustice, and Injury, voluntarily to undo that, +which from the beginning he had voluntarily done. The way by which a man +either simply Renounceth, or Transferreth his Right, is a Declaration, +or Signification, by some voluntary and sufficient signe, or signes, +that he doth so Renounce, or Transferre; or hath so Renounced, or +Transferred the same, to him that accepteth it. And these Signes are +either Words onely, or Actions onely; or (as it happeneth most often) +both Words and Actions. And the same are the BONDS, by which men are +bound, and obliged: Bonds, that have their strength, not from their own +Nature, (for nothing is more easily broken then a mans word,) but from +Feare of some evill consequence upon the rupture. + + + + +Not All Rights Are Alienable + +Whensoever a man Transferreth his Right, or Renounceth it; it is either +in consideration of some Right reciprocally transferred to himselfe; or +for some other good he hopeth for thereby. For it is a voluntary act: +and of the voluntary acts of every man, the object is some Good To +Himselfe. And therefore there be some Rights, which no man can be +understood by any words, or other signes, to have abandoned, or +transferred. As first a man cannot lay down the right of resisting them, +that assault him by force, to take away his life; because he cannot be +understood to ayme thereby, at any Good to himselfe. The same may be +sayd of Wounds, and Chayns, and Imprisonment; both because there is +no benefit consequent to such patience; as there is to the patience of +suffering another to be wounded, or imprisoned: as also because a man +cannot tell, when he seeth men proceed against him by violence, whether +they intend his death or not. And lastly the motive, and end for which +this renouncing, and transferring or Right is introduced, is nothing +else but the security of a mans person, in his life, and in the means of +so preserving life, as not to be weary of it. And therefore if a man by +words, or other signes, seem to despoyle himselfe of the End, for which +those signes were intended; he is not to be understood as if he meant +it, or that it was his will; but that he was ignorant of how such words +and actions were to be interpreted. + + + + +Contract What + +The mutuall transferring of Right, is that which men call CONTRACT. + +There is difference, between transferring of Right to the Thing; and +transferring, or tradition, that is, delivery of the Thing it selfe. For +the Thing may be delivered together with the Translation of the Right; +as in buying and selling with ready mony; or exchange of goods, or +lands: and it may be delivered some time after. + + + + +Covenant What + +Again, one of the Contractors, may deliver the Thing contracted for on +his part, and leave the other to perform his part at some determinate +time after, and in the mean time be trusted; and then the Contract on +his part, is called PACT, or COVENANT: Or both parts may contract now, +to performe hereafter: in which cases, he that is to performe in time +to come, being trusted, his performance is called Keeping Of Promise, or +Faith; and the fayling of performance (if it be voluntary) Violation Of +Faith. + + + + +Free-gift + +When the transferring of Right, is not mutuall; but one of the parties +transferreth, in hope to gain thereby friendship, or service from +another, or from his friends; or in hope to gain the reputation of +Charity, or Magnanimity; or to deliver his mind from the pain of +compassion; or in hope of reward in heaven; This is not Contract, but +GIFT, FREEGIFT, GRACE: which words signifie one and the same thing. + + + + +Signes Of Contract Expresse + +Signes of Contract, are either Expresse, or By Inference. Expresse, are +words spoken with understanding of what they signifie; And such words +are either of the time Present, or Past; as, I Give, I Grant, I Have +Given, I Have Granted, I Will That This Be Yours: Or of the future; +as, I Will Give, I Will Grant; which words of the future, are called +Promise. + + + + +Signes Of Contract By Inference + +Signes by Inference, are sometimes the consequence of Words; sometimes +the consequence of Silence; sometimes the consequence of Actions; +sometimes the consequence of Forbearing an Action: and generally a signe +by Inference, of any Contract, is whatsoever sufficiently argues the +will of the Contractor. + + + + +Free Gift Passeth By Words Of The Present Or Past + +Words alone, if they be of the time to come, and contain a bare promise, +are an insufficient signe of a Free-gift and therefore not obligatory. +For if they be of the time to Come, as, To Morrow I Will Give, they +are a signe I have not given yet, and consequently that my right is not +transferred, but remaineth till I transferre it by some other Act. But +if the words be of the time Present, or Past, as, "I have given, or do +give to be delivered to morrow," then is my to morrows Right given away +to day; and that by the vertue of the words, though there were no +other argument of my will. And there is a great difference in the +signification of these words, Volos Hoc Tuum Esse Cras, and Cros Dabo; +that is between "I will that this be thine to morrow," and, "I will +give it to thee to morrow:" For the word I Will, in the former manner +of speech, signifies an act of the will Present; but in the later, it +signifies a promise of an act of the will to Come: and therefore the +former words, being of the Present, transferre a future right; the +later, that be of the Future, transferre nothing. But if there be other +signes of the Will to transferre a Right, besides Words; then, though +the gift be Free, yet may the Right be understood to passe by words of +the future: as if a man propound a Prize to him that comes first to the +end of a race, The gift is Free; and though the words be of the +Future, yet the Right passeth: for if he would not have his words so be +understood, he should not have let them runne. + +Signes Of Contract Are Words Both Of The Past, Present, and Future In +Contracts, the right passeth, not onely where the words are of the time +Present, or Past; but also where they are of the Future; because all +Contract is mutuall translation, or change of Right; and therefore he +that promiseth onely, because he hath already received the benefit for +which he promiseth, is to be understood as if he intended the Right +should passe: for unlesse he had been content to have his words so +understood, the other would not have performed his part first. And +for that cause, in buying, and selling, and other acts of Contract, A +Promise is equivalent to a Covenant; and therefore obligatory. + + + + +Merit What + +He that performeth first in the case of a Contract, is said to MERIT +that which he is to receive by the performance of the other; and he hath +it as Due. Also when a Prize is propounded to many, which is to be given +to him onely that winneth; or mony is thrown amongst many, to be enjoyed +by them that catch it; though this be a Free Gift; yet so to Win, or +so to Catch, is to Merit, and to have it as DUE. For the Right is +transferred in the Propounding of the Prize, and in throwing down the +mony; though it be not determined to whom, but by the Event of the +contention. But there is between these two sorts of Merit, this +difference, that In Contract, I Merit by vertue of my own power, and the +Contractors need; but in this case of Free Gift, I am enabled to +Merit onely by the benignity of the Giver; In Contract, I merit at The +Contractors hand that hee should depart with his right; In this case of +gift, I Merit not that the giver should part with his right; but that +when he has parted with it, it should be mine, rather than anothers. +And this I think to be the meaning of that distinction of the Schooles, +between Meritum Congrui, and Meritum Condigni. For God Almighty, having +promised Paradise to those men (hoodwinkt with carnall desires,) that +can walk through this world according to the Precepts, and Limits +prescribed by him; they say, he that shall so walk, shall Merit Paradise +Ex Congruo. But because no man can demand a right to it, by his own +Righteousnesse, or any other power in himselfe, but by the Free Grace of +God onely; they say, no man can Merit Paradise Ex Condigno. This I say, +I think is the meaning of that distinction; but because Disputers do not +agree upon the signification of their own termes of Art, longer than it +serves their turn; I will not affirme any thing of their meaning: +onely this I say; when a gift is given indefinitely, as a prize to be +contended for, he that winneth Meriteth, and may claime the Prize as +Due. + + + + +Covenants Of Mutuall Trust, When Invalid + +If a Covenant be made, wherein neither of the parties performe +presently, but trust one another; in the condition of meer Nature, +(which is a condition of Warre of every man against every man,) upon +any reasonable suspition, it is Voyd; But if there be a common Power set +over them bothe, with right and force sufficient to compell performance; +it is not Voyd. For he that performeth first, has no assurance the other +will performe after; because the bonds of words are too weak to bridle +mens ambition, avarice, anger, and other Passions, without the feare of +some coerceive Power; which in the condition of meer Nature, where all +men are equall, and judges of the justnesse of their own fears cannot +possibly be supposed. And therefore he which performeth first, does +but betray himselfe to his enemy; contrary to the Right (he can never +abandon) of defending his life, and means of living. + +But in a civill estate, where there is a Power set up to constrain +those that would otherwise violate their faith, that feare is no more +reasonable; and for that cause, he which by the Covenant is to perform +first, is obliged so to do. + +The cause of Feare, which maketh such a Covenant invalid, must be +alwayes something arising after the Covenant made; as some new fact, +or other signe of the Will not to performe; else it cannot make the +Covenant Voyd. For that which could not hinder a man from promising, +ought not to be admitted as a hindrance of performing. + + + + +Right To The End, Containeth Right To The Means + +He that transferreth any Right, transferreth the Means of enjoying it, +as farre as lyeth in his power. As he that selleth Land, is understood +to transferre the Herbage, and whatsoever growes upon it; Nor can he +that sells a Mill turn away the Stream that drives it. And they that +give to a man The Right of government in Soveraignty, are understood +to give him the right of levying mony to maintain Souldiers; and of +appointing Magistrates for the administration of Justice. + + + + +No Covenant With Beasts + +To make Covenant with bruit Beasts, is impossible; because not +understanding our speech, they understand not, nor accept of any +translation of Right; nor can translate any Right to another; and +without mutuall acceptation, there is no Covenant. + + + + +Nor With God Without Speciall Revelation + +To make Covenant with God, is impossible, but by Mediation of such +as God speaketh to, either by Revelation supernaturall, or by his +Lieutenants that govern under him, and in his Name; For otherwise we +know not whether our Covenants be accepted, or not. And therefore they +that Vow any thing contrary to any law of Nature, Vow in vain; as being +a thing unjust to pay such Vow. And if it be a thing commanded by the +Law of Nature, it is not the Vow, but the Law that binds them. + + + + +No Covenant, But Of Possible And Future + +The matter, or subject of a Covenant, is alwayes something that falleth +under deliberation; (For to Covenant, is an act of the Will; that is to +say an act, and the last act, of deliberation;) and is therefore alwayes +understood to be something to come; and which is judged Possible for him +that Covenanteth, to performe. + +And therefore, to promise that which is known to be Impossible, is no +Covenant. But if that prove impossible afterwards, which before was +thought possible, the Covenant is valid, and bindeth, (though not to the +thing it selfe,) yet to the value; or, if that also be impossible, to +the unfeigned endeavour of performing as much as is possible; for to +more no man can be obliged. + + + + +Covenants How Made Voyd + +Men are freed of their Covenants two wayes; by Performing; or by being +Forgiven. For Performance, is the naturall end of obligation; and +Forgivenesse, the restitution of liberty; as being a retransferring of +that Right, in which the obligation consisted. + + + + +Covenants Extorted By Feare Are Valide + +Covenants entred into by fear, in the condition of meer Nature, are +obligatory. For example, if I Covenant to pay a ransome, or service for +my life, to an enemy; I am bound by it. For it is a Contract, wherein +one receiveth the benefit of life; the other is to receive mony, +or service for it; and consequently, where no other Law (as in the +condition, of meer Nature) forbiddeth the performance, the Covenant +is valid. Therefore Prisoners of warre, if trusted with the payment of +their Ransome, are obliged to pay it; And if a weaker Prince, make a +disadvantageous peace with a stronger, for feare; he is bound to keep +it; unlesse (as hath been sayd before) there ariseth some new, and just +cause of feare, to renew the war. And even in Common-wealths, if I be +forced to redeem my selfe from a Theefe by promising him mony, I am +bound to pay it, till the Civill Law discharge me. For whatsoever I may +lawfully do without Obligation, the same I may lawfully Covenant to do +through feare: and what I lawfully Covenant, I cannot lawfully break. + + + + +The Former Covenant To One, Makes Voyd The Later To Another + +A former Covenant, makes voyd a later. For a man that hath passed away +his Right to one man to day, hath it not to passe to morrow to another: +and therefore the later promise passeth no Right, but is null. + + + + +A Mans Covenant Not To Defend Himselfe, Is Voyd + +A Covenant not to defend my selfe from force, by force, is alwayes voyd. +For (as I have shewed before) no man can transferre, or lay down his +Right to save himselfe from Death, Wounds, and Imprisonment, (the +avoyding whereof is the onely End of laying down any Right,) +and therefore the promise of not resisting force, in no Covenant +transferreth any right; nor is obliging. For though a man may Covenant +thus, "Unlesse I do so, or so, kill me;" he cannot Covenant thus "Unless +I do so, or so, I will not resist you, when you come to kill me." For +man by nature chooseth the lesser evill, which is danger of death in +resisting; rather than the greater, which is certain and present death +in not resisting. And this is granted to be true by all men, in +that they lead Criminals to Execution, and Prison, with armed men, +notwithstanding that such Criminals have consented to the Law, by which +they are condemned. + + + + +No Man Obliged To Accuse Himselfe + +A Covenant to accuse ones Selfe, without assurance of pardon, is +likewise invalide. For in the condition of Nature, where every man is +Judge, there is no place for Accusation: and in the Civill State, the +Accusation is followed with Punishment; which being Force, a man is +not obliged not to resist. The same is also true, of the Accusation of +those, by whose Condemnation a man falls into misery; as of a Father, +Wife, or Benefactor. For the Testimony of such an Accuser, if it be not +willingly given, is praesumed to be corrupted by Nature; and therefore +not to be received: and where a mans Testimony is not to be credited, +his not bound to give it. Also Accusations upon Torture, are not to +be reputed as Testimonies. For Torture is to be used but as means of +conjecture, and light, in the further examination, and search of truth; +and what is in that case confessed, tendeth to the ease of him that is +Tortured; not to the informing of the Torturers: and therefore ought +not to have the credit of a sufficient Testimony: for whether he deliver +himselfe by true, or false Accusation, he does it by the Right of +preserving his own life. + + + + +The End Of An Oath; The Forme Of As Oath + +The force of Words, being (as I have formerly noted) too weak to hold +men to the performance of their Covenants; there are in mans nature, but +two imaginable helps to strengthen it. And those are either a Feare +of the consequence of breaking their word; or a Glory, or Pride in +appearing not to need to breake it. This later is a Generosity too +rarely found to be presumed on, especially in the pursuers of Wealth, +Command, or sensuall Pleasure; which are the greatest part of Mankind. +The Passion to be reckoned upon, is Fear; whereof there be two very +generall Objects: one, the Power of Spirits Invisible; the other, the +Power of those men they shall therein Offend. Of these two, though the +former be the greater Power, yet the feare of the later is commonly +the greater Feare. The Feare of the former is in every man, his own +Religion: which hath place in the nature of man before Civill Society. +The later hath not so; at least not place enough, to keep men to their +promises; because in the condition of meer Nature, the inequality of +Power is not discerned, but by the event of Battell. So that before the +time of Civill Society, or in the interruption thereof by Warre, there +is nothing can strengthen a Covenant of Peace agreed on, against the +temptations of Avarice, Ambition, Lust, or other strong desire, but the +feare of that Invisible Power, which they every one Worship as God; and +Feare as a Revenger of their perfidy. All therefore that can be done +between two men not subject to Civill Power, is to put one another +to swear by the God he feareth: Which Swearing or OATH, is a Forme Of +Speech, Added To A Promise; By Which He That Promiseth, Signifieth, That +Unlesse He Performe, He Renounceth The Mercy Of His God, Or Calleth To +Him For Vengeance On Himselfe. Such was the Heathen Forme, "Let Jupiter +kill me else, as I kill this Beast." So is our Forme, "I shall do thus, +and thus, so help me God." And this, with the Rites and Ceremonies, +which every one useth in his own Religion, that the feare of breaking +faith might be the greater. + + + + +No Oath, But By God + +By this it appears, that an Oath taken according to any other Forme, or +Rite, then his, that sweareth, is in vain; and no Oath: And there is no +Swearing by any thing which the Swearer thinks not God. For though men +have sometimes used to swear by their Kings, for feare, or flattery; yet +they would have it thereby understood, they attributed to them Divine +honour. And that Swearing unnecessarily by God, is but prophaning of his +name: and Swearing by other things, as men do in common discourse, is +not Swearing, but an impious Custome, gotten by too much vehemence of +talking. + + + + +An Oath Addes Nothing To The Obligation + +It appears also, that the Oath addes nothing to the Obligation. For a +Covenant, if lawfull, binds in the sight of God, without the Oath, +as much as with it; if unlawfull, bindeth not at all; though it be +confirmed with an Oath. + + + +CHAPTER XV. OF OTHER LAWES OF NATURE + + + + +The Third Law Of Nature, Justice + +From that law of Nature, by which we are obliged to transferre to +another, such Rights, as being retained, hinder the peace of Mankind, +there followeth a Third; which is this, That Men Performe Their +Covenants Made: without which, Covenants are in vain, and but Empty +words; and the Right of all men to all things remaining, wee are still +in the condition of Warre. + + + + +Justice And Injustice What + +And in this law of Nature, consisteth the Fountain and Originall of +JUSTICE. For where no Covenant hath preceded, there hath no Right been +transferred, and every man has right to every thing; and consequently, +no action can be Unjust. But when a Covenant is made, then to break it +is Unjust: And the definition of INJUSTICE, is no other than The Not +Performance Of Covenant. And whatsoever is not Unjust, is Just. + +Justice And Propriety Begin With The Constitution of Common-wealth +But because Covenants of mutuall trust, where there is a feare of not +performance on either part, (as hath been said in the former Chapter,) +are invalid; though the Originall of Justice be the making of Covenants; +yet Injustice actually there can be none, till the cause of such feare +be taken away; which while men are in the naturall condition of Warre, +cannot be done. Therefore before the names of Just, and Unjust can have +place, there must be some coercive Power, to compell men equally to +the performance of their Covenants, by the terrour of some punishment, +greater than the benefit they expect by the breach of their Covenant; +and to make good that Propriety, which by mutuall Contract men acquire, +in recompence of the universall Right they abandon: and such power there +is none before the erection of a Common-wealth. And this is also to be +gathered out of the ordinary definition of Justice in the Schooles: For +they say, that "Justice is the constant Will of giving to every man his +own." And therefore where there is no Own, that is, no Propriety, there +is no Injustice; and where there is no coerceive Power erected, that is, +where there is no Common-wealth, there is no Propriety; all men having +Right to all things: Therefore where there is no Common-wealth, there +nothing is Unjust. So that the nature of Justice, consisteth in keeping +of valid Covenants: but the Validity of Covenants begins not but with +the Constitution of a Civill Power, sufficient to compell men to keep +them: And then it is also that Propriety begins. + + + + +Justice Not Contrary To Reason + +The Foole hath sayd in his heart, there is no such thing as Justice; +and sometimes also with his tongue; seriously alleaging, that every mans +conservation, and contentment, being committed to his own care, there +could be no reason, why every man might not do what he thought conduced +thereunto; and therefore also to make, or not make; keep, or not keep +Covenants, was not against Reason, when it conduced to ones benefit. +He does not therein deny, that there be Covenants; and that they are +sometimes broken, sometimes kept; and that such breach of them may +be called Injustice, and the observance of them Justice: but he +questioneth, whether Injustice, taking away the feare of God, (for the +same Foole hath said in his heart there is no God,) may not sometimes +stand with that Reason, which dictateth to every man his own good; and +particularly then, when it conduceth to such a benefit, as shall put a +man in a condition, to neglect not onely the dispraise, and revilings, +but also the power of other men. The Kingdome of God is gotten by +violence; but what if it could be gotten by unjust violence? were it +against Reason so to get it, when it is impossible to receive hurt by +it? and if it be not against Reason, it is not against Justice; or else +Justice is not to be approved for good. From such reasoning as this, +Succesfull wickednesse hath obtained the Name of Vertue; and some that +in all other things have disallowed the violation of Faith; yet have +allowed it, when it is for the getting of a Kingdome. And the Heathen +that believed, that Saturn was deposed by his son Jupiter, believed +neverthelesse the same Jupiter to be the avenger of Injustice: Somewhat +like to a piece of Law in Cokes Commentaries on Litleton; where he +sayes, If the right Heire of the Crown be attainted of Treason; yet the +Crown shall descend to him, and Eo Instante the Atteynder be voyd; From +which instances a man will be very prone to inferre; that when the Heire +apparent of a Kingdome, shall kill him that is in possession, though his +father; you may call it Injustice, or by what other name you will; yet +it can never be against Reason, seeing all the voluntary actions of +men tend to the benefit of themselves; and those actions are most +Reasonable, that conduce most to their ends. This specious reasoning is +nevertheless false. + +For the question is not of promises mutuall, where there is no security +of performance on either side; as when there is no Civill Power erected +over the parties promising; for such promises are no Covenants: But +either where one of the parties has performed already; or where there +is a Power to make him performe; there is the question whether it be +against reason, that is, against the benefit of the other to performe, +or not. And I say it is not against reason. For the manifestation +whereof, we are to consider; First, that when a man doth a thing, which +notwithstanding any thing can be foreseen, and reckoned on, tendeth to +his own destruction, howsoever some accident which he could not expect, +arriving may turne it to his benefit; yet such events do not make it +reasonably or wisely done. Secondly, that in a condition of Warre, +wherein every man to every man, for want of a common Power to keep them +all in awe, is an Enemy, there is no man can hope by his own strength, +or wit, to defend himselfe from destruction, without the help +of Confederates; where every one expects the same defence by the +Confederation, that any one else does: and therefore he which declares +he thinks it reason to deceive those that help him, can in reason expect +no other means of safety, than what can be had from his own single +Power. He therefore that breaketh his Covenant, and consequently +declareth that he thinks he may with reason do so, cannot be received +into any Society, that unite themselves for Peace and defence, but +by the errour of them that receive him; nor when he is received, be +retayned in it, without seeing the danger of their errour; which errours +a man cannot reasonably reckon upon as the means of his security; and +therefore if he be left, or cast out of Society, he perisheth; and if he +live in Society, it is by the errours of other men, which he could not +foresee, nor reckon upon; and consequently against the reason of his +preservation; and so, as all men that contribute not to his destruction, +forbear him onely out of ignorance of what is good for themselves. + +As for the Instance of gaining the secure and perpetuall felicity of +Heaven, by any way; it is frivolous: there being but one way imaginable; +and that is not breaking, but keeping of Covenant. + +And for the other Instance of attaining Soveraignty by Rebellion; it is +manifest, that though the event follow, yet because it cannot reasonably +be expected, but rather the contrary; and because by gaining it so, +others are taught to gain the same in like manner, the attempt thereof +is against reason. Justice therefore, that is to say, Keeping of +Covenant, is a Rule of Reason, by which we are forbidden to do any thing +destructive to our life; and consequently a Law of Nature. + +There be some that proceed further; and will not have the Law of Nature, +to be those Rules which conduce to the preservation of mans life on +earth; but to the attaining of an eternall felicity after death; to +which they think the breach of Covenant may conduce; and consequently +be just and reasonable; (such are they that think it a work of merit +to kill, or depose, or rebell against, the Soveraigne Power constituted +over them by their own consent.) But because there is no naturall +knowledge of mans estate after death; much lesse of the reward that is +then to be given to breach of Faith; but onely a beliefe grounded upon +other mens saying, that they know it supernaturally, or that they know +those, that knew them, that knew others, that knew it supernaturally; +Breach of Faith cannot be called a Precept of Reason, or Nature. + + + + +Covenants Not Discharged By The Vice Of The Person To Whom Made + +Others, that allow for a Law of Nature, the keeping of Faith, do +neverthelesse make exception of certain persons; as Heretiques, and +such as use not to performe their Covenant to others: And this also is +against reason. For if any fault of a man, be sufficient to discharge +our Covenant made; the same ought in reason to have been sufficient to +have hindred the making of it. + + + + +Justice Of Men, And Justice Of Actions What + +The names of Just, and Unjust, when they are attributed to Men, signifie +one thing; and when they are attributed to Actions, another. When they +are attributed to Men, they signifie Conformity, or Inconformity of +Manners, to Reason. But when they are attributed to Actions, they +signifie the Conformity, or Inconformity to Reason, not of Manners, or +manner of life, but of particular Actions. A Just man therefore, is he +that taketh all the care he can, that his Actions may be all Just: and +an Unjust man, is he that neglecteth it. And such men are more often +in our Language stiled by the names of Righteous, and Unrighteous; then +Just, and Unjust; though the meaning be the same. Therefore a Righteous +man, does not lose that Title, by one, or a few unjust Actions, that +proceed from sudden Passion, or mistake of Things, or Persons: nor does +an Unrighteous man, lose his character, for such Actions, as he does, +of forbeares to do, for feare: because his Will is not framed by the +Justice, but by the apparant benefit of what he is to do. That which +gives to humane Actions the relish of Justice, is a certain Noblenesse +or Gallantnesse of courage, (rarely found,) by which a man scorns to +be beholding for the contentment of his life, to fraud, or breach of +promise. This Justice of the Manners, is that which is meant, where +Justice is called a Vertue; and Injustice a Vice. + +But the Justice of Actions denominates men, not Just, but Guiltlesse; +and the Injustice of the same, (which is also called Injury,) gives them +but the name of Guilty. + + + + +Justice Of Manners, And Justice Of Actions + +Again, the Injustice of Manners, is the disposition, or aptitude to +do Injurie; and is Injustice before it proceed to Act; and without +supposing any individuall person injured. But the Injustice of an +Action, (that is to say Injury,) supposeth an individuall person +Injured; namely him, to whom the Covenant was made: And therefore many +times the injury is received by one man, when the dammage redoundeth +to another. As when The Master commandeth his servant to give mony to a +stranger; if it be not done, the Injury is done to the Master, whom +he had before Covenanted to obey; but the dammage redoundeth to the +stranger, to whom he had no Obligation; and therefore could not Injure +him. And so also in Common-wealths, private men may remit to one another +their debts; but not robberies or other violences, whereby they are +endammaged; because the detaining of Debt, is an Injury to themselves; +but Robbery and Violence, are Injuries to the Person of the +Common-wealth. + + + + +Nothing Done To A Man, By His Own Consent Can Be Injury + +Whatsoever is done to a man, conformable to his own Will signified to +the doer, is no Injury to him. For if he that doeth it, hath not passed +away his originall right to do what he please, by some Antecedent +Covenant, there is no breach of Covenant; and therefore no Injury done +him. And if he have; then his Will to have it done being signified, is a +release of that Covenant; and so again there is no Injury done him. + + + + +Justice Commutative, And Distributive + +Justice of Actions, is by Writers divided into Commutative, and +Distributive; and the former they say consisteth in proportion +Arithmeticall; the later in proportion Geometricall. Commutative +therefore, they place in the equality of value of the things contracted +for; And Distributive, in the distribution of equall benefit, to men of +equall merit. As if it were Injustice to sell dearer than we buy; or to +give more to a man than he merits. The value of all things contracted +for, is measured by the Appetite of the Contractors: and therefore the +just value, is that which they be contented to give. And Merit (besides +that which is by Covenant, where the performance on one part, meriteth +the performance of the other part, and falls under Justice Commutative, +not Distributive,) is not due by Justice; but is rewarded of Grace +onely. And therefore this distinction, in the sense wherein it useth to +be expounded, is not right. To speak properly, Commutative Justice, +is the Justice of a Contractor; that is, a Performance of Covenant, +in Buying, and Selling; Hiring, and Letting to Hire; Lending, and +Borrowing; Exchanging, Bartering, and other acts of Contract. + +And Distributive Justice, the Justice of an Arbitrator; that is to say, +the act of defining what is Just. Wherein, (being trusted by them that +make him Arbitrator,) if he performe his Trust, he is said to distribute +to every man his own: and his is indeed Just Distribution, and may +be called (though improperly) Distributive Justice; but more properly +Equity; which also is a Law of Nature, as shall be shewn in due place. + + + + +The Fourth Law Of Nature, Gratitude + +As Justice dependeth on Antecedent Covenant; so does Gratitude depend +on Antecedent Grace; that is to say, Antecedent Free-gift: and is the +fourth Law of Nature; which may be conceived in this Forme, "That a man +which receiveth Benefit from another of meer Grace, Endeavour that he +which giveth it, have no reasonable cause to repent him of his good +will." For no man giveth, but with intention of Good to himselfe; +because Gift is Voluntary; and of all Voluntary Acts, the Object is to +every man his own Good; of which if men see they shall be frustrated, +there will be no beginning of benevolence, or trust; nor consequently of +mutuall help; nor of reconciliation of one man to another; and therefore +they are to remain still in the condition of War; which is contrary to +the first and Fundamentall Law of Nature, which commandeth men to Seek +Peace. The breach of this Law, is called Ingratitude; and hath the same +relation to Grace, that Injustice hath to Obligation by Covenant. + + + + +The Fifth, Mutuall accommodation, or Compleasance + +A fifth Law of Nature, is COMPLEASANCE; that is to say, "That every +man strive to accommodate himselfe to the rest." For the understanding +whereof, we may consider, that there is in mens aptnesse to Society; +a diversity of Nature, rising from their diversity of Affections; not +unlike to that we see in stones brought together for building of an +Aedifice. For as that stone which by the asperity, and irregularity of +Figure, takes more room from others, than it selfe fills; and for +the hardnesse, cannot be easily made plain, and thereby hindereth the +building, is by the builders cast away as unprofitable, and troublesome: +so also, a man that by asperity of Nature, will strive to retain those +things which to himselfe are superfluous, and to others necessary; and +for the stubbornness of his Passions, cannot be corrected, is to be +left, or cast out of Society, as combersome thereunto. For seeing every +man, not onely by Right, but also by necessity of Nature, is supposed +to endeavour all he can, to obtain that which is necessary for his +conservation; He that shall oppose himselfe against it, for things +superfluous, is guilty of the warre that thereupon is to follow; and +therefore doth that, which is contrary to the fundamentall Law of +Nature, which commandeth To Seek Peace. The observers of this Law, +may be called SOCIABLE, (the Latines call them Commodi;) The contrary, +Stubborn, Insociable, Froward, Intractable. + + + + +The Sixth, Facility To Pardon + +A sixth Law of Nature is this, "That upon caution of the Future time, +a man ought to pardon the offences past of them that repenting, desire +it." For PARDON, is nothing but granting of Peace; which though granted +to them that persevere in their hostility, be not Peace, but Feare; yet +not granted to them that give caution of the Future time, is signe of an +aversion to Peace; and therefore contrary to the Law of Nature. + + + + +The Seventh, That In Revenges, Men Respect Onely The Future Good + +A seventh is, " That in Revenges, (that is, retribution of evil for +evil,) Men look not at the greatnesse of the evill past, but the +greatnesse of the good to follow." Whereby we are forbidden to inflict +punishment with any other designe, than for correction of the offender, +or direction of others. For this Law is consequent to the next before +it, that commandeth Pardon, upon security of the Future Time. Besides, +Revenge without respect to the Example, and profit to come, is a +triumph, or glorying in the hurt of another, tending to no end; (for the +End is alwayes somewhat to Come;) and glorying to no end, is vain-glory, +and contrary to reason; and to hurt without reason, tendeth to the +introduction of Warre; which is against the Law of Nature; and is +commonly stiled by the name of Cruelty. + + + + +The Eighth, Against Contumely + +And because all signes of hatred, or contempt, provoke to fight; +insomuch as most men choose rather to hazard their life, than not to be +revenged; we may in the eighth place, for a Law of Nature set down this +Precept, "That no man by deed, word, countenance, or gesture, declare +Hatred, or Contempt of another." The breach of which Law, is commonly +called Contumely. + + + + +The Ninth, Against Pride + +The question who is the better man, has no place in the condition of +meer Nature; where, (as has been shewn before,) all men are equall. The +inequallity that now is, has been introduced by the Lawes civill. I know +that Aristotle in the first booke of his Politiques, for a foundation of +his doctrine, maketh men by Nature, some more worthy to Command, meaning +the wiser sort (such as he thought himselfe to be for his Philosophy;) +others to Serve, (meaning those that had strong bodies, but were not +Philosophers as he;) as if Master and Servant were not introduced by +consent of men, but by difference of Wit; which is not only against +reason; but also against experience. For there are very few so foolish, +that had not rather governe themselves, than be governed by others: +Nor when the wise in their own conceit, contend by force, with them who +distrust their owne wisdome, do they alwaies, or often, or almost at any +time, get the Victory. If Nature therefore have made men equall, that +equalitie is to be acknowledged; or if Nature have made men unequall; +yet because men that think themselves equall, will not enter into +conditions of Peace, but upon Equall termes, such equalitie must be +admitted. And therefore for the ninth Law of Nature, I put this, "That +every man acknowledge other for his Equall by Nature." The breach of +this Precept is Pride. + + + + +The Tenth Against Arrogance + +On this law, dependeth another, "That at the entrance into conditions of +Peace, no man require to reserve to himselfe any Right, which he is not +content should be reserved to every one of the rest." As it is necessary +for all men that seek peace, to lay down certaine Rights of Nature; that +is to say, not to have libertie to do all they list: so is it necessarie +for mans life, to retaine some; as right to governe their owne bodies; +enjoy aire, water, motion, waies to go from place to place; and all +things else without which a man cannot live, or not live well. If in +this case, at the making of Peace, men require for themselves, that +which they would not have to be granted to others, they do contrary +to the precedent law, that commandeth the acknowledgement of naturall +equalitie, and therefore also against the law of Nature. The observers +of this law, are those we call Modest, and the breakers Arrogant Men. +The Greeks call the violation of this law pleonexia; that is, a desire +of more than their share. + + + + +The Eleventh Equity + +Also "If a man be trusted to judge between man and man," it is a precept +of the Law of Nature, "that he deale Equally between them." For without +that, the Controversies of men cannot be determined but by Warre. +He therefore that is partiall in judgment, doth what in him lies, to +deterre men from the use of Judges, and Arbitrators; and consequently, +(against the fundamentall Lawe of Nature) is the cause of Warre. + +The observance of this law, from the equall distribution to each man, of +that which in reason belongeth to him, is called EQUITY, and (as I have +sayd before) distributive justice: the violation, Acception Of Persons, +Prosopolepsia. + + + + +The Twelfth, Equall Use Of Things Common + +And from this followeth another law, "That such things as cannot be +divided, be enjoyed in Common, if it can be; and if the quantity of the +thing permit, without Stint; otherwise Proportionably to the number of +them that have Right." For otherwise the distribution is Unequall, and +contrary to Equitie. + + + + +The Thirteenth, Of Lot + +But some things there be, that can neither be divided, nor enjoyed in +common. Then, The Law of Nature, which prescribeth Equity, requireth, +"That the Entire Right; or else, (making the use alternate,) the First +Possession, be determined by Lot." For equall distribution, is of +the Law of Nature; and other means of equall distribution cannot be +imagined. + + + + +The Fourteenth, Of Primogeniture, And First Seising + +Of Lots there be two sorts, Arbitrary, and Naturall. Arbitrary, is +that which is agreed on by the Competitors; Naturall, is either +Primogeniture, (which the Greek calls Kleronomia, which signifies, Given +by Lot;) or First Seisure. + +And therefore those things which cannot be enjoyed in common, nor +divided, ought to be adjudged to the First Possessor; and is some cases +to the First-Borne, as acquired by Lot. + + + + +The Fifteenth, Of Mediators + +It is also a Law of Nature, "That all men that mediate Peace, be allowed +safe Conduct." For the Law that commandeth Peace, as the End, commandeth +Intercession, as the Means; and to Intercession the Means is safe +Conduct. + + + + +The Sixteenth, Of Submission To Arbitrement + +And because, though men be never so willing to observe these Lawes, +there may neverthelesse arise questions concerning a mans action; First, +whether it were done, or not done; Secondly (if done) whether against +the Law, or not against the Law; the former whereof, is called a +question Of Fact; the later a question Of Right; therefore unlesse the +parties to the question, Covenant mutually to stand to the sentence +of another, they are as farre from Peace as ever. This other, to whose +Sentence they submit, is called an ARBITRATOR. And therefore it is of +the Law of Nature, "That they that are at controversie, submit their +Right to the judgement of an Arbitrator." + + + + +The Seventeenth, No Man Is His Own Judge + +And seeing every man is presumed to do all things in order to his own +benefit, no man is a fit Arbitrator in his own cause: and if he were +never so fit; yet Equity allowing to each party equall benefit, if one +be admitted to be Judge, the other is to be admitted also; & so the +controversie, that is, the cause of War, remains, against the Law of +Nature. + + + + +The Eighteenth, No Man To Be Judge, That Has In Him Cause Of Partiality + +For the same reason no man in any Cause ought to be received for +Arbitrator, to whom greater profit, or honour, or pleasure apparently +ariseth out of the victory of one party, than of the other: for he hath +taken (though an unavoydable bribe, yet) a bribe; and no man can be +obliged to trust him. And thus also the controversie, and the condition +of War remaineth, contrary to the Law of Nature. + + + + +The Nineteenth, Of Witnesse + +And in a controversie of Fact, the Judge being to give no more credit +to one, than to the other, (if there be no other Arguments) must give +credit to a third; or to a third and fourth; or more: For else the +question is undecided, and left to force, contrary to the Law of Nature. + +These are the Lawes of Nature, dictating Peace, for a means of the +conservation of men in multitudes; and which onely concern the doctrine +of Civill Society. There be other things tending to the destruction of +particular men; as Drunkenness, and all other parts of Intemperance; +which may therefore also be reckoned amongst those things which the Law +of Nature hath forbidden; but are not necessary to be mentioned, nor are +pertinent enough to this place. + + + + +A Rule, By Which The Laws Of Nature May Easily Be Examined + +And though this may seem too subtile a deduction of the Lawes of Nature, +to be taken notice of by all men; whereof the most part are too busie in +getting food, and the rest too negligent to understand; yet to leave +all men unexcusable, they have been contracted into one easie sum, +intelligible even to the meanest capacity; and that is, "Do not that to +another, which thou wouldest not have done to thy selfe;" which sheweth +him, that he has no more to do in learning the Lawes of Nature, but, +when weighing the actions of other men with his own, they seem too +heavy, to put them into the other part of the ballance, and his own into +their place, that his own passions, and selfe-love, may adde nothing to +the weight; and then there is none of these Lawes of Nature that will +not appear unto him very reasonable. + + + + +The Lawes Of Nature Oblige In Conscience Alwayes, + +But In Effect Then Onely When There Is Security The Lawes of Nature +oblige In Foro Interno; that is to say, they bind to a desire they +should take place: but In Foro Externo; that is, to the putting them +in act, not alwayes. For he that should be modest, and tractable, and +performe all he promises, in such time, and place, where no man els +should do so, should but make himselfe a prey to others, and procure his +own certain ruine, contrary to the ground of all Lawes of Nature, which +tend to Natures preservation. And again, he that shall observe the same +Lawes towards him, observes them not himselfe, seeketh not Peace, but +War; & consequently the destruction of his Nature by Violence. + +And whatsoever Lawes bind In Foro Interno, may be broken, not onely by +a fact contrary to the Law but also by a fact according to it, in case a +man think it contrary. For though his Action in this case, be according +to the Law; which where the Obligation is In Foro Interno, is a breach. + + + + +The Laws Of Nature Are Eternal; + +The Lawes of Nature are Immutable and Eternall, For Injustice, +Ingratitude, Arrogance, Pride, Iniquity, Acception of persons, and the +rest, can never be made lawfull. For it can never be that Warre shall +preserve life, and Peace destroy it. + + + + +And Yet Easie + +The same Lawes, because they oblige onely to a desire, and endeavour, I +mean an unfeigned and constant endeavour, are easie to be observed. For +in that they require nothing but endeavour; he that endeavoureth their +performance, fulfilleth them; and he that fulfilleth the Law, is Just. + + + + +The Science Of These Lawes, Is The True Morall Philosophy + +And the Science of them, is the true and onely Moral Philosophy. For +Morall Philosophy is nothing else but the Science of what is Good, and +Evill, in the conversation, and Society of mankind. Good, and Evill, +are names that signifie our Appetites, and Aversions; which in different +tempers, customes, and doctrines of men, are different: And divers men, +differ not onely in their Judgement, on the senses of what is pleasant, +and unpleasant to the tast, smell, hearing, touch, and sight; but also +of what is conformable, or disagreeable to Reason, in the actions of +common life. Nay, the same man, in divers times, differs from himselfe; +and one time praiseth, that is, calleth Good, what another time +he dispraiseth, and calleth Evil: From whence arise Disputes, +Controversies, and at last War. And therefore so long as man is in the +condition of meer Nature, (which is a condition of War,) as private +Appetite is the measure of Good, and Evill: and consequently all men +agree on this, that Peace is Good, and therefore also the way, or +means of Peace, which (as I have shewed before) are Justice, Gratitude, +Modesty, Equity, Mercy, & the rest of the Laws of Nature, are good; that +is to say, Morall Vertues; and their contrarie Vices, Evill. Now the +science of Vertue and Vice, is Morall Philosophie; and therfore the true +Doctrine of the Lawes of Nature, is the true Morall Philosophie. But the +Writers of Morall Philosophie, though they acknowledge the same Vertues +and Vices; Yet not seeing wherein consisted their Goodnesse; nor that +they come to be praised, as the meanes of peaceable, sociable, and +comfortable living; place them in a mediocrity of passions: as if not +the Cause, but the Degree of daring, made Fortitude; or not the Cause, +but the Quantity of a gift, made Liberality. + +These dictates of Reason, men use to call by the name of Lawes; but +improperly: for they are but Conclusions, or Theoremes concerning what +conduceth to the conservation and defence of themselves; whereas Law, +properly is the word of him, that by right hath command over others. But +yet if we consider the same Theoremes, as delivered in the word of +God, that by right commandeth all things; then are they properly called +Lawes. + + + +CHAPTER XVI. OF PERSONS, AUTHORS, AND THINGS PERSONATED + + + +A Person What + +A PERSON, is he "whose words or actions are considered, either as his +own, or as representing the words or actions of an other man, or of any +other thing to whom they are attributed, whether Truly or by Fiction." + + + + +Person Naturall, And Artificiall + +When they are considered as his owne, then is he called a Naturall +Person: And when they are considered as representing the words and +actions of an other, then is he a Feigned or Artificiall person. + + + + +The Word Person, Whence + +The word Person is latine: instead whereof the Greeks have Prosopon, +which signifies the Face, as Persona in latine signifies the Disguise, +or Outward Appearance of a man, counterfeited on the Stage; and somtimes +more particularly that part of it, which disguiseth the face, as a Mask +or Visard: And from the Stage, hath been translated to any Representer +of speech and action, as well in Tribunalls, as Theaters. So that a +Person, is the same that an Actor is, both on the Stage and in common +Conversation; and to Personate, is to Act, or Represent himselfe, or an +other; and he that acteth another, is said to beare his Person, or +act in his name; (in which sence Cicero useth it where he saies, "Unus +Sustineo Tres Personas; Mei, Adversarii, & Judicis, I beare three +Persons; my own, my Adversaries, and the Judges;") and is called in +diverse occasions, diversly; as a Representer, or Representative, a +Lieutenant, a Vicar, an Attorney, a Deputy, a Procurator, an Actor, and +the like. + + + + +Actor, Author; Authority + +Of Persons Artificiall, some have their words and actions Owned by +those whom they represent. And then the Person is the Actor; and he that +owneth his words and actions, is the AUTHOR: In which case the +Actor acteth by Authority. For that which in speaking of goods and +possessions, is called an Owner, and in latine Dominus, in Greeke +Kurios; speaking of Actions, is called Author. And as the Right of +possession, is called Dominion; so the Right of doing any Action, is +called AUTHORITY. So that by Authority, is alwayes understood a Right +of doing any act: and Done By Authority, done by Commission, or Licence +from him whose right it is. + + + + +Covenants By Authority, Bind The Author + +From hence it followeth, that when the Actor maketh a Covenant by +Authority, he bindeth thereby the Author, no lesse than if he had made +it himselfe; and no lesse subjecteth him to all the consequences of the +same. And therfore all that hath been said formerly, (Chap. 14) of the +nature of Covenants between man and man in their naturall capacity, +is true also when they are made by their Actors, Representers, or +Procurators, that have authority from them, so far-forth as is in their +Commission, but no farther. + +And therefore he that maketh a Covenant with the Actor, or Representer, +not knowing the Authority he hath, doth it at his own perill. For no man +is obliged by a Covenant, whereof he is not Author; nor consequently by +a Covenant made against, or beside the Authority he gave. + + + + +But Not The Actor + +When the Actor doth any thing against the Law of Nature by command of +the Author, if he be obliged by former Covenant to obey him, not he, but +the Author breaketh the Law of Nature: for though the Action be against +the Law of Nature; yet it is not his: but contrarily; to refuse to do +it, is against the Law of Nature, that forbiddeth breach of Covenant. + + + + +The Authority Is To Be Shewne + +And he that maketh a Covenant with the Author, by mediation of the +Actor, not knowing what Authority he hath, but onely takes his word; +in case such Authority be not made manifest unto him upon demand, is +no longer obliged: For the Covenant made with the Author, is not valid, +without his Counter-assurance. But if he that so Covenanteth, knew +before hand he was to expect no other assurance, than the Actors word; +then is the Covenant valid; because the Actor in this case maketh +himselfe the Author. And therefore, as when the Authority is evident, +the Covenant obligeth the Author, not the Actor; so when the Authority +is feigned, it obligeth the Actor onely; there being no Author but +himselfe. + + + + +Things Personated, Inanimate + +There are few things, that are uncapable of being represented by +Fiction. Inanimate things, as a Church, an Hospital, a Bridge, may +be Personated by a Rector, Master, or Overseer. But things Inanimate, +cannot be Authors, nor therefore give Authority to their Actors: Yet the +Actors may have Authority to procure their maintenance, given them by +those that are Owners, or Governours of those things. And therefore, +such things cannot be Personated, before there be some state of Civill +Government. + + + + +Irrational + +Likewise Children, Fooles, and Mad-men that have no use of Reason, may +be Personated by Guardians, or Curators; but can be no Authors (during +that time) of any action done by them, longer then (when they shall +recover the use of Reason) they shall judge the same reasonable. +Yet during the Folly, he that hath right of governing them, may give +Authority to the Guardian. But this again has no place but in a State +Civill, because before such estate, there is no Dominion of Persons. + + + + +False Gods + +An Idol, or meer Figment of the brain, may be Personated; as were the +Gods of the Heathen; which by such Officers as the State appointed, were +Personated, and held Possessions, and other Goods, and Rights, which men +from time to time dedicated, and consecrated unto them. But idols cannot +be Authors: for a Idol is nothing. The Authority proceeded from the +State: and therefore before introduction of Civill Government, the Gods +of the Heathen could not be Personated. + + + + +The True God + +The true God may be Personated. As he was; first, by Moses; who governed +the Israelites, (that were not his, but Gods people,) not in his own +name, with Hoc Dicit Moses; but in Gods Name, with Hoc Dicit Dominus. +Secondly, by the son of man, his own Son our Blessed Saviour Jesus +Christ, that came to reduce the Jewes, and induce all Nations into the +Kingdome of his Father; not as of himselfe, but as sent from his Father. +And thirdly, by the Holy Ghost, or Comforter, speaking, and working +in the Apostles: which Holy Ghost, was a Comforter that came not of +himselfe; but was sent, and proceeded from them both. + + + + +A Multitude Of Men, How One Person + +A Multitude of men, are made One Person, when they are by one man, or +one Person, Represented; so that it be done with the consent of +every one of that Multitude in particular. For it is the Unity of the +Representer, not the Unity of the Represented, that maketh the Person +One. And it is the Representer that beareth the Person, and but one +Person: And Unity, cannot otherwise be understood in Multitude. + + + + +Every One Is Author + +And because the Multitude naturally is not One, but Many; they cannot +be understood for one; but many Authors, of every thing their +Representative faith, or doth in their name; Every man giving their +common Representer, Authority from himselfe in particular; and owning +all the actions the Representer doth, in case they give him Authority +without stint: Otherwise, when they limit him in what, and how farre +he shall represent them, none of them owneth more, than they gave him +commission to Act. + + + + +An Actor May Be Many Men Made One By Plurality Of Voyces + +And if the Representative consist of many men, the voyce of the greater +number, must be considered as the voyce of them all. For if the lesser +number pronounce (for example) in the Affirmative, and the greater in +the Negative, there will be Negatives more than enough to destroy +the Affirmatives; and thereby the excesse of Negatives, standing +uncontradicted, are the onely voyce the Representative hath. + + + + +Representatives, When The Number Is Even, Unprofitable + +And a Representative of even number, especially when the number is +not great, whereby the contradictory voyces are oftentimes equall, is +therefore oftentimes mute, and uncapable of Action. Yet in some cases +contradictory voyces equall in number, may determine a question; as in +condemning, or absolving, equality of votes, even in that they condemne +not, do absolve; but not on the contrary condemne, in that they absolve +not. For when a Cause is heard; not to condemne, is to absolve; but on +the contrary, to say that not absolving, is condemning, is not true. The +like it is in a deliberation of executing presently, or deferring +till another time; For when the voyces are equall, the not decreeing +Execution, is a decree of Dilation. + + + + +Negative Voyce + +Or if the number be odde, as three, or more, (men, or assemblies;) +whereof every one has by a Negative Voice, authority to take away the +effect of all the Affirmative Voices of the rest, This number is no +Representative; because by the diversity of Opinions, and Interests of +men, it becomes oftentimes, and in cases of the greatest consequence, a +mute Person, and unapt, as for may things else, so for the government of +a Multitude, especially in time of Warre. + +Of Authors there be two sorts. The first simply so called; which I have +before defined to be him, that owneth the Action of another simply. +The second is he, that owneth an Action, or Covenant of another +conditionally; that is to say, he undertaketh to do it, if the +other doth it not, at, or before a certain time. And these Authors +conditionall, are generally called SURETYES, in Latine Fidejussores, and +Sponsores; and particularly for Debt, Praedes; and for Appearance before +a Judge, or Magistrate, Vades. + + + + + +PART II. +OF COMMON-WEALTH + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. OF THE CAUSES, GENERATION, AND DEFINITION OF A +COMMON-WEALTH + + + + +The End Of Common-wealth, Particular Security + +The finall Cause, End, or Designe of men, (who naturally love Liberty, +and Dominion over others,) in the introduction of that restraint upon +themselves, (in which wee see them live in Common-wealths,) is the +foresight of their own preservation, and of a more contented life +thereby; that is to say, of getting themselves out from that miserable +condition of Warre, which is necessarily consequent (as hath been shewn) +to the naturall Passions of men, when there is no visible Power to keep +them in awe, and tye them by feare of punishment to the performance of +their Covenants, and observation of these Lawes of Nature set down in +the fourteenth and fifteenth Chapters. + + + + +Which Is Not To Be Had From The Law Of Nature: + +For the Lawes of Nature (as Justice, Equity, Modesty, Mercy, and (in +summe) Doing To Others, As Wee Would Be Done To,) if themselves, without +the terrour of some Power, to cause them to be observed, are contrary to +our naturall Passions, that carry us to Partiality, Pride, Revenge, and +the like. And Covenants, without the Sword, are but Words, and of no +strength to secure a man at all. Therefore notwithstanding the Lawes of +Nature, (which every one hath then kept, when he has the will to keep +them, when he can do it safely,) if there be no Power erected, or not +great enough for our security; every man will and may lawfully rely on +his own strength and art, for caution against all other men. And in all +places, where men have lived by small Families, to robbe and spoyle one +another, has been a Trade, and so farre from being reputed against the +Law of Nature, that the greater spoyles they gained, the greater was +their honour; and men observed no other Lawes therein, but the Lawes of +Honour; that is, to abstain from cruelty, leaving to men their lives, +and instruments of husbandry. And as small Familyes did then; so now +do Cities and Kingdomes which are but greater Families (for their own +security) enlarge their Dominions, upon all pretences of danger, and +fear of Invasion, or assistance that may be given to Invaders, endeavour +as much as they can, to subdue, or weaken their neighbours, by open +force, and secret arts, for want of other Caution, justly; and are +remembred for it in after ages with honour. + + + + +Nor From The Conjunction Of A Few Men Or Familyes + +Nor is it the joyning together of a small number of men, that gives them +this security; because in small numbers, small additions on the one side +or the other, make the advantage of strength so great, as is sufficient +to carry the Victory; and therefore gives encouragement to an Invasion. +The Multitude sufficient to confide in for our Security, is not +determined by any certain number, but by comparison with the Enemy we +feare; and is then sufficient, when the odds of the Enemy is not of so +visible and conspicuous moment, to determine the event of warre, as to +move him to attempt. + + + + +Nor From A Great Multitude, Unlesse Directed By One Judgement + +And be there never so great a Multitude; yet if their actions be +directed according to their particular judgements, and particular +appetites, they can expect thereby no defence, nor protection, neither +against a Common enemy, nor against the injuries of one another. For +being distracted in opinions concerning the best use and application +of their strength, they do not help, but hinder one another; and reduce +their strength by mutuall opposition to nothing: whereby they are +easily, not onely subdued by a very few that agree together; but also +when there is no common enemy, they make warre upon each other, for +their particular interests. For if we could suppose a great Multitude of +men to consent in the observation of Justice, and other Lawes of Nature, +without a common Power to keep them all in awe; we might as well suppose +all Man-kind to do the same; and then there neither would be nor need to +be any Civill Government, or Common-wealth at all; because there would +be Peace without subjection. + + + + +And That Continually + +Nor is it enough for the security, which men desire should last all +the time of their life, that they be governed, and directed by one +judgement, for a limited time; as in one Battell, or one Warre. For +though they obtain a Victory by their unanimous endeavour against a +forraign enemy; yet afterwards, when either they have no common enemy, +or he that by one part is held for an enemy, is by another part held for +a friend, they must needs by the difference of their interests dissolve, +and fall again into a Warre amongst themselves. + + + + +Why Certain Creatures Without Reason, Or Speech, + + + + +Do Neverthelesse Live In Society, Without Any Coercive Power + +It is true, that certain living creatures, as Bees, and Ants, live +sociably one with another, (which are therefore by Aristotle numbred +amongst Politicall creatures;) and yet have no other direction, than +their particular judgements and appetites; nor speech, whereby one of +them can signifie to another, what he thinks expedient for the common +benefit: and therefore some man may perhaps desire to know, why Man-kind +cannot do the same. To which I answer, + +First, that men are continually in competition for Honour and Dignity, +which these creatures are not; and consequently amongst men there +ariseth on that ground, Envy and Hatred, and finally Warre; but amongst +these not so. + +Secondly, that amongst these creatures, the Common good differeth not +from the Private; and being by nature enclined to their private, they +procure thereby the common benefit. But man, whose Joy consisteth +in comparing himselfe with other men, can relish nothing but what is +eminent. + +Thirdly, that these creatures, having not (as man) the use of reason, +do not see, nor think they see any fault, in the administration of their +common businesse: whereas amongst men, there are very many, that thinke +themselves wiser, and abler to govern the Publique, better than the +rest; and these strive to reforme and innovate, one this way, another +that way; and thereby bring it into Distraction and Civill warre. + +Fourthly, that these creatures, though they have some use of voice, in +making knowne to one another their desires, and other affections; yet +they want that art of words, by which some men can represent to others, +that which is Good, in the likenesse of Evill; and Evill, in the +likenesse of Good; and augment, or diminish the apparent greatnesse of +Good and Evill; discontenting men, and troubling their Peace at their +pleasure. + +Fiftly, irrationall creatures cannot distinguish betweene Injury, and +Dammage; and therefore as long as they be at ease, they are not offended +with their fellowes: whereas Man is then most troublesome, when he is +most at ease: for then it is that he loves to shew his Wisdome, and +controule the Actions of them that governe the Common-wealth. + +Lastly, the agreement of these creatures is Naturall; that of men, is +by Covenant only, which is Artificiall: and therefore it is no wonder +if there be somewhat else required (besides Covenant) to make their +Agreement constant and lasting; which is a Common Power, to keep them in +awe, and to direct their actions to the Common Benefit. + + + + +The Generation Of A Common-wealth + +The only way to erect such a Common Power, as may be able to defend them +from the invasion of Forraigners, and the injuries of one another, and +thereby to secure them in such sort, as that by their owne industrie, +and by the fruites of the Earth, they may nourish themselves and live +contentedly; is, to conferre all their power and strength upon one +Man, or upon one Assembly of men, that may reduce all their Wills, +by plurality of voices, unto one Will: which is as much as to say, to +appoint one man, or Assembly of men, to beare their Person; and every +one to owne, and acknowledge himselfe to be Author of whatsoever he +that so beareth their Person, shall Act, or cause to be Acted, in those +things which concerne the Common Peace and Safetie; and therein to +submit their Wills, every one to his Will, and their Judgements, to his +Judgment. This is more than Consent, or Concord; it is a reall Unitie of +them all, in one and the same Person, made by Covenant of every man with +every man, in such manner, as if every man should say to every man, "I +Authorise and give up my Right of Governing my selfe, to this Man, or to +this Assembly of men, on this condition, that thou give up thy Right +to him, and Authorise all his Actions in like manner." This done, the +Multitude so united in one Person, is called a COMMON-WEALTH, in latine +CIVITAS. This is the Generation of that great LEVIATHAN, or rather (to +speake more reverently) of that Mortall God, to which wee owe under the +Immortall God, our peace and defence. For by this Authoritie, given him +by every particular man in the Common-Wealth, he hath the use of so +much Power and Strength conferred on him, that by terror thereof, he is +inabled to forme the wills of them all, to Peace at home, and mutuall +ayd against their enemies abroad. + + + + +The Definition Of A Common-wealth + +And in him consisteth the Essence of the Common-wealth; which (to +define it,) is "One Person, of whose Acts a great Multitude, by mutuall +Covenants one with another, have made themselves every one the Author, +to the end he may use the strength and means of them all, as he shall +think expedient, for their Peace and Common Defence." + + + + +Soveraigne, And Subject, What + +And he that carryeth this Person, as called SOVERAIGNE, and said to have +Soveraigne Power; and every one besides, his SUBJECT. + +The attaining to this Soveraigne Power, is by two wayes. One, by +Naturall force; as when a man maketh his children, to submit themselves, +and their children to his government, as being able to destroy them if +they refuse, or by Warre subdueth his enemies to his will, giving them +their lives on that condition. The other, is when men agree amongst +themselves, to submit to some Man, or Assembly of men, voluntarily, on +confidence to be protected by him against all others. This later, may be +called a Politicall Common-wealth, or Common-wealth by Institution; and +the former, a Common-wealth by Acquisition. And first, I shall speak of +a Common-wealth by Institution. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. OF THE RIGHTS OF SOVERAIGNES BY INSTITUTION + + + + +The Act Of Instituting A Common-wealth, What + +A Common-wealth is said to be Instituted, when a Multitude of men do +Agree, and Covenant, Every One With Every One, that to whatsoever Man, +or Assembly Of Men, shall be given by the major part, the Right +to Present the Person of them all, (that is to say, to be their +Representative;) every one, as well he that Voted For It, as he that +Voted Against It, shall Authorise all the Actions and Judgements, of +that Man, or Assembly of men, in the same manner, as if they were his +own, to the end, to live peaceably amongst themselves, and be protected +against other men. + + + + +The Consequences To Such Institution, Are + + + + +1. The Subjects Cannot Change The Forme Of Government + + + + +From this Institution of a Common-wealth are derived all the Rights, and +Facultyes of him, or them, on whom the Soveraigne Power is conferred by +the consent of the People assembled. + +First, because they Covenant, it is to be understood, they are not +obliged by former Covenant to any thing repugnant hereunto. And +Consequently they that have already Instituted a Common-wealth, being +thereby bound by Covenant, to own the Actions, and Judgements of one, +cannot lawfully make a new Covenant, amongst themselves, to be obedient +to any other, in any thing whatsoever, without his permission. And +therefore, they that are subjects to a Monarch, cannot without his leave +cast off Monarchy, and return to the confusion of a disunited Multitude; +nor transferre their Person from him that beareth it, to another Man, +or other Assembly of men: for they are bound, every man to every man, +to Own, and be reputed Author of all, that he that already is their +Soveraigne, shall do, and judge fit to be done: so that any one man +dissenting, all the rest should break their Covenant made to that man, +which is injustice: and they have also every man given the Soveraignty +to him that beareth their Person; and therefore if they depose him, +they take from him that which is his own, and so again it is injustice. +Besides, if he that attempteth to depose his Soveraign, be killed, or +punished by him for such attempt, he is author of his own punishment, +as being by the Institution, Author of all his Soveraign shall do: And +because it is injustice for a man to do any thing, for which he may be +punished by his own authority, he is also upon that title, unjust. +And whereas some men have pretended for their disobedience to their +Soveraign, a new Covenant, made, not with men, but with God; this also +is unjust: for there is no Covenant with God, but by mediation of some +body that representeth Gods Person; which none doth but Gods Lieutenant, +who hath the Soveraignty under God. But this pretence of Covenant with +God, is so evident a lye, even in the pretenders own consciences, that +it is not onely an act of an unjust, but also of a vile, and unmanly +disposition. + + + + +2. Soveraigne Power Cannot Be Forfeited + +Secondly, Because the Right of bearing the Person of them all, is given +to him they make Soveraigne, by Covenant onely of one to another, and +not of him to any of them; there can happen no breach of Covenant on the +part of the Soveraigne; and consequently none of his Subjects, by any +pretence of forfeiture, can be freed from his Subjection. That he which +is made Soveraigne maketh no Covenant with his Subjects beforehand, is +manifest; because either he must make it with the whole multitude, as +one party to the Covenant; or he must make a severall Covenant with +every man. With the whole, as one party, it is impossible; because as +yet they are not one Person: and if he make so many severall Covenants +as there be men, those Covenants after he hath the Soveraignty are voyd, +because what act soever can be pretended by any one of them for breach +thereof, is the act both of himselfe, and of all the rest, because done +in the Person, and by the Right of every one of them in particular. +Besides, if any one, or more of them, pretend a breach of the Covenant +made by the Soveraigne at his Institution; and others, or one other of +his Subjects, or himselfe alone, pretend there was no such breach, +there is in this case, no Judge to decide the controversie: it returns +therefore to the Sword again; and every man recovereth the right of +Protecting himselfe by his own strength, contrary to the designe they +had in the Institution. It is therefore in vain to grant Soveraignty by +way of precedent Covenant. The opinion that any Monarch receiveth his +Power by Covenant, that is to say on Condition, proceedeth from want +of understanding this easie truth, that Covenants being but words, and +breath, have no force to oblige, contain, constrain, or protect any man, +but what it has from the publique Sword; that is, from the untyed hands +of that Man, or Assembly of men that hath the Soveraignty, and whose +actions are avouched by them all, and performed by the strength of them +all, in him united. But when an Assembly of men is made Soveraigne; then +no man imagineth any such Covenant to have past in the Institution; for +no man is so dull as to say, for example, the People of Rome, made +a Covenant with the Romans, to hold the Soveraignty on such or such +conditions; which not performed, the Romans might lawfully depose the +Roman People. That men see not the reason to be alike in a Monarchy, and +in a Popular Government, proceedeth from the ambition of some, that +are kinder to the government of an Assembly, whereof they may hope to +participate, than of Monarchy, which they despair to enjoy. + + + + +3. No Man Can Without Injustice Protest Against The Institution Of The +Soveraigne Declared By The Major Part. + +Thirdly, because the major part hath by consenting voices declared a +Soveraigne; he that dissented must now consent with the rest; that is, +be contented to avow all the actions he shall do, or else justly be +destroyed by the rest. For if he voluntarily entered into the +Congregation of them that were assembled, he sufficiently declared +thereby his will (and therefore tacitely covenanted) to stand to what +the major part should ordayne: and therefore if he refuse to stand +thereto, or make Protestation against any of their Decrees, he does +contrary to his Covenant, and therfore unjustly. And whether he be of +the Congregation, or not; and whether his consent be asked, or not, he +must either submit to their decrees, or be left in the condition of +warre he was in before; wherein he might without injustice be destroyed +by any man whatsoever. + + + + +4. The Soveraigns Actions Cannot Be Justly Accused By The Subject + +Fourthly, because every Subject is by this Institution Author of all the +Actions, and Judgements of the Soveraigne Instituted; it followes, that +whatsoever he doth, it can be no injury to any of his Subjects; nor +ought he to be by any of them accused of Injustice. For he that doth any +thing by authority from another, doth therein no injury to him by whose +authority he acteth: But by this Institution of a Common-wealth, every +particular man is Author of all the Soveraigne doth; and consequently +he that complaineth of injury from his Soveraigne, complaineth of that +whereof he himselfe is Author; and therefore ought not to accuse any man +but himselfe; no nor himselfe of injury; because to do injury to ones +selfe, is impossible. It is true that they that have Soveraigne +power, may commit Iniquity; but not Injustice, or Injury in the proper +signification. + + + + +5. What Soever The Soveraigne Doth, Is Unpunishable By The Subject + +Fiftly, and consequently to that which was sayd last, no man that hath +Soveraigne power can justly be put to death, or otherwise in any manner +by his Subjects punished. For seeing every Subject is author of the +actions of his Soveraigne; he punisheth another, for the actions +committed by himselfe. + + + + +6. The Soveraigne Is Judge Of What Is Necessary For The Peace And +Defence Of His Subjects + +And because the End of this Institution, is the Peace and Defence of +them all; and whosoever has right to the End, has right to the Means; +it belongeth of Right, to whatsoever Man, or Assembly that hath the +Soveraignty, to be Judge both of the meanes of Peace and Defence; +and also of the hindrances, and disturbances of the same; and to do +whatsoever he shall think necessary to be done, both beforehand, for the +preserving of Peace and Security, by prevention of discord at home and +Hostility from abroad; and, when Peace and Security are lost, for the +recovery of the same. And therefore, + + + + +And Judge Of What Doctrines Are Fit To Be Taught Them + +Sixtly, it is annexed to the Soveraignty, to be Judge of what Opinions +and Doctrines are averse, and what conducing to Peace; and consequently, +on what occasions, how farre, and what, men are to be trusted withall, +in speaking to Multitudes of people; and who shall examine the Doctrines +of all bookes before they be published. For the Actions of men proceed +from their Opinions; and in the wel governing of Opinions, consisteth +the well governing of mens Actions, in order to their Peace, and +Concord. And though in matter of Doctrine, nothing ought to be regarded +but the Truth; yet this is not repugnant to regulating of the same by +Peace. For Doctrine Repugnant to Peace, can no more be True, than Peace +and Concord can be against the Law of Nature. It is true, that in +a Common-wealth, where by the negligence, or unskilfullnesse of +Governours, and Teachers, false Doctrines are by time generally +received; the contrary Truths may be generally offensive; Yet the most +sudden, and rough busling in of a new Truth, that can be, does never +breake the Peace, but onely somtimes awake the Warre. For those men that +are so remissely governed, that they dare take up Armes, to defend, or +introduce an Opinion, are still in Warre; and their condition not Peace, +but only a Cessation of Armes for feare of one another; and they live +as it were, in the procincts of battaile continually. It belongeth +therefore to him that hath the Soveraign Power, to be Judge, or +constitute all Judges of Opinions and Doctrines, as a thing necessary to +Peace, thereby to prevent Discord and Civill Warre. + + + + +7. The Right of making Rules, whereby the Subject may every man know +what is so his owne, as no other Subject can without injustice take it +from him + +Seventhly, is annexed to the Soveraigntie, the whole power of +prescribing the Rules, whereby every man may know, what Goods he may +enjoy and what Actions he may doe, without being molested by any of +his fellow Subjects: And this is it men Call Propriety. For before +constitution of Soveraign Power (as hath already been shewn) all men had +right to all things; which necessarily causeth Warre: and therefore this +Proprietie, being necessary to Peace, and depending on Soveraign Power, +is the Act of the Power, in order to the publique peace. These Rules of +Propriety (or Meum and Tuum) and of Good, Evill, Lawfull and Unlawfull +in the actions of subjects, are the Civill Lawes, that is to say, the +lawes of each Commonwealth in particular; though the name of Civill Law +be now restrained to the antient Civill Lawes of the City of Rome; which +being the head of a great part of the World, her Lawes at that time were +in these parts the Civill Law. + + + + +8. To Him Also Belongeth The Right Of All Judicature And Decision Of +Controversies: + +Eightly, is annexed to the Soveraigntie, the Right of Judicature; that +is to say, of hearing and deciding all Controversies, which may arise +concerning Law, either Civill, or naturall, or concerning Fact. For +without the decision of Controversies, there is no protection of one +Subject, against the injuries of another; the Lawes concerning Meum and +Tuum are in vaine; and to every man remaineth, from the naturall and +necessary appetite of his own conservation, the right of protecting +himselfe by his private strength, which is the condition of Warre; and +contrary to the end for which every Common-wealth is instituted. + + + + +9. And Of Making War, And Peace, As He Shall Think Best: + +Ninthly, is annexed to the Soveraignty, the Right of making Warre, and +Peace with other Nations, and Common-wealths; that is to say, of +Judging when it is for the publique good, and how great forces are to +be assembled, armed, and payd for that end; and to levy mony upon the +Subjects, to defray the expenses thereof. For the Power by which the +people are to be defended, consisteth in their Armies; and the strength +of an Army, in the union of their strength under one Command; which +Command the Soveraign Instituted, therefore hath; because the command +of the Militia, without other Institution, maketh him that hath it +Soveraign. And therefore whosoever is made Generall of an Army, he that +hath the Soveraign Power is alwayes Generallissimo. + + + + +10. And Of Choosing All Counsellours, And Ministers, Both Of Peace, And +Warre: + +Tenthly, is annexed to the Soveraignty, the choosing of all +Councellours, Ministers, Magistrates, and Officers, both in peace, and +War. For seeing the Soveraign is charged with the End, which is the +common Peace and Defence; he is understood to have Power to use such +Means, as he shall think most fit for his discharge. + + + + +11. And Of Rewarding, And Punishing, And That (Where No +Former Law hath Determined The Measure Of It) Arbitrary: + +Eleventhly, to the Soveraign is committed the Power of Rewarding +with riches, or honour; and of Punishing with corporall, or pecuniary +punishment, or with ignominy every Subject according to the Lawe he hath +formerly made; or if there be no Law made, according as he shall judge +most to conduce to the encouraging of men to serve the Common-wealth, or +deterring of them from doing dis-service to the same. + + + + +12. And Of Honour And Order + +Lastly, considering what values men are naturally apt to set upon +themselves; what respect they look for from others; and how little they +value other men; from whence continually arise amongst them, Emulation, +Quarrells, Factions, and at last Warre, to the destroying of one +another, and diminution of their strength against a Common Enemy; It +is necessary that there be Lawes of Honour, and a publique rate of the +worth of such men as have deserved, or are able to deserve well of the +Common-wealth; and that there be force in the hands of some or other, to +put those Lawes in execution. But it hath already been shown, that not +onely the whole Militia, or forces of the Common-wealth; but also the +Judicature of all Controversies, is annexed to the Soveraignty. To the +Soveraign therefore it belongeth also to give titles of Honour; and to +appoint what Order of place, and dignity, each man shall hold; and what +signes of respect, in publique or private meetings, they shall give to +one another. + + + + +These Rights Are Indivisible + +These are the Rights, which make the Essence of Soveraignty; and which +are the markes, whereby a man may discern in what Man, or Assembly +of men, the Soveraign Power is placed, and resideth. For these are +incommunicable, and inseparable. The Power to coyn Mony; to dispose of +the estate and persons of Infant heires; to have praeemption in +Markets; and all other Statute Praerogatives, may be transferred by the +Soveraign; and yet the Power to protect his Subject be retained. But if +he transferre the Militia, he retains the Judicature in vain, for want +of execution of the Lawes; Or if he grant away the Power of raising +Mony; the Militia is in vain: or if he give away the government of +doctrines, men will be frighted into rebellion with the feare of +Spirits. And so if we consider any one of the said Rights, we shall +presently see, that the holding of all the rest, will produce no +effect, in the conservation of Peace and Justice, the end for which all +Common-wealths are Instituted. And this division is it, whereof it is +said, "A kingdome divided in it selfe cannot stand:" For unlesse this +division precede, division into opposite Armies can never happen. If +there had not first been an opinion received of the greatest part of +England, that these Powers were divided between the King, and the Lords, +and the House of Commons, the people had never been divided, and +fallen into this Civill Warre; first between those that disagreed +in Politiques; and after between the Dissenters about the liberty of +Religion; which have so instructed men in this point of Soveraign Right, +that there be few now (in England,) that do not see, that these Rights +are inseparable, and will be so generally acknowledged, at the next +return of Peace; and so continue, till their miseries are forgotten; and +no longer, except the vulgar be better taught than they have hetherto +been. + + + + +And Can By No Grant Passe Away Without Direct Renouncing Of The +Soveraign Power + +And because they are essentiall and inseparable Rights, it follows +necessarily, that in whatsoever, words any of them seem to be granted +away, yet if the Soveraign Power it selfe be not in direct termes +renounced, and the name of Soveraign no more given by the Grantees to +him that Grants them, the Grant is voyd: for when he has granted all he +can, if we grant back the Soveraignty, all is restored, as inseparably +annexed thereunto. + + + + +The Power And Honour Of Subjects Vanisheth In The Presence Of The Power +Soveraign + +This great Authority being indivisible, and inseparably annexed to the +Soveraignty, there is little ground for the opinion of them, that say of +Soveraign Kings, though they be Singulis Majores, of greater Power than +every one of their Subjects, yet they be Universis Minores, of lesse +power than them all together. For if by All Together, they mean not +the collective body as one person, then All Together, and Every One, +signifie the same; and the speech is absurd. But if by All Together, +they understand them as one Person (which person the Soveraign bears,) +then the power of all together, is the same with the Soveraigns power; +and so again the speech is absurd; which absurdity they see well enough, +when the Soveraignty is in an Assembly of the people; but in a Monarch +they see it not; and yet the power of Soveraignty is the same in +whomsoever it be placed. + +And as the Power, so also the Honour of the Soveraign, ought to be +greater, than that of any, or all the Subjects. For in the Soveraignty +is the fountain of Honour. The dignities of Lord, Earle, Duke, and +Prince are his Creatures. As in the presence of the Master, the Servants +are equall, and without any honour at all; So are the Subjects, in the +presence of the Soveraign. And though they shine some more, some lesse, +when they are out of his sight; yet in his presence, they shine no more +than the Starres in presence of the Sun. + + + + +Soveraigne Power Not Hurtfull As The Want Of It, And The Hurt Proceeds +For The Greatest Part From Not Submitting Readily, To A Lesse + +But a man may here object, that the Condition of Subjects is very +miserable; as being obnoxious to the lusts, and other irregular passions +of him, or them that have so unlimited a Power in their hands. And +commonly they that live under a Monarch, think it the fault of Monarchy; +and they that live under the government of Democracy, or other +Soveraign Assembly, attribute all the inconvenience to that forme of +Common-wealth; whereas the Power in all formes, if they be perfect +enough to protect them, is the same; not considering that the estate +of Man can never be without some incommodity or other; and that the +greatest, that in any forme of Government can possibly happen to the +people in generall, is scarce sensible, in respect of the miseries, and +horrible calamities, that accompany a Civill Warre; or that dissolute +condition of masterlesse men, without subjection to Lawes, and a +coercive Power to tye their hands from rapine, and revenge: nor +considering that the greatest pressure of Soveraign Governours, +proceedeth not from any delight, or profit they can expect in the +dammage, or weakening of their subjects, in whose vigor, consisteth +their own selves, that unwillingly contributing to their own defence, +make it necessary for their Governours to draw from them what they can +in time of Peace, that they may have means on any emergent occasion, or +sudden need, to resist, or take advantage on their Enemies. For all men +are by nature provided of notable multiplying glasses, (that is their +Passions and Self-love,) through which, every little payment appeareth a +great grievance; but are destitute of those prospective glasses, (namely +Morall and Civill Science,) to see a farre off the miseries that hang +over them, and cannot without such payments be avoyded. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. OF THE SEVERALL KINDS OF COMMON-WEALTH BY INSTITUTION, +AND OF SUCCESSION TO THE SOVERAIGNE POWER + + + + +The Different Formes Of Common-wealths But Three + +The difference of Common-wealths, consisteth in the difference of the +Soveraign, or the Person representative of all and every one of the +Multitude. And because the Soveraignty is either in one Man, or in an +Assembly of more than one; and into that Assembly either Every man hath +right to enter, or not every one, but Certain men distinguished from the +rest; it is manifest, there can be but Three kinds of Common-wealth. For +the Representative must needs be One man, or More: and if more, then it +is the Assembly of All, or but of a Part. When the Representative is One +man, then is the Common-wealth a MONARCHY: when an Assembly of All that +will come together, then it is a DEMOCRACY, or Popular Common-wealth: +when an Assembly of a Part onely, then it is called an ARISTOCRACY. +Other kind of Common-wealth there can be none: for either One, or +More, or All must have the Soveraign Power (which I have shewn to be +indivisible) entire. + + + + +Tyranny And Oligarchy, But Different Names Of Monarchy, And Aristocracy + +There be other names of Government, in the Histories, and books of +Policy; as Tyranny, and Oligarchy: But they are not the names of other +Formes of Government, but of the same Formes misliked. For they that +are discontented under Monarchy, call it Tyranny; and they that are +displeased with Aristocracy, called it Oligarchy: so also, they which +find themselves grieved under a Democracy, call it Anarchy, (which +signifies want of Government;) and yet I think no man believes, that +want of Government, is any new kind of Government: nor by the same +reason ought they to believe, that the Government is of one kind, when +they like it, and another, when they mislike it, or are oppressed by the +Governours. + + + + +Subordinate Representatives Dangerous + +It is manifest, that men who are in absolute liberty, may, if they +please, give Authority to One Man, to represent them every one; as +well as give such Authority to any Assembly of men whatsoever; and +consequently may subject themselves, if they think good, to a Monarch, +as absolutely, as to any other Representative. Therefore, where there is +already erected a Soveraign Power, there can be no other Representative +of the same people, but onely to certain particular ends, by the +Soveraign limited. For that were to erect two Soveraigns; and every +man to have his person represented by two Actors, that by opposing one +another, must needs divide that Power, which (if men will live in Peace) +is indivisible, and thereby reduce the Multitude into the condition of +Warre, contrary to the end for which all Soveraignty is instituted. And +therefore as it is absurd, to think that a Soveraign Assembly, inviting +the People of their Dominion, to send up their Deputies, with power +to make known their Advise, or Desires, should therefore hold such +Deputies, rather than themselves, for the absolute Representative of +the people: so it is absurd also, to think the same in a Monarchy. And +I know not how this so manifest a truth, should of late be so little +observed; that in a Monarchy, he that had the Soveraignty from a descent +of 600 years, was alone called Soveraign, had the title of Majesty from +every one of his Subjects, and was unquestionably taken by them +for their King; was notwithstanding never considered as their +Representative; that name without contradiction passing for the title +of those men, which at his command were sent up by the people to carry +their Petitions, and give him (if he permitted it) their advise. Which +may serve as an admonition, for those that are the true, and absolute +Representative of a People, to instruct men in the nature of that +Office, and to take heed how they admit of any other generall +Representation upon any occasion whatsoever, if they mean to discharge +the truth committed to them. + + + + +Comparison Of Monarchy, With Soveraign Assemblyes + +The difference between these three kindes of Common-wealth, consisteth +not in the difference of Power; but in the difference of Convenience, or +Aptitude to produce the Peace, and Security of the people; for which end +they were instituted. And to compare Monarchy with the other two, we may +observe; First, that whosoever beareth the Person of the people, or +is one of that Assembly that bears it, beareth also his own naturall +Person. And though he be carefull in his politique Person to procure +the common interest; yet he is more, or no lesse carefull to procure the +private good of himselfe, his family, kindred and friends; and for the +most part, if the publique interest chance to crosse the private, he +preferrs the private: for the Passions of men, are commonly more potent +than their Reason. From whence it follows, that where the publique and +private interest are most closely united, there is the publique most +advanced. Now in Monarchy, the private interest is the same with the +publique. The riches, power, and honour of a Monarch arise onely from +the riches, strength and reputation of his Subjects. For no King can +be rich, nor glorious, nor secure; whose Subjects are either poore, or +contemptible, or too weak through want, or dissention, to maintain a +war against their enemies: Whereas in a Democracy, or Aristocracy, the +publique prosperity conferres not so much to the private fortune of one +that is corrupt, or ambitious, as doth many times a perfidious advice, a +treacherous action, or a Civill warre. + +Secondly, that a Monarch receiveth counsell of whom, when, and where he +pleaseth; and consequently may heare the opinion of men versed in the +matter about which he deliberates, of what rank or quality soever, and +as long before the time of action, and with as much secrecy, as he will. +But when a Soveraigne Assembly has need of Counsell, none are admitted +but such as have a Right thereto from the beginning; which for the +most part are of those who have beene versed more in the acquisition +of Wealth than of Knowledge; and are to give their advice in long +discourses, which may, and do commonly excite men to action, but +not governe them in it. For the Understanding is by the flame of the +Passions, never enlightned, but dazled: Nor is there any place, or time, +wherein an Assemblie can receive Counsell with secrecie, because of +their owne Multitude. + +Thirdly, that the Resolutions of a Monarch, are subject to no other +Inconstancy, than that of Humane Nature; but in Assemblies, besides that +of Nature, there ariseth an Inconstancy from the Number. For the absence +of a few, that would have the Resolution once taken, continue firme, +(which may happen by security, negligence, or private impediments,) or +the diligent appearance of a few of the contrary opinion, undoes to day, +all that was concluded yesterday. + +Fourthly, that a Monarch cannot disagree with himselfe, out of envy, or +interest; but an Assembly may; and that to such a height, as may produce +a Civill Warre. + +Fifthly, that in Monarchy there is this inconvenience; that any Subject, +by the power of one man, for the enriching of a favourite or flatterer, +may be deprived of all he possesseth; which I confesse is a great and +inevitable inconvenience. But the same may as well happen, where the +Soveraigne Power is in an Assembly: for their power is the same; and +they are as subject to evill Counsell, and to be seduced by Orators, as +a Monarch by Flatterers; and becoming one an others Flatterers, serve +one anothers Covetousnesse and Ambition by turnes. And whereas the +Favorites of an Assembly, are many; and the Kindred much more numerous, +than of any Monarch. Besides, there is no Favourite of a Monarch, which +cannot as well succour his friends, as hurt his enemies: But Orators, +that is to say, Favourites of Soveraigne Assemblies, though they have +great power to hurt, have little to save. For to accuse, requires lesse +Eloquence (such is mans Nature) than to excuse; and condemnation, than +absolution more resembles Justice. + +Sixtly, that it is an inconvenience in Monarchie, that the Soveraigntie +may descend upon an Infant, or one that cannot discerne between Good and +Evill: and consisteth in this, that the use of his Power, must be in the +hand of another Man, or of some Assembly of men, which are to governe by +his right, and in his name; as Curators, and Protectors of his Person, +and Authority. But to say there is inconvenience, in putting the use of +the Soveraign Power, into the hand of a Man, or an Assembly of men; is +to say that all Government is more Inconvenient, than Confusion, and +Civill Warre. And therefore all the danger that can be pretended, must +arise from the Contention of those, that for an office of so great +honour, and profit, may become Competitors. To make it appear, that +this inconvenience, proceedeth not from that forme of Government we call +Monarchy, we are to consider, that the precedent Monarch, hath appointed +who shall have the Tuition of his Infant Successor, either expressely +by Testament, or tacitly, by not controlling the Custome in that +case received: And then such inconvenience (if it happen) is to be +attributed, not to the Monarchy, but to the Ambition, and Injustice of +the Subjects; which in all kinds of Government, where the people are +not well instructed in their Duty, and the Rights of Soveraignty, is +the same. Or else the precedent Monarch, hath not at all taken order for +such Tuition; And then the Law of Nature hath provided this sufficient +rule, That the Tuition shall be in him, that hath by Nature most +interest in the preservation of the Authority of the Infant, and to whom +least benefit can accrue by his death, or diminution. For seeing every +man by nature seeketh his own benefit, and promotion; to put an Infant +into the power of those, that can promote themselves by his destruction, +or dammage, is not Tuition, but Trechery. So that sufficient provision +being taken, against all just quarrell, about the Government under a +Child, if any contention arise to the disturbance of the publique Peace, +it is not to be attributed to the forme of Monarchy, but to the ambition +of Subjects, and ignorance of their Duty. On the other side, there is +no great Common-wealth, the Soveraignty whereof is in a great Assembly, +which is not, as to consultations of Peace, and Warre, and making of +Lawes, in the same condition, as if the Government were in a Child. For +as a Child wants the judgement to dissent from counsell given him, and +is thereby necessitated to take the advise of them, or him, to whom he +is committed: So an Assembly wanteth the liberty, to dissent from the +counsell of the major part, be it good, or bad. And as a Child has need +of a Tutor, or Protector, to preserve his Person, and Authority: So also +(in great Common-wealths,) the Soveraign Assembly, in all great dangers +and troubles, have need of Custodes Libertatis; that is of Dictators, or +Protectors of their Authoritie; which are as much as Temporary Monarchs; +to whom for a time, they may commit the entire exercise of their Power; +and have (at the end of that time) been oftner deprived thereof, than +Infant Kings, by their Protectors, Regents, or any other Tutors. + +Though the Kinds of Soveraigntie be, as I have now shewn, but three; +that is to say, Monarchie, where one Man has it; or Democracie, where +the generall Assembly of Subjects hath it; or Aristocracie, where it is +in an Assembly of certain persons nominated, or otherwise distinguished +from the rest: Yet he that shall consider the particular Common-wealthes +that have been, and are in the world, will not perhaps easily reduce +them to three, and may thereby be inclined to think there be other +Formes, arising from these mingled together. As for example, Elective +Kingdomes; where Kings have the Soveraigne Power put into their hands +for a time; of Kingdomes, wherein the King hath a power limited: which +Governments, are nevertheless by most Writers called Monarchie. Likewise +if a Popular, or Aristocraticall Common-wealth, subdue an Enemies +Countrie, and govern the same, by a President, Procurator, or +other Magistrate; this may seeme perhaps at first sight, to be a +Democraticall, or Aristocraticall Government. But it is not so. For +Elective Kings, are not Soveraignes, but Ministers of the Soveraigne; +nor limited Kings Soveraignes, but Ministers of them that have the +Soveraigne Power: nor are those Provinces which are in subjection to a +Democracie, or Aristocracie of another Common-wealth, Democratically, or +Aristocratically governed, but Monarchically. + +And first, concerning an Elective King, whose power is limited to +his life, as it is in many places of Christendome at this day; or to +certaine Yeares or Moneths, as the Dictators power amongst the Romans; +If he have Right to appoint his Successor, he is no more Elective but +Hereditary. But if he have no Power to elect his Successor, then there +is some other Man, or Assembly known, which after his decease may elect +a new, or else the Common-wealth dieth, and dissolveth with him, and +returneth to the condition of Warre. If it be known who have the power +to give the Soveraigntie after his death, it is known also that the +Soveraigntie was in them before: For none have right to give that which +they have not right to possesse, and keep to themselves, if they think +good. But if there be none that can give the Soveraigntie, after the +decease of him that was first elected; then has he power, nay he is +obliged by the Law of Nature, to provide, by establishing his Successor, +to keep those that had trusted him with the Government, from relapsing +into the miserable condition of Civill warre. And consequently he was, +when elected, a Soveraign absolute. + +Secondly, that King whose power is limited, is not superiour to him, or +them that have the power to limit it; and he that is not superiour, is +not supreme; that is to say not Soveraign. The Soveraignty therefore +was alwaies in that Assembly which had the Right to Limit him; and +by consequence the government not Monarchy, but either Democracy, or +Aristocracy; as of old time in Sparta; where the Kings had a priviledge +to lead their Armies; but the Soveraignty was in the Ephori. + +Thirdly, whereas heretofore the Roman People, governed the land of Judea +(for example) by a President; yet was not Judea therefore a Democracy; +because they were not governed by any Assembly, into which, any of +them, had right to enter; nor by an Aristocracy; because they were +not governed by any Assembly, into which, any man could enter by their +Election: but they were governed by one Person, which though as to the +people of Rome was an Assembly of the people, or Democracy; yet as to +the people of Judea, which had no right at all of participating in the +government, was a Monarch. For though where the people are governed +by an Assembly, chosen by themselves out of their own number, the +government is called a Democracy, or Aristocracy; yet when they are +governed by an Assembly, not of their own choosing, ’tis a Monarchy; not +of One man, over another man; but of one people, over another people. + + + + +Of The Right Of Succession + +Of all these Formes of Government, the matter being mortall, so that not +onely Monarchs, but also whole Assemblies dy, it is necessary for the +conservation of the peace of men, that as there was order taken for +an Artificiall Man, so there be order also taken, for an Artificiall +Eternity of life; without which, men that are governed by an Assembly, +should return into the condition of Warre in every age; and they +that are governed by One man, as soon as their Governour dyeth. This +Artificiall Eternity, is that which men call the Right of Succession. + +There is no perfect forme of Government, where the disposing of the +Succession is not in the present Soveraign. For if it be in any other +particular Man, or private Assembly, it is in a person subject, and may +be assumed by the Soveraign at his pleasure; and consequently the Right +is in himselfe. And if it be in no particular man, but left to a new +choyce; then is the Common-wealth dissolved; and the Right is in him +that can get it; contrary to the intention of them that did institute +the Common-wealth, for their perpetuall, and not temporary security. + +In a Democracy, the whole Assembly cannot faile, unlesse the Multitude +that are to be governed faile. And therefore questions of the right of +Succession, have in that forme of Government no place at all. + +In an Aristocracy, when any of the Assembly dyeth, the election of +another into his room belongeth to the Assembly, as the Soveraign, to +whom belongeth the choosing of all Counsellours, and Officers. For that +which the Representative doth, as Actor, every one of the Subjects doth, +as Author. And though the Soveraign assembly, may give Power to others, +to elect new men, for supply of their Court; yet it is still by their +Authority, that the Election is made; and by the same it may (when the +publique shall require it) be recalled. + +The Present Monarch Hath Right To Dispose Of The Succession The greatest +difficultie about the right of Succession, is in Monarchy: And the +difficulty ariseth from this, that at first sight, it is not manifest +who is to appoint the Successor; nor many times, who it is whom he +hath appointed. For in both these cases, there is required a more exact +ratiocination, than every man is accustomed to use. As to the question, +who shall appoint the Successor, of a Monarch that hath the Soveraign +Authority; that is to say, (for Elective Kings and Princes have not the +Soveraign Power in propriety, but in use only,) we are to consider, that +either he that is in possession, has right to dispose of the Succession, +or else that right is again in the dissolved Multitude. For the death +of him that hath the Soveraign power in propriety, leaves the Multitude +without any Soveraign at all; that is, without any Representative in +whom they should be united, and be capable of doing any one action at +all: And therefore they are incapable of Election of any new Monarch; +every man having equall right to submit himselfe to such as he thinks +best able to protect him, or if he can, protect himselfe by his owne +sword; which is a returne to Confusion, and to the condition of a War of +every man against every man, contrary to the end for which Monarchy had +its first Institution. Therfore it is manifest, that by the Institution +of Monarchy, the disposing of the Successor, is alwaies left to the +Judgment and Will of the present Possessor. + +And for the question (which may arise sometimes) who it is that the +Monarch in possession, hath designed to the succession and inheritance +of his power; it is determined by his expresse Words, and Testament; or +by other tacite signes sufficient. + + + + +Succession Passeth By Expresse Words; + +By expresse Words, or Testament, when it is declared by him in his life +time, viva voce, or by Writing; as the first Emperours of Rome declared +who should be their Heires. For the word Heire does not of it selfe +imply the Children, or nearest Kindred of a man; but whomsoever a man +shall any way declare, he would have to succeed him in his Estate. +If therefore a Monarch declare expresly, that such a man shall be his +Heire, either by Word or Writing, then is that man immediately after the +decease of his Predecessor, Invested in the right of being Monarch. + + + + +Or, By Not Controlling A Custome; + +But where Testament, and expresse Words are wanting, other naturall +signes of the Will are to be followed: whereof the one is Custome. And +therefore where the Custome is, that the next of Kindred absolutely +succeedeth, there also the next of Kindred hath right to the Succession; +for that, if the will of him that was in posession had been otherwise, +he might easily have declared the same in his life time. And likewise +where the Custome is, that the next of the Male Kindred succeedeth, +there also the right of Succession is in the next of the Kindred Male, +for the same reason. And so it is if the Custome were to advance the +Female. For whatsoever Custome a man may by a word controule, and does +not, it is a naturall signe he would have that Custome stand. + + + + +Or, By Presumption Of Naturall Affection + +But where neither Custome, nor Testament hath preceded, there it is +to be understood, First, that a Monarchs will is, that the government +remain Monarchicall; because he hath approved that government in +himselfe. Secondly, that a Child of his own, Male, or Female, be +preferred before any other; because men are presumed to be more enclined +by nature, to advance their own children, than the children of other +men; and of their own, rather a Male than a Female; because men, are +naturally fitter than women, for actions of labour and danger. Thirdly, +where his own Issue faileth, rather a Brother than a stranger; and so +still the neerer in bloud, rather than the more remote, because it is +alwayes presumed that the neerer of kin, is the neerer in affection; and +’tis evident that a man receives alwayes, by reflexion, the most honour +from the greatnesse of his neerest kindred. + + + + +To Dispose Of The Succession, Though To A King Of Another Nation, Not +Unlawfull + +But if it be lawfull for a Monarch to dispose of the Succession by words +of Contract, or Testament, men may perhaps object a great inconvenience: +for he may sell, or give his Right of governing to a stranger; which, +because strangers (that is, men not used to live under the same +government, not speaking the same language) do commonly undervalue one +another, may turn to the oppression of his Subjects; which is indeed +a great inconvenience; but it proceedeth not necessarily from the +subjection to a strangers government, but from the unskilfulnesse of the +Governours, ignorant of the true rules of Politiques. And therefore +the Romans when they had subdued many Nations, to make their Government +digestible, were wont to take away that grievance, as much as they +thought necessary, by giving sometimes to whole Nations, and sometimes +to Principall men of every Nation they conquered, not onely the +Privileges, but also the Name of Romans; and took many of them into the +Senate, and Offices of charge, even in the Roman City. And this was it +our most wise King, King James, aymed at, in endeavouring the Union of +his two Realms of England and Scotland. Which if he could have obtained, +had in all likelihood prevented the Civill warres, which make both those +Kingdomes at this present, miserable. It is not therefore any injury to +the people, for a Monarch to dispose of the Succession by Will; though +by the fault of many Princes, it hath been sometimes found inconvenient. +Of the lawfulnesse of it, this also is an argument, that whatsoever +inconvenience can arrive by giving a Kingdome to a stranger, may arrive +also by so marrying with strangers, as the Right of Succession may +descend upon them: yet this by all men is accounted lawfull. + + + +CHAPTER XX. OF DOMINION PATERNALL AND DESPOTICALL + + +A Common-wealth by Acquisition, is that, where the Soveraign Power is +acquired by Force; And it is acquired by force, when men singly, or +many together by plurality of voyces, for fear of death, or bonds, do +authorise all the actions of that Man, or Assembly, that hath their +lives and liberty in his Power. + + + + +Wherein Different From A Common-wealth By Institution + +And this kind of Dominion, or Soveraignty, differeth from Soveraignty by +Institution, onely in this, That men who choose their Soveraign, do it +for fear of one another, and not of him whom they Institute: But in this +case, they subject themselves, to him they are afraid of. In both cases +they do it for fear: which is to be noted by them, that hold all such +Covenants, as proceed from fear of death, or violence, voyd: which if +it were true, no man, in any kind of Common-wealth, could be obliged +to Obedience. It is true, that in a Common-wealth once Instituted, or +acquired, Promises proceeding from fear of death, or violence, are no +Covenants, nor obliging, when the thing promised is contrary to the +Lawes; But the reason is not, because it was made upon fear, but because +he that promiseth, hath no right in the thing promised. Also, when he +may lawfully performe, and doth not, it is not the Invalidity of +the Covenant, that absolveth him, but the Sentence of the Soveraign. +Otherwise, whensoever a man lawfully promiseth, he unlawfully breaketh: +But when the Soveraign, who is the Actor, acquitteth him, then he is +acquitted by him that exorted the promise, as by the Author of such +absolution. + + + + +The Rights Of Soveraignty The Same In Both + +But the Rights, and Consequences of Soveraignty, are the same in both. +His Power cannot, without his consent, be Transferred to another: He +cannot Forfeit it: He cannot be Accused by any of his Subjects, of +Injury: He cannot be Punished by them: He is Judge of what is necessary +for Peace; and Judge of Doctrines: He is Sole Legislator; and Supreme +Judge of Controversies; and of the Times, and Occasions of Warre, +and Peace: to him it belongeth to choose Magistrates, Counsellours, +Commanders, and all other Officers, and Ministers; and to determine of +Rewards, and punishments, Honour, and Order. The reasons whereof, are +the same which are alledged in the precedent Chapter, for the same +Rights, and Consequences of Soveraignty by Institution. + + + + +Dominion Paternall How Attained Not By Generation, But By Contract + +Dominion is acquired two wayes; By Generation, and by Conquest. The +right of Dominion by Generation, is that, which the Parent hath over +his Children; and is called PATERNALL. And is not so derived from the +Generation, as if therefore the Parent had Dominion over his Child +because he begat him; but from the Childs Consent, either expresse, or +by other sufficient arguments declared. For as to the Generation, God +hath ordained to man a helper; and there be alwayes two that are equally +Parents: the Dominion therefore over the Child, should belong equally to +both; and he be equally subject to both, which is impossible; for no man +can obey two Masters. And whereas some have attributed the Dominion to +the Man onely, as being of the more excellent Sex; they misreckon in it. +For there is not always that difference of strength or prudence between +the man and the woman, as that the right can be determined without War. +In Common-wealths, this controversie is decided by the Civill Law: and +for the most part, (but not alwayes) the sentence is in favour of the +Father; because for the most part Common-wealths have been erected by +the Fathers, not by the Mothers of families. But the question lyeth +now in the state of meer Nature; where there are supposed no lawes +of Matrimony; no lawes for the Education of Children; but the Law of +Nature, and the naturall inclination of the Sexes, one to another, and +to their children. In this condition of meer Nature, either the Parents +between themselves dispose of the dominion over the Child by Contract; +or do not dispose thereof at all. If they dispose thereof, the right +passeth according to the Contract. We find in History that the Amazons +Contracted with the Men of the neighbouring Countries, to whom they had +recourse for issue, that the issue Male should be sent back, but the +Female remain with themselves: so that the dominion of the Females was +in the Mother. + + + + +Or Education; + +If there be no Contract, the Dominion is in the Mother. For in the +condition of Meer Nature, where there are no Matrimoniall lawes, it +cannot be known who is the Father, unlesse it be declared by the Mother: +and therefore the right of Dominion over the Child dependeth on her +will, and is consequently hers. Again, seeing the Infant is first in the +power of the Mother; so as she may either nourish, or expose it, if she +nourish it, it oweth its life to the Mother; and is therefore obliged to +obey her, rather than any other; and by consequence the Dominion over +it is hers. But if she expose it, and another find, and nourish it, the +Dominion is in him that nourisheth it. For it ought to obey him by whom +it is preserved; because preservation of life being the end, for which +one man becomes subject to another, every man is supposed to promise +obedience, to him, in whose power it is to save, or destroy him. + + + + +Or Precedent Subjection Of One Of The Parents To The Other + +If the Mother be the Fathers subject, the Child, is in the Fathers +power: and if the Father be the Mothers subject, (as when a Soveraign +Queen marrieth one of her subjects,) the Child is subject to the Mother; +because the Father also is her subject. + +If a man and a woman, Monarches of two severall Kingdomes, have a Child, +and contract concerning who shall have the Dominion of him, the Right of +the Dominion passeth by the Contract. If they contract not, the Dominion +followeth the Dominion of the place of his residence. For the Soveraign +of each Country hath Dominion over all that reside therein. + +He that hath the Dominion over the Child, hath Dominion also over their +Childrens Children. For he that hath Dominion over the person of a man, +hath Dominion over all that is his; without which, Dominion were but a +Title, without the effect. + + + + +The Right Of Succession Followeth The Rules Of The Rights Of Possession + +The Right of Succession to Paternall dominion, proceedeth in the same +manner, as doth the Right of Succession to Monarchy; of which I have +already sufficiently spoken in the precedent chapter. + + + + +Despoticall Dominion, How Attained + +Dominion acquired by Conquest, or Victory in war, is that which some +Writers call DESPOTICALL, from Despotes, which signifieth a Lord, or +Master; and is the Dominion of the Master over his Servant. And this +Dominion is then acquired to the Victor, when the Vanquished, to avoyd +the present stroke of death, covenanteth either in expresse words, or by +other sufficient signes of the Will, that so long as his life, and +the liberty of his body is allowed him, the Victor shall have the use +thereof, at his pleasure. And after such Covenant made, the Vanquished +is a SERVANT, and not before: for by the word Servant (whether it be +derived from Servire, to Serve, or from Servare, to Save, which I leave +to Grammarians to dispute) is not meant a Captive, which is kept in +prison, or bonds, till the owner of him that took him, or bought him +of one that did, shall consider what to do with him: (for such men, +(commonly called Slaves,) have no obligation at all; but may break their +bonds, or the prison; and kill, or carry away captive their Master, +justly:) but one, that being taken, hath corporall liberty allowed him; +and upon promise not to run away, nor to do violence to his Master, is +trusted by him. + + + + +Not By The Victory, But By The Consent Of The Vanquished + +It is not therefore the Victory, that giveth the right of Dominion over +the Vanquished, but his own Covenant. Nor is he obliged because he is +Conquered; that is to say, beaten, and taken, or put to flight; but +because he commeth in, and submitteth to the Victor; Nor is the Victor +obliged by an enemies rendring himselfe, (without promise of life,) to +spare him for this his yeelding to discretion; which obliges not the +Victor longer, than in his own discretion hee shall think fit. + +And that men do, when they demand (as it is now called) Quarter, (which +the Greeks called Zogria, taking alive,) is to evade the present fury of +the Victor, by Submission, and to compound for their life, with Ransome, +or Service: and therefore he that hath Quarter, hath not his life given, +but deferred till farther deliberation; For it is not an yeelding on +condition of life, but to discretion. And then onely is his life in +security, and his service due, when the Victor hath trusted him with his +corporall liberty. For Slaves that work in Prisons, or Fetters, do it +not of duty, but to avoyd the cruelty of their task-masters. + +The Master of the Servant, is Master also of all he hath; and may exact +the use thereof; that is to say, of his goods, of his labour, of his +servants, and of his children, as often as he shall think fit. For he +holdeth his life of his Master, by the covenant of obedience; that is, +of owning, and authorising whatsoever the Master shall do. And in case +the Master, if he refuse, kill him, or cast him into bonds, or otherwise +punish him for his disobedience, he is himselfe the author of the same; +and cannot accuse him of injury. + +In summe the Rights and Consequences of both Paternall and Despoticall +Dominion, are the very same with those of a Soveraign by Institution; +and for the same reasons: which reasons are set down in the precedent +chapter. So that for a man that is Monarch of divers Nations, whereof he +hath, in one the Soveraignty by Institution of the people assembled, and +in another by Conquest, that is by the Submission of each particular, +to avoyd death or bonds; to demand of one Nation more than of the other, +from the title of Conquest, as being a Conquered Nation, is an act of +ignorance of the Rights of Soveraignty. For the Soveraign is absolute +over both alike; or else there is no Soveraignty at all; and so every +man may Lawfully protect himselfe, if he can, with his own sword, which +is the condition of war. + + + + +Difference Between A Family And A Kingdom + +By this it appears, that a great Family if it be not part of some +Common-wealth, is of it self, as to the Rights of Soveraignty, a little +Monarchy; whether that Family consist of a man and his children; or of +a man and his servants; or of a man, and his children, and servants +together: wherein the Father of Master is the Soveraign. But yet a +Family is not properly a Common-wealth; unlesse it be of that power by +its own number, or by other opportunities, as not to be subdued without +the hazard of war. For where a number of men are manifestly too weak to +defend themselves united, every one may use his own reason in time of +danger, to save his own life, either by flight, or by submission to +the enemy, as hee shall think best; in the same manner as a very small +company of souldiers, surprised by an army, may cast down their armes, +and demand quarter, or run away, rather than be put to the sword. And +thus much shall suffice; concerning what I find by speculation, and +deduction, of Soveraign Rights, from the nature, need, and designes +of men, in erecting of Commonwealths, and putting themselves under +Monarchs, or Assemblies, entrusted with power enough for their +protection. + + + + +The Right Of Monarchy From Scripture + +Let us now consider what the Scripture teacheth in the same point. To +Moses, the children of Israel say thus. (Exod. 20. 19) "Speak thou to +us, and we will heare thee; but let not God speak to us, lest we dye." +This is absolute obedience to Moses. Concerning the Right of Kings, God +himself by the mouth of Samuel, saith, (1 Sam. 8. 11, 12, &c.) "This +shall be the Right of the King you will have to reigne over you. He +shall take your sons, and set them to drive his Chariots, and to be his +horsemen, and to run before his chariots; and gather in his harvest; and +to make his engines of War, and Instruments of his chariots; and shall +take your daughters to make perfumes, to be his Cookes, and Bakers. He +shall take your fields, your vine-yards, and your olive-yards, and give +them to his servants. He shall take the tyth of your corne and wine, and +give it to the men of his chamber, and to his other servants. He shall +take your man-servants, and your maid-servants, and the choice of your +youth, and employ them in his businesse. He shall take the tyth of your +flocks; and you shall be his servants." This is absolute power, and +summed up in the last words, "you shall be his servants." Againe, when +the people heard what power their King was to have, yet they consented +thereto, and say thus, (Verse. 19 &c.) "We will be as all other nations, +and our King shall judge our causes, and goe before us, to conduct our +wars." Here is confirmed the Right that Soveraigns have, both to the +Militia, and to all Judicature; in which is conteined as absolute power, +as one man can possibly transferre to another. Again, the prayer of +King Salomon to God, was this. (1 Kings 3. 9) "Give to thy servant +understanding, to judge thy people, and to discerne between Good and +Evill." It belongeth therefore to the Soveraigne to bee Judge, and +to praescribe the Rules of Discerning Good and Evill; which Rules are +Lawes; and therefore in him is the Legislative Power. Saul sought +the life of David; yet when it was in his power to slay Saul, and his +Servants would have done it, David forbad them, saying (1 Sam. 24. 9) +"God forbid I should do such an act against my Lord, the anoynted of +God." For obedience of servants St. Paul saith, (Coll. 3. 20) "Servants +obey your masters in All things," and, (Verse. 22) "Children obey your +Parents in All things." There is simple obedience in those that are +subject to Paternall, or Despoticall Dominion. Again, (Math. 23. 2,3) +"The Scribes and Pharisees sit in Moses chayre and therefore All that +they shall bid you observe, that observe and do." There again is simple +obedience. And St. Paul, (Tit. 3. 2) "Warn them that they subject +themselves to Princes, and to those that are in Authority, & obey +them." This obedience is also simple. Lastly, our Saviour himselfe +acknowledges, that men ought to pay such taxes as are by Kings imposed, +where he sayes, "Give to Caesar that which is Caesars;" and payed such +taxes himselfe. And that the Kings word, is sufficient to take any thing +from any subject, when there is need; and that the King is Judge of that +need: For he himselfe, as King of the Jewes, commanded his Disciples to +take the Asse, and Asses Colt to carry him into Jerusalem, saying, (Mat. +21. 2,3) "Go into the Village over against you, and you shall find a +shee Asse tyed, and her Colt with her, unty them, and bring them to me. +And if any man ask you, what you mean by it, Say the Lord hath need +of them: And they will let them go." They will not ask whether his +necessity be a sufficient title; nor whether he be judge of that +necessity; but acquiesce in the will of the Lord. + +To these places may be added also that of Genesis, (Gen. 3. 5) "You +shall be as Gods, knowing Good and Evill." and verse 11. "Who told thee +that thou wast naked? hast thou eaten of the tree, of which I commanded +thee thou shouldest not eat?" For the Cognisance of Judicature of Good +and Evill, being forbidden by the name of the fruit of the tree of +Knowledge, as a triall of Adams obedience; The Divell to enflame the +Ambition of the woman, to whom that fruit already seemed beautifull, +told her that by tasting it, they should be as Gods, knowing Good and +Evill. Whereupon having both eaten, they did indeed take upon them +Gods office, which is Judicature of Good and Evill; but acquired no new +ability to distinguish between them aright. And whereas it is sayd, that +having eaten, they saw they were naked; no man hath so interpreted that +place, as if they had formerly blind, as saw not their own skins: the +meaning is plain, that it was then they first judged their nakednesse +(wherein it was Gods will to create them) to be uncomely; and by being +ashamed, did tacitely censure God himselfe. And thereupon God saith, +"Hast thou eaten, &c." as if he should say, doest thou that owest me +obedience, take upon thee to judge of my Commandements? Whereby it is +cleerly, (though Allegorically,) signified, that the Commands of +them that have the right to command, are not by their Subjects to be +censured, nor disputed. + + + + +Soveraign Power Ought In All Common-wealths To Be Absolute + +So it appeareth plainly, to my understanding, both from Reason, and +Scripture, that the Soveraign Power, whether placed in One Man, as in +Monarchy, or in one Assembly of men, as in Popular, and Aristocraticall +Common-wealths, is as great, as possibly men can be imagined to make +it. And though of so unlimited a Power, men may fancy many evill +consequences, yet the consequences of the want of it, which is +perpetuall warre of every man against his neighbour, are much worse. The +condition of man in this life shall never be without Inconveniences; but +there happeneth in no Common-wealth any great Inconvenience, but what +proceeds from the Subjects disobedience, and breach of those Covenants, +from which the Common-wealth had its being. And whosoever thinking +Soveraign Power too great, will seek to make it lesse; must subject +himselfe, to the Power, that can limit it; that is to say, to a greater. + +The greatest objection is, that of the Practise; when men ask, where, +and when, such Power has by Subjects been acknowledged. But one may +ask them again, when, or where has there been a Kingdome long free from +Sedition and Civill Warre. In those Nations, whose Common-wealths have +been long-lived, and not been destroyed, but by forraign warre, the +Subjects never did dispute of the Soveraign Power. But howsoever, an +argument for the Practise of men, that have not sifted to the bottom, +and with exact reason weighed the causes, and nature of Common-wealths, +and suffer daily those miseries, that proceed from the ignorance +thereof, is invalid. For though in all places of the world, men should +lay the foundation of their houses on the sand, it could not thence be +inferred, that so it ought to be. The skill of making, and maintaining +Common-wealths, consisteth in certain Rules, as doth Arithmetique and +Geometry; not (as Tennis-play) on Practise onely: which Rules, neither +poor men have the leisure, nor men that have had the leisure, have +hitherto had the curiosity, or the method to find out. + + + +CHAPTER XXI. OF THE LIBERTY OF SUBJECTS + + + + +Liberty What + +Liberty, or FREEDOME, signifieth (properly) the absence of Opposition; +(by Opposition, I mean externall Impediments of motion;) and may +be applyed no lesse to Irrational, and Inanimate creatures, than to +Rationall. For whatsoever is so tyed, or environed, as it cannot move, +but within a certain space, which space is determined by the opposition +of some externall body, we say it hath not Liberty to go further. And +so of all living creatures, whilest they are imprisoned, or restrained, +with walls, or chayns; and of the water whilest it is kept in by banks, +or vessels, that otherwise would spread it selfe into a larger space, we +use to say, they are not at Liberty, to move in such manner, as without +those externall impediments they would. But when the impediment of +motion, is in the constitution of the thing it selfe, we use not to +say, it wants the Liberty; but the Power to move; as when a stone lyeth +still, or a man is fastned to his bed by sicknesse. + + + + +What It Is To Be Free + +And according to this proper, and generally received meaning of the +word, A FREE-MAN, is "he, that in those things, which by his strength +and wit he is able to do, is not hindred to doe what he has a will +to." But when the words Free, and Liberty, are applyed to any thing but +Bodies, they are abused; for that which is not subject to Motion, is not +subject to Impediment: And therefore, when ’tis said (for example) The +way is free, no liberty of the way is signified, but of those that walk +in it without stop. And when we say a Guift is free, there is not meant +any liberty of the Guift, but of the Giver, that was not bound by any +law, or Covenant to give it. So when we Speak Freely, it is not the +liberty of voice, or pronunciation, but of the man, whom no law hath +obliged to speak otherwise then he did. Lastly, from the use of the +word Freewill, no liberty can be inferred to the will, desire, or +inclination, but the liberty of the man; which consisteth in this, that +he finds no stop, in doing what he has the will, desire, or inclination +to doe. + + + + +Feare And Liberty Consistent + +Feare and Liberty are consistent; as when a man throweth his goods into +the Sea for Feare the ship should sink, he doth it neverthelesse very +willingly, and may refuse to doe it if he will: It is therefore the +action, of one that was Free; so a man sometimes pays his debt, only for +Feare of Imprisonment, which because no body hindred him from detaining, +was the action of a man at Liberty. And generally all actions which men +doe in Common-wealths, for Feare of the law, or actions, which the doers +had Liberty to omit. + + + + +Liberty And Necessity Consistent + +Liberty and Necessity are Consistent: As in the water, that hath not +only Liberty, but a Necessity of descending by the Channel: so likewise +in the Actions which men voluntarily doe; which (because they proceed +from their will) proceed from Liberty; and yet because every act of +mans will, and every desire, and inclination proceedeth from some cause, +which causes in a continuall chaine (whose first link in the hand of +God the first of all causes) proceed from Necessity. So that to him +that could see the connexion of those causes, the Necessity of all +mens voluntary actions, would appeare manifest. And therefore God, that +seeth, and disposeth all things, seeth also that the Liberty of man +in doing what he will, is accompanied with the Necessity of doing that +which God will, & no more, nor lesse. For though men may do many things, +which God does not command, nor is therefore Author of them; yet they +can have no passion, nor appetite to any thing, of which appetite Gods +will is not the cause. And did not his will assure the Necessity of mans +will, and consequently of all that on mans will dependeth, the Liberty +of men would be a contradiction, and impediment to the omnipotence and +Liberty of God. And this shall suffice, (as to the matter in hand) of +that naturall Liberty, which only is properly called Liberty. + + + + +Artificiall Bonds, Or Covenants + +But as men, for the atteyning of peace, and conservation of themselves +thereby, have made an Artificiall Man, which we call a Common-wealth; so +also have they made Artificiall Chains, called Civill Lawes, which they +themselves, by mutuall covenants, have fastned at one end, to the lips +of that Man, or Assembly, to whom they have given the Soveraigne Power; +and at the other end to their own Ears. These Bonds in their own nature +but weak, may neverthelesse be made to hold, by the danger, though not +by the difficulty of breaking them. + + + + +Liberty Of Subjects Consisteth In Liberty From Covenants + +In relation to these Bonds only it is, that I am to speak now, of the +Liberty of Subjects. For seeing there is no Common-wealth in the world, +for the regulating of all the actions, and words of men, (as being +a thing impossible:) it followeth necessarily, that in all kinds of +actions, by the laws praetermitted, men have the Liberty, of doing what +their own reasons shall suggest, for the most profitable to themselves. +For if wee take Liberty in the proper sense, for corporall Liberty; that +is to say, freedome from chains, and prison, it were very absurd for men +to clamor as they doe, for the Liberty they so manifestly enjoy. Againe, +if we take Liberty, for an exemption from Lawes, it is no lesse absurd, +for men to demand as they doe, that Liberty, by which all other men may +be masters of their lives. And yet as absurd as it is, this is it they +demand; not knowing that the Lawes are of no power to protect them, +without a Sword in the hands of a man, or men, to cause those laws to +be put in execution. The Liberty of a Subject, lyeth therefore only +in those things, which in regulating their actions, the Soveraign hath +praetermitted; such as is the Liberty to buy, and sell, and otherwise +contract with one another; to choose their own aboad, their own diet, +their own trade of life, and institute their children as they themselves +think fit; & the like. + + + + +Liberty Of The Subject Consistent With Unlimited Power Of The Soveraign + +Neverthelesse we are not to understand, that by such Liberty, the +Soveraign Power of life, and death, is either abolished, or limited. For +it has been already shewn, that nothing the Soveraign Representative +can doe to a Subject, on what pretence soever, can properly be called +Injustice, or Injury; because every Subject is Author of every act the +Soveraign doth; so that he never wanteth Right to any thing, otherwise, +than as he himself is the Subject of God, and bound thereby to observe +the laws of Nature. And therefore it may, and doth often happen in +Common-wealths, that a Subject may be put to death, by the command of +the Soveraign Power; and yet neither doe the other wrong: as when Jeptha +caused his daughter to be sacrificed: In which, and the like cases, +he that so dieth, had Liberty to doe the action, for which he is +neverthelesse, without Injury put to death. And the same holdeth also +in a Soveraign Prince, that putteth to death an Innocent Subject. For +though the action be against the law of Nature, as being contrary to +Equitie, (as was the killing of Uriah, by David;) yet it was not an +Injurie to Uriah; but to God. Not to Uriah, because the right to doe +what he pleased, was given him by Uriah himself; And yet to God, because +David was Gods Subject; and prohibited all Iniquitie by the law of +Nature. Which distinction, David himself, when he repented the fact, +evidently confirmed, saying, "To thee only have I sinned." In the same +manner, the people of Athens, when they banished the most potent of +their Common-wealth for ten years, thought they committed no Injustice; +and yet they never questioned what crime he had done; but what hurt he +would doe: Nay they commanded the banishment of they knew not whom; and +every Citizen bringing his Oystershell into the market place, written +with the name of him he desired should be banished, without actuall +accusing him, sometimes banished an Aristides, for his reputation of +Justice; And sometimes a scurrilous Jester, as Hyperbolus, to make a +Jest of it. And yet a man cannot say, the Soveraign People of Athens +wanted right to banish them; or an Athenian the Libertie to Jest, or to +be Just. + + + + +The Liberty Which Writers Praise, Is The Liberty Of Soveraigns; Not Of +Private Men + +The Libertie, whereof there is so frequent, and honourable mention, in +the Histories, and Philosophy of the Antient Greeks, and Romans, and in +the writings, and discourse of those that from them have received all +their learning in the Politiques, is not the Libertie of Particular +men; but the Libertie of the Common-wealth: which is the same with +that, which every man then should have, if there were no Civil Laws, +nor Common-wealth at all. And the effects of it also be the same. For as +amongst masterlesse men, there is perpetuall war, of every man against +his neighbour; no inheritance, to transmit to the Son, nor to expect +from the Father; no propriety of Goods, or Lands; no security; but a +full and absolute Libertie in every Particular man: So in States, and +Common-wealths not dependent on one another, every Common-wealth, (not +every man) has an absolute Libertie, to doe what it shall judge (that is +to say, what that Man, or Assemblie that representeth it, shall judge) +most conducing to their benefit. But withall, they live in the condition +of a perpetuall war, and upon the confines of battel, with their +frontiers armed, and canons planted against their neighbours +round about. The Athenians, and Romanes, were free; that is, free +Common-wealths: not that any particular men had the Libertie to resist +their own Representative; but that their Representative had the Libertie +to resist, or invade other people. There is written on the Turrets of +the city of Luca in great characters at this day, the word LIBERTAS; yet +no man can thence inferre, that a particular man has more Libertie, +or Immunitie from the service of the Commonwealth there, than in +Constantinople. Whether a Common-wealth be Monarchicall, or Popular, the +Freedome is still the same. + +But it is an easy thing, for men to be deceived, by the specious name +of Libertie; and for want of Judgement to distinguish, mistake that for +their Private Inheritance, and Birth right, which is the right of the +Publique only. And when the same errour is confirmed by the authority of +men in reputation for their writings in this subject, it is no wonder if +it produce sedition, and change of Government. In these westerne +parts of the world, we are made to receive our opinions concerning the +Institution, and Rights of Common-wealths, from Aristotle, Cicero, and +other men, Greeks and Romanes, that living under Popular States, derived +those Rights, not from the Principles of Nature, but transcribed them +into their books, out of the Practice of their own Common-wealths, which +were Popular; as the Grammarians describe the Rules of Language, out of +the Practise of the time; or the Rules of Poetry, out of the Poems of +Homer and Virgil. And because the Athenians were taught, (to keep them +from desire of changing their Government,) that they were Freemen, and +all that lived under Monarchy were slaves; therefore Aristotle puts it +down in his Politiques,(lib.6.cap.2) "In democracy, Liberty is to be +supposed: for ’tis commonly held, that no man is Free in any other +Government." And as Aristotle; so Cicero, and other Writers have +grounded their Civill doctrine, on the opinions of the Romans, who were +taught to hate Monarchy, at first, by them that having deposed their +Soveraign, shared amongst them the Soveraignty of Rome; and afterwards +by their Successors. And by reading of these Greek, and Latine Authors, +men from their childhood have gotten a habit (under a false shew of +Liberty,) of favouring tumults, and of licentious controlling the +actions of their Soveraigns; and again of controlling those controllers, +with the effusion of so much blood; as I think I may truly say, there +was never any thing so deerly bought, as these Western parts have bought +the learning of the Greek and Latine tongues. + + + + +Liberty Of The Subject How To Be Measured + +To come now to the particulars of the true Liberty of a Subject; that is +to say, what are the things, which though commanded by the Soveraign, he +may neverthelesse, without Injustice, refuse to do; we are to consider, +what Rights we passe away, when we make a Common-wealth; or (which is +all one,) what Liberty we deny our selves, by owning all the Actions +(without exception) of the Man, or Assembly we make our Soveraign. For +in the act of our Submission, consisteth both our Obligation, and +our Liberty; which must therefore be inferred by arguments taken from +thence; there being no Obligation on any man, which ariseth not from +some Act of his own; for all men equally, are by Nature Free. And +because such arguments, must either be drawn from the expresse words, "I +Authorise all his Actions," or from the Intention of him that submitteth +himselfe to his Power, (which Intention is to be understood by the End +for which he so submitteth;) The Obligation, and Liberty of the Subject, +is to be derived, either from those Words, (or others equivalent;) or +else from the End of the Institution of Soveraignty; namely, the Peace +of the Subjects within themselves, and their Defence against a common +Enemy. + + + + +Subjects Have Liberty To Defend Their Own Bodies, Even Against Them +That Lawfully Invade Them + +First therefore, seeing Soveraignty by Institution, is by Covenant of +every one to every one; and Soveraignty by Acquisition, by Covenants of +the Vanquished to the Victor, or Child to the Parent; It is manifest, +that every Subject has Liberty in all those things, the right whereof +cannot by Covenant be transferred. I have shewn before in the 14. +Chapter, that Covenants, not to defend a mans own body, are voyd. +Therefore, + + + + +Are Not Bound To Hurt Themselves; + +If the Soveraign command a man (though justly condemned,) to kill, +wound, or mayme himselfe; or not to resist those that assault him; or +to abstain from the use of food, ayre, medicine, or any other thing, +without which he cannot live; yet hath that man the Liberty to disobey. + +If a man be interrogated by the Soveraign, or his Authority, concerning +a crime done by himselfe, he is not bound (without assurance of Pardon) +to confesse it; because no man (as I have shewn in the same Chapter) can +be obliged by Covenant to accuse himselfe. + +Again, the Consent of a Subject to Soveraign Power, is contained in +these words, "I Authorise, or take upon me, all his actions;" in which +there is no restriction at all, of his own former naturall Liberty: +For by allowing him to Kill Me, I am not bound to Kill my selfe when +he commands me. "’Tis one thing to say ‘Kill me, or my fellow, if you +please;’ another thing to say, ‘I will kill my selfe, or my fellow.’" It +followeth therefore, that + +No man is bound by the words themselves, either to kill himselfe, or +any other man; And consequently, that the Obligation a man may sometimes +have, upon the Command of the Soveraign to execute any dangerous, or +dishonourable Office, dependeth not on the Words of our Submission; but +on the Intention; which is to be understood by the End thereof. When +therefore our refusall to obey, frustrates the End for which the +Soveraignty was ordained; then there is no Liberty to refuse: otherwise +there is. + + + + +Nor To Warfare, Unless They Voluntarily Undertake It + +Upon this ground, a man that is commanded as a Souldier to fight against +the enemy, though his Soveraign have Right enough to punish his refusall +with death, may neverthelesse in many cases refuse, without Injustice; +as when he substituteth a sufficient Souldier in his place: for in this +case he deserteth not the service of the Common-wealth. And there is +allowance to be made for naturall timorousnesse, not onely to women, (of +whom no such dangerous duty is expected,) but also to men of feminine +courage. When Armies fight, there is on one side, or both, a running +away; yet when they do it not out of trechery, but fear, they are not +esteemed to do it unjustly, but dishonourably. For the same reason, to +avoyd battell, is not Injustice, but Cowardise. But he that inrowleth +himselfe a Souldier, or taketh imprest mony, taketh away the excuse of +a timorous nature; and is obliged, not onely to go to the battell, +but also not to run from it, without his Captaines leave. And when the +Defence of the Common-wealth, requireth at once the help of all that +are able to bear Arms, every one is obliged; because otherwise the +Institution of the Common-wealth, which they have not the purpose, or +courage to preserve, was in vain. + +To resist the Sword of the Common-wealth, in defence of another man, +guilty, or innocent, no man hath Liberty; because such Liberty, takes +away from the Soveraign, the means of Protecting us; and is therefore +destructive of the very essence of Government. But in case a great many +men together, have already resisted the Soveraign Power Unjustly, or +committed some Capitall crime, for which every one of them expecteth +death, whether have they not the Liberty then to joyn together, and +assist, and defend one another? Certainly they have: For they but defend +their lives, which the guilty man may as well do, as the Innocent. There +was indeed injustice in the first breach of their duty; Their bearing of +Arms subsequent to it, though it be to maintain what they have done, is +no new unjust act. And if it be onely to defend their persons, it is not +unjust at all. But the offer of Pardon taketh from them, to whom it +is offered, the plea of self-defence, and maketh their perseverance in +assisting, or defending the rest, unlawfull. + + + + +The Greatest Liberty Of Subjects, Dependeth On The Silence Of The Law + + +As for other Lyberties, they depend on the silence of the Law. In cases +where the Soveraign has prescribed no rule, there the Subject hath +the liberty to do, or forbeare, according to his own discretion. And +therefore such Liberty is in some places more, and in some lesse; and in +some times more, in other times lesse, according as they that have the +Soveraignty shall think most convenient. As for Example, there was +a time, when in England a man might enter in to his own Land, +(and dispossesse such as wrongfully possessed it) by force. But in +after-times, that Liberty of Forcible entry, was taken away by a Statute +made (by the King) in Parliament. And is some places of the world, men +have the Liberty of many wives: in other places, such Liberty is not +allowed. + +If a Subject have a controversie with his Soveraigne, of Debt, or +of right of possession of lands or goods, or concerning any service +required at his hands, or concerning any penalty corporall, or +pecuniary, grounded on a precedent Law; He hath the same Liberty to sue +for his right, as if it were against a Subject; and before such Judges, +as are appointed by the Soveraign. For seeing the Soveraign demandeth +by force of a former Law, and not by vertue of his Power; he declareth +thereby, that he requireth no more, than shall appear to be due by that +Law. The sute therefore is not contrary to the will of the Soveraign; +and consequently the Subject hath the Liberty to demand the hearing of +his Cause; and sentence, according to that Law. But if he demand, or +take any thing by pretence of his Power; there lyeth, in that case, no +action of Law: for all that is done by him in Vertue of his Power, is +done by the Authority of every subject, and consequently, he that brings +an action against the Soveraign, brings it against himselfe. + +If a Monarch, or Soveraign Assembly, grant a Liberty to all, or any of +his Subjects; which Grant standing, he is disabled to provide for their +safety, the Grant is voyd; unlesse he directly renounce, or transferre +the Soveraignty to another. For in that he might openly, (if it had been +his will,) and in plain termes, have renounced, or transferred it, and +did not; it is to be understood it was not his will; but that the Grant +proceeded from ignorance of the repugnancy between such a Liberty and +the Soveraign Power; and therefore the Soveraignty is still retayned; +and consequently all those Powers, which are necessary to the exercising +thereof; such as are the Power of Warre, and Peace, of Judicature, of +appointing Officers, and Councellours, of levying Mony, and the rest +named in the 18th Chapter. + + + + +In What Cases Subjects Absolved Of Their Obedience To Their Soveraign + +The Obligation of Subjects to the Soveraign is understood to last as +long, and no longer, than the power lasteth, by which he is able to +protect them. For the right men have by Nature to protect themselves, +when none else can protect them, can by no Covenant be relinquished. The +Soveraignty is the Soule of the Common-wealth; which once departed from +the Body, the members doe no more receive their motion from it. The end +of Obedience is Protection; which, wheresoever a man seeth it, either in +his own, or in anothers sword, Nature applyeth his obedience to it, and +his endeavour to maintaine it. And though Soveraignty, in the intention +of them that make it, be immortall; yet is it in its own nature, not +only subject to violent death, by forreign war; but also through +the ignorance, and passions of men, it hath in it, from the very +institution, many seeds of a naturall mortality, by Intestine Discord. + + + + +In Case Of Captivity + +If a Subject be taken prisoner in war; or his person, or his means of +life be within the Guards of the enemy, and hath his life and corporall +Libertie given him, on condition to be Subject to the Victor, he hath +Libertie to accept the condition; and having accepted it, is the subject +of him that took him; because he had no other way to preserve himselfe. +The case is the same, if he be deteined on the same termes, in a +forreign country. But if a man be held in prison, or bonds, or is not +trusted with the libertie of his bodie; he cannot be understood to be +bound by Covenant to subjection; and therefore may, if he can, make his +escape by any means whatsoever. + + + + +In Case The Soveraign Cast Off The Government From Himself And Heyrs + +If a Monarch shall relinquish the Soveraignty, both for himself, and +his heires; His Subjects returne to the absolute Libertie of Nature; +because, though Nature may declare who are his Sons, and who are the +nerest of his Kin; yet it dependeth on his own will, (as hath been said +in the precedent chapter,) who shall be his Heyr. If therefore he will +have no Heyre, there is no Soveraignty, nor Subjection. The case is the +same, if he dye without known Kindred, and without declaration of +his Heyre. For then there can no Heire be known, and consequently no +Subjection be due. + + + + +In Case Of Banishment + +If the Soveraign Banish his Subject; during the Banishment, he is not +Subject. But he that is sent on a message, or hath leave to travell, is +still Subject; but it is, by Contract between Soveraigns, not by vertue +of the covenant of Subjection. For whosoever entreth into anothers +dominion, is Subject to all the Lawes thereof; unless he have a +privilege by the amity of the Soveraigns, or by speciall licence. + + + + +In Case The Soveraign Render Himself Subject To Another + +If a Monarch subdued by war, render himself Subject to the Victor; his +Subjects are delivered from their former obligation, and become obliged +to the Victor. But if he be held prisoner, or have not the liberty +of his own Body; he is not understood to have given away the Right of +Soveraigntie; and therefore his Subjects are obliged to yield obedience +to the Magistrates formerly placed, governing not in their own name, +but in his. For, his Right remaining, the question is only of the +Administration; that is to say, of the Magistrates and Officers; which, +if he have not means to name, he is supposed to approve those, which he +himself had formerly appointed. + + + +CHAPTER XXII. OF SYSTEMES SUBJECT, POLITICALL, AND PRIVATE + + + + +The Divers Sorts Of Systemes Of People + +Having spoken of the Generation, Forme, and Power of a Common-wealth, I +am in order to speak next of the parts thereof. And first of Systemes, +which resemble the similar parts, or Muscles of a Body naturall. By +SYSTEMES; I understand any numbers of men joyned in one Interest, or one +Businesse. Of which, some are Regular, and some Irregular. Regular are +those, where one Man, or Assembly of men, is constituted Representative +of the whole number. All other are Irregular. + +Of Regular, some are Absolute, and Independent, subject to none but +their own Representative: such are only Common-wealths; Of which I have +spoken already in the 5. last preceding chapters. Others are Dependent; +that is to say, Subordinate to some Soveraign Power, to which every one, +as also their Representative is Subject. + +Of Systemes subordinate, some are Politicall, and some Private. +Politicall (otherwise Called Bodies Politique, and Persons In Law,) +are those, which are made by authority from the Soveraign Power of the +Common-wealth. Private, are those, which are constituted by Subjects +amongst themselves, or by authoritie from a stranger. For no authority +derived from forraign power, within the Dominion of another, is Publique +there, but Private. + +And of Private Systemes, some are Lawfull; some Unlawfull: Lawfull, are +those which are allowed by the Common-wealth: all other are Unlawfull. +Irregular Systemes, are those which having no Representative, +consist only in concourse of People; which if not forbidden by the +Common-wealth, nor made on evill designe, (such as are conflux of People +to markets, or shews, or any other harmelesse end,) are Lawfull. But +when the Intention is evill, or (if the number be considerable) unknown, +they are Unlawfull. + + + + +In All Bodies Politique The Power Of The Representative Is Limited + +In Bodies Politique, the power of the Representative is alwaies Limited: +And that which prescribeth the limits thereof, is the Power Soveraign. +For Power Unlimited, is absolute Soveraignty. And the Soveraign, in +every Commonwealth, is the absolute Representative of all the Subjects; +and therefore no other, can be Representative of any part of them, +but so far forth, as he shall give leave; And to give leave to a Body +Politique of Subjects, to have an absolute Representative to all +intents and purposes, were to abandon the Government of so much of the +Commonwealth, and to divide the Dominion, contrary to their Peace and +Defence, which the Soveraign cannot be understood to doe, by any Grant, +that does not plainly, and directly discharge them of their subjection. +For consequences of words, are not the signes of his will, when other +consequences are signes of the contrary; but rather signes of errour, +and misreckoning; to which all mankind is too prone. + +The bounds of that Power, which is given to the Representative of a +Bodie Politique, are to be taken notice of, from two things. One is +their Writt, or Letters from the Soveraign: the other is the Law of the +Common-wealth. + + + + +By Letters Patents + +For though in the Institution or Acquisition of a Common-wealth, +which is independent, there needs no Writing, because the Power of the +Representative has there no other bounds, but such as are set out by +the unwritten Law of Nature; yet in subordinate bodies, there are such +diversities of Limitation necessary, concerning their businesses, times, +and places, as can neither be remembred without Letters, nor taken +notice of, unlesse such Letters be Patent, that they may be read to +them, and withall sealed, or testified, with the Seales, or other +permanent signes of the Authority Soveraign. + + + + +And The Lawes + +And because such Limitation is not alwaies easie, or perhaps possible +to be described in writing; the ordinary Lawes, common to all Subjects, +must determine, that the Representative may lawfully do, in all Cases, +where the Letters themselves are silent. And therefore + + + + +When The Representative Is One Man, His Unwarranted Acts His Own Onely + +In a Body Politique, if the Representative be one man, whatsoever he +does in the Person of the Body, which is not warranted in his Letters, +nor by the Lawes, is his own act, and not the act of the Body, nor of +any other Member thereof besides himselfe: Because further than his +Letters, or the Lawes limit, he representeth no mans person, but his +own. But what he does according to these, is the act of every one: For +of the Act of the Soveraign every one is Author, because he is their +Representative unlimited; and the act of him that recedes not from the +Letters of the Soveraign, is the act of the Soveraign, and therefore +every member of the Body is Author of it. + + + + +When It Is An Assembly, It Is The Act Of Them That Assented Onely + +But if the Representative be an Assembly, whatsoever that Assembly shall +Decree, not warranted by their Letters, or the Lawes, is the act of the +Assembly, or Body Politique, and the act of every one by whose Vote the +Decree was made; but not the act of any man that being present Voted to +the contrary; nor of any man absent, unlesse he Voted it by procuration. +It is the act of the Assembly, because Voted by the major part; and if +it be a crime, the Assembly may be punished, as farre-forth as it is +capable, as by dissolution, or forfeiture of their Letters (which is to +such artificiall, and fictitious Bodies, capitall,) or (if the +Assembly have a Common stock, wherein none of the Innocent Members have +propriety,) by pecuniary Mulct. For from corporall penalties Nature hath +exempted all Bodies Politique. But they that gave not their Vote, are +therefore Innocent, because the Assembly cannot Represent any man in +things unwarranted by their Letters, and consequently are not involved +in their Votes. + +When The Representative Is One Man, If He Borrow Mony, Or Owe It, By +Contract; He Is Lyable Onely, The Members Not If the person of the Body +Politique being in one man, borrow mony of a stranger, that is, of one +that is not of the same Body, (for no Letters need limit borrowing, +seeing it is left to mens own inclinations to limit lending) the debt is +the Representatives. For if he should have Authority from his Letters, +to make the members pay what he borroweth, he should have by consequence +the Soveraignty of them; and therefore the grant were either voyd, +as proceeding from Errour, commonly incident to humane Nature, and an +unsufficient signe of the will of the Granter; or if it be avowed +by him, then is the Representer Soveraign, and falleth not under the +present question, which is onely of Bodies subordinate. No member +therefore is obliged to pay the debt so borrowed, but the Representative +himselfe: because he that lendeth it, being a stranger to the Letters, +and to the qualification of the Body, understandeth those onely for +his debtors, that are engaged; and seeing the Representer can ingage +himselfe, and none else, has him onely for Debtor; who must therefore +pay him, out of the common stock (if there be any), or (if there be +none) out of his own estate. + +If he come into debt by Contract, or Mulct, the case is the same. + + + + +When It Is An Assembly, They Onely Are Liable That Have Assented + +But when the Representative is an Assembly, and the debt to a stranger; +all they, and onely they are responsible for the debt, that gave their +votes to the borrowing of it, or to the Contract that made it due, or to +the fact for which the Mulct was imposed; because every one of those in +voting did engage himselfe for the payment: For he that is author of +the borrowing, is obliged to the payment, even of the whole debt, though +when payd by any one, he be discharged. + + + + +If The Debt Be To One Of The Assembly, The Body Onely Is Obliged + +But if the debt be to one of the Assembly, the Assembly onely is obliged +to the payment, out of their common stock (if they have any:) For having +liberty of Vote, if he Vote the Mony, shall be borrowed, he Votes it +shall be payd; If he Vote it shall not be borrowed, or be absent, yet +because in lending, he voteth the borrowing, he contradicteth his former +Vote, and is obliged by the later, and becomes both borrower and lender, +and consequently cannot demand payment from any particular man, but +from the common Treasure onely; which fayling he hath no remedy, nor +complaint, but against himselfe, that being privy to the acts of +the Assembly, and their means to pay, and not being enforced, did +neverthelesse through his own folly lend his mony. + + + + +Protestation Against The Decrees Of Bodies Politique + +Sometimes Lawful; But Against Soveraign Power Never It is manifest by +this, that in Bodies Politique subordinate, and subject to a Soveraign +Power, it is sometimes not onely lawfull, but expedient, for a +particular man to make open protestation against the decrees of the +Representative Assembly, and cause their dissent to be Registred, or to +take witnesse of it; because otherwise they may be obliged to pay debts +contracted, and be responsible for crimes committed by other men: But in +a Soveraign Assembly, that liberty is taken away, both because he that +protesteth there, denies their Soveraignty; and also because whatsoever +is commanded by the Soveraign Power, is as to the Subject (though not +so alwayes in the sight of God) justified by the Command; for of such +command every Subject is the Author. + + + + +Bodies Politique For Government Of A Province, Colony, Or Town + +The variety of Bodies Politique, is almost infinite; for they are +not onely distinguished by the severall affaires, for which they are +constituted, wherein there is an unspeakable diversitie; but also by the +times, places, and numbers, subject to many limitations. And as to their +affaires, some are ordained for Government; As first, the Government +of a Province may be committed to an Assembly of men, wherein all +resolutions shall depend on the Votes of the major part; and then this +Assembly is a Body Politique, and their power limited by Commission. +This word Province signifies a charge, or care of businesse, which he +whose businesse it is, committeth to another man, to be administred for, +and under him; and therefore when in one Common-wealth there be divers +Countries, that have their Lawes distinct one from another, or are farre +distant in place, the Administration of the Government being committed +to divers persons, those Countries where the Soveraign is not resident, +but governs by Commission, are called Provinces. But of the government +of a Province, by an Assembly residing in the Province it selfe, there +be few examples. The Romans who had the Soveraignty of many Provinces; +yet governed them alwaies by Presidents, and Praetors; and not by +Assemblies, as they governed the City of Rome, and Territories adjacent. +In like manner, when there were Colonies sent from England, to Plant +Virginia, and Sommer-Ilands; though the government of them here, were +committed to Assemblies in London, yet did those Assemblies never +commit the Government under them to any Assembly there; but did to each +Plantation send one Governour; For though every man, where he can be +present by Nature, desires to participate of government; yet where +they cannot be present, they are by Nature also enclined, to commit the +Government of their common Interest rather to a Monarchicall, then a +Popular form of Government: which is also evident in those men that have +great private estates; who when they are unwilling to take the paines of +administring the businesse that belongs to them, choose rather to trust +one Servant, than a Assembly either of their friends or servants. +But howsoever it be in fact, yet we may suppose the Government of a +Province, or Colony committed to an Assembly: and when it is, that which +in this place I have to say, is this; that whatsoever debt is by that +Assembly contracted; or whatsoever unlawfull Act is decreed, is the Act +onely of those that assented, and not of any that dissented, or were +absent, for the reasons before alledged. Also that an Assembly residing +out of the bounds of that Colony whereof they have the government, +cannot execute any power over the persons, or goods of any of the +Colonie, to seize on them for debt, or other duty, in any place +without the Colony it selfe, as having no Jurisdiction, nor Authoritie +elsewhere, but are left to the remedie, which the Law of the place +alloweth them. And though the Assembly have right, to impose a Mulct +upon any of their members, that shall break the Lawes they make; yet +out of the Colonie it selfe, they have no right to execute the same. +And that which is said here, of the Rights of an Assembly, for the +government of a Province, or a Colony, is appliable also to an Assembly +for the Government of a Town, or University, or a College, or a Church, +or for any other Government over the persons of men. + +And generally, in all Bodies Politique, if any particular member +conceive himself Injured by the Body it self, the Cognisance of his +cause belongeth to the Soveraign, and those the Soveraign hath ordained +for Judges in such causes, or shall ordaine for that particular cause; +and not to the Body it self. For the whole Body is in this case his +fellow subject, which in a Soveraign Assembly, is otherwise: for there, +if the Soveraign be not Judge, though in his own cause, there can be no +Judge at all. + + + + +Bodies Politique For Ordering Of Trade + +In a Bodie Politique, for the well ordering of forraigne Traffique, the +most commodious Representative is an Assembly of all the members; that +is to say, such a one, as every one that adventureth his mony, may be +present at all the Deliberations, and Resolutions of the Body, if they +will themselves. For proof whereof, we are to consider the end, for +which men that are Merchants, and may buy and sell, export, and import +their Merchandise, according to their own discretions, doe neverthelesse +bind themselves up in one Corporation. It is true, there be few +Merchants, that with the Merchandise they buy at home, can fraight a +Ship, to export it; or with that they buy abroad, to bring it home; and +have therefore need to joyn together in one Society; where every man +may either participate of the gaine, according to the proportion of his +adventure; or take his own; and sell what he transports, or imports, at +such prices as he thinks fit. But this is no Body Politique, there being +no Common Representative to oblige them to any other Law, than that +which is common to all other subjects. The End of their Incorporating, +is to make their gaine the greater; which is done two wayes; by sole +buying, and sole selling, both at home, and abroad. So that to grant +to a Company of Merchants to be a Corporation, or Body Politique, is to +grant them a double Monopoly, whereof one is to be sole buyers; another +to be sole sellers. For when there is a Company incorporate for any +particular forraign Country, they only export the Commodities vendible +in that Country; which is sole buying at home, and sole selling abroad. +For at home there is but one buyer, and abroad but one that selleth: +both which is gainfull to the Merchant, because thereby they buy at home +at lower, and sell abroad at higher rates: And abroad there is but one +buyer of forraign Merchandise, and but one that sels them at home; both +which againe are gainfull to the adventurers. + +Of this double Monopoly one part is disadvantageous to the people at +home, the other to forraigners. For at home by their sole exportation +they set what price they please on the husbandry and handy-works of +the people; and by the sole importation, what price they please on all +forraign commodities the people have need of; both which are ill for the +people. On the contrary, by the sole selling of the native commodities +abroad, and sole buying the forraign commodities upon the place, +they raise the price of those, and abate the price of these, to +the disadvantage of the forraigner: For where but one selleth, the +Merchandise is the dearer; and where but one buyeth the cheaper: Such +Corporations therefore are no other then Monopolies; though they would +be very profitable for a Common-wealth, if being bound up into one body +in forraigne Markets they were at liberty at home, every man to buy, and +sell at what price he could. + +The end then of these Bodies of Merchants, being not a Common benefit +to the whole Body, (which have in this case no common stock, but what +is deducted out of the particular adventures, for building, buying, +victualling and manning of Ships,) but the particular gaine of +every adventurer, it is reason that every one be acquainted with the +employment of his own; that is, that every one be of the Assembly, that +shall have the power to order the same; and be acquainted with their +accounts. And therefore the Representative of such a Body must be +an Assembly, where every member of the Body may be present at the +consultations, if he will. + +If a Body Politique of Merchants, contract a debt to a stranger by the +act of their Representative Assembly, every Member is lyable by himself +for the whole. For a stranger can take no notice of their private Lawes, +but considereth them as so many particular men, obliged every one to the +whole payment, till payment made by one dischargeth all the rest: But if +the debt be to one of the Company, the creditor is debter for the whole +to himself, and cannot therefore demand his debt, but only from the +common stock, if there be any. + +If the Common-wealth impose a Tax upon the Body, it is understood to be +layd upon every member proportionably to his particular adventure in the +Company. For there is in this case no other common stock, but what is +made of their particular adventures. + +If a Mulct be layd upon the Body for some unlawfull act, they only are +lyable by whose votes the act was decreed, or by whose assistance it was +executed; for in none of the rest is there any other crime but being +of the Body; which if a crime, (because the Body was ordeyned by the +authority of the Common-wealth,) is not his. + +If one of the Members be indebted to the Body, he may be sued by the +Body; but his goods cannot be taken, nor his person imprisoned by the +authority of the Body; but only by Authority of the Common-wealth: +for if they can doe it by their own Authority, they can by their own +Authority give judgement that the debt is due, which is as much as to be +Judge in their own Cause. + + + + +A Bodie Politique For Counsel To Be Give To The Soveraign + +These Bodies made for the government of Men, or of Traffique, be either +perpetuall, or for a time prescribed by writing. But there be Bodies +also whose times are limited, and that only by the nature of their +businesse. For example, if a Soveraign Monarch, or a Soveraign Assembly, +shall think fit to give command to the towns, and other severall parts +of their territory, to send to him their Deputies, to enforme him of the +condition, and necessities of the Subjects, or to advise with him for +the making of good Lawes, or for any other cause, as with one Person +representing the whole Country, such Deputies, having a place and time +of meeting assigned them, are there, and at that time, a Body Politique, +representing every Subject of that Dominion; but it is onely for such +matters as shall be propounded unto them by that Man, or Assembly, that +by the Soveraign Authority sent for them; and when it shall be declared +that nothing more shall be propounded, nor debated by them, the Body is +dissolved. For if they were the absolute Representative of the people, +then were it the Soveraign Assembly; and so there would be two Soveraign +Assemblies, or two Soveraigns, over the same people; which cannot +consist with their Peace. And therefore where there is once a +Soveraignty, there can be no absolute Representation of the people, but +by it. And for the limits of how farre such a Body shall represent the +whole People, they are set forth in the Writing by which they were sent +for. For the People cannot choose their Deputies to other intent, than +is in the Writing directed to them from their Soveraign expressed. + + + + +A Regular Private Body, Lawfull, As A Family + +Private Bodies Regular, and Lawfull, are those that are constituted +without Letters, or other written Authority, saving the Lawes common +to all other Subjects. And because they be united in one Person +Representative, they are held for Regular; such as are all Families, in +which the Father, or Master ordereth the whole Family. For he obligeth +his Children, and Servants, as farre as the Law permitteth, though not +further, because none of them are bound to obedience in those actions, +which the Law hath forbidden to be done. In all other actions, during +the time they are under domestique government, they are subject to their +Fathers, and Masters, as to their immediate Soveraigns. For the Father, +and Master being before the Institution of Common-wealth, absolute +Soveraigns in their own Families, they lose afterward no more of their +Authority, than the Law of the Common-wealth taketh from them. + + + + +Private Bodies Regular, But Unlawfull + +Private Bodies Regular, but Unlawfull, are those that unite themselves +into one person Representative, without any publique Authority at all; +such as are the Corporations of Beggars, Theeves and Gipsies, the better +to order their trade of begging, and stealing; and the Corporations of +men, that by Authority from any forraign Person, unite themselves in +anothers Dominion, for easier propagation of Doctrines, and for making a +party, against the Power of the Common-wealth. + + + + +Systemes Irregular, Such As Are Private Leagues + +Irregular Systemes, in their nature, but Leagues, or sometimes meer +concourse of people, without union to any particular designe, not by +obligation of one to another, but proceeding onely from a similitude of +wills and inclinations, become Lawfull, or Unlawfull, according to the +lawfulnesse, or unlawfulnesse of every particular mans design therein: +And his designe is to be understood by the occasion. + +The Leagues of Subjects, (because Leagues are commonly made for mutuall +defence,) are in a Common-wealth (which is no more than a League of +all the Subjects together) for the most part unnecessary, and savour of +unlawfull designe; and are for that cause Unlawfull, and go commonly by +the name of factions, or Conspiracies. For a League being a connexion of +men by Covenants, if there be no power given to any one Man or Assembly, +(as in the condition of meer Nature) to compell them to performance, +is so long onely valid, as there ariseth no just cause of distrust: and +therefore Leagues between Common-wealths, over whom there is no humane +Power established, to keep them all in awe, are not onely lawfull, but +also profitable for the time they last. But Leagues of the Subjects of +one and the same Common-wealth, where every one may obtain his right +by means of the Soveraign Power, are unnecessary to the maintaining of +Peace and Justice, and (in case the designe of them be evill, or Unknown +to the Common-wealth) unlawfull. For all uniting of strength by private +men, is, if for evill intent, unjust; if for intent unknown, dangerous +to the Publique, and unjustly concealed. + + + + +Secret Cabals + +If the Soveraign Power be in a great Assembly, and a number of men, +part of the Assembly, without authority, consult a part, to contrive +the guidance of the rest; This is a Faction, or Conspiracy unlawfull, +as being a fraudulent seducing of the Assembly for their particular +interest. But if he, whose private interest is to be debated, and +judged in the Assembly, make as many friends as he can; in him it is +no Injustice; because in this case he is no part of the Assembly. And +though he hire such friends with mony, (unlesse there be an expresse Law +against it,) yet it is not Injustice. For sometimes, (as mens manners +are,) Justice cannot be had without mony; and every man may think his +own cause just, till it be heard, and judged. + + + + +Feuds Of Private Families + +In all Common-wealths, if a private man entertain more servants, than +the government of his estate, and lawfull employment he has for them +requires, it is Faction, and unlawfull. For having the protection of the +Common-wealth, he needeth not the defence of private force. And whereas +in Nations not throughly civilized, severall numerous Families have +lived in continuall hostility, and invaded one another with private +force; yet it is evident enough, that they have done unjustly; or else +that they had no Common-wealth. + + + + +Factions For Government + +And as Factions for Kindred, so also Factions for Government of +Religion, as of Papists, Protestants, &c. or of State, as Patricians, +and Plebeians of old time in Rome, and of Aristocraticalls and +Democraticalls of old time in Greece, are unjust, as being contrary to +the peace and safety of the people, and a taking of the Sword out of the +hand of the Soveraign. + +Concourse of people, is an Irregular Systeme, the lawfulnesse, or +unlawfulnesse, whereof dependeth on the occasion, and on the number of +them that are assembled. If the occasion be lawfull, and manifest, the +Concourse is lawfull; as the usuall meeting of men at Church, or at a +publique Shew, in usuall numbers: for if the numbers be extraordinarily +great, the occasion is not evident; and consequently he that cannot +render a particular and good account of his being amongst them, is to +be judged conscious of an unlawfull, and tumultuous designe. It may be +lawfull for a thousand men, to joyn in a Petition to be delivered to a +Judge, or Magistrate; yet if a thousand men come to present it, it is +a tumultuous Assembly; because there needs but one or two for that +purpose. But in such cases as these, it is not a set number that makes +the Assembly Unlawfull, but such a number, as the present Officers are +not able to suppresse, and bring to Justice. + +When an unusuall number of men, assemble against a man whom they accuse; +the Assembly is an Unlawfull tumult; because they may deliver their +accusation to the Magistrate by a few, or by one man. Such was the case +of St. Paul at Ephesus; where Demetrius, and a great number of other +men, brought two of Pauls companions before the Magistrate, saying with +one Voyce, "Great is Diana of the Ephesians;" which was their way of +demanding Justice against them for teaching the people such doctrine, +as was against their Religion, and Trade. The occasion here, considering +the Lawes of that People, was just; yet was their Assembly Judged +Unlawfull, and the Magistrate reprehended them for it, in these +words,(Acts 19. 40) "If Demetrius and the other work-men can accuse any +man, of any thing, there be Pleas, and Deputies, let them accuse one +another. And if you have any other thing to demand, your case may +be judged in an Assembly Lawfully called. For we are in danger to be +accused for this dayes sedition, because, there is no cause by which any +man can render any reason of this Concourse of People." Where he calleth +an Assembly, whereof men can give no just account, a Sedition, and such +as they could not answer for. And this is all I shall say concerning +Systemes, and Assemblyes of People, which may be compared (as I said,) +to the Similar parts of mans Body; such as be Lawfull, to the Muscles; +such as are Unlawfull, to Wens, Biles, and Apostemes, engendred by the +unnaturall conflux of evill humours. + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. OF THE PUBLIQUE MINISTERS OF SOVERAIGN POWER + + +In the last Chapter I have spoken of the Similar parts of a +Common-wealth; In this I shall speak of the parts Organicall, which are +Publique Ministers. + + + + +Publique Minister Who + +A PUBLIQUE MINISTER, is he, that by the Soveraign, (whether a Monarch, +or an Assembly,) is employed in any affaires, with Authority to +represent in that employment, the Person of the Common-wealth. And +whereas every man, or assembly that hath Soveraignty, representeth +two Persons, or (as the more common phrase is) has two Capacities, one +Naturall, and another Politique, (as a Monarch, hath the person not +onely of the Common-wealth, but also of a man; and a Soveraign Assembly +hath the Person not onely of the Common-wealth, but also of the +Assembly); they that be servants to them in their naturall Capacity, +are not Publique Ministers; but those onely that serve them in the +Administration of the Publique businesse. And therefore neither Ushers, +nor Sergeants, nor other Officers that waite on the Assembly, for +no other purpose, but for the commodity of the men assembled, in an +Aristocracy, or Democracy; nor Stewards, Chamberlains, Cofferers, or any +other Officers of the houshold of a Monarch, are Publique Ministers in a +Monarchy. + + + + +Ministers For The Generall Administration + +Of Publique Ministers, some have charge committed to them of a general +Administration, either of the whole Dominion, or of a part thereof. +Of the whole, as to a Protector, or Regent, may bee committed by +the Predecessor of an Infant King, during his minority, the whole +Administration of his Kingdome. In which case, every Subject is so far +obliged to obedience, as the Ordinances he shall make, and the commands +he shall give be in the Kings name, and not inconsistent with his +Soveraigne Power. Of a Part, or Province; as when either a Monarch, or +a Soveraign Assembly, shall give the generall charge thereof to a +Governour, Lieutenant, Praefect, or Vice-Roy: And in this case also, +every one of that Province, is obliged to all he shall doe in the name +of the Soveraign, and that not incompatible with the Soveraigns Right. +For such Protectors, Vice-Roys, and Governours, have no other right, but +what depends on the Soveraigns Will; and no Commission that can be given +them, can be interpreted for a Declaration of the will to transferre the +Soveraignty, without expresse and perspicuous words to that purpose. And +this kind of Publique Ministers resembleth the Nerves, and Tendons that +move the severall limbs of a body naturall. + + + + +For Speciall Administration, As For Oeconomy + +Others have speciall Administration; that is to say, charges of some +speciall businesse, either at home, or abroad: As at home, First, for +the Oeconomy of a Common-wealth, They that have Authority concerning the +Treasure, as Tributes, Impositions, Rents, Fines, or whatsoever publique +revenue, to collect, receive, issue, or take the Accounts thereof, +are Publique Ministers: Ministers, because they serve the Person +Representative, and can doe nothing against his Command, nor without his +Authority: Publique, because they serve him in his Politicall Capacity. + +Secondly, they that have Authority concerning the Militia; to have the +custody of Armes, Forts, Ports; to Levy, Pay, or Conduct Souldiers; or +to provide for any necessary thing for the use of war, either by Land or +Sea, are publique Ministers. But a Souldier without Command, though he +fight for the Common-wealth, does not therefore represent the Person of +it; because there is none to represent it to. For every one that hath +command, represents it to them only whom he commandeth. + + + + +For Instruction Of The People + +They also that have authority to teach, or to enable others to teach +the people their duty to the Soveraign Power, and instruct them in the +knowledge of what is just, and unjust, thereby to render them more apt +to live in godlinesse, and in peace among themselves, and resist the +publique enemy, are Publique Ministers: Ministers, in that they doe it +not by their own Authority, but by anothers; and Publique, because they +doe it (or should doe it) by no Authority, but that of the Soveraign. +The Monarch, or the Soveraign Assembly only hath immediate Authority +from God, to teach and instruct the people; and no man but the +Soveraign, receiveth his power Dei Gratia simply; that is to say, from +the favour of none but God: All other, receive theirs from the favour +and providence of God, and their Soveraigns; as in a Monarchy Dei Gratia +& Regis; or Dei Providentia & Voluntate Regis. + + + + +For Judicature + +They also to whom Jurisdiction is given, are Publique Ministers. For in +their Seats of Justice they represent the person of the Soveraign; and +their Sentence, is his Sentence; For (as hath been before declared) all +Judicature is essentially annexed to the Soveraignty; and therefore all +other Judges are but Ministers of him, or them that have the Soveraign +Power. And as Controversies are of two sorts, namely of Fact, and of +Law; so are judgements, some of Fact, some of Law: And consequently in +the same controversie, there may be two Judges, one of Fact, another of +Law. + +And in both these controversies, there may arise a controversie between +the party Judged, and the Judge; which because they be both Subjects to +the Soveraign, ought in Equity to be Judged by men agreed on by consent +of both; for no man can be Judge in his own cause. But the Soveraign +is already agreed on for Judge by them both, and is therefore either to +heare the Cause, and determine it himself, or appoint for Judge such as +they shall both agree on. And this agreement is then understood to be +made between them divers wayes; as first, if the Defendant be allowed +to except against such of his Judges, whose interest maketh him suspect +them, (for as to the Complaynant he hath already chosen his own Judge,) +those which he excepteth not against, are Judges he himself agrees on. +Secondly, if he appeale to any other Judge, he can appeale no further; +for his appeale is his choice. Thirdly, if he appeale to the Soveraign +himself, and he by himself, or by Delegates which the parties shall +agree on, give Sentence; that Sentence is finall: for the Defendant is +Judged by his own Judges, that is to say, by himself. + +These properties of just and rationall Judicature considered, I cannot +forbeare to observe the excellent constitution of the Courts of Justice, +established both for Common, and also for Publique Pleas in England. By +Common Pleas, I meane those, where both the Complaynant and Defendant +are Subjects: and by Publique, (which are also called Pleas of the +Crown) those, where the Complaynant is the Soveraign. For whereas there +were two orders of men, whereof one was Lords, the other Commons; The +Lords had this Priviledge, to have for Judges in all Capitall crimes, +none but Lords; and of them, as many as would be present; which being +ever acknowledged as a Priviledge of favour, their Judges were none but +such as they had themselves desired. And in all controversies, every +Subject (as also in civill controversies the Lords) had for Judges, men +of the Country where the matter in controversie lay; against which he +might make his exceptions, till at last Twelve men without exception +being agreed on, they were Judged by those twelve. So that having +his own Judges, there could be nothing alledged by the party, why the +sentence should not be finall, These publique persons, with Authority +from the Soveraign Power, either to Instruct, or Judge the people, +are such members of the Common-wealth, as may fitly be compared to the +organs of Voice in a Body naturall. + + + + +For Execution + +Publique Ministers are also all those, that have Authority from the +Soveraign, to procure the Execution of Judgements given; to publish the +Soveraigns Commands; to suppresse Tumults; to apprehend, and imprison +Malefactors; and other acts tending to the conservation of the +Peace. For every act they doe by such Authority, is the act of the +Common-wealth; and their service, answerable to that of the Hands, in a +Bodie naturall. + +Publique Ministers abroad, are those that represent the Person of their +own Soveraign, to forraign States. Such are Ambassadors, Messengers, +Agents, and Heralds, sent by publique Authoritie, and on publique +Businesse. + +But such as are sent by Authoritie only of some private partie of a +troubled State, though they be received, are neither Publique, nor +Private Ministers of the Common-wealth; because none of their actions +have the Common-wealth for Author. Likewise, an Ambassador sent from a +Prince, to congratulate, condole, or to assist at a solemnity, though +Authority be Publique; yet because the businesse is Private, and +belonging to him in his naturall capacity; is a Private person. Also if +a man be sent into another Country, secretly to explore their counsels, +and strength; though both the Authority, and the Businesse be Publique; +yet because there is none to take notice of any Person in him, but +his own; he is but a Private Minister; but yet a Minister of the +Common-wealth; and may be compared to an Eye in the Body naturall. And +those that are appointed to receive the Petitions or other informations +of the People, and are as it were the publique Eare, are Publique +Ministers, and represent their Soveraign in that office. + + + + +Counsellers Without Other Employment Then To Advise Are Not Publique +Ministers + +Neither a Counsellor, nor a Councell of State, if we consider it with +no Authority of Judicature or Command, but only of giving Advice to +the Soveraign when it is required, or of offering it when it is not +required, is a Publique Person. For the Advice is addressed to the +Soveraign only, whose person cannot in his own presence, be represented +to him, by another. But a Body of Counsellors, are never without some +other Authority, either of Judicature, or of immediate Administration: +As in a Monarchy, they represent the Monarch, in delivering his Commands +to the Publique Ministers: In a Democracy, the Councell, or Senate +propounds the Result of their deliberations to the people, as a +Councell; but when they appoint Judges, or heare Causes, or give +Audience to Ambassadors, it is in the quality of a Minister of the +People: And in an Aristocracy the Councell of State is the Soveraign +Assembly it self; and gives counsell to none but themselves. + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. OF THE NUTRITION, AND PROCREATION OF A COMMON-WEALTH + + + +The Nourishment Of A Common-wealth Consisteth In The Commodities + +Of Sea And Land + +The NUTRITION of a Common-wealth consisteth, in the Plenty, and +Distribution of Materials conducing to Life: In Concoction, or +Preparation; and (when concocted) in the Conveyance of it, by convenient +conduits, to the Publique use. + +As for the Plenty of Matter, it is a thing limited by Nature, to those +commodities, which from (the two breasts of our common Mother) Land, +and Sea, God usually either freely giveth, or for labour selleth to +man-kind. + +For the Matter of this Nutriment, consisting in Animals, Vegetals, and +Minerals, God hath freely layd them before us, in or neer to the face of +the Earth; so as there needeth no more but the labour, and industry +of receiving them. Insomuch as Plenty dependeth (next to Gods favour) +meerly on the labour and industry of men. + +This Matter, commonly called Commodities, is partly Native, and partly +Forraign: Native, that which is to be had within the Territory of +the Common-wealth; Forraign, that which is imported from without. And +because there is no Territory under the Dominion of one Common-wealth, +(except it be of very vast extent,) that produceth all things needfull +for the maintenance, and motion of the whole Body; and few that produce +not something more than necessary; the superfluous commodities to be had +within, become no more superfluous, but supply these wants at home, by +importation of that which may be had abroad, either by Exchange, or +by just Warre, or by Labour: for a mans Labour also, is a commodity +exchangeable for benefit, as well as any other thing: And there have +been Common-wealths that having no more Territory, than hath served +them for habitation, have neverthelesse, not onely maintained, but also +encreased their Power, partly by the labour of trading from one place to +another, and partly by selling the Manifactures, whereof the Materials +were brought in from other places. + + + + +And The Right Of Distribution Of Them + +The Distribution of the Materials of this Nourishment, is the +constitution of Mine, and Thine, and His, that is to say, in one word +Propriety; and belongeth in all kinds of Common-wealth to the Soveraign +Power. For where there is no Common-wealth, there is, (as hath been +already shewn) a perpetuall warre of every man against his neighbour; +And therefore every thing is his that getteth it, and keepeth it by +force; which is neither Propriety nor Community; but Uncertainty. Which +is so evident, that even Cicero, (a passionate defender of Liberty,) in +a publique pleading, attributeth all Propriety to the Law Civil, "Let +the Civill Law," saith he, "be once abandoned, or but negligently +guarded, (not to say oppressed,) and there is nothing, that any man can +be sure to receive from his Ancestor, or leave to his Children." And +again; "Take away the Civill Law, and no man knows what is his own, and +what another mans." Seeing therefore the Introduction of Propriety is +an effect of Common-wealth; which can do nothing but by the Person that +Represents it, it is the act onely of the Soveraign; and consisteth in +the Lawes, which none can make that have not the Soveraign Power. And +this they well knew of old, who called that Nomos, (that is to say, +Distribution,) which we call Law; and defined Justice, by distributing +to every man his own. + + + + +All Private Estates Of Land Proceed Originally From The Arbitrary +Distribution Of The Soveraign + +In this Distribution, the First Law, is for Division of the Land it +selfe: wherein the Soveraign assigneth to every man a portion, according +as he, and not according as any Subject, or any number of them, shall +judge agreeable to Equity, and the Common Good. The Children of Israel, +were a Common-wealth in the Wildernesse; but wanted the commodities +of the Earth, till they were masters of the Land of Promise; which +afterward was divided amongst them, not by their own discretion, but +by the discretion of Eleazar the Priest, and Joshua their Generall: who +when there were twelve Tribes, making them thirteen by subdivision of +the Tribe of Joseph; made neverthelesse but twelve portions of the Land; +and ordained for the Tribe of Levi no land; but assigned them the Tenth +part of the whole fruits; which division was therefore Arbitrary. And +though a People comming into possession of a land by warre, do not +alwaies exterminate the antient Inhabitants, (as did the Jewes,) but +leave to many, or most, or all of them their Estates; yet it is manifest +they hold them afterwards, as of the Victors distribution; as the people +of England held all theirs of William the Conquerour. + + + + +Propriety Of A Subject Excludes Not The Dominion Of The Soveraign, But +Onely Of Another Subject + +From whence we may collect, that the Propriety which a subject hath in +his lands, consisteth in a right to exclude all other subjects from the +use of them; and not to exclude their Soveraign, be it an Assembly, or +a Monarch. For seeing the Soveraign, that is to say, the Common-wealth +(whose Person he representeth,) is understood to do nothing but in order +to the common Peace and Security, this Distribution of lands, is to be +understood as done in order to the same: And consequently, whatsoever +Distribution he shall make in prejudice thereof, is contrary to the +will of every subject, that committed his Peace, and safety to his +discretion, and conscience; and therefore by the will of every one of +them, is to be reputed voyd. It is true, that a Soveraign Monarch, or +the greater part of a Soveraign Assembly, may ordain the doing of many +things in pursuit of their Passions, contrary to their own consciences, +which is a breach of trust, and of the Law of Nature; but this is not +enough to authorise any subject, either to make warre upon, or so much +as to accuse of Injustice, or any way to speak evill of their Soveraign; +because they have authorised all his actions, and in bestowing the +Soveraign Power, made them their own. But in what cases the Commands +of Soveraigns are contrary to Equity, and the Law of Nature, is to be +considered hereafter in another place. + + + + +The Publique Is Not To Be Dieted + +In the Distribution of land, the Common-wealth it selfe, may be +conceived to have a portion, and possesse, and improve the same by +their Representative; and that such portion may be made sufficient, to +susteine the whole expence to the common Peace, and defence necessarily +required: Which were very true, if there could be any Representative +conceived free from humane passions, and infirmities. But the nature +of men being as it is, the setting forth of Publique Land, or of any +certaine Revenue for the Common-wealth, is in vaine; and tendeth to the +dissolution of Government, and to the condition of meere Nature, and +War, assoon as ever the Soveraign Power falleth into the hands of a +Monarch, or of an Assembly, that are either too negligent of mony, or +too hazardous in engaging the publique stock, into a long, or costly +war. Common-wealths can endure no Diet: For seeing their expence is +not limited by their own appetite, but by externall Accidents, and the +appetites of their neighbours, the Publique Riches cannot be limited by +other limits, than those which the emergent occasions shall require. And +whereas in England, there were by the Conquerour, divers Lands +reserved to his own use, (besides Forrests, and Chases, either for his +recreation, or for preservation of Woods,) and divers services reserved +on the Land he gave his Subjects; yet it seems they were not reserved +for his Maintenance in his Publique, but in his Naturall capacity: For +he, and his Successors did for all that, lay Arbitrary Taxes on all +Subjects land, when they judged it necessary. Or if those publique +Lands, and Services, were ordained as a sufficient maintenance of the +Common-wealth, it was contrary to the scope of the Institution; being +(as it appeared by those ensuing Taxes) insufficient, and (as it +appeares by the late Revenue of the Crown) Subject to Alienation, +and Diminution. It is therefore in vaine, to assign a portion to the +Common-wealth; which may sell, or give it away; and does sell, and give +it away when tis done by their Representative. + + + + +The Places And Matter Of Traffique Depend, As Their Distribution, On +The Soveraign + +As the Distribution of Lands at home; so also to assigne in what places, +and for what commodities, the Subject shall traffique abroad, belongeth +to the Soveraign. For if it did belong to private persons to use their +own discretion therein, some of them would bee drawn for gaine, both +to furnish the enemy with means to hurt the Common-wealth, and hurt it +themselves, by importing such things, as pleasing mens appetites, be +neverthelesse noxious, or at least unprofitable to them. And therefore +it belongeth to the Common-wealth, (that is, to the Soveraign only,) +to approve, or disapprove both of the places, and matter of forraign +Traffique. + + + + +The Laws Of Transferring Property Belong Also To The Soveraign + +Further, seeing it is not enough to the Sustentation of a Common-wealth, +that every man have a propriety in a portion of Land, or in some few +commodities, or a naturall property in some usefull art, and there is no +art in the world, but is necessary either for the being, or well being +almost of every particular man; it is necessary, that men distribute +that which they can spare, and transferre their propriety therein, +mutually one to another, by exchange, and mutuall contract. And +therefore it belongeth to the Common-wealth, (that is to say, to the +Soveraign,) to appoint in what manner, all kinds of contract between +Subjects, (as buying, selling, exchanging, borrowing, lending, letting, +and taking to hire,) are to bee made; and by what words, and signes they +shall be understood for valid. And for the Matter, and Distribution of +the Nourishment, to the severall Members of the Common-wealth, thus much +(considering the modell of the whole worke) is sufficient. + + + + +Mony The Bloud Of A Common-wealth + +By Concoction, I understand the reducing of all commodities, which are +not presently consumed, but reserved for Nourishment in time to come, to +some thing of equal value, and withall so portably, as not to hinder +the motion of men from place to place; to the end a man may have in +what place soever, such Nourishment as the place affordeth. And this is +nothing else but Gold, and Silver, and Mony. For Gold and Silver, being +(as it happens) almost in all Countries of the world highly valued, is a +commodious measure for the value of all things else between Nations; and +Mony (of what matter soever coyned by the Soveraign of a Common-wealth,) +is a sufficient measure of the value of all things else, between the +Subjects of that Common-wealth. By the means of which measures, all +commodities, Moveable, and Immoveable, are made to accompany a man, to +all places of his resort, within and without the place of his +ordinary residence; and the same passeth from Man to Man, within the +Common-wealth; and goes round about, Nourishing (as it passeth) +every part thereof; In so much as this Concoction, is as it were the +Sanguification of the Common-wealth: For naturall Bloud is in like +manner made of the fruits of the Earth; and circulating, nourisheth by +the way, every Member of the Body of Man. + +And because Silver and Gold, have their value from the matter it self; +they have first this priviledge, that the value of them cannot be +altered by the power of one, nor of a few Common-wealths; as being a +common measure of the commodities of all places. But base Mony, may +easily be enhanced, or abased. Secondly, they have the priviledge to +make Common-wealths, move, and stretch out their armes, when need is, +into forraign Countries; and supply, not only private Subjects that +travell, but also whole Armies with provision. But that Coyne, which is +not considerable for the Matter, but for the Stamp of the place, being +unable to endure change of ayr, hath its effect at home only; where +also it is subject to the change of Laws, and thereby to have the value +diminished, to the prejudice many times of those that have it. + + + + +The Conduits And Way Of Mony To The Publique Use + +The Conduits, and Wayes by which it is conveyed to the Publique use, are +of two sorts; One, that Conveyeth it to the Publique Coffers; The other, +that Issueth the same out againe for publique payments. Of the first +sort, are Collectors, Receivers, and Treasurers; of the second are the +Treasurers againe, and the Officers appointed for payment of severall +publique or private Ministers. And in this also, the Artificiall Man +maintains his resemblance with the Naturall; whose Veins receiving the +Bloud from the severall Parts of the Body, carry it to the Heart; where +being made Vitall, the Heart by the Arteries sends it out again, to +enliven, and enable for motion all the Members of the same. + + + + +The Children Of A Common-wealth Colonies + +The Procreation, or Children of a Common-wealth, are those we call +Plantations, or Colonies; which are numbers of men sent out from the +Common-wealth, under a Conductor, or Governour, to inhabit a Forraign +Country, either formerly voyd of Inhabitants, or made voyd then, by +warre. And when a Colony is setled, they are either a Common-wealth of +themselves, discharged of their subjection to their Soveraign that sent +them, (as hath been done by many Common-wealths of antient time,) in +which case the Common-wealth from which they went was called their +Metropolis, or Mother, and requires no more of them, then Fathers +require of the Children, whom they emancipate, and make free from their +domestique government, which is Honour, and Friendship; or else they +remain united to their Metropolis, as were the Colonies of the people of +Rome; and then they are no Common-wealths themselves, but Provinces, and +parts of the Common-wealth that sent them. So that the Right of Colonies +(saving Honour, and League with their Metropolis,) dependeth wholly on +their Licence, or Letters, by which their Soveraign authorised them to +Plant. + + + +CHAPTER XXV. OF COUNSELL + + + + +Counsell What + +How fallacious it is to judge of the nature of things, by the ordinary +and inconstant use of words, appeareth in nothing more, than in the +confusion of Counsels, and Commands, arising from the Imperative manner +of speaking in them both, and in many other occasions besides. For the +words "Doe this," are the words not onely of him that Commandeth; but +also of him that giveth Counsell; and of him that Exhorteth; and yet +there are but few, that see not, that these are very different things; +or that cannot distinguish between them, when they perceive who it +is that speaketh, and to whom the Speech is directed, and upon what +occasion. But finding those phrases in mens writings, and being not +able, or not willing to enter into a consideration of the circumstances, +they mistake sometimes the Precepts of Counsellours, for the Precepts +of them that command; and sometimes the contrary; according as it best +agreeth with the conclusions they would inferre, or the actions +they approve. To avoyd which mistakes, and render to those termes +of Commanding, Counselling, and Exhorting, their proper and distinct +significations, I define them thus. + + + + +Differences Between Command And Counsell + +COMMAND is, where a man saith, "Doe this," or "Doe this not," without +expecting other reason than the Will of him that sayes it. From this it +followeth manifestly, that he that Commandeth, pretendeth thereby his +own Benefit: For the reason of his Command is his own Will onely, and +the proper object of every mans Will, is some Good to himselfe. + +COUNSELL, is where a man saith, "Doe" or "Doe not this," and deduceth +his own reasons from the benefit that arriveth by it to him to whom he +saith it. And from this it is evident, that he that giveth Counsell, +pretendeth onely (whatsoever he intendeth) the good of him, to whom he +giveth it. + +Therefore between Counsell and Command, one great difference is, that +Command is directed to a mans own benefit; and Counsell to the benefit +of another man. And from this ariseth another difference, that a man +may be obliged to do what he is Commanded; as when he hath covenanted +to obey: But he cannot be obliged to do as he is Counselled, because the +hurt of not following it, is his own; or if he should covenant to follow +it, then is the Counsell turned into the nature of a Command. A third +difference between them is, that no man can pretend a right to be of +another mans Counsell; because he is not to pretend benefit by it to +himselfe; but to demand right to Counsell another, argues a will to know +his designes, or to gain some other Good to himselfe; which (as I said +before) is of every mans will the proper object. + +This also is incident to the nature of Counsell; that whatsoever it be, +he that asketh it, cannot in equity accuse, or punish it: For to ask +Counsell of another, is to permit him to give such Counsell as he shall +think best; And consequently, he that giveth counsell to his Soveraign, +(whether a Monarch, or an Assembly) when he asketh it, cannot in equity +be punished for it, whether the same be conformable to the opinion of +the most, or not, so it be to the Proposition in debate. For if the +sense of the Assembly can be taken notice of, before the Debate be +ended, they should neither ask, nor take any further Counsell; For the +Sense of the Assembly, is the Resolution of the Debate, and End of all +Deliberation. And generally he that demandeth Counsell, is Author of it; +and therefore cannot punish it; and what the Soveraign cannot, no man +else can. But if one Subject giveth Counsell to another, to do any +thing contrary to the Lawes, whether that Counsell proceed from +evill intention, or from ignorance onely, it is punishable by the +Common-wealth; because ignorance of the Law, is no good excuse, where +every man is bound to take notice of the Lawes to which he is subject. + + + + +Exhortation And Dehortation What + +EXHORTATION, and DEHORTATION, is Counsell, accompanied with signes in +him that giveth it, of vehement desire to have it followed; or to say it +more briefly, Counsell Vehemently Pressed. For he that Exhorteth, doth +not deduce the consequences of what he adviseth to be done, and tye +himselfe therein to the rigour of true reasoning; but encourages him he +Counselleth, to Action: As he that Dehorteth, deterreth him from it. And +therefore they have in their speeches, a regard to the common Passions, +and opinions of men, in deducing their reasons; and make use of +Similitudes, Metaphors, Examples, and other tooles of Oratory, to +perswade their Hearers of the Utility, Honour, or Justice of following +their advise. + +From whence may be inferred, First, that Exhortation and Dehortation, +is directed to the Good of him that giveth the Counsell, not of him that +asketh it, which is contrary to the duty of a Counsellour; who (by the +definition of Counsell) ought to regard, not his own benefits, but his +whom he adviseth. And that he directeth his Counsell to his own +benefit, is manifest enough, by the long and vehement urging, or by +the artificial giving thereof; which being not required of him, and +consequently proceeding from his own occasions, is directed principally +to his own benefit, and but accidentarily to the good of him that is +Counselled, or not at all. + +Secondly, that the use of Exhortation and Dehortation lyeth onely, where +a man is to speak to a Multitude; because when the Speech is addressed +to one, he may interrupt him, and examine his reasons more rigorously, +than can be done in a Multitude; which are too many to enter into +Dispute, and Dialogue with him that speaketh indifferently to them +all at once. Thirdly, that they that Exhort and Dehort, where they are +required to give Counsell, are corrupt Counsellours, and as it were +bribed by their own interest. For though the Counsell they give be never +so good; yet he that gives it, is no more a good Counsellour, than he +that giveth a Just Sentence for a reward, is a just Judge. But where a +man may lawfully Command, as a Father in his Family, or a Leader in an +Army, his Exhortations and Dehortations, are not onely lawfull, but +also necessary, and laudable: But then they are no more Counsells, but +Commands; which when they are for Execution of soure labour; sometimes +necessity, and alwayes humanity requireth to be sweetned in the +delivery, by encouragement, and in the tune and phrase of Counsell, +rather then in harsher language of Command. + +Examples of the difference between Command and Counsell, we may take +from the formes of Speech that expresse them in Holy Scripture. "Have no +other Gods but me; Make to thy selfe no graven Image; Take not Gods name +in vain; Sanctifie the Sabbath; Honour thy Parents; Kill not; Steale +not," &c. are Commands; because the reason for which we are to obey +them, is drawn from the will of God our King, whom we are obliged to +obey. But these words, "Sell all thou hast; give it to the poore; and +follow me," are Counsell; because the reason for which we are to do +so, is drawn from our own benefit; which is this, that we shall have +"Treasure in Heaven." These words, "Go into the village over against +you, and you shall find an Asse tyed, and her Colt; loose her, and bring +her to me," are a Command: for the reason of their fact is drawn from +the will of their Master: but these words, "Repent, and be Baptized in +the Name of Jesus," are Counsell; because the reason why we should so +do, tendeth not to any benefit of God Almighty, who shall still be King +in what manner soever we rebell; but of our selves, who have no other +means of avoyding the punishment hanging over us for our sins. + + + + +Differences Of Fit And Unfit Counsellours + +As the difference of Counsell from Command, hath been now deduced from +the nature of Counsell, consisting in a deducing of the benefit, or +hurt that may arise to him that is to be Counselled, by the necessary +or probable consequences of the action he propoundeth; so may also the +differences between apt, and inept counsellours be derived from the +same. For Experience, being but Memory of the consequences of like +actions formerly observed, and Counsell but the Speech whereby that +experience is made known to another; the Vertues, and Defects of +Counsell, are the same with the Vertues, and Defects Intellectuall: +And to the Person of a Common-wealth, his Counsellours serve him in the +place of Memory, and Mentall Discourse. But with this resemblance of the +Common-wealth, to a naturall man, there is one dissimilitude joyned, +of great importance; which is, that a naturall man receiveth his +experience, from the naturall objects of sense, which work upon him +without passion, or interest of their own; whereas they that give +Counsell to the Representative person of a Common-wealth, may have, +and have often their particular ends, and passions, that render their +Counsells alwayes suspected, and many times unfaithfull. And therefore +we may set down for the first condition of a good Counsellour, That His +Ends, And Interest, Be Not Inconsistent With The Ends And Interest Of +Him He Counselleth. + +Secondly, Because the office of a Counsellour, when an action comes +into deliberation, is to make manifest the consequences of it, in such +manner, as he that is Counselled may be truly and evidently informed; he +ought to propound his advise, in such forme of speech, as may make +the truth most evidently appear; that is to say, with as firme +ratiocination, as significant and proper language, and as briefly, as +the evidence will permit. And therefore Rash, And Unevident Inferences; +(such as are fetched onely from Examples, or authority of Books, and are +not arguments of what is good, or evill, but witnesses of fact, or +of opinion,) Obscure, Confused, And Ambiguous Expressions, Also All +Metaphoricall Speeches, Tending To The Stirring Up Of Passion, (because +such reasoning, and such expressions, are usefull onely to deceive, or +to lead him we Counsell towards other ends than his own) Are Repugnant +To The Office Of A Counsellour. + +Thirdly, Because the Ability of Counselling proceedeth from Experience, +and long study; and no man is presumed to have experience in all those +things that to the Administration of a great Common-wealth are necessary +to be known, No Man Is Presumed To Be A Good Counsellour, But In Such +Businesse, As He Hath Not Onely Been Much Versed In, But Hath Also +Much Meditated On, And Considered. For seeing the businesse of a +Common-wealth is this, to preserve the people at home, and defend them +against forraign Invasion, we shall find, it requires great knowledge +of the disposition of Man-kind, of the Rights of Government, and of the +nature of Equity, Law, Justice, and Honour, not to be attained without +study; And of the Strength, Commodities, Places, both of their own +Country, and their Neighbours; as also of the inclinations, and designes +of all Nations that may any way annoy them. And this is not attained to, +without much experience. Of which things, not onely the whole summe, but +every one of the particulars requires the age, and observation of a man +in years, and of more than ordinary study. The wit required for Counsel, +as I have said before is Judgement. And the differences of men in that +point come from different education, of some to one kind of study, or +businesse, and of others to another. When for the doing of any thing, +there be Infallible rules, (as in Engines, and Edifices, the rules of +Geometry,) all the experience of the world cannot equall his Counsell, +that has learnt, or found out the Rule. And when there is no such Rule, +he that hath most experience in that particular kind of businesse, has +therein the best Judgement, and is the best Counsellour. + +Fourthly, to be able to give Counsell to a Common-wealth, in a businesse +that hath reference to another Common-wealth, It Is Necessary To Be +Acquainted With The Intelligences, And Letters That Come From Thence, +And With All The Records Of Treaties, And Other Transactions Of State +Between Them; which none can doe, but such as the Representative +shall think fit. By which we may see, that they who are not called to +Counsell, can have no good Counsell in such cases to obtrude. + +Fifthly, Supposing the number of Counsellors equall, a man is better +Counselled by hearing them apart, then in an Assembly; and that for many +causes. First, in hearing them apart, you have the advice of every man; +but in an Assembly may of them deliver their advise with I, or No, or +with their hands, or feet, not moved by their own sense, but by the +eloquence of another, or for feare of displeasing some that have spoken, +or the whole Assembly, by contradiction; or for feare of appearing +duller in apprehension, than those that have applauded the contrary +opinion. Secondly, in an Assembly of many, there cannot choose but be +some whose interests are contrary to that of the Publique; and these +their Interests make passionate, and Passion eloquent, and Eloquence +drawes others into the same advice. For the Passions of men, which +asunder are moderate, as the heat of one brand; in Assembly are like +many brands, that enflame one another, (especially when they blow one +another with Orations) to the setting of the Common-wealth on fire, +under pretence of Counselling it. Thirdly, in hearing every man apart, +one may examine (when there is need) the truth, or probability of +his reasons, and of the grounds of the advise he gives, by frequent +interruptions, and objections; which cannot be done in an Assembly, +where (in every difficult question) a man is rather astonied, and dazled +with the variety of discourse upon it, than informed of the course he +ought to take. Besides, there cannot be an Assembly of many, called +together for advice, wherein there be not some, that have the ambition +to be thought eloquent, and also learned in the Politiques; and give not +their advice with care of the businesse propounded, but of the applause +of their motly orations, made of the divers colored threds, or shreds of +Authors; which is an Impertinence at least, that takes away the time +of serious Consultation, and in the secret way of Counselling apart, is +easily avoided. Fourthly, in Deliberations that ought to be kept secret, +(whereof there be many occasions in Publique Businesse,) the Counsells +of many, and especially in Assemblies, are dangerous; And therefore +great Assemblies are necessitated to commit such affaires to lesser +numbers, and of such persons as are most versed, and in whose fidelity +they have most confidence. + +To conclude, who is there that so far approves the taking of Counsell +from a great Assembly of Counsellours, that wisheth for, or would accept +of their pains, when there is a question of marrying his Children, +disposing of his Lands, governing his Household, or managing his +private Estate, especially if there be amongst them such as wish not +his prosperity? A man that doth his businesse by the help of many and +prudent Counsellours, with every one consulting apart in his proper +element, does it best, as he that useth able Seconds at Tennis play, +placed in their proper stations. He does next best, that useth his own +Judgement only; as he that has no Second at all. But he that is carried +up and down to his businesse in a framed Counsell, which cannot move +but by the plurality of consenting opinions, the execution whereof is +commonly (out of envy, or interest) retarded by the part dissenting, +does it worst of all, and like one that is carried to the ball, though +by good Players, yet in a Wheele-barrough, or other frame, heavy of it +self, and retarded also by the inconcurrent judgements, and endeavours +of them that drive it; and so much the more, as they be more that set +their hands to it; and most of all, when there is one, or more amongst +them, that desire to have him lose. And though it be true, that many eys +see more then one; yet it is not to be understood of many Counsellours; +but then only, when the finall Resolution is in one man. Otherwise, +because many eyes see the same thing in divers lines, and are apt to +look asquint towards their private benefit; they that desire not to +misse their marke, though they look about with two eyes, yet they never +ayme but with one; And therefore no great Popular Common-wealth was +ever kept up; but either by a forraign Enemy that united them; or by +the reputation of some one eminent Man amongst them; or by the secret +Counsell of a few; or by the mutuall feare of equall factions; and +not by the open Consultations of the Assembly. And as for very little +Common-wealths, be they Popular, or Monarchicall, there is no humane +wisdome can uphold them, longer then the Jealousy lasteth of their +potent Neighbours. + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. OF CIVILL LAWES + + + + +Civill Law what + +By CIVILL LAWES, I understand the Lawes, that men are therefore bound to +observe, because they are Members, not of this, or that Common-wealth +in particular, but of a Common-wealth. For the knowledge of particular +Lawes belongeth to them, that professe the study of the Lawes of their +severall Countries; but the knowledge of Civill Law in generall, to any +man. The antient Law of Rome was called their Civil Law, from the word +Civitas, which signifies a Common-wealth; And those Countries, which +having been under the Roman Empire, and governed by that Law, retaine +still such part thereof as they think fit, call that part the Civill +Law, to distinguish it from the rest of their own Civill Lawes. But that +is not it I intend to speak of here; my designe being not to shew what +is Law here, and there; but what is Law; as Plato, Aristotle, Cicero, +and divers others have done, without taking upon them the profession of +the study of the Law. + +And first it manifest, that Law in generall, is not Counsell, but +Command; nor a Command of any man to any man; but only of him, whose +Command is addressed to one formerly obliged to obey him. And as for +Civill Law, it addeth only the name of the person Commanding, which is +Persona Civitatis, the Person of the Common-wealth. + +Which considered, I define Civill Law in this Manner. "CIVILL LAW, Is to +every Subject, those Rules, which the Common-wealth hath Commanded him, +by Word, Writing, or other sufficient Sign of the Will, to make use +of, for the Distinction of Right, and Wrong; that is to say, of what is +contrary, and what is not contrary to the Rule." + +In which definition, there is nothing that is not at first sight +evident. For every man seeth, that some Lawes are addressed to all the +Subjects in generall; some to particular Provinces; some to particular +Vocations; and some to particular Men; and are therefore Lawes, to every +of those to whom the Command is directed; and to none else. As also, +that Lawes are the Rules of Just, and Unjust; nothing being reputed +Unjust, that is not contrary to some Law. Likewise, that none can +make Lawes but the Common-wealth; because our Subjection is to the +Common-wealth only: and that Commands, are to be signified by sufficient +Signs; because a man knows not otherwise how to obey them. And +therefore, whatsoever can from this definition by necessary consequence +be deduced, ought to be acknowledged for truth. Now I deduce from it +this that followeth. + + + + +The Soveraign Is Legislator + +1. The Legislator in all Common-wealths, is only the Soveraign, be he +one Man, as in a Monarchy, or one Assembly of men, as in a Democracy, +or Aristocracy. For the Legislator, is he that maketh the Law. And the +Common-wealth only, praescribes, and commandeth the observation of those +rules, which we call Law: Therefore the Common-wealth is the Legislator. +But the Common-wealth is no Person, nor has capacity to doe any thing, +but by the Representative, (that is, the Soveraign;) and therefore the +Soveraign is the sole Legislator. For the same reason, none can abrogate +a Law made, but the Soveraign; because a Law is not abrogated, but by +another Law, that forbiddeth it to be put in execution. + + + + +And Not Subject To Civill Law + +2. The Soveraign of a Common-wealth, be it an Assembly, or one Man, is +not subject to the Civill Lawes. For having power to make, and repeale +Lawes, he may when he pleaseth, free himselfe from that subjection, +by repealing those Lawes that trouble him, and making of new; and +consequently he was free before. For he is free, that can be free when +he will: Nor is it possible for any person to be bound to himselfe; +because he that can bind, can release; and therefore he that is bound to +himselfe onely, is not bound. + + + + +Use, A Law Not By Vertue Of Time, But Of The Soveraigns Consent + +3. When long Use obtaineth the authority of a Law, it is not the +Length of Time that maketh the Authority, but the Will of the Soveraign +signified by his silence, (for Silence is sometimes an argument of +Consent;) and it is no longer Law, then the Soveraign shall be silent +therein. And therefore if the Soveraign shall have a question of Right +grounded, not upon his present Will, but upon the Lawes formerly +made; the Length of Time shal bring no prejudice to his Right; but the +question shal be judged by Equity. For many unjust Actions, and unjust +Sentences, go uncontrolled a longer time, than any man can remember. +And our Lawyers account no Customes Law, but such as are reasonable, and +that evill Customes are to be abolished; But the Judgement of what is +reasonable, and of what is to be abolished, belongeth to him that maketh +the Law, which is the Soveraign Assembly, or Monarch. + + + + +The Law Of Nature, And The Civill Law Contain Each Other + +4. The Law of Nature, and the Civill Law, contain each other, and are +of equall extent. For the Lawes of Nature, which consist in Equity, +Justice, Gratitude, and other morall Vertues on these depending, in the +condition of meer Nature (as I have said before in the end of the 15th +Chapter,) are not properly Lawes, but qualities that dispose men to +peace, and to obedience. When a Common-wealth is once settled, then are +they actually Lawes, and not before; as being then the commands of the +Common-wealth; and therefore also Civill Lawes: for it is the Soveraign +Power that obliges men to obey them. For in the differences of private +men, to declare, what is Equity, what is Justice, and what is morall +Vertue, and to make them binding, there is need of the Ordinances of +Soveraign Power, and Punishments to be ordained for such as shall break +them; which Ordinances are therefore part of the Civill Law. The Law of +Nature therefore is a part of the Civill Law in all Common-wealths of +the world. Reciprocally also, the Civill Law is a part of the Dictates +of Nature. For Justice, that is to say, Performance of Covenant, and +giving to every man his own, is a Dictate of the Law of Nature. But +every subject in a Common-wealth, hath covenanted to obey the Civill +Law, (either one with another, as when they assemble to make a common +Representative, or with the Representative it selfe one by one, when +subdued by the Sword they promise obedience, that they may receive +life;) And therefore Obedience to the Civill Law is part also of the +Law of Nature. Civill, and Naturall Law are not different kinds, but +different parts of Law; whereof one part being written, is called +Civill, the other unwritten, Naturall. But the Right of Nature, that +is, the naturall Liberty of man, may by the Civill Law be abridged, +and restrained: nay, the end of making Lawes, is no other, but such +Restraint; without the which there cannot possibly be any Peace. And Law +was brought into the world for nothing else, but to limit the naturall +liberty of particular men, in such manner, as they might not hurt, but +assist one another, and joyn together against a common Enemy. + + + + +Provinciall Lawes Are Not Made By Custome, But By The Soveraign Power + +5. If the Soveraign of one Common-wealth, subdue a people that have +lived under other written Lawes, and afterwards govern them by the +same Lawes, by which they were governed before; yet those Lawes are the +Civill Lawes of the Victor, and not of the Vanquished Common-wealth, For +the Legislator is he, not by whose authority the Lawes were first made, +but by whose authority they now continue to be Lawes. And therefore +where there be divers Provinces, within the Dominion of a Common-wealth, +and in those Provinces diversity of Lawes, which commonly are called the +Customes of each severall Province, we are not to understand that such +Customes have their Force, onely from Length of Time; but that they were +antiently Lawes written, or otherwise made known, for the Constitutions, +and Statutes of their Soveraigns; and are now Lawes, not by vertue of +the Praescription of time, but by the Constitutions of their present +Soveraigns. But if an unwritten Law, in all the Provinces of a Dominion, +shall be generally observed, and no iniquity appear in the use thereof; +that law can be no other but a Law of Nature, equally obliging all +man-kind. + + + + +Some Foolish Opinions Of Lawyers Concerning The Making Of Lawes + +6. Seeing then all Lawes, written, and unwritten, have their Authority, +and force, from the Will of the Common-wealth; that is to say, from the +Will of the Representative; which in a Monarchy is the Monarch, and +in other Common-wealths the Soveraign Assembly; a man may wonder from +whence proceed such opinions, as are found in the Books of Lawyers of +eminence in severall Common-wealths, directly, or by consequence making +the Legislative Power depend on private men, or subordinate Judges. +As for example, "That the Common Law, hath no Controuler but the +Parlament;" which is true onely where a Parlament has the Soveraign +Power, and cannot be assembled, nor dissolved, but by their own +discretion. For if there be a right in any else to dissolve them, there +is a right also to controule them, and consequently to controule their +controulings. And if there be no such right, then the Controuler of +Lawes is not Parlamentum, but Rex In Parlamento. And where a Parlament +is Soveraign, if it should assemble never so many, or so wise men, from +the Countries subject to them, for whatsoever cause; yet there is no man +will believe, that such an Assembly hath thereby acquired to themselves +a Legislative Power. Item, that the two arms of a Common-wealth, +are Force, and Justice; The First Whereof Is In The King; The Other +Deposited In The Hands Of The Parlament. As if a Common-wealth could +consist, where the Force were in any hand, which Justice had not the +Authority to command and govern. + +7. That Law can never be against Reason, our Lawyers are agreed; and +that not the Letter,(that is, every construction of it,) but that which +is according to the Intention of the Legislator, is the Law. And it is +true: but the doubt is, of whose Reason it is, that shall be received +for Law. It is not meant of any private Reason; for then there would be +as much contradiction in the Lawes, as there is in the Schooles; nor yet +(as Sr. Ed, Coke makes it (Sir Edward Coke, upon Littleton Lib.2. Ch.6 +fol 97.b),) an Artificiall Perfection of Reason, Gotten By Long Study, +Observation, And Experience, (as his was.) For it is possible long study +may encrease, and confirm erroneous Sentences: and where men build on +false grounds, the more they build, the greater is the ruine; and of +those that study, and observe with equall time, and diligence, the +reasons and resolutions are, and must remain discordant: and therefore +it is not that Juris Prudentia, or wisedome of subordinate Judges; +but the Reason of this our Artificiall Man the Common-wealth, and +his Command, that maketh Law: And the Common-wealth being in +their Representative but one Person, there cannot easily arise any +contradiction in the Lawes; and when there doth, the same Reason is +able, by interpretation, or alteration, to take it away. In all Courts +of Justice, the Soveraign (which is the Person of the Common-wealth,) +is he that Judgeth: The subordinate Judge, ought to have regard to the +reason, which moved his Soveraign to make such Law, that his Sentence +may be according thereunto; which then is his Soveraigns Sentence; +otherwise it is his own, and an unjust one. + + + + +Law Made, If Not Also Made Known, Is No Law + +8. From this, that the Law is a Command, and a Command consisteth in +declaration, or manifestation of the will of him that commandeth, by +voyce, writing, or some other sufficient argument of the same, we may +understand, that the Command of the Common-wealth, is Law onely to +those, that have means to take notice of it. Over naturall fooles, +children, or mad-men there is no Law, no more than over brute beasts; +nor are they capable of the title of just, or unjust; because they had +never power to make any covenant, or to understand the consequences +thereof; and consequently never took upon them to authorise the +actions of any Soveraign, as they must do that make to themselves a +Common-wealth. And as those from whom Nature, or Accident hath taken +away the notice of all Lawes in generall; so also every man, from whom +any accident, not proceeding from his own default, hath taken away the +means to take notice of any particular Law, is excused, if he observe it +not; And to speak properly, that Law is no Law to him. It is therefore +necessary, to consider in this place, what arguments, and signes be +sufficient for the knowledge of what is the Law; that is to say, what is +the will of the Soveraign, as well in Monarchies, as in other formes of +government. + + + + +Unwritten Lawes Are All Of Them Lawes Of Nature + +And first, if it be a Law that obliges all the Subjects without +exception, and is not written, nor otherwise published in such places as +they may take notice thereof, it is a Law of Nature. For whatsoever men +are to take knowledge of for Law, not upon other mens words, but every +one from his own reason, must be such as is agreeable to the reason of +all men; which no Law can be, but the Law of Nature. The Lawes of Nature +therefore need not any publishing, nor Proclamation; as being contained +in this one Sentence, approved by all the world, "Do not that to +another, which thou thinkest unreasonable to be done by another to thy +selfe." + +Secondly, if it be a Law that obliges only some condition of men, or one +particular man and be not written, nor published by word, then also it +is a Law of Nature; and known by the same arguments, and signs, +that distinguish those in such a condition, from other Subjects. For +whatsoever Law is not written, or some way published by him that makes +it Law, can be known no way, but by the reason of him that is to obey +it; and is therefore also a Law not only Civill, but Naturall. For +example, if the Soveraign employ a Publique Minister, without written +Instructions what to doe; he is obliged to take for Instructions the +Dictates of Reason; As if he make a Judge, The Judge is to take notice, +that his Sentence ought to be according to the reason of his Soveraign, +which being alwaies understood to be Equity, he is bound to it by the +Law of Nature: Or if an Ambassador, he is (in al things not conteined +in his written Instructions) to take for Instruction that which Reason +dictates to be most conducing to his Soveraigns interest; and so of +all other Ministers of the Soveraignty, publique and private. All which +Instructions of naturall Reason may be comprehended under one name of +Fidelity; which is a branch of naturall Justice. + +The Law of Nature excepted, it belongeth to the essence of all other +Lawes, to be made known, to every man that shall be obliged to obey +them, either by word, or writing, or some other act, known to proceed +from the Soveraign Authority. For the will of another, cannot be +understood, but by his own word, or act, or by conjecture taken from his +scope and purpose; which in the person of the Common-wealth, is to be +supposed alwaies consonant to Equity and Reason. And in antient time, +before letters were in common use, the Lawes were many times put into +verse; that the rude people taking pleasure in singing, or reciting +them, might the more easily reteine them in memory. And for the same +reason Solomon adviseth a man, to bind the ten Commandements (Prov. 7. +3) upon his ten fingers. And for the Law which Moses gave to the people +of Israel at the renewing of the Covenant, (Deut. 11. 19) he biddeth +them to teach it their Children, by discoursing of it both at home, and +upon the way; at going to bed, and at rising from bed; and to write +it upon the posts, and dores of their houses; and (Deut. 31. 12) to +assemble the people, man, woman, and child, to heare it read. + + + + +Nothing Is Law Where The Legislator Cannot Be Known + +Nor is it enough the Law be written, and published; but also that there +be manifest signs, that it proceedeth from the will of the Soveraign. +For private men, when they have, or think they have force enough to +secure their unjust designes, and convoy them safely to their ambitious +ends, may publish for Lawes what they please, without, or against +the Legislative Authority. There is therefore requisite, not only a +Declaration of the Law, but also sufficient signes of the Author, and +Authority. The Author, or Legislator is supposed in every Common-wealth +to be evident, because he is the Soveraign, who having been Constituted +by the consent of every one, is supposed by every one to be sufficiently +known. And though the ignorance, and security of men be such, for the +most part, as that when the memory of the first Constitution of their +Common-wealth is worn out, they doe not consider, by whose power they +use to be defended against their enemies, and to have their industry +protected, and to be righted when injury is done them; yet because no +man that considers, can make question of it, no excuse can be derived +from the ignorance of where the Soveraignty is placed. And it is a +Dictate of Naturall Reason, and consequently an evident Law of Nature, +that no man ought to weaken that power, the protection whereof he hath +himself demanded, or wittingly received against others. Therefore of +who is Soveraign, no man, but by his own fault, (whatsoever evill men +suggest,) can make any doubt. The difficulty consisteth in the evidence +of the Authority derived from him; The removing whereof, dependeth on +the knowledge of the publique Registers, publique Counsels, publique +Ministers, and publique Seales; by which all Lawes are sufficiently +verified. + + + + +Difference Between Verifying And Authorising + +Verifyed, I say, not Authorised: for the Verification, is but the +Testimony and Record; not the Authority of the law; which consisteth in +the Command of the Soveraign only. + + + + +The Law Verifyed By The Subordinate Judge + +If therefore a man have a question of Injury, depending on the Law of +Nature; that is to say, on common Equity; the Sentence of the Judge, +that by Commission hath Authority to take cognisance of such causes, is +a sufficient Verification of the Law of Nature in that individuall case. +For though the advice of one that professeth the study of the Law, be +usefull for the avoyding of contention; yet it is but advice; tis the +Judge must tell men what is Law, upon the hearing of the Controversy. + + + + +By The Publique Registers + +But when the question is of injury, or crime, upon a written Law; every +man by recourse to the Registers, by himself, or others, may (if he +will) be sufficiently enformed, before he doe such injury, or commit the +crime, whither it be an injury, or not: Nay he ought to doe so: for when +a man doubts whether the act he goeth about, be just, or injust; and may +informe himself, if he will; the doing is unlawfull. In like manner, he +that supposeth himself injured, in a case determined by the written Law, +which he may by himself, or others see and consider; if he complaine +before he consults with the Law, he does unjustly, and bewrayeth a +disposition rather to vex other men, than to demand his own right. + + + + +By Letters Patent, And Publique Seale + +If the question be of Obedience to a publique Officer; To have seen his +Commission, with the Publique Seale, and heard it read; or to have +had the means to be informed of it, if a man would, is a sufficient +Verification of his Authority. For every man is obliged to doe his best +endeavour, to informe himself of all written Lawes, that may concerne +his own future actions. + + + + +The Interpretation Of The Law Dependeth On The Soveraign Power + +The Legislator known; and the Lawes, either by writing, or by the +light of Nature, sufficiently published; there wanteth yet another +very materiall circumstance to make them obligatory. For it is not the +Letter, but the Intendment, or Meaning; that is to say, the authentique +Interpretation of the Law (which is the sense of the Legislator,) in +which the nature of the Law consisteth; And therefore the Interpretation +of all Lawes dependeth on the Authority Soveraign; and the Interpreters +can be none but those, which the Soveraign, (to whom only the +Subject oweth obedience) shall appoint. For else, by the craft of an +Interpreter, the Law my be made to beare a sense, contrary to that of +the Soveraign; by which means the Interpreter becomes the Legislator. + + + + +All Lawes Need Interpretation + +All Laws, written, and unwritten, have need of Interpretation. +The unwritten Law of Nature, though it be easy to such, as without +partiality, and passion, make use of their naturall reason, and +therefore leaves the violators thereof without excuse; yet considering +there be very few, perhaps none, that in some cases are not blinded by +self love, or some other passion, it is now become of all Laws the most +obscure; and has consequently the greatest need of able Interpreters. +The written Laws, if they be short, are easily mis-interpreted, from the +divers significations of a word, or two; if long, they be more obscure +by the diverse significations of many words: in so much as no written +Law, delivered in few, or many words, can be well understood, without a +perfect understanding of the finall causes, for which the Law was +made; the knowledge of which finall causes is in the Legislator. To him +therefore there can not be any knot in the Law, insoluble; either by +finding out the ends, to undoe it by; or else by making what ends he +will, (as Alexander did with his sword in the Gordian knot,) by the +Legislative power; which no other Interpreter can doe. + + + + +The Authenticall Interpretation Of Law Is Not That Of Writers + +The Interpretation of the Lawes of Nature, in a Common-wealth, dependeth +not on the books of Morall Philosophy. The Authority of writers, without +the Authority of the Common-wealth, maketh not their opinions Law, +be they never so true. That which I have written in this Treatise, +concerning the Morall Vertues, and of their necessity, for the +procuring, and maintaining peace, though it bee evident Truth, is not +therefore presently Law; but because in all Common-wealths in the world, +it is part of the Civill Law: For though it be naturally reasonable; yet +it is by the Soveraigne Power that it is Law: Otherwise, it were a great +errour, to call the Lawes of Nature unwritten Law; whereof wee see +so many volumes published, and in them so many contradictions of one +another, and of themselves. + + + + +The Interpreter Of The Law Is The Judge Giving Sentence Vivâ Voce In +Every Particular Case + +The Interpretation of the Law of Nature, is the Sentence of the Judge +constituted by the Soveraign Authority, to heare and determine such +controversies, as depend thereon; and consisteth in the application of +the Law to the present case. For in the act of Judicature, the Judge +doth no more but consider, whither the demand of the party, be consonant +to naturall reason, and Equity; and the Sentence he giveth, is therefore +the Interpretation of the Law of Nature; which Interpretation is +Authentique; not because it is his private Sentence; but because +he giveth it by Authority of the Soveraign, whereby it becomes the +Soveraigns Sentence; which is Law for that time, to the parties +pleading. + + + + +The Sentence Of A Judge, Does Not Bind Him, Or Another Judge To Give +Like Sentence In Like Cases Ever After + +But because there is no Judge Subordinate, nor Soveraign, but may erre +in a Judgement of Equity; if afterward in another like case he find it +more consonant to Equity to give a contrary Sentence, he is obliged to +doe it. No mans error becomes his own Law; nor obliges him to persist +in it. Neither (for the same reason) becomes it a Law to other Judges, +though sworn to follow it. For though a wrong Sentence given by +authority of the Soveraign, if he know and allow it, in such Lawes as +are mutable, be a constitution of a new Law, in cases, in which every +little circumstance is the same; yet in Lawes immutable, such as are the +Lawes of Nature, they are no Lawes to the same, or other Judges, in the +like cases for ever after. Princes succeed one another; and one Judge +passeth, another commeth; nay, Heaven and Earth shall passe; but not one +title of the Law of Nature shall passe; for it is the Eternall Law of +God. Therefore all the Sentences of precedent Judges that have ever +been, cannot all together make a Law contrary to naturall Equity: Nor +any Examples of former Judges, can warrant an unreasonable Sentence, or +discharge the present Judge of the trouble of studying what is Equity +(in the case he is to Judge,) from the principles of his own naturall +reason. For example sake, ’Tis against the Law of Nature, To Punish The +Innocent; and Innocent is he that acquitteth himselfe Judicially, and is +acknowledged for Innocent by the Judge. Put the case now, that a man is +accused of a capitall crime, and seeing the powers and malice of some +enemy, and the frequent corruption and partiality of Judges, runneth +away for feare of the event, and afterwards is taken, and brought to a +legall triall, and maketh it sufficiently appear, he was not guilty of +the crime, and being thereof acquitted, is neverthelesse condemned to +lose his goods; this is a manifest condemnation of the Innocent. I say +therefore, that there is no place in the world, where this can be an +interpretation of a Law of Nature, or be made a Law by the Sentences of +precedent Judges, that had done the same. For he that judged it first, +judged unjustly; and no Injustice can be a pattern of Judgement to +succeeding Judges. A written Law may forbid innocent men to fly, and +they may be punished for flying: But that flying for feare of injury, +should be taken for presumption of guilt, after a man is already +absolved of the crime Judicially, is contrary to the nature of a +Presumption, which hath no place after Judgement given. Yet this is set +down by a great Lawyer for the common Law of England. "If a man," saith +he, "that is Innocent, be accused of Felony, and for feare flyeth for +the same; albeit he judicially acquitteth himselfe of the Felony; yet +if it be found that he fled for the Felony, he shall notwithstanding his +Innocency, Forfeit all his goods, chattels, debts, and duties. For as +to the Forfeiture of them, the Law will admit no proofe against the +Presumption in Law, grounded upon his flight." Here you see, An Innocent +Man, Judicially Acquitted, Notwithstanding His Innocency, (when no +written Law forbad him to fly) after his acquitall, Upon A Presumption +In Law, condemned to lose all the goods he hath. If the Law ground upon +his flight a Presumption of the fact, (which was Capitall,) the Sentence +ought to have been Capitall: if the presumption were not of the Fact, +for what then ought he to lose his goods? This therefore is no Law of +England; nor is the condemnation grounded upon a Presumption of Law, but +upon the Presumption of the Judges. It is also against Law, to say +that no Proofe shall be admitted against a Presumption of Law. For +all Judges, Soveraign and subordinate, if they refuse to heare Proofe, +refuse to do Justice: for though the Sentence be Just, yet the Judges +that condemn without hearing the Proofes offered, are Unjust Judges; and +their Presumption is but Prejudice; which no man ought to bring with him +to the Seat of Justice, whatsoever precedent judgements, or examples he +shall pretend to follow. There be other things of this nature, wherein +mens Judgements have been perverted, by trusting to Precedents: but this +is enough to shew, that though the Sentence of the Judge, be a Law to +the party pleading, yet it is no Law to any Judge, that shall succeed +him in that Office. + +In like manner, when question is of the Meaning of written Lawes, he is +not the Interpreter of them, that writeth a Commentary upon them. For +Commentaries are commonly more subject to cavill, than the Text; and +therefore need other Commentaries; and so there will be no end of such +Interpretation. And therefore unlesse there be an Interpreter authorised +by the Soveraign, from which the subordinate Judges are not to recede, +the Interpreter can be no other than the ordinary Judges, in the some +manner, as they are in cases of the unwritten Law; and their Sentences +are to be taken by them that plead, for Lawes in that particular case; +but not to bind other Judges, in like cases to give like judgements. +For a Judge may erre in the Interpretation even of written Lawes; but no +errour of a subordinate Judge, can change the Law, which is the generall +Sentence of the Soveraigne. + + + + +The Difference Between The Letter And Sentence Of The Law + +In written Lawes, men use to make a difference between the Letter, and +the Sentence of the Law: And when by the Letter, is meant whatsoever +can be gathered from the bare words, ’tis well distinguished. For the +significations of almost all words, are either in themselves, or in the +metaphoricall use of them, ambiguous; and may be drawn in argument, to +make many senses; but there is onely one sense of the Law. But if by the +Letter, be meant the Literall sense, then the Letter, and the Sentence +or intention of the Law, is all one. For the literall sense is that, +which the Legislator is alwayes supposed to be Equity: For it were a +great contumely for a Judge to think otherwise of the Soveraigne. +He ought therefore, if the Word of the Law doe not fully authorise a +reasonable Sentence, to supply it with the Law of Nature; or if the +case be difficult, to respit Judgement till he have received more ample +authority. For Example, a written Law ordaineth, that he which is thrust +out of his house by force, shall be restored by force: It happens that +a man by negligence leaves his house empty, and returning is kept out by +force, in which case there is no speciall Law ordained. It is evident, +that this case is contained in the same Law: for else there is no remedy +for him at all; which is to be supposed against the Intention of the +Legislator. Again, the word of the Law, commandeth to Judge according +to the Evidence: A man is accused falsly of a fact, which the Judge saw +himself done by another; and not by him that is accused. In this case +neither shall the Letter of the Law be followed to the condemnation of +the Innocent, nor shall the Judge give Sentence against the evidence +of the Witnesses; because the Letter of the Law is to the contrary: +but procure of the Soveraign that another be made Judge, and himselfe +Witnesse. So that the incommodity that follows the bare words of a +written Law, may lead him to the Intention of the Law, whereby to +interpret the same the better; though no Incommodity can warrant a +Sentence against the Law. For every Judge of Right, and Wrong, is not +Judge of what is Commodious, or Incommodious to the Common-wealth. + + + + +The Abilities Required In A Judge + +The abilities required in a good Interpreter of the Law, that is to say, +in a good Judge, are not the same with those of an Advocate; namely the +study of the Lawes. For a Judge, as he ought to take notice of the Fact, +from none but the Witnesses; so also he ought to take notice of the +Law, from nothing but the Statutes, and Constitutions of the Soveraign, +alledged in the pleading, or declared to him by some that have authority +from the Soveraign Power to declare them; and need not take care +before-hand, what hee shall Judge; for it shall bee given him what hee +shall say concerning the Fact, by Witnesses; and what hee shall say in +point of Law, from those that shall in their pleadings shew it, and by +authority interpret it upon the place. The Lords of Parlament in England +were Judges, and most difficult causes have been heard and determined +by them; yet few of them were much versed in the study of the Lawes, +and fewer had made profession of them: and though they consulted with +Lawyers, that were appointed to be present there for that purpose; yet +they alone had the authority of giving Sentence. In like manner, in +the ordinary trialls of Right, Twelve men of the common People, are the +Judges, and give Sentence, not onely of the Fact, but of the Right; and +pronounce simply for the Complaynant, or for the Defendant; that is to +say, are Judges not onely of the Fact, but also of the Right: and in a +question of crime, not onely determine whether done, or not done; but +also whether it be Murder, Homicide, Felony, Assault, and the like, +which are determinations of Law: but because they are not supposed to +know the Law of themselves, there is one that hath Authority to enforme +them of it, in the particular case they are to Judge of. But yet if they +judge not according to that he tells them, they are not subject thereby +to any penalty; unlesse it be made appear, they did it against their +consciences, or had been corrupted by reward. The things that make +a good Judge, or good Interpreter of the Lawes, are, first A Right +Understanding of that principall Law of Nature called Equity; which +depending not on the reading of other mens Writings, but on the +goodnesse of a mans own naturall Reason, and Meditation, is presumed +to be in those most, that have had most leisure, and had the most +inclination to meditate thereon. Secondly, Contempt Of Unnecessary +Riches, and Preferments. Thirdly, To Be Able In Judgement To Devest +Himselfe Of All Feare, Anger, Hatred, Love, And Compassion. Fourthly, +and lastly, Patience To Heare; Diligent Attention In Hearing; And Memory +To Retain, Digest And Apply What He Hath Heard. + + + + +Divisions Of Law + +The difference and division of the Lawes, has been made in divers +manners, according to the different methods, of those men that have +written of them. For it is a thing that dependeth not on Nature, but on +the scope of the Writer; and is subservient to every mans proper method. +In the Institutions of Justinian, we find seven sorts of Civill Lawes. + +1. The Edicts, Constitutions, and Epistles Of The Prince, that is, of +the Emperour; because the whole power of the people was in him. Like +these, are the Proclamations of the Kings of England. + +2. The Decrees Of The Whole People Of Rome (comprehending the Senate,) +when they were put to the Question by the Senate. These were Lawes, at +first, by the vertue of the Soveraign Power residing in the people; and +such of them as by the Emperours were not abrogated, remained Lawes by +the Authority Imperiall. For all Lawes that bind, are understood to be +Lawes by his authority that has power to repeale them. Somewhat like to +these Lawes, are the Acts of Parliament in England. + +3. The Decrees Of The Common People (excluding the Senate,) when they +were put to the question by the Tribune of the people. For such of them +as were not abrogated by the Emperours, remained Lawes by the Authority +Imperiall. Like to these, were the Orders of the House of Commons in +England. + +4. Senatus Consulta, the Orders Of The Senate; because when the people +of Rome grew so numerous, as it was inconvenient to assemble them; it +was thought fit by the Emperour, that men should Consult the Senate in +stead of the people: And these have some resemblance with the Acts of +Counsell. + +5. The Edicts Of Praetors, and (in some Cases) of the Aediles: such as +are the Chiefe Justices in the Courts of England. + +6. Responsa Prudentum; which were the Sentences, and Opinions of those +Lawyers, to whom the Emperour gave Authority to interpret the Law, and +to give answer to such as in matter of Law demanded their advice; +which Answers, the Judges in giving Judgement were obliged by the +Constitutions of the Emperour to observe; And should be like the Reports +of Cases Judged, if other Judges be by the Law of England bound to +observe them. For the Judges of the Common Law of England, are not +properly Judges, but Juris Consulti; of whom the Judges, who are either +the Lords, or Twelve men of the Country, are in point of Law to ask +advice. + +7. Also, Unwritten Customes, (which in their own nature are an imitation +of Law,) by the tacite consent of the Emperour, in case they be not +contrary to the Law of Nature, are very Lawes. + +Another division of Lawes, is into Naturall and Positive. Naturall are +those which have been Lawes from all Eternity; and are called not onely +Naturall, but also Morall Lawes; consisting in the Morall Vertues, as +Justice, Equity, and all habits of the mind that conduce to Peace, and +Charity; of which I have already spoken in the fourteenth and fifteenth +Chapters. + +Positive, are those which have not been for Eternity; but have been +made Lawes by the Will of those that have had the Soveraign Power over +others; and are either written, or made known to men, by some other +argument of the Will of their Legislator. + + + + +Another Division Of Law + +Again, of Positive Lawes some are Humane, some Divine; And of Humane +positive lawes, some are Distributive, some Penal. Distributive are +those that determine the Rights of the Subjects, declaring to every man +what it is, by which he acquireth and holdeth a propriety in lands, +or goods, and a right or liberty of action; and these speak to all +the Subjects. Penal are those, which declare, what Penalty shall be +inflicted on those that violate the Law; and speak to the Ministers +and Officers ordained for execution. For though every one ought to be +informed of the Punishments ordained beforehand for their transgression; +neverthelesse the Command is not addressed to the Delinquent, (who +cannot be supposed will faithfully punish himselfe,) but to publique +Ministers appointed to see the Penalty executed. And these Penal Lawes +are for the most part written together with the Lawes Distributive; and +are sometimes called Judgements. For all Lawes are generall judgements, +or Sentences of the Legislator; as also every particular Judgement, is a +Law to him, whose case is Judged. + + + + +Divine Positive Law How Made Known To Be Law + +Divine Positive Lawes (for Naturall Lawes being Eternall, and +Universall, are all Divine,) are those, which being the Commandements of +God, (not from all Eternity, nor universally addressed to all men, but +onely to a certain people, or to certain persons,) are declared for +such, by those whom God hath authorised to declare them. But this +Authority of man to declare what be these Positive Lawes of God, how can +it be known? God may command a man by a supernaturall way, to deliver +Lawes to other men. But because it is of the essence of Law, that he who +is to be obliged, be assured of the Authority of him that declareth +it, which we cannot naturally take notice to be from God, How Can A Man +Without Supernaturall Revelation Be Assured Of The Revelation Received +By The Declarer? and How Can He Be Bound To Obey Them? For the first +question, how a man can be assured of the Revelation of another, without +a Revelation particularly to himselfe, it is evidently impossible: +for though a man may be induced to believe such Revelation, from the +Miracles they see him doe, or from seeing the Extraordinary sanctity of +his life, or from seeing the Extraordinary wisedome, or Extraordinary +felicity of his Actions, all which are marks of Gods extraordinary +favour; yet they are not assured evidence of speciall Revelation. +Miracles are Marvellous workes: but that which is marvellous to one, +may not be so to another. Sanctity may be feigned; and the visible +felicities of this world, are most often the work of God by Naturall, +and ordinary causes. And therefore no man can infallibly know by +naturall reason, that another has had a supernaturall revelation of Gods +will; but only a beliefe; every one (as the signs thereof shall appear +greater, or lesser) a firmer, or a weaker belief. + +But for the second, how he can be bound to obey them; it is not so hard. +For if the Law declared, be not against the Law of Nature (which is +undoubtedly Gods Law) and he undertake to obey it, he is bound by his +own act; bound I say to obey it, but not bound to believe it: for mens +beliefe, and interiour cogitations, are not subject to the commands, +but only to the operation of God, ordinary, or extraordinary. Faith of +Supernaturall Law, is not a fulfilling, but only an assenting to the +same; and not a duty that we exhibite to God, but a gift which God +freely giveth to whom he pleaseth; as also Unbelief is not a breach +of any of his Lawes; but a rejection of them all, except the Lawes +Naturall. But this that I say, will be made yet cleerer, by the +Examples, and Testimonies concerning this point in holy Scripture. The +Covenant God made with Abraham (in a Supernaturall Manner) was thus, +(Gen. 17. 10) "This is the Covenant which thou shalt observe between +Me and Thee and thy Seed after thee." Abrahams Seed had not this +revelation, nor were yet in being; yet they are a party to the Covenant, +and bound to obey what Abraham should declare to them for Gods Law; +which they could not be, but in vertue of the obedience they owed to +their Parents; who (if they be Subject to no other earthly power, as +here in the case of Abraham) have Soveraign power over their children, +and servants. Againe, where God saith to Abraham, "In thee shall all +Nations of the earth be blessed: For I know thou wilt command thy +children, and thy house after thee to keep the way of the Lord, and to +observe Righteousnesse and Judgement," it is manifest, the obedience of +his Family, who had no Revelation, depended on their former obligation +to obey their Soveraign. At Mount Sinai Moses only went up to God; the +people were forbidden to approach on paine of death; yet were they bound +to obey all that Moses declared to them for Gods Law. Upon what ground, +but on this submission of their own, "Speak thou to us, and we will +heare thee; but let not God speak to us, lest we dye?" By which two +places it sufficiently appeareth, that in a Common-wealth, a subject +that has no certain and assured Revelation particularly to himself +concerning the Will of God, is to obey for such, the Command of +the Common-wealth: for if men were at liberty, to take for Gods +Commandements, their own dreams, and fancies, or the dreams and +fancies of private men; scarce two men would agree upon what is Gods +Commandement; and yet in respect of them, every man would despise the +Commandements of the Common-wealth. I conclude therefore, that in all +things not contrary to the Morall Law, (that is to say, to the Law of +Nature,) all Subjects are bound to obey that for divine Law, which is +declared to be so, by the Lawes of the Common-wealth. Which also is +evident to any mans reason; for whatsoever is not against the Law of +Nature, may be made Law in the name of them that have the Soveraign +power; and there is no reason men should be the lesse obliged by it, +when tis propounded in the name of God. Besides, there is no place in +the world where men are permitted to pretend other Commandements of God, +than are declared for such by the Common-wealth. Christian States punish +those that revolt from Christian Religion, and all other States, those +that set up any Religion by them forbidden. For in whatsoever is not +regulated by the Common-wealth, tis Equity (which is the Law of Nature, +and therefore an eternall Law of God) that every man equally enjoy his +liberty. + + + + +Another Division Of Lawes + +There is also another distinction of Laws, into Fundamentall, and Not +Fundamentall: but I could never see in any Author, what a Fundamentall +Law signifieth. Neverthelesse one may very reasonably distinguish Laws +in that manner. + + + + +A Fundamentall Law What + +For a Fundamentall Law in every Common-wealth is that, which being taken +away, the Common-wealth faileth, and is utterly dissolved; as a building +whose Foundation is destroyed. And therefore a Fundamentall Law is that, +by which Subjects are bound to uphold whatsoever power is given to the +Soveraign, whether a Monarch, or a Soveraign Assembly, without which the +Common-wealth cannot stand, such as is the power of War and Peace, of +Judicature, of Election of Officers, and of doing whatsoever he shall +think necessary for the Publique good. Not Fundamentall is that +the abrogating whereof, draweth not with it the dissolution of the +Common-Wealth; such as are the Lawes Concerning Controversies between +subject and subject. Thus much of the Division of Lawes. + + + + +Difference Between Law And Right + +I find the words Lex Civilis, and Jus Civile, that is to say, Law and +Right Civil, promiscuously used for the same thing, even in the most +learned Authors; which neverthelesse ought not to be so. For Right is +Liberty, namely that Liberty which the Civil Law leaves us: But Civill +Law is an Obligation; and takes from us the Liberty which the Law of +Nature gave us. Nature gave a Right to every man to secure himselfe +by his own strength, and to invade a suspected neighbour, by way of +prevention; but the Civill Law takes away that Liberty, in all cases +where the protection of the Lawe may be safely stayd for. Insomuch as +Lex and Jus, are as different as Obligation and Liberty. + + + + +And Between A Law And A Charter + +Likewise Lawes and Charters are taken promiscuously for the same +thing. Yet Charters are Donations of the Soveraign; and not Lawes, but +exemptions from Law. The phrase of a Law is Jubeo, Injungo, I Command, +and Enjoyn: the phrase of a Charter is Dedi, Concessi, I Have Given, I +Have Granted: but what is given or granted, to a man, is not forced +upon him, by a Law. A Law may be made to bind All the Subjects of a +Common-wealth: a Liberty, or Charter is only to One man, or some One +part of the people. For to say all the people of a Common-wealth, have +Liberty in any case whatsoever; is to say, that in such case, there hath +been no Law made; or else having been made, is now abrogated. + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. OF CRIMES, EXCUSES, AND EXTENUATIONS + + + +Sinne What + +A Sinne, is not onely a Transgression of a Law, but also any Contempt of +the Legislator. For such Contempt, is a breach of all his Lawes at once. +And therefore may consist, not onely in the Commission of a Fact, or in +the Speaking of Words by the Lawes forbidden, or in the Omission of +what the Law commandeth, but also in the Intention, or purpose to +transgresse. For the purpose to breake the Law, is some degree of +Contempt of him, to whom it belongeth to see it executed. To be +delighted in the Imagination onely, of being possessed of another mans +goods, servants, or wife, without any intention to take them from him +by force, or fraud, is no breach of the Law, that sayth, "Thou shalt not +covet:" nor is the pleasure a man my have in imagining, or dreaming of +the death of him, from whose life he expecteth nothing but dammage, and +displeasure, a Sinne; but the resolving to put some Act in execution, +that tendeth thereto. For to be pleased in the fiction of that, which +would please a man if it were reall, is a Passion so adhaerent to the +Nature both of a man, and every other living creature, as to make it a +Sinne, were to make Sinne of being a man. The consideration of this, +has made me think them too severe, both to themselves, and others, that +maintain, that the First motions of the mind, (though checked with the +fear of God) be Sinnes. But I confesse it is safer to erre on that hand, +than on the other. + + + + +A Crime What + +A Crime, is a sinne, consisting in the Committing (by Deed, or Word) +of that which the Law forbiddeth, or the Omission of what it hath +commanded. So that every Crime is a sinne; but not every sinne a Crime. +To intend to steale, or kill, is a sinne, though it never appeare in +Word, or Fact: for God that seeth the thoughts of man, can lay it to +his charge: but till it appear by some thing done, or said, by which +the intention may be Crime; which distinction the Greeks observed in +the word amartema, and egklema, or aitia; wherof the former, (which is +translated Sinne,) signifieth any swarving from the Law whatsoever; but +the two later, (which are translated Crime,) signifie that sinne onely, +whereof one man may accuse another. But of Intentions, which never +appear by any outward act, there is no place for humane accusation. In +like manner the Latines by Peccatum, which is Sinne, signifie all manner +of deviation from the Law; but by crimen, (which word they derive from +Cerno, which signifies to perceive,) they mean onely such sinnes, as my +be made appear before a Judge; and therfore are not meer Intentions. + + + + +Where No Civill Law Is, There Is No Crime + +From this relation of Sinne to the Law, and of Crime to the Civill +Law, may be inferred, First, that where Law ceaseth, Sinne ceaseth. +But because the Law of Nature is eternall, Violation of Covenants, +Ingratitude, Arrogance, and all Facts contrary to any Morall vertue, can +never cease to be Sinne. Secondly, that the Civill Law ceasing, Crimes +cease: for there being no other Law remaining, but that of Nature, there +is no place for Accusation; every man being his own Judge, and accused +onely by his own Conscience, and cleared by the Uprightnesse of his own +Intention. When therefore his Intention is Right, his fact is no Sinne: +if otherwise, his fact is Sinne; but not Crime. Thirdly, That when the +Soveraign Power ceaseth, Crime also ceaseth: for where there is no such +Power, there is no protection to be had from the Law; and therefore +every one may protect himself by his own power: for no man in the +Institution of Soveraign Power can be supposed to give away the Right +of preserving his own body; for the safety whereof all Soveraignty was +ordained. But this is to be understood onely of those, that have not +themselves contributed to the taking away of the Power that protected +them: for that was a Crime from the beginning. + + + + +Ignorance Of The Law Of Nature Excuseth No Man + +The source of every Crime, is some defect of the Understanding; or some +errour in Reasoning, or some sudden force of the Passions. Defect in +the Understanding, is Ignorance; in Reasoning, Erroneous Opinion. Again, +ignorance is of three sort; of the Law, and of the Soveraign, and of the +Penalty. Ignorance of the Law of Nature Excuseth no man; because every +man that hath attained to the use of Reason, is supposed to know, he +ought not to do to another, what he would not have done to himselfe. +Therefore into what place soever a man shall come, if he do any thing +contrary to that Law, it is a Crime. If a man come from the Indies +hither, and perswade men here to receive a new Religion, or teach them +any thing that tendeth to disobedience of the Lawes of this Country, +though he be never so well perswaded of the truth of what he teacheth, +he commits a Crime, and may be justly punished for the same, not onely +because his doctrine is false, but also because he does that which he +would not approve in another, namely, that comming from hence, he should +endeavour to alter the Religion there. But ignorance of the Civill Law, +shall Excuse a man in a strange Country, till it be declared to him; +because, till then no Civill Law is binding. + + + + +Ignorance Of The Civill Law Excuseth Sometimes + +In the like manner, if the Civill Law of a mans own Country, be not +so sufficiently declared, as he may know it if he will; nor the Action +against the Law of Nature; the Ignorance is a good Excuse: In other +cases ignorance of the Civill Law, Excuseth not. + + + + +Ignorance Of The Soveraign Excuseth Not + +Ignorance of the Soveraign Power, in the place of a mans ordinary +residence, Excuseth him not; because he ought to take notice of the +Power, by which he hath been protected there. + + + + +Ignorance Of The Penalty Excuseth Not + +Ignorance of the Penalty, where the Law is declared, Excuseth no man: +For in breaking the Law, which without a fear of penalty to follow, were +not a Law, but vain words, he undergoeth the penalty, though he know not +what it is; because, whosoever voluntarily doth any action, accepteth +all the known consequences of it; but Punishment is a known consequence +of the violation of the Lawes, in every Common-wealth; which punishment, +if it be determined already by the Law, he is subject to that; if not, +then is he subject to Arbitrary punishment. For it is reason, that he +which does Injury, without other limitation than that of his own Will, +should suffer punishment without other limitation, than that of his Will +whose Law is thereby violated. + + + + +Punishments Declared Before The Fact, Excuse From Greater Punishments +After It + +But when a penalty, is either annexed to the Crime in the Law it selfe, +or hath been usually inflicted in the like cases; there the Delinquent +is Excused from a greater penalty. For the punishment foreknown, if not +great enough to deterre men from the action, is an invitement to it: +because when men compare the benefit of their Injustice, with the harm +of their punishment, by necessity of Nature they choose that which +appeareth best for themselves; and therefore when they are punished more +than the Law had formerly determined, or more than others were punished +for the same Crime; it the Law that tempted, and deceiveth them. + + + + +Nothing Can Be Made A Crime By A Law Made After The Fact + +No Law, made after a Fact done, can make it a Crime: because if the +Fact be against the Law of Nature, the Law was before the Fact; and a +Positive Law cannot be taken notice of, before it be made; and therefore +cannot be Obligatory. But when the Law that forbiddeth a Fact, is made +before the Fact be done; yet he that doth the Fact, is lyable to the +Penalty ordained after, in case no lesser Penalty were made known +before, neither by Writing, nor by Example, for the reason immediatly +before alledged. + + + + +False Principles Of Right And Wrong Causes Of Crime + +From defect in Reasoning, (that is to say, from Errour,) men are prone +to violate the Lawes, three wayes. First, by Presumption of false +Principles; as when men from having observed how in all places, and +in all ages, unjust Actions have been authorised, by the force, and +victories of those who have committed them; and that potent men, +breaking through the Cob-web Lawes of their Country, the weaker sort, +and those that have failed in their Enterprises, have been esteemed the +onely Criminals; have thereupon taken for Principles, and grounds of +their Reasoning, "That Justice is but a vain word: That whatsoever a man +can get by his own Industry, and hazard, is his own: That the Practice +of all Nations cannot be unjust: That examples of former times are good +Arguments of doing the like again;" and many more of that kind: Which +being granted, no Act in it selfe can be a Crime, but must be made so +(not by the Law, but) by the successe of them that commit it; and the +same Fact be vertuous, or vicious, as Fortune pleaseth; so that what +Marius makes a Crime, Sylla shall make meritorious, and Caesar (the same +Lawes standing) turn again into a Crime, to the perpetuall disturbance +of the Peace of the Common-wealth. + + + + +False Teachers Mis-interpreting The Law Of Nature Secondly, by false +Teachers, that either mis-interpret the Law of Nature, making it thereby +repugnant to the Law Civill; or by teaching for Lawes, such Doctrines of +their own, or Traditions of former times, as are inconsistent with the +duty of a Subject. + + + + +And False Inferences From True Principles, By Teachers + +Thirdly, by Erroneous Inferences from True Principles; which happens +commonly to men that are hasty, and praecipitate in concluding, and +resolving what to do; such as are they, that have both a great opinion +of their own understanding, and believe that things of this nature +require not time and study, but onely common experience, and a good +naturall wit; whereof no man thinks himselfe unprovided: whereas the +knowledge, of Right and Wrong, which is no lesse difficult, there is no +man will pretend to, without great and long study. And of those defects +in Reasoning, there is none that can Excuse (though some of them may +Extenuate) a Crime, in any man, that pretendeth to the administration of +his own private businesse; much lesse in them that undertake a publique +charge; because they pretend to the Reason, upon the want whereof they +would ground their Excuse. + + + + +By Their Passions; + +Of the Passions that most frequently are the causes of Crime, one, +is Vain-glory, or a foolish over-rating of their own worth; as if +difference of worth, were an effect of their wit, or riches, or bloud, +or some other naturall quality, not depending on the Will of those that +have the Soveraign Authority. From whence proceedeth a Presumption that +the punishments ordained by the Lawes, and extended generally to all +Subjects, ought not to be inflicted on them, with the same rigour they +are inflicted on poore, obscure, and simple men, comprehended under the +name of the Vulgar. + + + + +Presumption Of Riches + +Therefore it happeneth commonly, that such as value themselves by the +greatnesse of their wealth, adventure on Crimes, upon hope of escaping +punishment, by corrupting publique Justice, or obtaining Pardon by Mony, +or other rewards. + + + + +And Friends + +And that such as have multitude of Potent Kindred; and popular men, that +have gained reputation amongst the Multitude, take courage to violate +the Lawes, from a hope of oppressing the Power, to whom it belongeth to +put them in execution. + + + + +Wisedome + +And that such as have a great, and false opinion of their own Wisedome, +take upon them to reprehend the actions, and call in question the +Authority of them that govern, and so to unsettle the Lawes with their +publique discourse, as that nothing shall be a Crime, but what their own +designes require should be so. It happeneth also to the same men, to be +prone to all such Crimes, as consist in Craft, and in deceiving of their +Neighbours; because they think their designes are too subtile to be +perceived. These I say are effects of a false presumption of their own +Wisdome. For of them that are the first movers in the disturbance of +Common-wealth, (which can never happen without a Civill Warre,) very few +are left alive long enough, to see their new Designes established: so +that the benefit of their Crimes, redoundeth to Posterity, and such as +would least have wished it: which argues they were not as wise, as +they thought they were. And those that deceive upon hope of not being +observed, do commonly deceive themselves, (the darknesse in which they +believe they lye hidden, being nothing else but their own blindnesse;) +and are no wiser than Children, that think all hid, by hiding their own +eyes. + +And generally all vain-glorious men, (unlesse they be withall timorous,) +are subject to Anger; as being more prone than others to interpret for +contempt, the ordinary liberty of conversation: And there are few Crimes +that may not be produced by Anger. + + + + +Hatred, Lust, Ambition, Covetousnesse, Causes Of Crime + +As for the Passions, of Hate, Lust, Ambition, and Covetousnesse, what +Crimes they are apt to produce, is so obvious to every mans experience +and understanding, as there needeth nothing to be said of them, saving +that they are infirmities, so annexed to the nature, both of man, and +all other living creatures, as that their effects cannot be hindred, +but by extraordinary use of Reason, or a constant severity in punishing +them. For in those things men hate, they find a continuall, and +unavoydable molestation; whereby either a mans patience must be +everlasting, or he must be eased by removing the power of that which +molesteth him; The former is difficult; the later is many times +impossible, without some violation of the Law. Ambition, and +Covetousnesse are Passions also that are perpetually incumbent, and +pressing; whereas Reason is not perpetually present, to resist them: +and therefore whensoever the hope of impunity appears, their effects +proceed. And for Lust, what it wants in the lasting, it hath in the +vehemence, which sufficeth to weigh down the apprehension of all easie, +or uncertain punishments. + + + + +Fear Sometimes Cause Of Crime, As When The Danger Is Neither Present, +Nor Corporeall + +Of all Passions, that which enclineth men least to break the Lawes, is +Fear. Nay, (excepting some generous natures,) it is the onely thing, +(when there is apparence of profit, or pleasure by breaking the Lawes,) +that makes men keep them. And yet in many cases a Crime may be committed +through Feare. + +For not every Fear justifies the Action it produceth, but the fear onely +of corporeall hurt, which we call Bodily Fear, and from which a man +cannot see how to be delivered, but by the action. A man is assaulted, +fears present death, from which he sees not how to escape, but by +wounding him that assaulteth him; If he wound him to death, this is no +Crime; because no man is supposed at the making of a Common-wealth, to +have abandoned the defence of his life, or limbes, where the Law cannot +arrive time enough to his assistance. But to kill a man, because from +his actions, or his threatnings, I may argue he will kill me when he +can, (seeing I have time, and means to demand protection, from the +Soveraign Power,) is a Crime. Again, a man receives words of disgrace, +or some little injuries (for which they that made the Lawes, had +assigned no punishment, nor thought it worthy of a man that hath the use +of Reason, to take notice of,) and is afraid, unlesse he revenge it, +he shall fall into contempt, and consequently be obnoxious to the like +injuries from others; and to avoyd this, breaks the Law, and protects +himselfe for the future, by the terrour of his private revenge. This is +a Crime; For the hurt is not Corporeall, but Phantasticall, and (though +in this corner of the world, made sensible by a custome not many years +since begun, amongst young and vain men,) so light, as a gallant man, +and one that is assured of his own courage, cannot take notice of. Also +a man may stand in fear of Spirits, either through his own superstition, +or through too much credit given to other men, that tell him of strange +Dreams and visions; and thereby be made believe they will hurt him, for +doing, or omitting divers things, which neverthelesse, to do, or omit, +is contrary to the Lawes; And that which is so done, or omitted, is not +to be Excused by this fear; but is a Crime. For (as I have shewn before +in the second Chapter) Dreams be naturally but the fancies remaining in +sleep, after the impressions our Senses had formerly received waking; +and when men are by any accident unassured they have slept, seem to be +reall Visions; and therefore he that presumes to break the Law upon his +own, or anothers Dream, or pretended Vision, or upon other Fancy of +the power of Invisible Spirits, than is permitted by the Common-wealth, +leaveth the Law of Nature, which is a certain offence, and followeth the +imagery of his own, or another private mans brain, which he can never +know whether it signifieth any thing, or nothing, nor whether he that +tells his Dream, say true, or lye; which if every private man should +have leave to do, (as they must by the Law of Nature, if any one have +it) there could no Law be made to hold, and so all Common-wealth would +be dissolved. + + + + +Crimes Not Equall + +From these different sources of Crimes, it appeares already, that all +Crimes are not (as the Stoicks of old time maintained) of the same +allay. There is place, not only for EXCUSE, by which that which seemed +a Crime, is proved to be none at all; but also for EXTENUATION, by which +the Crime, that seemed great, is made lesse. For though all Crimes doe +equally deserve the name of Injustice, as all deviation from a strait +line is equally crookednesse, which the Stoicks rightly observed; yet +it does not follow that all Crimes are equally unjust, no more than that +all crooked lines are equally crooked; which the Stoicks not observing, +held it as great a Crime, to kill a Hen, against the Law, as to kill +ones Father. + + + + +Totall Excuses + +That which totally Excuseth a Fact, and takes away from it the nature of +a Crime, can be none but that, which at the same time, taketh away the +obligation of the Law. For the fact committed once against the Law, +if he that committed it be obliged to the Law, can be no other than a +Crime. + +The want of means to know the Law, totally Excuseth: For the Law whereof +a man has no means to enforme himself, is not obligatory. But the want +of diligence to enquire, shall not be considered as a want of means; Nor +shall any man, that pretendeth to reason enough for the Government of +his own affairs, be supposed to want means to know the Lawes of Nature; +because they are known by the reason he pretends to: only Children, and +Madmen are Excused from offences against the Law Naturall. + +Where a man is captive, or in the power of the enemy, (and he is then in +the power of the enemy, when his person, or his means of living, is +so,) if it be without his own fault, the Obligation of the Law ceaseth; +because he must obey the enemy, or dye; and consequently such obedience +is no Crime: for no man is obliged (when the protection of the Law +faileth,) not to protect himself, by the best means he can. + +If a man by the terrour of present death, be compelled to doe a fact +against the Law, he is totally Excused; because no Law can oblige a +man to abandon his own preservation. And supposing such a Law were +obligatory; yet a man would reason thus, "If I doe it not, I die +presently; if I doe it, I die afterwards; therefore by doing it, there +is time of life gained;" Nature therefore compells him to the fact. + +When a man is destitute of food, or other thing necessary for his life, +and cannot preserve himselfe any other way, but by some fact against +the Law; as if in a great famine he take the food by force, or stealth, +which he cannot obtaine for mony nor charity; or in defence of his life, +snatch away another mans Sword, he is totally Excused, for the reason +next before alledged. + + + + +Excuses Against The Author + +Again, Facts done against the Law, by the authority of another, are +by that authority Excused against the Author; because no man ought to +accuse his own fact in another, that is but his instrument: but it +is not Excused against a third person thereby injured; because in the +violation of the law, bothe the Author, and Actor are Criminalls. +From hence it followeth that when that Man, or Assembly, that hath the +Soveraign Power, commandeth a man to do that which is contrary to a +former Law, the doing of it is totally Excused: For he ought not to +condemn it himselfe, because he is the Author; and what cannot justly +be condemned by the Soveraign, cannot justly be punished by any other. +Besides, when the Soveraign commandeth any thing to be done against +his own former Law, the Command, as to that particular fact, is an +abrogation of the Law. + +If that Man, or Assembly, that hath the Soveraign Power, disclaime +any Right essentiall to the Soveraignty, whereby there accrueth to the +Subject, any liberty inconsistent with the Soveraign Power, that is to +say, with the very being of a Common-wealth, if the Subject shall refuse +to obey the Command in any thing, contrary to the liberty granted, this +is neverthelesse a Sinne, and contrary to the duty of the Subject: for +he ought to take notice of what is inconsistent with the Soveraignty, +because it was erected by his own consent, and for his own defence; +and that such liberty as is inconsistent with it, was granted through +ignorance of the evill consequence thereof. But if he not onely disobey, +but also resist a publique Minister in the execution of it, then it is +a Crime; because he might have been righted, (without any breach of the +Peace,) upon complaint. + +The Degrees of Crime are taken on divers Scales, and measured, First, by +the malignity of the Source, or Cause: Secondly, by the contagion of the +Example: Thirdly, by the mischiefe of the Effect; and Fourthly, by the +concurrence of Times, Places, and Persons. + + + + +Presumption Of Power, Aggravateth + +The same Fact done against the Law, if it proceed from Presumption of +strength, riches, or friends to resist those that are to execute the +Law, is a greater Crime, than if it proceed from hope of not being +discovered, or of escape by flight: For Presumption of impunity by +force, is a Root, from whence springeth, at all times, and upon all +temptations, a contempt of all Lawes; whereas in the later case, the +apprehension of danger, that makes a man fly, renders him more obedient +for the future. A Crime which we know to be so, is greater than the same +Crime proceeding from a false perswasion that it is lawfull: For he that +committeth it against his own conscience, presumeth on his force, or +other power, which encourages him to commit the same again: but he that +doth it by errour, after the errour shewn him, is conformable to the +Law. + + + + +Evill Teachers, Extenuate + +Hee, whose errour proceeds from the authority of a Teacher, or an +Interpreter of the Law publiquely authorised, is not so faulty, as he +whose errour proceedeth from a peremptory pursute of his own principles, +and reasoning: For what is taught by one that teacheth by publique +Authority, the Common-wealth teacheth, and hath a resemblance of Law, +till the same Authority controuleth it; and in all Crimes that contain +not in them a denyall of the Soveraign Power, nor are against an evident +Law, Excuseth totally: whereas he that groundeth his actions, on his +private Judgement, ought according to the rectitude, or errour thereof, +to stand, or fall. + + + + +Examples Of Impunity, Extenuate + +The same Fact, if it have been constantly punished in other men, as +a greater Crime, than if there have been may precedent Examples of +impunity. For those Examples, are so many hopes of Impunity given by +the Soveraign himselfe: And because he which furnishes a man with such +a hope, and presumption of mercy, as encourageth him to offend, hath his +part in the offence; he cannot reasonably charge the offender with the +whole. + + + + +Praemeditation, Aggravateth + +A Crime arising from a sudden Passion, is not so great, as when the same +ariseth from long meditation: For in the former case there is a place +for Extenuation, in the common infirmity of humane nature: but he that +doth it with praemeditation, has used circumspection, and cast his eye, +on the Law, on the punishment, and on the consequence thereof to humane +society; all which in committing the Crime, hee hath contemned, and +postposed to his own appetite. But there is no suddennesse of Passion +sufficient for a totall Excuse: For all the time between the first +knowing of the Law, and the Commission of the Fact, shall be taken for +a time of deliberation; because he ought by meditation of the Law, to +rectifie the irregularity of his Passions. + +Where the Law is publiquely, and with assiduity, before all the people +read, and interpreted; a fact done against it, is a greater Crime, +than where men are left without such instruction, to enquire of it with +difficulty, uncertainty, and interruption of their Callings, and +be informed by private men: for in this case, part of the fault is +discharged upon common infirmity; but in the former there is apparent +negligence, which is not without some contempt of the Soveraign Power. + + + + +Tacite Approbation Of The Soveraign, Extenuates + +Those facts which the Law expresly condemneth, but the Law-maker by +other manifest signes of his will tacitly approveth, are lesse Crimes, +than the same facts, condemned both by the Law, and Lawmaker. For +seeing the will of the Law-maker is a Law, there appear in this case two +contradictory Lawes; which would totally Excuse, if men were bound to +take notice of the Soveraigns approbation, by other arguments, than are +expressed by his command. But because there are punishments consequent, +not onely to the transgression of his Law, but also to the observing +of it, he is in part a cause of the transgression, and therefore cannot +reasonably impute the whole Crime to the Delinquent. For example, the +Law condemneth Duells; the punishment is made capitall: On the contrary +part, he that refuseth Duell, is subject to contempt and scorne, without +remedy; and sometimes by the Soveraign himselfe thought unworthy to +have any charge, or preferment in Warre: If thereupon he accept Duell, +considering all men lawfully endeavour to obtain the good opinion +of them that have the Soveraign Power, he ought not in reason to be +rigorously punished; seeing part of the fault may be discharged on the +punisher; which I say, not as wishing liberty of private revenges, +or any other kind of disobedience; but a care in Governours, not +to countenance any thing obliquely, which directly they forbid. The +examples of Princes, to those that see them, are, and ever have been, +more potent to govern their actions, than the Lawes themselves. And +though it be our duty to do, not what they do, but what they say; yet +will that duty never be performed, till it please God to give men an +extraordinary, and supernaturall grace to follow that Precept. + + + + +Comparison Of Crimes From Their Effects + +Again, if we compare Crimes by the mischiefe of their Effects, First, +the same fact, when it redounds to the dammage of many, is greater, than +when it redounds to the hurt of few. And therefore, when a fact hurteth, +not onely in the present, but also, (by example) in the future, it is a +greater Crime, than if it hurt onely in the present: for the former, +is a fertile Crime, and multiplyes to the hurt of many; the later is +barren. To maintain doctrines contrary to the Religion established in +the Common-wealth, is a greater fault, in an authorised Preacher, than +in a private person: So also is it, to live prophanely, incontinently, +or do any irreligious act whatsoever. Likewise in a Professor of the +Law, to maintain any point, on do any act, that tendeth to the weakning +of the Soveraign Power, as a greater Crime, than in another man: Also in +a man that hath such reputation for wisedome, as that his counsells are +followed, or his actions imitated by many, his fact against the Law, is +a greater Crime, than the same fact in another: For such men not onely +commit Crime, but teach it for Law to all other men. And generally all +Crimes are the greater, by the scandall they give; that is to say, by +becoming stumbling-blocks to the weak, that look not so much upon the +way they go in, as upon the light that other men carry before them. + + + + +Laesae Majestas + +Also Facts of Hostility against the present state of the Common-wealth, +are greater Crimes, than the same acts done to private men; For +the dammage extends it selfe to all: Such are the betraying of the +strengths, or revealing of the secrets of the Common-wealth to an Enemy; +also all attempts upon the Representative of the Common-wealth, be it a +monarch, or an Assembly; and all endeavours by word, or deed to diminish +the Authority of the same, either in the present time, or in succession: +which Crimes the Latines understand by Crimina Laesae Majestatis, and +consist in designe, or act, contrary to a Fundamentall Law. + + + + +Bribery And False Testimony + +Likewise those Crimes, which render Judgements of no effect, are greater +Crimes, than Injuries done to one, or a few persons; as to receive +mony to give False judgement, or testimony, is a greater Crime, than +otherwise to deceive a man of the like, or a greater summe; because not +onely he has wrong, that falls by such judgements; but all Judgements +are rendered uselesse, and occasion ministred to force, and private +revenges. + + + + +Depeculation + +Also Robbery, and Depeculation of the Publique treasure, or Revenues, +is a greater Crime, than the robbing, or defrauding of a Private man; +because to robbe the publique, is to robbe many at once. + + + + +Counterfeiting Authority + +Also the Counterfeit usurpation of publique Ministery, the +Counterfeiting of publique Seales, or publique Coine, than +counterfeiting of a private mans person, or his seale; because the fraud +thereof, extendeth to the dammage of many. + + + + +Crimes Against Private Men Compared + +Of facts against the Law, done to private men, the greater Crime, is +that, where the dammage in the common opinion of men, is most sensible. +And therefore + +To kill against the Law, is a greater Crime, that any other injury, life +preserved. + +And to kill with Torment, greater, than simply to kill. + +And Mutilation of a limbe, greater, than the spoyling a man of his +goods. + +And the spoyling a man of his goods, by Terrour of death, or wounds, +than by clandestine surreption. + +And by clandestine Surreption, than by consent fraudulently obtained. + +And the violation of chastity by Force, greater, than by flattery. + +And of a woman Married, than of a woman not married. + +For all these things are commonly so valued; though some men are more, +and some lesse sensible of the same offence. But the Law regardeth not +the particular, but the generall inclination of mankind. + +And therefore the offence men take, from contumely, in words, or +gesture, when they produce no other harme, than the present griefe of +him that is reproached, hath been neglected in the Lawes of the Greeks, +Romans, and other both antient, and moderne Common-wealths; supposing +the true cause of such griefe to consist, not in the contumely, (which +takes no hold upon men conscious of their own Vertue,) but in the +Pusillanimity of him that is offended by it. + +Also a Crime against a private man, is much aggravated by the person, +time, and place. For to kill ones Parent, is a greater Crime, than to +kill another: for the Parent ought to have the honour of a Soveraign, +(though he have surrendred his Power to the Civill Law,) because he had +it originally by Nature. And to Robbe a poore man, is a greater Crime, +than to robbe a rich man; because ’tis to the poore a more sensible +dammage. + +And a Crime committed in the Time, or Place appointed for Devotion, is +greater, than if committed at another time or place: for it proceeds +from a greater contempt of the Law. + +Many other cases of Aggravation, and Extenuation might be added: but by +these I have set down, it is obvious to every man, to take the altitude +of any other Crime proposed. + + + + +Publique Crimes What + +Lastly, because in almost all Crimes there is an Injury done, not onely +to some Private man, but also to the Common-wealth; the same Crime, when +the accusation is in the name of the Common-wealth, is called Publique +Crime; and when in the name of a Private man, a Private Crime; And the +Pleas according thereunto called Publique, Judicia Publica, Pleas of the +Crown; or Private Pleas. As in an Accusation of Murder, if the accuser +be a Private man, the plea is a Private plea; if the accuser be the +Soveraign, the plea is a Publique plea. + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. OF PUNISHMENTS, AND REWARDS + + + + +The Definition Of Punishment + +"A PUNISHMENT, is an Evill inflicted by publique Authority, on him that +hath done, or omitted that which is Judged by the same Authority to be +a Transgression of the Law; to the end that the will of men may thereby +the better be disposed to obedience." + + + + +Right To Punish Whence Derived + +Before I inferre any thing from this definition, there is a question to +be answered, of much importance; which is, by what door the Right, or +Authority of Punishing in any case, came in. For by that which has +been said before, no man is supposed bound by Covenant, not to resist +violence; and consequently it cannot be intended, that he gave any right +to another to lay violent hands upon his person. In the making of a +Common-wealth, every man giveth away the right of defending another; but +not of defending himselfe. Also he obligeth himselfe, to assist him that +hath the Soveraignty, in the Punishing of another; but of himselfe +not. But to covenant to assist the Soveraign, in doing hurt to another, +unlesse he that so covenanteth have a right to doe it himselfe, is not +to give him a Right to Punish. It is manifest therefore that the Right +which the Common-wealth (that is, he, or they that represent it) hath to +Punish, is not grounded on any concession, or gift of the Subjects. +But I have also shewed formerly, that before the Institution of +Common-wealth, every man had a right to every thing, and to do +whatsoever he thought necessary to his own preservation; subduing, +hurting, or killing any man in order thereunto. And this is the +foundation of that right of Punishing, which is exercised in every +Common-wealth. For the Subjects did not give the Soveraign that right; +but onely in laying down theirs, strengthned him to use his own, as he +should think fit, for the preservation of them all: so that it was not +given, but left to him, and to him onely; and (excepting the limits set +him by naturall Law) as entire, as in the condition of meer Nature, and +of warre of every one against his neighbour. + + + + +Private Injuries, And Revenges No Punishments + +From the definition of Punishment, I inferre, First, that neither +private revenges, nor injuries of private men, can properly be stiled +Punishment; because they proceed not from publique Authority. + + + + +Nor Denyall Of Preferment + +Secondly, that to be neglected, and unpreferred by the publique +favour, is not a Punishment; because no new evill is thereby on any man +Inflicted; he is onely left in the estate he was in before. + + + + +Nor Pain Inflicted Without Publique Hearing + +Thirdly, that the evill inflicted by publique Authority, without +precedent publique condemnation, is not to be stiled by the name of +Punishment; but of an hostile act; because the fact for which a man +is Punished, ought first to be Judged by publique Authority, to be a +transgression of the Law. + + + + +Nor Pain Inflicted By Usurped Power + +Fourthly, that the evill inflicted by usurped power, and Judges +without Authority from the Soveraign, is not Punishment; but an act of +hostility; because the acts of power usurped, have not for Author, the +person condemned; and therefore are not acts of publique Authority. + + + + +Nor Pain Inflicted Without Respect To The Future Good + +Fifthly, that all evill which is inflicted without intention, or +possibility of disposing the Delinquent, or (by his example) other men, +to obey the Lawes, is not Punishment; but an act of hostility; because +without such an end, no hurt done is contained under that name. + + + + +Naturall Evill Consequences, No Punishments + +Sixthly, whereas to certain actions, there be annexed by Nature, divers +hurtfull consequences; as when a man in assaulting another, is himselfe +slain, or wounded; or when he falleth into sicknesse by the doing of +some unlawfull act; such hurt, though in respect of God, who is the +author of Nature, it may be said to be inflicted, and therefore a +Punishment divine; yet it is not contaned in the name of Punishment in +respect of men, because it is not inflicted by the Authority of man. + + + + +Hurt Inflicted, If Lesse Than The Benefit Of Transgressing, Is Not +Punishment + +Seventhly, If the harm inflicted be lesse than the benefit, or +contentment that naturally followeth the crime committed, that harm is +not within the definition; and is rather the Price, or Redemption, than +the Punishment of a Crime: Because it is of the nature of Punishment, to +have for end, the disposing of men to obey the Law; which end (if it +be lesse that the benefit of the transgression) it attaineth not, but +worketh a contrary effect. + + + + +Where The Punishment Is Annexed To The Law, A Greater Hurt Is Not +Punishment, But Hostility + +Eighthly, If a Punishment be determined and prescribed in the Law it +selfe, and after the crime committed, there be a greater Punishment +inflicted, the excesse is not Punishment, but an act of hostility. For +seeing the aym of Punishment is not a revenge, but terrour; and the +terrour of a great Punishment unknown, is taken away by the declaration +of a lesse, the unexpected addition is no part of the Punishment. +But where there is no Punishment at all determined by the Law, there +whatsoever is inflicted, hath the nature of Punishment. For he that +goes about the violation of a Law, wherein no penalty is determined, +expecteth an indeterminate, that is to say, an arbitrary Punishment. + + + + +Hurt Inflicted For A Fact Done Before The Law, No Punishment + +Ninthly, Harme inflicted for a Fact done before there was a Law that +forbad it, is not Punishment, but an act of Hostility: For before the +Law, there is no transgression of the Law: But Punishment supposeth a +fact judged, to have been a transgression of the Law; Therefore +Harme inflicted before the Law made, is not Punishment, but an act of +Hostility. + + + + +The Representative Of The Common-wealth Unpunishable + +Tenthly, Hurt inflicted on the Representative of the Common-wealth, is +not Punishment, but an act of Hostility: Because it is of the nature +of Punishment, to be inflicted by publique Authority, which is the +Authority only of the Representative it self. + + + + +Hurt To Revolted Subjects Is Done By Right Of War, Not By Way Of +Punishment + +Lastly, Harme inflicted upon one that is a declared enemy, fals not +under the name of Punishment: Because seeing they were either never +subject to the Law, and therefore cannot transgresse it; or having been +subject to it, and professing to be no longer so, by consequence deny +they can transgresse it, all the Harmes that can be done them, must be +taken as acts of Hostility. But in declared Hostility, all infliction of +evill is lawfull. From whence it followeth, that if a subject shall +by fact, or word, wittingly, and deliberatly deny the authority of +the Representative of the Common-wealth, (whatsoever penalty hath +been formerly ordained for Treason,) he may lawfully be made to suffer +whatsoever the Representative will: For in denying subjection, he denyes +such Punishment as by the Law hath been ordained; and therefore suffers +as an enemy of the Common-wealth; that is, according to the will of +the Representative. For the Punishments set down in the Law, are to +Subjects, not to Enemies; such as are they, that having been by their +own act Subjects, deliberately revolting, deny the Soveraign Power. + +The first, and most generall distribution of Punishments, is into +Divine, and Humane. Of the former I shall have occasion, to speak, in a +more convenient place hereafter. + +Humane, are those Punishments that be inflicted by the Commandement +of Man; and are either Corporall, or Pecuniary, or Ignominy, or +Imprisonment, or Exile, or mixt of these. + + + + +Punishments Corporall + +Corporall Punishment is that, which is inflicted on the body directly, +and according to the intention of him that inflicteth it: such as are +stripes, or wounds, or deprivation of such pleasures of the body, as +were before lawfully enjoyed. + + + + +Capitall + +And of these, some be Capitall, some Lesse than Capitall. Capitall, is +the Infliction of Death; and that either simply, or with torment. Lesse +than Capitall, are Stripes, Wounds, Chains, and any other corporall +Paine, not in its own nature mortall. For if upon the Infliction of +a Punishment death follow not in the Intention of the Inflicter, the +Punishment is not be bee esteemed Capitall, though the harme prove +mortall by an accident not to be foreseen; in which case death is not +inflicted, but hastened. + +Pecuniary Punishment, is that which consisteth not only in the +deprivation of a Summe of Mony, but also of Lands, or any other goods +which are usually bought and sold for mony. And in case the Law, that +ordaineth such a punishment, be made with design to gather mony, from +such as shall transgresse the same, it is not properly a Punishment, +but the Price of priviledge, and exemption from the Law, which doth not +absolutely forbid the fact, but only to those that are not able to pay +the mony: except where the Law is Naturall, or part of Religion; for in +that case it is not an exemption from the Law, but a transgression of +it. As where a Law exacteth a Pecuniary mulct, of them that take the +name of God in vaine, the payment of the mulct, is not the price of a +dispensation to sweare, but the Punishment of the transgression of a Law +undispensable. In like manner if the Law impose a Summe of Mony to be +payd, to him that has been Injured; this is but a satisfaction for the +hurt done him; and extinguisheth the accusation of the party injured, +not the crime of the offender. + + + + +Ignominy + +Ignominy, is the infliction of such Evill, as is made Dishonorable; +or the deprivation of such Good, as is made Honourable by the +Common-wealth. For there be some things Honorable by Nature; as the +effects of Courage, Magnanimity, Strength, Wisdome, and other abilities +of body and mind: Others made Honorable by the Common-wealth; as Badges, +Titles, Offices, or any other singular marke of the Soveraigns favour. +The former, (though they may faile by nature, or accident,) cannot be +taken away by a Law; and therefore the losse of them is not Punishment. +But the later, may be taken away by the publique authority that made +them Honorable, and are properly Punishments: Such are degrading men +condemned, of their Badges, Titles, and Offices; or declaring them +uncapable of the like in time to come. + + + + +Imprisonment + +Imprisonment, is when a man is by publique Authority deprived of +liberty; and may happen from two divers ends; whereof one is the safe +custody of a man accused; the other is the inflicting of paine on a man +condemned. The former is not Punishment; because no man is supposed +to be Punisht, before he be Judicially heard, and declared guilty. +And therefore whatsoever hurt a man is made to suffer by bonds, or +restraint, before his cause be heard, over and above that which is +necessary to assure his custody, is against the Law of Nature. But the +Later is Punishment, because Evill, and inflicted by publique Authority, +for somewhat that has by the same Authority been Judged a Transgression +of the Law. Under this word Imprisonment, I comprehend all restraint of +motion, caused by an externall obstacle, be it a House, which is called +by the generall name of a Prison; or an Iland, as when men are said to +be confined to it; or a place where men are set to worke, as in old time +men have been condemned to Quarries, and in these times to Gallies; or +be it a Chaine, or any other such impediment. + + + + +Exile + +Exile, (Banishment) is when a man is for a crime, condemned to depart +out of the dominion of the Common-wealth, or out of a certaine part +thereof; and during a prefixed time, or for ever, not to return into it: +and seemeth not in its own nature, without other circumstances, to be +a Punishment; but rather an escape, or a publique commandement to +avoid Punishment by flight. And Cicero sayes, there was never any such +Punishment ordained in the City of Rome; but cals it a refuge of men in +danger. For if a man banished, be neverthelesse permitted to enjoy +his Goods, and the Revenue of his Lands, the meer change of ayr is no +punishment; nor does it tend to that benefit of the Common-wealth, for +which all Punishments are ordained, (that is to say, to the forming of +mens wils to the observation of the Law;) but many times to the dammage +of the Common-wealth. For a Banished man, is a lawfull enemy of the +Common-wealth that banished him; as being no more a Member of the +same. But if he be withall deprived of his Lands, or Goods, then +the Punishment lyeth not in the Exile, but is to be reckoned amongst +Punishments Pecuniary. + + + + +The Punishment Of Innocent Subjects Is Contrary To The Law Of Nature + +All Punishments of Innocent subjects, be they great or little, are +against the Law of Nature; For Punishment is only of Transgression of +the Law, and therefore there can be no Punishment of the Innocent. It +is therefore a violation, First, of that Law of Nature, which forbiddeth +all men, in their Revenges, to look at any thing but some future good: +For there can arrive no good to the Common-wealth, by Punishing the +Innocent. Secondly, of that, which forbiddeth Ingratitude: For seeing +all Soveraign Power, is originally given by the consent of every one of +the Subjects, to the end they should as long as they are obedient, be +protected thereby; the Punishment of the Innocent, is a rendring of +Evill for Good. And thirdly, of the Law that commandeth Equity; that +is to say, an equall distribution of Justice; which in Punishing the +Innocent is not observed. + + + + +But The Harme Done To Innocents In War, Not So + +But the Infliction of what evill soever, on an Innocent man, that is not +a Subject, if it be for the benefit of the Common-wealth, and without +violation of any former Covenant, is no breach of the Law of Nature. +For all men that are not Subjects, are either Enemies, or else they have +ceased from being so, by some precedent covenants. But against Enemies, +whom the Common-wealth judgeth capable to do them hurt, it is lawfull by +the originall Right of Nature to make warre; wherein the Sword Judgeth +not, nor doth the Victor make distinction of Nocent and Innocent, as to +the time past; nor has other respect of mercy, than as it conduceth to +the good of his own People. And upon this ground it is, that also +in Subjects, who deliberatly deny the Authority of the Common-wealth +established, the vengeance is lawfully extended, not onely to the +Fathers, but also to the third and fourth generation not yet in being, +and consequently innocent of the fact, for which they are afflicted: +because the nature of this offence, consisteth in the renouncing of +subjection; which is a relapse into the condition of warre, commonly +called Rebellion; and they that so offend, suffer not as Subjects, but +as Enemies. For Rebellion, is but warre renewed. + + + + +Reward, Is Either Salary, Or Grace + +REWARD, is either of Gift, or by Contract. When by Contract, it is +called Salary, and Wages; which is benefit due for service performed, or +promised. When of Gift, it is benefit proceeding from the Grace of them +that bestow it, to encourage, or enable men to do them service. And +therefore when the Soveraign of a Common-wealth appointeth a Salary +to any publique Office, he that receiveth it, is bound in Justice +to performe his office; otherwise, he is bound onely in honour, to +acknowledgement, and an endeavour of requitall. For though men have no +lawfull remedy, when they be commanded to quit their private businesse, +to serve the publique, without Reward, or Salary; yet they are not +bound thereto, by the Law of Nature, nor by the institution of the +Common-wealth, unlesse the service cannot otherwise be done; because it +is supposed the Soveraign may make use of all their means, insomuch as +the most common Souldier, may demand the wages of his warrefare, as a +debt. + + + + +Benefits Bestowed For Fear, Are Not Rewards + +The benefits which a Soveraign bestoweth on a Subject, for fear of some +power, and ability he hath to do hurt to the Common-wealth, are not +properly Rewards; for they are not Salaryes; because there is in this +case no contract supposed, every man being obliged already not to do the +Common-wealth disservice: nor are they Graces; because they be extorted +by feare, which ought not to be incident to the Soveraign Power: but +are rather Sacrifices, which the Soveraign (considered in his naturall +person, and not in the person of the Common-wealth) makes, for the +appeasing the discontent of him he thinks more potent than himselfe; and +encourage not to obedience, but on the contrary, to the continuance, and +increasing of further extortion. + + + + +Salaries Certain And Casuall + +And whereas some Salaries are certain, and proceed from the publique +Treasure; and others uncertain, and casuall, proceeding from the +execution of the Office for which the Salary is ordained; the later +is in some cases hurtfull to the Common-wealth; as in the case of +Judicature. For where the benefit of the Judges, and Ministers of a +Court of Justice, ariseth for the multitude of Causes that are brought +to their cognisance, there must needs follow two Inconveniences: One, +is the nourishing of sutes; for the more sutes, the greater benefit: and +another that depends on that, which is contention about Jurisdiction; +each Court drawing to it selfe, as many Causes as it can. But in +offices of Execution there are not those Inconveniences; because their +employment cannot be encreased by any endeavour of their own. And thus +much shall suffice for the nature of Punishment, and Reward; which are, +as it were, the Nerves and Tendons, that move the limbes and joynts of a +Common-wealth. + +Hitherto I have set forth the nature of Man, (whose Pride and other +Passions have compelled him to submit himselfe to Government;) together +with the great power of his Governour, whom I compared to Leviathan, +taking that comparison out of the two last verses of the one and +fortieth of Job; where God having set forth the great power of +Leviathan, called him King of the Proud. "There is nothing," saith he, +"on earth, to be compared with him. He is made so as not be afraid. Hee +seeth every high thing below him; and is King of all the children of +pride." But because he is mortall, and subject to decay, as all other +Earthly creatures are; and because there is that in heaven, (though not +on earth) that he should stand in fear of, and whose Lawes he ought to +obey; I shall in the next following Chapters speak of his Diseases, and +the causes of his Mortality; and of what Lawes of Nature he is bound to +obey. + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. OF THOSE THINGS THAT WEAKEN, OR TEND TO THE DISSOLUTION OF +A COMMON-WEALTH + + +Dissolution Of Common-wealths Proceedeth From Imperfect Institution + +Though nothing can be immortall, which mortals make; yet, if men had the +use of reason they pretend to, their Common-wealths might be secured, at +least, from perishing by internall diseases. For by the nature of their +Institution, they are designed to live, as long as Man-kind, or as +the Lawes of Nature, or as Justice it selfe, which gives them life. +Therefore when they come to be dissolved, not by externall violence, but +intestine disorder, the fault is not in men, as they are the Matter; but +as they are the Makers, and orderers of them. For men, as they become +at last weary of irregular justling, and hewing one another, and desire +with all their hearts, to conforme themselves into one firme and lasting +edifice; so for want, both of the art of making fit Laws, to square +their actions by, and also of humility, and patience, to suffer the rude +and combersome points of their present greatnesse to be taken off, they +cannot without the help of a very able Architect, be compiled, into any +other than a crasie building, such as hardly lasting out their own time, +must assuredly fall upon the heads of their posterity. + +Amongst the Infirmities therefore of a Common-wealth, I will reckon in +the first place, those that arise from an Imperfect Institution, +and resemble the diseases of a naturall body, which proceed from a +Defectuous Procreation. + + + + +Want Of Absolute Power + +Of which, this is one, "That a man to obtain a Kingdome, is sometimes +content with lesse Power, than to the Peace, and defence of the +Common-wealth is necessarily required." From whence it commeth to passe, +that when the exercise of the Power layd by, is for the publique safety +to be resumed, it hath the resemblance of as unjust act; which disposeth +great numbers of men (when occasion is presented) to rebell; In the +same manner as the bodies of children, gotten by diseased parents, are +subject either to untimely death, or to purge the ill quality, derived +from their vicious conception, by breaking out into biles and scabbs. +And when Kings deny themselves some such necessary Power, it is not +alwayes (though sometimes) out of ignorance of what is necessary to the +office they undertake; but many times out of a hope to recover the same +again at their pleasure: Wherein they reason not well; because such as +will hold them to their promises, shall be maintained against them by +forraign Common-wealths; who in order to the good of their own Subjects +let slip few occasions to Weaken the estate of their Neighbours. So was +Thomas Beckett Archbishop of Canterbury, supported against Henry +the Second, by the Pope; the subjection of Ecclesiastiques to the +Common-wealth, having been dispensed with by William the Conqueror at +his reception, when he took an Oath, not to infringe the liberty of the +Church. And so were the Barons, whose power was by William Rufus (to +have their help in transferring the Succession from his Elder brother, +to himselfe,) encreased to a degree, inconsistent with the Soveraign +Power, maintained in their Rebellion against King John, by the French. +Nor does this happen in Monarchy onely. For whereas the stile of the +antient Roman Common-wealth, was, The Senate, and People of Rome; +neither Senate, nor People pretended to the whole Power; which first +caused the seditions, of Tiberius Gracchus, Caius Gracchus, Lucius +Saturnius, and others; and afterwards the warres between the Senate and +the People, under Marius and Sylla; and again under Pompey and Caesar, +to the Extinction of their Democraty, and the setting up of Monarchy. + +The people of Athens bound themselves but from one onely Action; which +was, that no man on pain of death should propound the renewing of the +warre for the Island of Salamis; And yet thereby, if Solon had not +caused to be given out he was mad, and afterwards in gesture and habit +of a mad-man, and in verse, propounded it to the People that flocked +about him, they had had an enemy perpetually in readinesse, even at the +gates of their Citie; such dammage, or shifts, are all Common-wealths +forced to, that have their Power never so little limited. + + + + +Private Judgement Of Good and Evill + +In the second place, I observe the Diseases of a Common-wealth, that +proceed from the poyson of seditious doctrines; whereof one is, "That +every private man is Judge of Good and Evill actions." This is true in +the condition of meer Nature, where there are no Civill Lawes; and also +under Civill Government, in such cases as are not determined by the +Law. But otherwise, it is manifest, that the measure of Good and Evill +actions, is the Civill Law; and the Judge the Legislator, who is alwayes +Representative of the Common-wealth. From this false doctrine, men are +disposed to debate with themselves, and dispute the commands of the +Common-wealth; and afterwards to obey, or disobey them, as in their +private judgements they shall think fit. Whereby the Common-wealth is +distracted and Weakened. + + + + +Erroneous Conscience + +Another doctrine repugnant to Civill Society, is, that "Whatsoever a +man does against his Conscience, is Sinne;" and it dependeth on the +presumption of making himself judge of Good and Evill. For a mans +Conscience, and his Judgement is the same thing; and as the Judgement, +so also the Conscience may be erroneous. Therefore, though he that is +subject to no Civill Law, sinneth in all he does against his Conscience, +because he has no other rule to follow but his own reason; yet it is +not so with him that lives in a Common-wealth; because the Law is the +publique Conscience, by which he hath already undertaken to be guided. +Otherwise in such diversity, as there is of private Consciences, which +are but private opinions, the Common-wealth must needs be distracted, +and no man dare to obey the Soveraign Power, farther than it shall seem +good in his own eyes. + + + + +Pretence Of Inspiration + +It hath been also commonly taught, "That Faith and Sanctity, are not to +be attained by Study and Reason, but by supernaturall Inspiration, or +Infusion," which granted, I see not why any man should render a reason +of his Faith; or why every Christian should not be also a Prophet; or +why any man should take the Law of his Country, rather than his own +Inspiration, for the rule of his action. And thus wee fall again into +the fault of taking upon us to Judge of Good and Evill; or to make +Judges of it, such private men as pretend to be supernaturally Inspired, +to the Dissolution of all Civill Government. Faith comes by hearing, +and hearing by those accidents, which guide us into the presence of them +that speak to us; which accidents are all contrived by God Almighty; and +yet are not supernaturall, but onely, for the great number of them that +concurre to every effect, unobservable. Faith, and Sanctity, are indeed +not very frequent; but yet they are not Miracles, but brought to passe +by education, discipline, correction, and other naturall wayes, by which +God worketh them in his elect, as such time as he thinketh fit. And +these three opinions, pernicious to Peace and Government, have in this +part of the world, proceeded chiefly from the tongues, and pens of +unlearned Divines; who joyning the words of Holy Scripture together, +otherwise than is agreeable to reason, do what they can, to make men +think, that Sanctity and Naturall Reason, cannot stand together. + + + + +Subjecting The Soveraign Power To Civill Lawes + +A fourth opinion, repugnant to the nature of a Common-wealth, is this, +"That he that hath the Soveraign Power, is subject to the Civill Lawes." +It is true, that Soveraigns are all subjects to the Lawes of Nature; +because such lawes be Divine, and cannot by any man, or Common-wealth +be abrogated. But to those Lawes which the Soveraign himselfe, that is, +which the Common-wealth maketh, he is not subject. For to be subject to +Lawes, is to be subject to the Common-wealth, that is to the Soveraign +Representative, that is to himselfe; which is not subjection, but +freedome from the Lawes. Which errour, because it setteth the Lawes +above the Soveraign, setteth also a Judge above him, and a Power to +punish him; which is to make a new Soveraign; and again for the same +reason a third, to punish the second; and so continually without end, to +the Confusion, and Dissolution of the Common-wealth. + + + + +Attributing Of Absolute Propriety To The Subjects + +A Fifth doctrine, that tendeth to the Dissolution of a Common-wealth, +is, "That every private man has an absolute Propriety in his Goods; +such, as excludeth the Right of the Soveraign." Every man has indeed a +Propriety that excludes the Right of every other Subject: And he has it +onely from the Soveraign Power; without the protection whereof, every +other man should have equall Right to the same. But if the Right of the +Soveraign also be excluded, he cannot performe the office they have put +him into; which is, to defend them both from forraign enemies, and +from the injuries of one another; and consequently there is no longer a +Common-wealth. + +And if the Propriety of Subjects, exclude not the Right of the +Soveraign Representative to their Goods; much lesse to their offices +of Judicature, or Execution, in which they Represent the Soveraign +himselfe. + + + + +Dividing Of The Soveraign Power + +There is a Sixth doctrine, plainly, and directly against the essence +of a Common-wealth; and ’tis this, "That the Soveraign Power may be +divided." For what is it to divide the Power of a Common-wealth, but +to Dissolve it; for Powers divided mutually destroy each other. And for +these doctrines, men are chiefly beholding to some of those, that making +profession of the Lawes, endeavour to make them depend upon their own +learning, and not upon the Legislative Power. + + + + +Imitation Of Neighbour Nations + +And as False Doctrine, so also often-times the Example of different +Government in a neighbouring Nation, disposeth men to alteration of +the forme already setled. So the people of the Jewes were stirred up to +reject God, and to call upon the Prophet Samuel, for a King after +the manner of the Nations; So also the lesser Cities of Greece, were +continually disturbed, with seditions of the Aristocraticall, and +Democraticall factions; one part of almost every Common-wealth, desiring +to imitate the Lacedaemonians; the other, the Athenians. And I doubt +not, but many men, have been contented to see the late troubles in +England, out of an imitation of the Low Countries; supposing there +needed no more to grow rich, than to change, as they had done, the forme +of their Government. For the constitution of mans nature, is of it selfe +subject to desire novelty: When therefore they are provoked to the same, +by the neighbourhood also of those that have been enriched by it, it is +almost impossible for them, not to be content with those that solicite +them to change; and love the first beginnings, though they be grieved +with the continuance of disorder; like hot blouds, that having gotten +the itch, tear themselves with their own nayles, till they can endure +the smart no longer. + + + + +Imitation Of The Greeks, And Romans + +And as to Rebellion in particular against Monarchy; one of the most +frequent causes of it, is the Reading of the books of Policy, and +Histories of the antient Greeks, and Romans; from which, young men, +and all others that are unprovided of the Antidote of solid Reason, +receiving a strong, and delightfull impression, of the great exploits +of warre, atchieved by the Conductors of their Armies, receive withall +a pleasing Idea, of all they have done besides; and imagine their great +prosperity, not to have proceeded from the aemulation of particular men, +but from the vertue of their popular form of government: Not considering +the frequent Seditions, and Civill Warres, produced by the imperfection +of their Policy. From the reading, I say, of such books, men have +undertaken to kill their Kings, because the Greek and Latine writers, +in their books, and discourses of Policy, make it lawfull, and laudable, +for any man so to do; provided before he do it, he call him Tyrant. For +they say not Regicide, that is, killing of a King, but Tyrannicide, that +is, killing of a Tyrant is lawfull. From the same books, they that live +under a Monarch conceive an opinion, that the Subjects in a Popular +Common-wealth enjoy Liberty; but that in a Monarchy they are all Slaves. +I say, they that live under a Monarchy conceive such an opinion; not +they that live under a Popular Government; for they find no such matter. +In summe, I cannot imagine, how anything can be more prejudiciall to a +Monarchy, than the allowing of such books to be publikely read, without +present applying such correctives of discreet Masters, as are fit to +take away their Venime; Which Venime I will not doubt to compare to +the biting of a mad Dogge, which is a disease the Physicians call +Hydrophobia, or Fear Of Water. For as he that is so bitten, has a +continuall torment of thirst, and yet abhorreth water; and is in such +an estate, as if the poyson endeavoured to convert him into a Dogge: +So when a Monarchy is once bitten to the quick, by those Democraticall +writers, that continually snarle at that estate; it wanteth nothing +more than a strong Monarch, which neverthelesse out of a certain +Tyrannophobia, or feare of being strongly governed, when they have him, +they abhorre. + +As here have been Doctors, that hold there be three Soules in a man; +so there be also that think there may be more Soules, (that is, more +Soveraigns,) than one, in a Common-wealth; and set up a Supremacy +against the Soveraignty; Canons against Lawes; and a Ghostly Authority +against the Civill; working on mens minds, with words and distinctions, +that of themselves signifie nothing, but bewray (by their obscurity) +that there walketh (as some think invisibly) another Kingdome, as it +were a Kingdome of Fayries, in the dark. Now seeing it is manifest, that +the Civill Power, and the Power of the Common-wealth is the same +thing; and that Supremacy, and the Power of making Canons, and granting +Faculties, implyeth a Common-wealth; it followeth, that where one is +Soveraign, another Supreme; where one can make Lawes, and another +make Canons; there must needs be two Common-wealths, of one & the same +Subjects; which is a Kingdome divided in it selfe, and cannot stand. For +notwithstanding the insignificant distinction of Temporall, and Ghostly, +they are still two Kingdomes, and every Subject is subject to two +Masters. For seeing the Ghostly Power challengeth the Right to declare +what is Sinne it challengeth by consequence to declare what is Law, +(Sinne being nothing but the transgression of the Law;) and again, the +Civill Power challenging to declare what is Law, every Subject must +obey two Masters, who bothe will have their Commands be observed as Law; +which is impossible. Or, if it be but one Kingdome, either the Civill, +which is the Power of the Common-wealth, must be subordinate to the +Ghostly; or the Ghostly must be subordinate to the Temporall and then +there is no Supremacy but the Temporall. When therefore these two Powers +oppose one another, the Common-wealth cannot but be in great danger +of Civill warre, and Dissolution. For the Civill Authority being more +visible, and standing in the cleerer light of naturall reason cannot +choose but draw to it in all times a very considerable part of the +people: And the Spirituall, though it stand in the darknesse of Schoole +distinctions, and hard words; yet because the fear of Darknesse, and +Ghosts, is greater than other fears, cannot want a party sufficient to +Trouble, and sometimes to Destroy a Common-wealth. And this is a Disease +which not unfitly may be compared to the Epilepsie, or Falling-sicknesse +(which the Jewes took to be one kind of possession by Spirits) in the +Body Naturall. For as in this Disease, there is an unnaturall spirit, +or wind in the head that obstructeth the roots of the Nerves, and moving +them violently, taketh away the motion which naturally they should have +from the power of the Soule in the Brain, and thereby causeth violent, +and irregular motions (which men call Convulsions) in the parts; +insomuch as he that is seized therewith, falleth down sometimes into the +water, and sometimes into the fire, as a man deprived of his senses; +so also in the Body Politique, when the Spirituall power, moveth the +Members of a Common-wealth, by the terrour of punishments, and hope of +rewards (which are the Nerves of it,) otherwise than by the Civill Power +(which is the Soule of the Common-wealth) they ought to be moved; and by +strange, and hard words suffocates the people, and either Overwhelm +the Common-wealth with Oppression, or cast it into the Fire of a Civill +warre. + + + + +Mixt Government + +Sometimes also in the meerly Civill government, there be more than +one Soule: As when the Power of levying mony, (which is the Nutritive +faculty,) has depended on a generall Assembly; the Power of conduct and +command, (which is the Motive Faculty,) on one man; and the Power of +making Lawes, (which is the Rationall faculty,) on the accidentall +consent, not onely of those two, but also of a third; This endangereth +the Common-wealth, somtimes for want of consent to good Lawes; but most +often for want of such Nourishment, as is necessary to Life, and Motion. +For although few perceive, that such government, is not government, +but division of the Common-wealth into three Factions, and call it +mixt Monarchy; yet the truth is, that it is not one independent +Common-wealth, but three independent Factions; nor one Representative +Person, but three. In the Kingdome of God, there may be three Persons +independent, without breach of unity in God that Reigneth; but where men +Reigne, that be subject to diversity of opinions, it cannot be so. And +therefore if the King bear the person of the People, and the generall +Assembly bear also the person of the People, and another assembly bear +the person of a Part of the people, they are not one Person, nor one +Soveraign, but three Persons, and three Soveraigns. + +To what Disease in the Naturall Body of man, I may exactly compare this +irregularity of a Common-wealth, I know not. But I have seen a man, that +had another man growing out of his side, with an head, armes, breast, +and stomach, of his own: If he had had another man growing out of his +other side, the comparison might then have been exact. + + + + +Want Of Mony + +Hitherto I have named such Diseases of a Common-wealth, as are of the +greatest, and most present danger. There be other, not so great; which +neverthelesse are not unfit to be observed. As first, the difficulty of +raising Mony, for the necessary uses of the Common-wealth; especially +in the approach of warre. This difficulty ariseth from the opinion, that +every Subject hath of a Propriety in his lands and goods, exclusive of +the Soveraigns Right to the use of the same. From whence it commeth to +passe, that the Soveraign Power, which foreseeth the necessities and +dangers of the Common-wealth, (finding the passage of mony to the +publique Treasure obstructed, by the tenacity of the people,) whereas +it ought to extend it selfe, to encounter, and prevent such dangers in +their beginnings, contracteth it selfe as long as it can, and when it +cannot longer, struggles with the people by strategems of Law, to obtain +little summes, which not sufficing, he is fain at last violently to +open the way for present supply, or Perish; and being put often to these +extremities, at last reduceth the people to their due temper; or else +the Common-wealth must perish. Insomuch as we may compare this Distemper +very aptly to an Ague; wherein, the fleshy parts being congealed, or +by venomous matter obstructed; the Veins which by their naturall course +empty themselves into the Heart, are not (as they ought to be) supplyed +from the Arteries, whereby there succeedeth at first a cold contraction, +and trembling of the limbes; and afterwards a hot, and strong endeavour +of the Heart, to force a passage for the Bloud; and before it can do +that, contenteth it selfe with the small refreshments of such things as +coole of a time, till (if Nature be strong enough) it break at last +the contumacy of the parts obstructed, and dissipateth the venome into +sweat; or (if Nature be too weak) the Patient dyeth. + + + + +Monopolies And Abuses Of Publicans + +Again, there is sometimes in a Common-wealth, a Disease, which +resembleth the Pleurisie; and that is, when the Treasure of the +Common-wealth, flowing out of its due course, is gathered together in +too much abundance, in one, or a few private men, by Monopolies, or by +Farmes of the Publique Revenues; in the same manner as the Blood in a +Pleurisie, getting into the Membrane of the breast, breedeth there an +Inflammation, accompanied with a Fever, and painfull stitches. + + + + +Popular Men + +Also, the Popularity of a potent Subject, (unlesse the Common-wealth +have very good caution of his fidelity,) is a dangerous Disease; because +the people (which should receive their motion from the Authority of the +Soveraign,) by the flattery, and by the reputation of an ambitious man, +are drawn away from their obedience to the Lawes, to follow a man, of +whose vertues, and designes they have no knowledge. And this is commonly +of more danger in a Popular Government, than in a Monarchy; as it may +easily be made believe, they are the People. By this means it was, that +Julius Caesar, who was set up by the People against the Senate, having +won to himselfe the affections of his Army, made himselfe Master, both +of Senate and People. And this proceeding of popular, and ambitious men, +is plain Rebellion; and may be resembled to the effects of Witchcraft. + + + + +Excessive Greatnesse Of A Town, Multitude Of Corporations + +Another infirmity of a Common-wealth, is the immoderate greatnesse of a +Town, when it is able to furnish out of its own Circuit, the number, and +expence of a great Army: As also the great number of Corporations; which +are as it were many lesser Common-wealths in the bowels of a greater, +like wormes in the entrayles of a naturall man. + + + + +Liberty Of Disputing Against Soveraign Power + +To which may be added, the Liberty of Disputing against absolute Power, +by pretenders to Politicall Prudence; which though bred for the most +part in the Lees of the people; yet animated by False Doctrines, are +perpetually medling with the Fundamentall Lawes, to the molestation +of the Common-wealth; like the little Wormes, which Physicians call +Ascarides. + +We may further adde, the insatiable appetite, or Bulimia, of enlarging +Dominion; with the incurable Wounds thereby many times received from +the enemy; And the Wens, of ununited conquests, which are many times a +burthen, and with lesse danger lost, than kept; As also the Lethargy of +Ease, and Consumption of Riot and Vain Expence. + + + + +Dissolution Of The Common-wealth + +Lastly, when in a warre (forraign, or intestine,) the enemies got a +final Victory; so as (the forces of the Common-wealth keeping the field +no longer) there is no farther protection of Subjects in their loyalty; +then is the Common-wealth DISSOLVED, and every man at liberty to protect +himselfe by such courses as his own discretion shall suggest unto him. +For the Soveraign, is the publique Soule, giving Life and Motion to the +Common-wealth; which expiring, the Members are governed by it no more, +than the Carcasse of a man, by his departed (though Immortal) Soule. For +though the Right of a Soveraign Monarch cannot be extinguished by the +act of another; yet the Obligation of the members may. For he that +wants protection, may seek it anywhere; and when he hath it, is obliged +(without fraudulent pretence of having submitted himselfe out of fear,) +to protect his Protection as long as he is able. But when the Power of +an Assembly is once suppressed, the Right of the same perisheth utterly; +because the Assembly it selfe is extinct; and consequently, there is no +possibility for the Soveraignty to re-enter. + + + +CHAPTER XXX. OF THE OFFICE OF THE SOVERAIGN REPRESENTATIVE + + + + +The Procuration Of The Good Of The People + +The OFFICE of the Soveraign, (be it a Monarch, or an Assembly,) +consisteth in the end, for which he was trusted with the Soveraign +Power, namely the procuration of the Safety Of The People; to which he +is obliged by the Law of Nature, and to render an account thereof to +God, the Author of that Law, and to none but him. But by Safety here, is +not meant a bare Preservation, but also all other Contentments of life, +which every man by lawfull Industry, without danger, or hurt to the +Common-wealth, shall acquire to himselfe. + + + + +By Instruction & Lawes + +And this is intended should be done, not by care applyed to +Individualls, further than their protection from injuries, when they +shall complain; but by a generall Providence, contained in publique +Instruction, both of Doctrine, and Example; and in the making, and +executing of good Lawes, to which individuall persons may apply their +own cases. + + + + +Against The Duty Of A Soveraign To Relinquish Any Essentiall Right of +Soveraignty Or Not To See The People Taught The Grounds Of Them + +And because, if the essentiall Rights of Soveraignty (specified before +in the eighteenth Chapter) be taken away, the Common-wealth is thereby +dissolved, and every man returneth into the condition, and calamity of a +warre with every other man, (which is the greatest evill that can happen +in this life;) it is the Office of the Soveraign, to maintain those +Rights entire; and consequently against his duty, First, to transferre +to another, or to lay from himselfe any of them. For he that deserteth +the Means, deserteth the Ends; and he deserteth the Means, that being +the Soveraign, acknowledgeth himselfe subject to the Civill Lawes; and +renounceth the Power of Supreme Judicature; or of making Warre, or +Peace by his own Authority; or of Judging of the Necessities of the +Common-wealth; or of levying Mony, and Souldiers, when, and as much as +in his own conscience he shall judge necessary; or of making Officers, +and Ministers both of Warre, and Peace; or of appointing Teachers, and +examining what Doctrines are conformable, or contrary to the Defence, +Peace, and Good of the people. Secondly, it is against his duty, to let +the people be ignorant, or mis-in-formed of the grounds, and reasons +of those his essentiall Rights; because thereby men are easie to be +seduced, and drawn to resist him, when the Common-wealth shall require +their use and exercise. + +And the grounds of these Rights, have the rather need to be diligently, +and truly taught; because they cannot be maintained by any Civill Law, +or terrour of legal punishment. For a Civill Law, that shall forbid +Rebellion, (and such is all resistance to the essentiall Rights of +Soveraignty,) is not (as a Civill Law) any obligation, but by vertue +onely of the Law of Nature, that forbiddeth the violation of Faith; +which naturall obligation if men know not, they cannot know the Right of +any Law the Soveraign maketh. And for the Punishment, they take it +but for an act of Hostility; which when they think they have strength +enough, they will endeavour by acts of Hostility, to avoyd. + + + + +Objection Of Those That Say There Are No Principles Of Reason For +Absolute Soveraignty + +As I have heard some say, that Justice is but a word, without substance; +and that whatsoever a man can by force, or art, acquire to himselfe, +(not onely in the condition of warre, but also in a Common-wealth,) is +his own, which I have already shewed to be false: So there be also +that maintain, that there are no grounds, nor Principles of Reason, to +sustain those essentiall Rights, which make Soveraignty absolute. For +if there were, they would have been found out in some place, or other; +whereas we see, there has not hitherto been any Common-wealth, where +those Rights have been acknowledged, or challenged. Wherein they argue +as ill, as if the Savage people of America, should deny there were any +grounds, or Principles of Reason, so to build a house, as to last as +long as the materials, because they never yet saw any so well built. +Time, and Industry, produce every day new knowledge. And as the art +of well building, is derived from Principles of Reason, observed by +industrious men, that had long studied the nature of materials, and +the divers effects of figure, and proportion, long after mankind +began (though poorly) to build: So, long time after men have begun to +constitute Common-wealths, imperfect, and apt to relapse into disorder, +there may, Principles of Reason be found out, by industrious meditation, +to make use of them, or be neglected by them, or not, concerneth my +particular interest, at this day, very little. But supposing that +these of mine are not such Principles of Reason; yet I am sure they are +Principles from Authority of Scripture; as I shall make it appear, when +I shall come to speak of the Kingdome of God, (administred by Moses,) +over the Jewes, his peculiar people by Covenant. + + + + +Objection From The Incapacity Of The Vulgar + +But they say again, that though the Principles be right, yet Common +people are not of capacity enough to be made to understand them. I +should be glad, that the Rich, and Potent Subjects of a Kingdome, or +those that are accounted the most Learned, were no lesse incapable than +they. But all men know, that the obstructions to this kind of doctrine, +proceed not so much from the difficulty of the matter, as from the +interest of them that are to learn. Potent men, digest hardly any thing +that setteth up a Power to bridle their affections; and Learned men, +any thing that discovereth their errours, and thereby lesseneth their +Authority: whereas the Common-peoples minds, unlesse they be tainted +with dependance on the Potent, or scribbled over with the opinions +of their Doctors, are like clean paper, fit to receive whatsoever by +Publique Authority shall be imprinted in them. Shall whole Nations be +brought to Acquiesce in the great Mysteries of Christian Religion, which +are above Reason; and millions of men be made believe, that the same +Body may be in innumerable places, at one and the same time, which +is against Reason; and shall not men be able, by their teaching, and +preaching, protected by the Law, to make that received, which is so +consonant to Reason, that any unprejudicated man, needs no more to learn +it, than to hear it? I conclude therefore, that in the instruction +of the people in the Essentiall Rights (which are the Naturall, and +Fundamentall Lawes) of Soveraignty, there is no difficulty, (whilest a +Soveraign has his Power entire,) but what proceeds from his own fault, +or the fault of those whom he trusteth in the administration of the +Common-wealth; and consequently, it is his Duty, to cause them so to be +instructed; and not onely his Duty, but his Benefit also, and Security, +against the danger that may arrive to himselfe in his naturall Person, +from Rebellion. + + + + +Subjects Are To Be Taught, Not To Affect Change Of Government + +And (to descend to particulars) the People are to be taught, First, that +they ought not to be in love with any forme of Government they see +in their neighbour Nations, more than with their own, nor (whatsoever +present prosperity they behold in Nations that are otherwise governed +than they,) to desire change. For the prosperity of a People ruled by +an Aristocraticall, or Democraticall assembly, commeth not from +Aristocracy, nor from Democracy, but from the Obedience, and Concord of +the Subjects; nor do the people flourish in a Monarchy, because one man +has the right to rule them, but because they obey him. Take away in +any kind of State, the Obedience, (and consequently the Concord of the +People,) and they shall not onely not flourish, but in short time be +dissolved. And they that go about by disobedience, to doe no more than +reforme the Common-wealth, shall find they do thereby destroy it; like +the foolish daughters of Peleus (in the fable;) which desiring to renew +the youth of their decrepit Father, did by the Counsell of Medea, cut +him in pieces, and boyle him, together with strange herbs, but made not +of him a new man. This desire of change, is like the breach of the first +of Gods Commandements: For there God says, Non Habebis Deos Alienos; +Thou shalt not have the Gods of other Nations; and in another place +concerning Kings, that they are Gods. + + + + +Nor Adhere (Against The Soveraign) To Popular Men + +Secondly, they are to be taught, that they ought not to be led with +admiration of the vertue of any of their fellow Subjects, how +high soever he stand, nor how conspicuously soever he shine in the +Common-wealth; nor of any Assembly, (except the Soveraign Assembly,) +so as to deferre to them any obedience, or honour, appropriate to the +Soveraign onely, whom (in their particular stations) they represent; nor +to receive any influence from them, but such as is conveighed by them +from the Soveraign Authority. For that Soveraign, cannot be imagined to +love his People as he ought, that is not Jealous of them, but suffers +them by the flattery of Popular men, to be seduced from their loyalty, +as they have often been, not onely secretly, but openly, so as to +proclaime Marriage with them In Facie Ecclesiae by Preachers; and by +publishing the same in the open streets: which may fitly be compared to +the violation of the second of the ten Commandements. + + + +Nor To Dispute The Soveraign Power + +Thirdly, in consequence to this, they ought to be informed, how great +fault it is, to speak evill of the Soveraign Representative, (whether +One man, or an Assembly of men;) or to argue and dispute his Power, or +any way to use his Name irreverently, whereby he may be brought into +Contempt with his People, and their Obedience (in which the safety +of the Common-wealth consisteth) slackened. Which doctrine the third +Commandement by resemblance pointeth to. + + + + +And To Have Dayes Set Apart To Learn Their Duty + +Fourthly, seeing people cannot be taught this, nor when ’tis taught, +remember it, nor after one generation past, so much as know in whom the +Soveraign Power is placed, without setting a part from their ordinary +labour, some certain times, in which they may attend those that are +appointed to instruct them; It is necessary that some such times be +determined, wherein they may assemble together, and (after prayers and +praises given to God, the Soveraign of Soveraigns) hear those their +Duties told them, and the Positive Lawes, such as generally concern them +all, read and expounded, and be put in mind of the Authority that maketh +them Lawes. To this end had the Jewes every seventh day, a Sabbath, in +which the Law was read and expounded; and in the solemnity whereof they +were put in mind, that their King was God; that having created the world +in six days, he rested the seventh day; and by their resting on it from +their labour, that that God was their King, which redeemed them from +their servile, and painfull labour in Egypt, and gave them a time, after +they had rejoyced in God, to take joy also in themselves, by lawfull +recreation. So that the first Table of the Commandements, is spent all, +in setting down the summe of Gods absolute Power; not onely as God, +but as King by pact, (in peculiar) of the Jewes; and may therefore give +light, to those that have the Soveraign Power conferred on them by the +consent of men, to see what doctrine they Ought to teach their Subjects. + + + + +And To Honour Their Parents + +And because the first instruction of Children, dependeth on the care +of their Parents; it is necessary that they should be obedient to them, +whilest they are under their tuition; and not onely so, but that also +afterwards (as gratitude requireth,) they acknowledge the benefit of +their education, by externall signes of honour. To which end they are +to be taught, that originally the Father of every man was also his +Soveraign Lord, with power over him of life and death; and that the +Fathers of families, when by instituting a Common-wealth, they resigned +that absolute Power, yet it was never intended, they should lose the +honour due unto them for their education. For to relinquish such right, +was not necessary to the Institution of Soveraign Power; nor would there +be any reason, why any man should desire to have children, or take the +care to nourish, and instruct them, if they were afterwards to have no +other benefit from them, than from other men. And this accordeth with +the fifth Commandement. + + + + +And To Avoyd Doing Of Injury: + +Again, every Soveraign Ought to cause Justice to be taught, which +(consisting in taking from no man what is his) is as much as to say, to +cause men to be taught not to deprive their Neighbour, by violence, +or fraud, of any thing which by the Soveraign Authority is theirs. Of +things held in propriety, those that are dearest to a man are his own +life, & limbs; and in the next degree, (in most men,) those that +concern conjugall affection; and after them riches and means of living. +Therefore the People are to be taught, to abstain from violence to +one anothers person, by private revenges; from violation of conjugall +honour; and from forcibly rapine, and fraudulent surreption of one +anothers goods. For which purpose also it is necessary they be shewed +the evill consequences of false Judgement, by corruption either of +Judges or Witnesses, whereby the distinction of propriety is taken away, +and Justice becomes of no effect: all which things are intimated in the +sixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth Commandements. + + + + +And To Do All This Sincerely From The Heart + +Lastly, they are to be taught, that not onely the unjust facts, but the +designes and intentions to do them, (though by accident hindred,) are +Injustice; which consisteth in the pravity of the will, as well as in +the irregularity of the act. And this is the intention of the tenth +Commandement, and the summe of the Second Table; which is reduced all to +this one Commandement of mutuall Charity, "Thou shalt love thy neighbour +as thy selfe:" as the summe of the first Table is reduced to "the love +of God;" whom they had then newly received as their King. + + + + +The Use Of Universities + +As for the Means, and Conduits, by which the people may receive this +Instruction, wee are to search, by what means so may Opinions, +contrary to the peace of Man-kind, upon weak and false Principles, have +neverthelesse been so deeply rooted in them. I mean those, which I have +in the precedent Chapter specified: as That men shall Judge of what is +lawfull and unlawfull, not by the Law it selfe, but by their own +private Judgements; That Subjects sinne in obeying the Commands of the +Common-wealth, unlesse they themselves have first judged them to be +lawfull: That their Propriety in their riches is such, as to exclude the +Dominion, which the Common-wealth hath over the same: That it is lawfull +for Subjects to kill such, as they call Tyrants: That the Soveraign +Power may be divided, and the like; which come to be instilled into +the People by this means. They whom necessity, or covetousnesse keepeth +attent on their trades, and labour; and they, on the other side, whom +superfluity, or sloth carrieth after their sensuall pleasures, (which +two sorts of men take up the greatest part of Man-kind,) being diverted +from the deep meditation, which the learning of truth, not onely in the +matter of Naturall Justice, but also of all other Sciences necessarily +requireth, receive the Notions of their duty, chiefly from Divines +in the Pulpit, and partly from such of their Neighbours, or familiar +acquaintance, as having the Faculty of discoursing readily, and +plausibly, seem wiser and better learned in cases of Law, and +Conscience, than themselves. And the Divines, and such others as make +shew of Learning, derive their knowledge from the Universities, and from +the Schooles of Law, or from the Books, which by men eminent in +those Schooles, and Universities have been published. It is therefore +manifest, that the Instruction of the people, dependeth wholly, on the +right teaching of Youth in the Universities. But are not (may some men +say) the Universities of England learned enough already to do that? or +is it you will undertake to teach the Universities? Hard questions. Yet +to the first, I doubt not to answer; that till towards the later end of +Henry the Eighth, the Power of the Pope, was alwayes upheld against the +Power of the Common-wealth, principally by the Universities; and that +the doctrines maintained by so many Preachers, against the Soveraign +Power of the King, and by so many Lawyers, and others, that had their +education there, is a sufficient argument, that though the Universities +were not authors of those false doctrines, yet they knew not how to +plant the true. For in such a contradiction of Opinions, it is most +certain, that they have not been sufficiently instructed; and ’tis no +wonder, if they yet retain a relish of that subtile liquor, wherewith +they were first seasoned, against the Civill Authority. But to the later +question, it is not fit, nor needfull for me to say either I, or No: for +any man that sees what I am doing, may easily perceive what I think. + +The safety of the People, requireth further, from him, or them that have +the Soveraign Power, that Justice be equally administred to all degrees +of People; that is, that as well the rich, and mighty, as poor and +obscure persons, may be righted of the injuries done them; so as the +great, may have no greater hope of impunity, when they doe violence, +dishonour, or any Injury to the meaner sort, than when one of these, +does the like to one of them: For in this consisteth Equity; to which, +as being a Precept of the Law of Nature, a Soveraign is as much subject, +as any of the meanest of his People. All breaches of the Law, are +offences against the Common-wealth: but there be some, that are also +against private Persons. Those that concern the Common-wealth onely, may +without breach of Equity be pardoned; for every man may pardon what is +done against himselfe, according to his own discretion. But an offence +against a private man, cannot in Equity be pardoned, without the consent +of him that is injured; or reasonable satisfaction. + +The Inequality of Subjects, proceedeth from the Acts of Soveraign Power; +and therefore has no more place in the presence of the Soveraign; that +is to say, in a Court of Justice, then the Inequality between Kings, +and their Subjects, in the presence of the King of Kings. The honour of +great Persons, is to be valued for their beneficence, and the aydes +they give to men of inferiour rank, or not at all. And the violences, +oppressions, and injuries they do, are not extenuated, but aggravated by +the greatnesse of their persons; because they have least need to commit +them. The consequences of this partiality towards the great, proceed in +this manner. Impunity maketh Insolence; Insolence Hatred; and Hatred, +an Endeavour to pull down all oppressing and contumelious greatnesse, +though with the ruine of the Common-wealth. + + + + +Equall Taxes + +To Equall Justice, appertaineth also the Equall imposition of Taxes; +the equality whereof dependeth not on the Equality of riches, but on the +Equality of the debt, that every man oweth to the Common-wealth for his +defence. It is not enough, for a man to labour for the maintenance +of his life; but also to fight, (if need be,) for the securing of his +labour. They must either do as the Jewes did after their return from +captivity, in re-edifying the Temple, build with one hand, and hold the +Sword in the other; or else they must hire others to fight for them. For +the Impositions that are layd on the People by the Soveraign Power, are +nothing else but the Wages, due to them that hold the publique Sword, +to defend private men in the exercise of severall Trades, and Callings. +Seeing then the benefit that every one receiveth thereby, is the +enjoyment of life, which is equally dear to poor, and rich; the debt +which a poor man oweth them that defend his life, is the same which a +rich man oweth for the defence of his; saving that the rich, who have +the service of the poor, may be debtors not onely for their own persons, +but for many more. Which considered, the Equality of Imposition, +consisteth rather in the Equality of that which is consumed, than of the +riches of the persons that consume the same. For what reason is there, +that he which laboureth much, and sparing the fruits of his labour, +consumeth little, should be more charged, then he that living idlely, +getteth little, and spendeth all he gets; seeing the one hath no +more protection from the Common-wealth, then the other? But when the +Impositions, are layd upon those things which men consume, every man +payeth Equally for what he useth: Nor is the Common-wealth defrauded, by +the luxurious waste of private men. + + + + +Publique Charity + +And whereas many men, by accident unevitable, become unable to maintain +themselves by their labour; they ought not to be left to the Charity +of private persons; but to be provided for, (as far-forth as the +necessities of Nature require,) by the Lawes of the Common-wealth. For +as it is Uncharitablenesse in any man, to neglect the impotent; so it +is in the Soveraign of a Common-wealth, to expose them to the hazard of +such uncertain Charity. + + + + +Prevention Of Idlenesse + +But for such as have strong bodies, the case is otherwise: they are to +be forced to work; and to avoyd the excuse of not finding employment, +there ought to be such Lawes, as may encourage all manner of Arts; as +Navigation, Agriculture, Fishing, and all manner of Manifacture that +requires labour. The multitude of poor, and yet strong people still +encreasing, they are to be transplanted into Countries not sufficiently +inhabited: where neverthelesse, they are not to exterminate those they +find there; but constrain them to inhabit closer together, and not range +a great deal of ground, to snatch what they find; but to court each +little Plot with art and labour, to give them their sustenance in due +season. And when all the world is overchargd with Inhabitants, then the +last remedy of all is Warre; which provideth for every man, by Victory, +or Death. + + + + +Good Lawes What + +To the care of the Soveraign, belongeth the making of Good Lawes. But +what is a good Law? By a Good Law, I mean not a Just Law: for no Law can +be Unjust. The Law is made by the Soveraign Power, and all that is done +by such Power, is warranted, and owned by every one of the people; and +that which every man will have so, no man can say is unjust. It is in +the Lawes of a Common-wealth, as in the Lawes of Gaming: whatsoever +the Gamesters all agree on, is Injustice to none of them. A good Law +is that, which is Needfull, for the Good Of The People, and withall +Perspicuous. + + + + +Such As Are Necessary + +For the use of Lawes, (which are but Rules Authorised) is not to bind +the People from all Voluntary actions; but to direct and keep them in +such a motion, as not to hurt themselves by their own impetuous desires, +rashnesse, or indiscretion, as Hedges are set, not to stop Travellers, +but to keep them in the way. And therefore a Law that is not Needfull, +having not the true End of a Law, is not Good. A Law may be conceived to +be Good, when it is for the benefit of the Soveraign; though it be +not Necessary for the People; but it is not so. For the good of the +Soveraign and People, cannot be separated. It is a weak Soveraign, that +has weak Subjects; and a weak People, whose Soveraign wanteth Power to +rule them at his will. Unnecessary Lawes are not good Lawes; but trapps +for Mony: which where the right of Soveraign Power is acknowledged, are +superfluous; and where it is not acknowledged, unsufficient to defend +the People. + + + + +Such As Are Perspicuous + +The Perspicuity, consisteth not so much in the words of the Law it +selfe, as in a Declaration of the Causes, and Motives, for which it was +made. That is it, that shewes us the meaning of the Legislator, and the +meaning of the Legislator known, the Law is more easily understood +by few, than many words. For all words, are subject to ambiguity; +and therefore multiplication of words in the body of the Law, is +multiplication of ambiguity: Besides it seems to imply, (by too much +diligence,) that whosoever can evade the words, is without the compasse +of the Law. And this is a cause of many unnecessary Processes. For when +I consider how short were the Lawes of antient times; and how they +grew by degrees still longer; me thinks I see a contention between the +Penners, and Pleaders of the Law; the former seeking to circumscribe +the later; and the later to evade their circumscriptions; and that the +Pleaders have got the Victory. It belongeth therefore to the Office of +a Legislator, (such as is in all Common-wealths the Supreme +Representative, be it one Man, or an Assembly,) to make the reason +Perspicuous, why the Law was made; and the Body of the Law it selfe, as +short, but in as proper, and significant termes, as may be. + + + + +Punishments + +It belongeth also to the Office of the Soveraign, to make a right +application of Punishments, and Rewards. And seeing the end of punishing +is not revenge, and discharge of choler; but correction, either of the +offender, or of others by his example; the severest Punishments are to +be inflicted for those Crimes, that are of most Danger to the +Publique; such as are those which proceed from malice to the Government +established; those that spring from contempt of Justice; those that +provoke Indignation in the Multitude; and those, which unpunished, seem +Authorised, as when they are committed by Sonnes, Servants, or Favorites +of men in Authority: For Indignation carrieth men, not onely against the +Actors, and Authors of Injustice; but against all Power that is likely +to protect them; as in the case of Tarquin; when for the Insolent act of +one of his Sonnes, he was driven out of Rome, and the Monarchy it selfe +dissolved. But Crimes of Infirmity; such as are those which proceed +from great provocation, from great fear, great need, or from ignorance +whether the Fact be a great Crime, or not, there is place many times for +Lenity, without prejudice to the Common-wealth; and Lenity when there is +such place for it, is required by the Law of Nature. The Punishment of +the Leaders, and teachers in a Commotion; not the poore seduced People, +when they are punished, can profit the Common-wealth by their example. +To be severe to the People, is to punish that ignorance, which may in +great part be imputed to the Soveraign, whose fault it was, they were no +better instructed. + + + + +Rewards + +In like manner it belongeth to the Office, and Duty of the Soveraign, +to apply his Rewards alwayes so, as there may arise from them benefit +to the Common-wealth: wherein consisteth their Use, and End; and is then +done, when they that have well served the Common-wealth, are with +as little expence of the Common Treasure, as is possible, so well +recompenced, as others thereby may be encouraged, both to serve the same +as faithfully as they can, and to study the arts by which they may be +enabled to do it better. To buy with Mony, or Preferment, from a Popular +ambitious Subject, to be quiet, and desist from making ill impressions +in the mindes of the People, has nothing of the nature of Reward; (which +is ordained not for disservice, but for service past;) nor a signe of +Gratitude, but of Fear: nor does it tend to the Benefit, but to the +Dammage of the Publique. It is a contention with Ambition, like that of +Hercules with the Monster Hydra, which having many heads, for every one +that was vanquished, there grew up three. For in like manner, when the +stubbornnesse of one Popular man, is overcome with Reward, there arise +many more (by the Example) that do the same Mischiefe, in hope of like +Benefit: and as all sorts of Manifacture, so also Malice encreaseth by +being vendible. And though sometimes a Civill warre, may be differred, +by such wayes as that, yet the danger growes still the greater, and the +Publique ruine more assured. It is therefore against the Duty of the +Soveraign, to whom the Publique Safety is committed, to Reward those +that aspire to greatnesse by disturbing the Peace of their Country, and +not rather to oppose the beginnings of such men, with a little danger, +than after a longer time with greater. + + + + +Counsellours + +Another Businesse of the Soveraign, is to choose good Counsellours; +I mean such, whose advice he is to take in the Government of the +Common-wealth. For this word Counsell, Consilium, corrupted from +Considium, is a large signification, and comprehendeth all Assemblies +of men that sit together, not onely to deliberate what is to be done +hereafter, but also to judge of Facts past, and of Law for the present. +I take it here in the first sense onely: And in this sense, there is no +choyce of Counsell, neither in a Democracy, nor Aristocracy; because the +persons Counselling are members of the person Counselled. The choyce +of Counsellours therefore is to Monarchy; In which, the Soveraign that +endeavoureth not to make choyce of those, that in every kind are the +most able, dischargeth not his Office as he ought to do. The most able +Counsellours, are they that have least hope of benefit by giving evill +Counsell, and most knowledge of those things that conduce to the Peace, +and Defence of the Common-wealth. It is a hard matter to know who +expecteth benefit from publique troubles; but the signes that guide to a +just suspicion, is the soothing of the people in their unreasonable, +or irremediable grievances, by men whose estates are not sufficient to +discharge their accustomed expences, and may easily be observed by any +one whom it concerns to know it. But to know, who has most knowledge of +the Publique affaires, is yet harder; and they that know them, need them +a great deale the lesse. For to know, who knowes the Rules almost of any +Art, is a great degree of the knowledge of the same Art; because no +man can be assured of the truth of anothers Rules, but he that is first +taught to understand them. But the best signes of Knowledge of any +Art, are, much conversing in it, and constant good effects of it. Good +Counsell comes not by Lot, nor by Inheritance; and therefore there is no +more reason to expect good Advice from the rich, or noble, in matter +of State, than in delineating the dimensions of a fortresse; unlesse we +shall think there needs no method in the study of the Politiques, (as +there does in the study of Geometry,) but onely to be lookers on; which +is not so. For the Politiques is the harder study of the two. Whereas +in these parts of Europe, it hath been taken for a Right of certain +persons, to have place in the highest Councell of State by Inheritance; +it is derived from the Conquests of the antient Germans; wherein many +absolute Lords joyning together to conquer other Nations, would not +enter in to the Confederacy, without such Priviledges, as might be +marks of difference in time following, between their Posterity, and the +posterity of their Subjects; which Priviledges being inconsistent with +the Soveraign Power, by the favour of the Soveraign, they may seem to +keep; but contending for them as their Right, they must needs by +degrees let them go, and have at last no further honour, than adhaereth +naturally to their abilities. + +And how able soever be the Counsellours in any affaire, the benefit +of their Counsell is greater, when they give every one his Advice, and +reasons of it apart, than when they do it in an Assembly, by way of +Orations; and when they have praemeditated, than when they speak on the +sudden; both because they have more time, to survey the consequences +of action; and are lesse subject to be carried away to contradiction, +through Envy, Emulation, or other Passions arising from the difference +of opinion. + +The best Counsell, in those things that concern not other Nations, but +onely the ease, and benefit the Subjects may enjoy, by Lawes that +look onely inward, is to be taken from the generall informations, and +complaints of the people of each Province, who are best acquainted +with their own wants, and ought therefore, when they demand nothing in +derogation of the essentiall Rights of Soveraignty, to be diligently +taken notice of. For without those Essentiall Rights, (as I have often +before said,) the Common-wealth cannot at all subsist. + + + + +Commanders + +A Commander of an Army in chiefe, if he be not Popular, shall not be +beloved, nor feared as he ought to be by his Army; and consequently +cannot performe that office with good successe. He must therefore be +Industrious, Valiant, Affable, Liberall and Fortunate, that he may gain +an opinion both of sufficiency, and of loving his Souldiers. This is +Popularity, and breeds in the Souldiers both desire, and courage, to +recommend themselves to his favour; and protects the severity of +the Generall, in punishing (when need is) the Mutinous, or negligent +Souldiers. But this love of Souldiers, (if caution be not given of +the Commanders fidelity,) is a dangerous thing to Soveraign Power; +especially when it is in the hands of an Assembly not popular. It +belongeth therefore to the safety of the People, both that they be good +Conductors, and faithfull subjects, to whom the Soveraign Commits his +Armies. + +But when the Soveraign himselfe is Popular, that is, reverenced and +beloved of his People, there is no danger at all from the Popularity of +a Subject. For Souldiers are never so generally unjust, as to side with +their Captain; though they love him, against their Soveraign, when they +love not onely his Person, but also his Cause. And therefore those, +who by violence have at any time suppressed the Power of their Lawfull +Soveraign, before they could settle themselves in his place, have been +alwayes put to the trouble of contriving their Titles, to save the +People from the shame of receiving them. To have a known Right to +Soveraign Power, is so popular a quality, as he that has it needs no +more, for his own part, to turn the hearts of his Subjects to him, but +that they see him able absolutely to govern his own Family: Nor, on the +part of his enemies, but a disbanding of their Armies. For the greatest +and most active part of Mankind, has never hetherto been well contented +with the present. + +Concerning the Offices of one Soveraign to another, which are +comprehended in that Law, which is commonly called the Law of Nations, +I need not say any thing in this place; because the Law of Nations, and +the Law of Nature, is the same thing. And every Soveraign hath the same +Right, in procuring the safety of his People, that any particular man +can have, in procuring the safety of his own Body. And the same Law, +that dictateth to men that have no Civil Government, what they ought to +do, and what to avoyd in regard of one another, dictateth the same to +Common-wealths, that is, to the Consciences of Soveraign Princes, and +Soveraign Assemblies; there being no Court of Naturall Justice, but +in the Conscience onely; where not Man, but God raigneth; whose Lawes, +(such of them as oblige all Mankind,) in respect of God, as he is the +Author of Nature, are Naturall; and in respect of the same God, as he is +King of Kings, are Lawes. But of the Kingdome of God, as King of Kings, +and as King also of a peculiar People, I shall speak in the rest of this +discourse. + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. OF THE KINGDOME OF GOD BY NATURE + + + + +The Scope Of The Following Chapters + +That the condition of meer Nature, that is to say, of absolute Liberty, +such as is theirs, that neither are Soveraigns, nor Subjects, is +Anarchy, and the condition of Warre: That the Praecepts, by which men +are guided to avoyd that condition, are the Lawes of Nature: That +a Common-wealth, without Soveraign Power, is but a word, without +substance, and cannot stand: That Subjects owe to Soveraigns, simple +Obedience, in all things, wherein their obedience is not repugnant +to the Lawes of God, I have sufficiently proved, in that which I have +already written. There wants onely, for the entire knowledge of Civill +duty, to know what are those Lawes of God. For without that, a man knows +not, when he is commanded any thing by the Civill Power, whether it be +contrary to the Law of God, or not: and so, either by too much civill +obedience, offends the Divine Majesty, or through feare of offending +God, transgresses the commandements of the Common-wealth. To avoyd both +these Rocks, it is necessary to know what are the Lawes Divine. And +seeing the knowledge of all Law, dependeth on the knowledge of the +Soveraign Power; I shall say something in that which followeth, of the +KINGDOME OF GOD. + + + + +Who Are Subjects In The Kingdome Of God + +"God is King, let the Earth rejoice," saith the Psalmist. (Psal. 96. 1). +And again, "God is King though the Nations be angry; and he that sitteth +on the Cherubins, though the earth be moved." (Psal. 98. 1). Whether +men will or not, they must be subject alwayes to the Divine Power. By +denying the Existence, or Providence of God, men may shake off their +Ease, but not their Yoke. But to call this Power of God, which extendeth +it selfe not onely to Man, but also to Beasts, and Plants, and Bodies +inanimate, by the name of Kingdome, is but a metaphoricall use of +the word. For he onely is properly said to Raigne, that governs his +Subjects, by his Word, and by promise of Rewards to those that obey +it, and by threatning them with Punishment that obey it not. Subjects +therefore in the Kingdome of God, are not Bodies Inanimate, nor +creatures Irrationall; because they understand no Precepts as his: Nor +Atheists; nor they that believe not that God has any care of the actions +of mankind; because they acknowledge no Word for his, nor have hope of +his rewards, or fear of his threatnings. They therefore that believe +there is a God that governeth the world, and hath given Praecepts, and +propounded Rewards, and Punishments to Mankind, are Gods Subjects; all +the rest, are to be understood as Enemies. + + + + +A Threefold Word Of God, Reason, Revelation, Prophecy + +To rule by Words, requires that such Words be manifestly made known; +for else they are no Lawes: For to the nature of Lawes belongeth a +sufficient, and clear Promulgation, such as may take away the excuse of +Ignorance; which in the Lawes of men is but of one onely kind, and that +is, Proclamation, or Promulgation by the voyce of man. But God +declareth his Lawes three wayes; by the Dictates of Naturall Reason, By +Revelation, and by the Voyce of some Man, to whom by the operation of +Miracles, he procureth credit with the rest. From hence there ariseth +a triple Word of God, Rational, Sensible, and Prophetique: to which +Correspondeth a triple Hearing; Right Reason, Sense Supernaturall, and +Faith. As for Sense Supernaturall, which consisteth in Revelation, or +Inspiration, there have not been any Universall Lawes so given, because +God speaketh not in that manner, but to particular persons, and to +divers men divers things. + +A Twofold Kingdome Of God, Naturall And Prophetique From the difference +between the other two kinds of Gods Word, Rationall, and Prophetique, +there may be attributed to God, a two-fold Kingdome, Naturall, and +Prophetique: Naturall, wherein he governeth as many of Mankind as +acknowledge his Providence, by the naturall Dictates of Right Reason; +And Prophetique, wherein having chosen out one peculiar Nation (the +Jewes) for his Subjects, he governed them, and none but them, not onely +by naturall Reason, but by Positive Lawes, which he gave them by the +mouths of his holy Prophets. Of the Naturall Kingdome of God I intend to +speak in this Chapter. + +The Right Of Gods Soveraignty Is Derived From His Omnipotence The Right +of Nature, whereby God reigneth over men, and punisheth those that +break his Lawes, is to be derived, not from his Creating them, as if +he required obedience, as of Gratitude for his benefits; but from his +Irresistible Power. I have formerly shewn, how the Soveraign Right +ariseth from Pact: To shew how the same Right may arise from Nature, +requires no more, but to shew in what case it is never taken away. +Seeing all men by Nature had Right to All things, they had Right every +one to reigne over all the rest. But because this Right could not be +obtained by force, it concerned the safety of every one, laying by that +Right, to set up men (with Soveraign Authority) by common consent, +to rule and defend them: whereas if there had been any man of Power +Irresistible; there had been no reason, why he should not by that Power +have ruled, and defended both himselfe, and them, according to his own +discretion. To those therefore whose Power is irresistible, the dominion +of all men adhaereth naturally by their excellence of Power; and +consequently it is from that Power, that the Kingdome over men, and +the Right of afflicting men at his pleasure, belongeth Naturally to God +Almighty; not as Creator, and Gracious; but as Omnipotent. And though +Punishment be due for Sinne onely, because by that word is understood +Affliction for Sinne; yet the Right of Afflicting, is not alwayes +derived from mens Sinne, but from Gods Power. + + + + +Sinne Not The Cause Of All Affliction + +This question, "Why Evill men often Prosper, and Good men suffer +Adversity," has been much disputed by the Antient, and is the same +with this of ours, "By what Right God dispenseth the Prosperities and +Adversities of this life;" and is of that difficulty, as it hath shaken +the faith, not onely of the Vulgar, but of Philosophers, and which is +more, of the Saints, concerning the Divine Providence. "How Good," saith +David, "is the God of Israel to those that are Upright in Heart; and yet +my feet were almost gone, my treadings had well-nigh slipt; for I was +grieved at the Wicked, when I saw the Ungodly in such Prosperity." +And Job, how earnestly does he expostulate with God, for the many +Afflictions he suffered, notwithstanding his Righteousnesse? This +question in the case of Job, is decided by God himselfe, not by +arguments derived from Job’s Sinne, but his own Power. For whereas the +friends of Job drew their arguments from his Affliction to his Sinne, +and he defended himselfe by the conscience of his Innocence, God +himselfe taketh up the matter, and having justified the Affliction by +arguments drawn from his Power, such as this "Where was thou when I +layd the foundations of the earth," and the like, both approved +Job’s Innocence, and reproved the Erroneous doctrine of his friends. +Conformable to this doctrine is the sentence of our Saviour, concerning +the man that was born Blind, in these words, "Neither hath this man +sinned, nor his fathers; but that the works of God might be made +manifest in him." And though it be said "That Death entred into the +world by sinne," (by which is meant that if Adam had never sinned, he had +never dyed, that is, never suffered any separation of his soule from his +body,) it follows not thence, that God could not justly have Afflicted +him, though he had not Sinned, as well as he afflicteth other living +creatures, that cannot sinne. + + + + +Divine Lawes + +Having spoken of the Right of Gods Soveraignty, as grounded onely on +Nature; we are to consider next, what are the Divine Lawes, or Dictates +of Naturall Reason; which Lawes concern either the naturall Duties of +one man to another, or the Honour naturally due to our Divine Soveraign. +The first are the same Lawes of Nature, of which I have spoken already +in the 14. and 15. Chapters of this Treatise; namely, Equity, Justice, +Mercy, Humility, and the rest of the Morall Vertues. It remaineth +therefore that we consider, what Praecepts are dictated to men, by their +Naturall Reason onely, without other word of God, touching the Honour +and Worship of the Divine Majesty. + + + + +Honour And Worship What + +Honour consisteth in the inward thought, and opinion of the Power, and +Goodnesse of another: and therefore to Honour God, is to think as Highly +of his Power and Goodnesse, as is possible. And of that opinion, the +externall signes appearing in the Words, and Actions of men, are called +Worship; which is one part of that which the Latines understand by the +word Cultus: For Cultus signifieth properly, and constantly, that labour +which a man bestowes on any thing, with a purpose to make benefit by it. +Now those things whereof we make benefit, are either subject to us, and +the profit they yeeld, followeth the labour we bestow upon them, as a +naturall effect; or they are not subject to us, but answer our labour, +according to their own Wills. In the first sense the labour bestowed on +the Earth, is called Culture; and the education of Children a Culture of +their mindes. In the second sense, where mens wills are to be wrought to +our purpose, not by Force, but by Compleasance, it signifieth as much as +Courting, that is, a winning of favour by good offices; as by praises, +by acknowledging their Power, and by whatsoever is pleasing to them from +whom we look for any benefit. And this is properly Worship: in which +sense Publicola, is understood for a Worshipper of the People, and +Cultus Dei, for the Worship of God. + + + + +Severall Signes Of Honour + +From internall Honour, consisting in the opinion of Power and Goodnesse, +arise three Passions; Love, which hath reference to Goodnesse; and Hope, +and Fear, that relate to Power: And three parts of externall worship; +Praise, Magnifying, and Blessing: The subject of Praise, being +Goodnesse; the subject of Magnifying, and Blessing, being Power, and the +effect thereof Felicity. Praise, and Magnifying are significant both by +Words, and Actions: By Words, when we say a man is Good, or Great: +By Actions, when we thank him for his Bounty, and obey his Power. The +opinion of the Happinesse of another, can onely be expressed by words. + + + + +Worship Naturall And Arbitrary + +There be some signes of Honour, (both in Attributes and Actions,) that +be Naturally so; as amongst Attributes, Good, Just, Liberall, and the +like; and amongst Actions, Prayers, Thanks, and Obedience. Others are +so by Institution, or Custome of men; and in some times and places are +Honourable; in others Dishonourable; in others Indifferent: such as are +the Gestures in Salutation, Prayer, and Thanksgiving, in different +times and places, differently used. The former is Naturall; the later +Arbitrary Worship. + + + + +Worship Commanded And Free + +And of Arbitrary Worship, there bee two differences: For sometimes it is +a Commanded, sometimes Voluntary Worship: Commanded, when it is such +as hee requireth, who is Worshipped: Free, when it is such as the +Worshipper thinks fit. When it is Commanded, not the words, or gestures, +but the obedience is the Worship. But when Free, the Worship consists +in the opinion of the beholders: for if to them the words, or actions by +which we intend honour, seem ridiculous, and tending to contumely; they +are not Worship; because a signe is not a signe to him that giveth it, +but to him to whom it is made; that is, to the spectator. + + + + +Worship Publique And Private + +Again, there is a Publique, and a Private Worship. Publique, is the +Worship that a Common-wealth performeth, as one Person. Private, is that +which a Private person exhibiteth. Publique, in respect of the whole +Common-wealth, is Free; but in respect of Particular men it is not so. +Private, is in secret Free; but in the sight of the multitude, it is +never without some Restraint, either from the Lawes, or from the Opinion +of men; which is contrary to the nature of Liberty. + + + + +The End Of Worship + +The End of Worship amongst men, is Power. For where a man seeth another +worshipped he supposeth him powerfull, and is the readier to obey him; +which makes his Power greater. But God has no Ends: the worship we do +him, proceeds from our duty, and is directed according to our capacity, +by those rules of Honour, that Reason dictateth to be done by the weak +to the more potent men, in hope of benefit, for fear of dammage, or in +thankfulnesse for good already received from them. + + + + +Attributes Of Divine Honour + +That we may know what worship of God is taught us by the light of +Nature, I will begin with his Attributes. Where, First, it is manifest, +we ought to attribute to him Existence: For no man can have the will to +honour that, which he thinks not to have any Beeing. + +Secondly, that those Philosophers, who sayd the World, or the Soule of +the World was God, spake unworthily of him; and denyed his Existence: +For by God, is understood the cause of the World; and to say the World +is God, is to say there is no cause of it, that is, no God. + +Thirdly, to say the World was not Created, but Eternall, (seeing that +which is Eternall has no cause,) is to deny there is a God. + +Fourthly, that they who attributing (as they think) Ease to God, take +from him the care of Mankind; take from him his Honour: for it takes +away mens love, and fear of him; which is the root of Honour. + +Fifthly, in those things that signifie Greatnesse, and Power; to say he +is Finite, is not to Honour him: For it is not a signe of the Will to +Honour God, to attribute to him lesse than we can; and Finite, is lesse +than we can; because to Finite, it is easie to adde more. + +Therefore to attribute Figure to him, is not Honour; for all Figure is +Finite: + +Nor to say we conceive, and imagine, or have an Idea of him, in our +mind: for whatsoever we conceive is Finite: + +Not to attribute to him Parts, or Totality; which are the Attributes +onely of things Finite: + +Nor to say he is this, or that Place: for whatsoever is in Place, is +bounded, and Finite: + +Nor that he is Moved, or Resteth: for both these Attributes ascribe to +him Place: + +Nor that there be more Gods than one; because it implies them all +Finite: for there cannot be more than one Infinite: Nor to ascribe to +him (unlesse Metaphorically, meaning not the Passion, but the Effect) +Passions that partake of Griefe; as Repentance, Anger, Mercy: or of +Want; as Appetite, Hope, Desire; or of any Passive faculty: For Passion, +is Power limited by somewhat else. + +And therefore when we ascribe to God a Will, it is not to be understood, +as that of Man, for a Rationall Appetite; but as the Power, by which he +effecteth every thing. + +Likewise when we attribute to him Sight, and other acts of Sense; as +also Knowledge, and Understanding; which in us is nothing else, but +a tumult of the mind, raised by externall things that presse the +organicall parts of mans body: For there is no such thing in God; and +being things that depend on naturall causes, cannot be attributed to +him. + +Hee that will attribute to God, nothing but what is warranted by +naturall Reason, must either use such Negative Attributes, as Infinite, +Eternall, Incomprehensible; or Superlatives, as Most High, Most Great, +and the like; or Indefinite, as Good, Just, Holy, Creator; and in such +sense, as if he meant not to declare what he is, (for that were to +circumscribe him within the limits of our Fancy,) but how much wee +admire him, and how ready we would be to obey him; which is a signe of +Humility, and of a Will to honour him as much as we can: For there is +but one Name to signifie our Conception of his Nature, and that is, I +AM: and but one Name of his Relation to us, and that is God; in which is +contained Father, King, and Lord. + + + + +Actions That Are Signes Of Divine Honour + +Concerning the actions of Divine Worship, it is a most generall Precept +of Reason, that they be signes of the Intention to Honour God; such as +are, First, Prayers: For not the Carvers, when they made Images, were +thought to make them Gods; but the People that Prayed to them. + +Secondly, Thanksgiving; which differeth from Prayer in Divine Worship, +no otherwise, than that Prayers precede, and Thanks succeed the benefit; +the end both of the one, and the other, being to acknowledge God, for +Author of all benefits, as well past, as future. + +Thirdly, Gifts; that is to say, Sacrifices, and Oblations, (if they be +of the best,) are signes of Honour: for they are Thanksgivings. + +Fourthly, Not to swear by any but God, is naturally a signe of Honour: +for it is a confession that God onely knoweth the heart; and that no +mans wit, or strength can protect a man against Gods vengence on the +perjured. + +Fifthly, it is a part of Rationall Worship, to speak Considerately +of God; for it argues a Fear of him, and Fear, is a confession of his +Power. Hence followeth, That the name of God is not to be used rashly, +and to no purpose; for that is as much, as in Vain: And it is to +no purpose; unlesse it be by way of Oath, and by order of the +Common-wealth, to make Judgements certain; or between Common-wealths, +to avoyd Warre. And that disputing of Gods nature is contrary to his +Honour: For it is supposed, that in this naturall Kingdome of God, there +is no other way to know any thing, but by naturall Reason; that is, from +the Principles of naturall Science; which are so farre from teaching us +any thing of Gods nature, as they cannot teach us our own nature, nor +the nature of the smallest creature living. And therefore, when men out +of the Principles of naturall Reason, dispute of the Attributes of God, +they but dishonour him: For in the Attributes which we give to God, we +are not to consider the signification of Philosophicall Truth; but the +signification of Pious Intention, to do him the greatest Honour we are +able. From the want of which consideration, have proceeded the volumes +of disputation about the Nature of God, that tend not to his Honour, but +to the honour of our own wits, and learning; and are nothing else but +inconsiderate, and vain abuses of his Sacred Name. + +Sixthly, in Prayers, Thanksgivings, Offerings and Sacrifices, it is a +Dictate of naturall Reason, that they be every one in his kind the +best, and most significant of Honour. As for example, that Prayers, and +Thanksgiving, be made in Words and Phrases, not sudden, nor light, nor +Plebeian; but beautifull and well composed; For else we do not God +as much honour as we can. And therefore the Heathens did absurdly, to +worship Images for Gods: But their doing it in Verse, and with Musick, +both of Voyce, and Instruments, was reasonable. Also that the Beasts +they offered in sacrifice, and the Gifts they offered, and their actions +in Worshipping, were full of submission, and commemorative of benefits +received, was according to reason, as proceeding from an intention to +honour him. + +Seventhly, Reason directeth not onely to worship God in Secret; but +also, and especially, in Publique, and in the sight of men: For without +that, (that which in honour is most acceptable) the procuring others to +honour him, is lost. + +Lastly, Obedience to his Lawes (that is, in this case to the Lawes +of Nature,) is the greatest worship of all. For as Obedience is +more acceptable to God than sacrifice; so also to set light by his +Commandements, is the greatest of all contumelies. And these are the +Lawes of that Divine Worship, which naturall Reason dictateth to private +men. + + + + +Publique Worship Consisteth In Uniformity + +But seeing a Common-wealth is but one Person, it ought also to exhibite +to God but one Worship; which then it doth, when it commandeth it to be +exhibited by Private men, Publiquely. And this is Publique Worship; the +property whereof, is to be Uniforme: For those actions that are done +differently, by different men, cannot be said to be a Publique Worship. +And therefore, where many sorts of Worship be allowed, proceeding from +the different Religions of Private men, it cannot be said there is any +Publique Worship, nor that the Common-wealth is of any Religion at all. + + + + +All Attributes Depend On The Lawes Civill + +And because words (and consequently the Attributes of God) have their +signification by agreement, and constitution of men; those Attributes +are to be held significative of Honour, that men intend shall so be; and +whatsoever may be done by the wills of particular men, where there is no +Law but Reason, may be done by the will of the Common-wealth, by Lawes +Civill. And because a Common-wealth hath no Will, nor makes no Lawes, +but those that are made by the Will of him, or them that have the +Soveraign Power; it followeth, that those Attributes which the Soveraign +ordaineth, in the Worship of God, for signes of Honour, ought to be +taken and used for such, by private men in their publique Worship. + + + + +Not All Actions + +But because not all Actions are signes by Constitution; but some are +Naturally signes of Honour, others of Contumely, these later (which are +those that men are ashamed to do in the sight of them they reverence) +cannot be made by humane power a part of Divine worship; nor the former +(such as are decent, modest, humble Behaviour) ever be separated from +it. But whereas there be an infinite number of Actions, and Gestures, of +an indifferent nature; such of them as the Common-wealth shall ordain to +be Publiquely and Universally in use, as signes of Honour, and part of +Gods Worship, are to be taken and used for such by the Subjects. And +that which is said in the Scripture, "It is better to obey God than +men," hath place in the kingdome of God by Pact, and not by Nature. + + + + +Naturall Punishments + +Having thus briefly spoken of the Naturall Kingdome of God, and his +Naturall Lawes, I will adde onely to this Chapter a short declaration of +his Naturall Punishments. There is no action of man in this life, that +is not the beginning of so long a chayn of Consequences, as no humane +Providence, is high enough, to give a man a prospect to the end. And +in this Chayn, there are linked together both pleasing and unpleasing +events; in such manner, as he that will do any thing for his pleasure, +must engage himselfe to suffer all the pains annexed to it; and these +pains, are the Naturall Punishments of those actions, which are the +beginning of more Harme that Good. And hereby it comes to passe, that +Intemperance, is naturally punished with Diseases; Rashnesse, with +Mischances; Injustice, with the Violence of Enemies; Pride, with Ruine; +Cowardise, with Oppression; Negligent government of Princes, with +Rebellion; and Rebellion, with Slaughter. For seeing Punishments +are consequent to the breach of Lawes; Naturall Punishments must be +naturally consequent to the breach of the Lawes of Nature; and therfore +follow them as their naturall, not arbitrary effects. + + + + +The Conclusion Of The Second Part + +And thus farre concerning the Constitution, Nature, and Right of +Soveraigns; and concerning the Duty of Subjects, derived from the +Principles of Naturall Reason. And now, considering how different +this Doctrine is, from the Practise of the greatest part of the world, +especially of these Western parts, that have received their Morall +learning from Rome, and Athens; and how much depth of Morall Philosophy +is required, in them that have the Administration of the Soveraign +Power; I am at the point of believing this my labour, as uselesse, +and the Common-wealth of Plato; For he also is of opinion that it is +impossible for the disorders of State, and change of Governments by +Civill Warre, ever to be taken away, till Soveraigns be Philosophers. +But when I consider again, that the Science of Naturall Justice, is the +onely Science necessary for Soveraigns, and their principall Ministers; +and that they need not be charged with the Sciences Mathematicall, (as +by Plato they are,) further, than by good Lawes to encourage men to +the study of them; and that neither Plato, nor any other Philosopher +hitherto, hath put into order, and sufficiently, or probably proved all +the Theoremes of Morall doctrine, that men may learn thereby, both how +to govern, and how to obey; I recover some hope, that one time or other, +this writing of mine, may fall into the hands of a Soveraign, who will +consider it himselfe, (for it is short, and I think clear,) without the +help of any interested, or envious Interpreter; and by the exercise of +entire Soveraignty, in protecting the Publique teaching of it, convert +this Truth of Speculation, into the Utility of Practice. + + + + + +PART III. +OF A CHRISTIAN COMMON-WEALTH + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. OF THE PRINCIPLES OF CHRISTIAN POLITIQUES + + +The Word Of God Delivered By Prophets Is The Main Principle + +Of Christian Politiques + +I have derived the Rights of Soveraigne Power, and the duty of Subjects +hitherto, from the Principles of Nature onely; such as Experience has +found true, or Consent (concerning the use of words) has made so; that +is to say, from the nature of Men, known to us by Experience, and +from Definitions (of such words as are Essentiall to all Politicall +reasoning) universally agreed on. But in that I am next to handle, which +is the Nature and Rights of a CHRISTIAN COMMON-WEALTH, whereof there +dependeth much upon Supernaturall Revelations of the Will of God; the +ground of my Discourse must be, not only the Naturall Word of God, but +also the Propheticall. + +Neverthelesse, we are not to renounce our Senses, and Experience; nor +(that which is the undoubted Word of God) our naturall Reason. For they +are the talents which he hath put into our hands to negotiate, till the +coming again of our blessed Saviour; and therefore not to be folded up +in the Napkin of an Implicate Faith, but employed in the purchase of +Justice, Peace, and true Religion, For though there be many things in +Gods Word above Reason; that is to say, which cannot by naturall reason +be either demonstrated, or confuted; yet there is nothing contrary +to it; but when it seemeth so, the fault is either in our unskilfull +Interpretation, or erroneous Ratiocination. + +Therefore, when any thing therein written is too hard for our +examination, wee are bidden to captivate our understanding to the Words; +and not to labour in sifting out a Philosophicall truth by Logick, of +such mysteries as are not comprehensible, nor fall under any rule of +naturall science. For it is with the mysteries of our Religion, as with +wholsome pills for the sick, which swallowed whole, have the vertue to +cure; but chewed, are for the most part cast up again without effect. + + + + +What It Is To Captivate The Understanding + +But by the Captivity of our Understanding, is not meant a Submission of +the Intellectual faculty, to the Opinion of any other man; but of +the Will to Obedience, where obedience is due. For Sense, Memory, +Understanding, Reason, and Opinion are not in our power to change; but +alwaies, and necessarily such, as the things we see, hear, and consider +suggest unto us; and therefore are not effects of our Will, but our Will +of them. We then Captivate our Understanding and Reason, when we forbear +contradiction; when we so speak, as (by lawfull Authority) we are +commanded; and when we live accordingly; which in sum, is Trust, and +Faith reposed in him that speaketh, though the mind be incapable of any +Notion at all from the words spoken. + + + + +How God Speaketh To Men + +When God speaketh to man, it must be either immediately; or by mediation +of another man, to whom he had formerly spoken by himself immediately. +How God speaketh to a man immediately, may be understood by those well +enough, to whom he hath so spoken; but how the same should be understood +by another, is hard, if not impossible to know. For if a man pretend to +me, that God hath spoken to him supernaturally, and immediately, and I +make doubt of it, I cannot easily perceive what argument he can produce, +to oblige me to beleeve it. It is true, that if he be my Soveraign, +he may oblige me to obedience, so, as not by act or word to declare I +beleeve him not; but not to think any otherwise then my reason perswades +me. But if one that hath not such authority over me, shall pretend the +same, there is nothing that exacteth either beleefe, or obedience. + +For to say that God hath spoken to him in the Holy Scripture, is not +to say God hath spoken to him immediately, but by mediation of the +Prophets, or of the Apostles, or of the Church, in such manner as he +speaks to all other Christian men. To say he hath spoken to him in a +Dream, is no more than to say he dreamed that God spake to him; which is +not of force to win beleef from any man, that knows dreams are for +the most part naturall, and may proceed from former thoughts; and such +dreams as that, from selfe conceit, and foolish arrogance, and false +opinion of a mans own godlinesse, or other vertue, by which he thinks he +hath merited the favour of extraordinary Revelation. To say he hath +seen a Vision, or heard a Voice, is to say, that he hath dreamed between +sleeping and waking: for in such manner a man doth many times naturally +take his dream for a vision, as not having well observed his own +slumbering. To say he speaks by supernaturall Inspiration, is to say he +finds an ardent desire to speak, or some strong opinion of himself, for +which he can alledge no naturall and sufficient reason. So that +though God Almighty can speak to a man, by Dreams, Visions, Voice, and +Inspiration; yet he obliges no man to beleeve he hath so done to him +that pretends it; who (being a man), may erre, and (which is more) may +lie. + + + + +By What Marks Prophets Are Known + +How then can he, to whom God hath never revealed his Wil immediately +(saving by the way of natural reason) know when he is to obey, or not +to obey his Word, delivered by him, that sayes he is a Prophet? (1 Kings +22) Of 400 Prophets, of whom the K. of Israel asked counsel, concerning +the warre he made against Ramoth Gilead, only Micaiah was a true one.(1 +Kings 13) The Prophet that was sent to prophecy against the Altar set up +by Jeroboam, though a true Prophet, and that by two miracles done in +his presence appears to be a Prophet sent from God, was yet deceived by +another old Prophet, that perswaded him as from the mouth of God, to eat +and drink with him. If one Prophet deceive another, what certainty is +there of knowing the will of God, by other way than that of Reason? To +which I answer out of the Holy Scripture, that there be two marks, by +which together, not asunder, a true Prophet is to be known. One is the +doing of miracles; the other is the not teaching any other Religion than +that which is already established. Asunder (I say) neither of these is +sufficient. (Deut. 13 v. 1,2,3,4,5 ) "If a Prophet rise amongst you, or +a Dreamer of dreams, and shall pretend the doing of a miracle, and the +miracle come to passe; if he say, Let us follow strange Gods, which thou +hast not known, thou shalt not hearken to him, &c. But that Prophet and +Dreamer of dreams shall be put to death, because he hath spoken to you +to Revolt from the Lord your God." In which words two things are to +be observed, First, that God wil not have miracles alone serve for +arguments, to approve the Prophets calling; but (as it is in the third +verse) for an experiment of the constancy of our adherence to himself. +For the works of the Egyptian Sorcerers, though not so great as those +of Moses, yet were great miracles. Secondly, that how great soever the +miracle be, yet if it tend to stir up revolt against the King, or him +that governeth by the Kings authority, he that doth such miracle, is +not to be considered otherwise than as sent to make triall of their +allegiance. For these words, "revolt from the Lord your God," are in +this place equivalent to "revolt from your King." For they had made God +their King by pact at the foot of Mount Sinai; who ruled them by Moses +only; for he only spake with God, and from time to time declared Gods +Commandements to the people. In like manner, after our Saviour Christ +had made his Disciples acknowledge him for the Messiah, (that is to say, +for Gods anointed, whom the nation of the Jews daily expected for their +King, but refused when he came,) he omitted not to advertise them of the +danger of miracles. "There shall arise," (saith he) "false Christs, and +false Prophets, and shall doe great wonders and miracles, even to the +seducing (if it were possible) of the very Elect." (Mat. 24. 24) By +which it appears, that false Prophets may have the power of miracles; +yet are wee not to take their doctrin for Gods Word. St. Paul says +further to the Galatians, that "if himself, or an Angell from heaven +preach another Gospel to them, than he had preached, let him be +accursed." (Gal. 1. 8) That Gospel was, that Christ was King; so that +all preaching against the power of the King received, in consequence +to these words, is by St. Paul accursed. For his speech is addressed to +those, who by his preaching had already received Jesus for the Christ, +that is to say, for King of the Jews. + + + + +The Marks Of A Prophet In The Old Law, Miracles, And Doctrine +Conformable To The Law + +And as Miracles, without preaching that Doctrine which God hath +established; so preaching the true Doctrine, without the doing of +Miracles, is an unsufficient argument of immediate Revelation. For if +a man that teacheth not false Doctrine, should pretend to bee a Prophet +without shewing any Miracle, he is never the more to bee regarded for +his pretence, as is evident by Deut. 18. v. 21, 22. "If thou say in +thy heart, How shall we know that the Word (of the Prophet) is not that +which the Lord hath spoken. When the Prophet shall have spoken in the +name of the Lord, that which shall not come to passe, that’s the word +which the Lord hath not spoken, but the Prophet has spoken it out of +the pride of his own heart, fear him not." But a man may here again ask, +When the Prophet hath foretold a thing, how shal we know whether it will +come to passe or not? For he may foretel it as a thing to arrive after +a certain long time, longer then the time of mans life; or indefinitely, +that it will come to passe one time or other: in which case this mark +of a Prophet is unusefull; and therefore the miracles that oblige us to +beleeve a Prophet, ought to be confirmed by an immediate, or a not +long deferr’d event. So that it is manifest, that the teaching of +the Religion which God hath established, and the showing of a present +Miracle, joined together, were the only marks whereby the Scripture +would have a true Prophet, that is to say immediate Revelation to be +acknowledged; neither of them being singly sufficient to oblige any +other man to regard what he saith. + + + + +Miracles Ceasing, Prophets Cease, The Scripture Supplies Their Place + +Seeing therefore Miracles now cease, we have no sign left, whereby to +acknowledge the pretended Revelations, or Inspirations of any private +man; nor obligation to give ear to any Doctrine, farther than it is +conformable to the Holy Scriptures, which since the time of our Saviour, +supply the want of all other Prophecy; and from which, by wise and +careful ratiocination, all rules and precepts necessary to the knowledge +of our duty both to God and man, without Enthusiasme, or supernaturall +Inspiration, may easily be deduced. And this Scripture is it, out of +which I am to take the Principles of my Discourse, concerning the +Rights of those that are the Supream Govenors on earth, of Christian +Common-wealths; and of the duty of Christian Subjects towards their +Soveraigns. And to that end, I shall speak in the next Chapter, or the +Books, Writers, Scope and Authority of the Bible. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. OF THE NUMBER, ANTIQUITY, SCOPE, AUTHORITY, AND +INTERPRETERS OF THE BOOKS OF HOLY SCRIPTURE + + + + +Of The Books Of Holy Scripture + +By the Books of Holy SCRIPTURE, are understood those, which ought to be +the Canon, that is to say, the Rules of Christian life. And because all +Rules of life, which men are in conscience bound to observe, are Laws; +the question of the Scripture, is the question of what is Law throughout +all Christendome, both Naturall, and Civill. For though it be not +determined in Scripture, what Laws every Christian King shall constitute +in his own Dominions; yet it is determined what laws he shall not +constitute. Seeing therefore I have already proved, that Soveraigns +in their own Dominions are the sole Legislators; those Books only are +Canonicall, that is, Law, in every nation, which are established for +such by the Soveraign Authority. It is true, that God is the Soveraign +of all Soveraigns; and therefore, when he speaks to any Subject, he +ought to be obeyed, whatsoever any earthly Potentate command to the +contrary. But the question is not of obedience to God, but of When, +and What God hath said; which to Subjects that have no supernaturall +revelation, cannot be known, but by that naturall reason, which guided +them, for the obtaining of Peace and Justice, to obey the authority +of their severall Common-wealths; that is to say, of their lawfull +Soveraigns. According to this obligation, I can acknowledge no other +Books of the Old Testament, to be Holy Scripture, but those which have +been commanded to be acknowledged for such, by the Authority of the +Church of England. What Books these are, is sufficiently known, without +a Catalogue of them here; and they are the same that are acknowledged +by St. Jerome, who holdeth the rest, namely, the Wisdome of Solomon, +Ecclesiasticus, Judith, Tobias, the first and second of Maccabees, +(though he had seen the first in Hebrew) and the third and fourth of +Esdras, for Apocrypha. Of the Canonicall, Josephus a learned Jew, that +wrote in the time of the Emperor Domitian, reckoneth Twenty Two, making +the number agree with the Hebrew Alphabet. St. Jerome does the same, +though they reckon them in different manner. For Josephus numbers Five +Books of Moses, Thirteen of Prophets, that writ the History of their own +times (which how it agrees with the Prophets writings contained in the +Bible wee shall see hereafter), and Four of Hymnes and Morall Precepts. +But St. Jerome reckons Five Books of Moses, Eight of Prophets, and Nine +of other Holy writ, which he calls of Hagiographa. The Septuagint, who +were 70. learned men of the Jews, sent for by Ptolemy King of Egypt, to +translate the Jewish Law, out of the Hebrew into the Greek, have left us +no other for holy Scripture in the Greek tongue, but the same that are +received in the Church of England. + +As for the Books of the New Testament, they are equally acknowledged for +Canon by all Christian Churches, and by all sects of Christians, that +admit any Books at all for Canonicall. + + + + +Their Antiquity + +Who were the originall writers of the severall Books of Holy Scripture, +has not been made evident by any sufficient testimony of other History, +(which is the only proof of matter of fact); nor can be by any arguments +of naturall Reason; for Reason serves only to convince the truth (not +of fact, but) of consequence. The light therefore that must guide us in +this question, must be that which is held out unto us from the Bookes +themselves: And this light, though it show us not the writer of every +book, yet it is not unusefull to give us knowledge of the time, wherein +they were written. + + + + +The Pentateuch Not Written By Moses + +And first, for the Pentateuch, it is not argument enough that they were +written by Moses, because they are called the five Books of Moses; no +more than these titles, The Book of Joshua, the Book of Judges, The Book +of Ruth, and the Books of the Kings, are arguments sufficient to prove, +that they were written by Joshua, by the Judges, by Ruth, and by the +Kings. For in titles of Books, the subject is marked, as often as the +writer. The History Of Livy, denotes the Writer; but the History Of +Scanderbeg, is denominated from the subject. We read in the last Chapter +of Deuteronomie, Ver. 6. concerning the sepulcher of Moses, "that no man +knoweth of his sepulcher to this day," that is, to the day wherein those +words were written. It is therefore manifest, that those words were +written after his interrement. For it were a strange interpretation, to +say Moses spake of his own sepulcher (though by Prophecy), that it was +not found to that day, wherein he was yet living. But it may perhaps +be alledged, that the last Chapter only, not the whole Pentateuch, was +written by some other man, but the rest not: Let us therefore consider +that which we find in the Book of Genesis, Chap. 12. Ver. 6 "And Abraham +passed through the land to the place of Sichem, unto the plain of Moreh, +and the Canaanite was then in the land;" which must needs bee the +words of one that wrote when the Canaanite was not in the land; and +consequently, not of Moses, who dyed before he came into it. Likewise +Numbers 21. Ver. 14. the Writer citeth another more ancient Book, +Entituled, The Book of the Warres of the Lord, wherein were registred +the Acts of Moses, at the Red-sea, and at the brook of Arnon. It is +therefore sufficiently evident, that the five Books of Moses were +written after his time, though how long after it be not so manifest. + +But though Moses did not compile those Books entirely, and in the form +we have them; yet he wrote all that which hee is there said to have +written: as for example, the Volume of the Law, which is contained, as +it seemeth in the 11 of Deuteronomie, and the following Chapters to the +27. which was also commanded to be written on stones, in their entry +into the land of Canaan. (Deut. 31. 9) And this did Moses himself +write, and deliver to the Priests and Elders of Israel, to be read +every seventh year to all Israel, at their assembling in the feast of +Tabernacles. And this is that Law which God commanded, that their Kings +(when they should have established that form of Government) should take +a copy of from the Priests and Levites to lay in the side of the Arke; +(Deut. 31. 26) and the same which having been lost, was long time after +found again by Hilkiah, and sent to King Josias, who causing it to be +read to the People, renewed the Covenant between God and them. (2 King. +22. 8 & 23. 1,2,3) + + + + +The Book of Joshua Written After His Time + +That the Book of Joshua was also written long after the time of Joshua, +may be gathered out of many places of the Book it self. Joshua had +set up twelve stones in the middest of Jordan, for a monument of their +passage; (Josh 4. 9) of which the Writer saith thus, "They are there +unto this day;" (Josh 5. 9) for "unto this day", is a phrase that +signifieth a time past, beyond the memory of man. In like manner, upon +the saying of the Lord, that he had rolled off from the people the +Reproach of Egypt, the Writer saith, "The place is called Gilgal unto +this day;" which to have said in the time of Joshua had been improper. +So also the name of the Valley of Achor, from the trouble that Achan +raised in the Camp, (Josh. 7. 26) the Writer saith, "remaineth unto +this day;" which must needs bee therefore long after the time of Joshua. +Arguments of this kind there be many other; as Josh. 8. 29. 13. 13. 14. +14. 15. 63. + + + + +The Booke Of Judges And Ruth Written Long After The Captivity + +The same is manifest by like arguments of the Book of Judges, chap. 1. +21,26 6.24 10.4 15.19 17.6 and Ruth 1. 1. but especially Judg. 18. 30. +where it is said, that Jonathan "and his sonnes were Priests to the +Tribe of Dan, untill the day of the captivity of the land." + + + + +The Like Of The Bookes Of Samuel + +That the Books of Samuel were also written after his own time, there +are the like arguments, 1 Sam. 5.5. 7.13,15. 27.6. & 30.25. where, after +David had adjudged equall part of the spoiles, to them that guarded +the Ammunition, with them that fought, the Writer saith, "He made it a +Statute and an Ordinance to Israel to this day." (2. Sam. 6.4.) Again, +when David (displeased, that the Lord had slain Uzzah, for putting out +his hand to sustain the Ark,) called the place Perez-Uzzah, the Writer +saith, it is called so "to this day": the time therefore of the writing +of that Book, must be long after the time of the fact; that is, long +after the time of David. + + + + +The Books Of The Kings, And The Chronicles + +As for the two Books of the Kings, and the two books of the Chronicles, +besides the places which mention such monuments, as the Writer saith, +remained till his own days; such as are 1 Kings 9.13. 9.21. 10. 12. +12.19. 2 Kings 2.22. 8.22. 10.27. 14.7. 16.6. 17.23. 17.34. 17.41. 1 +Chron. 4.41. 5.26. It is argument sufficient they were written after the +captivity in Babylon, that the History of them is continued till that +time. For the Facts Registred are alwaies more ancient than such Books +as make mention of, and quote the Register; as these Books doe in divers +places, referring the Reader to the Chronicles of the Kings of Juda, +to the Chronicles of the Kings of Israel, to the Books of the Prophet +Samuel, or the Prophet Nathan, of the Prophet Ahijah; to the Vision of +Jehdo, to the Books of the Prophet Serveiah, and of the Prophet Addo. + + + + +Ezra And Nehemiah + +The Books of Esdras and Nehemiah were written certainly after their +return from captivity; because their return, the re-edification of +the walls and houses of Jerusalem, the renovation of the Covenant, and +ordination of their policy are therein contained. + + + + +Esther + +The History of Queen Esther is of the time of the Captivity; and +therefore the Writer must have been of the same time, or after it. + + + + +Job + +The Book of Job hath no mark in it of the time wherein it was written: +and though it appear sufficiently (Exekiel 14.14, and James 5.11.) +that he was no fained person; yet the Book it self seemeth not to be +a History, but a Treatise concerning a question in ancient time much +disputed, "why wicked men have often prospered in this world, and good +men have been afflicted;" and it is the most probably, because from the +beginning, to the third verse of the third chapter, where the complaint +of Job beginneth, the Hebrew is (as St. Jerome testifies) in prose; and +from thence to the sixt verse of the last chapter in Hexameter Verses; +and the rest of that chapter again in prose. So that the dispute is all +in verse; and the prose is added, but as a Preface in the beginning, and +an Epilogue in the end. But Verse is no usuall stile of such, as either +are themselves in great pain, as Job; or of such as come to comfort +them, as his friends; but in Philosophy, especially morall Philosophy, +in ancient time frequent. + + + + +The Psalter + +The Psalmes were written the most part by David, for the use of the +Quire. To these are added some songs of Moses, and other holy men; and +some of them after the return from the Captivity; as the 137. and the +126. whereby it is manifest that the Psalter was compiled, and put into +the form it now hath, after the return of the Jews from Babylon. + + + + +The Proverbs + +The Proverbs, being a Collection of wise and godly Sayings, partly of +Solomon, partly of Agur the son of Jakeh; and partly of the Mother +of King Lemuel, cannot probably be thought to have been collected by +Solomon, rather then by Agur, or the Mother of Lemues; and that, though +the sentences be theirs, yet the collection or compiling them into this +one Book, was the work of some other godly man, that lived after them +all. + + + + +Ecclesiastes And The Canticles + +The Books of Ecclesiastes and the Canticles have nothing that was not +Solomons, except it be the Titles, or Inscriptions. For "The Words of +the Preacher, the Son of David, King in Jerusalem;" and, "the Song of +Songs, which is Solomon’s," seem to have been made for distinctions +sake, then, when the Books of Scripture were gathered into one body of +the Law; to the end, that not the Doctrine only, but the Authors also +might be extant. + + + + +The Prophets + +Of the Prophets, the most ancient, are Sophoniah, Jonas, Amos, Hosea, +Isaiah and Michaiah, who lived in the time of Amaziah, and Azariah, +otherwise Ozias, Kings of Judah. But the Book of Jonas is not properly +a Register of his Prophecy, (for that is contained in these few words, +"Fourty dayes and Ninivy shall be destroyed,") but a History or Narration +of his frowardenesse and disputing Gods commandements; so that there is +small probability he should be the Author, seeing he is the subject of +it. But the Book of Amos is his Prophecy. + +Jeremiah, Abdias, Nahum, and Habakkuk prophecyed in the time of Josiah. + +Ezekiel, Daniel, Aggeus, and Zacharias, in the Captivity. + +When Joel and Malachi prophecyed, is not evident by their Writings. But +considering the Inscriptions, or Titles of their Books, it is manifest +enough, that the whole Scripture of the Old Testament, was set forth in +the form we have it, after the return of the Jews from their Captivity +in Babylon, and before the time of Ptolemaeus Philadelphus, that caused +it to bee translated into Greek by seventy men, which were sent him +out of Judea for that purpose. And if the Books of Apocrypha (which +are recommended to us by the Church, though not for Canonicall, yet for +profitable Books for our instruction) may in this point be credited, the +Scripture was set forth in the form wee have it in, by Esdras; as may +appear by that which he himself saith, in the second book, chapt. 14. +verse 21, 22, &c. where speaking to God, he saith thus, "Thy law is +burnt; therefore no man knoweth the things which thou has done, or the +works that are to begin. But if I have found Grace before thee, send +down the holy Spirit into me, and I shall write all that hath been done +in the world, since the beginning, which were written in thy Law, that +men may find thy path, and that they which will live in the later days, +may live." And verse 45. "And it came to passe when the forty dayes were +fulfilled, that the Highest spake, saying, ‘The first that thou hast +written, publish openly, that the worthy and unworthy may read it; but +keep the seventy last, that thou mayst deliver them onely to such as +be wise among the people.’" And thus much concerning the time of the +writing of the Bookes of the Old Testament. + + + + +The New Testament + +The Writers of the New Testament lived all in lesse then an age after +Christs Ascension, and had all of them seen our Saviour, or been his +Disciples, except St. Paul, and St. Luke; and consequently whatsoever +was written by them, is as ancient as the time of the Apostles. But +the time wherein the Books of the New Testament were received, and +acknowledged by the Church to be of their writing, is not altogether so +ancient. For, as the Bookes of the Old Testament are derived to us, from +no higher time then that of Esdras, who by the direction of Gods Spirit +retrived them, when they were lost: Those of the New Testament, of which +the copies were not many, nor could easily be all in any one private +mans hand, cannot bee derived from a higher time, that that wherein the +Governours of the Church collected, approved, and recommended them to +us, as the writings of those Apostles and Disciples; under whose names +they go. The first enumeration of all the Bookes, both of the Old, +and New Testament, is in the Canons of the Apostles, supposed to be +collected by Clement the first (after St. Peter) Bishop of Rome. But +because that is but supposed, and by many questioned, the Councell of +Laodicea is the first we know, that recommended the Bible to the then +Christian Churches, for the Writings of the Prophets and Apostles: and +this Councell was held in the 364. yeer after Christ. At which time, +though ambition had so far prevailed on the great Doctors of the Church, +as no more to esteem Emperours, though Christian, for the Shepherds of +the people, but for Sheep; and Emperours not Christian, for Wolves; and +endeavoured to passe their Doctrine, not for Counsell, and Information, +as Preachers; but for Laws, as absolute Governours; and thought such +frauds as tended to make the people the more obedient to Christian +Doctrine, to be pious; yet I am perswaded they did not therefore +falsifie the Scriptures, though the copies of the Books of the New +Testament, were in the hands only of the Ecclesiasticks; because if they +had had an intention so to doe, they would surely have made them more +favorable to their power over Christian Princes, and Civill Soveraignty, +than they are. I see not therefore any reason to doubt, but that the +Old, and New Testament, as we have them now, are the true Registers of +those things, which were done and said by the Prophets, and Apostles. +And so perhaps are some of those Books which are called Apocrypha, if +left out of the Canon, not for inconformity of Doctrine with the +rest, but only because they are not found in the Hebrew. For after the +conquest of Asia by Alexander the Great, there were few learned Jews, +that were not perfect in the Greek tongue. For the seventy Interpreters +that converted the Bible into Greek, were all of them Hebrews; and we +have extant the works of Philo and Josephus both Jews, written by them +eloquently in Greek. But it is not the Writer, but the authority of the +Church, that maketh a Book Canonicall. + + + + +Their Scope + +And although these Books were written by divers men, yet it is manifest +the Writers were all indued with one and the same Spirit, in that they +conspire to one and the same end, which is the setting forth of the +Rights of the Kingdome of God, the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. For +the Book of Genesis, deriveth the Genealogy of Gods people, from the +creation of the World, to the going into Egypt: the other four Books of +Moses, contain the Election of God for their King, and the Laws which +hee prescribed for their Government: The Books of Joshua, Judges, Ruth, +and Samuel, to the time of Saul, describe the acts of Gods people, +till the time they cast off Gods yoke, and called for a King, after the +manner of their neighbour nations; The rest of the History of the +Old Testament, derives the succession of the line of David, to the +Captivity, out of which line was to spring the restorer of the Kingdome +of God, even our blessed Saviour God the Son, whose coming was foretold +in the Bookes of the Prophets, after whom the Evangelists writt his +life, and actions, and his claim to the Kingdome, whilst he lived one +earth: and lastly, the Acts, and Epistles of the Apostles, declare the +coming of God, the Holy Ghost, and the Authority he left with them, and +their successors, for the direction of the Jews, and for the invitation +of the Gentiles. In summe, the Histories and the Prophecies of the old +Testament, and the Gospels, and Epistles of the New Testament, have had +one and the same scope, to convert men to the obedience of God; 1. in +Moses, and the Priests; 2. in the man Christ; and 3. in the Apostles and +the successors to Apostolicall power. For these three at several times +did represent the person of God: Moses, and his successors the High +Priests, and Kings of Judah, in the Old Testament: Christ himself, in +the time he lived on earth: and the Apostles, and their successors, from +the day of Pentecost (when the Holy Ghost descended on them) to this +day. + + + + +The Question Of The Authority Of The Scriptures Stated. + +It is a question much disputed between the divers sects of Christian +Religion, From Whence The Scriptures Derive Their Authority; which +question is also propounded sometimes in other terms, as, How Wee Know +Them To Be The Word Of God, or, Why We Beleeve Them To Be So: and the +difficulty of resolving it, ariseth chiefly from the impropernesse of +the words wherein the question it self is couched. For it is beleeved +on all hands, that the first and originall Author of them is God; and +consequently the question disputed, is not that. Again, it is manifest, +that none can know they are Gods Word, (though all true Christians +beleeve it,) but those to whom God himself hath revealed it +supernaturally; and therefore the question is not rightly moved, of our +Knowledge of it. Lastly, when the question is propounded of our Beleefe; +because some are moved to beleeve for one, and others for other reasons, +there can be rendred no one generall answer for them all. The question +truly stated is, By What Authority They Are Made Law. + + + + +Their Authority And Interpretation + +As far as they differ not from the Laws of Nature, there is no doubt, +but they are the Law of God, and carry their Authority with them, +legible to all men that have the use of naturall reason: but this is +no other Authority, then that of all other Morall Doctrine consonant to +Reason; the Dictates whereof are Laws, not Made, but Eternall. + +If they be made Law by God himselfe, they are of the nature of written +Law, which are Laws to them only to whom God hath so sufficiently +published them, as no man can excuse himself, by saying, he know not +they were his. + +He therefore, to whom God hath not supernaturally revealed, that they +are his, nor that those that published them, were sent by him, is not +obliged to obey them, by any Authority, but his, whose Commands have +already the force of Laws; that is to say, by any other Authority, then +that of the Common-wealth, residing in the Soveraign, who only has the +Legislative power. Again, if it be not the Legislative Authority of +the Common-wealth, that giveth them the force of Laws, it must bee +some other Authority derived from God, either private, or publique: +if private, it obliges onely him, to whom in particular God hath been +pleased to reveale it. For if every man should be obliged, to take for +Gods Law, what particular men, on pretence of private Inspiration, or +Revelation, should obtrude upon him, (in such a number of men, that out +of pride, and ignorance, take their own Dreams, and extravagant Fancies, +and Madnesse, for testimonies of Gods Spirit; or out of ambition, +pretend to such Divine testimonies, falsely, and contrary to their +own consciences,) it were impossible that any Divine Law should be +acknowledged. If publique, it is the Authority of the Common-wealth, or +of the Church. But the Church, if it be one person, is the same thing +with a Common-wealth of Christians; called a Common-wealth, because it +consisteth of men united in one person, their Soveraign; and a Church, +because it consisteth in Christian men, united in one Christian +Soveraign. But if the Church be not one person, then it hath no +authority at all; it can neither command, nor doe any action at all; nor +is capable of having any power, or right to any thing; nor has any Will, +Reason, nor Voice; for all these qualities are personall. Now if the +whole number of Christians be not contained in one Common-wealth, they +are not one person; nor is there an Universall Church that hath any +authority over them; and therefore the Scriptures are not made Laws, +by the Universall Church: or if it bee one Common-wealth, then all +Christian Monarchs, and States are private persons, and subject to +bee judged, deposed, and punished by an Universall Soveraigne of all +Christendome. So that the question of the Authority of the Scriptures is +reduced to this, "Whether Christian Kings, and the Soveraigne Assemblies +in Christian Common-wealths, be absolute in their own Territories, +immediately under God; or subject to one Vicar of Christ, constituted +over the Universall Church; to bee judged, condemned, deposed, and put +to death, as hee shall think expedient, or necessary for the common +good." + +Which question cannot bee resolved, without a more particular +consideration of the Kingdome of God; from whence also, wee are to judge +of the Authority of Interpreting the Scripture. For, whosoever hath a +lawfull power over any Writing, to make it Law, hath the power also to +approve, or disapprove the interpretation of the same. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. OF THE SIGNIFICATION OF SPIRIT, ANGEL, AND INSPIRATION IN +THE BOOKS OF HOLY SCRIPTURE + + + + +Body And Spirit How Taken In The Scripture + +Seeing the foundation of all true Ratiocination, is the constant +Signification of words; which in the Doctrine following, dependeth not +(as in naturall science) on the Will of the Writer, nor (as in common +conversation) on vulgar use, but on the sense they carry in the +Scripture; It is necessary, before I proceed any further, to determine, +out of the Bible, the meaning of such words, as by their ambiguity, may +render what I am to inferre upon them, obscure, or disputable. I will +begin with the words BODY, and SPIRIT, which in the language of the +Schools are termed, Substances, Corporeall, and Incorporeall. + +The Word Body, in the most generall acceptation, signifieth that +which filleth, or occupyeth some certain room, or imagined place; and +dependeth not on the imagination, but is a reall part of that we call +the Universe. For the Universe, being the Aggregate of all Bodies, there +is no reall part thereof that is not also Body; nor any thing properly +a Body, that is not also part of (that Aggregate of all Bodies) the +Universe. The same also, because Bodies are subject to change, that is +to say, to variety of apparence to the sense of living creatures, is +called Substance, that is to say, Subject, to various accidents, as +sometimes to be Moved, sometimes to stand Still; and to seem to our +senses sometimes Hot, sometimes Cold, sometimes of one Colour, Smel, +Tast, or Sound, somtimes of another. And this diversity of Seeming, +(produced by the diversity of the operation of bodies, on the organs +of our sense) we attribute to alterations of the Bodies that operate, & +call them Accidents of those Bodies. And according to this acceptation +of the word, Substance and Body, signifie the same thing; and therefore +Substance Incorporeall are words, which when they are joined together, +destroy one another, as if a man should say, an Incorporeall Body. + +But in the sense of common people, not all the Universe is called Body, +but only such parts thereof as they can discern by the sense of Feeling, +to resist their force, or by the sense of their Eyes, to hinder them +from a farther prospect. Therefore in the common language of men, Aire, +and Aeriall Substances, use not to be taken for Bodies, but (as often +as men are sensible of their effects) are called Wind, or Breath, or +(because the some are called in the Latine Spiritus) Spirits; as when +they call that aeriall substance, which in the body of any living +creature, gives it life and motion, Vitall and Animall Spirits. But for +those Idols of the brain, which represent Bodies to us, where they +are not, as in a Looking-glasse, in a Dream, or to a Distempered brain +waking, they are (as the Apostle saith generally of all Idols) nothing; +Nothing at all, I say, there where they seem to bee; and in the brain +it self, nothing but tumult, proceeding either from the action of the +objects, or from the disorderly agitation of the Organs of our Sense. +And men, that are otherwise imployed, then to search into their causes, +know not of themselves, what to call them; and may therefore easily be +perswaded, by those whose knowledge they much reverence, some to +call them Bodies, and think them made of aire compacted by a power +supernaturall, because the sight judges them corporeall; and some to +call them Spirits, because the sense of Touch discerneth nothing in the +place where they appear, to resist their fingers: So that the proper +signification of Spirit in common speech, is either a subtile, fluid, +and invisible Body, or a Ghost, or other Idol or Phantasme of the +Imagination. But for metaphoricall significations, there be many: for +sometimes it is taken for Disposition or Inclination of the mind; as +when for the disposition to controwl the sayings of other men, we say, +A Spirit Contradiction; For A Disposition to Uncleannesse, An Unclean +Spirit; for Perversenesse, A Froward Spirit; for Sullennesse, A Dumb +Spirit, and for Inclination To Godlinesse, And Gods Service, the Spirit +of God: sometimes for any eminent ability, or extraordinary passion, +or disease of the mind, as when Great Wisdome is called the Spirit Of +Wisdome; and Mad Men are said to be Possessed With A Spirit. + +Other signification of Spirit I find no where any; and where none +of these can satisfie the sense of that word in Scripture, the place +falleth not under humane Understanding; and our Faith therein consisteth +not in our Opinion, but in our Submission; as in all places where God +is said to be a Spirit; or where by the Spirit of God, is meant God +himselfe. For the nature of God is incomprehensible; that is to say, we +understand nothing of What He Is, but only That He Is; and therefore the +Attributes we give him, are not to tell one another, What He Is, Nor +to signifie our opinion of his Nature, but our desire to honor him with +such names as we conceive most honorable amongst our selves. + + + + +Spirit Of God Taken In The Scripture Sometimes For A Wind, Or Breath + +Gen. 1. 2. "The Spirit of God moved upon the face of the Waters." Here +if by the Spirit of God be meant God himself, then is Motion attributed +to God, and consequently Place, which are intelligible only of Bodies, +and not of substances incorporeall; and so the place is above our +understanding, that can conceive nothing moved that changes not place, +or that has not dimension; and whatsoever has dimension, is Body. But +the meaning of those words is best understood by the like place, Gen. +8. 1. Where when the earth was covered with Waters, as in the beginning, +God intending to abate them, and again to discover the dry land, useth +like words, "I will bring my Spirit upon the Earth, and the waters shall +be diminished:" in which place by Spirit is understood a Wind, (that is +an Aire or Spirit Moved,) which might be called (as in the former place) +the Spirit of God, because it was Gods Work. + + + + +Secondly, For Extraordinary Gifts Of The Understanding + +Gen. 41. 38. Pharaoh calleth the Wisdome of Joseph, the Spirit of God. +For Joseph having advised him to look out a wise and discreet man, and +to set him over the land of Egypt, he saith thus, "Can we find such a +man as this is, in whom is the Spirit of God?" and Exod. 28.3. "Thou +shalt speak (saith God) to all that are wise hearted, whom I have filled +with the Spirit of Wisdome, to make Aaron Garments, to consecrate him." +Where extraordinary Understanding, though but in making Garments, as +being the Gift of God, is called the Spirit of God. The same is found +again, Exod. 31.3,4,5,6. and 35.31. And Isaiah 11.2,3. where the Prophet +speaking of the Messiah, saith, "The Spirit of the Lord shall abide upon +him, the Spirit of wisdome and understanding, the Spirit of counsell, +and fortitude; and the Spirit of the fear of the Lord." Where manifestly +is meant, not so many Ghosts, but so many eminent Graces that God would +give him. + + + + +Thirdly, For Extraordinary Affections + +In the Book of Judges, an extraordinary Zeal, and Courage in the +defence of Gods people, is called the Spirit of God; as when it excited +Othoniel, Gideon, Jeptha, and Samson to deliver them from servitude, +Judg. 3.10. 6.34. 11.29. 13.25. 14.6,19. And of Saul, upon the newes of +the insolence of the Ammonites towards the men of Jabeth Gilead, it is +said (1 Sam.11.6.) that "The Spirit of God came upon Saul, and his Anger +(or, as it is in the Latine, His Fury) was kindled greatly." Where it is +not probable was meant a Ghost, but an extraordinary Zeal to punish the +cruelty of the Ammonites. In like manner by the Spirit of God, that came +upon Saul, when hee was amongst the Prophets that praised God in Songs, +and Musick (1 Sam.19.20.) is to be understood, not a Ghost, but an +unexpected and sudden Zeal to join with them in their devotions. + + + + +Fourthly, For The Gift Of Prediction By Dreams And Visions + +The false Prophet Zedekiah, saith to Micaiah (1 Kings 22.24.) "Which way +went the Spirit of the Lord from me to speak to thee?" Which cannot be +understood of a Ghost; for Micaiah declared before the Kings of Israel +and Judah, the event of the battle, as from a Vision, and not as from a +Spirit, speaking in him. + +In the same manner it appeareth, in the Books of the Prophets, that +though they spake by the Spirit of God, that is to say, by a speciall +grace of Prediction; yet their knowledge of the future, was not by a +Ghost within them, but by some supernaturall Dream or Vision. + + + + +Fiftly, For Life + +Gen. 2.7. It is said, "God made man of the dust of the Earth, and +breathed into his nostrills (spiraculum vitae) the breath of life, and +man was made a living soul." There the Breath of Life inspired by God, +signifies no more, but that God gave him life; And (Job 27.3.) "as long +as the Spirit of God is in my nostrils;" is no more then to say, "as +long as I live." So in Ezek. 1.20. "the Spirit of life was in the +wheels," is equivalent to, "the wheels were alive." And (Ezek. 2.30.) +"the spirit entred into me, and set me on my feet," that is, "I +recovered my vitall strength;" not that any Ghost, or incorporeal +substance entred into, and possessed his body. + + + + +Sixtly, For A Subordination To Authority + +In the 11 chap. of Numbers. verse 17. "I will take (saith God) of the +Spirit, which is upon thee, and will put it upon them, and they shall +bear the burthen of the people with thee;" that is, upon the seventy +Elders: whereupon two of the seventy are said to prophecy in the campe; +of whom some complained, and Joshua desired Moses to forbid them; which +Moses would not doe. Whereby it appears; that Joshua knew not they had +received authority so to do, and prophecyed according to the mind of +Moses, that is to say, by a Spirit, or Authority subordinate to his own. + +In the like sense we read (Deut. 34.9.) that "Joshua was full of the +Spirit of wisdome," because Moses had laid his hands upon him: that is, +because he was Ordained by Moses, to prosecute the work hee had himselfe +begun, (namely, the bringing of Gods people into the promised land), but +prevented by death, could not finish. + +In the like sense it is said, (Rom. 8.9.) "If any man have not the +Spirit of Christ, he is none of his:" not meaning thereby the Ghost of +Christ, but a Submission to his Doctrine. As also (1 John 4.2.) "Hereby +you shall know the Spirit of God; Every Spirit that confesseth that +Jesus Christ is come in the flesh, is of God;" by which is meant the +Spirit of unfained Christianity, or Submission to that main Article of +Christian faith, that Jesus is the Christ; which cannot be interpreted +of a Ghost. + +Likewise these words (Luke 4.1.) "And Jesus full of the Holy Ghost" +(that is, as it is exprest, Mat. 4.1. and Mar. 1.12. "of the Holy +Spirit",) may be understood, for Zeal to doe the work for which hee was +sent by God the Father: but to interpret it of a Ghost, is to say, that +God himselfe (for so our Saviour was,) was filled with God; which is +very unproper, and unsignificant. How we came to translate Spirits, by +the word Ghosts, which signifieth nothing, neither in heaven, nor earth, +but the Imaginary inhabitants of mans brain, I examine not: but this I +say, the word Spirit in the text signifieth no such thing; but either +properly a reall Substance, or Metaphorically, some extraordinary +Ability of Affection of the Mind, or of the Body. + + + + +Seventhly, For Aeriall Bodies + +The Disciples of Christ, seeing him walking upon the sea, (Mat. 14.26. +and Marke 6.49.) supposed him to be a Spirit, meaning thereby an Aeriall +Body, and not a Phantasme: for it is said, they all saw him; which +cannot be understood of the delusions of the brain, (which are not +common to many at once, as visible Bodies are; but singular, because of +the differences of Fancies), but of Bodies only. In like manner, where +he was taken for a Spirit, by the same Apostles (Luke 24.3,7.): So also +(Acts 12.15) when St. Peter was delivered out of Prison, it would not +be beleeved; but when the Maid said he was at the dore, they said it +was his Angel; by which must be meant a corporeall substance, or we must +say, the Disciples themselves did follow the common opinion of both Jews +and Gentiles, that some such apparitions were not Imaginary, but Reall; +and such as needed not the fancy of man for their Existence: These the +Jews called Spirits, and Angels, Good or Bad; as the Greeks called the +same by the name of Daemons. And some such apparitions may be reall, and +substantiall; that is to say, subtile Bodies, which God can form by +the same power, by which he formed all things, and make use of, as of +Ministers, and Messengers (that is to say, Angels) to declare his +will, and execute the same when he pleaseth, in extraordinary and +supernaturall manner. But when hee hath so formed them they are +Substances, endued with dimensions, and take up roome, and can be moved +from place to place, which is peculiar to Bodies; and therefore are not +Ghosts Incorporeall, that is to say, Ghosts that are in No Place; +that is to say, that are No Where; that is to say, that seeming to be +Somewhat, are Nothing. But if corporeall be taken in the most vulgar +manner, for such Substances as are perceptible by our externall Senses; +then is Substance Incorporeall, a thing not Imaginary, but Reall; +namely, a thin Substance Invisible, but that hath the same dimensions +that are in grosser Bodies. + + + + +Angel What + +By the name of ANGEL, is signified generally, a Messenger; and most +often, a Messenger of God: And by a Messenger of God, is signified, any +thing that makes known his extraordinary Presence; that is to say, the +extraordinary manifestation of his power, especially by a Dream, or +Vision. + +Concerning the creation of Angels, there is nothing delivered in the +Scriptures. That they are Spirits, is often repeated: but by the name of +Spirit, is signified both in Scripture, and vulgarly, both amongst Jews, +and Gentiles, sometimes thin Bodies; as the Aire, the Wind, the Spirits +Vitall, and Animall, of living creatures; and sometimes the Images +that rise in the fancy in Dreams, and Visions; which are not reall +Substances, but accidents of the brain; yet when God raiseth them +supernaturally, to signifie his Will, they are not unproperly termed +Gods Messengers, that is to say, his Angels. + +And as the Gentiles did vulgarly conceive the Imagery of the brain, for +things really subsistent without them, and not dependent on the fancy; +and out of them framed their opinions of Daemons, Good and Evill; which +because they seemed to subsist really, they called Substances; and +because they could not feel them with their hands, Incorporeall: so also +the Jews upon the same ground, without any thing in the Old Testament +that constrained them thereunto, had generally an opinion, (except the +sect of the Sadduces,) that those apparitions (which it pleased God +sometimes to produce in the fancie of men, for his own service, and +therefore called them his Angels) were substances, not dependent on the +fancy, but permanent creatures of God; whereof those which they thought +were good to them, they esteemed the Angels of God, and those they +thought would hurt them, they called Evill Angels, or Evill Spirits; +such as was the Spirit of Python, and the Spirits of Mad-men, of +Lunatiques, and Epileptiques: For they esteemed such as were troubled +with such diseases, Daemoniaques. + +But if we consider the places of the Old Testament where Angels are +mentioned, we shall find, that in most of them, there can nothing else +be understood by the word Angel, but some image raised (supernaturally) +in the fancy, to signifie the presence of God in the execution of some +supernaturall work; and therefore in the rest, where their nature is not +exprest, it may be understood in the same manner. + +For we read Gen. 16. that the same apparition is called, not onely an +Angel, but God; where that which (verse 7.) is called the Angel of +the Lord, in the tenth verse, saith to Agar, "I will multiply thy seed +exceedingly;" that is, speaketh in the person of God. Neither was this +apparition a Fancy figured, but a Voice. By which it is manifest, +that Angel signifieth there, nothing but God himself, that caused Agar +supernaturally to apprehend a voice supernaturall, testifying Gods +speciall presence there. Why therefore may not the Angels that appeared +to Lot, and are called Gen. 19.13. Men; and to whom, though they were +but two, Lot speaketh (ver. 18.) as but one, and that one, as God, (for +the words are, "Lot said unto them, Oh not so my Lord") be understood of +images of men, supernaturally formed in the Fancy; as well as before by +Angel was understood a fancyed Voice? When the Angel called to Abraham +out of heaven, to stay his hand (Gen. 22.11.) from slaying Isaac, there +was no Apparition, but a Voice; which neverthelesse was called properly +enough a Messenger, or Angel of God, because it declared Gods will +supernaturally, and saves the labour of supposing any permanent Ghosts. +The Angels which Jacob saw on the Ladder of Heaven (Gen. 28.12.) were +a Vision of his sleep; therefore onely Fancy, and a Dream; yet being +supernaturall, and signs of Gods Speciall presence, those apparitions +are not improperly called Angels. The same is to be understood +(Gen.31.11.) where Jacob saith thus, "The Angel of the Lord appeared to +mee in my sleep." For an apparition made to a man in his sleep, is +that which all men call a Dreame, whether such Dreame be naturall, or +supernaturall: and that which there Jacob calleth an Angel, was God +himselfe; for the same Angel saith (verse 13.) "I am the God of Bethel." + +Also (Exod.14.9.) the Angel that went before the Army of Israel to the +Red Sea, and then came behind it, is (verse 19.) the Lord himself; and +he appeared not in the form of a beautifull man, but in form (by day) +of a Pillar Of Cloud and (by night) in form of a Pillar Of Fire; and yet +this Pillar was all the apparition, and Angel promised to Moses (Exod. +14.9.) for the Armies guide: For this cloudy pillar, is said, to have +descended, and stood at the dore of the Tabernacle, and to have talked +with Moses. + +There you see Motion, and Speech, which are commonly attributed to +Angels, attributed to a Cloud, because the Cloud served as a sign of +Gods presence; and was no lesse an Angel, then if it had had the form of +a Man, or Child of never so great beauty; or Wings, as usually they are +painted, for the false instruction of common people. For it is not the +shape; but their use, that makes them Angels. But their use is to be +significations of Gods presence in supernaturall operations; As when +Moses (Exod. 33.14.) had desired God to goe along with the Campe, (as +he had done alwaies before the making of the Golden Calfe,) God did not +answer, "I will goe," nor "I will send an Angel in my stead;" but thus, +"my presence shall goe with thee." + +To mention all the places of the Old Testament where the name of Angel +is found, would be too long. Therefore to comprehend them all at once, +I say, there is no text in that part of the Old Testament, which the +Church of England holdeth for Canonicall, from which we can conclude, +there is, or hath been created, any permanent thing (understood by the +name of Spirit or Angel,) that hath not quantity; and that may not be, +by the understanding divided; that is to say, considered by parts; so +as one part may bee in one place, and the next part in the next place +to it; and, in summe, which is not (taking Body for that, which is some +what, or some where) Corporeall; but in every place, the sense will bear +the interpretation of Angel, for Messenger; as John Baptist is called +an Angel, and Christ the Angel of the Covenant; and as (according to the +same Analogy) the Dove, and the Fiery Tongues, in that they were signes +of Gods speciall presence, might also be called Angels. Though we find +in Daniel two names of Angels, Gabriel, and Michael; yet is cleer out of +the text it selfe, (Dan. 12.1) that by Michael is meant Christ, not as +an Angel, but as a Prince: and that Gabriel (as the like apparitions +made to other holy men in their sleep) was nothing but a supernaturall +phantasme, by which it seemed to Daniel, in his dream, that two Saints +being in talke, one of them said to the other, "Gabriel, let us make +this man understand his Vision:" For God needeth not, to distinguish +his Celestiall servants by names, which are usefull onely to the short +memories of Mortalls. Nor in the New Testament is there any place, out +of which it can be proved, that Angels (except when they are put for +such men, as God hath made the Messengers, and Ministers of his word, +or works) are things permanent, and withall incorporeall. That they +are permanent, may bee gathered from the words of our Saviour himselfe, +(Mat. 25.41.) where he saith, it shall be said to the wicked in the last +day, "Go ye cursed into everlasting fire prepared for the Devil and his +Angels:" which place is manifest for the permanence of Evill Angels, +(unlesse wee might think the name of Devill and his Angels may be +understood of the Churches Adversaries and their Ministers;) but then +it is repugnant to their Immateriality; because Everlasting fire is no +punishment to impatible substances, such as are all things Incorporeall. +Angels therefore are not thence proved to be Incorporeall. In like +manner where St. Paul sayes (1 Cor. 6.3.) "Knew ye not that wee shall +judge the Angels?" And (2 Pet. 2.4.) "For if God spared not the Angels +that sinned, but cast them down into Hell." And (Jude 1,6.) "And the +Angels that kept not their first estate, but left their owne habitation, +hee hath reserved in everlasting chaines under darknesse unto the +Judgement of the last day;" though it prove the Permanence of Angelicall +nature, it confirmeth also their Materiality. And (Mat. 22.30.) In the +resurrection men doe neither marry, nor give in marriage, but are as +the Angels of God in heaven:" but in the resurrection men shall be +Permanent, and not Incorporeall; so therefore also are the Angels. + +There be divers other places out of which may be drawn the like +conclusion. To men that understand the signification of these words, +Substance, and Incorporeall; as Incorporeall is taken not for subtile +body, but for Not Body, they imply a contradiction: insomuch as to say, +an Angel, or Spirit is (in that sense) an Incorporeall Substance, is +to say in effect, there is no Angel nor Spirit at all. Considering +therefore the signification of the word Angel in the Old Testament, and +the nature of Dreams and Visions that happen to men by the ordinary way +of Nature; I was enclined to this opinion, that Angels were nothing +but supernaturall apparitions of the Fancy, raised by the speciall +and extraordinary operation of God, thereby to make his presence and +commandements known to mankind, and chiefly to his own people. But the +many places of the New Testament, and our Saviours own words, and in +such texts, wherein is no suspicion of corruption of the Scripture, have +extorted from my feeble Reason, an acknowledgement, and beleef, that +there be also Angels substantiall, and permanent. But to beleeve they be +in no place, that is to say, no where, that is to say, nothing, as they +(though indirectly) say, that will have them Incorporeall, cannot by +Scripture bee evinced. + + + + +Inspiration What + +On the signification of the word Spirit, dependeth that of the word +INSPIRATION; which must either be taken properly; and then it is nothing +but the blowing into a man some thin and subtile aire, or wind, in such +manner as a man filleth a bladder with his breath; or if Spirits be not +corporeal, but have their existence only in the fancy, it is nothing but +the blowing in of a Phantasme; which is improper to say, and impossible; +for Phantasmes are not, but only seem to be somewhat. That word +therefore is used in the Scripture metaphorically onely: As (Gen. 2.7.) +where it is said, that God Inspired into man the breath of life, no more +is meant, then that God gave unto him vitall motion. For we are not to +think that God made first a living breath, and then blew it into Adam +after he was made, whether that breath were reall, or seeming; but only +as it is (Acts 17.25.) "that he gave him life and breath;" that is, +made him a living creature. And where it is said (2 Tim. 3.16.) "all +Scripture is given by Inspiration from God," speaking there of the +Scripture of the Old Testament, it is an easie metaphor, to signifie, +that God enclined the spirit or mind of those Writers, to write that +which should be usefull, in teaching, reproving, correcting, and +instructing men in the way of righteous living. But where St. Peter (2 +Pet. 1.21.) saith, that "Prophecy came not in old time by the will +of man, but the holy men of God spake as they were moved by the Holy +Spirit," by the Holy Spirit, is meant the voice of God in a Dream, or +Vision supernaturall, which is not Inspiration; Nor when our Saviour +breathing on his Disciples, said, "Receive the Holy Spirit," was that +Breath the Spirit, but a sign of the spirituall graces he gave unto +them. And though it be said of many, and of our Saviour himself, that he +was full of the Holy Spirit; yet that Fulnesse is not to be understood +for Infusion of the substance of God, but for accumulation of his gifts, +such as are the gift of sanctity of life, of tongues, and the like, +whether attained supernaturally, or by study and industry; for in all +cases they are the gifts of God. So likewise where God sayes (Joel +2.28.) "I will powre out my Spirit upon all flesh, and your Sons and +your Daughters shall prophecy, your Old men shall dream Dreams, and your +Young men shall see Visions," wee are not to understand it in the +proper sense, as if his Spirit were like water, subject to effusion, or +infusion; but as if God had promised to give them Propheticall Dreams, +and Visions. For the proper use of the word Infused, in speaking of +the graces of God, is an abuse of it; for those graces are Vertues, not +Bodies to be carryed hither and thither, and to be powred into men, as +into barrels. + +In the same manner, to take Inspiration in the proper sense, or to +say that Good Spirits entred into men to make them prophecy, or Evill +Spirits into those that became Phrenetique, Lunatique, or Epileptique, +is not to take the word in the sense of the Scripture; for the Spirit +there is taken for the power of God, working by causes to us unknown. As +also (Acts 2.2.) the wind, that is there said to fill the house wherein +the Apostles were assembled on the day of Pentecost, is not to be +understood for the Holy Spirit, which is the Deity it self; but for an +Externall sign of Gods speciall working on their hearts, to effect in +them the internall graces, and holy vertues hee thought requisite for +the performance of their Apostleship. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. OF THE SIGNIFICATION IN SCRIPTURE OF KINGDOME OF GOD, OF +HOLY, SACRED, AND SACRAMENT + + +Kingdom Of God Taken By Divines Metaphorically But In The Scriptures +Properly + +The Kingdome of God in the Writings of Divines, and specially in +Sermons, and Treatises of Devotion, is taken most commonly for Eternall +Felicity, after this life, in the Highest Heaven, which they also call +the Kingdome of Glory; and sometimes for (the earnest of that felicity) +Sanctification, which they terme the Kingdome of Grace, but never +for the Monarchy, that is to say, the Soveraign Power of God over +any Subjects acquired by their own consent, which is the proper +signification of Kingdome. + +To the contrary, I find the KINGDOME OF GOD, to signifie in most places +of Scripture, a Kingdome Properly So Named, constituted by the Votes +of the People of Israel in peculiar manner; wherein they chose God +for their King by Covenant made with him, upon Gods promising them the +possession of the land of Canaan; and but seldom metaphorically; +and then it is taken for Dominion Over Sinne; (and only in the New +Testament;) because such a Dominion as that, every Subject shall have in +the Kingdome of God, and without prejudice to the Soveraign. + +From the very Creation, God not only reigned over all men Naturally by +his might; but also had Peculiar Subjects, whom he commanded by a Voice, +as one man speaketh to another. In which manner he Reigned over Adam, +and gave him commandement to abstaine from the tree of cognizance of +Good and Evill; which when he obeyed not, but tasting thereof, took upon +him to be as God, judging between Good and Evill, not by his Creators +commandement, but by his own sense, his punishment was a privation of +the estate of Eternall life, wherein God had at first created him: And +afterwards God punished his posterity, for their vices, all but eight +persons, with an universall deluge; And in these eight did consist the +then Kingdome Of God. + + + + +The Originall Of The Kingdome Of God + +After this, it pleased God to speak to Abraham, and (Gen. 17.7,8.) to +make a Covenant with him in these words, "I will establish my Covenant +between me, and thee, and thy seed after thee in their generations, +for an everlasting Covenant, to be a God to thee, and to thy seed after +thee; And I will give unto thee, and to thy seed after thee, the land +wherein thou art a stranger, all the land of Canaan for an everlasting +possession." And for a memoriall, and a token of this Covenant, he +ordaineth (verse 11.) the Sacrament of Circumcision. This is it which is +called the Old Covenant, or Testament; and containeth a Contract between +God and Abraham; by which Abraham obligeth himself, and his posterity, +in a peculiar manner to be subject to Gods positive Law; for to the Law +Morall he was obliged before, as by an Oath of Allegiance. And though +the name of King be not yet given to God, nor of Kingdome to Abraham and +his seed; yet the thing is the same; namely, an Institution by pact, +of Gods peculiar Soveraignty over the seed of Abraham; which in the +renewing of the same Covenant by Moses, at Mount Sinai, is expressely +called a peculiar Kingdome of God over the Jews: and it is of Abraham +(not of Moses) St. Paul saith (Rom. 4.11.) that he is the "Father of the +Faithfull," that is, of those that are loyall, and doe not violate their +Allegiance sworn to God, then by Circumcision, and afterwards in the New +Covenant by Baptisme. + + + + +That The Kingdome Of God Is Properly His Civill Soveraignty Over A +Peculiar People By Pact + +This Covenant, at the Foot of Mount Sinai, was renewed by Moses (Exod. +19.5.) where the Lord commandeth Moses to speak to the people in this +manner, "If you will obey my voice indeed, and keep my Covenant, then +yee shall be a peculiar people to me, for all the Earth is mine; and +yee shall be unto me a Sacerdotall Kingdome, and an holy Nation." For a +"Peculiar people" the vulgar Latine hath, Peculium De Cunctis Populis: +the English translation made in the beginning of the Reign of King +James, hath, a "Peculiar treasure unto me above all Nations;" and the +Geneva French, "the most precious Jewel of all Nations." But the truest +Translation is the first, because it is confirmed by St. Paul himself +(Tit. 2.14.) where he saith, alluding to that place, that our blessed +Saviour "gave himself for us, that he might purifie us to himself, a +peculiar (that is, an extraordinary) people:" for the word is in the +Greek periousios, which is opposed commonly to the word epiousios: and +as this signifieth Ordinary, Quotidian, or (as in the Lords Prayer) Of +Daily Use; so the other signifieth that which is Overplus, and Stored +Up, and Enjoyed In A Speciall Manner; which the Latines call Peculium; +and this meaning of the place is confirmed by the reason God rendereth +of it, which followeth immediately, in that he addeth, "For all the +Earth is mine," as if he should say, "All the Nations of the world are +mine;" but it is not so that you are mine, but in a Speciall Manner: For +they are all mine, by reason of my Power; but you shall be mine, by your +own Consent, and Covenant; which is an addition to his ordinary title, +to all nations. + +The same is again confirmed in expresse words in the same Text, "Yee +shall be to me a Sacerdotall Kingdome, and an holy Nation." The Vulgar +Latine hath it, Regnum Sacerdotale, to which agreeth the Translation of +that place (1 Pet. 2.9.) Sacerdotium Regale, A Regal Priesthood; as also +the Institution it self, by which no man might enter into the Sanctum +Sanctorum, that is to say, no man might enquire Gods will immediately of +God himselfe, but onely the High Priest. The English Translation before +mentioned, following that of Geneva, has, "a Kingdome of Priests;" which +is either meant of the succession of one High Priest after another, or +else it accordeth not with St. Peter, nor with the exercise of the High +Priesthood; For there was never any but the High Priest onely, that was +to informe the People of Gods Will; nor any Convocation of Priests ever +allowed to enter into the Sanctum Sanctorum. + +Again, the title of a Holy Nation confirmes the same: For Holy +signifies, that which is Gods by speciall, not by generall Right. All +the Earth (as is said in the text) is Gods; but all the Earth is +not called Holy, but that onely which is set apart for his especiall +service, as was the Nation of the Jews. It is therefore manifest enough +by this one place, that by the Kingdome of God, is properly meant a +Common-wealth, instituted (by the consent of those which were to be +subject thereto) for their Civill Government, and the regulating of +their behaviour, not onely towards God their King, but also towards one +another in point of justice, and towards other Nations both in peace and +warre; which properly was a Kingdome, wherein God was King, and the +High priest was to be (after the death of Moses) his sole Viceroy, or +Lieutenant. + +But there be many other places that clearly prove the same. As first (1 +Sam. 8.7.) when the Elders of Israel (grieved with the corruption of +the Sons of Samuel) demanded a King, Samuel displeased therewith, prayed +unto the Lord; and the Lord answering said unto him, "Hearken unto the +voice of the People, for they have not rejected thee, but they have +rejected me, that I should not reign over them." Out of which it is +evident, that God himself was then their King; and Samuel did not +command the people, but only delivered to them that which God from time +to time appointed him. + +Again, (1 Sam. 12.12.) where Samuel saith to the People, "When yee saw +that Nahash King of the Children of Ammon came against you, ye said unto +me, Nay, but a King shall reign over us, when the Lord your God was your +King:" It is manifest that God was their King, and governed the Civill +State of their Common-wealth. + +And after the Israelites had rejected God, the Prophets did foretell his +restitution; as (Isaiah 24.23.) "Then the Moon shall be confounded, and +the Sun ashamed when the Lord of Hosts shall reign in Mount Zion, and +in Jerusalem;" where he speaketh expressely of his Reign in Zion, and +Jerusalem; that is, on Earth. And (Micah 4.7.) "And the Lord shall +reign over them in Mount Zion:" This Mount Zion is in Jerusalem upon the +Earth. And (Ezek. 20.33.) "As I live, saith the Lord God, surely with a +mighty hand, and a stretched out arme, and with fury powred out, I wil +rule over you; and (verse 37.) I will cause you to passe under the rod, +and I will bring you into the bond of the Covenant;" that is, I will +reign over you, and make you to stand to that Covenant which you made +with me by Moses, and brake in your rebellion against me in the days of +Samuel, and in your election of another King. + +And in the New testament, the Angel Gabriel saith of our Saviour (Luke +1.32,33) "He shall be great, and be called the Son of the Most High, +and the Lord shall give him the throne of his Father David; and he shall +reign over the house of Jacob for ever; and of his Kingdome there shall +be no end." This is also a Kingdome upon Earth; for the claim whereof, +as an enemy to Caesar, he was put to death; the title of his crosse, +was, Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews; hee was crowned in scorn with +a crown of Thornes; and for the proclaiming of him, it is said of +the Disciples (Acts 17.7.) "That they did all of them contrary to +the decrees of Caesar, saying there was another King, one Jesus. The +Kingdome therefore of God, is a reall, not a metaphoricall Kingdome; and +so taken, not onely in the Old Testament, but the New; when we say, "For +thine is the Kingdome, the Power, and Glory," it is to be understood of +Gods Kingdome, by force of our Covenant, not by the Right of Gods Power; +for such a Kingdome God alwaies hath; so that it were superfluous to +say in our prayer, "Thy Kingdome come," unlesse it be meant of the +Restauration of that Kingdome of God by Christ, which by revolt of the +Israelites had been interrupted in the election of Saul. Nor had it been +proper to say, "The Kingdome of Heaven is at hand," or to pray, "Thy +Kingdome come," if it had still continued. + +There be so many other places that confirm this interpretation, that it +were a wonder there is no greater notice taken of it, but that it gives +too much light to Christian Kings to see their right of Ecclesiastical +Government. This they have observed, that in stead of a Sacerdotall +Kingdome, translate, a Kingdome of Priests: for they may as well +translate a Royall Priesthood, (as it is in St. Peter) into a Priesthood +of Kings. And whereas, for a Peculiar People, they put a Pretious Jewel, +or Treasure, a man might as well call the speciall Regiment, or Company +of a Generall, the Generalls pretious Jewel, or his Treasure. + +In short, the Kingdome of God is a Civill Kingdome; which consisted, +first in the obligation of the people of Israel to those Laws, which +Moses should bring unto them from Mount Sinai; and which afterwards the +High Priest of the time being, should deliver to them from before the +Cherubins in the Sanctum Sanctorum; and which kingdome having been cast +off, in the election of Saul, the Prophets foretold, should be restored +by Christ; and the Restauration whereof we daily pray for, when we +say in the Lords Prayer, "Thy Kingdome come;" and the Right whereof we +acknowledge, when we adde, "For thine is the Kingdome, the Power, and +Glory, for ever and ever, Amen;" and the Proclaiming whereof, was +the Preaching of the Apostles; and to which men are prepared, by the +Teachers of the Gospel; to embrace which Gospel, (that is to say, to +promise obedience to Gods government) is, to bee in the Kingdome of +Grace, because God hath gratis given to such the power to bee the +subjects (that is, Children) of God hereafter, when Christ shall come +in Majesty to judge the world, and actually to govern his owne people, +which is called the Kingdome of Glory. If the Kingdome of God (called +also the Kingdome of Heaven, from the gloriousnesse, and admirable +height of that throne) were not a Kingdome which God by his Lieutenant, +or Vicars, who deliver his Commandements to the people, did exercise on +Earth; there would not have been so much contention, and warre, about +who it is, by whom God speaketh to us; neither would many Priests have +troubled themselves with Spirituall Jurisdiction, nor any King have +denied it them. + +Out of this literall interpretation of the Kingdome of God, ariseth also +the true interpretation of the word HOLY. For it is a word, which in +Gods Kingdome answereth to that, which men in their Kingdomes use to +call Publique, or the Kings. + +The King of any Countrey is the Publique Person, or Representative of +all his own Subjects. And God the King of Israel was the Holy One of +Israel. The Nation which is subject to one earthly Soveraign, is the +Nation of that Soveraign, that is, of the Publique Person. So the Jews, +who were Gods Nation, were called (Exod. 19.6.) "a Holy Nation." For by +Holy, is alwaies understood, either God himselfe, or that which is Gods +in propriety; as by Publique is alwaies meant, either the Person of the +Common-wealth it self, or something that is so the Common-wealths, as no +private person can claim any propriety therein. + +Therefore the Sabbath (Gods day) is a Holy Day; the Temple, (Gods house) +a Holy House; Sacrifices, Tithes, and Offerings (Gods tribute) Holy +Duties; Priests, Prophets, and anointed Kings, under Christ (Gods +ministers) Holy Men; The Coelestiall ministring Spirits (Gods +Messengers) Holy Angels; and the like: and wheresoever the word Holy is +taken properly, there is still something signified of Propriety, gotten +by consent. In saying "Hallowed be thy name," we do but pray to God for +grace to keep the first Commandement, of "having no other Gods but +Him." Mankind is Gods Nation in propriety: but the Jews only were a Holy +Nation. Why, but because they became his Propriety by covenant. + + + + +Sacred What + +And the word Profane, is usually taken in the Scripture for the same +with Common; and consequently their contraries, Holy, and Proper, in the +Kingdome of God must be the same also. But figuratively, those men also +are called Holy, that led such godly lives, as if they had forsaken all +worldly designes, and wholly devoted, and given themselves to God. +In the proper sense, that which is made Holy by Gods appropriating or +separating it to his own use, is said to be Sanctified by God, as the +Seventh day in the fourth Commandement; and as the Elect in the New +Testament were said to bee Sanctified, when they were endued with the +Spirit of godlinesse. And that which is made Holy by the dedication of +men, and given to God, so as to be used onely in his publique service, +is called also SACRED, and said to be consecrated, as Temples, and other +Houses of Publique Prayer, and their Utensils, Priests, and Ministers, +Victimes, Offerings, and the externall matter of Sacraments. + + + + +Degrees of Sanctity + +Of Holinesse there be degrees: for of those things that are set apart +for the service of God, there may bee some set apart again, for a neerer +and more especial service. The whole Nation of the Israelites were a +people Holy to God; yet the tribe of Levi was amongst the Israelites a +Holy tribe; and amongst the Levites, the Priests were yet more Holy; and +amongst the Priests, the High Priest was the most Holy. So the Land +of Judea was the Holy Land; but the Holy City wherein God was to be +worshipped, was more Holy; and again, the Temples more Holy than the +City; and the Sanctum Sanctorum more Holy than the rest of the Temple. + + + + +Sacrament + +A SACRAMENT, is a separation of some visible thing from common use; +and a consecration of it to Gods service, for a sign, either of our +admission into the Kingdome of God, to be of the number of his peculiar +people, or for a Commemoration of the same. In the Old Testament, the +sign of Admission was Circumcision; in the New Testament, Baptisme. The +Commemoration of it in the Old Testament, was the Eating (at a certain +time, which was Anniversary) of the Paschall Lamb; by which they were +put in mind of the night wherein they were delivered out of their +bondage in Egypt; and in the New Testament, the celebrating of the +Lords Supper; by which, we are put in mind, of our deliverance from +the bondage of sin, by our Blessed Saviours death upon the crosse. The +Sacraments of Admission, are but once to be used, because there needs +but one Admission; but because we have need of being often put in +mind of our deliverance, and of our Allegeance, The Sacraments of +Commemoration have need to be reiterated. And these are the principall +Sacraments, and as it were the solemne oathes we make of our +Alleageance. There be also other Consecrations, that may be called +Sacraments, as the word implyeth onely Consecration to Gods service; but +as it implies an oath, or promise of Alleageance to God, there were no +other in the Old Testament, but Circumcision, and the Passover; nor +are there any other in the New Testament, but Baptisme, and the Lords +Supper. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. OF THE WORD OF GOD, AND OF PROPHETS + + + + +Word What + +When there is mention of the Word of God, or of Man, it doth not +signifie a part of Speech, such as Grammarians call a Nown, or a Verb, +or any simple voice, without a contexture with other words to make it +significative; but a perfect Speech or Discourse, whereby the speaker +Affirmeth, Denieth, Commandeth, Promiseth, Threateneth, Wisheth, or +Interrogateth. In which sense it is not Vocabulum, that signifies a +Word; but Sermo, (in Greek Logos) that is some Speech, Discourse, or +Saying. + + + + +The Words Spoken By God And Concerning God, Both Are Called Gods Word +In Scripture + +Again, if we say the Word of God, or of Man, it may bee understood +sometimes of the Speaker, (as the words that God hath spoken, or that +a Man hath spoken): In which sense, when we say, the Gospel of St. +Matthew, we understand St. Matthew to be the Writer of it: and sometimes +of the Subject: In which sense, when we read in the Bible, "The words +of the days of the Kings of Israel, or Judah," ’tis meant, that the acts +that were done in those days, were the Subject of those Words; And in +the Greek, which (in the Scripture) retaineth many Hebraismes, by the +Word of God is oftentimes meant, not that which is spoken by God, but +concerning God, and his government; that is to say, the Doctrine of +Religion: Insomuch, as it is all one, to say Logos Theou, and Theologia; +which is, that Doctrine which wee usually call Divinity, as is manifest +by the places following (Acts 13.46.) "Then Paul and Barnabas waxed +bold, and said, It was necessary that the Word of God should first +have been spoken to you, but seeing you put it from you, and judge your +selves unworthy of everlasting life, loe, we turn to the Gentiles." +That which is here called the Word of god, was the Doctrine of Christian +Religion; as it appears evidently by that which goes before. And (Acts +5.20.) where it is said to the Apostles by an Angel, "Go stand and speak +in the Temple, all the Words of this life;" by the Words of this life, +is meant, the Doctrine of the Gospel; as is evident by what they did in +the Temple, and is expressed in the last verse of the same Chap. "Daily +in the Temple, and in every house they ceased not to teach and preach +Christ Jesus:" In which place it is manifest, that Jesus Christ was the +subject of this Word of Life; or (which is all one) the subject of the +Words of this Life Eternall, that our saviour offered them. So (Acts +15.7.) the Word of God, is called the Word of the Gospel, because it +containeth the Doctrine of the Kingdome of Christ; and the same Word +(Rom. 10.8,9.) is called the Word of Faith; that is, as is there +expressed, the Doctrine of Christ come, and raised from the dead. Also +(Mat. 13. 19.) "When any one heareth the Word of the Kingdome;" that is, +the Doctrine of the Kingdome taught by Christ. Again, the same Word, is +said (Acts 12. 24.) "to grow and to be multiplied;" which to understand +of the Evangelicall Doctrine is easie, but of the Voice, or Speech +of God, hard and strange. In the same sense the Doctrine of Devils, +signifieth not the Words of any Devill, but the Doctrine of Heathen men +concerning Daemons, and those Phantasms which they worshipped as Gods. +(1 Tim. 4.1.) + +Considering these two significations of the WORD OF GOD, as it is taken +in Scripture, it is manifest in this later sense (where it is taken for +the Doctrine of the Christian Religion,) that the whole scripture is the +Word of God: but in the former sense not so. For example, though these +words, "I am the Lord thy God, &c." to the end of the Ten Commandements, +were spoken by God to Moses; yet the Preface, "God spake these words +and said," is to be understood for the Words of him that wrote the holy +History. The Word of God, as it is taken for that which he hath spoken, +is understood sometimes Properly, sometimes Metaphorically. Properly, +as the words, he hath spoken to his Prophets; Metaphorically, for his +Wisdome, Power, and eternall Decree, in making the world; in which +sense, those Fiats, "Let there be light," "Let there be a firmament," +"Let us make man," &c. (Gen. 1.) are the Word of God. And in the same +sense it is said (John 1.3.) "All things were made by it, and without it +was nothing made that was made; And (Heb. 1.3.) "He upholdeth all things +by the word of his Power;" that is, by the Power of his Word; that is, +by his Power; and (Heb. 11.3.) "The worlds were framed by the Word +of God;" and many other places to the same sense: As also amongst the +Latines, the name of Fate, which signifieth properly The Word Spoken, is +taken in the same sense. + + + + +Secondly, For The Effect Of His Word + +Secondly, for the effect of his Word; that is to say, for the thing it +self, which by his Word is Affirmed, Commanded, Threatned, or Promised; +as (Psalm 105.19.) where Joseph is said to have been kept in prison, +"till his Word was come;" that is, till that was come to passe which +he had (Gen. 40.13.) foretold to Pharaohs Butler, concerning his being +restored to his office: for there by His Word Was Come, is meant, the +thing it self was come to passe. So also (1 King. 18.36.) Elijah saith +to God, "I have done all these thy Words," in stead of "I have done all +these things at thy Word," or commandement: and (Jer. 17.15.) "Where is +the Word of the Lord," is put for, "Where is the Evill he threatened:" +And (Ezek. 12.28.) "There shall none of my Words be prolonged any +more:" by "Words" are understood those Things, which God promised to his +people. And in the New Testament (Mat. 24.35.) "heaven and earth shal +pass away, but my Words shall not pass away;" that is, there is nothing +that I have promised or foretold, that shall not come to passe. And in +this sense it is, that St. John the Evangelist, and, I think, St. John +onely calleth our Saviour himself as in the flesh "the Word of God +(as Joh. 1.14.) the Word was made Flesh;" that is to say, the Word, or +Promise that Christ should come into the world, "who in the beginning +was with God;" that is to say, it was in the purpose of God the Father, +to send God the Son into the world, to enlighten men in the way of +Eternall life, but it was not till then put in execution, and actually +incarnate; So that our Saviour is there called "the Word," not because +he was the promise, but the thing promised. They that taking occasion +from this place, doe commonly call him the Verbe of God, do but render +the text more obscure. They might as well term him the Nown of God: +for as by Nown, so also by Verbe, men understand nothing but a part +of speech, a voice, a sound, that neither affirms, nor denies, nor +commands, nor promiseth, nor is any substance corporeall, or spirituall; +and therefore it cannot be said to bee either God, or Man; whereas our +Saviour is both. And this Word which St. John in his Gospel saith was +with God, is (in his 1 Epistle, verse 1.) called "the Word of Life;" and +(verse 2.) "The eternall life, which was with the Father:" so that he +can be in no other sense called the Word, then in that, wherein he is +called Eternall life; that is, "he that hath procured us Eternall life," +by his comming in the flesh. So also (Apocalypse 19.13.) the Apostle +speaking of Christ, clothed in a garment dipt in bloud, saith; his name +is "the Word of God;" which is to be understood, as if he had said his +name had been, "He that was come according to the purpose of God from +the beginning, and according to his Word and promises delivered by the +Prophets." So that there is nothing here of the Incarnation of a Word, +but of the Incarnation of God the Son, therefore called the Word, +because his Incarnation was the Performance of the Promise; In like +manner as the Holy Ghost is called The Promise. (Acts 1.4. Luke 24.49.) + + + + +Thirdly, For The Words Of Reason And Equity + +There are also places of the Scripture, where, by the Word of God, is +signified such Words as are consonant to reason, and equity, though +spoken sometimes neither by prophet, nor by a holy man. For Pharaoh +Necho was an Idolator; yet his Words to the good King Josiah, in which +he advised him by Messengers, not to oppose him in his march against +Carchemish, are said to have proceeded from the mouth of God; and that +Josiah not hearkning to them, was slain in the battle; as is to be read +2 Chron. 35. vers. 21,22,23. It is true, that as the same History is +related in the first book of Esdras, not Pharaoh, but Jeremiah spake +these words to Josiah, from the mouth of the Lord. But wee are to +give credit to the Canonicall Scripture, whatsoever be written in the +Apocrypha. + +The Word of God, is then also to be taken for the Dictates of reason, +and equity, when the same is said in the Scriptures to bee written in +mans heart; as Psalm 36.31. Jerem. 31.33. Deut.30.11, 14. and many other +like places. + + + + +Divers Acceptions Of The Word Prophet + +The name of PROPHET, signifieth in Scripture sometimes Prolocutor; that +is, he that speaketh from God to Man, or from man to God: And sometimes +Praedictor, or a foreteller of things to come; And sometimes one that +speaketh incoherently, as men that are distracted. It is most frequently +used in the sense of speaking from God to the People. So Moses, Samuel, +Elijah, Isaiah, Jeremiah, and others were Prophets. And in this sense +the High Priest was a Prophet, for he only went into the Sanctum +Sanctorum, to enquire of God; and was to declare his answer to the +people. And therefore when Caiphas said, it was expedient that one man +should die for the people, St. John saith (chap. 11.51.) that "He spake +not this of himselfe, but being High Priest that year, he prophesied +that one man should dye for the nation." Also they that in Christian +Congregations taught the people, (1 Cor. 14.3.) are said to Prophecy. In +the like sense it is, that God saith to Moses (Exod. 4.16.) concerning +Aaron, "He shall be thy Spokes-man to the People; and he shall be to +thee a mouth, and thou shalt be to him in stead of God;" that which here +is Spokesman, is (chap.7.1.) interpreted Prophet; "See (saith God) +I have made thee a God to Pharaoh, and Aaron thy Brother shall be thy +Prophet." In the sense of speaking from man to God, Abraham is called +a Prophet (Genes. 20.7.) where God in a Dream speaketh to Abimelech +in this manner, "Now therefore restore the man his wife, for he is a +Prophet, and shall pray for thee;" whereby may be also gathered, +that the name of Prophet may be given, not unproperly to them that +in Christian Churches, have a Calling to say publique prayers for the +Congregation. In the same sense, the Prophets that came down from the +High place (or Hill of God) with a Psaltery, and a Tabret, and a Pipe, +and a Harp (1 Sam. 10.5,6.) and (vers. 10.) Saul amongst them, are said +to Prophecy, in that they praised God, in that manner publiquely. In the +like sense, is Miriam (Exod. 15.20.) called a Prophetesse. So is it +also to be taken (1 Cor. 11.4,5.) where St. Paul saith, "Every man that +prayeth or prophecyeth with his head covered, &c. and every woman that +prayeth or prophecyeth with her head uncovered: For Prophecy in that +place, signifieth no more, but praising God in Psalmes, and Holy Songs; +which women might doe in the Church, though it were not lawfull for them +to speak to the Congregation. And in this signification it is, that the +Poets of the Heathen, that composed Hymnes and other sorts of Poems in +the honor of their Gods, were called Vates (Prophets) as is well enough +known by all that are versed in the Books of the Gentiles, and as +is evident (Tit. 1.12.) where St. Paul saith of the Cretians, that a +Prophet of their owne said, they were Liars; not that St. Paul held +their Poets for Prophets, but acknowledgeth that the word Prophet was +commonly used to signifie them that celebrated the honour of God in +Verse + + + + +Praediction Of Future Contingents, Not Alwaies Prophecy + +When by Prophecy is meant Praediction, or foretelling of future +Contingents; not only they were Prophets, who were Gods Spokesmen, and +foretold those things to others, which God had foretold to them; but +also all those Imposters, that pretend by the helpe of familiar spirits, +or by superstitious divination of events past, from false causes, to +foretell the like events in time to come: of which (as I have declared +already in the 12. chapter of this Discourse) there be many kinds, who +gain in the opinion of the common sort of men, a greater reputation +of Prophecy, by one casuall event that may bee but wrested to their +purpose, than can be lost again by never so many failings. Prophecy is +not an art, nor (when it is taken for Praediction) a constant Vocation; +but an extraordinary, and temporary Employment from God, most often of +Good men, but sometimes also of the Wicked. The woman of Endor, who +is said to have had a familiar spirit, and thereby to have raised a +Phantasme of Samuel, and foretold Saul his death, was not therefore a +Prophetesse; for neither had she any science, whereby she could raise +such a Phantasme; nor does it appear that God commanded the raising of +it; but onely guided that Imposture to be a means of Sauls terror and +discouragement; and by consequent, of the discomfiture, by which he +fell. And for Incoherent Speech, it was amongst the Gentiles taken for +one sort of Prophecy, because the Prophets of their Oracles, intoxicated +with a spirit, or vapour from the cave of the Pythian Oracle at Delphi, +were for the time really mad, and spake like mad-men; of whose loose +words a sense might be made to fit any event, in such sort, as all +bodies are said to be made of Materia prima. In the Scripture I find +it also so taken (1 Sam. 18. 10.) in these words, "And the Evill spirit +came upon Saul, and he Prophecyed in the midst of the house." + + + + +The Manner How God Hath Spoken To The Prophets + +And although there be so many significations in Scripture of the word +Prophet; yet is that the most frequent, in which it is taken for him, +to whom God speaketh immediately, that which the Prophet is to say from +him, to some other man, or to the people. And hereupon a question may +be asked, in what manner God speaketh to such a Prophet. Can it (may some +say) be properly said, that God hath voice and language, when it cannot +be properly said, he hath a tongue, or other organs, as a man? The +Prophet David argueth thus, "Shall he that made the eye, not see? or he +that made the ear, not hear?" But this may be spoken, not (as usually) to +signifie Gods nature, but to signifie our intention to honor him. For +to See, and Hear, are Honorable Attributes, and may be given to God, to +declare (as far as our capacity can conceive) his Almighty power. But +if it were to be taken in the strict, and proper sense, one might argue +from his making of all parts of mans body, that he had also the same use +of them which we have; which would be many of them so uncomely, as it +would be the greatest contumely in the world to ascribe them to him. +Therefore we are to interpret Gods speaking to men immediately, for that +way (whatsoever it be), by which God makes them understand his will: And +the wayes whereby he doth this, are many; and to be sought onely in the +Holy Scripture: where though many times it be said, that God spake to +this, and that person, without declaring in what manner; yet there be +again many places, that deliver also the signes by which they were +to acknowledge his presence, and commandement; and by these may be +understood, how he spake to many of the rest. + + + + +To The Extraordinary Prophets Of The Old Testament He Spake By Dreams, +Or Visions + +In what manner God spake to Adam, and Eve, and Cain, and Noah, is not +expressed; nor how he spake to Abraham, till such time as he came out of +his own countrey to Sichem in the land of Canaan; and then (Gen. 12.7.) +God is said to have Appeared to him. So there is one way, whereby God +made his presence manifest; that is, by an Apparition, or Vision. And +again, (Gen. 15.1.) The Word of the Lord came to Abraham in a Vision; +that is to say, somewhat, as a sign of Gods presence, appeared as Gods +Messenger, to speak to him. Again, the Lord appeared to Abraham (Gen. +18. 1.) by an apparition of three Angels; and to Abimelech (Gen. 20. 3.) +in a dream: To Lot (Gen. 19. 1.) by an apparition of Two Angels: And +to Hagar (Gen. 21. 17.) by the apparition of one Angel: And to Abraham +again (Gen. 22. 11.) by the apparition of a voice from heaven: And (Gen. +26. 24.) to Isaac in the night; (that is, in his sleep, or by dream): +And to Jacob (Gen. 18. 12.) in a dream; that is to say (as are the words +of the text) "Jacob dreamed that he saw a ladder, &c." And (Gen. 32. 1.) +in a Vision of Angels: And to Moses (Exod. 3.2.) in the apparition of a +flame of fire out of the midst of a bush: And after the time of Moses, +(where the manner how God spake immediately to man in the Old Testament, +is expressed) hee spake alwaies by a Vision, or by a Dream; as to +Gideon, Samuel, Eliah, Elisha, Isaiah, Ezekiel, and the rest of the +Prophets; and often in the New Testament, as to Joseph, to St. Peter, to +St. Paul, and to St. John the Evangelist in the Apocalypse. + +Onely to Moses hee spake in a more extraordinary manner in Mount Sinai, +and in the Tabernacle; and to the High Priest in the Tabernacle, and in +the Sanctum Sanctorum of the Temple. But Moses, and after him the +High Priests were Prophets of a more eminent place, and degree in +Gods favour; And God himself in express words declareth, that to other +Prophets hee spake in Dreams and Visions, but to his servant Moses, in +such manner as a man speaketh to his friend. The words are these (Numb. +12. 6,7,8.) "If there be a Prophet among you, I the Lord will make my +self known to him in a Vision, and will speak unto him in a Dream. My +servant Moses is not so, who is faithfull in all my house; with him I +will speak mouth to mouth, even apparently, not in dark speeches; and +the similitude of the Lord shall he behold." And (Exod. 33. 11.) "The +Lord spake to Moses face to face, as a man speaketh to his friend." +And yet this speaking of God to Moses, was by mediation of an Angel, or +Angels, as appears expressely, Acts 7. ver. 35. and 53. and Gal. 3. 19. +and was therefore a Vision, though a more cleer Vision than was given to +other Prophets. And conformable hereunto, where God saith (Deut. 13. 1.) +"If there arise amongst you a Prophet, or Dreamer of Dreams," the later +word is but the interpretation of the former. And (Joel 2. 28.) "Your +sons and your daughters shall Prophecy; your old men shall dream Dreams, +and your young men shall see Visions:" where again, the word Prophecy is +expounded by Dream, and Vision. And in the same manner it was, that God +spake to Solomon, promising him Wisdome, Riches, and Honor; for the text +saith, (1 Kings 3. 15.) "And Solomon awoak, and behold it was a Dream:" +So that generally the Prophets extraordinary in the old Testament took +notice of the Word of God no otherwise, than from their Dreams, or +Visions, that is to say, from the imaginations which they had in their +sleep, or in an Extasie; which imaginations in every true Prophet were +supernaturall; but in false Prophets were either naturall, or feigned. + +The same Prophets were neverthelesse said to speak by the Spirit; as +(Zach. 7. 12.) where the Prophet speaking of the Jewes, saith, "They +made their hearths hard as Adamant, lest they should hear the law, and +the words which the Lord of Hosts hath sent in his Spirit by the former +Prophets." By which it is manifest, that speaking by the Spirit, or +Inspiration, was not a particular manner of Gods speaking, different +from Vision, when they that were said to speak by the Spirit, were +extraordinary Prophets, such as for every new message, were to have a +particular Commission, or (which is all one) a new Dream, or Vision. + +To Prophets Of Perpetuall Calling, And Supreme, God Spake In The +Old Testament From The Mercy Seat, In A Manner Not Expressed In The +Scripture. Of Prophets, that were so by a perpetuall Calling in the Old +Testament, some were Supreme, and some Subordinate: Supreme were first +Moses; and after him the High Priest, every one for his time, as long +as the Priesthood was Royall; and after the people of the Jews, had +rejected God, that he should no more reign over them, those Kings which +submitted themselves to Gods government, were also his chief Prophets; +and the High Priests office became Ministeriall. And when God was to be +consulted, they put on the holy vestments, and enquired of the Lord, +as the King commanded them, and were deprived of their office, when +the King thought fit. For King Saul (1 Sam. 13. 9.) commanded the burnt +offering to be brought, and (1 Sam. 14. 18.) he commands the Priest to +bring the Ark neer him; and (ver. 19.) again to let it alone, because he +saw an advantage upon his enemies. And in the same chapter Saul asketh +counsell of God. In like manner King David, after his being anointed, +though before he had possession of the Kingdome, is said to "enquire +of the Lord" (1 Sam. 23. 2.) whether he should fight against the +Philistines at Keilah; and (verse 10.) David commandeth the Priest to +bring him the Ephod, to enquire whether he should stay in Keilah, +or not. And King Solomon (1 Kings 2. 27.) took the Priesthood from +Abiathar, and gave it (verse 35.) to Zadoc. Therefore Moses, and +the High Priests, and the pious Kings, who enquired of God on all +extraordinary occasions, how they were to carry themselves, or what +event they were to have, were all Soveraign Prophets. But in what manner +God spake unto them, is not manifest. To say that when Moses went up to +God in Mount Sinai, it was a Dream, or Vision, such as other Prophets +had, is contrary to that distinction which God made between Moses, and +other Prophets, Numb. 12. 6,7,8. To say God spake or appeared as he +is in his own nature, is to deny his Infinitenesse, Invisibility, +Incomprehensibility. To say he spake by Inspiration, or Infusion of the +Holy Spirit, as the Holy Spirit signifieth the Deity, is to make Moses +equall with Christ, in whom onely the Godhead (as St. Paul speaketh Col. +2.9.) dwelleth bodily. And lastly, to say he spake by the Holy Spirit, +as it signifieth the graces, or gifts of the Holy Spirit, is to +attribute nothing to him supernaturall. For God disposeth men to Piety, +Justice, Mercy, Truth, Faith, and all manner of Vertue, both Morall, +and Intellectuall, by doctrine, example, and by severall occasions, +naturall, and ordinary. + +And as these ways cannot be applyed to God, in his speaking to Moses, at +Mount Sinai; so also, they cannot be applyed to him, in his speaking +to the High Priests, from the Mercy-Seat. Therefore in what manner God +spake to those Soveraign Prophets of the Old Testament, whose office +it was to enquire of him, is not intelligible. In the time of the New +Testament, there was no Soveraign Prophet, but our Saviour; who was both +God that spake, and the Prophet to whom he spake. + +To Prophets Of Perpetuall Calling, But Subordinate, God Spake By The +Spirit. To subordinate Prophets of perpetuall Calling, I find not any +place that proveth God spake to them supernaturally; but onely in +such manner, as naturally he inclineth men to Piety, to Beleef, to +Righteousnesse, and to other vertues all other Christian Men. Which +way, though it consist in Constitution, Instruction, Education, and the +occasions and invitements men have to Christian vertues; yet it is truly +attributed to the operation of the Spirit of God, or Holy Spirit +(which we in our language call the Holy Ghost): For there is no good +inclination, that is not of the operation of God. But these operations +are not alwaies supernaturall. When therefore a Prophet is said to speak +in the Spirit, or by the Spirit of God, we are to understand no more, +but that he speaks according to Gods will, declared by the supreme +Prophet. For the most common acceptation of the word Spirit, is in the +signification of a mans intention, mind, or disposition. + +In the time of Moses, there were seventy men besides himself, that +Prophecyed in the Campe of the Israelites. In what manner God spake to +them, is declared in the 11 of Numbers, verse 25. "The Lord came down in +a cloud, and spake unto Moses, and took of the Spirit that was upon him, +and gave it to the seventy Elders. And it came to passe, when the Spirit +rested upon them, they Prophecyed, and did not cease," By which it is +manifest, first, that their Prophecying to the people, was subservient, +and subordinate to the Prophecying of Moses; for that God took of the +Spirit of Moses, to put upon them; so that they Prophecyed as Moses +would have them: otherwise they had not been suffered to Prophecy at +all. For there was (verse 27.) a complaint made against them to Moses; +and Joshua would have Moses to have forbidden them; which he did not, +but said to Joshua, Bee not jealous in my behalf. Secondly, that +the Spirit of God in that place, signifieth nothing but the Mind and +Disposition to obey, and assist Moses in the administration of the +Government. For if it were meant they had the substantial Spirit of God; +that is, the Divine nature, inspired into them, then they had it in no +lesse manner than Christ himself, in whom onely the Spirit of God dwelt +bodily. It is meant therefore of the Gift and Grace of God, that guided +them to co-operate with Moses; from whom their Spirit was derived. And +it appeareth (verse 16.) that, they were such as Moses himself should +appoint for Elders and Officers of the People: For the words are, +"Gather unto me seventy men, whom thou knowest to be Elders and +Officers of the people:" where, "thou knowest," is the same with "thou +appointest," or "hast appointed to be such." For we are told +before (Exod. 18.) that Moses following the counsell of Jethro his +Father-in-law, did appoint Judges, and Officers over the people, such as +feared God; and of these, were those Seventy, whom God by putting upon +them Moses spirit, inclined to aid Moses in the Administration of the +Kingdome: and in this sense the Spirit of God is said (1 Sam. 16. 13, +14.) presently upon the anointing of David, to have come upon David, and +left Saul; God giving his graces to him he chose to govern his people, +and taking them away from him, he rejected. So that by the Spirit is +meant Inclination to Gods service; and not any supernaturall Revelation. + + + + +God Sometimes Also Spake By Lots + +God spake also many times by the event of Lots; which were ordered by +such as he had put in Authority over his people. So wee read that God +manifested by the Lots which Saul caused to be drawn (1 Sam. 14. 43.) +the fault that Jonathan had committed, in eating a honey-comb, contrary +to the oath taken by the people. And (Josh. 18. 10.) God divided the +land of Canaan amongst the Israelite, by the "lots that Joshua did cast +before the Lord in Shiloh." In the same manner it seemeth to be, that +God discovered (Joshua 7.16., &c.) the crime of Achan. And these are the +wayes whereby God declared his Will in the Old Testament. + +All which ways he used also in the New Testament. To the Virgin Mary, by +a Vision of an Angel: To Joseph in a Dream: again to Paul in the way +to Damascus in a Vision of our Saviour: and to Peter in the Vision of +a sheet let down from heaven, with divers sorts of flesh, of clean and +unclean, beasts; and in prison, by Vision of an Angel: And to all the +Apostles, and Writers of the New Testament, by the graces of his Spirit; +and to the Apostles again (at the choosing of Matthias in the place of +Judas Iscariot) by lot. + + + + +Every Man Ought To Examine The Probability Of A Pretended Prophets +Calling + +Seeing then all Prophecy supposeth Vision, or Dream, (which two, when +they be naturall, are the same,) or some especiall gift of God, so +rarely observed in mankind, as to be admired where observed; and seeing +as well such gifts, as the most extraordinary Dreams, and Visions, may +proceed from God, not onely by his supernaturall, and immediate, but +also by his naturall operation, and by mediation of second causes; +there is need of Reason and Judgement to discern between naturall, and +supernaturall Gifts, and between naturall, and supernaturall Visions, or +Dreams. And consequently men had need to be very circumspect, and wary, +in obeying the voice of man, that pretending himself to be a Prophet, +requires us to obey God in that way, which he in Gods name telleth us to +be the way to happinesse. For he that pretends to teach men the way of +so great felicity, pretends to govern them; that is to say, to rule, and +reign over them; which is a thing, that all men naturally desire, and +is therefore worthy to be suspected of Ambition and Imposture; and +consequently, ought to be examined, and tryed by every man, before hee +yeeld them obedience; unlesse he have yeelded it them already, in +the institution of a Common-wealth; as when the Prophet is the Civill +Soveraign, or by the Civil Soveraign Authorized. And if this examination +of Prophets, and Spirits, were not allowed to every one of the people, +it had been to no purpose, to set out the marks, by which every man +might be able, to distinguish between those, whom they ought, and those +whom they ought not to follow. Seeing therefore such marks are set out +(Deut. 13. 1,&c.) to know a Prophet by; and (1 John 4.1.&C) to know a +Spirit by: and seeing there is so much Prophecying in the Old Testament; +and so much Preaching in the New Testament against Prophets; and so much +greater a number ordinarily of false Prophets, then of true; every +one is to beware of obeying their directions, at their own perill. And +first, that there were many more false than true Prophets, appears by +this, that when Ahab (1 Kings 12.) consulted four hundred Prophets, they +were all false Imposters, but onely one Michaiah. And a little before +the time of the Captivity, the Prophets were generally lyars. "The +Prophets" (saith the Lord by Jerem. cha. 14. verse 14.) "prophecy Lies +in my name. I sent them not, neither have I commanded them, nor spake +unto them, they prophecy to you a false Vision, a thing of naught; and +the deceit of their heart." In so much as God commanded the People by +the mouth of the Prophet Jeremiah (chap. 23. 16.) not to obey them. +"Thus saith the Lord of Hosts, hearken not unto the words of the +Prophets, that prophecy to you. They make you vain, they speak a Vision +of their own heart, and not out of the mouth of the Lord." + + + + +All Prophecy But Of The Soveraign Prophet Is To Be Examined By Every +Subject + +Seeing then there was in the time of the Old Testament, such quarrells +amongst the Visionary Prophets, one contesting with another, and asking +When departed the Spirit from me, to go to thee? as between Michaiah, +and the rest of the four hundred; and such giving of the Lye to one +another, (as in Jerem. 14.14.) and such controversies in the New +Testament at this day, amongst the Spirituall Prophets: Every man then +was, and now is bound to make use of his Naturall Reason, to apply to +all Prophecy those Rules which God hath given us, to discern the +true from the false. Of which rules, in the Old Testament, one was, +conformable doctrine to that which Moses the Soveraign Prophet had +taught them; and the other the miraculous power of foretelling what God +would bring to passe, as I have already shown out of Deut. 13. 1. &c. +and in the New Testament there was but one onely mark; and that was the +preaching of this Doctrine, That Jesus Is The Christ, that is, the +King of the Jews, promised in the Old Testament. Whosoever denyed that +Article, he was a false Prophet, whatsoever miracles he might seem to +work; and he that taught it was a true Prophet. For St. John (1 Epist, +4. 2, &c) speaking expressely of the means to examine Spirits, whether +they be of God, or not; after he hath told them that there would arise +false Prophets, saith thus, "Hereby know ye the Spirit of God. Every +Spirit that confesseth that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh, is of +God;" that is, is approved and allowed as a Prophet of God: not that +he is a godly man, or one of the Elect, for this, that he confesseth, +professeth, or preacheth Jesus to be the Christ; but for that he is a +Prophet avowed. For God sometimes speaketh by Prophets, whose persons he +hath not accepted; as he did by Baalam; and as he foretold Saul of his +death, by the Witch of Endor. Again in the next verse, "Every Spirit +that confesseth not that Jesus Christ is come in the Flesh, is not +of Christ. And this is the Spirit of Antichrist." So that the rule is +perfect on both sides; that he is a true Prophet, which preacheth the +Messiah already come, in the person of Jesus; and he a false one that +denyeth him come, and looketh for him in some future Imposter, that +shall take upon him that honour falsely, whom the Apostle there properly +calleth Antichrist. Every man therefore ought to consider who is the +Soveraign Prophet; that is to say, who it is, that is Gods Viceregent +on earth; and hath next under God, the Authority of Governing Christian +men; and to observe for a Rule, that Doctrine, which in the name of +God, hee commanded to bee taught; and thereby to examine and try out +the truth of those Doctrines, which pretended Prophets with miracles, or +without, shall at any time advance: and if they find it contrary to that +Rule, to doe as they did, that came to Moses, and complained that there +were some that Prophecyed in the Campe, whose Authority so to doe they +doubted of; and leave to the Soveraign, as they did to Moses to uphold, +or to forbid them, as hee should see cause; and if hee disavow them, +then no more to obey their voice; or if he approve them, then to obey +them, as men to whom God hath given a part of the Spirit of their +Soveraigne. For when Christian men, take not their Christian Soveraign, +for Gods Prophet; they must either take their owne Dreams, for the +prophecy they mean to bee governed by, and the tumour of their own +hearts for the Spirit of God; or they must suffer themselves to bee lead +by some strange Prince; or by some of their fellow subjects, that can +bewitch them, by slander of the government, into rebellion, without +other miracle to confirm their calling, then sometimes an extraordinary +successe, and Impunity; and by this means destroying all laws, both +divine, and humane, reduce all Order, Government, and Society, to the +first Chaos of Violence, and Civill warre. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. OF MIRACLES, AND THEIR USE + + + + +A Miracle Is A Work That Causeth Admiration + +By Miracles are signified the Admirable works of God: & therefore they +are also called Wonders. And because they are for the most part, done, +for a signification of his commandement, in such occasions, as +without them, men are apt to doubt, (following their private naturall +reasoning,) what he hath commanded, and what not, they are commonly in +Holy Scripture, called Signes, in the same sense, as they are called by +the Latines, Ostenta, and Portenta, from shewing, and fore-signifying +that, which the Almighty is about to bring to passe. + + + + +And Must Therefore Be Rare, Whereof There Is No Naturall Cause Known + +To understand therefore what is a Miracle, we must first understand what +works they are, which men wonder at, and call Admirable. And there be +but two things which make men wonder at any event: The one is, if it +be strange, that is to say, such, as the like of it hath never, or very +rarely been produced: The other is, if when it is produced, we cannot +imagine it to have been done by naturall means, but onely by the +immediate hand of God. But when wee see some possible, naturall cause of +it, how rarely soever the like has been done; or if the like have been +often done, how impossible soever it be to imagine a naturall means +thereof, we no more wonder, nor esteem it for a Miracle. + +Therefore, if a Horse, or Cow should speak, it were a Miracle; because +both the thing is strange, & the Naturall cause difficult to imagin: So +also were it, to see a strange deviation of nature, in the production +of some new shape of a living creature. But when a man, or other Animal, +engenders his like, though we know no more how this is done, than the +other; yet because ’tis usuall, it is no Miracle. In like manner, if a +man be metamorphosed into a stone, or into a pillar, it is a Miracle; +because strange: but if a peece of wood be so changed; because we see it +often, it is no Miracle: and yet we know no more, by what operation of +God, the one is brought to passe, than the other. + +The first Rainbow that was seen in the world, was a Miracle, because the +first; and consequently strange; and served for a sign from God, placed +in heaven, to assure his people, there should be no more an universall +destruction of the world by Water. But at this day, because they +are frequent, they are not Miracles, neither to them that know their +naturall causes, nor to them who know them not. Again, there be many +rare works produced by the Art of man: yet when we know they are done; +because thereby wee know also the means how they are done, we count them +not for Miracles, because not wrought by the immediate hand of God, but +by mediation of humane Industry. + + + + +That Which Seemeth A Miracle To One Man, May Seem Otherwise To Another + +Furthermore, seeing Admiration and Wonder, is consequent to the +knowledge and experience, wherewith men are endued, some more, some +lesse; it followeth, that the same thing, may be a Miracle to one, and +not to another. And thence it is, that ignorant, and superstitious men +make great Wonders of those works, which other men, knowing to proceed +from Nature, (which is not the immediate, but the ordinary work of God,) +admire not at all: As when Ecclipses of the Sun and Moon have been taken +for supernaturall works, by the common people; when neverthelesse, there +were others, could from their naturall causes, have foretold the very +hour they should arrive: Or, as when a man, by confederacy, and secret +intelligence, getting knowledge of the private actions of an ignorant, +unwary man, thereby tells him, what he has done in former time; it seems +to him a Miraculous thing; but amongst wise, and cautelous men, such +Miracles as those, cannot easily be done. + + + + +The End Of Miracles + +Again, it belongeth to the nature of a Miracle, that it be wrought for +the procuring of credit to Gods Messengers, Ministers, and Prophets, +that thereby men may know, they are called, sent, and employed by God, +and thereby be the better inclined to obey them. And therefore, though +the creation of the world, and after that the destruction of all living +creatures in the universall deluge, were admirable works; yet because +they were not done to procure credit to any Prophet, or other Minister +of God, they use not to be called Miracles. For how admirable soever any +work be, the Admiration consisteth not in that it could be done, because +men naturally beleeve the Almighty can doe all things, but because he +does it at the Prayer, or Word of a man. But the works of God in Egypt, +by the hand of Moses, were properly Miracles; because they were done +with intention to make the people of Israel beleeve, that Moses came +unto them, not out of any design of his owne interest, but as sent from +God. Therefore after God had commanded him to deliver the Israelites +from the Egyptian bondage, when he said (Exod 4.1. &c.) "They will not +beleeve me, but will say, the Lord hath not appeared unto me," God gave +him power, to turn the Rod he had in his hand into a Serpent, and again +to return it into a Rod; and by putting his hand into his bosome, to +make it leprous; and again by pulling it out to make it whole, to make +the Children of Israel beleeve (as it is verse 5.) that the God of their +Fathers had appeared unto him; And if that were not enough, he gave +him power to turn their waters into bloud. And when hee had done these +Miracles before the people, it is said (verse 41.) that "they beleeved +him." Neverthelesse, for fear of Pharaoh, they durst not yet obey him. +Therefore the other works which were done to plague Pharaoh and the +Egyptians, tended all to make the Israelites beleeve in Moses, and were +properly Miracles. In like manner if we consider all the Miracles +done by the hand of Moses, and all the rest of the Prophets, till the +Captivity; and those of our Saviour, and his Apostles afterward; we +shall find, their end was alwaies to beget, or confirm beleefe, that +they came not of their own motion, but were sent by God. Wee may further +observe in Scripture, that the end of Miracles, was to beget beleef, +not universally in all men, elect, and reprobate; but in the elect +only; that is to say, is such as God had determined should become his +Subjects. For those miraculous plagues of Egypt, had not for end, the +conversion of Pharaoh; For God had told Moses before, that he would +harden the heart of Pharaoh, that he should not let the people goe: And +when he let them goe at last, not the Miracles perswaded him, but the +plagues forced him to it. So also of our Saviour, it is written, (Mat. +13. 58.) that he wrought not many Miracles in his own countrey, because +of their unbeleef; and (in Marke 6.5.) in stead of, "he wrought not +many," it is, "he could work none." It was not because he wanted power; +which to say, were blasphemy against God; nor that the end of Miracles +was not to convert incredulous men to Christ; for the end of all the +Miracles of Moses, of Prophets, of our Saviour, and of his Apostles +was to adde men to the Church; but it was, because the end of their +Miracles, was to adde to the Church (not all men, but) such as should +be saved; that is to say, such as God had elected. Seeing therefore +our Saviour sent from his Father, hee could not use his power in the +conversion of those, whom his Father had rejected. They that expounding +this place of St. Marke, say, that his word, "Hee could not," is put +for, "He would not," do it without example in the Greek tongue, (where +Would Not, is put sometimes for Could Not, in things inanimate, that +have no will; but Could Not, for Would Not, never,) and thereby lay +a stumbling block before weak Christians; as if Christ could doe no +Miracles, but amongst the credulous. + + + + +The Definition Of A Miracle + +From that which I have here set down, of the nature, and use of a +Miracle, we may define it thus, "A MIRACLE, is a work of God, (besides +his operation by the way of Nature, ordained in the Creation,) done +for the making manifest to his elect, the mission of an extraordinary +Minister for their salvation." + +And from this definition, we may inferre; First, that in all Miracles, +the work done, is not the effect of any vertue in the Prophet; because +it is the effect of the immediate hand of God; that is to say God hath +done it, without using the Prophet therein, as a subordinate cause. + +Secondly, that no Devil, Angel, or other created Spirit, can do a +Miracle. For it must either be by vertue of some naturall science, or +by Incantation, that is, vertue of words. For if the Inchanters do it +by their own power independent, there is some power that proceedeth not +from God; which all men deny: and if they doe it by power given them, +then is the work not from the immediate hand of God, but naturall, and +consequently no Miracle. + +There be some texts of Scripture, that seem to attribute the power of +working wonders (equall to some of those immediate Miracles, wrought +by God himself,) to certain Arts of Magick, and Incantation. As for +example, when we read that after the Rod of Moses being cast on the +ground became a Serpent, (Exod. 7. 11.) "the Magicians of Egypt did the +like by their Enchantments;" and that after Moses had turned the waters +of the Egyptian Streams, Rivers, Ponds, and Pooles of water into blood, +(Exod. 7. 22.) "the Magicians of Egypt did so likewise, with their +Enchantments;" and that after Moses had by the power of God brought +frogs upon the land, (Exod. 8. 7.) "the Magicians also did so with their +Enchantments, and brought up frogs upon the land of Egypt;" will not a +man be apt to attribute Miracles to Enchantments; that is to say, to the +efficacy of the sound of Words; and think the same very well proved out +of this, and other such places? and yet there is no place of Scripture, +that telleth us what on Enchantment is. If therefore Enchantment be not, +as many think it, a working of strange effects by spells, and words; +but Imposture, and delusion, wrought by ordinary means; and so far +from supernaturall, as the Impostors need not the study so much as of +naturall causes, but the ordinary ignorance, stupidity, and superstition +of mankind, to doe them; those texts that seem to countenance the power +of Magick, Witchcraft, and Enchantment, must needs have another sense, +than at first sight they seem to bear. + + + + +That Men Are Apt To Be Deceived By False Miracles + +For it is evident enough, that Words have no effect, but on those +that understand them; and then they have no other, but to signifie the +intentions, or passions of them that speak; and thereby produce, hope, +fear, or other passions, or conceptions in the hearer. Therefore when a +Rod seemeth a Serpent, or the Water Bloud, or any other Miracle seemeth +done by Enchantment; if it be not to the edification of Gods people, +not the Rod, nor the Water, nor any other thing is enchanted; that is +to say, wrought upon by the Words, but the Spectator. So that all the +Miracle consisteth in this, that the Enchanter has deceived a man; which +is no Miracle, but a very easie matter to doe. + +For such is the ignorance, and aptitude to error generally of all men, +but especially of them that have not much knowledge of naturall causes, +and of the nature, and interests of men; as by innumerable and easie +tricks to be abused. What opinion of miraculous power, before it was +known there was a Science of the course of the Stars, might a man have +gained, that should have told the people, This hour, or day the Sun +should be darkned? A juggler by the handling of his goblets, and other +trinkets, if it were not now ordinarily practised, would be thought +to do his wonders by the power at least of the Devil. A man that hath +practised to speak by drawing in of his breath, (which kind of men in +antient time were called Ventriloqui,) and so make the weaknesse of +his voice seem to proceed, not from the weak impulsion of the organs +of Speech, but from distance of place, is able to make very many men +beleeve it is a voice from Heaven, whatsoever he please to tell them. +And for a crafty man, that hath enquired into the secrets, and familiar +confessions that one man ordinarily maketh to another of his actions and +adventures past, to tell them him again is no hard matter; and yet there +be many, that by such means as that, obtain the reputation of being +Conjurers. But it is too long a businesse, to reckon up the severall +sorts of those men, which the Greeks called Thaumaturgi, that is to say, +workers of things wonderfull; and yet these do all they do, by their +own single dexterity. But if we looke upon the Impostures wrought by +Confederacy, there is nothing how impossible soever to be done, that is +impossible to bee beleeved. For two men conspiring, one to seem lame, +the other to cure him with a charme, will deceive many: but many +conspiring, one to seem lame, another so to cure him, and all the rest +to bear witnesse; will deceive many more. + + + + +Cautions Against The Imposture Of Miracles + +In this aptitude of mankind, to give too hasty beleefe to pretended +Miracles, there can be no better, nor I think any other caution, than +that which God hath prescribed, first by Moses, (as I have said before +in the precedent chapter,) in the beginning of the 13. and end of the +18. of Deuteronomy; That wee take not any for Prophets, that teach any +other Religion, then that which Gods Lieutenant, (which at that time was +Moses,) hath established; nor any, (though he teach the same Religion,) +whose Praediction we doe not see come to passe. Moses therefore in his +time, and Aaron, and his successors in their times, and the Soveraign +Governour of Gods people, next under God himself, that is to say, the +Head of the Church in all times, are to be consulted, what doctrine +he hath established, before wee give credit to a pretended Miracle, or +Prophet. And when that is done, the thing they pretend to be a Miracle, +we must both see it done, and use all means possible to consider, +whether it be really done; and not onely so, but whether it be such, as +no man can do the like by his naturall power, but that it requires the +immediate hand of God. And in this also we must have recourse to Gods +Lieutenant; to whom in all doubtfull cases, wee have submitted our +private judgments. For Example; if a man pretend, that after certain +words spoken over a peece of bread, that presently God hath made it not +bread, but a God, or a man, or both, and neverthelesse it looketh still +as like bread as ever it did; there is no reason for any man to think +it really done; nor consequently to fear him, till he enquire of God, +by his Vicar, or Lieutenant, whether it be done, or not. If he say not, +then followeth that which Moses saith, (Deut. 18. 22.) "he hath spoken +it presumptuously, thou shalt not fear him." If he say ’tis done, then +he is not to contradict it. So also if wee see not, but onely hear tell +of a Miracle, we are to consult the Lawful Church; that is to say, the +lawful Head thereof, how far we are to give credit to the relators of +it. And this is chiefly the case of men, that in these days live under +Christian Soveraigns. For in these times, I do not know one man, that +ever saw any such wondrous work, done by the charm, or at the word, +or prayer of a man, that a man endued but with a mediocrity of reason, +would think supernaturall: and the question is no more, whether what wee +see done, be a Miracle; whether the Miracle we hear, or read of, were +a reall work, and not the Act of a tongue, or pen; but in plain terms, +whether the report be true, or a lye. In which question we are not every +one, to make our own private Reason, or Conscience, but the Publique +Reason, that is, the reason of Gods Supreme Lieutenant, Judge; and +indeed we have made him Judge already, if wee have given him a Soveraign +power, to doe all that is necessary for our peace and defence. A private +man has alwaies the liberty, (because thought is free,) to beleeve, +or not beleeve in his heart, those acts that have been given out for +Miracles, according as he shall see, what benefit can accrew by +mens belief, to those that pretend, or countenance them, and thereby +conjecture, whether they be Miracles, or Lies. But when it comes +to confession of that faith, the Private Reason must submit to the +Publique; that is to say, to Gods Lieutenant. But who is this Lieutenant +of God, and Head of the Church, shall be considered in its proper place +thereafter. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. OF THE SIGNIFICATION IN SCRIPTURE OF ETERNALL LIFE, +HELL, SALVATION, THE WORLD TO COME, AND REDEMPTION + + +The maintenance of Civill Society, depending on Justice; and Justice on +the power of Life and Death, and other lesse Rewards and Punishments, +residing in them that have the Soveraignty of the Common-wealth; It +is impossible a Common-wealth should stand, where any other than the +Soveraign, hath a power of giving greater rewards than Life; and of +inflicting greater punishments than Death. Now seeing Eternall Life is +a greater reward, than the Life Present; and Eternall Torment a greater +punishment than the Death of Nature; It is a thing worthy to be well +considered, of all men that desire (by obeying Authority) to avoid +the calamities of Confusion, and Civill war, what is meant in Holy +Scripture, by Life Eternall, and Torment Eternall; and for what +offences, against whom committed, men are to be Eternally Tormented; and +for what actions, they are to obtain Eternall Life. + + + + +Place Of Adams Eternity If He Had Not Sinned, The Terrestrial Paradise + +And first we find, that Adam was created in such a condition of life, +as had he not broken the commandement of God, he had enjoyed it in the +Paradise of Eden Everlastingly. For there was the Tree of Life; whereof +he was so long allowed to eat, as he should forbear to eat of the tree +of Knowledge of Good an Evill; which was not allowed him. And therefore +as soon as he had eaten of it, God thrust him out of Paradise, "lest he +should put forth his hand, and take also of the tree of life, and live +for ever." (Gen. 3. 22.) By which it seemeth to me, (with submission +neverthelesse both in this, and in all questions, whereof the +determination dependeth on the Scriptures, to the interpretation of the +Bible authorized by the Common-wealth, whose Subject I am,) that Adam if +he had not sinned, had had an Eternall Life on Earth: and that Mortality +entred upon himself, and his posterity, by his first Sin. Not that +actuall Death then entred; for Adam then could never have had children; +whereas he lived long after, and saw a numerous posterity ere he dyed. +But where it is said, "In the day that thou eatest thereof, thou shalt +surely die," it must needs bee meant of his Mortality, and certitude +of death. Seeing then Eternall life was lost by Adams forfeiture, in +committing sin, he that should cancell that forfeiture was to recover +thereby, that Life again. Now Jesus Christ hath satisfied for the sins +of all that beleeve in him; and therefore recovered to all beleevers, +that ETERNALL LIFE, which was lost by the sin of Adam. And in this sense +it is, that the comparison of St. Paul holdeth (Rom. 5.18, 19.) "As by +the offence of one, Judgment came upon all men to condemnation, even +so by the righteousnesse of one, the free gift came upon all men +to Justification of Life." Which is again (1 Cor. 15.21,22) more +perspicuously delivered in these words, "For since by man came death, by +man came also the resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all die, even +so in Christ shall all be made alive." + + + + +Texts Concerning The Place Of Life Eternall For Beleevers + +Concerning the place wherein men shall enjoy that Eternall Life, which +Christ hath obtained for them, the texts next before alledged seem to +make it on Earth. For if as in Adam, all die, that is, have forfeited +Paradise, and Eternall Life on Earth; even so in Christ all shall be +made alive; then all men shall be made to live on Earth; for else +the comparison were not proper. Hereunto seemeth to agree that of the +Psalmist, (Psal. 133.3.) "Upon Zion God commanded the blessing, even +Life for evermore;" for Zion, is in Jerusalem, upon Earth: as also that +of S. Joh. (Rev. 2.7.) "To him that overcommeth I will give to eat of +the tree of life, which is in the midst of the Paradise of God." This +was the tree of Adams Eternall life; but his life was to have been on +Earth. The same seemeth to be confirmed again by St. Joh. (Rev. 21.2.) +where he saith, "I John saw the Holy City, New Jerusalem, coming down +from God out of heaven, prepared as a Bride adorned for her husband:" +and again v. 10. to the same effect: As if he should say, the new +Jerusalem, the Paradise of God, at the coming again of Christ, should +come down to Gods people from Heaven, and not they goe up to it from +Earth. And this differs nothing from that, which the two men in white +clothing (that is, the two Angels) said to the Apostles, that were +looking upon Christ ascending (Acts 1.11.) "This same Jesus, who is +taken up from you into Heaven, shall so come, as you have seen him go up +into Heaven." Which soundeth as if they had said, he should come down +to govern them under his Father, Eternally here; and not take them up +to govern them in Heaven; and is conformable to the Restauration of the +Kingdom of God, instituted under Moses; which was a Political government +of the Jews on Earth. Again, that saying of our Saviour (Mat. 22.30.) +"that in the Resurrection they neither marry, nor are given in marriage, +but are as the Angels of God in heaven," is a description of an Eternall +Life, resembling that which we lost in Adam in the point of Marriage. +For seeing Adam, and Eve, if they had not sinned, had lived on Earth +Eternally, in their individuall persons; it is manifest, they should +not continually have procreated their kind. For if Immortals should have +generated, as Mankind doth now; the Earth in a small time, would not +have been able to afford them a place to stand on. The Jews that asked +our Saviour the question, whose wife the woman that had married many +brothers, should be, in the resurrection, knew not what were the +consequences of Immortality; that there shal be no Generation, and +consequently no marriage, no more than there is Marriage, or generation +among the Angels. The comparison between that Eternall life which Adam +lost, and our Saviour by his Victory over death hath recovered; holdeth +also in this, that as Adam lost Eternall Life by his sin, and yet lived +after it for a time; so the faithful Christian hath recovered Eternal +Life by Christs passion, though he die a natural death, and remaine dead +for a time; namely, till the Resurrection. For as Death is reckoned from +the Condemnation of Adam, not from the Execution; so life is reckoned +from the Absolution, not from the Resurrection of them that are elected +in Christ. + + + + +Ascension Into Heaven + +That the place wherein men are to live Eternally, after the +Resurrection, is the Heavens, meaning by Heaven, those parts of the +world, which are the most remote from Earth, as where the stars are, +or above the stars, in another Higher Heaven, called Caelum Empyreum, +(whereof there is no mention in Scripture, nor ground in Reason) is not +easily to be drawn from any text that I can find. By the Kingdome of +Heaven, is meant the Kingdome of the King that dwelleth in Heaven; and +his Kingdome was the people of Israel, whom he ruled by the Prophets +his Lieutenants, first Moses, and after him Eleazar, and the Soveraign +Priests, till in the days of Samuel they rebelled, and would have a +mortall man for their King, after the manner of other Nations. And +when our Saviour Christ, by the preaching of his Ministers, shall have +perswaded the Jews to return, and called the Gentiles to his obedience, +then shall there be a new Kingdome of Heaven, because our King shall +then be God, whose Throne is Heaven; without any necessity evident in +the Scripture, that man shall ascend to his happinesse any higher than +Gods Footstool the Earth. On the contrary, we find written (Joh. 3.13.) +that "no man hath ascended into Heaven, but he that came down from +Heaven, even the Son of man, that is in Heaven." Where I observe by the +way, that these words are not, as those which go immediately before, the +words of our Saviour, but of St. John himself; for Christ was then not +in Heaven, but upon the Earth. The like is said of David (Acts 2.34.) +where St. Peter, to prove the Ascension of Christ, using the words of +the Psalmist, (Psal. 16.10.) "Thou wilt not leave my soule in Hell, nor +suffer thine Holy one to see corruption," saith, they were spoken (not +of David, but) of Christ; and to prove it, addeth this Reason, "For +David is not ascended into Heaven." But to this a man may easily answer, +and say, that though their bodies were not to ascend till the generall +day of Judgment, yet their souls were in Heaven as soon as they were +departed from their bodies; which also seemeth to be confirmed by the +words of our Saviour (Luke 20.37,38.) who proving the Resurrection out +of the word of Moses, saith thus, "That the dead are raised, even Moses +shewed, at the bush, when he calleth the Lord, the God of Abraham, and +the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob. For he is not a God of the Dead, +but of the Living; for they all live to him." But if these words be to +be understood only of the Immortality of the Soul, they prove not at all +that which our Saviour intended to prove, which was the Resurrection +of the Body, that is to say, the Immortality of the Man. Therefore our +Saviour meaneth, that those Patriarchs were Immortall; not by a property +consequent to the essence, and nature of mankind, but by the will of +God, that was pleased of his mere grace, to bestow Eternall Life upon +the faithfull. And though at that time the Patriarchs and many other +faithfull men were Dead, yet as it is in the text, they Lived To God; +that is, they were written in the Book of Life with them that were +absolved of their sinnes, and ordained to Life eternall at the +Resurrection. That the Soul of man is in its own nature Eternall, and +a living Creature independent on the Body; or that any meer man is +Immortall, otherwise than by the Resurrection in the last day, (except +Enos and Elias,) is a doctrine not apparent in Scripture. The whole 14. +Chapter of Job, which is the speech not of his friends, but of himselfe, +is a complaint of this Mortality of Nature; and yet no contradiction of +the Immortality at the Resurrection. "There is hope of a tree," (saith +hee verse 7.) "if it be cast down, Though the root thereof wax old, and +the stock thereof die in the ground, yet when it scenteth the water +it will bud, and bring forth boughes like a Plant. But man dyeth, and +wasteth away, yea, man giveth up the Ghost, and where is he?" and (verse +12.) "man lyeth down, and riseth not, till the heavens be no more." But +when is it, that the heavens shall be no more? St. Peter tells us, that +it is at the generall Resurrection. For in his 2. Epistle, 3. Chapter, +and 7. verse, he saith, that "the Heavens and the Earth that are now, +are reserved unto fire against the day of Judgment, and perdition of +ungodly men," and (verse 12.) "looking for, and hasting to the comming +of God, wherein the Heavens shall be on fire, and shall be dissolved, +and the Elements shall melt with fervent heat. Neverthelesse, we +according to the promise look for new Heavens, and a new Earth, wherein +dwelleth righteousnesse." Therefore where Job saith, man riseth not till +the Heavens be no more; it is all one, as if he had said, the Immortall +Life (and Soule and Life in the Scripture, do usually signifie the same +thing) beginneth not in man, till the Resurrection, and day of Judgment; +and hath for cause, not his specificall nature, and generation; but the +Promise. For St. Peter saies not, "Wee look for new heavens, and a new +earth, (from Nature) but from Promise." + +Lastly, seeing it hath been already proved out of divers evident places +of Scripture, in the 35. chapter of this book, that the Kingdom of God +is a Civil Common-wealth, where God himself is Soveraign, by vertue +first of the Old, and since of the New Covenant, wherein he reigneth by +his Vicar, or Lieutenant; the same places do therefore also prove, that +after the comming again of our Saviour in his Majesty, and glory, to +reign actually, and Eternally; the Kingdom of God is to be on Earth. But +because this doctrine (though proved out of places of Scripture not few, +nor obscure) will appear to most men a novelty; I doe but propound +it; maintaining nothing in this, or any other paradox of Religion; +but attending the end of that dispute of the sword, concerning the +Authority, (not yet amongst my Countrey-men decided,) by which all sorts +of doctrine are to bee approved, or rejected; and whose commands, both +in speech, and writing, (whatsoever be the opinions of private men) must +by all men, that mean to be protected by their Laws, be obeyed. For +the points of doctrine concerning the Kingdome (of) God, have so great +influence on the Kingdome of Man, as not to be determined, but by them, +that under God have the Soveraign Power. + + + + +The Place After Judgment, Of Those Who Were Never In The Kingdome Of +God, Or Having Been In, Are Cast Out + +As the Kingdome of God, and Eternall Life, so also Gods Enemies, and +their Torments after Judgment, appear by the Scripture, to have their +place on Earth. The name of the place, where all men remain till the +Resurrection, that were either buryed, or swallowed up of the Earth, is +usually called in Scripture, by words that signifie Under Ground; which +the Latines read generally Infernus, and Inferni, and the Greeks Hades; +that is to say, a place where men cannot see; and containeth as well the +Grave, as any other deeper place. But for the place of the damned after +the Resurrection, it is not determined, neither in the Old, nor New +Testament, by any note of situation; but onely by the company: as that +it shall bee, where such wicked men were, as God in former times in +extraordinary, and miraculous manner, had destroyed from off the face of +the Earth: As for Example, that they are in Inferno, in Tartarus, or in +the bottomelesse pit; because Corah, Dathan, and Abirom, were swallowed +up alive into the earth. Not that the Writers of the Scripture would +have us beleeve, there could be in the globe of the Earth, which is +not only finite, but also (compared to the height of the Stars) of no +considerable magnitude, a pit without a bottome; that is, a hole of +infinite depth, such as the Greeks in their Daemonologie (that is to +say, in their doctrine concerning Daemons,) and after them, the Romans +called Tartarus; of which Virgill sayes, + + Bis patet in præceps, tantem tendítque sub umbras, + Quantus ad æthereum cœli suspectus Olympum: + +for that is a thing the proportion of Earth to Heaven cannot bear: but +that wee should beleeve them there, indefinitely, where those men are, +on whom God inflicted that Exemplary punnishment. + + + + +The Congregation Of Giants + +Again, because those mighty men of the Earth, that lived in the time +of Noah, before the floud, (which the Greeks called Heroes, and the +Scripture Giants, and both say, were begotten, by copulation of the +children of God, with the children of men,) were for their wicked life +destroyed by the generall deluge; the place of the Damned, is therefore +also sometimes marked out, by the company of those deceased Giants; as +Proverbs 21.16. "The man that wandreth out of the way of understanding, +shall remain in the congregation of the Giants," and Job 26.5. "Behold +the Giants groan under water, and they that dwell with them." Here +the place of the Damned, is under the water. And Isaiah 14.9. "Hell is +troubled how to meet thee," (that is, the King of Babylon) "and will +displace the Giants for thee:" and here again the place of the Damned, +(if the sense be literall,) is to be under water. + + + + +Lake Of Fire + +Thirdly, because the Cities of Sodom, and Gomorrah, by the extraordinary +wrath of God, were consumed for their wickednesse with Fire and +Brimstone, and together with them the countrey about made a stinking +bituminous Lake; the place of the Damned is sometimes expressed by +Fire, and a Fiery Lake: as in the Apocalypse ch.21.8. "But the timorous, +incredulous, and abominable, and Murderers, and Whoremongers, and +Sorcerers, and Idolators, and all Lyars, shall have their part in the +Lake that burneth with Fire, and Brimstone; which is the second Death." +So that it is manifest, that Hell Fire, which is here expressed by +Metaphor, from the reall Fire of Sodome, signifieth not any certain +kind, or place of Torment; but is to be taken indefinitely, for +Destruction, as it is in the 20. Chapter, at the 14. verse; where it is +said, that "Death and Hell were cast into the Lake of Fire;" that is +to say, were abolished, and destroyed; as if after the day of Judgment, +there shall be no more Dying, nor no more going into Hell; that is, no +more going to Hades (from which word perhaps our word Hell is derived,) +which is the same with no more Dying. + + + + +Utter Darknesse + +Fourthly, from the Plague of Darknesse inflicted on the Egyptians, of +which it is written (Exod. 10.23.) "They saw not one another, neither +rose any man from his place for three days; but all the Children of +Israel had light in their dwellings;" the place of the wicked after +Judgment, is called Utter Darknesse, or (as it is in the originall) +Darknesse Without. And so it is expressed (Mat. 22.13.) where the King +commandeth his Servants, "to bind hand and foot the man that had not +on his Wedding garment, and to cast him out," Eis To Skotos To Exoteron, +Externall Darknesse, or Darknesse Without: which though translated Utter +Darknesse, does not signifie How Great, but Where that darknesse is to +be; namely, Without The Habitation of Gods Elect. + + + + +Gehenna, And Tophet + +Lastly, whereas there was a place neer Jerusalem, called the Valley of +the Children of Hinnon; in a part whereof, called Tophet, the Jews had +committed most grievous Idolatry, sacrificing their children to the +Idol Moloch; and wherein also God had afflicted his enemies with most +grievous punishments; and wherein Josias had burnt the Priests of Moloch +upon their own Altars, as appeareth at large in the 2 of Kings chap. 23. +the place served afterwards, to receive the filth, and garbage which was +carried thither, out of the City; and there used to be fires made, from +time to time, to purifie the aire, and take away the stench of Carrion. +From this abominable place, the Jews used ever after to call the place +of the Damned, by the name of Gehenna, or Valley of Hinnon. And this +Gehenna, is that word, which is usually now translated HELL; and +from the fires from time to time there burning, we have the notion of +Everlasting, and Unquenchable Fire. + + + + +Of The Literall Sense Of The Scripture Concerning Hell + +Seeing now there is none, that so interprets the Scripture, as that +after the day of Judgment, the wicked are all Eternally to be punished +in the Valley of Hinnon; or that they shall so rise again, as to be ever +after under ground, or under water; or that after the Resurrection, they +shall no more see one another; nor stir from one place to another; it +followeth, me thinks, very necessarily, that that which is thus said +concerning Hell Fire, is spoken metaphorically; and that therefore there +is a proper sense to bee enquired after, (for of all Metaphors there is +some reall ground, that may be expressed in proper words) both of the +Place of Hell, and the nature of Hellish Torment, and Tormenters. + + + + +Satan, Devill, Not Proper Names, But Appellatives + +And first for the Tormenters, wee have their nature, and properties, +exactly and properly delivered by the names of, The Enemy, or Satan; +The Accuser, or Diabolus; The Destroyer, or Abbadon. Which significant +names, Satan, Devill, Abbadon, set not forth to us any Individuall +person, as proper names use to doe; but onely an office, or quality; +and are therefore Appellatives; which ought not to have been left +untranslated, as they are, in the Latine, and Modern Bibles; because +thereby they seem to be the proper names of Daemons; and men are the +more easily seduced to beleeve the doctrine of Devills; which at that +time was the Religion of the Gentiles, and contrary to that of Moses, +and of Christ. + +And because by the Enemy, the Accuser, and Destroyer, is meant, the +Enemy of them that shall be in the Kingdome of God; therefore if the +Kingdome of God after the Resurrection, bee upon the Earth, (as in the +former Chapter I have shewn by Scripture it seems to be,) The Enemy, +and his Kingdome must be on Earth also. For so also was it, in the time +before the Jews had deposed God. For Gods Kingdome was in Palestine; +and the Nations round about, were the Kingdomes of the Enemy; and +consequently by Satan, is meant any Earthly Enemy of the Church. + + + + +Torments Of Hell + +The Torments of Hell, are expressed sometimes, by "weeping, and gnashing +of teeth," as Mat. 8.12. Sometimes, by "the worm of Conscience;" as +Isa.66.24. and Mark 9.44, 46, 48; sometimes, by Fire, as in the place +now quoted, "where the worm dyeth not, and the fire is not quenched," +and many places beside: sometimes by "Shame, and contempt," as Dan. +12.2. "And many of them that sleep in the dust of the Earth, shall +awake; some to Everlasting life; and some to shame, and everlasting +contempt." All which places design metaphorically a grief, and +discontent of mind, from the sight of that Eternall felicity in others, +which they themselves through their own incredulity, and disobedience +have lost. And because such felicity in others, is not sensible but by +comparison with their own actuall miseries; it followeth that they are +to suffer such bodily paines, and calamities, as are incident to those, +who not onely live under evill and cruell Governours, but have also for +Enemy, the Eternall King of the Saints, God Almighty. And amongst these +bodily paines, is to be reckoned also to every one of the wicked a +second Death. For though the Scripture bee clear for an universall +Resurrection; yet wee do not read, that to any of the Reprobate is +promised an Eternall life. For whereas St. Paul (1 Cor. 15.42, 43.) to +the question concerning what bodies men shall rise with again, saith, +that "the body is sown in corruption, and is raised in incorruption; It +is sown in dishonour, it is raised in glory; it is sown in weaknesse, it +is raised in power;" Glory and Power cannot be applyed to the bodies of +the wicked: Nor can the name of Second Death, bee applyed to those +that can never die but once: And although in Metaphoricall speech, a +Calamitous life Everlasting, may bee called an Everlasting Death yet it +cannot well be understood of a Second Death. The fire prepared for the +wicked, is an Everlasting Fire: that is to say, the estate wherein +no man can be without torture, both of body and mind, after the +Resurrection, shall endure for ever; and in that sense the Fire shall +be unquenchable, and the torments Everlasting: but it cannot thence be +inferred, that hee who shall be cast into that fire, or be tormented +with those torments, shall endure, and resist them so, as to be +eternally burnt, and tortured, and yet never be destroyed, nor die. And +though there be many places that affirm Everlasting Fire, and Torments +(into which men may be cast successively one after another for ever;) +yet I find none that affirm there shall bee an Eternall Life therein of +any individuall person; but on the contrary, an Everlasting Death, which +is the Second Death: (Apoc. 20. 13,14.) "For after Death, and the Grave +shall have delivered up the dead which were in them, and every man be +judged according to his works; Death and the Grave shall also be cast +into the Lake of Fire. This is the Second Death." Whereby it is +evident, that there is to bee a Second Death of every one that shall bee +condemned at the day of Judgement, after which hee shall die no more. + + + + +The Joyes Of Life Eternall, And Salvation The Same Thing, +Salvation From Sin, And From Misery, All One + +The joyes of Life Eternall, are in Scripture comprehended all under the +name of SALVATION, or Being Saved. To be saved, is to be secured, either +respectively, against speciall Evills, or absolutely against all Evill, +comprehending Want, Sicknesse, and Death it self. And because man +was created in a condition Immortall, not subject to corruption, and +consequently to nothing that tendeth to the dissolution of his nature; +and fell from that happinesse by the sin of Adam; it followeth, that +to be Saved From Sin, is to be saved from all the Evill, and Calamities +that Sinne hath brought upon us. And therefore in the Holy Scripture, +Remission of Sinne, and Salvation from Death and Misery, is the same +thing, as it appears by the words of our Saviour, who having cured a man +sick of the Palsey, by saying, (Mat. 9.2.) "Son be of good cheer, thy +Sins be forgiven thee;" and knowing that the Scribes took for blasphemy, +that a man should pretend to forgive Sins, asked them (v.5.) "whether +it were easier to say, Thy Sinnes be forgiven thee, or, Arise and walk;" +signifying thereby, that it was all one, as to the saving of the sick, +to say, "Thy Sins are forgiven," and "Arise and walk;" and that he used +that form of speech, onely to shew he had power to forgive Sins. And +it is besides evident in reason, that since Death and Misery, were the +punishments of Sin, the discharge of Sinne, must also be a discharge +of Death and Misery; that is to say, Salvation absolute, such as the +faithfull are to enjoy after the day of Judgment, by the power, and +favour of Jesus Christ, who for that cause is called our SAVIOUR. + +Concerning Particular Salvations, such as are understood, 1 Sam. 14.39. +"as the Lord liveth that saveth Israel," that is, from their temporary +enemies, and 2 Sam. 22.4. "Thou art my Saviour, thou savest me from +violence;" and 2 Kings 13.5. "God gave the Israelites a Saviour, and +so they were delivered from the hand of the Assyrians," and the like, +I need say nothing; there being neither difficulty, nor interest, to +corrupt the interpretation of texts of that kind. + + + + +The Place Of Eternall Salvation + +But concerning the Generall Salvation, because it must be in the +Kingdome of Heaven, there is great difficulty concerning the Place. +On one side, by Kingdome (which is an estate ordained by men for their +perpetuall security against enemies, and want) it seemeth that this +Salvation should be on Earth. For by Salvation is set forth unto us, +a glorious Reign of our King, by Conquest; not a safety by Escape: +and therefore there where we look for Salvation, we must look also +for Triumph; and before Triumph, for Victory; and before Victory, for +Battell; which cannot well be supposed, shall be in Heaven. But how good +soever this reason may be, I will not trust to it, without very evident +places of Scripture. The state of Salvation is described at large, +Isaiah, 33. ver. 20,21,22,23,24. + +"Look upon Zion, the City of our solemnities, thine eyes shall see +Jerusalem a quiet habitation, a tabernacle that shall not be taken down; +not one of the stakes thereof shall ever be removed, neither shall any +of the cords thereof be broken. + +But there the glorious Lord will be unto us a place of broad rivers, and +streams; wherein shall goe no Gally with oares; neither shall gallant +ship passe thereby. + +For the Lord is our Judge, the Lord is our Lawgiver, the Lord is our +King, he will save us. + +Thy tacklings are loosed; they could not well strengthen their mast; +they could not spread the sail: then is the prey of a great spoil +divided; the lame take the prey. + +And the Inhabitant shall not say, I am sicke; the people that shall +dwell therein shall be forgiven their Iniquity." + +In which words wee have the place from whence Salvation is to proceed, +"Jerusalem, a quiet habitation;" the Eternity of it, "a tabernacle that +shall not be taken down," &c. The Saviour of it, "the Lord, their Judge, +their Lawgiver, their King, he will save us;" the Salvation, "the Lord +shall be to them as a broad mote of swift waters," &c. the condition of +their Enemies, "their tacklings are loose, their masts weake, the +lame shal take the spoil of them." The condition of the Saved, +"The Inhabitants shall not say, I am sick:" And lastly, all this is +comprehended in Forgivenesse of sin, "The people that dwell therein +shall be forgiven their iniquity." By which it is evident, that +Salvation shall be on Earth, then, when God shall reign, (at the coming +again of Christ) in Jerusalem; and from Jerusalem shall proceed the +Salvation of the Gentiles that shall be received into Gods Kingdome; as +is also more expressely declared by the same Prophet, Chap. 66.20, 21. +"And they," (that is, the Gentiles who had any Jew in bondage) "shall +bring all your brethren, for an offering to the Lord, out of all +nations, upon horses, and in charets, and in litters, and upon mules, +and upon swift beasts, to my holy mountain, Jerusalem, saith the Lord, +as the Children of Israel bring an offering in a clean vessell into +the House of the Lord. And I will also take of them for Priests and for +Levites, saith the Lord:" Whereby it is manifest, that the chief seat of +Gods Kingdome (which is the Place, from whence the Salvation of us that +were Gentiles, shall proceed) shall be Jerusalem; And the same is also +confirmed by our Saviour, in his discourse with the woman of Samaria, +concerning the place of Gods worship; to whom he saith, John 4.22. that +the Samaritans worshipped they know not what, but the Jews worship what +they knew, "For Salvation is of the Jews (Ex Judais, that is, begins at +the Jews): as if he should say, you worship God, but know not by whom +he wil save you, as we doe, that know it shall be one of the tribe +of Judah, a Jew, not a Samaritan. And therefore also the woman not +impertinently answered him again, "We know the Messias shall come." So +that which our saviour saith, "Salvation is from the Jews," is the +same that Paul sayes (Rom. 1.16,17.) "The Gospel is the power of God to +Salvation to every one that beleeveth; To the Jew first, and also to the +Greek. For therein is the righteousnesse of God revealed from faith to +faith;" from the faith of the Jew, to the faith of the Gentile. In +the like sense the Prophet Joel describing the day of Judgment, (chap. +2.30,31.) that God would "shew wonders in heaven, and in earth, bloud, +and fire, and pillars of smoak. The Sun should be turned to darknesse, +and the Moon into bloud, before the great and terrible day of the Lord +come," he addeth verse 32. "and it shall come to passe, that whosoever +shall call upon the name of the Lord, shall be saved. For in Mount Zion, +and in Jerusalem shall be Salvation." And Obadiah verse 17 saith +the same, "Upon Mount Zion shall be Deliverance; and there shall be +holinesse, and the house of Jacob shall possesse their possessions," +that is, the possessions of the Heathen, which possessions he expresseth +more particularly in the following verses, by the Mount of Esau, the +Land of the Philistines, the Fields of Ephraim, of Samaria, Gilead, and +the Cities of the South, and concludes with these words, "the Kingdom +shall be the Lords." All these places are for Salvation, and the +Kingdome of God (after the day of Judgement) upon Earth. On the other +side, I have not found any text that can probably be drawn, to prove +any Ascension of the Saints into Heaven; that is to say, into any Coelum +Empyreum, or other aetheriall Region; saving that it is called the +Kingdome of Heaven; which name it may have, because God, that was King +of the Jews, governed them by his commands, sent to Moses by Angels from +Heaven, to reduce them to their obedience; and shall send him thence +again, to rule both them, and all other faithfull men, from the day of +Judgment, Everlastingly: or from that, that the Throne of this our Great +King is in Heaven; whereas the Earth is but his Footstoole. But that the +Subjects of God should have any place as high as his throne, or higher +than his Footstoole, it seemeth not sutable to the dignity of a King, +nor can I find any evident text for it in holy Scripture. + +From this that hath been said of the Kingdom of God, and of Salvation, +it is not hard to interpret, what is meant by the WORLD TO COME. There +are three worlds mentioned in Scripture, the Old World, the Present +World, and the World to Come. Of the first, St. Peter speaks, (2 Pet. +2.5.) "If God spared not the Old World, but saved Noah the eighth +person, a Preacher of righteousnesse, bringing the flood upon the world +of the ungodly," &c. So the First World, was from Adam to the generall +Flood. Of the present World, our Saviour speaks (John 18.36.) "My +Kingdome is not of this World." For he came onely to teach men the way +of Salvation, and to renew the Kingdome of his Father, by his doctrine. +Of the World to come, St. Peter speaks, (2 Pet. 3. 13.) "Neverthelesse +we according to his promise look for new Heavens, and a new Earth." This +is that WORLD, wherein Christ coming down from Heaven, in the clouds, +with great power, and glory, shall send his Angels, and shall gather +together his elect, from the four winds, and from the uttermost parts +of the Earth, and thence forth reign over them, (under his Father) +Everlastingly. + + + + +Redemption + +Salvation of a sinner, supposeth a precedent REDEMPTION; for he that is +once guilty of Sin, is obnoxious to the Penalty of the same; and must +pay (or some other for him) such Ransome, as he that is offended, and +has him in his power, shall require. And seeing the person offended, is +Almighty God, in whose power are all things; such Ransome is to be paid +before Salvation can be acquired, as God hath been pleased to require. +By this Ransome, is not intended a satisfaction for Sin, equivalent to +the Offence, which no sinner for himselfe, nor righteous man can ever be +able to make for another; The dammage a man does to another, he may make +amends for by restitution, or recompence, but sin cannot be taken +away by recompence; for that were to make the liberty to sin, a thing +vendible. But sins may bee pardoned to the repentant, either Gratis, or +upon such penalty, as God is pleased to accept. That which God usually +accepted in the Old Testament, was some Sacrifice, or Oblation. To +forgive sin is not an act of Injustice, though the punishment have +been threatned. Even amongst men, though the promise of Good, bind the +promiser; yet threats, that is to say, promises, of Evill, bind them +not; much lesse shall they bind God, who is infinitely more mercifull +then men. Our Saviour Christ therefore to Redeem us, did not in that +sense satisfie for the Sins of men, as that his Death, of its own +vertue, could make it unjust in God to punish sinners with Eternall +death; but did make that Sacrifice, and Oblation of himself, at his +first coming, which God was pleased to require, for the Salvation at his +second coming, of such as in the mean time should repent, and beleeve in +him. And though this act of our Redemption, be not alwaies in Scripture +called a Sacrifice, and Oblation, but sometimes a Price, yet by Price +we are not to understand any thing, by the value whereof, he could claim +right to a pardon for us, from his offended Father, but that Price which +God the Father was pleased in mercy to demand. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. OF THE SIGNIFICATION IN SCRIPTURE OF THE WORD CHURCH + + + + +Church The Lords House + +The word Church, (Ecclesia) signifieth in the Books of Holy Scripture +divers things. Sometimes (though not often) it is taken for Gods House, +that is to say, for a Temple, wherein Christians assemble to perform +holy duties publiquely; as, 1 Cor. 14. ver. 34. "Let your women keep +silence in the Churches:" but this is Metaphorically put, for the +Congregation there assembled; and hath been since used for the +Edifice it self, to distinguish between the Temples of Christians, and +Idolaters. The Temple of Jerusalem was Gods House, and the House of +Prayer; and so is any Edifice dedicated by Christians to the worship of +Christ, Christs House: and therefore the Greek Fathers call it Kuriake, +The Lords House; and thence, in our language it came to be called Kyrke, +and Church. + + + + +Ecclesia Properly What + +Church (when not taken for a House) signifieth the same that Ecclesia +signified in the Grecian Common-wealths; that is to say, a Congregation, +or an Assembly of Citizens, called forth, to hear the Magistrate speak +unto them; and which in the Common-wealth of Rome was called Concio, as +he that spake was called Ecclesiastes, and Concionator. And when they +were called forth by lawfull Authority, (Acts 19.39.) it was Ecclesia +Legitima, a Lawfull Church, Ennomos Ecclesia. But when they were excited +by tumultuous, and seditious clamor, then it was a confused Church, +Ecclesia Sugkechumene. + +It is taken also sometimes for the men that have right to be of the +Congregation, though not actually assembled; that is to say, for the +whole multitude of Christian men, how far soever they be dispersed: as +(Act. 8.3.) where it is said, that "Saul made havock of the Church:" And +in this sense is Christ said to be Head of the Church. And sometimes for +a certain part of Christians, as (Col. 4.15.) "Salute the Church that is +in his house." Sometimes also for the Elect onely; as (Ephes. 5.27.) "A +Glorious Church, without spot, or wrinkle, holy, and without blemish;" +which is meant of the Church Triumphant, or, Church To Come. Sometimes, +for a Congregation assembled, of professors of Christianity, whether +their profession be true, or counterfeit, as it is understood, Mat. +18.17. where it is said, "Tell it to the Church, and if hee neglect to +hear the Church, let him be to thee as a Gentile, or Publican." + + + + +In What Sense The Church Is One Person Church Defined + +And in this last sense only it is that the Church can be taken for one +Person; that is to say, that it can be said to have power to will, to +pronounce, to command, to be obeyed, to make laws, or to doe any other +action whatsoever; For without authority from a lawfull Congregation, +whatsoever act be done in a concourse of people, it is the particular +act of every one of those that were present, and gave their aid to the +performance of it; and not the act of them all in grosse, as of one +body; much lesse that act of them that were absent, or that being +present, were not willing it should be done. According to this sense, I +define a CHURCH to be, "A company of men professing Christian Religion, +united in the person of one Soveraign; at whose command they ought to +assemble, and without whose authority they ought not to assemble." And +because in all Common-wealths, that Assembly, which is without warrant +from the Civil Soveraign, is unlawful; that Church also, which is +assembled in any Common-wealth, that hath forbidden them to assemble, is +an unlawfull Assembly. + + + + +A Christian Common-wealth, And A Church All One + +It followeth also, that there is on Earth, no such universall Church as +all Christians are bound to obey; because there is no power on Earth, to +which all other Common-wealths are subject: There are Christians, in +the Dominions of severall Princes and States; but every one of them +is subject to that Common-wealth, whereof he is himself a member; and +consequently, cannot be subject to the commands of any other Person. +And therefore a Church, such as one as is capable to Command, to Judge, +Absolve, Condemn, or do any other act, is the same thing with a Civil +Common-wealth, consisting of Christian men; and is called a Civill +State, for that the subjects of it are Men; and a Church, for that the +subjects thereof are Christians. Temporall and Spirituall Government, +are but two words brought into the world, to make men see double, and +mistake their Lawfull Soveraign. It is true, that the bodies of the +faithfull, after the Resurrection shall be not onely Spirituall, but +Eternall; but in this life they are grosse, and corruptible. There +is therefore no other Government in this life, neither of State, nor +Religion, but Temporall; nor teaching of any doctrine, lawfull to any +Subject, which the Governour both of the State, and of the Religion, +forbiddeth to be taught: And that Governor must be one; or else there +must needs follow Faction, and Civil war in the Common-wealth, between +the Church and State; between Spiritualists, and Temporalists; between +the Sword Of Justice, and the Shield Of Faith; and (which is more) in +every Christian mans own brest, between the Christian, and the Man. +The Doctors of the Church, are called Pastors; so also are Civill +Soveraignes: But if Pastors be not subordinate one to another, so +as that there may bee one chief Pastor, men will be taught contrary +Doctrines, whereof both may be, and one must be false. Who that one +chief Pastor is, according to the law of Nature, hath been already +shewn; namely, that it is the Civill Soveraign; And to whom the +Scripture hath assigned that Office, we shall see in the Chapters +following. + + + + +CHAPTER XL OF THE RIGHTS OF THE KINGDOME OF GOD, IN ABRAHAM, MOSES, +HIGH PRIESTS, AND THE KINGS OF JUDAH + + + + +The Soveraign Rights Of Abraham + +The Father of the Faithfull, and first in the Kingdome of God by +Covenant, was Abraham. For with him was the Covenant first made; wherein +he obliged himself, and his seed after him, to acknowledge and obey the +commands of God; not onely such, as he could take notice of, (as Morall +Laws,) by the light of Nature; but also such, as God should in speciall +manner deliver to him by Dreams and Visions. For as to the Morall law, +they were already obliged, and needed not have been contracted withall, +by promise of the Land of Canaan. Nor was there any Contract, that could +adde to, or strengthen the Obligation, by which both they, and all +men else were bound naturally to obey God Almighty: And therefore the +Covenant which Abraham made with God, was to take for the Commandement +of God, that which in the name of God was commanded him, in a Dream, or +Vision, and to deliver it to his family, and cause them to observe the +same. + + + + +Abraham Had The Sole Power Of Ordering The Religion Of His Own People + +In this Contract of God with Abraham, wee may observe three points of +important consequence in the government of Gods people. First, that at +the making of this Covenant, God spake onely to Abraham; and therefore +contracted not with any of his family, or seed, otherwise then as their +wills (which make the essence of all Covenants) were before the Contract +involved in the will of Abraham; who was therefore supposed to have had +a lawfull power, to make them perform all that he covenanted for them. +According whereunto (Gen 18.18, 19.) God saith, "All the Nations of the +Earth shall be blessed in him, For I know him that he will command his +children and his houshold after him, and they shall keep the way of the +Lord." From whence may be concluded this first point, that they to +whom God hath not spoken immediately, are to receive the positive +commandements of God, from their Soveraign; as the family and seed of +Abraham did from Abraham their Father, and Lord, and Civill Soveraign. +And Consequently in every Common-wealth, they who have no supernaturall +Revelation to the contrary, ought to obey the laws of their own +Soveraign, in the externall acts and profession of Religion. As for the +inward Thought, and beleef of men, which humane Governours can take no +notice of, (for God onely knoweth the heart) they are not voluntary, nor +the effect of the laws, but of the unrevealed will, and of the power of +God; and consequently fall not under obligation. + + + + +No Pretence Of Private Spirit Against The Religion Of Abraham + +From whence proceedeth another point, that it was not unlawfull for +Abraham, when any of his Subjects should pretend Private Vision, or +Spirit, or other Revelation from God, for the countenancing of any +doctrine which Abraham should forbid, or when they followed, or adhered +to any such pretender, to punish them; and consequently that it is +lawfull now for the Soveraign to punish any man that shall oppose his +Private Spirit against the Laws: For hee hath the same place in the +Common-wealth, that Abraham had in his own Family. + + + + +Abraham Sole Judge, And Interpreter Of What God Spake + +There ariseth also from the same, a third point; that as none but +Abraham in his family, so none but the Soveraign in a Christian +Common-wealth, can take notice what is, or what is not the Word of God. +For God spake onely to Abraham; and it was he onely, that was able +to know what God said, and to interpret the same to his family: And +therefore also, they that have the place of Abraham in a Common-wealth, +are the onely Interpreters of what God hath spoken. + + + + +The Authority Of Moses Whereon Grounded + +The same Covenant was renewed with Isaac; and afterwards with Jacob; but +afterwards no more, till the Israelites were freed from the Egyptians, +and arrived at the Foot of Mount Sinai: and then it was renewed by Moses +(as I have said before, chap. 35.) in such manner, as they became from +that time forward the Peculiar Kingdome of God; whose Lieutenant was +Moses, for his owne time; and the succession to that office was setled +upon Aaron, and his heirs after him, to bee to God a Sacerdotall +Kingdome for ever. + +By this constitution, a Kingdome is acquired to God. But seeing Moses +had no authority to govern the Israelites, as a successor to the right +of Abraham, because he could not claim it by inheritance; it appeareth +not as yet, that the people were obliged to take him for Gods +Lieutenant, longer than they beleeved that God spake unto him. And +therefore his authority (notwithstanding the Covenant they made with +God) depended yet merely upon the opinion they had of his Sanctity, +and of the reality of his Conferences with God, and the verity of his +Miracles; which opinion coming to change, they were no more obliged to +take any thing for the law of God, which he propounded to them in Gods +name. We are therefore to consider, what other ground there was, of +their obligation to obey him. For it could not be the commandement of +God that could oblige them; because God spake not to them immediately, +but by the mediation of Moses Himself; And our Saviour saith of himself, +(John 5. 31.) "If I bear witnesse of my self, my witnesse is not true," +much lesse if Moses bear witnesse of himselfe, (especially in a claim of +Kingly power over Gods people) ought his testimony to be received. His +authority therefore, as the authority of all other Princes, must be +grounded on the Consent of the People, and their Promise to obey him. +And so it was: for "the people" (Exod. 20.18.) "when they saw the +Thunderings, and the Lightnings, and the noyse of the Trumpet, and the +mountaine smoaking, removed, and stood a far off. And they said unto +Moses, speak thou with us, and we will hear, but let not God speak with +us lest we die." Here was their promise of obedience; and by this it was +they obliged themselves to obey whatsoever he should deliver unto them +for the Commandement of God. + + + + +Moses Was (Under God) Soveraign Of The Jews, All His Own Time, Though +Aaron Had The Priesthood + +And notwithstanding the Covenant constituted a Sacerdotall Kingdome, +that is to say, a Kingdome hereditary to Aaron; yet that is to be +understood of the succession, after Moses should bee dead. For +whosoever ordereth, and establisheth the Policy, as first founder of +a Common-wealth (be it Monarchy, Aristocracy, or Democracy) must needs +have Soveraign Power over the people all the while he is doing of it. +And that Moses had that power all his own time, is evidently affirmed in +the Scripture. First, in the text last before cited, because the people +promised obedience, not to Aaron but to him. Secondly, (Exod. 24.1, 2.) +"And God said unto Moses, Come up unto the Lord, thou, and Aaron, Nadab +and Abihu, and seventy of the Elders of Israel. And Moses alone shall +come neer the Lord, but they shall not come nigh, neither shall the +people goe up with him." By which it is plain, that Moses who was alone +called up to God, (and not Aaron, nor the other Priests, nor the Seventy +Elders, nor the People who were forbidden to come up) was alone he, that +represented to the Israelites the Person of God; that is to say, was +their sole Soveraign under God. And though afterwards it be said (verse +9.) "Then went up Moses, and Aaron, Nadab, and Abihu, and seventy of the +Elders of Israel, and they saw the God of Israel, and there was under +his feet, as it were a paved work of a saphire stone," &c. yet this was +not till after Moses had been with God before, and had brought to +the people the words which God had said to him. He onely went for the +businesse of the people; the others, as the Nobles of his retinue, were +admitted for honour to that speciall grace, which was not allowed to +the people; which was, (as in the verse after appeareth) to see God and +live. "God laid not his hand upon them, they saw God and did eat and +drink" (that is, did live), but did not carry any commandement from +him to the people. Again, it is every where said, "The Lord spake unto +Moses," as in all other occasions of Government; so also in the ordering +of the Ceremonies of Religion, contained in the 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, +and 31 Chapters of Exodus, and throughout Leviticus: to Aaron seldome. +The Calfe that Aaron made, Moses threw into the fire. Lastly, the +question of the Authority of Aaron, by occasion of his and Miriams +mutiny against Moses, was (Numbers 12.) judged by God himself for Moses. +So also in the question between Moses, and the People, when Corah, +Dathan, and Abiram, and two hundred and fifty Princes of the Assembly +"gathered themselves together" (Numbers 16. 3) "against Moses, and +against Aaron, and said unto them, ‘Ye take too much upon you, seeing +all the congregation are Holy, every one of them, and the Lord is +amongst them, why lift you up your selves above the congregation of the +Lord?’" God caused the Earth to swallow Corah, Dathan, and Abiram with +their wives and children alive, and consumed those two hundred and fifty +Princes with fire. Therefore neither Aaron, nor the People, nor any +Aristocracy of the chief Princes of the People, but Moses alone had next +under God the Soveraignty over the Israelites: And that not onely in +causes of Civill Policy, but also of Religion; For Moses onely spake +with God, and therefore onely could tell the People, what it was that +God required at their hands. No man upon pain of death might be so +presumptuous as to approach the Mountain where God talked with Moses. +"Thou shalt set bounds" (saith the Lord, Exod 19. 12.) "to the people +round about, and say, Take heed to your selves that you goe not up into +the Mount, or touch the border of it; whosoever toucheth the Mount shall +surely be put to death." and again (verse 21.) "Get down, charge the +people, lest they break through unto the Lord to gaze." Out of which we +may conclude, that whosoever in a Christian Common-wealth holdeth the +place of Moses, is the sole Messenger of God, and Interpreter of +his Commandements. And according hereunto, no man ought in the +interpretation of the Scripture to proceed further then the bounds which +are set by their severall Soveraigns. For the Scriptures since God now +speaketh in them, are the Mount Sinai; the bounds whereof are the Laws +of them that represent Gods Person on Earth. To look upon them and +therein to behold the wondrous works of God, and learn to fear him is +allowed; but to interpret them; that is, to pry into what God saith to +him whom he appointeth to govern under him, and make themselves Judges +whether he govern as God commandeth him, or not, is to transgresse the +bounds God hath set us, and to gaze upon God irreverently. + + + + +All Spirits Were Subordinate To The Spirit Of Moses + +There was no Prophet in the time of Moses, nor pretender to the Spirit +of God, but such as Moses had approved, and Authorized. For there were +in his time but Seventy men, that are said to Prophecy by the Spirit of +God, and these were of all Moses his election; concerning whom God saith +to Moses (Numb. 11.16.) "Gather to mee Seventy of the Elders of Israel, +whom thou knowest to be the Elders of the People." To these God imparted +his Spirit; but it was not a different Spirit from that of Moses; for +it is said (verse 25.) "God came down in a cloud, and took of the Spirit +that was upon Moses, and gave it to the Seventy Elders." But as I have +shewn before (chap. 36.) by Spirit, is understood the Mind; so that the +sense of the place is no other than this, that God endued them with +a mind conformable, and subordinate to that of Moses, that they might +Prophecy, that is to say, speak to the people in Gods name, in such +manner, as to set forward (as Ministers of Moses, and by his authority) +such doctrine as was agreeable to Moses his doctrine. For they were but +Ministers; and when two of them Prophecyed in the Camp, it was thought +a new and unlawfull thing; and as it is in the 27. and 28. verses of +the same Chapter, they were accused of it, and Joshua advised Moses to +forbid them, as not knowing that it was by Moses his Spirit that they +Prophecyed. By which it is manifest, that no Subject ought to pretend to +Prophecy, or to the Spirit, in opposition to the doctrine established by +him, whom God hath set in the place of Moses. + + + + +After Moses The Soveraignty Was In The High Priest + +Aaron being dead, and after him also Moses, the Kingdome, as being a +Sacerdotall Kingdome, descended by vertue of the Covenant, to Aarons +Son, Eleazar the High Priest: And God declared him (next under himself) +for Soveraign, at the same time that he appointed Joshua for the +Generall of their Army. For thus God saith expressely (Numb. 27.21.) +concerning Joshua; "He shall stand before Eleazar the Priest, who shall +ask counsell for him, before the Lord, at his word shall they goe out, +and at his word they shall come in, both he, and all the Children of +Israel with him:" Therefore the Supreme Power of making War and Peace, +was in the Priest. The Supreme Power of Judicature belonged also to +the High Priest: For the Book of the Law was in their keeping; and the +Priests and Levites onely were the subordinate Judges in causes Civill, +as appears in Deut. 17.8, 9, 10. And for the manner of Gods worship, +there was never doubt made, but that the High Priest till the time +of Saul, had the Supreme Authority. Therefore the Civill and +Ecclesiasticall Power were both joined together in one and the same +person, the High Priest; and ought to bee so, in whosoever governeth by +Divine Right; that is, by Authority immediate from God. + + + + +Of The Soveraign Power Between The Time Of Joshua And Of Saul + +After the death of Joshua, till the time of Saul, the time between is +noted frequently in the Book of Judges, "that there was in those dayes +no King in Israel;" and sometimes with this addition, that "every +man did that which was right in his own eyes." By which is to bee +understood, that where it is said, "there was no King," is meant, "there +was no Soveraign Power" in Israel. And so it was, if we consider the +Act, and Exercise of such power. For after the death of Joshua, & +Eleazar, "there arose another generation" (Judges 2.10.) "that knew not +the Lord, nor the works which he had done for Israel, but did evill in +the sight of the Lord, and served Baalim." And the Jews had that quality +which St. Paul noteth, "to look for a sign," not onely before they would +submit themselves to the government of Moses, but also after they had +obliged themselves by their submission. Whereas Signs, and Miracles had +for End to procure Faith, not to keep men from violating it, when they +have once given it; for to that men are obliged by the law of Nature. +But if we consider not the Exercise, but the Right of governing, the +Soveraign power was still in the High Priest. Therefore whatsoever +obedience was yeelded to any of the Judges, (who were men chosen by God +extraordinarily, to save his rebellious subjects out of the hands of +the enemy,) it cannot bee drawn into argument against the Right the High +Priest had to the Soveraign Power, in all matters, both of Policy and +Religion. And neither the Judges, nor Samuel himselfe had an ordinary, +but extraordinary calling to the Government; and were obeyed by the +Israelites, not out of duty, but out of reverence to their favour +with God, appearing in their wisdome, courage, or felicity. Hitherto +therefore the Right of Regulating both the Policy, and the Religion, +were inseparable. + + + + +Of The Rights Of The Kings Of Israel + +To the Judges, succeeded Kings; And whereas before, all authority, both +in Religion, and Policy, was in the High Priest; so now it was all in +the King. For the Soveraignty over the people, which was before, not +onely by vertue of the Divine Power, but also by a particular pact of +the Israelites in God, and next under him, in the High Priest, as his +Viceregent on earth, was cast off by the People, with the consent of God +himselfe. For when they said to Samuel (1 Sam. 8.5.) "make us a King to +judge us, like all the Nations," they signified that they would no +more bee governed by the commands that should bee laid upon them by the +Priest, in the name of God; but by one that should command them in the +same manner that all other nations were commanded; and consequently in +deposing the High Priest of Royall authority, they deposed that peculiar +Government of God. And yet God consented to it, saying to Samuel (verse +7.) "Hearken unto the voice of the People, in all that they shall say +unto thee; for they have not rejected thee, but they have rejected mee, +that I should not reign over them." Having therefore rejected God, in +whose Right the Priests governed, there was no authority left to the +Priests, but such as the King was pleased to allow them; which was +more, or lesse, according as the Kings were good, or evill. And for the +Government of Civill affaires, it is manifest, it was all in the hands +of the King. For in the same Chapter, verse 20. They say they will be +like all the Nations; that their King shall be their Judge, and goe +before them, and fight their battells; that is, he shall have the +whole authority, both in Peace and War. In which is contained also the +ordering of Religion; for there was no other Word of God in that time, +by which to regulate Religion, but the Law of Moses, which was their +Civill Law. Besides, we read (1 Kings 2.27.) that Solomon "thrust out +Abiathar from being Priest before the Lord:" He had therefore authority +over the High Priest, as over any other Subject; which is a great +mark of Supremacy in Religion. And we read also (1 Kings 8.) that hee +dedicated the Temple; that he blessed the People; and that he himselfe +in person made that excellent prayer, used in the Consecrations of all +Churches, and houses of Prayer; which is another great mark of Supremacy +in Religion. Again, we read (2 Kings 22.) that when there was question +concerning the Book of the Law found in the Temple, the same was not +decided by the High Priest, but Josiah sent both him, and others to +enquire concerning it, of Hulda, the Prophetesse; which is another mark +of the Supremacy in Religion. Lastly, wee read (1 Chro. 26.30.) that +David made Hashabiah and his brethren, Hebronites, Officers of Israel +among them Westward, "in all businesse of the Lord, and in the service +of the King." Likewise (verse 32.) that hee made other Hebronites, +"rulers over the Reubenites, the Gadites, and the halfe tribe of +Manasseh" (these were the rest of Israel that dwelt beyond Jordan) "for +every matter pertaining to God, and affairs of the King." Is not this +full Power, both Temporall and Spirituall, as they call it, that would +divide it? To conclude; from the first institution of Gods Kingdome, to +the Captivity, the Supremacy of Religion, was in the same hand with that +of the Civill Soveraignty; and the Priests office after the election of +Saul, was not Magisteriall, but Ministeriall. + + + + +The Practice Of Supremacy In Religion, Was Not In The Time Of The Kings, +According To The Right Thereof + +Notwithstanding the government both in Policy and Religion, were joined, +first in the High Priests, and afterwards in the Kings, so far forth as +concerned the Right; yet it appeareth by the same Holy History, that the +people understood it not; but there being amongst them a great part, and +probably the greatest part, that no longer than they saw great miracles, +or (which is equivalent to a miracle) great abilities, or great felicity +in the enterprises of their Governours, gave sufficient credit, either +to the fame of Moses, or to the Colloquies between God and the Priests; +they took occasion as oft as their Governours displeased them, by +blaming sometimes the Policy, sometimes the Religion, to change the +Government, or revolt from their Obedience at their pleasure: And from +thence proceeded from time to time the civill troubles, divisions, and +calamities of the Nation. As for example, after the death of Eleazar and +Joshua, the next generation which had not seen the wonders of God, but +were left to their own weak reason, not knowing themselves obliged +by the Covenant of a Sacerdotall Kingdome, regarded no more the +Commandement of the Priest, nor any law of Moses, but did every man that +which was right in his own eyes; and obeyed in Civill affairs, such +men, as from time to time they thought able to deliver them from the +neighbour Nations that oppressed them; and consulted not with God (as +they ought to doe,) but with such men, or women, as they guessed to bee +Prophets by their Praedictions of things to come; and thought they had +an Idol in their Chappel, yet if they had a Levite for their Chaplain, +they made account they worshipped the God of Israel. + +And afterwards when they demanded a King, after the manner of the +nations; yet it was not with a design to depart from the worship of God +their King; but despairing of the justice of the sons of Samuel, they +would have a King to judg them in Civill actions; but not that they +would allow their King to change the Religion which they thought was +recommended to them by Moses. So that they alwaies kept in store a +pretext, either of Justice, or Religion, to discharge themselves of +their obedience, whensoever they had hope to prevaile. Samuel was +displeased with the people, for that they desired a King, (for God was +their King already, and Samuel had but an authority under him); yet did +Samuel, when Saul observed not his counsell, in destroying Agag as God +had commanded, anoint another King, namely David, to take the succession +from his heirs. Rehoboam was no Idolater; but when the people thought +him an Oppressor; that Civil pretence carried from him ten Tribes to +Jeroboam an Idolater. And generally through the whole History of the +Kings, as well of Judah, as of Israel, there were Prophets that alwaies +controlled the Kings, for transgressing the Religion; and sometimes also +for Errours of State; (2 Chro. 19. 2.) as Jehosaphat was reproved by +the Prophet Jehu, for aiding the King of Israel against the Syrians; +and Hezekiah, by Isaiah, for shewing his treasures to the Ambassadors of +Babylon. By all which it appeareth, that though the power both of State +and Religion were in the Kings; yet none of them were uncontrolled +in the use of it, but such as were gracious for their own naturall +abilities, or felicities. So that from the practise of those times, +there can no argument be drawn, that the right of Supremacy in Religion +was not in the Kings, unlesse we place it in the Prophets; and conclude, +that because Hezekiah praying to the Lord before the Cherubins, was not +answered from thence, nor then, but afterwards by the Prophet Isaiah, +therefore Isaiah was supreme Head of the Church; or because Josiah +consulted Hulda the Prophetesse, concerning the Book of the Law, that +therefore neither he, nor the High Priest, but Hulda the Prophetesse had +the Supreme authority in matter of Religion; which I thinke is not the +opinion of any Doctor. + + + + +After The Captivity The Jews Had No Setled Common-wealth + +During the Captivity, the Jews had no Common-wealth at all: And after +their return, though they renewed their Covenant with God, yet there +was no promise made of obedience, neither to Esdras, nor to any other; +And presently after they became subjects to the Greeks (from whose +Customes, and Daemonology, and from the doctrine of the Cabalists, +their Religion became much corrupted): In such sort as nothing can be +gathered from their confusion, both in State and Religion, concerning +the Supremacy in either. And therefore so far forth as concerneth the +Old Testament, we may conclude, that whosoever had the Soveraignty of +the Common-wealth amongst the Jews, the same had also the Supreme +Authority in matter of Gods externall worship; and represented Gods +Person; that is the person of God the Father; though he were not called +by the name of Father, till such time as he sent into the world his Son +Jesus Christ, to redeem mankind from their sins, and bring them into +his Everlasting Kingdome, to be saved for evermore. Of which we are to +speak in the Chapter following. + + + +CHAPTER XLI. OF THE OFFICE OF OUR BLESSED SAVIOUR + + + + +Three Parts Of The Office Of Christ + +We find in Holy Scripture three parts of the Office of the Messiah: the +first of a Redeemer, or Saviour: The second of a Pastor, Counsellour, +or Teacher, that is, of a Prophet sent from God, to convert such as God +hath elected to Salvation; The third of a King, and Eternall King, but +under his Father, as Moses and the High Priests were in their severall +times. And to these three parts are corespondent three times. For our +Redemption he wrought at his first coming, by the Sacrifice, wherein +he offered up himself for our sinnes upon the Crosse: our conversion +he wrought partly then in his own Person; and partly worketh now by his +Ministers; and will continue to work till his coming again. And after +his coming again, shall begin that his glorious Reign over his elect, +which is to last eternally. + + + + +His Office As A Redeemer + +To the Office of a Redeemer, that is, of one that payeth the Ransome of +Sin, (which Ransome is Death,) it appertaineth, that he was Sacrificed, +and thereby bare upon his own head, and carryed away from us our +iniquities, in such sort as God had required. Not that the death of one +man, though without sinne, can satisfie for the offences of all men, +in the rigour of Justice, but in the Mercy of God, that ordained such +Sacrifices for sin, as he was pleased in his mercy to accept. In the old +Law (as we may read, Leviticus the 16.) the Lord required, that there +should every year once, bee made an Atonement for the Sins of all +Israel, both Priests, and others; for the doing whereof, Aaron alone was +to sacrifice for himself and the Priests a young Bullock; and for the +rest of the people, he was to receive from them two young Goates, of +which he was to Sacrifice one; but as for the other, which was the Scape +Goat, he was to lay his hands on the head thereof, and by a confession +of the iniquities of the people, to lay them all on that head, and then +by some opportune man, to cause the Goat to be led into the wildernesse, +and there to Escape, and carry away with him the iniquities of the +people. As the Sacrifice of the one Goat was a sufficient (because an +acceptable) price for the Ransome of all Israel; so the death of the +Messiah, is a sufficient price, for the Sins of all mankind, because +there was no more required. Our Saviour Christs sufferings seem to be +here figured, as cleerly, as in the oblation of Isaac, or in any other +type of him in the Old Testament: He was both the sacrificed Goat, and +the Scape Goat; "Hee was oppressed, and he was afflicted (Isa. 53.7.); +he opened not his mouth; he brought as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a +sheep is dumbe before the shearer, so opened he not his mouth:" Here he +is the Sacrificed Goat. "He hath born our Griefs, (ver.4.) and carried +our sorrows;" And again, (ver. 6.) "the Lord hath laid upon him the +iniquities of us all:" And so he is the Scape Goat. "He was cut off from +the land of the living (ver. 8.) for the transgression of my People:" +There again he is the Sacrificed Goat. And again (ver. 11.) "he shall +bear their sins:" Hee is the Scape Goat. Thus is the Lamb of God +equivalent to both those Goates; sacrificed, in that he dyed; and +escaping, in his Resurrection; being raised opportunely by his Father, +and removed from the habitation of men in his Ascension. + + + + +Christs Kingdome Not Of This World + +For as much therefore, as he that Redeemeth, hath no title to the Thing +Redeemed, before the Redemption, and Ransome paid; and this Ransome was +the Death of the Redeemer; it is manifest, that our Saviour (as man) was +not King of those that he Redeemed, before hee suffered death; that is, +during that time hee conversed bodily on the Earth. I say, he was not +then King in present, by vertue of the Pact, which the faithfull make +with him in Baptisme; Neverthelesse, by the renewing of their Pact with +God in Baptisme, they were obliged to obey him for King, (under his +Father) whensoever he should be pleased to take the Kingdome upon him. +According whereunto, our Saviour himself expressely saith, (John 18.36.) +"My Kingdome is not of this world." Now seeing the Scripture maketh +mention but of two worlds; this that is now, and shall remain to the day +of Judgment, (which is therefore also called, The Last Day;) and that +which shall bee a new Heaven, and a new Earth; the Kingdome of Christ +is not to begin till the general Resurrection. And that is it which our +Saviour saith, (Mat. 16.27.) "The Son of man shall come in the glory +of his Father, with his Angels; and then he shall reward every man +according to his works." To reward every man according to his works, is +to execute the Office of a King; and this is not to be till he come in +the glory of his Father, with his Angells. When our Saviour saith, +(Mat. 23.2.) "The Scribes and Pharisees sit in Moses seat; All therefore +whatsoever they bid you doe, that observe and doe;" hee declareth +plainly, that hee ascribeth Kingly Power, for that time, not to +himselfe, but to them. And so hee hath also, where he saith, (Luke +12.14.) "Who made mee a Judge, or Divider over you?" And (John 12.47.) +"I came not to judge the world, but to save the world." And yet our +Saviour came into this world that hee might bee a King, and a Judge in +the world to come: For hee was the Messiah, that is, the Christ, that +is, the Anointed Priest, and the Soveraign Prophet of God; that is to +say, he was to have all the power that was in Moses the Prophet, in the +High Priests that succeeded Moses, and in the Kings that succeeded the +Priests. And St. John saies expressely (chap. 5. ver. 22.) "The Father +judgeth no man, but hath committed all judgment to the Son." And this is +not repugnant to that other place, "I came not to judge the world:" for +this is spoken of the world present, the other of the world to come; as +also where it is said, that at the second coming of Christ, (Mat. 19. +28.) "Yee that have followed me in the Regeneration, when the Son of +man shall sit in the throne of his Glory, yee shall also sit on twelve +thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel." + + + + +The End Of Christs Comming Was To Renew The Covenant Of The Kingdome +Of God, And To Perswade The Elect To Imbrace It, Which Was The Second +Part Of His Office + +If then Christ while hee was on Earth, had no Kingdome in this World, +to what end was his first coming? It was to restore unto God, by a new +Covenant, the Kingdome, which being his by the Old Covenant, had been +cut off by the rebellion of the Israelites in the election of Saul. +Which to doe, he was to preach unto them, that he was the Messiah, that +is, the King promised to them by the Prophets; and to offer himselfe in +sacrifice for the sinnes of them that should by faith submit themselves +thereto; and in case the nation generally should refuse him, to call +to his obedience such as should beleeve in him amongst the Gentiles. So +that there are two parts of our Saviours Office during his aboad upon +the Earth; One to Proclaim himself the Christ; and another by Teaching, +and by working of Miracles, to perswade, and prepare men to live so, as +to be worthy of the Immortality Beleevers were to enjoy, at such time as +he should come in majesty, to take possession of his Fathers Kingdome. +And therefore it is, that the time of his preaching, is often by himself +called the Regeneration; which is not properly a Kingdome, and thereby +a warrant to deny obedience to the Magistrates that then were, (for +hee commanded to obey those that sate then in Moses chaire, and to pay +tribute to Caesar;) but onely an earnest of the Kingdome of God that was +to come, to those to whom God had given the grace to be his disciples, +and to beleeve in him; For which cause the Godly are said to bee already +in the Kingdome of Grace, as naturalized in that heavenly Kingdome. + + + + +The Preaching Of Christ Not Contrary To The Then Law Of The Jews, Nor +Of Caesar + +Hitherto therefore there is nothing done, or taught by Christ, that +tendeth to the diminution of the Civill Right of the Jewes, or of +Caesar. For as touching the Common-wealth which then was amongst +the Jews, both they that bare rule amongst them, that they that were +governed, did all expect the Messiah, and Kingdome of God; which they +could not have done if their Laws had forbidden him (when he came) to +manifest, and declare himself. Seeing therefore he did nothing, but by +Preaching, and Miracles go about to prove himselfe to be that Messiah, +hee did therein nothing against their laws. The Kingdome hee claimed was +to bee in another world; He taught all men to obey in the mean time them +that sate in Moses seat: he allowed them to give Caesar his tribute, and +refused to take upon himselfe to be a Judg. How then could his words, +or actions bee seditious, or tend to the overthrow of their then Civill +Government? But God having determined his sacrifice, for the reduction +of his elect to their former covenanted obedience, for the means, +whereby he would bring the same to effect, made use of their malice, +and ingratitude. Nor was it contrary to the laws of Caesar. For though +Pilate himself (to gratifie the Jews) delivered him to be crucified; yet +before he did so, he pronounced openly, that he found no fault in him: +And put for title of his condemnation, not as the Jews required, "that +he pretended to be King;" but simply, "That hee was King of the Jews;" +and notwithstanding their clamour, refused to alter it; saying, "What I +have written, I have written." + + + + +The Third Part Of His Office Was To Be King (Under His Father) Of The +Elect + +As for the third part of his Office, which was to be King, I have +already shewn that his Kingdome was not to begin till the Resurrection. +But then he shall be King, not onely as God, in which sense he is +King already, and ever shall be, of all the Earth, in vertue of his +omnipotence; but also peculiarly of his own Elect, by vertue of the +pact they make with him in their Baptisme. And therefore it is, that +our Saviour saith (Mat. 19.28.) that his Apostles should sit upon twelve +thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel, "When the Son of man shall +sit in the throne of his glory;" whereby he signified that he should +reign then in his humane nature; and (Mat. 16.27.) "The Son of man shall +come in the glory of his Father, with his Angels, and then he shall +reward every man according to his works." The same we may read, Marke +13..26. and 14.26. and more expressely for the time, Luke 22.29, 30. "I +appoint unto you a Kingdome, as my Father hath appointed to mee, that +you may eat and drink at my table in my Kingdome, and sit on thrones +judging the twelve tribes of Israel." By which it is manifest that the +Kingdome of Christ appointed to him by his Father, is not to be before +the Son of Man shall come in Glory, and make his Apostles Judges of +the twelve tribes of Israel. But a man may here ask, seeing there is +no marriage in the Kingdome of Heaven, whether men shall then eat, and +drink; what eating therefore is meant in this place? This is expounded +by our Saviour (John 6.27.) where he saith, "Labour not for the meat +which perisheth, but for that meat which endureth unto everlasting +life, which the Son of man shall give you." So that by eating at Christs +table, is meant the eating of the Tree of Life; that is to say, the +enjoying of Immortality, in the Kingdome of the Son of Man. By which +places, and many more, it is evident, that our Saviours Kingdome is to +bee exercised by him in his humane nature. + + + + +Christs Authority In The Kingdome Of God Subordinate To His Father + +Again, he is to be King then, no otherwise than as subordinate, or +Viceregent of God the Father, as Moses was in the wildernesse; and as +the High Priests were before the reign of Saul; and as the Kings were +after it. For it is one of the Prophecies concerning Christ, that he +should be like (in Office) to Moses; "I will raise them up a Prophet +(saith the Lord, Deut. 18.18.) from amongst their Brethren like unto +thee, and will put my words into his mouth," and this similitude with +Moses, is also apparent in the actions of our Saviour himself, whilest +he was conversant on Earth. For as Moses chose twelve Princes of the +tribes, to govern under him; so did our Saviour choose twelve Apostles, +who shall sit on twelve thrones, and judge the twelve tribes of Israel; +And as Moses authorized Seventy Elders, to receive the Spirit of God, +and to Prophecy to the people, that is, (as I have said before,) to +speak unto them in the name of God; so our Saviour also ordained seventy +Disciples, to preach his Kingdome, and Salvation to all Nations. And as +when a complaint was made to Moses, against those of the Seventy that +prophecyed in the camp of Israel, he justified them in it, as being +subservient therein to his government; so also our Saviour, when St. +John complained to him of a certain man that cast out Devills in his +name, justified him therein, saying, (Luke 9.50.) "Forbid him not, for +hee that is not against us, is on our part." + +Again, our Saviour resembled Moses in the institution of Sacraments, +both of Admission into the Kingdome of God, and of Commemoration of his +deliverance of his Elect from their miserable condition. As the Children +of Israel had for Sacrament of their Reception into the Kingdome of God, +before the time of Moses, the rite of Circumcision, which rite having +been omitted in the Wildernesse, was again restored as soon as they came +into the land of Promise; so also the Jews, before the coming of our +Saviour, had a rite of Baptizing, that is, of washing with water all +those that being Gentiles, embraced the God of Israel. This rite St. +John the Baptist used in the reception of all them that gave their names +to the Christ, whom hee preached to bee already come into the world; and +our Saviour instituted the same for a Sacrament to be taken by all that +beleeved in him. From what cause the rite of Baptisme first proceeded, +is not expressed formally in the Scripture; but it may be probably +thought to be an imitation of the law of Moses, concerning Leprousie; +wherein the Leprous man was commanded to be kept out of the campe of +Israel for a certain time; after which time being judged by the Priest +to be clean, hee was admitted into the campe after a solemne Washing. +And this may therefore bee a type of the Washing in Baptisme; wherein +such men as are cleansed of the Leprousie of Sin by Faith, are received +into the Church with the solemnity of Baptisme. There is another +conjecture drawn from the Ceremonies of the Gentiles, in a certain case +that rarely happens; and that is, when a man that was thought dead, +chanced to recover, other men made scruple to converse with him, as they +would doe to converse with a Ghost, unlesse hee were received again into +the number of men, by Washing, as Children new born were washed from +the uncleannesse of their nativity, which was a kind of new birth. This +ceremony of the Greeks, in the time that Judaea was under the Dominion +of Alexander, and the Greeks his successors, may probably enough have +crept into the Religion of the Jews. But seeing it is not likely our +Saviour would countenance a Heathen rite, it is most likely it proceeded +from the Legall Ceremony of Washing after Leprosie. And for the other +Sacraments, of eating the Paschall Lambe, it is manifestly imitated in +the Sacrament of the Lords Supper; in which the Breaking of the Bread, +and the pouring out of the Wine, do keep in memory our deliverance from +the Misery of Sin, by Christs Passion, as the eating of the Paschall +Lambe, kept in memory the deliverance of the Jewes out of the Bondage of +Egypt. Seeing therefore the authority of Moses was but subordinate, and +hee but a Lieutenant to God; it followeth, that Christ, whose authority, +as man, was to bee like that of Moses, was no more but subordinate to +the authority of his Father. The same is more expressely signified, by +that that hee teacheth us to pray, "Our Father, Let thy Kingdome come;" +and, "For thine is the Kingdome, the power and the Glory;" and by that +it is said, that "Hee shall come in the Glory of his Father;" and by +that which St. Paul saith, (1 Cor. 15.24.) "then commeth the end, when +hee shall have delivered up the Kingdome to God, even the Father;" and +by many other most expresse places. + + + + +One And The Same God Is The Person Represented By Moses, And By Christ + +Our Saviour therefore, both in Teaching, and Reigning, representeth (as +Moses Did) the Person of God; which God from that time forward, but +not before, is called the Father; and being still one and the same +substance, is one Person as represented by Moses, and another Person as +represented by his Sonne the Christ. For Person being a relative to a +Representer, it is consequent to plurality of Representers, that there +bee a plurality of Persons, though of one and the same Substance. + + + +CHAPTER XLII. OF POWER ECCLESIASTICALL + + +For the understanding of POWER ECCLESIASTICALL, what, and in whom it is, +we are to distinguish the time from the Ascension of our Saviour, into +two parts; one before the Conversion of Kings, and men endued with +Soveraign Civill Power; the other after their Conversion. For it was +long after the Ascension, before any King, or Civill Soveraign embraced, +and publiquely allowed the teaching of Christian Religion. + + + + +Of The Holy Spirit That Fel On The Apostles + +And for the time between, it is manifest, that the Power +Ecclesiasticall, was in the Apostles; and after them in such as were by +them ordained to Preach the Gospell, and to convert men to Christianity, +and to direct them that were converted in the way of Salvation; and +after these the Power was delivered again to others by these ordained, +and this was done by Imposition of hands upon such as were ordained; by +which was signified the giving of the Holy Spirit, or Spirit of God, to +those whom they ordained Ministers of God, to advance his Kingdome. +So that Imposition of hands, was nothing else but the Seal of their +Commission to Preach Christ, and teach his Doctrine; and the giving of +the Holy Ghost by that ceremony of Imposition of hands, was an imitation +of that which Moses did. For Moses used the same ceremony to his +Minister Joshua, as wee read Deuteronomy 34. ver. 9. "And Joshua the son +of Nun was full of the Spirit of Wisdome; for Moses had laid his +hands upon him." Our Saviour therefore between his Resurrection, and +Ascension, gave his Spirit to the Apostles; first, by "Breathing on +them, and saying," (John 20.22.) "Receive yee the Holy Spirit;" and after +his Ascension (Acts 2.2, 3.) by sending down upon them, a "mighty wind, +and Cloven tongues of fire;" and not by Imposition of hands; as neither +did God lay his hands on Moses; and his Apostles afterward, transmitted +the same Spirit by Imposition of hands, as Moses did to Joshua. So that +it is manifest hereby, in whom the Power Ecclesiasticall continually +remained, in those first times, where there was not any Christian +Common-wealth; namely, in them that received the same from the Apostles, +by successive laying on of hands. + + + + +Of The Trinity + +Here wee have the Person of God born now the third time. For as Moses, +and the High Priests, were Gods Representative in the Old Testament; +and our Saviour himselfe as Man, during his abode on earth: So the Holy +Ghost, that is to say, the Apostles, and their successors, in the Office +of Preaching, and Teaching, that had received the Holy Spirit, have +Represented him ever since. But a Person, (as I have shewn before, +[chapt. 16.].) is he that is Represented, as often as hee is +Represented; and therefore God, who has been Represented (that is, +Personated) thrice, may properly enough be said to be three Persons; +though neither the word Person, nor Trinity be ascribed to him in the +Bible. St. John indeed (1 Epist. 5.7.) saith, "There be three that bear +witnesse in heaven, the Father, the Word, and the Holy Spirit; and these +Three are One:" But this disagreeth not, but accordeth fitly with three +Persons in the proper signification of Persons; which is, that which is +Represented by another. For so God the Father, as Represented by Moses, +is one Person; and as Represented by his Sonne, another Person, and as +Represented by the Apostles, and by the Doctors that taught by authority +from them derived, is a third Person; and yet every Person here, is +the Person of one and the same God. But a man may here ask, what it was +whereof these three bare witnesse. St. John therefore tells us (verse +11.) that they bear witnesse, that "God hath given us eternall life +in his Son." Again, if it should be asked, wherein that testimony +appeareth, the Answer is easie; for he hath testified the same by the +miracles he wrought, first by Moses; secondly, by his Son himself; and +lastly by his Apostles, that had received the Holy Spirit; all which +in their times Represented the Person of God; and either prophecyed, or +preached Jesus Christ. And as for the Apostles, it was the character +of the Apostleship, in the twelve first and great Apostles, to bear +Witnesse of his Resurrection; as appeareth expressely (Acts 1. ver. +21,22.) where St Peter, when a new Apostle was to be chosen in the place +of Judas Iscariot, useth these words, "Of these men which have companied +with us all the time that the Lord Jesus went in and out amongst us, +beginning at the Baptisme of John, unto that same day that hee was +taken up from us, must one bee ordained to be a Witnesse with us of his +Resurrection:" which words interpret the Bearing of Witnesse, mentioned +by St. John. There is in the same place mentioned another Trinity of +Witnesses in Earth. For (ver. 8.) he saith, "there are three that bear +Witnesse in Earth, the Spirit, and the Water, and the Bloud; and these +three agree in one:" that is to say, the graces of Gods Spirit, and the +two Sacraments, Baptisme, and the Lords Supper, which all agree in one +Testimony, to assure the consciences of beleevers, of eternall life; of +which Testimony he saith (verse 10.) "He that beleeveth on the Son of +man hath the Witnesse in himselfe." In this Trinity on Earth the Unity +is not of the thing; for the Spirit, the Water, and the Bloud, are not +the same substance, though they give the same testimony: But in the +Trinity of Heaven, the Persons are the persons of one and the same God, +though Represented in three different times and occasions. To conclude, +the doctrine of the Trinity, as far as can be gathered directly from +the Scripture, is in substance this; that God who is alwaies One and the +same, was the Person Represented by Moses; the Person Represented by +his Son Incarnate; and the Person Represented by the Apostles. As +Represented by the Apostles, the Holy Spirit by which they spake, is +God; As Represented by his Son (that was God and Man), the Son is that +God; As represented by Moses, and the High Priests, the Father, that is +to say, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, is that God: From whence +we may gather the reason why those names Father, Son, and Holy Spirit in +the signification of the Godhead, are never used in the Old Testament: +For they are Persons, that is, they have their names from Representing; +which could not be, till divers men had Represented Gods Person in +ruling, or in directing under him. + +Thus wee see how the Power Ecclesiasticall was left by our Saviour +to the Apostles; and how they were (to the end they might the better +exercise that Power,) endued with the Holy Spirit, which is therefore +called sometime in the New Testament Paracletus which signifieth an +Assister, or one called to for helpe, though it bee commonly translated +a Comforter. Let us now consider the Power it selfe, what it was, and +over whom. + + + + +The Power Ecclesiasticall Is But The Power To Teach + +Cardinall Bellarmine in his third generall Controversie, hath handled a +great many questions concerning the Ecclesiasticall Power of the Pope +of Rome; and begins with this, Whether it ought to be Monarchicall, +Aristocraticall, or Democraticall. All which sorts of Power, are +Soveraign, and Coercive. If now it should appear, that there is no +Coercive Power left them by our Saviour; but onely a Power to proclaim +the Kingdom of Christ, and to perswade men to submit themselves +thereunto; and by precepts and good counsell, to teach them that have +submitted, what they are to do, that they may be received into the +Kingdom of God when it comes; and that the Apostles, and other Ministers +of the Gospel, are our Schoolemasters, and not our Commanders, and their +Precepts not Laws, but wholesome Counsells then were all that dispute in +vain. + + + + +An Argument Thereof, The Power Of Christ Himself + +I have shewn already (in the last Chapter,) that the Kingdome of Christ +is not of this world: therefore neither can his Ministers (unlesse they +be Kings,) require obedience in his name. For if the Supreme King, have +not his Regall Power in this world; by what authority can obedience be +required to his Officers? As my Father sent me, (so saith our Saviour) +I send you. But our Saviour was sent to perswade the Jews to return to, +and to invite the Gentiles, to receive the Kingdome of his Father, and +not to reign in Majesty, no not, as his Fathers Lieutenant, till the day +of Judgment. + + + + +From The Name Of Regeneration + +The time between the Ascension, and the generall Resurrection, is +called, not a Reigning, but a Regeneration; that is, a Preparation +of men for the second and glorious coming of Christ, at the day of +Judgment; as appeareth by the words of our Saviour, Mat. 19.28. "You +that have followed me in the Regeneration, when the Son of man shall sit +in the throne of his glory, you shall also sit upon twelve Thrones;" And +of St. Paul (Ephes. 6.15.) "Having your feet shod with the Preparation +of the Gospell of Peace." + + + + +From The Comparison Of It, With Fishing, Leaven, Seed + +And is compared by our Saviour, to Fishing; that is, to winning men +to obedience, not by Coercion, and Punishing; but by Perswasion: and +therefore he said not to his Apostles, hee would make them so many +Nimrods, Hunters Of Men; But Fishers Of Men. It is compared also to +Leaven; to Sowing of Seed, and to the Multiplication of a grain of +Mustard-seed; by all which Compulsion is excluded; and consequently +there can in that time be no actual Reigning. The work of Christs +Ministers, is Evangelization; that is, a Proclamation of Christ, and +a preparation for his second comming; as the Evangelization of John +Baptist, was a preparation to his first coming. + + + + +From The Nature Of Faith: + +Again, the Office of Christs Ministers in this world, is to make men +Beleeve, and have Faith in Christ: But Faith hath no relation to, nor +dependence at all upon Compulsion, or Commandement; but onely upon +certainty, or probability of Arguments drawn from Reason, or from +something men beleeve already. Therefore the Ministers of Christ in this +world, have no Power by that title, to Punish any man for not Beleeving, +or for Contradicting what they say; they have I say no Power by that +title of Christs Ministers, to Punish such: but if they have Soveraign +Civill Power, by politick institution, then they may indeed lawfully +Punish any Contradiction to their laws whatsoever: And St. Paul, of +himselfe and other then Preachers of the Gospell saith in expresse +words, (2 Cor. 1.24.) "Wee have no Dominion over your Faith, but are +Helpers of your Joy." + + + + +From The Authority Christ Hath Left To Civill Princes + +Another Argument, that the Ministers of Christ in this present world +have no right of Commanding, may be drawn from the lawfull Authority +which Christ hath left to all Princes, as well Christians, as Infidels. +St. Paul saith (Col. 3.20.) "Children obey your Parents in all things; +for this is well pleasing to the Lord." And ver. 22. "Servants obey in +all things your Masters according to the flesh, not with eye-service, as +men-pleasers, but in singlenesse of heart, as fearing the Lord;" This is +spoken to them whose Masters were Infidells; and yet they are bidden +to obey them In All Things. And again, concerning obedience to Princes. +(Rom. 13. the first 6. verses) exhorting to "be subject to the Higher +Powers," he saith, "that all Power is ordained of God;" and "that we +ought to be subject to them, not onely for" fear of incurring their +"wrath, but also for conscience sake." And St. Peter, (1 Epist. chap. 2e +ver. 13, 14, 15.) "Submit your selves to every Ordinance of Man, for the +Lords sake, whether it bee to the King, as Supreme, or unto Governours, +as to them that be sent by him for the punishment of evill doers, and +for the praise of them that doe well; for so is the will of God." +And again St. Paul (Tit. 3.1.) "Put men in mind to be subject to +Principalities, and Powers, and to obey Magistrates." These Princes, and +Powers, whereof St. Peter, and St. Paul here speak, were all Infidels; +much more therefore we are to obey those Christians, whom God hath +ordained to have Soveraign Power over us. How then can wee be obliged +to doe any thing contrary to the Command of the King, or other Soveraign +Representant of the Common-wealth, whereof we are members, and by whom +we look to be protected? It is therefore manifest, that Christ hath not +left to his Ministers in this world, unlesse they be also endued with +Civill Authority, any authority to Command other men. + + + + +What Christians May Do To Avoid Persecution + +But what (may some object) if a King, or a Senate, or other Soveraign +Person forbid us to beleeve in Christ? To this I answer, that such +forbidding is of no effect, because Beleef, and Unbeleef never follow +mens Commands. Faith is a gift of God, which Man can neither give, nor +take away by promise of rewards, or menaces of torture. And if it be +further asked, What if wee bee commanded by our lawfull Prince, to say +with our tongue, wee beleeve not; must we obey such command? Profession +with the tongue is but an externall thing, and no more then any other +gesture whereby we signifie our obedience; and wherein a Christian, +holding firmely in his heart the Faith of Christ, hath the same liberty +which the Prophet Elisha allowed to Naaman the Syrian. Naaman was +converted in his heart to the God of Israel; For hee saith (2 Kings +5.17.) "Thy servant will henceforth offer neither burnt offering, nor +sacrifice unto other Gods but unto the Lord. In this thing the Lord +pardon thy servant, that when my Master goeth into the house of Rimmon +to worship there, and he leaneth on my hand, and I bow my selfe in the +house of Rimmon; when I bow my selfe in the house of Rimmon, the Lord +pardon thy servant in this thing." This the Prophet approved, and bid +him "Goe in peace." Here Naaman beleeved in his heart; but by bowing +before the Idol Rimmon, he denyed the true God in effect, as much as +if he had done it with his lips. But then what shall we answer to our +Saviours saying, "Whosoever denyeth me before men, I will deny him +before my Father which is in Heaven?" This we may say, that whatsoever +a Subject, as Naaman was, is compelled to in obedience to his Soveraign, +and doth it not in order to his own mind, but in order to the laws of +his country, that action is not his, but his Soveraigns; nor is it he +that in this case denyeth Christ before men, but his Governour, and the +law of his countrey. If any man shall accuse this doctrine, as repugnant +to true, and unfeigned Christianity; I ask him, in case there should be +a subject in any Christian Common-wealth, that should be inwardly in his +heart of the Mahometan Religion, whether if his Soveraign Command him to +bee present at the divine service of the Christian Church, and that on +pain of death, he think that Mamometan obliged in conscience to suffer +death for that cause, rather than to obey that command of his lawful +Prince. If he say, he ought rather to suffer death, then he authorizeth +all private men, to disobey their Princes, in maintenance of their +Religion, true, or false; if he say, he ought to bee obedient, then he +alloweth to himself, that which hee denyeth to another, contrary to the +words of our Saviour, "Whatsoever you would that men should doe unto +you, that doe yee unto them;" and contrary to the Law of Nature, (which +is the indubitable everlasting Law of God) "Do not to another, that +which thou wouldest not he should doe unto thee." + + + + +Of Martyrs + +But what then shall we say of all those Martyrs we read of in the +History of the Church, that they have needlessely cast away their lives? +For answer hereunto, we are to distinguish the persons that have been +for that cause put to death; whereof some have received a Calling to +preach, and professe the Kingdome of Christ openly; others have had no +such Calling, nor more has been required of them than their owne faith. +The former sort, if they have been put to death, for bearing witnesse to +this point, that Jesus Christ is risen from the dead, were true Martyrs; +For a Martyr is, (to give the true definition of the word) a Witnesse of +the Resurrection of Jesus the Messiah; which none can be but those +that conversed with him on earth, and saw him after he was risen: For a +Witnesse must have seen what he testifieth, or else his testimony is not +good. And that none but such, can properly be called Martyrs of Christ, +is manifest out of the words of St. Peter, Act. 1.21, 22. "Wherefore of +these men which have companyed with us all the time that the Lord Jesus +went in and out amongst us, beginning from the Baptisme of John unto +that same day hee was taken up from us, must one be ordained to be a +Martyr (that is a Witnesse) with us of his Resurrection:" Where we +may observe, that he which is to bee a Witnesse of the truth of +the Resurrection of Christ, that is to say, of the truth of this +fundamentall article of Christian Religion, that Jesus was the Christ, +must be some Disciple that conversed with him, and saw him before, and +after his Resurrection; and consequently must be one of his originall +Disciples: whereas they which were not so, can Witnesse no more, but +that their antecessors said it, and are therefore but Witnesses of +other mens testimony; and are but second Martyrs, or Martyrs of Christs +Witnesses. + +He, that to maintain every doctrine which he himself draweth out of +the History of our Saviours life, and of the Acts, or Epistles of the +Apostles; or which he beleeveth upon the authority of a private man, +wil oppose the Laws and Authority of the Civill State, is very far from +being a Martyr of Christ, or a Martyr of his Martyrs. ’Tis one Article +onely, which to die for, meriteth so honorable a name; and that Article +is this, that Jesus Is The Christ; that is to say, He that hath redeemed +us, and shall come again to give us salvation, and eternall life in his +glorious Kingdome. To die for every tenet that serveth the ambition, +or profit of the Clergy, is not required; nor is it the Death of the +Witnesse, but the Testimony it self that makes the Martyr: for the word +signifieth nothing else, but the man that beareth Witnesse, whether he +be put to death for his testimony, or not. + +Also he that is not sent to preach this fundamentall article, but taketh +it upon him of his private authority, though he be a Witnesse, and +consequently a Martyr, either primary of Christ, or secondary of his +Apostles, Disciples, or their Successors; yet is he not obliged to +suffer death for that cause; because being not called thereto, tis +not required at his hands; nor ought hee to complain, if he loseth +the reward he expecteth from those that never set him on work. None +therefore can be a Martyr, neither of the first, nor second degree, that +have not a warrant to preach Christ come in the flesh; that is to say, +none, but such as are sent to the conversion of Infidels. For no man +is a Witnesse to him that already beleeveth, and therefore needs no +Witnesse; but to them that deny, or doubt, or have not heard it. Christ +sent his Apostles, and his Seventy Disciples, with authority to preach; +he sent not all that beleeved: And he sent them to unbeleevers; "I send +you (saith he) as sheep amongst wolves;" not as sheep to other sheep. + + + + +Argument From The Points Of Their Commission + +Lastly the points of their Commission, as they are expressely set down +in the Gospel, contain none of them any authority over the Congregation. + + + + +To Preach + +We have first (Mat. 10.) that the twelve Apostles were sent "to the +lost sheep of the house of Israel," and commanded to Preach, "that the +Kingdome of God was at hand." Now Preaching in the originall, is that +act, which a Crier, Herald, or other Officer useth to doe publiquely in +Proclaiming of a King. But a Crier hath not right to Command any man. +And (Luke 10.2.) the seventy Disciples are sent out, "as Labourers, +not as Lords of the Harvest;" and are bidden (verse 9.) to say, "The +Kingdome of God is come nigh unto you;" and by Kingdome here is meant, +not the Kingdome of Grace, but the Kingdome of Glory; for they are +bidden to denounce it (ver. 11.) to those Cities which shall not receive +them, as a threatning, that it shall be more tolerable in that day for +Sodome, than for such a City. And (Mat. 20.28.) our Saviour telleth his +Disciples, that sought Priority of place, their Office was to minister, +even as the Son of man came, not to be ministred unto, but to minister. +Preachers therefore have not Magisteriall, but Ministeriall power: "Bee +not called Masters, (saith our Saviour, Mat. 23.10) for one is your +Master, even Christ." + + + + +And Teach + +Another point of their Commission, is, to Teach All Nations; as it is in +Mat. 28.19. or as in St. Mark 16.15 "Goe into all the world, and Preach +the Gospel to every creature." Teaching therefore, and Preaching is the +same thing. For they that Proclaim the comming of a King, must withall +make known by what right he commeth, if they mean men shall submit +themselves unto him: As St. Paul did to the Jews of Thessalonica, +when "three Sabbath days he reasoned with them out of the Scriptures, +opening, and alledging that Christ must needs have suffered, and risen +again from the dead, and that this Jesus is Christ." But to teach out +of the Old Testament that Jesus was Christ, (that is to say, King,) +and risen from the dead, is not to say, that men are bound after they +beleeve it, to obey those that tell them so, against the laws, and +commands of their Soveraigns; but that they shall doe wisely, to expect +the coming of Christ hereafter, in Patience, and Faith, with Obedience +to their present Magistrates. + + + + +To Baptize; + +Another point of their Commission, is to Baptize, "in the name of +the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost." What is Baptisme? +Dipping into water. But what is it to Dip a man into the water in the +name of any thing? The meaning of these words of Baptisme is this. He +that is Baptized, is Dipped or Washed, as a sign of becomming a new man, +and a loyall subject to that God, whose Person was represented in old +time by Moses, and the High Priests, when he reigned over the Jews; and +to Jesus Christ, his Sonne, God, and Man, that hath redeemed us, and +shall in his humane nature Represent his Fathers Person in his eternall +Kingdome after the Resurrection; and to acknowledge the Doctrine of the +Apostles, who assisted by the Spirit of the Father, and of the Son, were +left for guides to bring us into that Kingdome, to be the onely, and +assured way thereunto. This, being our promise in Baptisme; and the +Authority of Earthly Soveraigns being not to be put down till the day of +Judgment; (for that is expressely affirmed by S. Paul 1 Cor. 15. 22, 23, +24. where he saith, "As in Adam all die, so in Christ all shall be +made alive. But every man in his owne order, Christ the first fruits, +afterward they that are Christs, at his comming; Then Commeth the end, +when he shall have delivered up the Kingdome of God, even the Father, +when he shall have put down all Rule, and all Authority and Power") +it is manifest, that we do not in Baptisme constitute over us another +authority, by which our externall actions are to be governed in this +life; but promise to take the doctrine of the Apostles for our direction +in the way to life eternall. + + + + +And To Forgive, And Retain Sinnes + +The Power of Remission, And Retention Of Sinnes, called also the Power +of Loosing, and Binding, and sometimes the Keyes Of The Kingdome Of +Heaven, is a consequence of the Authority to Baptize, or refuse to +Baptize. For Baptisme is the Sacrament of Allegeance, of them that are +to be received into the Kingdome of God; that is to say, into Eternall +life; that is to say, to Remission of Sin: For as Eternall life was lost +by the Committing, so it is recovered by the Remitting of mens Sins. The +end of Baptisme is Remission of Sins: and therefore St. Peter, when they +that were converted by his Sermon on the day of Pentecost, asked what +they were to doe, advised them to "repent, and be Baptized in the name +of Jesus, for the Remission of Sins." And therefore seeing to Baptize +is to declare the Reception of men into Gods Kingdome; and to refuse to +Baptize is to declare their Exclusion; it followeth, that the Power +to declare them Cast out, or Retained in it, was given to the same +Apostles, and their Substitutes, and Successors. And therefore after our +Saviour had breathed upon them, saying, (John 20.22.) "Receive the Holy +Ghost," hee addeth in the next verse, "Whose soever Sins ye Remit, +they are Remitted unto them; and whose soever Sins ye Retain, they are +Retained." By which words, is not granted an Authority to Forgive, or +Retain Sins, simply and absolutely, as God Forgiveth or Retaineth them, +who knoweth the Heart of man, and truth of his Penitence and Conversion; +but conditionally, to the Penitent: And this Forgivenesse, or +Absolution, in case the absolved have but a feigned Repentance, is +thereby without other act, or sentence of the Absolvent, made void, +and hath no effect at all to Salvation, but on the contrary, to the +Aggravation of his Sin. Therefore the Apostles, and their Successors, +are to follow but the outward marks of Repentance; which appearing, they +have no Authority to deny Absolution; and if they appeare not, they have +no authority to Absolve. The same also is to be observed in Baptisme: +for to a converted Jew, or Gentile, the Apostles had not the Power to +deny Baptisme; nor to grant it to the Un-penitent. But seeing no man is +able to discern the truth of another mans Repentance, further than by +externall marks, taken from his words, and actions, which are subject to +hypocrisie; another question will arise, Who it is that is constituted +Judge of those marks. And this question is decided by our Saviour +himself; (Mat. 18. 15, 16, 17.) "If thy Brother (saith he) shall +trespasse against thee, go and tell him his fault between thee, and him +alone; if he shall hear thee, thou hast gained thy Brother. But if he +will not hear thee, then take with thee one, or two more. And if he +shall neglect to hear them, tell it unto the Church, let him be unto +thee as an Heathen man, and a Publican." By which it is manifest, that +the Judgment concerning the truth of Repentance, belonged not to any one +Man, but to the Church, that is, to the Assembly of the Faithfull, or +to them that have authority to bee their Representant. But besides the +Judgment, there is necessary also the pronouncing of Sentence: And +this belonged alwaies to the Apostle, or some Pastor of the Church, +as Prolocutor; and of this our Saviour speaketh in the 18 verse, +"Whatsoever ye shall bind on earth, shall be bound in heaven; and +whatsoever ye shall loose on earth, shall be loosed in heaven." And +comformable hereunto was the practise of St. Paul (1 Cor. 5.3, 4, & 5.) +where he saith, "For I verily, as absent in body, but present in spirit, +have determined already, as though I were present, concerning him that +hath so done this deed; In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ when ye +are gathered together, and my spirit, with the power of our Lord Jesus +Christ, To deliver such a one to Satan;" that is to say, to cast him +out of the Church, as a man whose Sins are not Forgiven. Paul here +pronounceth the Sentence; but the Assembly was first to hear the Cause, +(for St. Paul was absent;) and by consequence to condemn him. But in +the same chapter (ver. 11, 12.) the Judgment in such a case is more +expressely attributed to the Assembly: "But now I have written unto +you, not to keep company, if any man that is called a Brother be a +Fornicator, &c. with such a one no not to eat. For what have I to do to +judg them that are without? Do not ye judg them that are within?" +The Sentence therefore by which a man was put out of the Church, was +pronounced by the Apostle, or Pastor; but the Judgment concerning the +merit of the cause, was in the Church; that is to say, (as the times +were before the conversion of Kings, and men that had Soveraign +Authority in the Common-wealth,) the Assembly of the Christians dwelling +in the same City; as in Corinth, in the Assembly of the Christians of +Corinth. + + + + +Of Excommunication + +This part of the Power of the Keyes, by which men were thrust out from +the Kingdome of God, is that which is called Excommunication; and to +excommunicate, is in the Originall, Aposunagogon Poiein, To Cast Out Of +The Synagogue; that is, out of the place of Divine service; a word drawn +from the custom of the Jews, to cast out of their Synagogues, such as +they thought in manners, or doctrine, contagious, as Lepers were by the +Law of Moses separated from the congregation of Israel, till such time +as they should be by the Priest pronounced clean. + + + + +The Use Of Excommunication Without Civill Power. + +The Use and Effect of Excommunication, whilest it was not yet +strengthened with the Civill Power, was no more, than that they, who +were not Excommunicate, were to avoid the company of them that were. +It was not enough to repute them as Heathen, that never had been +Christians; for with such they might eate, and drink; which with +Excommunicate persons they might not do; as appeareth by the words of +St. Paul, (1 Cor. 5. ver. 9, 10, &c.) where he telleth them, he had +formerly forbidden them to "company with Fornicators;" but (because that +could not bee without going out of the world,) he restraineth it to such +Fornicators, and otherwise vicious persons, as were of the brethren; +"with such a one" (he saith) they ought not to keep company, "no, not to +eat." And this is no more than our Saviour saith (Mat. 18.17.) "Let +him be to thee as a Heathen, and as a Publican." For Publicans (which +signifieth Farmers, and Receivers of the revenue of the Common-wealth) +were so hated, and detested by the Jews that were to pay for it, as +that Publican and Sinner were taken amongst them for the same thing: +Insomuch, as when our Saviour accepted the invitation of Zacchaeus a +Publican; though it were to Convert him, yet it was objected to him as +a Crime. And therefore, when our Saviour, to Heathen, added Publican, he +did forbid them to eat with a man Excommunicate. + +As for keeping them out of their Synagogues, or places of Assembly, they +had no Power to do it, but that of the owner of the place, whether he +were Christian, or Heathen. And because all places are by right, in the +Dominion of the Common-wealth; as well hee that was Excommunicated, as +hee that never was Baptized, might enter into them by Commission from +the Civill Magistrate; as Paul before his conversion entred into their +Synagogues at Damascus, (Acts 9.2.) to apprehend Christians, men and +women, and to carry them bound to Jerusalem, by Commission from the High +Priest. + + + + +Of No Effect Upon An Apostate + +By which it appears, that upon a Christian, that should become an +Apostate, in a place where the Civill Power did persecute, or not assist +the Church, the effect of Excommunication had nothing in it, neither of +dammage in this world, nor of terrour: Not of terrour, because of their +unbeleef; nor of dammage, because they returned thereby into the favour +of the world; and in the world to come, were to be in no worse estate, +then they which never had beleeved. The dammage redounded rather to the +Church, by provocation of them they cast out, to a freer execution of +their malice. + + + + +But Upon The Faithfull Only + +Excommunication therefore had its effect onely upon those, that beleeved +that Jesus Christ was to come again in Glory, to reign over, and to +judge both the quick, and the dead, and should therefore refuse entrance +into his Kingdom, to those whose Sins were Retained; that is, to those +that were Excommunicated by the Church. And thence it is that St. Paul +calleth Excommunication, a delivery of the Excommunicate person to +Satan. For without the Kingdom of Christ, all other Kingdomes after +Judgment, are comprehended in the Kingdome of Satan. This is it that the +faithfull stood in fear of, as long as they stood Excommunicate, that is +to say, in an estate wherein their sins were not Forgiven. Whereby wee +may understand, that Excommunication in the time that Christian Religion +was not authorized by the Civill Power, was used onely for a correction +of manners, not of errours in opinion: for it is a punishment, whereof +none could be sensible but such as beleeved, and expected the coming +again of our Saviour to judge the world; and they who so beleeved, +needed no other opinion, but onely uprightnesse of life, to be saved. + + + + +For What Fault Lyeth Excommunication + +There Lyeth Excommunication for Injustice; as (Mat. 18.) If thy Brother +offend thee, tell it him privately; then with Witnesses; lastly, tell +the Church; and then if he obey not, "Let him be to thee as an Heathen +man, and a Publican." And there lyeth Excommunication for a Scandalous +Life, as (1 Cor. 5. 11.) "If any man that is called a Brother, be +a Fornicator, or Covetous, or an Idolater, or a Drunkard, or an +Extortioner, with such a one yee are not to eat." But to Excommunicate a +man that held this foundation, that Jesus Was The Christ, for difference +of opinion in other points, by which that Foundation was not destroyed, +there appeareth no authority in the Scripture, nor example in the +Apostles. There is indeed in St. Paul (Titus 3.10.) a text that seemeth +to be to the contrary. "A man that is an Haeretique, after the first +and second admonition, reject." For an Haeretique, is he, that being a +member of the Church, teacheth neverthelesse some private opinion, which +the Church has forbidden: and such a one, S. Paul adviseth Titus, after +the first, and second admonition, to Reject. But to Reject (in this +place) is not to Excommunicate the Man; But to Give Over Admonishing +Him, To Let Him Alone, To Set By Disputing With Him, as one that is to +be convinced onely by himselfe. The same Apostle saith (2 Tim. 2.23.) +"Foolish and unlearned questions avoid;" The word Avoid in this place, +and Reject in the former, is the same in the Originall, paraitou: but +Foolish questions may bee set by without Excommunication. And again, +(Tit. 3.93) "Avoid Foolish questions," where the Originall, periistaso, +(set them by) is equivalent to the former word Reject. There is no +other place that can so much as colourably be drawn, to countenance +the Casting out of the Church faithfull men, such as beleeved the +foundation, onely for a singular superstructure of their own, proceeding +perhaps from a good & pious conscience. But on the contrary, all such +places as command avoiding such disputes, are written for a Lesson to +Pastors, (such as Timothy and Titus were) not to make new Articles of +Faith, by determining every small controversie, which oblige men to a +needlesse burthen of Conscience, or provoke them to break the union of +the Church. Which Lesson the Apostles themselves observed well. S. Peter +and S. Paul, though their controversie were great, (as we may read +in Gal. 2.11.) yet they did not cast one another out of the Church. +Neverthelesse, during the Apostles time, there were other Pastors that +observed it not; As Diotrephes (3 John 9. &c.) who cast out of the +Church, such as S. John himself thought fit to be received into it, out +of a pride he took in Praeeminence; so early it was, that Vainglory, and +Ambition had found entrance into the Church of Christ. + + + + +Of Persons Liable To Excommunication + +That a man be liable to Excommunication, there be many conditions +requisite; as First, that he be a member of some Commonalty, that is to +say, of some lawfull Assembly, that is to say, of some Christian +Church, that hath power to judge of the cause for which hee is to +bee Excommunicated. For where there is no community, there can bee no +Excommunication; nor where there is no power to Judge, can there bee any +power to give Sentence. From hence it followeth, that one Church cannot +be Excommunicated by another: For either they have equall power +to Excommunicate each other, in which case Excommunication is not +Discipline, nor an act of Authority, but Schisme, and Dissolution of +charity; or one is so subordinate to the other, as that they both +have but one voice, and then they be but one Church; and the part +Excommunicated, is no more a Church, but a dissolute number of +individuall persons. + +And because the sentence of Excommunication, importeth an advice, not to +keep company, nor so much as to eat with him that is Excommunicate, if +a Soveraign Prince, or Assembly bee Excommunicate, the sentence is of no +effect. For all Subjects are bound to be in the company and presence of +their own Soveraign (when he requireth it) by the law of Nature; nor +can they lawfully either expell him from any place of his own Dominion, +whether profane or holy; nor go out of his Dominion, without his leave; +much lesse (if he call them to that honour,) refuse to eat with him. And +as to other Princes and States, because they are not parts of one and +the same congregation, they need not any other sentence to keep +them from keeping company with the State Excommunicate: for the +very Institution, as it uniteth many men into one Community; so it +dissociateth one Community from another: so that Excommunication is +not needfull for keeping Kings and States asunder; nor has any further +effect then is in the nature of Policy it selfe; unlesse it be to +instigate Princes to warre upon one another. + +Nor is the Excommunication of a Christian Subject, that obeyeth the laws +of his own Soveraign, whether Christian, or Heathen, of any effect. For +if he beleeve that "Jesus is the Christ, he hath the Spirit of God" (1 +Joh. 4.1.) "and God dwelleth in him, and he in God," (1 Joh. 4.15.) But +hee that hath the Spirit of God; hee that dwelleth in God; hee in +whom God dwelleth, can receive no harm by the Excommunication of men. +Therefore, he that beleeveth Jesus to be the Christ, is free from all +the dangers threatned to persons Excommunicate. He that beleeveth it +not, is no Christian. Therefore a true and unfeigned Christian is not +liable to Excommunication; Nor he also that is a professed Christian, +till his Hypocrisy appear in his Manners, that is, till his behaviour +bee contrary to the law of his Soveraign, which is the rule of Manners, +and which Christ and his Apostles have commanded us to be subject to. +For the Church cannot judge of Manners but by externall Actions, which +Actions can never bee unlawfull, but when they are against the Law of +the Common-wealth. + +If a mans Father, or Mother, or Master bee Excommunicate, yet are not +the Children forbidden to keep them Company, nor to Eat with them; for +that were (for the most part) to oblige them not to eat at all, for want +of means to get food; and to authorise them to disobey their Parents, +and Masters, contrary to the Precept of the Apostles. + +In summe, the Power of Excommunication cannot be extended further than +to the end for which the Apostles and Pastors of the Church have +their Commission from our Saviour; which is not to rule by Command and +Coaction, but by Teaching and Direction of men in the way of Salvation +in the world to come. And as a Master in any Science, may abandon his +Scholar, when hee obstinately neglecteth the practise of his rules; but +not accuse him of Injustice, because he was never bound to obey him: +so a Teacher of Christian doctrine may abandon his Disciples that +obstinately continue in an unchristian life; but he cannot say, they doe +him wrong, because they are not obliged to obey him: For to a Teacher +that shall so complain, may be applyed the Answer of God to Samuel in +the like place, (1 Sam. 8.) "They have not rejected thee, but mee." +Excommunication therefore when it wanteth the assistance of the Civill +Power, as it doth, when a Christian State, or Prince is Excommunicate +by a forain Authority, is without effect; and consequently ought to +be without terrour. The name of Fulmen Excommunicationis (that is, the +Thunderbolt Of Excommunication) proceeded from an imagination of the +Bishop of Rome, which first used it, that he was King of Kings, as the +Heathen made Jupiter King of the Gods; and assigned him in their Poems, +and Pictures, a Thunderbolt, wherewith to subdue, and punish the Giants, +that should dare to deny his power: Which imagination was grounded on +two errours; one, that the Kingdome of Christ is of this world, contrary +to our Saviours owne words, "My Kingdome is not of this world;" the +other, that hee is Christs Vicar, not onely over his owne Subjects, +but over all the Christians of the World; whereof there is no ground in +Scripture, and the contrary shall bee proved in its due place. + + + + +Of The Interpreter Of The Scriptures Before Civill Soveraigns Became +Christians + +St. Paul coming to Thessalonica, where was a Synagogue of the Jews, +(Acts 17.2, 3.) "As his manner was, went in unto them, and three Sabbath +dayes reasoned with them out of the Scriptures, Opening and alledging, +that Christ must needs have suffered and risen again from the dead; and +that this Jesus whom he preached was the Christ." The Scriptures here +mentioned were the Scriptures of the Jews, that is, the Old Testament. +The men, to whom he was to prove that Jesus was the Christ, and risen +again from the dead, were also Jews, and did beleeve already, that +they were the Word of God. Hereupon (as it is verse 4.) some of them +beleeved, and (as it is in the 5. ver.) some beleeved not. What was +the reason, when they all beleeved the Scripture, that they did not +all beleeve alike; but that some approved, others disapproved the +Interpretation of St. Paul that cited them; and every one Interpreted +them to himself? It was this; S. Paul came to them without any Legall +Commission, and in the manner of one that would not Command, but +Perswade; which he must needs do, either by Miracles, as Moses did +to the Israelites in Egypt, that they might see his Authority in Gods +works; or by Reasoning from the already received Scripture, that +they might see the truth of his doctrine in Gods Word. But whosoever +perswadeth by reasoning from principles written, maketh him to whom hee +speaketh Judge, both of the meaning of those principles, and also of the +force of his inferences upon them. If these Jews of Thessalonica were +not, who else was the Judge of what S. Paul alledged out of Scripture? +If S. Paul, what needed he to quote any places to prove his doctrine? It +had been enough to have said, I find it so in Scripture, that is to +say, in your Laws, of which I am Interpreter, as sent by Christ. The +Interpreter therefore of the Scripture, to whose Interpretation the +Jews of Thessalonica were bound to stand, could be none: every one might +beleeve, or not beleeve, according as the Allegations seemed to himselfe +to be agreeable, or not agreeable to the meaning of the places alledged. +And generally in all cases of the world, hee that pretendeth any proofe, +maketh Judge of his proofe him to whom he addresseth his speech. And as +to the case of the Jews in particular, they were bound by expresse words +(Deut. 17.) to receive the determination of all hard questions, from +the Priests and Judges of Israel for the time being. But this is to bee +understood of the Jews that were yet unconverted. + +For the Conversion of the Gentiles, there was no use of alledging the +Scriptures, which they beleeved not. The Apostles therefore laboured by +Reason to confute their Idolatry; and that done, to perswade them to the +faith of Christ, by their testimony of his Life, and Resurrection. So +that there could not yet bee any controversie concerning the authority +to Interpret Scripture; seeing no man was obliged during his infidelity, +to follow any mans Interpretation of any Scripture, except his +Soveraigns Interpretation of the Laws of his countrey. + +Let us now consider the Conversion it self, and see what there was +therein, that could be cause of such an obligation. Men were converted +to no other thing then to the Beleef of that which the Apostles +preached: And the Apostles preached nothing, but that Jesus was the +Christ, that is to say, the King that was to save them, and reign over +them eternally in the world to come; and consequently that hee was not +dead, but risen again from the dead, and gone up into Heaven, and should +come again one day to judg the world, (which also should rise again to +be judged,) and reward every man according to his works. None of them +preached that himselfe, or any other Apostle was such an Interpreter +of the Scripture, as all that became Christians, ought to take their +Interpretation for Law. For to Interpret the Laws, is part of the +Administration of a present Kingdome; which the Apostles had not. They +prayed then, and all other Pastors ever since, "Let thy Kingdome come;" +and exhorted their Converts to obey their then Ethnique Princes. The New +Testament was not yet published in one Body. Every of the Evangelists +was Interpreter of his own Gospel; and every Apostle of his own Epistle; +And of the Old Testament, our Saviour himselfe saith to the Jews (John +5. 39.) "Search the Scriptures; for in them yee thinke to have eternall +life, and they are they that testifie of me." If hee had not meant they +should Interpret them, hee would not have bidden them take thence the +proof of his being the Christ; he would either have Interpreted them +himselfe, or referred them to the Interpretation of the Priests. + +When a difficulty arose, the Apostles and Elders of the Church assembled +themselves together, and determined what should bee preached, and +taught, and how they should Interpret the Scriptures to the People; +but took not from the People the liberty to read, and Interpret them to +themselves. The Apostles sent divers Letters to the Churches, and other +Writings for their instruction; which had been in vain, if they had not +allowed them to Interpret, that is, to consider the meaning of them. +And as it was in the Apostles time, it must be till such time as +there should be Pastors, that could authorise an Interpreter, whose +Interpretation should generally be stood to: But that could not be till +Kings were Pastors, or Pastors Kings. + + + + +Of The Power To Make Scripture Law + +There be two senses, wherein a Writing may be said to be Canonicall; +for Canon, signifieth a Rule; and a Rule is a Precept, by which a man +is guided, and directed in any action whatsoever. Such Precepts, though +given by a Teacher to his Disciple, or a Counsellor to his friend, +without power to Compell him to observe them, are neverthelesse Canons; +because they are Rules: But when they are given by one, whom he that +receiveth them is bound to obey, then are those Canons, not onely Rules, +but Laws: The question therefore here, is of the Power to make the +Scriptures (which are the Rules of Christian Faith) Laws. + + + + +Of The Ten Commandements + +That part of the Scripture, which was first Law, was the Ten +Commandements, written in two Tables of Stone, and delivered by God +himselfe to Moses; and by Moses made known to the people. Before that +time there was no written Law of God, who as yet having not chosen any +people to bee his peculiar Kingdome, had given no Law to men, but the +Law of Nature, that is to say, the Precepts of Naturall Reason, written +in every mans own heart. Of these two Tables, the first containeth the +law of Soveraignty; 1. That they should not obey, nor honour the Gods of +other Nations, in these words, "Non habebis Deos alienos coram me," that +is, "Thou shalt not have for Gods, the Gods that other Nations worship; +but onely me:" whereby they were forbidden to obey, or honor, as their +King and Governour, any other God, than him that spake unto them then by +Moses, and afterwards by the High Priest. 2. That they "should not make +any Image to represent him;" that is to say, they were not to choose to +themselves, neither in heaven, nor in earth, any Representative of their +own fancying, but obey Moses and Aaron, whom he had appointed to that +office. 3. That "they should not take the Name of God in vain;" that is, +they should not speak rashly of their King, nor dispute his Right, +nor the commissions of Moses and Aaron, his Lieutenants. 4. That "they +should every Seventh day abstain from their ordinary labour," and employ +that time in doing him Publique Honor. The second Table containeth the +Duty of one man towards another, as "To honor Parents; Not to kill; +Not to Commit Adultery; Not to steale; Not to corrupt Judgment by false +witnesse;" and finally, "Not so much as to designe in their heart the +doing of any injury one to another." The question now is, Who it was +that gave to these written Tables the obligatory force of Lawes. There +is no doubt but that they were made Laws by God himselfe: But because a +Law obliges not, nor is Law to any, but to them that acknowledge it to +be the act of the Soveraign, how could the people of Israel that were +forbidden to approach the Mountain to hear what God said to Moses, be +obliged to obedience to all those laws which Moses propounded to them? +Some of them were indeed the Laws of Nature, as all the Second Table; +and therefore to be acknowledged for Gods Laws; not to the Israelites +alone, but to all people: But of those that were peculiar to the +Israelites, as those of the first Table, the question remains; saving +that they had obliged themselves, presently after the propounding of +them, to obey Moses, in these words (Exod. 20.19.) "Speak them thou to +us, and we will hear thee; but let not God speak to us, lest we die." It +was therefore onely Moses then, and after him the High Priest, whom (by +Moses) God declared should administer this his peculiar Kingdome, that +had on Earth, the power to make this short Scripture of the Decalogue +to bee Law in the Common-wealth of Israel. But Moses, and Aaron, and the +succeeding High Priests were the Civill Soveraigns. Therefore hitherto, +the Canonizing, or making of the Scripture Law, belonged to the Civill +Soveraigne. + + + + +Of The Judicial, And Leviticall Law + +The Judiciall Law, that is to say, the Laws that God prescribed to the +Magistrates of Israel, for the rule of their administration of Justice, +and of the Sentences, or Judgments they should pronounce, in Pleas +between man and man; and the Leviticall Law, that is to say, the rule +that God prescribed touching the Rites and Ceremonies of the Priests and +Levites, were all delivered to them by Moses onely; and therefore also +became Lawes, by vertue of the same promise of obedience to Moses. +Whether these laws were then written, or not written, but dictated to +the People by Moses (after his forty dayes being with God in the Mount) +by word of mouth, is not expressed in the Text; but they were all +positive Laws, and equivalent to holy Scripture, and made Canonicall by +Moses the Civill Soveraign. + + + + +The Second Law + +After the Israelites were come into the Plains of Moab over against +Jericho, and ready to enter into the land of Promise, Moses to the +former Laws added divers others; which therefore are called Deuteronomy: +that is, Second Laws. And are (as it is written, Deut. 29.1.) "The words +of a Covenant which the Lord commanded Moses to make with the Children +of Israel, besides the Covenant which he made with them in Horeb." For +having explained those former Laws, in the beginning of the Book of +Deuteronomy, he addeth others, that begin at the 12. Cha. and continue +to the end of the 26. of the same Book. This Law (Deut. 27.1.) they were +commanded to write upon great stones playstered over, at their passing +over Jordan: This Law also was written by Moses himself in a Book; and +delivered into the hands of the "Priests, and to the Elders of Israel," +(Deut. 31.9.) and commanded (ve. 26.) "to be put in the side of the +Arke;" for in the Ark it selfe was nothing but the Ten Commandements. +This was the Law, which Moses (Deuteronomy 17.18.) commanded the Kings +of Israel should keep a copie of: And this is the Law, which having been +long time lost, was found again in the Temple in the time of Josiah, +and by his authority received for the Law of God. But both Moses at the +writing, and Josiah at the recovery thereof, had both of them the +Civill Soveraignty. Hitherto therefore the Power of making Scripture +Canonicall, was in the Civill Soveraign. + +Besides this Book of the Law, there was no other Book, from the time of +Moses, till after the Captivity, received amongst the Jews for the +Law of God. For the Prophets (except a few) lived in the time of the +Captivity it selfe; and the rest lived but a little before it; and were +so far from having their Prophecies generally received for Laws, as that +their persons were persecuted, partly by false Prophets, and partly by +the Kings which were seduced by them. And this Book it self, which was +confirmed by Josiah for the Law of God, and with it all the History of +the Works of God, was lost in the Captivity, and sack of the City of +Jerusalem, as appears by that of 2 Esdras 14.21. "Thy Law is burnt; +therefor no man knoweth the things that are done of thee, of the works +that shall begin." And before the Captivity, between the time when the +Law was lost, (which is not mentioned in the Scripture, but may probably +be thought to be the time of Rehoboam, when Shishak King of Egypt took +the spoils of the Temple,(1 Kings 14.26.)) and the time of Josiah, +when it was found againe, they had no written Word of God, but ruled +according to their own discretion, or by the direction of such, as each +of them esteemed Prophets. + + + + +The Old Testament, When Made Canonicall + +From whence we may inferre, that the Scriptures of the Old Testament, +which we have at this day, were not Canonicall, nor a Law unto the Jews, +till the renovation of their Covenant with God at their return from the +Captivity, and restauration of their Common-wealth under Esdras. But +from that time forward they were accounted the Law of the Jews, and for +such translated into Greek by Seventy Elders of Judaea, and put into the +Library of Ptolemy at Alexandria, and approved for the Word of God. Now +seeing Esdras was the High Priest, and the High Priest was their Civill +Soveraigne, it is manifest, that the Scriptures were never made Laws, +but by the Soveraign Civill Power. + +The New Testament Began To Be Canonicall Under Christian Soveraigns By +the Writings of the Fathers that lived in the time before that Christian +Religion was received, and authorised by Constantine the Emperour, we +may find, that the Books wee now have of the New Testament, were held by +the Christians of that time (except a few, in respect of whose paucity +the rest were called the Catholique Church, and others Haeretiques) for +the dictates of the Holy Ghost; and consequently for the Canon, or Rule +of Faith: such was the reverence and opinion they had of their Teachers; +as generally the reverence that the Disciples bear to their first +Masters, in all manner of doctrine they receive from them, is not small. +Therefore there is no doubt, but when S. Paul wrote to the Churches he +had converted; or any other Apostle, or Disciple of Christ, to those +which had then embraced Christ, they received those their Writings for +the true Christian Doctrine. But in that time, when not the Power and +Authority of the Teacher, but the Faith of the Hearer caused them +to receive it, it was not the Apostles that made their own Writings +Canonicall, but every Convert made them so to himself. + +But the question here, is not what any Christian made a Law, or Canon +to himself, (which he might again reject, by the same right he received +it;) but what was so made a Canon to them, as without injustice they +could not doe any thing contrary thereunto. That the New Testament +should in this sense be Canonicall, that is to say, a Law in any place +where the Law of the Common-wealth had not made it so, is contrary to +the nature of a Law. For a Law, (as hath been already shewn) is the +Commandement of that Man, or Assembly, to whom we have given Soveraign +Authority, to make such Rules for the direction of our actions, as hee +shall think fit; and to punish us, when we doe any thing contrary to the +same. When therefore any other man shall offer unto us any other Rules, +which the Soveraign Ruler hath not prescribed, they are but Counsell, +and Advice; which, whether good, or bad, hee that is counselled, may +without injustice refuse to observe, and when contrary to the Laws +already established, without injustice cannot observe, how good soever +he conceiveth it to be. I say, he cannot in this case observe the same +in his actions, nor in his discourse with other men; though he may +without blame beleeve the his private Teachers, and wish he had the +liberty to practise their advice; and that it were publiquely received +for Law. For internall faith is in its own nature invisible, and +consequently exempted from all humane jurisdiction; whereas the words, +and actions that proceed from it, as breaches of our Civil obedience, +are injustice both before God and Man. Seeing then our Saviour hath +denyed his Kingdome to be in this world, seeing he hath said, he came +not to judge, but to save the world, he hath not subjected us to other +Laws than those of the Common-wealth; that is, the Jews to the Law +of Moses, (which he saith (Mat. 5.) he came not to destroy, but to +fulfill,) and other Nations to the Laws of their severall Soveraigns, +and all men to the Laws of Nature; the observing whereof, both he +himselfe, and his Apostles have in their teaching recommended to us, as +a necessary condition of being admitted by him in the last day into his +eternall Kingdome, wherein shall be Protection, and Life everlasting. +Seeing then our Saviour, and his Apostles, left not new Laws to oblige +us in this world, but new Doctrine to prepare us for the next; the Books +of the New Testament, which containe that Doctrine, untill obedience to +them was commanded, by them that God hath given power to on earth to be +Legislators, were not obligatory Canons, that is, Laws, but onely good, +and safe advice, for the direction of sinners in the way to salvation, +which every man might take, and refuse at his owne perill, without +injustice. + +Again, our Saviour Christs Commission to his Apostles, and Disciples, +was to Proclaim his Kingdome (not present, but) to come; and to Teach +all Nations; and to Baptize them that should beleeve; and to enter into +the houses of them that should receive them; and where they were not +received, to shake off the dust of their feet against them; but not +to call for fire from heaven to destroy them, nor to compell them to +obedience by the Sword. In all which there is nothing of Power, but of +Perswasion. He sent them out as Sheep unto Wolves, not as Kings to their +Subjects. They had not in Commission to make Laws; but to obey, and +teach obedience to Laws made; and consequently they could not make their +Writings obligatory Canons, without the help of the Soveraign Civill +Power. And therefore the Scripture of the New Testament is there only +Law, where the lawfull Civill Power hath made it so. And there also the +King, or Soveraign, maketh it a Law to himself; by which he subjecteth +himselfe, not to the Doctor, or Apostle, that converted him, but to God +himself, and his Son Jesus Christ, as immediately as did the Apostles +themselves. + + + + +Of The Power Of Councells To Make The Scripture Law + +That which may seem to give the New Testament, in respect of those that +have embraced Christian Doctrine, the force of Laws, in the times, and +places of persecution, is the decrees they made amongst themselves in +their Synods. For we read (Acts 15.28.) the stile of the Councell of the +Apostles, the Elders, and the whole Church, in this manner, "It seemed +good to the Holy Ghost, and to us, to lay upon you no greater burthen +than these necessary things, &C." which is a stile that signifieth a +Power to lay a burthen on them that had received their Doctrine. Now +"to lay a burthen on another," seemeth the same that "to oblige;" and +therefore the Acts of that Councell were Laws to the then Christians. +Neverthelesse, they were no more Laws than are these other Precepts, +"Repent, Be Baptized; Keep the Commandements; Beleeve the Gospel; Come +unto me; Sell all that thou hast; Give it to the poor;" and "Follow +me;" which are not Commands, but Invitations, and Callings of men to +Christianity, like that of Esay 55.1. "Ho, every man that thirsteth, +come yee to the waters, come, and buy wine and milke without money." +For first, the Apostles power was no other than that of our Saviour, +to invite men to embrace the Kingdome of God; which they themselves +acknowledged for a Kingdome (not present, but) to come; and they that +have no Kingdome, can make no Laws. And secondly, if their Acts of +Councell, were Laws, they could not without sin be disobeyed. But we +read not any where, that they who received not the Doctrine of Christ, +did therein sin; but that they died in their sins; that is, that their +sins against the Laws to which they owed obedience, were not pardoned. +And those Laws were the Laws of Nature, and the Civill Laws of the +State, whereto every Christian man had by pact submitted himself. And +therefore by the Burthen, which the Apostles might lay on such as they +had converted, are not to be understood Laws, but Conditions, proposed +to those that sought Salvation; which they might accept, or refuse at +their own perill, without a new sin, though not without the hazard of +being condemned, and excluded out of the Kingdome of God for their sins +past. And therefore of Infidels, S. John saith not, the wrath of God +shall "come" upon them, but "the wrath of God remaineth upon them;" +and not that they shall be condemned; but that "they are condemned +already."(John 3.36, 3.18) Nor can it be conceived, that the benefit +of Faith, "is Remission of sins" unlesse we conceive withall, that the +dammage of Infidelity, is "the Retention of the same sins." + +But to what end is it (may some man aske), that the Apostles, and other +Pastors of the Church, after their time, should meet together, to agree +upon what Doctrine should be taught, both for Faith and Manners, if no +man were obliged to observe their Decrees? To this may be answered, that +the Apostles, and Elders of that Councell, were obliged even by their +entrance into it, to teach the Doctrine therein concluded, and decreed +to be taught, so far forth, as no precedent Law, to which they were +obliged to yeeld obedience, was to the contrary; but not that all other +Christians should be obliged to observe, what they taught. For though +they might deliberate what each of them should teach; yet they could +not deliberate what others should do, unless their Assembly had had +a Legislative Power; which none could have but Civill Soveraigns. For +though God be the Soveraign of all the world, we are not bound to take +for his Law, whatsoever is propounded by every man in his name; nor any +thing contrary to the Civill Law, which God hath expressely commanded us +to obey. + +Seeing then the Acts of Councell of the Apostles, were then no Laws, +but Councells; much lesse are Laws the Acts of any other Doctors, +or Councells since, if assembled without the Authority of the Civill +Soveraign. And consequently, the Books of the New Testament, though most +perfect Rules of Christian Doctrine, could not be made Laws by any other +authority then that of Kings, or Soveraign Assemblies. + +The first Councell, that made the Scriptures we now have, Canon, is not +extant: For that Collection the first Bishop of Rome after S. Peter, is +subject to question: For though the Canonicall books bee there reckoned +up; yet these words, "Sint vobis omnibus Clericis & Laicis Libris +venerandi, &c." containe a distinction of Clergy, and Laity, that was +not in use so neer St. Peters time. The first Councell for setling the +Canonicall Scripture, that is extant, is that of Laodicea, Can. 59. +which forbids the reading of other Books then those in the Churches; +which is a Mandate that is not addressed to every Christian, but to +those onely that had authority to read any publiquely in the Church; +that is, to Ecclesiastiques onely. + + + + +Of The Right Of Constituting Ecclesiasticall Officers In The Time Of +The Apostles + +Of Ecclesiastical Officers in the time of the Apostles, some were +Magisteriall, some Ministeriall. Magisteriall were the Offices +of preaching of the Gospel of the Kingdom of God to Infidels; of +administring the Sacraments, and Divine Service; and of teaching the +Rules of Faith and Manners to those that were converted. Ministeriall +was the Office of Deacons, that is, of them that were appointed to the +administration of the secular necessities of the Church, at such time +as they lived upon a common stock of mony, raised out of the voluntary +contributions of the faithfull. + +Amongst the Officers Magisteriall, the first, and principall were the +Apostles; whereof there were at first but twelve; and these were chosen +and constituted by our Saviour himselfe; and their Office was not onely +to Preach, Teach, and Baptize, but also to be Martyrs, (Witnesses of +our Saviours Resurrection.) This Testimony, was the specificall, and +essentiall mark; whereby the Apostleship was distinguished from other +Magistracy Ecclesiasticall; as being necessary for an Apostle, either to +have seen our Saviour after his Resurrection, or to have conversed with +him before, and seen his works, and other arguments of his Divinity, +whereby they might be taken for sufficient Witnesses. And therefore at +the election of a new Apostle in the place of Judas Iscariot, S. Peter +saith (Acts 1.21,22.) "Of these men that have companyed with us, all the +time that the Lord Jesus went in and out among us, beginning from the +Baptisme of John unto that same day that he was taken up from us, must +one be ordained to be a Witnesse with us of his Resurrection:" where, by +this word Must, is implyed a necessary property of an Apostle, to have +companyed with the first and prime Apostles in the time that our Saviour +manifested himself in the flesh. + + + + +Matthias Made Apostle By The Congregation. + +The first Apostle, of those which were not constituted by Christ in the +time he was upon the Earth, was Matthias, chosen in this manner: There +were assembled together in Jerusalem about 120 Christians (Acts 1.15.) +These appointed two, Joseph the Just, and Matthias (ver. 23.) and caused +lots to be drawn; "and (ver. 26.) the Lot fell on Matthias and he was +numbred with the Apostles." So that here we see the ordination of this +Apostle, was the act of the Congregation, and not of St. Peter, nor of +the eleven, otherwise then as Members of the Assembly. + + + + +Paul And Barnabas Made Apostles By The Church Of Antioch + +After him there was never any other Apostle ordained, but Paul and +Barnabas, which was done (as we read Acts 13.1,2,3.) in this manner. +"There were in the Church that was at Antioch, certaine Prophets, and +Teachers; as Barnabas, and Simeon that was called Niger, and Lucius of +Cyrene, and Manaen; which had been brought up with Herod the Tetrarch, +and Saul. As they ministred unto the Lord, and fasted, the Holy Ghost +said, ‘Separate mee Barnabas, and Saul for the worke whereunto I have +called them.’ And when they had fasted, and prayed, and laid their hands +on them, they sent them away." + +By which it is manifest, that though they were called by the Holy Ghost, +their Calling was declared unto them, and their Mission authorized by +the particular Church of Antioch. And that this their calling was to +the Apostleship, is apparent by that, that they are both called (Acts +14.14.) Apostles: And that it was by vertue of this act of the Church of +Antioch, that they were Apostles, S. Paul declareth plainly (Rom. 1.1.) +in that hee useth the word, which the Holy Ghost used at his calling: +For he stileth himself, "An Apostle separated unto the Gospel of God;" +alluding to the words of the Holy Ghost, "Separate me Barnabas and Saul, +&c." But seeing the work of an Apostle, was to be a Witnesse of +the Resurrection of Christ, and man may here aske, how S. Paul that +conversed not with our Saviour before his passion, could know he was +risen. To which it is easily answered, that our Saviour himself appeared +to him in the way to Damascus, from Heaven, after his Ascension; "and +chose him for a vessell to bear his name before the Gentiles, and Kings, +and Children of Israel;" and consequently (having seen the Lord after +his passion) was a competent Witnesse of his Resurrection: And as for +Barnabas, he was a Disciple before the Passion. It is therefore evident +that Paul, and Barnabas were Apostles; and yet chosen, and authorized +(not by the first Apostles alone, but) by the Church of Antioch; as +Matthias was chosen, and authorized by the Church of Jerusalem. + + + + +What Offices In The Church Are Magisteriall + +Bishop, a word formed in our language, out of the Greek Episcopus, +signifieth an overseer, or Superintendent of any businesse, and +particularly a Pastor or Shepherd; and thence by metaphor was taken, not +only amongst the Jews that were originally Shepherds, but also amongst +the Heathen, to signifie the Office of a King, or any other Ruler, +or Guide of People, whether he ruled by Laws, or Doctrine. And so +the Apostles were the first Christian Bishops, instituted by Christ +himselfe: in which sense the Apostleship of Judas is called (Acts 1.20.) +his Bishoprick. And afterwards, when there were constituted Elders in +the Christian Churches, with charge to guide Christs flock by their +doctrine, and advice; these Elders were also called Bishops. Timothy was +an Elder (which word Elder, in the New Testament is a name of Office, as +well as of Age;) yet he was also a Bishop. And Bishops were then content +with the Title of Elders. Nay S. John himselfe, the Apostle beloved of +our Lord, beginneth his Second Epistle with these words, "The Elder to +the Elect Lady." By which it is evident, that Bishop, Pastor, Elder, +Doctor, that is to say, Teacher, were but so many divers names of +the same Office in the time of the Apostles. For there was then no +government by Coercion, but only by Doctrine, and Perswading. The +Kingdome of God was yet to come, in a new world; so that there could +be no authority to compell in any Church, till the Common-wealth +had embraced the Christian Faith; and consequently no diversity of +Authority, though there were diversity of Employments. + +Besides these Magisteriall employments in the Church, namely Apostles, +Bishops, Elders, Pastors, and Doctors, whose calling was to proclaim +Christ to the Jews, and Infidels, and to direct, and teach those that +beleeved we read in the New Testament of no other. For by the names +of Evangelists and Prophets, is not signified any Office, but severall +Gifts, by which severall men were profitable to the Church: as +Evangelists, by writing the life and acts of our Saviour; such as were +S. Matthew and S. John Apostles, and S. Marke and S. Luke Disciples, and +whosoever else wrote of that subject, (as S. Thomas, and S. Barnabas are +said to have done, though the Church have not received the Books +that have gone under their names:) and as Prophets, by the gift of +interpreting the Old Testament; and sometimes by declaring their +speciall Revelations to the Church. For neither these gifts, nor the +gifts of Languages, nor the gift of Casting out Devils, or of Curing +other diseases, nor any thing else did make an Officer in the Church, +save onely the due calling and election to the charge of Teaching. + + + + +Ordination Of Teachers + +As the Apostles, Matthias, Paul, and Barnabas, were not made by our +Saviour himself, but were elected by the Church, that is, by the +Assembly of Christians; namely, Matthias by the Church of Jerusalem, +and Paul, and Barnabas by the Church of Antioch; so were also the +Presbyters, and Pastors in other Cities, elected by the Churches of +those Cities. For proof whereof, let us consider, first, how S. Paul +proceeded in the Ordination of Presbyters, in the Cities where he had +converted men to the Christian Faith, immediately after he and Barnabas +had received their Apostleship. We read (Acts 14.23.) that "they +ordained Elders in every Church;" which at first sight may be taken for +an Argument, that they themselves chose, and gave them their authority: +But if we consider the Originall text, it will be manifest, that they +were authorized, and chosen by the Assembly of the Christians of each +City. For the words there are, "cheirotonesantes autoispresbuterous kat +ekklesian," that is, "When they had Ordained them Elders by the Holding +up of Hands in every Congregation." Now it is well enough known, that in +all those Cities, the manner of choosing Magistrates, and Officers, +was by plurality of suffrages; and (because the ordinary way of +distinguishing the Affirmative Votes from the Negatives, was by Holding +up of Hands) to ordain an Officer in any of the Cities, was no more +but to bring the people together, to elect them by plurality of Votes, +whether it were by plurality of elevated hands, or by plurality of +voices, or plurality of balls, or beans, or small stones, of which every +man cast in one, into a vessell marked for the Affirmative, or Negative; +for divers Cities had divers customes in that point. It was therefore +the Assembly that elected their own Elders: the Apostles were onely +Presidents of the Assembly to call them together for such Election, and +to pronounce them Elected, and to give them the benediction, which now +is called Consecration. And for this cause they that were Presidents +of the Assemblies, as (in the absence of the Apostles) the Elders were, +were called proestotes, and in Latin Antistities; which words signifie +the Principall Person of the Assembly, whose office was to number the +Votes, and to declare thereby who was chosen; and where the Votes were +equall, to decide the matter in question, by adding his own; which is +the Office of a President in Councell. And (because all the Churches +had their Presbyters ordained in the same manner,) where the word is +Constitute, (as Titus 1.5.) "ina katasteses kata polin presbuterous," +"For this cause left I thee in Crete, that thou shouldest constitute +Elders in every City," we are to understand the same thing; namely, that +hee should call the faithfull together, and ordain them Presbyters by +plurality of suffrages. It had been a strange thing, if in a Town, where +men perhaps had never seen any Magistrate otherwise chosen then by an +Assembly, those of the Town becomming Christians, should so much as have +thought on any other way of Election of their Teachers, and Guides, that +is to say, of their Presbyters, (otherwise called Bishops,) then this of +plurality of suffrages, intimated by S. Paul (Acts 14.23.) in the word +Cheirotonesantes: Nor was there ever any choosing of Bishops, (before +the Emperors found it necessary to regulate them in order to the keeping +of the peace amongst them,) but by the Assemblies of the Christians in +every severall Town. + +The same is also confirmed by the continuall practise even to this day, +in the Election of the Bishops of Rome. For if the Bishop of any place, +had the right of choosing another, to the succession of the Pastorall +Office, in any City, at such time as he went from thence, to plant the +same in another place; much more had he had the Right, to appoint his +successour in that place, in which he last resided and dyed: And we find +not, that ever any Bishop of Rome appointed his successor. For they were +a long time chosen by the People, as we may see by the sedition raised +about the Election, between Damascus, and Ursinicus; which Ammianus +Marcellinus saith was so great, that Juventius the Praefect, unable to +keep the peace between them, was forced to goe out of the City; and that +there were above an hundred men found dead upon that occasion in the +Church it self. And though they afterwards were chosen, first, by the +whole Clergy of Rome, and afterwards by the Cardinalls; yet never any +was appointed to the succession by his predecessor. If therefore they +pretended no right to appoint their successors, I think I may reasonably +conclude, they had no right to appoint the new power; which none could +take from the Church to bestow on them, but such as had a lawfull +authority, not onely to Teach, but to Command the Church; which none +could doe, but the Civill Soveraign. + + + + +Ministers Of The Church What + +The word Minister in the Originall Diakonos signifieth one that +voluntarily doth the businesse of another man; and differeth from a +Servant onely in this, that Servants are obliged by their condition, +to what is commanded them; whereas Ministers are obliged onely by +their undertaking, and bound therefore to no more than that they have +undertaken: So that both they that teach the Word of God, and they that +administer the secular affairs of the Church, are both Ministers, but +they are Ministers of different Persons. For the Pastors of the Church, +called (Acts 6.4.) "The Ministers of the Word," are Ministers of Christ, +whose Word it is: But the Ministery of a Deacon, which is called (verse +2. of the same Chapter) "Serving of Tables," is a service done to the +Church, or Congregation: So that neither any one man, nor the whole +Church, could ever of their Pastor say, he was their Minister; but of +a Deacon, whether the charge he undertook were to serve tables, or +distribute maintenance to the Christians, when they lived in each City +on a common stock, or upon collections, as in the first times, or to +take a care of the House of Prayer, or of the Revenue, or other worldly +businesse of the Church, the whole Congregation might properly call him +their Minister. + +For their employment, as Deacons, was to serve the Congregation; though +upon occasion they omitted not to preach the Gospel, and maintain the +Doctrine of Christ, every one according to his gifts, as S. Steven did; +and both to Preach, and Baptize, as Philip did: For that Philip, which +(Act. 8. 5.) Preached the Gospel at Samaria, and (verse 38.) Baptized +the Eunuch, was Philip the Deacon, not Philip the Apostle. For it is +manifest (verse 1.) that when Philip preached in Samaria, the Apostles +were at Jerusalem, and (verse 14.) "When they heard that Samaria had +received the Word of God, sent Peter and John to them;" by imposition of +whose hands, they that were Baptized (verse 15.) received (which before +by the Baptisme of Philip they had not received) the Holy Ghost. For it +was necessary for the conferring of the Holy Ghost, that their Baptisme +should be administred, or confirmed by a Minister of the Word, not by a +Minister of the Church. And therefore to confirm the Baptisme of those +that Philip the Deacon had Baptized, the Apostles sent out of their own +number from Jerusalem to Samaria, Peter, and John; who conferred on them +that before were but Baptized, those graces that were signs of the Holy +Spirit, which at that time did accompany all true Beleevers; which what +they were may be understood by that which S. Marke saith (chap. 16.17.) +"These signs follow them that beleeve in my Name; they shall cast out +Devills; they shall speak with new tongues; They shall take up Serpents, +and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; They shall +lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover." This to doe, was it that +Philip could not give; but the Apostles could, and (as appears by this +place) effectually did to every man that truly beleeved, and was by +a Minister of Christ himself Baptized: which power either Christs +Ministers in this age cannot conferre, or else there are very few true +Beleevers, or Christ hath very few Ministers. + + + + +And How Chosen What + +That the first Deacons were chosen, not by the Apostles, but by a +Congregation of the Disciples; that is, of Christian men of all sorts, +is manifest out of Acts 6. where we read that the Twelve, after the +number of Disciples was multiplyed, called them together, and having +told them, that it was not fit that the Apostles should leave the Word +of God, and serve tables, said unto them (verse 3.) "Brethren looke you +out among you seven men of honest report, full of the Holy Ghost, and of +Wisdome, whom we may appoint over this businesse." Here it is manifest, +that though the Apostles declared them elected; yet the Congregation +chose them; which also, (verse the fift) is more expressely said, where +it is written, that "the saying pleased the multitude, and they chose +seven, &c." + + + + +Of Ecclesiasticall Revenue, Under The Law Of Moses + +Under the Old Testament, the Tribe of Levi were onely capable of the +Priesthood, and other inferiour Offices of the Church. The land +was divided amongst the other Tribes (Levi excepted,) which by the +subdivision of the Tribe of Joseph, into Ephraim and Manasses, were +still twelve. To the Tribe of Levi were assigned certain Cities for +their habitation, with the suburbs for their cattell: but for their +portion, they were to have the tenth of the fruits of the land of their +Brethren. Again, the Priests for their maintenance had the tenth of that +tenth, together with part of the oblations, and sacrifices. For God had +said to Aaron (Numb. 18. 20.) "Thou shalt have no inheritance in their +land, neither shalt thou have any part amongst them, I am thy part, and +thine inheritance amongst the Children of Israel." For God being then +King, and having constituted the Tribe of Levi to be his Publique +Ministers, he allowed them for their maintenance, the Publique revenue, +that is to say, the part that God had reserved to himself; which were +Tythes, and Offerings: and that it is which is meant, where God saith, I +am thine inheritance. And therefore to the Levites might not unfitly +be attributed the name of Clergy from Kleros, which signifieth Lot, or +Inheritance; not that they were heirs of the Kingdome of God, more than +other; but that Gods inheritance, was their maintenance. Now seeing +in this time God himself was their King, and Moses, Aaron, and the +succeeding High Priests were his Lieutenants; it is manifest, that the +Right of Tythes, and Offerings was constituted by the Civill Power. + +After their rejection of God in the demand of a King, they enjoyed still +the same revenue; but the Right thereof was derived from that, that the +Kings did never take it from them: for the Publique Revenue was at +the disposing of him that was the Publique Person; and that (till the +Captivity) was the King. And again, after the return from the Captivity, +they paid their Tythes as before to the Priest. Hitherto therefore +Church Livings were determined by the Civill Soveraign. + + + + +In Our Saviours Time, And After + +Of the maintenance of our Saviour, and his Apostles, we read onely they +had a Purse, (which was carried by Judas Iscariot;) and, that of the +Apostles, such as were Fisher-men, did sometimes use their trade; and +that when our Saviour sent the Twelve Apostles to Preach, he forbad them +"to carry Gold, and Silver, and Brasse in their purses, for that +the workman is worthy of his hire:" (Mat. 10. 9,10.) By which it +is probable, their ordinary maintenance was not unsuitable to their +employment; for their employment was (ver. 8.) "freely to give, because +they had freely received;" and their maintenance was the Free Gift of +those that beleeved the good tyding they carryed about of the coming +of the Messiah their Saviour. To which we may adde, that which was +contributed out of gratitude, by such as our Saviour had healed of +diseases; of which are mentioned "Certain women (Luke 8. 2,3.) which had +been healed of evill spirits and infirmities; Mary Magdalen, out of whom +went seven Devills; and Joanna the wife of Chuza, Herods Steward; and +Susanna, and many others, which ministred unto him of their substance. + +After our Saviours Ascension, the Christians of every City lived in +Common, (Acts 4. 34.) upon the mony which was made of the sale of their +lands and possessions, and laid down at the feet of the Apostles, of +good will, not of duty; for "whilest the Land remained (saith S. Peter +to Ananias Acts 5.4.) was it not thine? and after it was sold, was it +not in thy power?" which sheweth he needed not to have saved his land, +nor his money by lying, as not being bound to contribute any thing at +all, unlesse he had pleased. And as in the time of the Apostles, so also +all the time downward, till after Constantine the Great, we shall +find, that the maintenance of the Bishops, and Pastors of the Christian +Church, was nothing but the voluntary contribution of them that had +embraced their Doctrine. There was yet no mention of Tythes: but +such was in the time of Constantine, and his Sons, the affection of +Christians to their Pastors, as Ammianus Marcellinus saith (describing +the sedition of Damasus and Ursinicus about the Bishopricke,) that it +was worth their contention, in that the Bishops of those times by the +liberality of their flock, and especially of Matrons, lived splendidly, +were carryed in Coaches, and sumptuous in their fare and apparell. + +The Ministers Of The Gospel Lived On The Benevolence Of Their Flocks +But here may some ask, whether the Pastor were then bound to live upon +voluntary contribution, as upon almes, "For who (saith S. Paul 1 Cor. 9. +7.) goeth to war at his own charges? or who feedeth a flock, and eatheth +not of the milke of the flock?" And again, (1 Cor. 9. 13.) "Doe ye not +know that they which minister about holy things, live of the things of +the Temple; and they which wait at the Altar, partake with the Altar;" +that is to say, have part of that which is offered at the Altar for +their maintenance? And then he concludeth, "Even so hath the Lord +appointed, that they which preach the Gospel should live of the Gospel. +From which place may be inferred indeed, that the Pastors of the Church +ought to be maintained by their flocks; but not that the Pastors were to +determine, either the quantity, or the kind of their own allowance, and +be (as it were) their own Carvers. Their allowance must needs therefore +be determined, either by the gratitude, and liberality of every +particular man of their flock, or by the whole Congregation. By the +whole Congregation it could not be, because their Acts were then no +Laws: Therefore the maintenance of Pastors, before Emperours and Civill +Soveraigns had made Laws to settle it, was nothing but Benevolence. They +that served at the Altar lived on what was offered. In what court should +they sue for it, who had no Tribunalls? Or if they had Arbitrators +amongst themselves, who should execute their Judgments, when they had no +power to arme their Officers? It remaineth therefore, that there could +be no certaine maintenance assigned to any Pastors of the Church, but by +the whole Congregation; and then onely, when their Decrees should have +the force (not onely of Canons, but also) of Laws; which Laws could not +be made, but by Emperours, Kings, or other Civill Soveraignes. The Right +of Tythes in Moses Law, could not be applyed to the then Ministers +of the Gospell; because Moses and the High Priests were the Civill +Soveraigns of the people under God, whose Kingdom amongst the Jews was +present; whereas the Kingdome of God by Christ is yet to come. + +Hitherto hath been shewn what the Pastors of the Church are; what are +the points of their Commission (as that they were to Preach, to Teach, +to Baptize, to be Presidents in their severall Congregations;) what is +Ecclesiasticall Censure, viz. Excommunication, that is to say, in those +places where Christianity was forbidden by the Civill Laws, a putting +of themselves out of the company of the Excommunicate, and where +Christianity was by the Civill Law commanded, a putting the +Excommunicate out of the Congregations of Christians; who elected the +Pastors and Ministers of the Church, (that it was, the Congregation); +who consecrated and blessed them, (that it was the Pastor); what was +their due revenue, (that it was none but their own possessions, +and their own labour, and the voluntary contributions of devout and +gratefull Christians). We are to consider now, what Office those persons +have, who being Civill Soveraignes, have embraced also the Christian +Faith. + + + + +The Civill Soveraign Being A Christian Hath The Right Of Appointing +Pastors + +And first, we are to remember, that the Right of Judging what +Doctrines are fit for Peace, and to be taught the Subjects, is in all +Common-wealths inseparably annexed (as hath been already proved cha. +18.) to the Soveraign Power Civill, whether it be in one Man, or in one +Assembly of men. For it is evident to the meanest capacity, that mens +actions are derived from the opinions they have of the Good, or Evill, +which from those actions redound unto themselves; and consequently, +men that are once possessed of an opinion, that their obedience to +the Soveraign Power, will bee more hurtfull to them, than their +disobedience, will disobey the Laws, and thereby overthrow the +Common-wealth, and introduce confusion, and Civill war; for the avoiding +whereof, all Civill Government was ordained. And therefore in all +Common-wealths of the Heathen, the Soveraigns have had the name of +Pastors of the People, because there was no Subject that could lawfully +Teach the people, but by their permission and authority. + +This Right of the Heathen Kings, cannot bee thought taken from them by +their conversion to the Faith of Christ; who never ordained, that Kings +for beleeving in him, should be deposed, that is, subjected to any but +himself, or (which is all one) be deprived of the power necessary for +the conservation of Peace amongst their Subjects, and for their defence +against foraign Enemies. And therefore Christian Kings are still the +Supreme Pastors of their people, and have power to ordain what Pastors +they please, to teach the Church, that is, to teach the People committed +to their charge. + +Again, let the right of choosing them be (as before the conversion +of Kings) in the Church, for so it was in the time of the Apostles +themselves (as hath been shewn already in this chapter); even so also +the Right will be in the Civill Soveraign, Christian. For in that he is +a Christian, he allowes the Teaching; and in that he is the Soveraign +(which is as much as to say, the Church by Representation,) the +Teachers hee elects, are elected by the Church. And when an Assembly of +Christians choose their Pastor in a Christian Common-wealth, it is the +Soveraign that electeth him, because tis done by his Authority; In the +same manner, as when a Town choose their Maior, it is the act of him +that hath the Soveraign Power: For every act done, is the act of him, +without whose consent it is invalid. And therefore whatsoever examples +may be drawn out of History, concerning the Election of Pastors, by the +People, or by the Clergy, they are no arguments against the Right of +any Civill Soveraign, because they that elected them did it by his +Authority. + +Seeing then in every Christian Common-wealth, the Civill Soveraign is +the Supreme Pastor, to whose charge the whole flock of his Subjects is +committed, and consequently that it is by his authority, that all +other Pastors are made, and have power to teach, and performe all +other Pastorall offices; it followeth also, that it is from the Civill +Soveraign, that all other Pastors derive their right of Teaching, +Preaching, and other functions pertaining to that Office; and that they +are but his Ministers; in the same manner as the Magistrates of Towns, +Judges in Courts of Justice, and Commanders of Armies, are all but +Ministers of him that is the Magistrate of the whole Common-wealth, +Judge of all Causes, and Commander of the whole Militia, which is +alwayes the Civill Soveraign. And the reason hereof, is not because they +that Teach, but because they that are to Learn, are his Subjects. +For let it be supposed, that a Christian King commit the Authority of +Ordaining Pastors in his Dominions to another King, (as divers Christian +Kings allow that power to the Pope;) he doth not thereby constitute a +Pastor over himself, nor a Soveraign Pastor over his People; for that +were to deprive himself of the Civill Power; which depending on the +opinion men have of their Duty to him, and the fear they have of +Punishment in another world, would depend also on the skill, and loyalty +of Doctors, who are no lesse subject, not only to Ambition, but also +to Ignorance, than any other sort of men. So that where a stranger hath +authority to appoint Teachers, it is given him by the Soveraign in +whose Dominions he teacheth. Christian Doctors are our Schoolmasters +to Christianity; But Kings are Fathers of Families, and may receive +Schoolmasters for their Subjects from the recommendation of a stranger, +but not from the command; especially when the ill teaching them shall +redound to the great and manifest profit of him that recommends them: +nor can they be obliged to retain them, longer than it is for the +Publique good; the care of which they stand so long charged withall, as +they retain any other essentiall Right of the Soveraignty. + + + + +The Pastorall Authority Of Soveraigns Only Is De Jure Divino, That Of +Other Pastors Is Jure Civili + +If a man therefore should ask a Pastor, in the execution of his Office, +as the chief Priests and Elders of the people (Mat. 21.23.) asked our +Saviour, "By what authority dost thou these things, and who gave thee +this authority:" he can make no other just Answer, but that he doth +it by the Authority of the Common-wealth, given him by the King, or +Assembly that representeth it. All Pastors, except the Supreme, execute +their charges in the Right, that is by the Authority of the Civill +Soveraign, that is, Jure Civili. But the King, and every other Soveraign +executeth his Office of Supreme Pastor, by immediate Authority from God, +that is to say, In Gods Right, or Jure Divino. And therefore none but +Kings can put into their Titles (a mark of their submission to God onely +) Dei Gratia Rex, &c. Bishops ought to say in the beginning of their +Mandates, "By the favour of the Kings Majesty, Bishop of such a +Diocesse;" or as Civill Ministers, "In his Majesties Name." For in +saying, Divina Providentia, which is the same with Dei Gratia, though +disguised, they deny to have received their authority from the Civill +State; and sliely slip off the Collar of their Civill Subjection, +contrary to the unity and defence of the Common-wealth. + + + + +Christian Kings Have Power To Execute All Manner Of Pastoral Function + +But if every Christian Soveraign be the Supreme Pastor of his own +Subjects, it seemeth that he hath also the Authority, not only to Preach +(which perhaps no man will deny;) but also to Baptize, and to Administer +the Sacrament of the Lords Supper; and to Consecrate both Temples, and +Pastors to Gods service; which most men deny; partly because they use +not to do it; and partly because the Administration of Sacraments, +and Consecration of Persons, and Places to holy uses, requireth the +Imposition of such mens hands, as by the like Imposition successively +from the time of the Apostles have been ordained to the like Ministery. +For proof therefore that Christian Kings have power to Baptize, and to +Consecrate, I am to render a reason, both why they use not to doe it, +and how, without the ordinary ceremony of Imposition of hands, they are +made capable of doing it, when they will. + +There is no doubt but any King, in case he were skilfull in the +Sciences, might by the same Right of his Office, read Lectures of +them himself, by which he authorizeth others to read them in the +Universities. Neverthelesse, because the care of the summe of the +businesse of the Common-wealth taketh up his whole time, it were not +convenient for him to apply himself in Person to that particular. A King +may also if he please, sit in Judgment, to hear and determine all manner +of Causes, as well as give others authority to doe it in his name; but +that the charge that lyeth upon him of Command and Government, constrain +him to bee continually at the Helm, and to commit the Ministeriall +Offices to others under him. In the like manner our Saviour (who surely +had power to Baptize) Baptized none himselfe, but sent his Apostles and +Disciples to Baptize. (John 4.2.) So also S. Paul, by the necessity of +Preaching in divers and far distant places, Baptized few: Amongst all +the Corinthians he Baptized only Crispus, Cajus, and Stephanus; (1 +Cor.1.14,16.) and the reason was, because his principall Charge was to +Preach. (1 Cor. 1.17.) Whereby it is manifest, that the greater Charge, +(such as is the Government of the Church,) is a dispensation for the +lesse. The reason therefore why Christian Kings use not to Baptize, is +evident, and the same, for which at this day there are few Baptized by +Bishops, and by the Pope fewer. + +And as concerning Imposition of Hands, whether it be needfull, for the +authorizing of a King to Baptize, and Consecrate, we may consider thus. + +Imposition of Hands, was a most ancient publique ceremony amongst the +Jews, by which was designed, and made certain, the person, or other +thing intended in a mans prayer, blessing, sacrifice, consecration, +condemnation, or other speech. So Jacob in blessing the children of +Joseph (Gen. 48.14.) "Laid his right Hand on Ephraim the younger, and +his left Hand on Manasseh the first born;" and this he did Wittingly +(though they were so presented to him by Joseph, as he was forced in +doing it to stretch out his arms acrosse) to design to whom he intended +the greater blessing. So also in the sacrificing of the Burnt offering, +Aaron is commanded (Exod. 29.10.) "to Lay his Hands on the head of the +bullock;" and (ver. 15.) "to Lay his Hand on the head of the ramme." +The same is also said again, Levit. 1.4. & 8.14. Likewise Moses when he +ordained Joshua to be Captain of the Israelites, that is, consecrated +him to Gods service, (Numb. 27.23.) "Laid his hands upon him, and gave +him his Charge," designing and rendring certain, who it was they were +to obey in war. And in the consecration of the Levites (Numb. 8.10.) God +commanded that "the Children of Israel should Put their Hands upon the +Levites." And in the condemnation of him that had blasphemed the Lord +(Levit. 24.14.) God commanded that "all that heard him should Lay their +Hands on his head, and that all the Congregation should stone him." And +why should they only that heard him, Lay their Hands upon him, and not +rather a Priest, Levite, or other Minister of Justice, but that +none else were able to design, and demonstrate to the eyes of the +Congregation, who it was that had blasphemed, and ought to die? And +to design a man, or any other thing, by the Hand to the Eye is lesse +subject to mistake, than when it is done to the Eare by a Name. + +And so much was this ceremony observed, that in blessing the whole +Congregation at once, which cannot be done by Laying on of Hands, yet +"Aaron (Levit. 9.22.) did lift up his Hand towards the people when he +blessed them." And we read also of the like ceremony of Consecration of +Temples amongst the Heathen, as that the Priest laid his Hands on +some post of the Temple, all the while he was uttering the words of +Consecration. So naturall it is to design any individuall thing, rather +by the Hand, to assure the Eyes, than by Words to inform the Eare in +matters of Gods Publique service. + +This ceremony was not therefore new in our Saviours time. For Jairus +(Mark 5.23.) whose daughter was sick, besought our Saviour (not to heal +her, but) "to Lay his Hands upon her, that shee might bee healed." And +(Matth. 19.13.) "they brought unto him little children, that hee should +Put his Hands on them, and Pray." + +According to this ancient Rite, the Apostles, and Presbyters, and the +Presbytery it self, Laid Hands on them whom they ordained Pastors, and +withall prayed for them that they might receive the Holy Ghost; and that +not only once, but sometimes oftner, when a new occasion was presented: +but the end was still the same, namely a punctuall, and religious +designation of the person, ordained either to the Pastorall Charge +in general, or to a particular Mission: so (Act. 6.6.) "The Apostles +Prayed, and Laid their Hands" on the seven Deacons; which was done, +not to give them the Holy Ghost, (for they were full of the Holy Ghost +before thy were chosen, as appeareth immediately before, verse 3.) but +to design them to that Office. And after Philip the Deacon had converted +certain persons in Samaria, Peter and John went down (Act. 8.17.)" and +laid their Hands on them, and they received the Holy Ghost." And not +only an Apostle, but a Presbyter had this power: For S. Paul adviseth +Timothy (1 Tim. 5.22.) "Lay Hands suddenly on no man;" that is, designe +no man rashly to the Office of a Pastor. The whole Presbytery Laid their +Hands on Timothy, as we read 1 Tim. 4.14. but this is to be understood, +as that some did it by the appointment of the Presbytery, and most +likely their Proestos, or Prolocutor, which it may be was St. Paul +himself. For in his 2 Epist. to Tim. ver. 6. he saith to him, "Stirre up +the gift of God which is in thee, by the Laying on of my Hands:" where +note by the way, that by the Holy ghost, is not meant the third Person +in the Trinity, but the Gifts necessary to the Pastorall Office. We read +also, that St. Paul had Imposition of Hands twice; once from Ananias at +Damascus (Acts 9.17,18.) at the time of his Baptisme; and again (Acts +13.3.) at Antioch, when he was first sent out to Preach. The use then of +this ceremony considered in the Ordination of Pastors, was to design +the Person to whom they gave such Power. But if there had been then any +Christian, that had had the Power of Teaching before; the Baptizing of +him, that is the making of him a Christian, had given him no new Power, +but had onely caused him to preach true Doctrine, that is, to use +his Power aright; and therefore the Imposition of Hands had been +unnecessary; Baptisme it selfe had been sufficient. But every Soveraign, +before Christianity, had the power of Teaching, and Ordaining Teachers; +and therefore Christianity gave them no new Right, but only directed +them in the way of teaching truth; and consequently they needed +no Imposition of Hands (besides that which is done in Baptisme) to +authorize them to exercise any part of the Pastorall Function, as +namely, to Baptize, and Consecrate. And in the Old Testament, though +the Priest only had right to Consecrate, during the time that the +Soveraignty was in the High Priest; yet it was not so when the +Soveraignty was in the King: For we read (1 Kings 8.) That Solomon +Blessed the People, Consecrated the Temple, and pronounced that Publique +Prayer, which is the pattern now for Consecration of all Christian +Churches, and Chappels: whereby it appears, he had not only the right +of Ecclesiasticall Government; but also of exercising Ecclesiasticall +Functions. + + + + +The Civill Soveraigne If A Christian, Is Head Of The Church In His Own +Dominions + +From this consolidation of the Right Politique, and Ecclesiastique in +Christian Soveraigns, it is evident, they have all manner of Power over +their Subjects, that can be given to man, for the government of mens +externall actions, both in Policy, and Religion; and may make such +Laws, as themselves shall judge fittest, for the government of their +own Subjects, both as they are the Common-wealth, and as they are the +Church: for both State, and Church are the same men. + +If they please therefore, they may (as many Christian Kings now doe) +commit the government of their Subjects in matters of Religion to +the Pope; but then the Pope is in that point Subordinate to them, and +exerciseth that Charge in anothers Dominion Jure Civili, in the Right of +the Civill Soveraign; not Jure Divino, in Gods Right; and may therefore +be discharged of that Office, when the Soveraign for the good of his +Subjects shall think it necessary. They may also if they please, +commit the care of Religion to one Supreme Pastor, or to an Assembly of +Pastors; and give them what power over the Church, or one over another, +they think most convenient; and what titles of honor, as of Bishops, +Archbishops, Priests, or Presbyters, they will; and make such Laws for +their maintenance, either by Tithes, or otherwise, as they please, +so they doe it out of a sincere conscience, of which God onely is +the Judge. It is the Civill Soveraign, that is to appoint Judges, and +Interpreters of the Canonicall Scriptures; for it is he that maketh them +Laws. It is he also that giveth strength to Excommunications; which but +for such Laws and Punishments, as may humble obstinate Libertines, and +reduce them to union with the rest of the Church, would bee +contemned. In summe, he hath the Supreme Power in all causes, as well +Ecclesiasticall, as Civill, as far as concerneth actions, and words, for +these onely are known, and may be accused; and of that which cannot be +accused, there is no Judg at all, but God, that knoweth the heart. +And these Rights are incident to all Soveraigns, whether Monarchs, or +Assemblies: for they that are the Representants of a Christian People, +are Representants of the Church: for a Church, and a Common-wealth of +Christian People, are the same thing. + + + + +Cardinal Bellarmines Books De Summo Pontifice Considered + +Though this that I have here said, and in other places of this Book, +seem cleer enough for the asserting of the Supreme Ecclesiasticall Power +to Christian Soveraigns; yet because the Pope of Romes challenge to that +Power universally, hath been maintained chiefly, and I think as strongly +as is possible, by Cardinall Bellarmine, in his Controversie De Summo +Pontifice; I have thought it necessary, as briefly as I can, to examine +the grounds, and strength of his Discourse. + + + + +The First Book + +Of five Books he hath written of this subject, the first containeth +three Questions: One, Which is simply the best government, Monarchy, +Aristocracy, or Democracy; and concludeth for neither, but for a +government mixt of all there: Another, which of these is the best +Government of the Church; and concludeth for the mixt, but which should +most participate of Monarchy: the third, whether in this mixt Monarchy, +St. Peter had the place of Monarch. Concerning his first Conclusion, I +have already sufficiently proved (chapt. 18.) that all Governments which +men are bound to obey, are Simple, and Absolute. In Monarchy there is +but One Man Supreme; and all other men that have any kind of Power in +the State, have it by his Commission, during his pleasure; and execute +it in his name: And in Aristocracy, and Democracy, but One Supreme +Assembly, with the same Power that in Monarchy belongeth to the Monarch, +which is not a Mixt, but an Absolute Soveraignty. And of the three +sorts, which is the best, is not to be disputed, where any one of them +is already established; but the present ought alwaies to be preferred, +maintained, and accounted best; because it is against both the Law of +Nature, and the Divine positive Law, to doe any thing tending to the +subversion thereof. Besides, it maketh nothing to the Power of +any Pastor, (unlesse he have the Civill Soveraignty,) what kind of +Government is the best; because their Calling is not to govern men by +Commandement, but to teach them, and perswade them by Arguments, and +leave it to them to consider, whether they shall embrace, or reject the +Doctrine taught. For Monarchy, Aristocracy, and Democracy, do mark out +unto us three sorts of Soveraigns, not of Pastors; or, as we may say, +three sorts of Masters of Families, not three sorts of Schoolmasters for +their children. + +And therefore the second Conclusion, concerning the best form of +Government of the Church, is nothing to the question of the Popes Power +without his own Dominions: For in all other Common-wealths his Power (if +hee have any at all) is that of the Schoolmaster onely, and not of the +Master of the Family. + +For the third Conclusion, which is, that St. Peter was Monarch of the +Church, he bringeth for his chiefe argument the place of S. Matth. +(chap. 16.18, 19.) "Thou art Peter, And upon this rock I will build my +Church, &c. And I will give thee the keyes of Heaven; whatsoever thou +shalt bind on Earth, shall be bound in Heaven, and whatsoever thou shalt +loose on Earth, shall be loosed in Heaven." Which place well considered, +proveth no more, but that the Church of Christ hath for foundation one +onely Article; namely, that which Peter in the name of all the Apostles +professing, gave occasion to our Saviour to speak the words here cited; +which that wee may cleerly understand, we are to consider, that our +Saviour preached by himself, by John Baptist, and by his Apostles, +nothing but this Article of Faith, "that he was the Christ;" all other +Articles requiring faith no otherwise, than as founded on that. John +began first, (Mat. 3.2.) preaching only this, "The Kingdome of God is at +hand." Then our Saviour himself (Mat. 4.17.) preached the same: And to +his Twelve Apostles, when he gave them their Commission (Mat. 10.7.) +there is no mention of preaching any other Article but that. This was +the fundamentall Article, that is the Foundation of the Churches Faith. +Afterwards the Apostles being returned to him, he asketh them all, (Mat. +16.13) not Peter onely, "Who men said he was;" and they answered, that +"some said he was John the Baptist, some Elias, and others Jeremias, +or one of the Prophets:" Then (ver. 15.) he asked them all again, (not +Peter onely) "Whom say yee that I am?" Therefore Peter answered (for +them all) "Thou art Christ, the Son of the Living God;" which I said is +the Foundation of the Faith of the whole Church; from which our Saviour +takes the occasion of saying, "Upon this stone I will build my Church;" +By which it is manifest, that by the Foundation-Stone of the Church, was +meant the Fundamentall Article of the Churches Faith. But why then (will +some object) doth our Saviour interpose these words, "Thou art Peter"? +If the originall of this text had been rigidly translated, the reason +would easily have appeared: We are therefore to consider, that the +Apostle Simon, was surnamed Stone, (which is the signification of +the Syriacke word Cephas, and of the Greek word Petrus). Our Saviour +therefore after the confession of that Fundamentall Article, alluding +to his name, said (as if it were in English) thus, Thou art "Stone," and +upon this Stone I will build my Church: which is as much as to say, this +Article, that "I am the Christ," is the Foundation of all the Faith I +require in those that are to bee members of my Church: Neither is this +allusion to a name, an unusuall thing in common speech: But it had been +a strange, and obscure speech, if our Saviour intending to build his +Church on the Person of St. Peter, had said, "thou art a Stone, and +upon this Stone I will build my Church," when it was so obvious without +ambiguity to have said, "I will build my Church on thee; and yet there +had been still the same allusion to his name. + +And for the following words, "I will give thee the Keyes of Heaven, &c." +it is no more than what our Saviour gave also to all the rest of his +Disciples (Matth. 18.18.) "Whatsoever yee shall bind on Earth, shall be +bound in Heaven. And whatsoever ye shall loose on Earth, shall be loosed +in Heaven." But howsoever this be interpreted, there is no doubt but +the Power here granted belongs to all Supreme Pastors; such as are all +Christian Civill Soveraignes in their own Dominions. In so much, as if +St. Peter, or our Saviour himself had converted any of them to beleeve +him, and to acknowledge his Kingdome; yet because his Kingdome is not of +this world, he had left the supreme care of converting his subjects to +none but him; or else hee must have deprived him of the Soveraignty, +to which the Right of Teaching is inseparably annexed. And thus much in +refutation of his first Book, wherein hee would prove St. Peter to have +been the Monarch Universall of the Church, that is to say, of all the +Christians in the world. + + + + +The Second Book + +The second Book hath two Conclusions: One, that S. Peter was Bishop +of Rome, and there dyed: The other, that the Popes of Rome are his +Successors. Both which have been disputed by others. But supposing them +to be true; yet if by Bishop of Rome bee understood either the +Monarch of the Church, or the Supreme Pastor of it; not Silvester, but +Constantine (who was the first Christian Emperour) was that Bishop; and +as Constantine, so all other Christian Emperors were of Right supreme +Bishops of the Roman Empire; I say of the Roman Empire, not of all +Christendome: For other Christian Soveraigns had the same Right in their +severall Territories, as to an Office essentially adhaerent to their +Soveraignty. Which shall serve for answer to his second Book. + + + + +The Third Book + +In the third Book, he handleth the question whether the Pope be +Antichrist. For my part, I see no argument that proves he is so, in that +sense that Scripture useth the name: nor will I take any argument from +the quality of Antichrist, to contradict the Authority he exerciseth, +or hath heretofore exercised in the Dominions of any other Prince, or +State. + +It is evident that the Prophets of the Old Testament foretold, and the +Jews expected a Messiah, that is, a Christ, that should re-establish +amongst them the kingdom of God, which had been rejected by them in +the time of Samuel, when they required a King after the manner of +other Nations. This expectation of theirs, made them obnoxious to the +Imposture of all such, as had both the ambition to attempt the attaining +of the Kingdome, and the art to deceive the People by counterfeit +miracles, by hypocriticall life, or by orations and doctrine plausible. +Our Saviour therefore, and his Apostles forewarned men of False +Prophets, and of False Christs. False Christs, are such as pretend to +be the Christ, but are not, and are called properly Antichrists, in such +sense, as when there happeneth a Schisme in the Church by the election +of two Popes, the one calleth the other Antipapa, or the false Pope. +And therefore Antichrist in the proper signification hath two essentiall +marks; One, that he denyeth Jesus to be Christ; and another that he +professeth himselfe to bee Christ. The first Mark is set down by S. John +in his 1 Epist. 4. ch. 3. ver. "Every Spirit that confesseth not that +Jesus Christ is come in the flesh, is not of God; And this is the Spirit +of Antichrist." The other Mark is expressed in the words of our Saviour, +(Mat. 24.5.) "Many shall come in my name, saying, I am Christ;" and +again, "If any man shall say unto you, Loe, here is Christ, there is +Christ beleeve it not." And therefore Antichrist must be a False Christ, +that is, some one of them that shall pretend themselves to be Christ. +And out of these two Marks, "to deny Jesus to be the Christ," and to +"affirm himselfe to be the Christ," it followeth, that he must also be +an "Adversary of the true Christ," which is another usuall signification +of the word Antichrist. But of these many Antichrists, there is one +speciall one, O Antichristos, The Antichrist, or Antichrist definitely, +as one certaine person; not indefinitely An Antichrist. Now seeing the +Pope of Rome, neither pretendeth himself, nor denyeth Jesus to be the +Christ, I perceive not how he can be called Antichrist; by which word +is not meant, one that falsely pretendeth to be His Lieutenant, or Vicar +Generall, but to be Hee. There is also some Mark of the time of this +speciall Antichrist, as (Mat. 24.15.) when that abominable Destroyer, +spoken of by Daniel, (Dan. 9. 27.) shall stand in the Holy place, and +such tribulation as was not since the beginning of the world, nor ever +shall be again, insomuch as if it were to last long, (ver. 22.) "no +flesh could be saved; but for the elects sake those days shall be +shortened" (made fewer). But that tribulation is not yet come; for it +is to be followed immediately (ver. 29.) by a darkening of the Sun +and Moon, a falling of the Stars, a concussion of the Heavens, and the +glorious coming again of our Saviour, in the cloudes. And therefore The +Antichrist is not yet come; whereas, many Popes are both come and gone. +It is true, the Pope in taking upon him to give Laws to all Christian +Kings, and Nations, usurpeth a Kingdome in this world, which Christ took +not on him: but he doth it not As Christ, but as For Christ, wherein +there is nothing of the Antichrist. + + + + +The Fourth Book + +In the fourth Book, to prove the Pope to be the supreme Judg in all +questions of Faith and Manners, (which is as much as to be the absolute +Monarch of all Christians in the world,) be bringeth three Propositions: +The first, that his Judgments are Infallible: The second, that he can +make very Laws, and punish those that observe them not: The third, that +our Saviour conferred all Jurisdiction Ecclesiasticall on the Pope of +Rome. + + + + +Texts For The Infallibility Of The Popes Judgement In Points Of Faith + +For the Infallibility of his Judgments, he alledgeth the Scriptures: and +first, that of Luke 22.31. "Simon, Simon, Satan hath desired you that +hee may sift you as wheat; but I have prayed for thee, that thy faith +faile not; and when thou art converted, strengthen thy Brethren." This, +according to Bellarmines exposition, is, that Christ gave here to Simon +Peter two priviledges: one, that neither his Faith should fail, neither +he, nor any of his successors should ever define any point concerning +Faith, or Manners erroneously, or contrary to the definition of a former +Pope: Which is a strange, and very much strained interpretation. But he +that with attention readeth that chapter, shall find there is no place +in the whole Scripture, that maketh more against the Popes Authority, +than this very place. The Priests and Scribes seeking to kill our +Saviour at the Passeover, and Judas possessed with a resolution to +betray him, and the day of killing the Passeover being come, our Saviour +celebrated the same with his Apostles, which he said, till the Kingdome +of God was come hee would doe no more; and withall told them, that one +of them was to betray him: Hereupon they questioned, which of them it +should be; and withall (seeing the next Passeover their Master would +celebrate should be when he was King) entred into a contention, who +should then be the greater man. Our Saviour therefore told them, that +the Kings of the Nations had Dominion over their Subjects, and are +called by a name (in Hebrew) that signifies Bountifull; but I cannot +be so to you, you must endeavour to serve one another; I ordain you a +Kingdome, but it is such as my Father hath ordained mee; a Kingdome that +I am now to purchase with my blood, and not to possesse till my second +coming; then yee shall eat and drink at my Table, and sit on Thrones, +judging the twelve Tribes of Israel: And then addressing himself to +St. Peter, he saith, Simon, Simon, Satan seeks by suggesting a present +domination, to weaken your faith of the future; but I have prayed for +thee, that thy faith shall not fail; Thou therefore (Note this,) being +converted, and understanding my Kingdome as of another world, confirm +the same faith in thy Brethren: To which S. Peter answered (as one that +no more expected any authority in this world) "Lord I am ready to goe +with thee, not onely to Prison, but to Death." Whereby it is manifest, +S. Peter had not onely no jurisdiction given him in this world, but a +charge to teach all the other Apostles, that they also should have none. +And for the Infallibility of St. Peters sentence definitive in matter +of Faith, there is no more to be attributed to it out of this Text, than +that Peter should continue in the beleef of this point, namely, that +Christ should come again, and possesse the Kingdome at the day of +Judgement; which was not given by the Text to all his Successors; for +wee see they claim it in the World that now is. + +The second place is that of Matth. 16. "Thou art Peter, and upon this +rocke I will build my Church, and the gates of Hell shall not prevail +against it." By which (as I have already shewn in this chapter) is +proved no more, than that the gates of Hell shall not prevail against +the confession of Peter, which gave occasion to that speech; namely +this, That Jesus Is Christ The Sonne Of God. + +The third text is John 21. ver. 16,17. "Feed my sheep;" which contains +no more but a Commission of Teaching: And if we grant the rest of the +Apostles to be contained in that name of Sheep; then it is the supreme +Power of Teaching: but it was onely for the time that there were no +Christian Soveraigns already possessed of that Supremacy. But I have +already proved, that Christian Soveraignes are in their owne Dominions +the supreme Pastors, and instituted thereto, by vertue of their being +Baptized, though without other Imposition of Hands. For such imposition +being a Ceremony of designing the person, is needlesse, when hee is +already designed to the Power of Teaching what Doctrine he will, by his +institution to an Absolute Power over his Subjects. For as I have proved +before, Soveraigns are supreme Teachers (in generall) by their Office +and therefore oblige themselves (by their Baptisme) to teach the +Doctrine of Christ: And when they suffer others to teach their people, +they doe it at the perill of their own souls; for it is at the hands +of the Heads of Families that God will require the account of the +instruction of his Children and Servants. It is of Abraham himself, +not of a hireling, that God saith (Gen. 18.19) "I know him that he will +command his Children, and his houshold after him, that they keep the way +of the Lord, and do justice and judgement. + +The fourth place is that of Exod. 28.30. "Thou shalt put in the +Breastplate of Judgment, the Urim and the Thummin:" which hee saith is +interpreted by the Septuagint, delosin kai aletheian, that is, Evidence +and Truth: And thence concludeth, God had given Evidence, and Truth, +(which is almost infallibility,) to the High Priest. But be it Evidence +and Truth it selfe that was given; or be it but Admonition to the Priest +to endeavour to inform himself cleerly, and give judgment uprightly; +yet in that it was given to the High Priest, it was given to the Civill +Soveraign: For next under God was the High Priest in the Common-wealth +of Israel; and is an argument for Evidence and Truth, that is, for the +Ecclesiasticall Supremacy of Civill Soveraigns over their own Subjects, +against the pretended Power of the Pope. These are all the Texts hee +bringeth for the Infallibility of the Judgement of the Pope, in point of +Faith. + + + + +Texts For The Same In Point Of Manners + +For the Infallibility of his Judgment concerning Manners, hee bringeth +one Text, which is that of John 16.13. "When the Spirit of truth is +come, hee will lead you into all truth" where (saith he) by All Truth, +is meant, at least, All Truth Necessary To Salvation. But with this +mitigation, he attributeth no more Infallibility to the Pope, than to +any man that professeth Christianity, and is not to be damned: For +if any man erre in any point, wherein not to erre is necessary to +Salvation, it is impossible he should be saved; for that onely is +necessary to Salvation, without which to be saved is impossible. What +points these are, I shall declare out of the Scripture in the Chapter +following. In this place I say no more, but that though it were granted, +the Pope could not possibly teach any error at all, yet doth not this +entitle him to any Jurisdiction in the Dominions of another Prince, +unlesse we shall also say, a man is obliged in conscience to set on +work upon all occasions the best workman, even then also when he hath +formerly promised his work to another. + +Besides the Text, he argueth from Reason, thus, If the Pope could erre +in necessaries, then Christ hath not sufficiently provided for the +Churches Salvation; because he hath commanded her to follow the Popes +directions. But this Reason is invalid, unlesse he shew when, and where +Christ commanded that, or took at all any notice of a Pope: Nay granting +whatsoever was given to S. Peter was given to the Pope; yet seeing there +is in the Scripture no command to any man to obey St. Peter, no man can +bee just, that obeyeth him, when his commands are contrary to those of +his lawfull Soveraign. + +Lastly, it hath not been declared by the Church, nor by the Pope +himselfe, that he is the Civill Soveraign of all the Christians in the +world; and therefore all Christians are not bound to acknowledge his +Jurisdiction in point of Manners. For the Civill Soveraignty, and +supreme Judicature in controversies of Manners, are the same thing: And +the Makers of Civill Laws, are not onely Declarers, but also Makers +of the justice, and injustice of actions; there being nothing in mens +Manners that makes them righteous, or unrighteous, but their conformity +with the Law of the Soveraign. And therefore when the Pope challengeth +Supremacy in controversies of Manners, hee teacheth men to disobey the +Civill Soveraign; which is an erroneous Doctrine, contrary to the +many precepts of our Saviour and his Apostles, delivered to us in the +Scripture. + +To prove the Pope has Power to make Laws, he alledgeth many places; as +first, Deut. 17.12. "The man that will doe presumptuously, and will not +hearken unto the Priest, (that standeth to Minister there before the +Lord thy God, or unto the Judge,) even that man shall die, and thou +shalt put away the evill from Israel." For answer whereunto, we are to +remember that the High Priest (next and immediately under God) was the +Civill Soveraign; and all Judges were to be constituted by him. The +words alledged sound therefore thus. "The man that will presume to +disobey the Civill Soveraign for the time being, or any of his Officers +in the execution of their places, that man shall die, &c." which is +cleerly for the Civill Soveraignty, against the Universall power of the +Pope. + +Secondly, he alledgeth that of Matth. 16. "Whatsoever yee shall bind, +&c." and interpreteth it for such Binding as is attributed (Matth. +23.4.) to the Scribes and Pharisees, "They bind heavy burthens, and +grievous to be born, and lay them on mens shoulders;" by which is meant +(he sayes) Making of Laws; and concludes thence, the Pope can make +Laws. But this also maketh onely for the Legislative power of Civill +Soveraigns: For the Scribes, and Pharisees sat in Moses Chaire, +but Moses next under God was Soveraign of the People of Israel: and +therefore our Saviour commanded them to doe all that they should say, +but not all that they should do. That is, to obey their Laws, but not +follow their Example. + +The third place, is John 21.16. "Feed my sheep;" which is not a Power +to make Laws, but a command to Teach. Making Laws belongs to the Lord of +the Family; who by his owne discretion chooseth his Chaplain, as also a +Schoolmaster to Teach his children. + +The fourth place John 20.21. is against him. The words are, "As my +Father sent me, so send I you." But our Saviour was sent to Redeem (by +his Death) such as should Beleeve; and by his own, and his Apostles +preaching to prepare them for their entrance into his Kingdome; which he +himself saith, is not of this world, and hath taught us to pray for the +coming of it hereafter, though hee refused (Acts 1.6,7.) to tell his +Apostles when it should come; and in which, when it comes, the twelve +Apostles shall sit on twelve Thrones (every one perhaps as high as that +of St. Peter) to judge the twelve tribes of Israel. Seeing then God the +Father sent not our Saviour to make Laws in this present world, wee may +conclude from the Text, that neither did our Saviour send S. Peter to +make Laws here, but to perswade men to expect his second comming with +a stedfast faith; and in the mean time, if Subjects, to obey their +Princes; and if Princes, both to beleeve it themselves, and to do their +best to make their Subjects doe the same; which is the Office of a +Bishop. Therefore this place maketh most strongly for the joining of the +Ecclesiasticall Supremacy to the Civill Soveraignty, contrary to that +which Cardinall Bellarmine alledgeth it for. + +The fift place is Acts 15.28. "It hath seemed good to the Holy Spirit, +and to us, to lay upon you no greater burden, than these necessary +things, that yee abstaine from meats offered to Idols, and from bloud, +and from things strangled, and from fornication." Here hee notes the +word Laying Of Burdens for the Legislative Power. But who is there, +that reading this Text, can say, this stile of the Apostles may not as +properly be used in giving Counsell, as in making Laws? The stile of a +Law is, We Command: But, We Think Good, is the ordinary stile of them, +that but give Advice; and they lay a Burthen that give Advice, though +it bee conditionall, that is, if they to whom they give it, will +attain their ends: And such is the Burthen, of abstaining from things +strangled, and from bloud; not absolute, but in case they will not +erre. I have shewn before (chap. 25.) that Law, is distinguished from +Counsell, in this, that the reason of a Law, is taken from the designe, +and benefit of him that prescribeth it; but the reason of a Counsell, +from the designe, and benefit of him, to whom the Counsell is given. But +here, the Apostles aime onely at the benefit of the converted Gentiles, +namely their Salvation; not at their own benefit; for having done their +endeavour, they shall have their reward, whether they be obeyed, or not. +And therefore the Acts of this Councell, were not Laws, but Counsells. + +The sixt place is that of Rom. 13. "Let every Soul be subject to the +Higher Powers, for there is no Power but of God;" which is meant, he +saith not onely of Secular, but also of Ecclesiasticall Princes. To +which I answer, first, that there are no Ecclesiasticall Princes but +those that are also Civill Soveraignes; and their Principalities exceed +not the compasse of their Civill Soveraignty; without those bounds +though they may be received for Doctors, they cannot be acknowledged for +Princes. For if the Apostle had meant, we should be subject both to our +own Princes, and also to the Pope, he had taught us a doctrine, which +Christ himself hath told us is impossible, namely, "to serve two +Masters." And though the Apostle say in another place, "I write these +things being absent, lest being present I should use sharpnesse, +according to the Power which the Lord hath given me;" it is not, that +he challenged a Power either to put to death, imprison, banish, whip, +or fine any of them, which are Punishments; but onely to Excommunicate, +which (without the Civill Power) is no more but a leaving of their +company, and having no more to doe with them, than with a Heathen man, +or a Publican; which in many occasions might be a greater pain to the +Excommunicant, than to the Excommunicate. + +The seventh place is 1 Cor. 4.21. "Shall I come unto you with a Rod, or +in love, and the spirit of lenity?" But here again, it is not the Power +of a Magistrate to punish offenders, that is meant by a Rod; but +onely the Power of Excommunication, which is not in its owne nature +a Punishment, but onely a Denouncing of punishment, that Christ shall +inflict, when he shall be in possession of his Kingdome, at the day of +Judgment. Nor then also shall it bee properly a Punishment, as upon a +Subject that hath broken the Law; but a Revenge, as upon an Enemy, or +Revolter, that denyeth the Right of our Saviour to the Kingdome: And +therefore this proveth not the Legislative Power of any Bishop, that has +not also the Civill Power. + +The eighth place is, Timothy 3.2. "A Bishop must be the husband but of +one wife, vigilant, sober, &c." which he saith was a Law. I thought that +none could make a Law in the Church, but the Monarch of the Church, St. +Peter. But suppose this Precept made by the authority of St. Peter; +yet I see no reason why to call it a Law, rather than an Advice, seeing +Timothy was not a Subject, but a Disciple of St. Paul; nor the flock +under the charge of Timothy, his Subjects in the Kingdome, but his +Scholars in the Schoole of Christ: If all the Precepts he giveth +Timothy, be Laws, why is not this also a Law, "Drink no longer water, +but use a little wine for thy healths sake"? And why are not also +the Precepts of good Physitians, so many Laws? but that it is not the +Imperative manner of speaking, but an absolute Subjection to a Person, +that maketh his Precept Laws. + +In like manner, the ninth place, 1 Tim. 5. 19. "Against an Elder +receive not an accusation, but before two or three Witnesses," is a wise +Precept, but not a Law. + +The tenth place is, Luke 10.16. "He that heareth you, heareth mee; and +he that despiseth you, despiseth me." And there is no doubt, but he that +despiseth the Counsell of those that are sent by Christ, despiseth +the Counsell of Christ himself. But who are those now that are sent by +Christ, but such as are ordained Pastors by lawfull Authority? and who +are lawfully ordained, that are not ordained by the Soveraign +Pastor? and who is ordained by the Soveraign Pastor in a Christian +Common-wealth, that is not ordained by the authority of the Soveraign +thereof? Out of this place therefore it followeth, that he which heareth +his Soveraign being a Christian, heareth Christ; and hee that despiseth +the Doctrine which his King being a Christian, authorizeth, despiseth +the Doctrine of Christ (which is not that which Bellarmine intendeth +here to prove, but the contrary). But all this is nothing to a Law. Nay +more, a Christian King, as a Pastor, and Teacher of his Subjects, makes +not thereby his Doctrines Laws. He cannot oblige men to beleeve; though +as a Civill Soveraign he may make Laws suitable to his Doctrine, which +may oblige men to certain actions, and sometimes to such as they would +not otherwise do, and which he ought not to command; and yet when +they are commanded, they are Laws; and the externall actions done in +obedience to them, without the inward approbation, are the actions of +the Soveraign, and not of the Subject, which is in that case but as +an instrument, without any motion of his owne at all; because God hath +commanded to obey them. + +The eleventh, is every place, where the Apostle for Counsell, putteth +some word, by which men use to signifie Command; or calleth the +following of his Counsell, by the name of Obedience. And therefore they +are alledged out of 1 Cor. 11.2. "I commend you for keeping my Precepts +as I delivered them to you." The Greek is, "I commend you for keeping +those things I delivered to you, as I delivered them." Which is far from +signifying that they were Laws, or any thing else, but good Counsell. +And that of 1 Thess. 4.2. "You know what commandements we gave you:" +where the Greek word is paraggelias edokamen, equivalent to paredokamen, +what wee delivered to you, as in the place next before alledged, which +does not prove the Traditions of the Apostles, to be any more than +Counsells; though as is said in the 8th verse, "he that despiseth them, +despiseth not man, but God": For our Saviour himself came not to Judge, +that is, to be King in this world; but to Sacrifice himself for Sinners, +and leave Doctors in his Church, to lead, not to drive men to Christ, +who never accepteth forced actions, (which is all the Law produceth,) +but the inward conversion of the heart; which is not the work of Laws, +but of Counsell, and Doctrine. + +And that of 2 Thess. 3.14. "If any man Obey not our word by this +Epistle, note that man, and have no company with him, that he may bee +ashamed": where from the word Obey, he would inferre, that this Epistle +was a Law to the Thessalonians. The Epistles of the Emperours were +indeed Laws. If therefore the Epistle of S. Paul were also a Law, they +were to obey two Masters. But the word Obey, as it is in the Greek +upakouei, signifieth Hearkening To, or Putting In Practice, not onely +that which is Commanded by him that has right to punish, but also that +which is delivered in a way of Counsell for our good; and therefore St. +Paul does not bid kill him that disobeys, nor beat, nor imprison, nor +amerce him, which Legislators may all do; but avoid his company, that +he may bee ashamed: whereby it is evident, it was not the Empire of an +Apostle, but his Reputation amongst the Faithfull, which the Christians +stood in awe of. + +The last place is that of Heb. 13.17. "Obey your Leaders, and submit +your selves to them, for they watch for your souls, as they that must +give account:" And here also is intended by Obedience, a following of +their Counsell: For the reason of our Obedience, is not drawn from the +will and command of our Pastors, but from our own benefit, as being the +Salvation of our Souls they watch for, and not for the Exaltation of +their own Power, and Authority. If it were meant here, that all they +teach were Laws, then not onely the Pope, but every Pastor in his Parish +should have Legislative Power. Again, they that are bound to obey, their +Pastors, have no power to examine their commands. What then shall wee +say to St. John who bids us (1 Epist. chap. 4. ver. 1.) "Not to beleeve +every Spirit, but to try the Spirits whether they are of God, because +many false Prophets are gone out into the world"? It is therefore +manifest, that wee may dispute the Doctrine of our Pastors; but no man +can dispute a Law. The Commands of Civill Soveraigns are on all sides +granted to be Laws: if any else can make a Law besides himselfe, all +Common-wealth, and consequently all Peace, and Justice must cease; which +is contrary to all Laws, both Divine and Humane. Nothing therefore can +be drawn from these, or any other places of Scripture, to prove the +Decrees of the Pope, where he has not also the Civill Soveraignty, to be +Laws. + +The Question Of Superiority Between The Pope And Other Bishops The last +point hee would prove, is this, "That our Saviour Christ has committed +Ecclesiasticall Jurisdiction immediately to none but the Pope." Wherein +he handleth not the Question of Supremacy between the Pope and Christian +Kings, but between the Pope and other Bishops. And first, he sayes it is +agreed, that the Jurisdiction of Bishops, is at least in the generall +De Jure Divino, that is, in the Right of God; for which he alledges S. +Paul, Ephes. 4.11. where hee sayes, that Christ after his Ascension +into heaven, "gave gifts to men, some Apostles, some Prophets, and some +Evangelists, and some Pastors, and some Teachers:" And thence inferres, +they have indeed their Jurisdiction in Gods Right; but will not grant +they have it immediately from God, but derived through the Pope. But if +a man may be said to have his Jurisdiction De Jure Divino, and yet not +immediately; what lawfull Jurisdiction, though but Civill, is there in a +Christian Common-wealth, that is not also De Jure Divino? For Christian +Kings have their Civill Power from God immediately; and the Magistrates +under him exercise their severall charges in vertue of his Commission; +wherein that which they doe, is no lesse De Jure Divino Mediato, than +that which the Bishops doe, in vertue of the Popes Ordination. All +lawfull Power is of God, immediately in the Supreme Governour, and +mediately in those that have Authority under him: So that either hee +must grant every Constable in the State, to hold his Office in the Right +of God; or he must not hold that any Bishop holds his so, besides the +Pope himselfe. + +But this whole Dispute, whether Christ left the Jurisdiction to the Pope +onely, or to other Bishops also, if considered out of these places where +the Pope has the Civill Soveraignty, is a contention De Lana Caprina: +For none of them (where they are not Soveraigns) has any Jurisdiction +at all. For Jurisdiction is the Power of hearing and determining Causes +between man and man; and can belong to none, but him that hath the Power +to prescribe the Rules of Right and Wrong; that is, to make Laws; +and with the Sword of Justice to compell men to obey his Decisions, +pronounced either by himself, or by the Judges he ordaineth thereunto; +which none can lawfully do, but the Civill Soveraign. + +Therefore when he alledgeth out of the 6 of Luke, that our Saviour +called his Disciples together, and chose twelve of them which he named +Apostles, he proveth that he Elected them (all, except Matthias, Paul +and Barnabas,) and gave them Power and Command to Preach, but not +to Judge of Causes between man and man: for that is a Power which +he refused to take upon himselfe, saying, "Who made me a Judge, or a +Divider, amongst you?" and in another place, "My Kingdome is not of this +world." But hee that hath not the Power to hear, and determine Causes +between man and man, cannot be said to have any Jurisdiction at all. And +yet this hinders not, but that our Saviour gave them Power to Preach and +Baptize in all parts of the world, supposing they were not by their own +lawfull Soveraign forbidden: For to our own Soveraigns Christ himself, +and his Apostles have in sundry places expressely commanded us in all +things to be obedient. + +The arguments by which he would prove, that Bishops receive their +Jurisdiction from the Pope (seeing the Pope in the Dominions of other +Princes hath no Jurisdiction himself,) are all in vain. Yet because they +prove, on the contrary, that all Bishops receive Jurisdiction when they +have it from their Civill Soveraigns, I will not omit the recitall of +them. + +The first, is from Numbers 11. where Moses not being able alone to +undergoe the whole burthen of administring the affairs of the People of +Israel, God commanded him to choose Seventy Elders, and took part of +the spirit of Moses, to put it upon those Seventy Elders: by which it is +understood, not that God weakened the spirit of Moses, for that had not +eased him at all; but that they had all of them their authority from +him; wherein he doth truly, and ingenuously interpret that place. But +seeing Moses had the entire Soveraignty in the Common-wealth of the +Jews, it is manifest, that it is thereby signified, that they had their +Authority from the Civill Soveraign: and therefore that place proveth, +that Bishops in every Christian Common-wealth have their Authority from +the Civill Soveraign; and from the Pope in his own Territories only, and +not in the Territories of any other State. + +The second argument, is from the nature of Monarchy; wherein all +Authority is in one Man, and in others by derivation from him: But the +Government of the Church, he says, is Monarchicall. This also makes for +Christian Monarchs. For they are really Monarchs of their own people; +that is, of their own Church (for the Church is the same thing with a +Christian people;) whereas the Power of the Pope, though hee were +S. Peter, is neither Monarchy, nor hath any thing of Archicall, nor +Craticall, but onely of Didacticall; For God accepteth not a forced, but +a willing obedience. + +The third, is, from that the Sea of S. Peter is called by S. Cyprian, +the Head, the Source, the Roote, the Sun, from whence the Authority +of Bishops is derived. But by the Law of Nature (which is a better +Principle of Right and Wrong, than the word of any Doctor that is but +a man) the Civill Soveraign in every Common-wealth, is the Head, the +Source, the Root, and the Sun, from which all Jurisdiction is derived. +And therefore, the Jurisdiction of Bishops, is derived from the Civill +Soveraign. + +The fourth, is taken from the Inequality of their Jurisdictions: For +if God (saith he) had given it them immediately, he had given aswell +Equality of Jurisdiction, as of Order: But wee see, some are Bishops but +of own Town, some of a hundred Towns, and some of many whole Provinces; +which differences were not determined by the command of God; their +Jurisdiction therefore is not of God, but of Man; and one has a +greater, another a lesse, as it pleaseth the Prince of the Church. Which +argument, if he had proved before, that the Pope had had an Universall +Jurisdiction over all Christians, had been for his purpose. But seeing +that hath not been proved, and that it is notoriously known, the large +Jurisdiction of the Pope was given him by those that had it, that is, +by the Emperours of Rome, (for the Patriarch of Constantinople, upon the +same title, namely, of being Bishop of the Capitall City of the Empire, +and Seat of the Emperour, claimed to be equal to him,) it followeth, +that all other Bishops have their Jurisdiction from the Soveraigns of +the place wherein they exercise the same: And as for that cause they +have not their Authority De Jure Divino; so neither hath the Pope his De +Jure Divino, except onely where hee is also the Civill Soveraign. + +His fift argument is this, "If Bishops have their Jurisdiction +immediately from God, the Pope could not take it from them, for he can +doe nothing contrary to Gods ordination;" And this consequence is good, +and well proved. "But, (saith he) the Pope can do this, and has done +it." This also is granted, so he doe it in his own Dominions, or in the +Dominions of any other Prince that hath given him that Power; but not +universally, in Right of the Popedome: For that power belongeth to +every Christian Soveraign, within the bounds of his owne Empire, and is +inseparable from the Soveraignty. Before the People of Israel had (by +the commandment of God to Samuel) set over themselves a King, after the +manner of other Nations, the High Priest had the Civill Government; and +none but he could make, nor depose an inferiour Priest: But that Power +was afterwards in the King, as may be proved by this same argument of +Bellarmine; For if the Priest (be he the High Priest or any other) had +his Jurisdiction immediately from God, then the King could not take it +from him; "for he could do nothing contrary to Gods ordinance: But it +is certain, that King Solomon (1 Kings 2.26.) deprived Abiathar the High +Priest of his office, and placed Zadok (verse 35.) in his room. Kings +therefore may in the like manner Ordaine, and Deprive Bishops, as they +shall thinke fit, for the well governing of their Subjects. + +His sixth argument is this, If Bishops have their Jurisdiction De Jure +Divino (that is, immediately from God,) they that maintaine it, should +bring some Word of God to prove it: But they can bring none. The +argument is good; I have therefore nothing to say against it. But it +is an argument no lesse good, to prove the Pope himself to have no +Jurisdiction in the Dominion of any other Prince. + +Lastly, hee bringeth for argument, the testimony of two Popes, Innocent, +and Leo; and I doubt not but hee might have alledged, with as good +reason, the testimonies of all the Popes almost since S. Peter: For +considering the love of Power naturally implanted in mankind, whosoever +were made Pope, he would be tempted to uphold the same opinion. +Neverthelesse, they should therein but doe, as Innocent, and Leo did, +bear witnesse of themselves, and therefore their witness should not be +good. + + + + +Of The Popes Temporall Power + +In the fift Book he hath four Conclusions. The first is, "That the Pope +in not Lord of all the world:" the second, "that the Pope is not Lord +of all the Christian world:" The third, "That the Pope (without his owne +Territory) has not any Temporall Jurisdiction DIRECTLY:" These three +Conclusions are easily granted. The fourth is, "That the Pope has (in +the Dominions of other Princes) the Supreme Temporall Power INDIRECTLY:" +which is denyed; unlesse he mean by Indirectly, that he has gotten it by +Indirect means; then is that also granted. But I understand, that +when he saith he hath it Indirectly, he means, that such Temporall +Jurisdiction belongeth to him of Right, but that this Right is but a +Consequence of his Pastorall Authority, the which he could not exercise, +unlesse he have the other with it: And therefore to the Pastorall Power +(which he calls Spirituall) the Supreme Power Civill is necessarily +annexed; and that thereby hee hath a Right to change Kingdomes, giving +them to one, and taking them from another, when he shall think it +conduces to the Salvation of Souls. + +Before I come to consider the Arguments by which hee would prove this +doctrine, it will not bee amisse to lay open the Consequences of it; +that Princes, and States, that have the Civill Soveraignty in their +severall Common-wealths, may bethink themselves, whether it bee +convenient for them, and conducing to the good of their Subjects, of +whom they are to give an account at the day of Judgment, to admit the +same. + +When it is said, the Pope hath not (in the Territories of other States) +the Supreme Civill Power Directly; we are to understand, he doth +not challenge it, as other Civill Soveraigns doe, from the originall +submission thereto of those that are to be governed. For it is evident, +and has already been sufficiently in this Treatise demonstrated, that +the Right of all Soveraigns, is derived originally from the consent of +every one of those that are to bee governed; whether they that choose +him, doe it for their common defence against an Enemy, as when they +agree amongst themselves to appoint a Man, or an Assembly of men to +protect them; or whether they doe it, to save their lives, by submission +to a conquering Enemy. The Pope therefore, when he disclaimeth the +Supreme Civill Power over other States Directly, denyeth no more, but +that his Right cometh to him by that way; He ceaseth not for all that, +to claime it another way; and that is, (without the consent of them +that are to be governed) by a Right given him by God, (which hee calleth +Indirectly,) in his Assumption to the Papacy. But by what way soever he +pretend, the Power is the same; and he may (if it bee granted to be his +Right) depose Princes and States, as often as it is for the Salvation +of Soules, that is, as often as he will; for he claimeth also the Sole +Power to Judge, whether it be to the salvation of mens Souls, or not. +And this is the Doctrine, not onely that Bellarmine here, and many other +Doctors teach in their Sermons and Books, but also that some +Councells have decreed, and the Popes have decreed, and the Popes have +accordingly, when the occasion hath served them, put in practise. For +the fourth Councell of Lateran held under Pope Innocent the third, (in +the third Chap. De Haereticis,) hath this Canon. "If a King at the +Popes admonition, doe not purge his Kingdome of Haeretiques, and being +Excommunicate for the same, make not satisfaction within a year, his +subjects are absolved of their Obedience." And the practise hereof hath +been seen on divers occasions; as in the Deposing of Chilperique, King +of France; in the Translation of the Roman Empire to Charlemaine; in +the Oppression of John King of England; in Transferring the Kingdome +of Navarre; and of late years, in the League against Henry the third of +France, and in many more occurrences. I think there be few Princes that +consider not this as Injust, and Inconvenient; but I wish they would +all resolve to be Kings, or Subjects. Men cannot serve two Masters: They +ought therefore to ease them, either by holding the Reins of Government +wholly in their own hands; or by wholly delivering them into the +hands of the Pope; that such men as are willing to be obedient, may be +protected in their obedience. For this distinction of Temporall, and +Spirituall Power is but words. Power is as really divided, and as +dangerously to all purposes, by sharing with another Indirect Power, as +with a Direct one. But to come now to his Arguments. + +The first is this, "The Civill Power is subject to the Spirituall: +Therefore he that hath the Supreme Power Spirituall, hath right to +command Temporall Princes, and dispose of their Temporalls in order to +the Spirituall. As for the distinction of Temporall, and Spirituall, +let us consider in what sense it may be said intelligibly, that the +Temporall, or Civill Power is subject to the Spirituall. There be but +two ways that those words can be made sense. For when wee say, one Power +is subject to another Power, the meaning either is, that he which hath +the one, is subject to him that hath the other; or that the one Power is +to the other, as the means to the end. For wee cannot understand, that +one Power hath Power over another Power; and that one Power can have +Right or Command over another: For Subjection, Command, Right, and +Power are accidents, not of Powers, but of Persons: One Power may be +subordinate to another, as the art of a Sadler, to the art of a Rider. +If then it be granted, that the Civill Government be ordained as a means +to bring us to a Spirituall felicity; yet it does not follow, that if a +King have the Civill Power, and the Pope the Spirituall, that therefore +the King is bound to obey the Pope, more then every Sadler is bound to +obey every Rider. Therefore as from Subordination of an Art, cannot be +inferred the Subjection of the Professor; so from the Subordination of +a Government, cannot be inferred the Subjection of the Governor. When +therefore he saith, the Civill Power is Subject to the Spirituall, his +meaning is, that the Civill Soveraign, is Subject to the Spirituall +Soveraign. And the Argument stands thus, "The Civil Soveraign, is +subject to the Spirituall; Therefore the Spirituall Prince may +command Temporall Princes." Where the conclusion is the same, with the +Antecedent he should have proved. But to prove it, he alledgeth +first, this reason, "Kings and Popes, Clergy and Laity make but one +Common-wealth; that is to say, but one Church: And in all Bodies the +Members depend one upon another: But things Spirituall depend not +of things Temporall: Therefore, Temporall depend on Spirituall. And +therefore are Subject to them." In which Argumentation there be two +grosse errours: one is, that all Christian Kings, Popes, Clergy, and all +other Christian men, make but one Common-wealth: For it is evident that +France is one Common-wealth, Spain another, and Venice a third, &c. And +these consist of Christians; and therefore also are severall Bodies +of Christians; that is to say, severall Churches: And their severall +Soveraigns Represent them, whereby they are capable of commanding and +obeying, of doing and suffering, as a natural man; which no Generall or +Universall Church is, till it have a Representant; which it hath not on +Earth: for if it had, there is no doubt but that all Christendome were +one Common-wealth, whose Soveraign were that Representant, both in +things Spirituall and Temporall: And the Pope, to make himself this +Representant, wanteth three things that our Saviour hath not given +him, to Command, and to Judge, and to Punish, otherwise than (by +Excommunication) to run from those that will not Learn of him: For +though the Pope were Christs onely Vicar, yet he cannot exercise his +government, till our Saviours second coming: And then also it is not the +Pope, but St. Peter himselfe, with the other Apostles, that are to be +Judges of the world. + +The other errour in this his first Argument is, that he sayes, the +Members of every Common-wealth, as of a naturall Body, depend one of +another: It is true, they cohaere together; but they depend onely on the +Soveraign, which is the Soul of the Common-wealth; which failing, the +Common-wealth is dissolved into a Civill war, no one man so much +as cohaering to another, for want of a common Dependance on a known +Soveraign; Just as the Members of the naturall Body dissolve into Earth, +for want of a Soul to hold them together. Therefore there is nothing in +this similitude, from whence to inferre a dependance of the Laity on the +Clergy, or of the Temporall Officers on the Spirituall; but of both on +the Civill Soveraign; which ought indeed to direct his Civill commands +to the Salvation of Souls; but is not therefore subject to any but God +himselfe. And thus you see the laboured fallacy of the first Argument, +to deceive such men as distinguish not between the Subordination of +Actions in the way to the End; and the Subjection of Persons one to +another in the administration of the Means. For to every End, the Means +are determined by Nature, or by God himselfe supernaturally: but the +Power to make men use the Means, is in every nation resigned (by the +Law of Nature, which forbiddeth men to violate their Faith given) to the +Civill Soveraign. + +His second Argument is this, "Every Common-wealth, (because it is +supposed to be perfect and sufficient in it self,) may command any +other Common-wealth, not subject to it, and force it to change the +administration of the Government, nay depose the Prince, and set another +in his room, if it cannot otherwise defend it selfe against the injuries +he goes about to doe them: much more may a Spirituall Common-wealth +command a Temporall one to change the administration of their +Government, and may depose Princes, and institute others, when they +cannot otherwise defend the Spirituall Good." + +That a Common-wealth, to defend it selfe against injuries, may lawfully +doe all that he hath here said, is very true; and hath already in that +which hath gone before been sufficiently demonstrated. And if it were +also true, that there is now in this world a Spirituall Common-wealth, +distinct from a Civill Common-wealth, then might the Prince thereof, +upon injury done him, or upon want of caution that injury be not done +him in time to come, repaire, and secure himself by Warre; which is in +summe, deposing, killing, or subduing, or doing any act of Hostility. +But by the same reason, it would be no lesse lawfull for a Civill +Soveraign, upon the like injuries done, or feared, to make warre +upon the Spirituall Soveraign; which I beleeve is more than Cardinall +Bellarmine would have inferred from his own proposition. + +But Spirituall Common-wealth there is none in this world: for it is the +same thing with the Kingdome of Christ; which he himselfe saith, is not +of this world; but shall be in the next world, at the Resurrection, when +they that have lived justly, and beleeved that he was the Christ, shall +(though they died Naturall bodies) rise Spirituall bodies; and then it +is, that our Saviour shall judge the world, and conquer his Adversaries, +and make a Spirituall Common-wealth. In the mean time, seeing there are +no men on earth, whose bodies are Spirituall; there can be no Spirituall +Common-wealth amongst men that are yet in the flesh; unlesse wee call +Preachers, that have Commission to Teach, and prepare men for +their reception into the Kingdome of Christ at the Resurrection, a +Common-wealth; which I have proved to bee none. + +The third Argument is this; "It is not lawfull for Christians to +tolerate an Infidel, or Haereticall King, in case he endeavour to draw +them to his Haeresie, or Infidelity. But to judge whether a King draw +his subjects to Haeresie, or not, belongeth to the Pope. Therefore hath +the Pope Right, to determine whether the Prince be to be deposed, or not +deposed." + +To this I answer, that both these assertions are false. For Christians, +(or men of what Religion soever,) if they tolerate not their King, +whatsoever law hee maketh, though it bee concerning Religion, doe +violate their faith, contrary to the Divine Law, both Naturall and +Positive: Nor is there any Judge of Haeresie amongst Subjects, but +their own Civill Soveraign; for "Haeresie is nothing else, but a private +opinion, obstinately maintained, contrary to the opinion which the +Publique Person (that is to say, the Representant of the Common-wealth) +hath commanded to bee taught." By which it is manifest, that an +opinion publiquely appointed to bee taught, cannot be Haeresie; nor the +Soveraign Princes that authorize them, Haeretiques. For Haeretiques are +none but private men, that stubbornly defend some Doctrine, prohibited +by their lawful Soveraigns. + +But to prove that Christians are not to tolerate Infidell, or +Haereticall Kings, he alledgeth a place in Deut. 17. where God +forbiddeth the Jews, when they shall set a King over themselves, to +choose a stranger; And from thence inferreth, that it is unlawfull for +a Christian, to choose a King, that is not a Christian. And ’tis true, +that he that is a Christian, that is, hee that hath already obliged +himself to receive our Saviour when he shall come, for his King, shal +tempt God too much in choosing for King in this world, one that hee +knoweth will endeavour, both by terrour, and perswasion to make him +violate his faith. But, it is (saith hee) the same danger, to choose one +that is not a Christian, for King, and not to depose him, when hee +is chosen. To this I say, the question is not of the danger of not +deposing; but of the Justice of deposing him. To choose him, may in some +cases bee unjust; but to depose him, when he is chosen, is in no case +Just. For it is alwaies violation of faith, and consequently against the +Law of Nature, which is the eternal Law of God. Nor doe wee read, that +any such Doctrine was accounted Christian in the time of the Apostles; +nor in the time of the Romane Emperours, till the Popes had the Civill +Soveraignty of Rome. But to this he hath replyed, that the Christians of +old, deposed not Nero, nor Diocletian, nor Julian, nor Valens an Arrian, +for this cause onely, that they wanted Temporall forces. Perhaps so. But +did our Saviour, who for calling for, might have had twelve Legions +of immortall, invulnerable Angels to assist him, want forces to depose +Caesar, or at least Pilate, that unjustly, without finding fault in him, +delivered him to the Jews to bee crucified? Or if the Apostles wanted +Temporall forces to depose Nero, was it therefore necessary for them in +their Epistles to the new made Christians, to teach them, (as they did) +to obey the Powers constituted over them, (whereof Nero in that time was +one,) and that they ought to obey them, not for fear of their wrath, +but for conscience sake? Shall we say they did not onely obey, but also +teach what they meant not, for want of strength? It is not therefore +for want of strength, but for conscience sake, that Christians are to +tolerate their Heathen Princes, or Princes (for I cannot call any one +whose Doctrine is the Publique Doctrine, an Haeretique) that authorize +the teaching of an Errour. And whereas for the Temporall Power of the +Pope, he alledgeth further, that St. Paul (1 Cor. 6.) appointed Judges +under the Heathen Princes of those times, such as were not ordained by +those Princes; it is not true. For St. Paul does but advise them, +to take some of their Brethren to compound their differences, as +Arbitrators, rather than to goe to law one with another before the +Heathen Judges; which is a wholsome Precept, and full of Charity, fit +to bee practised also in the Best Christian Common-wealths. And for +the danger that may arise to Religion, by the Subjects tolerating of an +Heathen, or an Erring Prince, it is a point, of which a Subject is no +competent Judge; or if hee bee, the Popes Temporall Subjects may judge +also of the Popes Doctrine. For every Christian Prince, as I have +formerly proved, is no lesse Supreme Pastor of his own Subjects, than +the Pope of his. + +The fourth Argument, is taken from the Baptisme of Kings; wherein, that +they may be made Christians they submit their Scepters to Christ; and +promise to keep, and defend the Christian Faith. This is true; for +Christian Kings are no more but Christs Subjects: but they may, for all +that, bee the Popes Fellowes; for they are Supreme Pastors of their own +Subjects; and the Pope is no more but King, and Pastor, even in Rome it +selfe. + +The fifth Argument, is drawn from the words spoken by our Saviour, Feed +My Sheep; by which was give all Power necessary for a Pastor; as the +Power to chase away Wolves, such as are Haeretiques; the Power to shut +up Rammes, if they be mad, or push at the other Sheep with their Hornes, +such as are Evill (though Christian) Kings; and Power to give the Flock +convenient food: From whence hee inferreth, that St. Peter had these +three Powers given him by Christ. To which I answer, that the last of +these Powers, is no more than the Power, or rather Command to Teach. +For the first, which is to chase away Wolves, that is, Haeretiques, the +place hee quoteth is (Matth. 7.15.) "Beware of false Prophets which +come to you in Sheeps clothing, but inwardly are ravening Wolves." +But neither are Haeretiques false Prophets, or at all Prophets: nor +(admitting Haeretiques for the Wolves there meant,) were the Apostles +commanded to kill them, or if they were Kings, to depose them; but to +beware of, fly, and avoid them: nor was it to St. Peter, nor to any of +the Apostles, but to the multitude of the Jews that followed him into +the mountain, men for the most part not yet converted, that hee gave +this Counsell, to Beware of false Prophets: which therefore if it +conferre a Power of chasing away Kings, was given, not onely to private +men; but to men that were not at all Christians. And as to the Power +of Separating, and Shutting up of furious Rammes, (by which hee meaneth +Christian Kings that refuse to submit themselves to the Roman Pastor,) +our Saviour refused to take upon him that Power in this world himself, +but advised to let the Corn and Tares grow up together till the day of +Judgment: much lesse did hee give it to St. Peter, or can S. Peter give +it to the Popes. St. Peter, and all other Pastors, are bidden to esteem +those Christians that disobey the Church, that is, (that disobey the +Christian Soveraigne) as Heathen men, and as Publicans. Seeing then men +challenge to the Pope no authority over Heathen Princes, they ought to +challenge none over those that are to bee esteemed as Heathen. + +But from the Power to Teach onely, hee inferreth also a Coercive Power +in the Pope, over Kings. The Pastor (saith he) must give his flock +convenient food: Therefore the Pope may, and ought to compell Kings to +doe their duty. Out of which it followeth, that the Pope, as Pastor of +Christian men, is King of Kings: which all Christian Kings ought indeed +either to Confesse, or else they ought to take upon themselves the +Supreme Pastorall Charge, every one in his own Dominion. + +His sixth, and last Argument, is from Examples. To which I answer, +first, that Examples prove nothing; Secondly, that the Examples he +alledgeth make not so much as a probability of Right. The fact of +Jehoiada, in Killing Athaliah (2 Kings 11.) was either by the Authority +of King Joash, or it was a horrible Crime in the High Priest, which +(ever after the election of King Saul) was a mere Subject. The fact of +St. Ambrose, in Excommunicating Theodosius the Emperour, (if it were +true hee did so,) was a Capitall Crime. And for the Popes, Gregory 1. +Greg. 2. Zachary, and Leo 3. their Judgments are void, as given in their +own Cause; and the Acts done by them conformably to this Doctrine, are +the greatest Crimes (especially that of Zachary) that are incident to +Humane Nature. And thus much of Power Ecclesiasticall; wherein I had +been more briefe, forbearing to examine these Arguments of Bellarmine, +if they had been his, as a Private man, and not as the Champion of the +Papacy, against all other Christian Princes, and States. + + + +CHAPTER XLIII. OF WHAT IS NECESSARY FOR A MANS RECEPTION INTO THE +KINGDOME OF HEAVEN. + + + + +The Difficulty Of Obeying God And Man Both At Once + +The most frequent praetext of Sedition, and Civill Warre, in Christian +Common-wealths hath a long time proceeded from a difficulty, not yet +sufficiently resolved, of obeying at once, both God, and Man, then +when their Commandements are one contrary to the other. It is manifest +enough, that when a man receiveth two contrary Commands, and knows that +one of them is Gods, he ought to obey that, and not the other, though +it be the command even of his lawfull Soveraign (whether a Monarch, or +a Soveraign Assembly,) or the command of his Father. The difficulty +therefore consisteth in this, that men when they are commanded in the +name of God, know not in divers Cases, whether the command be from God, +or whether he that commandeth, doe but abuse Gods name for some private +ends of his own. For as there ware in the Church of the Jews, many false +Prophets, that sought reputation with the people, by feigned Dreams, and +Visions; so there have been in all times in the Church of Christ, false +Teachers, that seek reputation with the people, by phantasticall and +false Doctrines; and by such reputation (as is the nature of Ambition,) +to govern them for their private benefit. + + + + +Is None To Them That Distinguish Between What Is, And What Is Not +Necessary To Salvation + +But this difficulty of obeying both God, and the Civill Soveraign on +earth, to those that can distinguish between what is Necessary, and what +is not Necessary for their Reception into the Kingdome of God, is of no +moment. For if the command of the Civill Soveraign bee such, as that it +may be obeyed, without the forfeiture of life Eternall; not to obey it +is unjust; and the precept of the Apostle takes place; "Servants obey +your Masters in all things;" and, "Children obey your Parents in all +things;" and the precept of our Saviour, "The Scribes and Pharisees sit +in Moses Chaire, All therefore they shall say, that observe, and doe." +But if the command be such, as cannot be obeyed, without being damned +to Eternall Death, then it were madnesse to obey it, and the Counsell +of our Saviour takes place, (Mat. 10. 28.) "Fear not those that kill the +body, but cannot kill the soule." All men therefore that would avoid, +both the punishments that are to be in this world inflicted, for +disobedience to their earthly Soveraign, and those that shall be +inflicted in the world to come for disobedience to God, have need be +taught to distinguish well between what is, and what is not Necessary to +Eternall Salvation. + + + + +All That Is Necessary To Salvation Is Contained In Faith And Obedience + +All that is NECESSARY to Salvation, is contained in two Vertues, Faith +in Christ, and Obedience to Laws. The latter of these, if it were +perfect, were enough to us. But because wee are all guilty of +disobedience to Gods Law, not onely originally in Adam, but also +actually by our own transgressions, there is required at our hands now, +not onely Obedience for the rest of our time, but also a Remission of +sins for the time past; which Remission is the reward of our Faith +in Christ. That nothing else is Necessarily required to Salvation, is +manifest from this, that the Kingdome of Heaven, is shut to none but +to Sinners; that is to say, to the disobedient, or transgressors of the +Law; nor to them, in case they Repent, and Beleeve all the Articles of +Christian Faith, Necessary to Salvation. + + + + +What Obedience Is Necessary; + +The Obedience required at our hands by God, that accepteth in all our +actions the Will for the Deed, is a serious Endeavour to Obey him; +and is called also by all such names as signifie that Endeavour. And +therefore Obedience, is sometimes called by the names of Charity, and +Love, because they imply a Will to Obey; and our Saviour himself maketh +our Love to God, and to one another, a Fulfilling of the whole Law: and +sometimes by the name of Righteousnesse; for Righteousnesse is but the +will to give to every one his owne, that is to say, the will to obey +the Laws: and sometimes by the name of Repentance; because to Repent, +implyeth a turning away from sinne, which is the same, with the return +of the will to Obedience. Whosoever therefore unfeignedly desireth +to fulfill the Commandements of God, or repenteth him truely of his +transgressions, or that loveth God with all his heart, and his neighbor +as himself, hath all the Obedience Necessary to his Reception into the +Kingdome of God: For if God should require perfect Innocence, there +could no flesh be saved. + + + + +And To What Laws + +But what Commandements are those that God hath given us? Are all +those Laws which were given to the Jews by the hand of Moses, the +Commandements of God? If they bee, why are not Christians taught to obey +them? If they be not, what others are so, besides the Law of Nature? For +our Saviour Christ hath not given us new Laws, but Counsell to observe +those wee are subject to; that is to say, the Laws of Nature, and the +Laws of our severall Soveraigns: Nor did he make any new Law to the Jews +in his Sermon on the Mount, but onely expounded the Laws of Moses, to +which they were subject before. The Laws of God therefore are none +but the Laws of Nature, whereof the principall is, that we should +not violate our Faith, that is, a commandement to obey our Civill +Soveraigns, which wee constituted over us, by mutuall pact one with +another. And this Law of God, that commandeth Obedience to the Law +Civill, commandeth by consequence Obedience to all the Precepts of the +Bible, which (as I have proved in the precedent Chapter) is there onely +Law, where the Civill Soveraign hath made it so; and in other places but +Counsell; which a man at his own perill, may without injustice refuse to +obey. + + + + +In The Faith Of A Christian, Who Is The Person Beleeved + +Knowing now what is the Obedience Necessary to Salvation, and to whom +it is due; we are to consider next concerning Faith, whom, and why we +beleeve; and what are the Articles, or Points necessarily to be beleeved +by them that shall be saved. And first, for the Person whom we beleeve, +because it is impossible to beleeve any Person, before we know what he +saith, it is necessary he be one that wee have heard speak. The Person +therefore, whom Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses and the Prophets beleeved, +was God himself, that spake unto them supernaturally: And the Person, +whom the Apostles and Disciples that conversed with Christ beleeved, was +our Saviour himself. But of them, to whom neither God the Father, nor +our Saviour ever spake, it cannot be said, that the Person whom they +beleeved, was God. They beleeved the Apostles, and after them the +Pastors and Doctors of the Church, that recommended to their faith the +History of the Old and New Testament: so that the Faith of Christians +ever since our Saviours time, hath had for foundation, first, the +reputation of their Pastors, and afterward, the authority of those that +made the Old and New Testament to be received for the Rule of Faith; +which none could do but Christian Soveraignes; who are therefore the +Supreme Pastors, and the onely Persons, whom Christians now hear speak +from God; except such as God speaketh to, in these days supernaturally. +But because there be many false Prophets "gone out into the world," +other men are to examine such Spirits (as St. John advised us, 1 +Epistle, Chap. 4. ver.1.) "whether they be of God, or not." And +therefore, seeing the Examination of Doctrines belongeth to the Supreme +Pastor, the Person which all they that have no speciall revelation are +to beleeve, is (in every Common-wealth) the Supreme Pastor, that is to +say, the Civill Soveraigne. + + + + +The Causes Of Christian Faith + +The causes why men beleeve any Christian Doctrine, are various; For +Faith is the gift of God; and he worketh it in each severall man, by +such wayes, as it seemeth good unto himself. The most ordinary immediate +cause of our beleef, concerning any point of Christian Faith, is, that +wee beleeve the Bible to be the Word of God. But why wee beleeve the +Bible to be the Word of God, is much disputed, as all questions must +needs bee, that are not well stated. For they make not the question +to be, "Why we Beleeve it," but "How wee Know it;" as if Beleeving and +Knowing were all one. And thence while one side ground their Knowledge +upon the Infallibility of the Church, and the other side, on the +Testimony of the Private Spirit, neither side concludeth what it +pretends. For how shall a man know the Infallibility of the Church, but +by knowing first the Infallibility of the Scripture? Or how shall a man +know his own Private spirit to be other than a beleef, grounded upon the +Authority, and Arguments of his Teachers; or upon a Presumption of his +own Gifts? Besides, there is nothing in the Scripture, from which can be +inferred the Infallibility of the Church; much lesse, of any particular +Church; and least of all, the Infallibility of any particular man. + + + + +Faith Comes By Hearing + +It is manifest, therefore, that Christian men doe not know, but onely +beleeve the Scripture to be the Word of God; and that the means of +making them beleeve which God is pleased to afford men ordinarily, is +according to the way of Nature, that is to say, from their Teachers. +It is the Doctrine of St. Paul concerning Christian Faith in generall, +(Rom. 10.17.) "Faith cometh by Hearing," that is, by Hearing our lawfull +Pastors. He saith also (ver. 14,15. of the same Chapter) "How shall +they beleeve in him of whom they have not heard? and how shall they hear +without a Preacher? and how shall they Preach, except they be sent?" +Whereby it is evident, that the ordinary cause of beleeving that the +Scriptures are the Word of God, is the same with the cause of the +beleeving of all other Articles of our Faith, namely, the Hearing of +those that are by the Law allowed and appointed to Teach us, as our +Parents in their Houses, and our Pastors in the Churches: Which also +is made more manifest by experience. For what other cause can there bee +assigned, why in Christian Common-wealths all men either beleeve, or +at least professe the Scripture to bee the Word of God, and in other +Common-wealths scarce any; but that in Christian Common-wealths they +are taught it from their infancy; and in other places they are taught +otherwise? + +But if Teaching be the cause of Faith, why doe not all beleeve? It is +certain therefore that Faith is the gift of God, and hee giveth it to +whom he will. Neverthelesse, because of them to whom he giveth it, he +giveth it by the means of Teachers, the immediate cause of Faith is +Hearing. In a School where many are taught, and some profit, others +profit not, the cause of learning in them that profit, is the Master; +yet it cannot be thence inferred, that learning is not the gift of God. +All good things proceed from God; yet cannot all that have them, say +they are Inspired; for that implies a gift supernaturall, and the +immediate hand of God; which he that pretends to, pretends to be a +Prophet, and is subject to the examination of the Church. + +But whether men Know, or Beleeve, or Grant the Scriptures to be the Word +of God; if out of such places of them, as are without obscurity, I +shall shew what Articles of Faith are necessary, and onely necessary for +Salvation, those men must needs Know, Beleeve, or Grant the same. + +The Onely Necessary Article Of Christian Faith, The (Unum Necessarium) +Onely Article of Faith, which the Scripture maketh simply Necessary to +Salvation, is this, that JESUS IS THE CHRIST. By the name of Christ, is +understood the King, which God had before promised by the Prophets of +the Old Testament, to send into the world, to reign (over the Jews, +and over such of other nations as should beleeve in him) under himself +eternally; and to give them that eternall life, which was lost by the +sin of Adam. Which when I have proved out of Scripture, I will further +shew when, and in what sense some other Articles may bee also called +Necessary. + + + + +Proved From The Scope Of The Evangelists + +For Proof that the Beleef of this Article, Jesus Is The Christ, is all +the Faith required to Salvation, my first Argument shall bee from the +Scope of the Evangelists; which was by the description of the life of +our Saviour, to establish that one Article, Jesus Is The Christ. The +summe of St. Matthews Gospell is this, That Jesus was of the stock of +David; Born of a Virgin; which are the Marks of the true Christ: That +the Magi came to worship him as King of the Jews: That Herod for the +same cause sought to kill him: That John Baptist proclaimed him: That +he preached by himselfe, and his Apostles that he was that King; That +he taught the Law, not as a Scribe, but as a man of Authority: That he +cured diseases by his Word onely, and did many other Miracles, which +were foretold the Christ should doe: That he was saluted King when he +entered into Jerusalem: That he fore-warned them to beware of all others +that should pretend to be Christ: That he was taken, accused, and put +to death, for saying, hee was King: That the cause of his condemnation +written on the Crosse, was JESUS OF NAZARETH, THE KING OF THE JEWES. +All which tend to no other end than this, that men should beleeve, +that Jesus Is The Christ. Such therefore was the Scope of St. Matthews +Gospel. But the Scope of all the Evangelists (as may appear by reading +them) was the same. Therefore the Scope of the whole Gospell, was the +establishing of that onely Article. And St. John expressely makes it his +conclusion, John 20. 31. "These things are written, that you may know +that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God." + + + + +From The Sermons Of The Apostles: + +My second Argument is taken from the Subject of the Sermons of the +Apostles, both whilest our Saviour lived on earth, and after his +Ascension. The Apostles in our Saviours time were sent, Luke 9.2. to +Preach the Kingdome of God: For neither there, nor Mat. 10.7. giveth he +any Commission to them, other than this, "As ye go, Preach, saying, the +Kingdome of Heaven is at hand;" that is, that Jesus is the Messiah, the +Christ, the King which was to come. That their Preaching also after his +ascension was the same, is manifest out of Acts 17.6. "They drew (saith +St. Luke) Jason and certain Brethren unto the Rulers of the City, +crying, These that have turned the world upside down are come hither +also, whom Jason hath received. And these all do contrary to the Decrees +of Caesar, saying, that there is another King, one Jesus:" And out of +the 2.&3. verses of the same Chapter, where it is said, that St. Paul +"as his manner was, went in unto them; and three Sabbath dayes reasoned +with them out of the Scriptures; opening and alledging, that Christ must +needs have suffered, and risen againe from the dead, and that this Jesus +(whom he preached) is Christ." + + + + +From The Easinesse Of The Doctrine: + +The third Argument is, from those places of Scripture, by which all the +Faith required to Salvation is declared to be Easie. For if an inward +assent of the mind to all the Doctrines concerning Christian Faith now +taught, (whereof the greatest part are disputed,) were necessary to +Salvation, there would be nothing in the world so hard, as to be a +Christian. The Thief upon the Crosse though repenting, could not have +been saved for saying, "Lord remember me when thou commest into thy +Kingdome;" by which he testified no beleefe of any other Article, but +this, That Jesus Was The King. Nor could it bee said (as it is Mat. +11. 30.) that "Christs yoke is Easy, and his burthen Light:" Nor that +"Little Children beleeve in him," as it is Matth. 18.6. Nor could St. +Paul have said (1 Cor. 1. 21.) "It pleased God by the Foolishnesse of +preaching, to save them that beleeve:" Nor could St. Paul himself have +been saved, much lesse have been so great a Doctor of the Church +so suddenly, that never perhaps thought of Transsubstantiation, nor +Purgatory, nor many other Articles now obtruded. + + + + +From Formall And Cleer Texts + +The fourth Argument is taken from places expresse, and such as receive +no controversie of Interpretation; as first, John 5. 39. "Search the +Scriptures, for in them yee thinke yee have eternall life; and they are +they that testifie of mee." Our Saviour here speaketh of the Scriptures +onely of the Old Testament; for the Jews at that time could not search +the Scriptures of the New Testament, which were not written. But the Old +Testament hath nothing of Christ, but the Markes by which men might +know him when hee came; as that he should descend from David, be born at +Bethlehem, and of a Virgin; doe great Miracles, and the like. Therefore +to beleeve that this Jesus was He, was sufficient to eternall life: but +more than sufficient is not Necessary; and consequently no other Article +is required. Again, (John 11. 26.) "Whosoever liveth and beleeveth in +mee, shall not die eternally," Therefore to beleeve in Christ, is faith +sufficient to eternall life; and consequently no more faith than that +is Necessary, But to beleeve in Jesus, and to beleeve that Jesus is the +Christ, is all one, as appeareth in the verses immediately following. +For when our Saviour (verse 26.) had said to Martha, "Beleevest thou +this?" she answereth (verse 27.) "Yea Lord, I beleeve that thou art the +Christ, the Son of God, which should come into the world;" Therefore +this Article alone is faith sufficient to life eternall; and more than +sufficient is not Necessary. Thirdly, John 20. 31. "These things are +written that yee might beleeve, that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of +God, and that beleeving yee might have life through his name." There, to +beleeve that Jesus Is The Christ, is faith sufficient to the obtaining +of life; and therefore no other Article is Necessary. Fourthly, 1 John +4. 2. "Every Spirit that confesseth that Jesus Christ is come in the +flesh, is of God." And 1 Joh. 5. 1. "whosoever beleeveth that Jesus is +the Christ, is born of God." And verse 5. "Who is hee that overcommeth +the world, but he that beleeveth that Jesus is the Son of God?" Fiftly, +Act. 8. ver. 36, 37. "See (saith the Eunuch) here is water, what doth +hinder me to be baptized? And Philip said, If thou beleevest with all +thy heart thou mayst. And hee answered and said, I beleeve that Jesus +Christ is the Son of God." Therefore this Article beleeved, Jesus Is The +Christ, is sufficient to Baptisme, that is to say, to our Reception into +the Kingdome of God, and by consequence, onely Necessary. And generally +in all places where our Saviour saith to any man, "Thy faith hath saved +thee," the cause he saith it, is some Confession, which directly, or by +consequence, implyeth a beleef, that Jesus Is The Christ. + + + + +From That It Is The Foundation Of All Other Articles + +The last Argument is from the places, where this Article is made the +Foundation of Faith: For he that holdeth the Foundation shall bee saved. +Which places are first, Mat. 24.23. "If any man shall say unto you, Loe, +here is Christ, or there, beleeve it not, for there shall arise false +Christs, and false Prophets, and shall shew great signes and wonders, +&c." Here wee see, this Article Jesus Is The Christ, must bee held, +though hee that shall teach the contrary should doe great miracles. The +second place is Gal. 1. 8. "Though we, or an Angell from Heaven preach +any other Gospell unto you, than that wee have preached unto you, let +him bee accursed." But the Gospell which Paul, and the other Apostles, +preached, was onely this Article, that Jesus Is The Christ; Therefore +for the Beleef of this Article, we are to reject the Authority of +an Angell from heaven; much more of any mortall man, if he teach the +contrary. This is therefore the Fundamentall Article of Christian Faith. +A third place is, 1 Joh. 4.1. "Beloved, beleeve not every spirit. Hereby +yee shall know the Spirit of God; every spirit that confesseth that +Jesus Christ is come in the flesh, is of God." By which it is evident, +that this Article, is the measure, and rule, by which to estimate, +and examine all other Articles; and is therefore onely Fundamentall. +A fourth is, Matt. 16.18. where after St. Peter had professed this +Article, saying to our Saviour, "Thou art Christ the Son of the living +God," Our Saviour answered, "Thou art Peter, and upon this Rock I will +build my Church:" from whence I inferre, that this Article is that, +on which all other Doctrines of the Church are built, as on their +Foundation. A fift is (1 Cor. 3. ver. 11, 12, &c.) "Other Foundation can +no man lay, than that which is laid, Jesus is the Christ. Now if any man +build upon this Foundation, Gold, Silver, pretious Stones, Wood, Hay, +Stubble; Every mans work shall be made manifest; For the Day shall +declare it, because it shall be revealed by fire, and the fire shall try +every mans work, of what sort it is. If any mans work abide, which he +hath built thereupon, he shall receive a reward: If any mans work shall +bee burnt, he shall suffer losse; but he himself shall be saved, yet so +as by fire." Which words, being partly plain and easie to understand, +and partly allegoricall and difficult; out of that which is plain, may +be inferred, that Pastors that teach this Foundation, that Jesus Is The +Christ, though they draw from it false consequences, (which all men are +sometimes subject to,) they may neverthelesse bee saved; much more that +they may bee saved, who being no Pastors, but Hearers, beleeve that +which is by their lawfull Pastors taught them. Therefore the beleef of +this Article is sufficient; and by consequence there is no other Article +of Faith Necessarily required to Salvation. + +Now for the part which is Allegoricall, as "That the fire shall try +every mans work," and that "They shall be saved, but so as by fire," +or "through fire," (for the originall is dia puros,) it maketh nothing +against this conclusion which I have drawn from the other words, that +are plain. Neverthelesse, because upon this place there hath been an +argument taken, to prove the fire of Purgatory, I will also here offer +you my conjecture concerning the meaning of this triall of Doctrines, +and saving of men as by Fire. The Apostle here seemeth to allude to +the words of the Prophet Zachary, Ch. 13. 8,9. who speaking of the +Restauration of the Kingdome of God, saith thus, "Two parts therein +shall be cut off, and die, but the third shall be left therein; and +I will bring the third part through the Fire, and will refine them as +Silver is refined, and will try them as Gold is tryed; they shall call +on the name of the Lord, and I will hear them." The day of Judgment, is +the day of the Restauration of the Kingdome of God; and at that day +it is, that St. Peter tells us (2 Pet. 3. v.7, 10, 12.) shall be the +Conflagration of the world, wherein the wicked shall perish; but the +remnant which God will save, shall passe through that Fire, unhurt, +and be therein (as Silver and Gold are refined by the fire from their +drosse) tryed, and refined from their Idolatry, and be made to call upon +the name of the true God. Alluding whereto St. Paul here saith, that The +Day (that is, the Day of Judgment, the Great Day of our Saviours comming +to restore the Kingdome of God in Israel) shall try every mans doctrine, +by Judging, which are Gold, Silver, Pretious Stones, Wood, Hay, Stubble; +And then they that have built false Consequences on the true Foundation, +shall see their Doctrines condemned; neverthelesse they themselves +shall be saved, and passe unhurt through this universall Fire, and live +eternally, to call upon the name of the true and onely God. In which +sense there is nothing that accordeth not with the rest of Holy +Scripture, or any glimpse of the fire of Purgatory. + + + + +In What Sense Other Articles May Be Called Necessary + +But a man may here aske, whether it bee not as necessary to Salvation, +to beleeve, that God is Omnipotent; Creator of the world; that Jesus +Christ is risen; and that all men else shall rise again from the dead +at the last day; as to beleeve, that Jesus Is The Christ. To which I +answer, they are; and so are many more Articles: but they are such, as +are contained in this one, and may be deduced from it, with more, or +lesse difficulty. For who is there that does not see, that they +who beleeve Jesus to be the Son of the God of Israel, and that the +Israelites had for God the Omnipotent Creator of all things, doe therein +also beleeve, that God is the Omnipotent Creator of all things? Or how +can a man beleeve, that Jesus is the King that shall reign eternally, +unlesse hee beleeve him also risen again from the dead? For a dead man +cannot exercise the Office of a King. In summe, he that holdeth this +Foundation, Jesus Is The Christ, holdeth Expressely all that hee +seeth rightly deduced from it, and Implicitely all that is consequent +thereunto, though he have not skill enough to discern the consequence. +And therefore it holdeth still good, that the beleef of this one Article +is sufficient faith to obtaine remission of sinnes to the Penitent, and +consequently to bring them into the Kingdome of Heaven. + + + + +That Faith, And Obedience Are Both Of Them Necessary To Salvation + +Now that I have shewn, that all the Obedience required to Salvation, +consisteth in the will to obey the Law of God, that is to say, in +Repentance; and all the Faith required to the same, is comprehended in +the beleef of this Article, Jesus Is The Christ; I will further alledge +those places of the Gospell, that prove, that all that is Necessary to +Salvation is contained in both these joined together. The men to whom +St. Peter preached on the day of Pentecost, next after the Ascension +of our Saviour, asked him, and the rest of the Apostles, saying, (Act. +2.37.) "Men and Brethren what shall we doe?" to whom St. Peter answered +(in the next verse) "Repent, and be Baptized every one of you, for the +remission of sins, and ye shall receive the gift of the Holy Ghost." +Therefore Repentance, and Baptisme, that is, beleeving that Jesus Is The +Christ, is all that is Necessary to Salvation. Again, our Saviour being +asked by a certain Ruler, (Luke 18.18.) "What shall I doe to inherit +eternall life?" Answered (verse 20) "Thou knowest the Commandements, +Doe not commit Adultery, Doe not Kill, Doe not Steal, Doe not bear false +witnesse, Honor thy Father, and thy Mother;" which when he said he had +observed, our Saviour added, "Sell all thou hast, give it to the Poor, +and come and follow me:" which was as much as to say, Relye on me that +am the King: Therefore to fulfill the Law, and to beleeve that Jesus +is the King, is all that is required to bring a man to eternall life. +Thirdly, St. Paul saith (Rom. 1.17.) "The Just shall live by Faith;" not +every one, but the Just; therefore Faith and Justice (that is, the Will +To Be Just, or Repentance) are all that is Necessary to life eternall. +And (Mark 1.15.) our Saviour preached, saying, "The time is fulfilled, +and the Kingdom of God is at hand, Repent and Beleeve the Evangile," +that is, the Good news that the Christ was come. Therefore to Repent, +and to Beleeve that Jesus is the Christ, is all that is required to +Salvation. + + + + +What Each Of Them Contributes Thereunto + +Seeing then it is Necessary that Faith, and Obedience (implyed in the +word Repentance) do both concurre to our Salvation; the question +by which of the two we are Justified, is impertinently disputed. +Neverthelesse, it will not be impertinent, to make manifest in what +manner each of them contributes thereunto; and in what sense it is said, +that we are to be Justified by the one, and by the other. And first, +if by Righteousnesse be understood the Justice of the Works themselves, +there is no man that can be saved; for there is none that hath not +transgressed the Law of God. And therefore when wee are said to be +Justified by Works, it is to be understood of the Will, which God doth +alwaies accept for the Work it selfe, as well in good, as in evill men. +And in this sense onely it is, that a man is called Just, or Unjust; and +that his Justice Justifies him, that is, gives him the title, in Gods +acceptation, of Just; and renders him capable of Living By His Faith, +which before he was not. So that Justice Justifies in that that sense, +in which to Justifie, is the same that to Denominate A Man Just; and not +in the signification of discharging the Law; whereby the punishment of +his sins should be unjust. + +But a man is then also said to be Justified, when his Plea, though in +it selfe unsufficient, is accepted; as when we Plead our Will, our +Endeavour to fulfill the Law, and Repent us of our failings, and God +accepteth it for the Performance it selfe: And because God accepteth not +the Will for the Deed, but onely in the Faithfull; it is therefore Faith +that makes good our Plea; and in this sense it is, that Faith onely +Justifies: So that Faith and Obedience are both Necessary to Salvation; +yet in severall senses each of them is said to Justifie. + + + + +Obedience To God And To The Civill Soveraign Not Inconsistent + +Whether Christian, Having thus shewn what is Necessary to Salvation; it +is not hard to reconcile our Obedience to the Civill Soveraign; who is +either Christian, or Infidel. If he bee a Christian, he alloweth the +beleefe of this Article, that Jesus Is The Christ; and of all the +Articles that are contained in, or are evident consequence deduced from +it: which is all the Faith Necessary to Salvation. And because he is a +Soveraign, he requireth Obedience to all his owne, that is, to all the +Civill Laws; in which also are contained all the Laws of Nature, that +is, all the Laws of God: for besides the Laws of Nature, and the Laws of +the Church, which are part of the Civill Law, (for the Church that +can make Laws is the Common-wealth,) there bee no other Laws Divine. +Whosoever therefore obeyeth his Christian Soveraign, is not thereby +hindred, neither from beleeving, nor from obeying God. But suppose that +a Christian King should from this Foundation, Jesus Is The Christ, draw +some false consequences, that is to say, make some superstructions of +Hay, or Stubble, and command the teaching of the same; yet seeing St. +Paul says, he shal be saved; much more shall he be saved, that teacheth +them by his command; and much more yet, he that teaches not, but onely +beleeves his lawfull Teacher. And in case a Subject be forbidden by +the Civill Soveraign to professe some of those his opinions, upon +what grounds can he disobey? Christian Kings may erre in deducing a +Consequence, but who shall Judge? Shall a private man Judge, when the +question is of his own obedience? or shall any man Judg but he that is +appointed thereto by the Church, that is, by the Civill Soveraign that +representeth it? or if the Pope, or an Apostle Judge, may he not erre +in deducing of a consequence? did not one of the two, St. Peter, or St. +Paul erre in a superstructure, when St. Paul withstood St. Peter to his +face? There can therefore be no contradiction between the Laws of God, +and the Laws of a Christian Common-wealth. + + + + +Or Infidel + +And when the Civill Soveraign is an Infidel, every one of his own +Subjects that resisteth him, sinneth against the Laws of God (for such +as are the Laws of Nature,) and rejecteth the counsell of the Apostles, +that admonisheth all Christians to obey their Princes, and all Children +and Servants to obey they Parents, and Masters, in all things. And for +their Faith, it is internall, and invisible; They have the licence that +Naaman had, and need not put themselves into danger for it. But if they +do, they ought to expect their reward in Heaven, and not complain of +their Lawfull Soveraign; much lesse make warre upon him. For he that +is not glad of any just occasion of Martyrdome, has not the faith be +professeth, but pretends it onely, to set some colour upon his own +contumacy. But what Infidel King is so unreasonable, as knowing he has +a Subject, that waiteth for the second comming of Christ, after the +present world shall be burnt, and intendeth then to obey him (which is +the intent of beleeving that Jesus is the Christ,) and in the mean time +thinketh himself bound to obey the Laws of that Infidel King, (which +all Christians are obliged in conscience to doe,) to put to death, or to +persecute such a Subject? + +And thus much shall suffice, concerning the Kingdome of God, and Policy +Ecclesiasticall. Wherein I pretend not to advance any Position of +my own, but onely to shew what are the Consequences that seem to me +deducible from the Principles of Christian Politiques, (which are the +holy Scriptures,) in confirmation of the Power of Civill Soveraigns, and +the Duty of their Subjects. And in the allegation of Scripture, I have +endeavoured to avoid such Texts as are of obscure, or controverted +Interpretation; and to alledge none, but is such sense as is most plain, +and agreeable to the harmony and scope of the whole Bible; which was +written for the re-establishment of the Kingdome of God in Christ. For +it is not the bare Words, but the Scope of the writer that giveth the +true light, by which any writing is to bee interpreted; and they that +insist upon single Texts, without considering the main Designe, can +derive no thing from them cleerly; but rather by casting atomes of +Scripture, as dust before mens eyes, make every thing more obscure than +it is; an ordinary artifice of those that seek not the truth, but their +own advantage. + + + + +PART IV. +OF THE KINGDOME OF DARKNESSE + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. OF SPIRITUALL DARKNESSE FROM MISINTERPRETATION OF +SCRIPTURE + + + + +The Kingdome Of Darknesse What + +Besides these Soveraign Powers, Divine, and Humane, of which I have +hitherto discoursed, there is mention in Scripture of another Power, +namely, (Eph. 6. 12.), that of "the Rulers of the Darknesse of this +world," (Mat. 12. 26.), "the Kingdome of Satan," and, (Mat. 9. 34.), "the +Principality of Beelzebub over Daemons," that is to say, over Phantasmes +that appear in the Air: For which cause Satan is also called (Eph. 2. +2.) "the Prince of the Power of the Air;" and (because he ruleth in the +darknesse of this world) (Joh. 16. 11.) "The Prince of this world;" And +in consequence hereunto, they who are under his Dominion, in opposition +to the faithfull (who are the Children Of The Light) are called the +Children Of Darknesse. For seeing Beelzebub is Prince of Phantasmes, +Inhabitants of his Dominion of Air and Darknesse, the Children of +Darknesse, and these Daemons, Phantasmes, or Spirits of Illusion, +signifie allegorically the same thing. This considered, the Kingdome +of Darknesse, as it is set forth in these, and other places of the +Scripture, is nothing else but a "Confederacy of Deceivers, that to +obtain dominion over men in this present world, endeavour by dark, and +erroneous Doctrines, to extinguish in them the Light, both of Nature, +and of the Gospell; and so to dis-prepare them for the Kingdome of God +to come." + + + + +The Church Not Yet Fully Freed Of Darknesse + +As men that are utterly deprived from their Nativity, of the light +of the bodily Eye, have no Idea at all, of any such light; and no man +conceives in his imagination any greater light, than he hath at some +time, or other perceived by his outward Senses: so also is it of the +light of the Gospel, and of the light of the Understanding, that no man +can conceive there is any greater degree of it, than that which he hath +already attained unto. And from hence it comes to passe, that men +have no other means to acknowledge their owne Darknesse, but onely by +reasoning from the un-forseen mischances, that befall them in their +ways; The Darkest part of the Kingdome of Satan, is that which is +without the Church of God; that is to say, amongst them that beleeve not +in Jesus Christ. But we cannot say, that therefore the Church enjoyeth +(as the land of Goshen) all the light, which to the performance of +the work enjoined us by God, is necessary. Whence comes it, that in +Christendome there has been, almost from the time of the Apostles, +such justling of one another out of their places, both by forraign, +and Civill war? such stumbling at every little asperity of their own +fortune, and every little eminence of that of other men? and such +diversity of ways in running to the same mark, Felicity, if it be not +Night amongst us, or at least a Mist? wee are therefore yet in the Dark. + + + + +Four Causes Of Spirituall Darknesse + +The Enemy has been here in the Night of our naturall Ignorance, and sown +the tares of Spirituall Errors; and that, First, by abusing, and +putting out the light of the Scriptures: For we erre, not knowing the +Scriptures. Secondly, by introducing the Daemonology of the Heathen +Poets, that is to say, their fabulous Doctrine concerning Daemons, which +are but Idols, or Phantasms of the braine, without any reall nature of +their own, distinct from humane fancy; such as are dead mens Ghosts, and +Fairies, and other matter of old Wives tales. Thirdly, by mixing with +the Scripture divers reliques of the Religion, and much of the vain and +erroneous Philosophy of the Greeks, especially of Aristotle. Fourthly, +by mingling with both these, false, or uncertain Traditions, and +fained, or uncertain History. And so we come to erre, by "giving heed +to seducing Spirits," and the Daemonology of such "as speak lies in +Hypocrisie," (or as it is in the Originall, 1 Tim. 4.1,2. "of those that +play the part of lyars") "with a seared conscience," that is, contrary +to their own knowledge. Concerning the first of these, which is the +Seducing of men by abuse of Scripture, I intend to speak briefly in this +Chapter. + + + + +Errors From Misinterpreting The Scriptures, Concerning The Kingdome +Of God + +The greatest, and main abuse of Scripture, and to which almost all the +rest are either consequent, or subservient, is the wresting of it, to +prove that the Kingdome of God, mentioned so often in the Scripture, is +the present Church, or multitude of Christian men now living, or that +being dead, are to rise again at the last day: whereas the Kingdome of +God was first instituted by the Ministery of Moses, over the Jews onely; +who were therefore called his Peculiar People; and ceased afterward, in +the election of Saul, when they refused to be governed by God any more, +and demanded a King after the manner of the nations; which God himself +consented unto, as I have more at large proved before, in the 35. +Chapter. After that time, there was no other Kingdome of God in the +world, by any Pact, or otherwise, than he ever was, is, and shall be +King, of all men, and of all creatures, as governing according to his +Will, by his infinite Power. Neverthelesse, he promised by his Prophets +to restore this his Government to them again, when the time he hath in +his secret counsell appointed for it shall bee fully come, and when they +shall turn unto him by repentance, and amendment of life; and not +onely so, but he invited also the Gentiles to come in, and enjoy the +happinesse of his Reign, on the same conditions of conversion and +repentance; and hee promised also to send his Son into the world, to +expiate the sins of them all by his death, and to prepare them by his +Doctrine, to receive him at his second coming: Which second coming not +yet being, the Kingdome of God is not yet come, and wee are not now +under any other Kings by Pact, but our Civill Soveraigns; saving onely, +that Christian men are already in the Kingdome of Grace, in as much as +they have already the Promise of being received at his comming againe. + + + + +As That The Kingdome Of God Is The Present Church + +Consequent to this Errour, that the present Church is Christs Kingdome, +there ought to be some one Man, or Assembly, by whose mouth our Saviour +(now in heaven) speaketh, giveth law, and which representeth his person +to all Christians, or divers Men, or divers Assemblies that doe the same +to divers parts of Christendome. This power Regal under Christ, being +challenged, universally by that Pope, and in particular Common-wealths +by Assemblies of the Pastors of the place, (when the Scripture gives it +to none but to Civill Soveraigns,) comes to be so passionately disputed, +that it putteth out the Light of Nature, and causeth so great a +Darknesse in mens understanding, that they see not who it is to whom +they have engaged their obedience. + + + + +And That The Pope Is His Vicar Generall + +Consequent to this claim of the Pope to Vicar Generall of Christ in the +present Church, (supposed to be that Kingdom of his, to which we are +addressed in the Gospel,) is the Doctrine, that it is necessary for a +Christian King, to receive his Crown by a Bishop; as if it were from +that Ceremony, that he derives the clause of Dei Gratia in his title; +and that then onely he is made King by the favour of God, when he is +crowned by the authority of Gods universall Viceregent on earth; and +that every Bishop whosoever be his Soveraign, taketh at his Consecration +an oath of absolute Obedience to the Pope, Consequent to the same, is +the Doctrine of the fourth Councell of Lateran, held under Pope Innocent +the third, (Chap. 3. De Haereticis.) "That if a King at the Popes +admonition, doe not purge his Kingdome of Haeresies, and being +excommunicate for the same, doe not give satisfaction within a year, +his Subjects are absolved of the bond of their obedience." Where, by +Haeresies are understood all opinions which the Church of Rome hath +forbidden to be maintained. And by this means, as often as there is +any repugnancy between the Politicall designes of the Pope, and other +Christian Princes, as there is very often, there ariseth such a Mist +amongst their Subjects, that they know not a stranger that thrusteth +himself into the throne of their lawfull Prince, from him whom they +had themselves placed there; and in this Darknesse of mind, are made to +fight one against another, without discerning their enemies from their +friends, under the conduct of another mans ambition. + + + + +And That The Pastors Are The Clergy + +From the same opinion, that the present Church is the Kingdome of God, +it proceeds that Pastours, Deacons, and all other Ministers of the +Church, take the name to themselves of the Clergy, giving to other +Christians the name of Laity, that is, simply People. For Clergy +signifies those, whose maintenance is that Revenue, which God having +reserved to himselfe during his Reigne over the Israelites, assigned +to the tribe of Levi (who were to be his publique Ministers, and had no +portion of land set them out to live on, as their brethren) to be their +inheritance. The Pope therefore, (pretending the present Church to be, +as the Realme of Israel, the Kingdome of God) challenging to himselfe +and his subordinate Ministers, the like revenue, as the Inheritance of +God, the name of Clergy was sutable to that claime. And thence it is, +that Tithes, or other tributes paid to the Levites, as Gods Right, +amongst the Israelites, have a long time been demanded, and taken of +Christians, by Ecclesiastiques, Jure Divino, that is, in Gods Right. By +which meanes, the people every where were obliged to a double tribute; +one to the State, another to the Clergy; whereof, that to the Clergy, +being the tenth of their revenue, is double to that which a King of +Athens (and esteemed a Tyrant) exacted of his subjects for the defraying +of all publique charges: For he demanded no more but the twentieth part; +and yet abundantly maintained therewith the Commonwealth. And in the +Kingdome of the Jewes, during the Sacerdotall Reigne of God, the Tithes +and Offerings were the whole Publique Revenue. + +From the same mistaking of the present Church for the Kingdom of God, +came in the distinction betweene the Civill and the Canon Laws: The +civil Law being the acts of Soveraigns in their own Dominions, and +the Canon Law being the Acts of the Pope in the same Dominions. Which +Canons, though they were but Canons, that is, Rules Propounded, and but +voluntarily received by Christian Princes, till the translation of +the Empire to Charlemain; yet afterwards, as the power of the Pope +encreased, became Rules Commanded, and the Emperours themselves (to +avoyd greater mischiefes, which the people blinded might be led into) +were forced to let them passe for Laws. + +From hence it is, that in all Dominions, where the Popes Ecclesiasticall +power is entirely received, Jewes, Turkes, and Gentiles, are in the +Roman Church tolerated in their Religion, as farre forth, as in the +exercise and profession thereof they offend not against the civill +power: whereas in a Christian, though a stranger, not to be of the Roman +Religion, is Capitall; because the Pope pretendeth that all Christians +are his Subjects. For otherwise it were as much against the law of +Nations, to persecute a Christian stranger, for professing the Religion +of his owne country, as an Infidell; or rather more, in as much as they +that are not against Christ, are with him. + +From the same it is, that in every Christian State there are certaine +men, that are exempt, by Ecclesiasticall liberty, from the tributes, and +from the tribunals of the Civil State; for so are the secular Clergy, +besides Monks and Friars, which in many places, bear so great a +proportion to the common people, as if need were, there might be raised +out of them alone, an Army, sufficient for any warre the Church militant +should imploy them in, against their owne, or other Princes. + + + + +Error From Mistaking Consecration For Conjuration + +A second generall abuse of Scripture, is the turning of Consecration +into Conjuration, or Enchantment. To Consecrate, is in Scripture, to +Offer, Give, or Dedicate, in pious and decent language and gesture, a +man, or any other thing to God, by separating of it from common use; +that is to say, to Sanctifie, or make it Gods, and to be used only by +those, whom God hath appointed to be his Publike Ministers, (as I have +already proved at large in the 35. Chapter;) and thereby to change, not +the thing Consecrated, but onely the use of it, from being Profane +and common, to be Holy, and peculiar to Gods service. But when by such +words, the nature of qualitie of the thing it selfe, is pretended to be +changed, it is not Consecration, but either an extraordinary worke of +God, or a vaine and impious Conjuration. But seeing (for the frequency +of pretending the change of Nature in their Consecrations,) it cannot +be esteemed a work extraordinary, it is no other than a Conjuration or +Incantation, whereby they would have men to beleeve an alteration of +Nature that is not, contrary to the testimony of mans Sight, and of all +the rest of his Senses. As for example, when the Priest, in stead of +Consecrating Bread and Wine to Gods peculiar service in the Sacrament of +the Lords Supper, (which is but a separation of it from the common use, +to signifie, that is, to put men in mind of their Redemption, by the +Passion of Christ, whose body was broken, and blood shed upon the Crosse +for our transgressions,) pretends, that by saying of the words of our +Saviour, "This is my Body," and "This is my Blood," the nature of Bread +is no more there, but his very Body; notwithstanding there appeared not +to the Sight, or other Sense of the Receiver, any thing that appeareth +not before the Consecration. The Egyptian Conjurers, that are said +to have turned their Rods to Serpents, and the Water into Bloud, are +thought but to have deluded the senses of the Spectators by a false shew +of things, yet are esteemed Enchanters: But what should wee have thought +of them, if there had appeared in their Rods nothing like a Serpent, and +in the Water enchanted, nothing like Bloud, nor like any thing else but +Water, but that they had faced down the King, that they were Serpents +that looked like Rods, and that it was Bloud that seemed Water? That +had been both Enchantment, and Lying. And yet in this daily act of +the Priest, they doe the very same, by turning the holy words into the +manner of a Charme, which produceth nothing now to the Sense; but they +face us down, that it hath turned the Bread into a Man; nay more, into +a God; and require men to worship it, as if it were our Saviour himself +present God and Man, and thereby to commit most grosse Idolatry. For if +it bee enough to excuse it of Idolatry, to say it is no more Bread, but +God; why should not the same excuse serve the Egyptians, in case they +had the faces to say, the Leeks, and Onyons they worshipped, were +not very Leeks, and Onyons, but a Divinity under their Species, or +likenesse. The words, "This is my Body," are aequivalent to these, +"This signifies, or represents my Body;" and it is an ordinary figure of +Speech: but to take it literally, is an abuse; nor though so taken, can +it extend any further, than to the Bread which Christ himself with his +own hands Consecrated. For hee never said, that of what Bread soever, +any Priest whatsoever, should say, "This is my Body," or, "This is +Christs Body," the same should presently be transubstantiated. Nor did +the Church of Rome ever establish this Transubstantiation, till the time +of Innocent the third; which was not above 500. years agoe, when the +Power of Popes was at the Highest, and the Darknesse of the time grown +so great, as men discerned not the Bread that was given them to eat, +especially when it was stamped with the figure of Christ upon the +Crosse, as if they would have men beleeve it were Transubstantiated, not +onely into the Body of Christ, but also into the Wood of his Crosse, and +that they did eat both together in the Sacrament. + + + + +Incantation In The Ceremonies Of Baptisme + +The like incantation, in stead of Consecration, is used also in the +Sacrament of Baptisme: Where the abuse of Gods name in each severall +Person, and in the whole Trinity, with the sign of the Crosse at each +name, maketh up the Charm: As first, when they make the Holy water, the +Priest saith, "I Conjure thee, thou Creature of Water, in the name of +God the Father Almighty, and in the name of Jesus Christ his onely Son +our Lord, and in vertue of the Holy Ghost, that thou become Conjured +water, to drive away all the Powers of the Enemy, and to eradicate, and +supplant the Enemy, &c." And the same in the Benediction of the Salt +to be mingled with it; "That thou become Conjured Salt, that all +Phantasmes, and Knavery of the Devills fraud may fly and depart from the +place wherein thou art sprinkled; and every unclean Spirit bee Conjured +by Him that shall come to judge the quicke and the dead." The same in +the Benediction of the Oyle. "That all the Power of the Enemy, all the +Host of the Devill, all Assaults and Phantasmes of Satan, may be +driven away by this Creature of Oyle." And for the Infant that is to be +Baptized, he is subject to many Charms; First, at the Church dore the +Priest blows thrice in the Childs face, and sayes, "Goe out of him +unclean Spirit, and give place to the Holy Ghost the Comforter." As +if all Children, till blown on by the Priest were Daemoniaques: Again, +before his entrance into the Church, he saith as before, "I Conjure +thee, &c. to goe out, and depart from this Servant of God:" And again +the same Exorcisme is repeated once more before he be Baptized. These, +and some other Incantations, and Consecrations, in administration of the +Sacraments of Baptisme, and the Lords Supper; wherein every thing that +serveth to those holy men (except the unhallowed Spittle of the Priest) +hath some set form of Exorcisme. + + + + +In Marriage, In Visitation Of The Sick, And In Consecration Of Places + +Nor are the other rites, as of Marriage, of Extreme Unction, of +Visitation of the Sick, of Consecrating Churches, and Church-yards, and +the like, exempt from Charms; in as much as there is in them the use of +Enchanted Oyle, and Water, with the abuse of the Crosse, and of the holy +word of David, "Asperges me Domine Hyssopo," as things of efficacy to +drive away Phantasmes, and Imaginery Spirits. + + + + +Errors From Mistaking Eternall Life, And Everlasting Death + +Another generall Error, is from the Misinterpretation of the words +Eternall Life, Everlasting Death, and the Second Death. For though we +read plainly in Holy Scripture, that God created Adam in an estate of +Living for Ever, which was conditionall, that is to say, if he disobeyed +not his Commandement; which was not essentiall to Humane Nature, but +consequent to the vertue of the Tree of Life; whereof hee had liberty +to eat, as long as hee had not sinned; and that hee was thrust out of +Paradise after he had sinned, lest hee should eate thereof, and live for +ever; and that Christs Passion is a Discharge of sin to all that beleeve +on him; and by consequence, a restitution of Eternall Life, to all the +Faithfull, and to them onely: yet the Doctrine is now, and hath been a +long time far otherwise; namely, that every man hath Eternity of Life by +Nature, in as much as his Soul is Immortall: So that the flaming Sword +at the entrance of Paradise, though it hinder a man from coming to the +Tree of Life, hinders him not from the Immortality which God took from +him for his Sin; nor makes him to need the sacrificing of Christ, for +the recovering of the same; and consequently, not onely the faithfull +and righteous, but also the wicked, and the Heathen, shall enjoy +Eternall Life, without any Death at all; much lesse a Second, and +Everlasting Death. To salve this, it is said, that by Second, and +Everlasting Death, is meant a Second, and Everlasting Life, but in +Torments; a Figure never used, but in this very Case. + +All which Doctrine is founded onely on some of the obscurer places of +the New Testament; which neverthelesse, the whole scope of the Scripture +considered, are cleer enough in a different sense, and unnecessary to +the Christian Faith. For supposing that when a man dies, there remaineth +nothing of him but his carkasse; cannot God that raised inanimated dust +and clay into a living creature by his Word, as easily raise a dead +carkasse to life again, and continue him alive for Ever, or make him +die again, by another Word? The Soule in Scripture, signifieth alwaies, +either the Life, or the Living Creature; and the Body and Soule jointly, +the Body Alive. In the fift day of the Creation, God said, Let the water +produce Reptile Animae Viventis, the creeping thing that hath in it a +Living Soule; the English translate it, "that hath Life:" And again, +God created Whales, "& omnem animam viventem;" which in the English is, +"every living Creature:" And likewise of Man, God made him of the dust +of the earth, and breathed in his face the breath of Life, "& factus est +Homo in animam viventem," that is, "and Man was made a Living Creature;" +And after Noah came out of the Arke, God saith, hee will no more smite +"omnem animam viventem," that is "every Living Creature;" And Deut. +12.23. "Eate not the Bloud, for the Bloud is the Soule;" that is +"the Life." From which places, if by Soule were meant a Substance +Incorporeall, with an existence separated from the Body, it might as +well be inferred of any other living Creature, as of Man. But that +the Souls of the Faithfull, are not of their own Nature, but by Gods +speciall Grace, to remaine in their bodies, from the Resurrection to +all Eternity, I have already I think sufficiently proved out of the +Scriptures, in the 38. Chapter. And for the places of the New Testament, +where it is said that any man shall be cast Body and Soul into Hell +fire, it is no more than Body and Life; that is to say, they shall be +cast alive into the perpetuall fire of Gehenna. + + + + +As The Doctrine Of Purgatory, And Exorcismes, And Invocation Of Saints + +This window it is, that gives entrance to the Dark Doctrine, first, of +Eternall Torments; and afterwards of Purgatory, and consequently of the +walking abroad, especially in places Consecrated, Solitary, or Dark, of +the Ghosts of men deceased; and thereby to the pretences of Exorcisme +and Conjuration of Phantasmes; as also of Invocation of men dead; and to +the Doctrine of Indulgences; that is to say, of exemption for a time, +or for ever, from the fire of Purgatory, wherein these Incorporeall +Substances are pretended by burning to be cleansed, and made fit +for Heaven. For men being generally possessed before the time of our +Saviour, by contagion of the Daemonology of the Greeks, of an opinion, +that the Souls of men were substances distinct from their Bodies, and +therefore that when the Body was dead, the Soule of every man, whether +godly, or wicked, must subsist somewhere by vertue of its own nature, +without acknowledging therein any supernaturall gift of Gods; the +Doctors of the Church doubted a long time, what was the place, which +they were to abide in, till they should be re-united to their Bodies in +the Resurrection; supposing for a while, they lay under the Altars: but +afterward the Church of Rome found it more profitable, to build for them +this place of Purgatory; which by some other Churches in this later age, +has been demolished. + + + + +The Texts Alledged For The Doctrines Aforementioned Have Been Answered +Before + +Let us now consider, what texts of Scripture seem most to confirm these +three generall Errors, I have here touched. As for those which Cardinall +Bellarmine hath alledged, for the present Kingdome of God administred by +the Pope, (than which there are none that make a better show of proof,) +I have already answered them; and made it evident, that the Kingdome +of God, instituted by Moses, ended in the election of Saul: After which +time the Priest of his own authority never deposed any King. That which +the High Priest did to Athaliah, was not done in his own right, but in +the right of the young King Joash her Son: But Solomon in his own right +deposed the High Priest Abiathar, and set up another in his place. The +most difficult place to answer, of all those than can be brought, +to prove the Kingdome of God by Christ is already in this world, is +alledged, not by Bellarmine, nor any other of the Church of Rome; but +by Beza; that will have it to begin from the Resurrection of Christ. +But whether hee intend thereby, to entitle the Presbytery to the Supreme +Power Ecclesiasticall in the Common-wealth of Geneva, (and consequently +to every Presbytery in every other Common-wealth,) or to Princes, +and other Civill Soveraignes, I doe not know. For the Presbytery hath +challenged the power to Excommunicate their owne Kings, and to bee the +Supreme Moderators in Religion, in the places where they have that form +of Church government, no lesse then the Pope challengeth it universally. + + + + +Answer To The Text On Which Beza Infereth + +That The Kingdome Of Christ Began At The Resurrection The words are +(Marke 9.1.) "Verily, I say unto you, that there be some of them that +stand here, which shall not tast of death, till they have seene the +Kingdome of God come with power." Which words, if taken grammatically, +make it certaine, that either some of those men that stood by Christ at +that time, are yet alive; or else, that the Kingdome of God must be now +in this present world. And then there is another place more difficult: +For when the Apostles after our Saviours Resurrection, and immediately +before his Ascension, asked our Saviour, saying, (Acts.1.6.) "Wilt thou +at this time restore again the Kingdome to Israel," he answered them, +"It is not for you to know the times and the seasons, which the Father +hath put in his own power; But ye shall receive power by the comming of +the Holy Ghost upon you, and yee shall be my (Martyrs) witnesses both in +Jerusalem, & in all Judaea, and in Samaria, and unto the uttermost part +of the Earth:" Which is as much as to say, My Kingdome is not yet come, +nor shall you foreknow when it shall come, for it shall come as a theefe +in the night; But I will send you the Holy Ghost, and by him you shall +have power to beare witnesse to all the world (by your preaching) of +my Resurrection, and the workes I have done, and the doctrine I have +taught, that they may beleeve in me, and expect eternall life, at my +comming againe: How does this agree with the comming of Christs Kingdome +at the Resurrection? And that which St. Paul saies (1 Thessal. 1.9, 10.) +"That they turned from Idols, to serve the living and true God, and +to waite for his Sonne from Heaven:" Where to waite for his Sonne from +Heaven, is to wait for his comming to be King in power; which were +not necessary, if this Kingdome had beene then present. Againe, if the +Kingdome of God began (as Beza on that place (Mark 9.1.) would have it) +at the Resurrection; what reason is there for Christians ever since the +Resurrection to say in their prayers, "Let thy Kingdome Come"? It +is therefore manifest, that the words of St. Mark are not so to be +interpreted. There be some of them that stand here (saith our Saviour) +that shall not tast of death till they have seen the Kingdome of God +come in power. If then this Kingdome were to come at the Resurrection +of Christ, why is it said, "some of them" rather than all? For they all +lived till after Christ was risen. + + + + +Explication Of The Place In Mark 9.1 + +But they that require an exact interpretation of this text, let them +interpret first the like words of our Saviour to St. Peter concerning +St. John, (chap. 21.22.) "If I will that he tarry till I come, what is +that to thee?" upon which was grounded a report that hee should not dye: +Neverthelesse the truth of that report was neither confirmed, as well +grounded; nor refuted, as ill grounded on those words; but left as a +saying not understood. The same difficulty is also in the place of St. +Marke. And if it be lawfull to conjecture at their meaning, by that +which immediately followes, both here, and in St. Luke, where the same +is againe repeated, it is not unprobable, to say they have relation +to the Transfiguration, which is described in the verses immediately +following; where it is said, that "After six dayes Jesus taketh with +him Peter, and James, and John (not all, but some of his Disciples) +and leadeth them up into an high mountaine apart by themselves, and +was transfigured before them. And his rayment became shining, exceeding +white as snow; so as no Fuller on earth can white them. And there +appeared unto them Elias with Moses, and they were talking with Jesus, +&c." So that they saw Christ in Glory and Majestie, as he is to come; +insomuch as "They were sore afraid." And thus the promise of our Saviour +was accomplished by way of Vision: For it was a Vision, as may probably +bee inferred out of St. Luke, that reciteth the same story (ch. 9. ve. +28.) and saith, that Peter and they that were with him, were heavy with +sleep; But most certainly out of Matth. 17.9. (where the same is again +related;) for our Saviour charged them, saying, "Tell no man the Vision +untill the Son of man be Risen from the dead." Howsoever it be, yet +there can from thence be taken no argument, to prove that the Kingdome +of God taketh beginning till the day of Judgement. + + + + +Abuse Of Some Other Texts In Defence Of The Power Of The Pope + +As for some other texts, to prove the Popes Power over civill +Soveraignes (besides those of Bellarmine;) as that the two Swords that +Christ and his Apostles had amongst them, were the Spirituall and the +Temporall Sword, which they say St. Peter had given him by Christ: And, +that of the two Luminaries, the greater signifies the Pope, and the +lesser the King; One might as well inferre out of the first verse of the +Bible, that by Heaven is meant the Pope, and by Earth the King: Which +is not arguing from Scripture, but a wanton insulting over Princes, that +came in fashion after the time the Popes were growne so secure of their +greatnesse, as to contemne all Christian Kings; and Treading on the +necks of Emperours, to mocke both them, and the Scripture, in the words +of the 91. Psalm, "Thou shalt Tread upon the Lion and the Adder, the +young Lion and the Dragon thou shalt Trample under thy feet." + + + + +The Manner Of Consecrations In The Scripture, Was Without Exorcisms + +As for the rites of Consecration, though they depend for the most part +upon the discretion and judgement of the governors of the Church, +and not upon the Scriptures; yet those governors are obliged to such +direction, as the nature of the action it selfe requireth; as that the +ceremonies, words, and gestures, be both decent, and significant, or at +least conformable to the action. When Moses consecrated the Tabernacle, +the Altar, and the Vessels belonging to them (Exod. 40.) he anointed +them with the Oyle which God had commanded to bee made for that +purpose; and they were holy; There was nothing Exorcised, to drive away +Phantasmes. The same Moses (the civill Soveraigne of Israel) when he +consecrated Aaron (the High Priest,) and his Sons, did wash them with +Water, (not Exorcised water,) put their Garments upon them, and anointed +them with Oyle; and they were sanctified, to minister unto the Lord +in the Priests office; which was a simple and decent cleansing, and +adorning them, before hee presented them to God, to be his servants. +When King Solomon, (the civill Soveraigne of Israel) consecrated the +Temple hee had built, (2 Kings 8.) he stood before all the Congregation +of Israel; and having blessed them, he gave thanks to God, for putting +into the heart of his father, to build it; and for giving to himselfe +the grace to accomplish the same; and then prayed unto him, first, +to accept that House, though it were not sutable to his infinite +Greatnesse; and to hear the prayers of his Servants that should pray +therein, or (if they were absent) towards it; and lastly, he offered a +sacrifice of Peace-offering, and the House was dedicated. Here was no +Procession; the King stood still in his first place; no Exorcised Water; +no Asperges Me, nor other impertinent application of words spoken upon +another occasion; but a decent, and rationall speech, and such as in +making to God a present of his new built House, was most conformable +to the occasion. We read not that St. John did Exorcise the Water +of Jordan; nor Philip the Water of the river wherein he baptized the +Eunuch; nor that any Pastor in the time of the Apostles, did take his +spittle, and put it to the nose of the person to be Baptized, and say, +"In odorem suavitatis," that is, "for a sweet savour unto the Lord;" +wherein neither the Ceremony of Spittle, for the uncleannesse; nor the +application of that Scripture for the levity, can by any authority of +man be justified. + + + + +The Immortality Of Mans Soule, Not Proved By Scripture To Be Of Nature, +But Of Grace + +To prove that the Soule separated from the Body liveth eternally, not +onely the Soules of the Elect, by especiall grace, and restauration of +the Eternall Life which Adam lost by Sinne, and our Saviour restored +by the Sacrifice of himself, to the Faithfull, but also the Soules +of Reprobates, as a property naturally consequent to the essence of +mankind, without other grace of God, but that which is universally given +to all mankind; there are divers places, which at the first sight seem +sufficiently to serve the turn: but such, as when I compare them with +that which I have before (Chapter 38.) alledged out of the 14 of Job, +seem to mee much more subject to a divers interpretation, than the words +of Job. + +And first there are the words of Solomon (Ecclesiastes 12.7.) "Then +shall the Dust return to Dust, as it was, and the Spirit shall return to +God that gave it." Which may bear well enough (if there be no other text +directly against it) this interpretation, that God onely knows, (but +Man not,) what becomes of a mans spirit, when he expireth; and the same +Solomon, in the same Book, (Chap. 3. ver. 20,21.) delivereth in the same +sentence in the sense I have given it: His words are, "All goe, (man +and beast) to the same place; all are of the dust, and all turn to dust +again; who knoweth that the spirit of Man goeth upward, and the spirit +of the Beast goeth downward to the earth?" That is, none knows but God; +Nor is it an unusuall phrase to say of things we understand not, "God +knows what," and "God knows where." That of Gen. 5.24. "Enoch walked +with God, and he was not; for God took him;" which is expounded Heb. +13.5. "He was translated, that he should not die; and was not found, +because God had translated him. For before his Translation, he had this +testimony, that he pleased God," making as much for the Immortality +of the Body, as of the Soule, proveth, that this his translation was +peculiar to them that please God; not common to them with the wicked; +and depending on Grace, not on Nature. But on the contrary, what +interpretation shall we give, besides the literall sense of the words of +Solomon (Eccles. 3.19.) "That which befalleth the Sons of Men, befalleth +Beasts, even one thing befalleth them; as the one dyeth, so doth the +other; yea, they have all one breath (one spirit;) so that a Man hath no +praeeminence above a Beast, for all is vanity." By the literall sense, +here is no Naturall Immortality of the Soule; nor yet any repugnancy +with the Life Eternall, which the Elect shall enjoy by Grace. And (chap. +4. ver.3.) "Better is he that hath not yet been, than both they;" that +is, than they that live, or have lived; which, if the Soule of all them +that have lived, were Immortall, were a hard saying; for then to have +an Immortall Soule, were worse than to have no Soule at all. And +againe,(Chapt. 9.5.) "The living know they shall die, but the dead know +not any thing;" that is, Naturally, and before the resurrection of the +body. + +Another place which seems to make for a Naturall Immortality of the +Soule, is that, where our Saviour saith, that Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob +are living: but this is spoken of the promise of God, and of their +certitude to rise again, not of a Life then actuall; and in the same +sense that God said to Adam, that on the day hee should eate of the +forbidden fruit, he should certainly die; from that time forward he was +a dead man by sentence; but not by execution, till almost a thousand +years after. So Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob were alive by promise, then, +when Christ spake; but are not actually till the Resurrection. And the +History of Dives and Lazarus, make nothing against this, if wee take it +(as it is) for a Parable. + +But there be other places of the New Testament, where an Immortality +seemeth to be directly attributed to the wicked. For it is evident, that +they shall all rise to Judgement. And it is said besides in many places, +that they shall goe into "Everlasting fire, Everlasting torments, +Everlasting punishments; and that the worm of conscience never dyeth;" +and all this is comprehended in the word Everlasting Death, which is +ordinarily interpreted Everlasting Life In Torments: And yet I can find +no where that any man shall live in torments Everlastingly. Also, it +seemeth hard, to say, that God who is the Father of Mercies, that doth +in Heaven and Earth all that hee will; that hath the hearts of all men +in his disposing; that worketh in men both to doe, and to will; and +without whose free gift a man hath neither inclination to good, nor +repentance of evill, should punish mens transgressions without any end +of time, and with all the extremity of torture, that men can imagine, +and more. We are therefore to consider, what the meaning is, of +Everlasting Fire, and other the like phrases of Scripture. + +I have shewed already, that the Kingdome of God by Christ beginneth at +the day of Judgment: That in that day, the Faithfull shall rise again, +with glorious, and spirituall Bodies, and bee his Subjects in that his +Kingdome, which shall be Eternall; That they shall neither marry, nor +be given in marriage, nor eate and drink, as they did in their naturall +bodies; but live for ever in their individuall persons, without the +specificall eternity of generation: And that the Reprobates also shall +rise again, to receive punishments for their sins: As also, that those +of the Elect, which shall be alive in their earthly bodies at that +day, shall have their bodies suddenly changed, and made spirituall, and +Immortall. But that the bodies of the Reprobate, who make the Kingdome +of Satan, shall also be glorious, or spirituall bodies, or that they +shall bee as the Angels of God, neither eating, nor drinking, nor +engendring; or that their life shall be Eternall in their individuall +persons, as the life of every faithfull man is, or as the life of Adam +had been if hee had not sinned, there is no place of Scripture to prove +it; save onely these places concerning Eternall Torments; which may +otherwise be interpreted. + +From whence may be inferred, that as the Elect after the Resurrection +shall be restored to the estate, wherein Adam was before he had sinned; +so the Reprobate shall be in the estate, that Adam, and his posterity +were in after the sin committed; saving that God promised a Redeemer to +Adam, and such of his seed as should trust in him, and repent; but not +to them that should die in their sins, as do the Reprobate. + + + + +Eternall Torments What + +These things considered, the texts that mention Eternall Fire, Eternal +Torments, or the Word That Never Dieth, contradict not the Doctrine of +a Second, and Everlasting Death, in the proper and naturall sense of the +word Death. The Fire, or Torments prepared for the wicked in Gehenna, +Tophet, or in what place soever, may continue for ever; and there may +never want wicked men to be tormented in them; though not every, nor +any one Eternally. For the wicked being left in the estate they were in +after Adams sin, may at the Resurrection live as they did, marry, and +give in marriage, and have grosse and corruptible bodies, as all +mankind now have; and consequently may engender perpetually, after the +Resurrection, as they did before: For there is no place of Scripture to +the contrary. For St. Paul, speaking of the Resurrection (1 Cor. 15.) +understandeth it onely of the Resurrection to Life Eternall; and not the +Resurrection to Punishment. And of the first, he saith that the Body is +"Sown in Corruption, raised in Incorruption; sown in Dishonour, raised +in Honour; sown in Weaknesse, raised in Power; sown a Naturall body, +raised a Spirituall body:" There is no such thing can be said of the +bodies of them that rise to Punishment. The text is Luke 20. Verses +34,35,36. a fertile text. "The Children of this world marry, and are +given in marriage; but they that shall be counted worthy to obtaine that +world, and the Resurrection from the dead, neither marry, nor are given +in marriage: Neither can they die any more; for they are equall to +the Angells, and are the Children of God, being the Children of the +Resurrection:" The Children of this world, that are in the estate +which Adam left them in, shall marry, and be given in marriage; that is +corrupt, and generate successively; which is an Immortality of the Kind, +but not of the Persons of men: They are not worthy to be counted amongst +them that shall obtain the next world, and an absolute Resurrection from +the dead; but onely a short time, as inmates of that world; and to the +end onely to receive condign punishment for their contumacy. The Elect +are the onely children of the Resurrection; that is to say the sole +heirs of Eternall Life: they only can die no more; it is they that are +equall to the Angels, and that are the children of God; and not the +Reprobate. To the Reprobate there remaineth after the Resurrection, +a Second, and Eternall Death: between which Resurrection, and their +Second, and Eternall death, is but a time of Punishment and Torment; and +to last by succession of sinners thereunto, as long as the kind of Man +by propagation shall endure, which is Eternally. + + + + +Answer Of The Texts Alledged For Purgatory + +Upon this Doctrine of the Naturall Eternity of separated Soules, is +founded (as I said) the Doctrine of Purgatory. For supposing Eternall +Life by Grace onely, there is no Life, but the Life of the Body; and no +Immortality till the Resurrection. The texts for Purgatory alledged by +Bellarmine out of the Canonicall Scripture of the old Testament, are +first, the Fasting of David for Saul and Jonathan, mentioned (2 Kings, +1. 12.); and againe, (2 Sam. 3. 35.) for the death of Abner. This +Fasting of David, he saith, was for the obtaining of something for them +at Gods hands, after their death; because after he had Fasted to procure +the recovery of his owne child, assoone as he know it was dead, he +called for meate. Seeing then the Soule hath an existence separate from +the Body, and nothing can be obtained by mens Fasting for the Soules +that are already either in Heaven, or Hell, it followeth that there be +some Soules of dead men, what are neither in Heaven, nor in Hell; and +therefore they must bee in some third place, which must be Purgatory. +And thus with hard straining, hee has wrested those places to the proofe +of a Purgatory; whereas it is manifest, that the ceremonies of Mourning, +and Fasting, when they are used for the death of men, whose life was +not profitable to the Mourners, they are used for honours sake to their +persons; and when tis done for the death of them by whose life the +Mourners had benefit, it proceeds from their particular dammage: And so +David honoured Saul, and Abner, with his Fasting; and in the death of +his owne child, recomforted himselfe, by receiving his ordinary food. + +In the other places, which he alledgeth out of the old Testament, there +is not so much as any shew, or colour of proofe. He brings in every text +wherein there is the word Anger, or Fire, or Burning, or Purging, or +Clensing, in case any of the Fathers have but in a Sermon rhetorically +applied it to the Doctrine of Purgatory, already beleeved. The first +verse of Psalme, 37. "O Lord rebuke me not in thy wrath, nor chasten me +in thy hot displeasure:" What were this to Purgatory, if Augustine had +not applied the Wrath to the fire of Hell, and the Displeasure, to that +of Purgatory? And what is it to Purgatory, that of Psalme, 66. 12. "Wee +went through fire and water, and thou broughtest us to a moist place;" +and other the like texts, (with which the Doctors of those times +entended to adorne, or extend their Sermons, or Commentaries) haled to +their purposes by force of wit? + + + + +Places Of The New Testament For Purgatory Answered + +But he alledgeth other places of the New Testament, that are not +so easie to be answered: And first that of Matth. 12.32. "Whosoever +speaketh a word against the Sonne of man, it shall be forgiven him; but +whosoever speaketh against the Holy Ghost, it shall not bee forgiven +him neither in this world, nor in the world to come:" Where he will have +Purgatory to be the World to come, wherein some sinnes may be forgiven, +which in this World were not forgiven: notwithstanding that it is +manifest, there are but three Worlds; one from the Creation to the +Flood, which was destroyed by Water, and is called in Scripture the +Old World; another from the Flood to the day of Judgement, which is the +Present World, and shall bee destroyed by Fire; and the third, which +shall bee from the day of Judgement forward, everlasting, which is +called the World To Come; and in which it is agreed by all, there shall +be no Purgatory; And therefore the World to come, and Purgatory, are +inconsistent. But what then can bee the meaning of those our Saviours +words? I confesse they are very hardly to bee reconciled with all the +Doctrines now unanimously received: Nor is it any shame, to confesse the +profoundnesse of the Scripture, to bee too great to be sounded by the +shortnesse of humane understanding. Neverthelesse, I may propound such +things to the consideration of more learned Divines, as the text it +selfe suggesteth. And first, seeing to speake against the Holy Ghost, as +being the third Person of the Trinity, is to speake against the Church, +in which the Holy Ghost resideth; it seemeth the comparison is made, +betweene the Easinesse of our Saviour, in bearing with offences done to +him while he was on earth, and the Severity of the Pastors after him, +against those which should deny their authority, which was from the Holy +Ghost: As if he should say, You that deny my Power; nay you that shall +crucifie me, shall be pardoned by mee, as often as you turne unto mee by +Repentance: But if you deny the Power of them that teach you hereafter, +by vertue of the Holy Ghost, they shall be inexorable, and shall not +forgive you, but persecute you in this World, and leave you without +absolution, (though you turn to me, unlesse you turn also to them,) to +the punishments (as much as lies in them) of the World to come: And +so the words may be taken as a Prophecy, or Praediction concerning the +times, as they have along been in the Christian Church: Or if this be +not the meaning, (for I am not peremptory in such difficult places,) +perhaps there may be place left after the Resurrection for the +Repentance of some sinners: And there is also another place, that +seemeth to agree therewith. For considering the words of St. Paul (1 +Cor. 15. 29.) "What shall they doe which are Baptized for the dead, if +the dead rise not at all? why also are they Baptized for the dead?" a +man may probably inferre, as some have done, that in St. Pauls time, +there was a custome by receiving Baptisme for the dead, (as men that now +beleeve, are Sureties and Undertakers for the Faith of Infants, that +are not capable of beleeving,) to undertake for the persons of their +deceased friends, that they should be ready to obey, and receive our +Saviour for their King, at his coming again; and then the forgivenesse +of sins in the world to come, has no need of a Purgatory. But in both +these interpretations, there is so much of paradox, that I trust not +to them; but propound them to those that are throughly versed in the +Scripture, to inquire if there be no clearer place that contradicts +them. Onely of thus much, I see evident Scripture, to perswade men, that +there is neither the word, nor the thing of Purgatory, neither in this, +nor any other text; nor any thing that can prove a necessity of a place +for the Soule without the Body; neither for the Soule of Lazarus during +the four days he was dead; nor for the Soules of them which the Romane +Church pretend to be tormented now in Purgatory. For God, that could +give a life to a peece of clay, hath the same power to give life again +to a dead man, and renew his inanimate, and rotten Carkasse, into a +glorious, spirituall, and immortall Body. + +Another place is that of 1 Cor. 3. where it is said that they which +built Stubble, Hay, &c. on the true Foundation, their work shall perish; +but "they themselves shall be saved; but as through Fire:" This Fire, he +will have to be the Fire of Purgatory. The words, as I have said before, +are an allusion to those of Zach. 13. 9. where he saith, "I will bring +the third part through the Fire, and refine them as Silver is refined, +and will try them as Gold is tryed;" Which is spoken of the comming of +the Messiah in Power and Glory; that is, at the day of Judgment, and +Conflagration of the present world; wherein the Elect shall not be +consumed, but be refined; that is, depose their erroneous Doctrines, and +Traditions, and have them as it were sindged off; and shall afterwards +call upon the name of the true God. In like manner, the Apostle saith +of them, that holding this Foundation Jesus Is The Christ, shall build +thereon some other Doctrines that be erroneous, that they shall not be +consumed in that fire which reneweth the world, but shall passe through +it to Salvation; but so, as to see, and relinquish their former Errours. +The Builders, are the Pastors; the Foundation, that Jesus Is The Christ; +the Stubble and Hay, False Consequences Drawn From It Through Ignorance, +Or Frailty; the Gold, Silver, and pretious Stones, are their True +Doctrines; and their Refining or Purging, the Relinquishing Of Their +Errors. In all which there is no colour at all for the burning of +Incorporeall, that is to say, Impatible Souls. + + + + +Baptisme For The Dead, How Understood + +A third place is that of 1 Cor. 15. before mentioned, concerning +Baptisme for the Dead: out of which he concludeth, first, that Prayers +for the Dead are not unprofitable; and out of that, that there is a Fire +of Purgatory: But neither of them rightly. For of many interpretations +of the word Baptisme, he approveth this in the first place, that by +Baptisme is meant (metaphorically) a Baptisme of Penance; and that men +are in this sense Baptized, when they Fast, and Pray, and give Almes: +And so Baptisme for the Dead, and Prayer of the Dead, is the same thing. +But this is a Metaphor, of which there is no example, neither in +the Scripture, nor in any other use of language; and which is also +discordant to the harmony, and scope of the Scripture. The word Baptisme +is used (Mar. 10. 38. & Luk. 12. 59.) for being Dipped in ones own +bloud, as Christ was upon the Cross, and as most of the Apostles +were, for giving testimony of him. But it is hard to say, that Prayer, +Fasting, and Almes, have any similitude with Dipping. The same is used +also Mat. 3. 11. (which seemeth to make somewhat for Purgatory) for +a Purging with Fire. But it is evident the Fire and Purging here +mentioned, is the same whereof the Prophet Zachary speaketh (chap. 13. +v. 9.) "I will bring the third part through the Fire, and will Refine +them, &c." And St. Peter after him (1 Epist. 1. 7.) "That the triall +of your Faith, which is much more precious than of Gold that perisheth, +though it be tryed with fire, might be found unto praise, and honour, +and glory at the Appearing of Jesus Christ;" And St. Paul (1 Cor. 3. +13.) The Fire shall trie every mans work of what sort it is." But +St. Peter, and St. Paul speak of the Fire that shall be at the Second +Appearing of Christ; and the Prophet Zachary of the Day of Judgment: And +therefore this place of S. Mat. may be interpreted of the same; and then +there will be no necessity of the Fire of Purgatory. + +Another interpretation of Baptisme for the Dead, is that which I +have before mentioned, which he preferreth to the second place of +probability; And thence also he inferreth the utility of Prayer for the +Dead. For if after the Resurrection, such as have not heard of Christ, +or not beleeved in him, may be received into Christs Kingdome; it is +not in vain, after their death, that their friends should pray for them, +till they should be risen. But granting that God, at the prayers of the +faithfull, may convert unto him some of those that have not heard Christ +preached, and consequently cannot have rejected Christ, and that the +charity of men in that point, cannot be blamed; yet this concludeth +nothing for Purgatory, because to rise from Death to Life, is one thing; +to rise from Purgatory to Life is another; and being a rising from Life +to Life, from a Life in torments to a Life in joy. + +A fourth place is that of Mat. 5. 25. "Agree with thine Adversary +quickly, whilest thou art in the way with him, lest at any time the +Adversary deliver thee to the Officer, and thou be cast into prison. +Verily I say unto thee, thou shalt by no means come out thence, till +thou has paid the uttermost farthing." In which Allegory, the Offender +is the Sinner; both the Adversary and the Judge is God; the Way is +this Life; the Prison is the Grave; the Officer, Death; from which, the +sinner shall not rise again to life eternall, but to a second Death, +till he have paid the utmost farthing, or Christ pay it for him by his +Passion, which is a full Ransome for all manner of sin, as well lesser +sins, as greater crimes; both being made by the passion of Christ +equally veniall. + +The fift place, is that of Matth. 5. 22. "Whosoever is angry with his +Brother without a cause, shall be guilty in Judgment. And whosoever +shall say to his Brother, RACHA, shall be guilty in the Councel. But +whosoever shall say, Thou Foole, shall be guilty to hell fire." From +which words he inferreth three sorts of Sins, and three sorts of +Punishments; and that none of those sins, but the last, shall be +punished with hell fire; and consequently, that after this life, there +is punishment of lesser sins in Purgatory. Of which inference, there is +no colour in any interpretation that hath yet been given to them: Shall +there be a distinction after this life of Courts of Justice, as there +was amongst the Jews in our Saviours time, to hear, and determine +divers sorts of Crimes; as the Judges, and the Councell? Shall not +all Judicature appertain to Christ, and his Apostles? To understand +therefore this text, we are not to consider it solitarily, but jointly +with the words precedent, and subsequent. Our Saviour in this Chapter +interpreteth the Law of Moses; which the Jews thought was then +fulfilled, when they had not transgressed the Grammaticall sense +thereof, howsoever they had transgressed against the sentence, or +meaning of the Legislator. Therefore whereas they thought the Sixth +Commandement was not broken, but by Killing a man; nor the Seventh, but +when a man lay with a woman, not his wife; our Saviour tells them, the +inward Anger of a man against his brother, if it be without just cause, +is Homicide: You have heard (saith hee) the Law of Moses, "Thou shalt +not Kill," and that "Whosoever shall Kill, shall be condemned before the +Judges," or before the Session of the Seventy: But I say unto you, to +be Angry with ones Brother without cause; or to say unto him Racha, or +Foole, is Homicide, and shall be punished at the day of Judgment, and +Session of Christ, and his Apostles, with Hell fire: so that those words +were not used to distinguish between divers Crimes, and divers Courts +of Justice, and divers Punishments; but to taxe the distinction between +sin, and sin, which the Jews drew not from the difference of the Will +in Obeying God, but from the difference of their Temporall Courts of +Justice; and to shew them that he that had the Will to hurt his Brother, +though the effect appear but in Reviling, or not at all, shall be cast +into hell fire, by the Judges, and by the Session, which shall be the +same, not different Courts at the day of Judgment. This Considered, what +can be drawn from this text, to maintain Purgatory, I cannot imagine. + +The sixth place is Luke 16. 9. "Make yee friends of the unrighteous +Mammon, that when yee faile, they may receive you into Everlasting +Tabernacles." This he alledges to prove Invocation of Saints departed. +But the sense is plain, That we should make friends with our Riches, of +the Poore, and thereby obtain their Prayers whilest they live. "He that +giveth to the Poore, lendeth to the Lord. "The seventh is Luke 23. 42. +"Lord remember me when thou commest into thy Kingdome:" Therefore, saith +hee, there is Remission of sins after this life. But the consequence +is not good. Our Saviour then forgave him; and at his comming againe in +Glory, will remember to raise him againe to Life Eternall. + +The Eight is Acts 2. 24. where St. Peter saith of Christ, "that God +had raised him up, and loosed the Paines of Death, because it was not +possible he should be holden of it;" Which hee interprets to bee a +descent of Christ into Purgatory, to loose some Soules there from their +torments; whereas it is manifest, that it was Christ that was loosed; +it was hee that could not bee holden of Death, or the Grave; and not the +Souls in Purgatory. But if that which Beza sayes in his notes on this +place be well observed, there is none that will not see, that in stead +of Paynes, it should be Bands; and then there is no further cause to +seek for Purgatory in this Text. + + + +CHAPTER XLV. OF DAEMONOLOGY, AND OTHER RELIQUES OF THE RELIGION OF THE +GENTILES + + + + +The Originall Of Daemonology + +The impression made on the organs of Sight, by lucide Bodies, either in +one direct line, or in many lines, reflected from Opaque, or refracted +in the passage through Diaphanous Bodies, produceth in living Creatures, +in whom God hath placed such Organs, an Imagination of the Object, from +whence the Impression proceedeth; which Imagination is called Sight; and +seemeth not to bee a meer Imagination, but the Body it selfe without +us; in the same manner, as when a man violently presseth his eye, there +appears to him a light without, and before him, which no man perceiveth +but himselfe; because there is indeed no such thing without him, but +onely a motion in the interiour organs, pressing by resistance +outward, that makes him think so. And the motion made by this pressure, +continuing after the object which caused it is removed, is that we call +Imagination, and Memory, and (in sleep, and sometimes in great distemper +of the organs by Sicknesse, or Violence) a Dream: of which things I have +already spoken briefly, in the second and third Chapters. + +This nature of Sight having never been discovered by the ancient +pretenders to Naturall Knowledge; much lesse by those that consider not +things so remote (as that Knowledge is) from their present use; it was +hard for men to conceive of those Images in the Fancy, and in the Sense, +otherwise, than of things really without us: Which some (because they +vanish away, they know not whither, nor how,) will have to be absolutely +Incorporeall, that is to say Immateriall, of Formes without Matter; +Colour and Figure, without any coloured or figured Body; and that they +can put on Aiery bodies (as a garment) to make them Visible when +they will to our bodily Eyes; and others say, are Bodies, and living +Creatures, but made of Air, or other more subtile and aethereall Matter, +which is, then, when they will be seen, condensed. But Both of them +agree on one generall appellation of them, DAEMONS. As if the Dead of +whom they Dreamed, were not Inhabitants of their own Brain, but of the +Air, or of Heaven, or Hell; not Phantasmes, but Ghosts; with just +as much reason, as if one should say, he saw his own Ghost in a +Looking-Glasse, or the Ghosts of the Stars in a River; or call the +ordinary apparition of the Sun, of the quantity of about a foot, the +Daemon, or Ghost of that great Sun that enlighteneth the whole visible +world: And by that means have feared them, as things of an unknown, that +is, of an unlimited power to doe them good, or harme; and consequently, +given occasion to the Governours of the Heathen Common-wealths to +regulate this their fear, by establishing that DAEMONOLOGY (in which +the Poets, as Principal Priests of the Heathen Religion, were specially +employed, or reverenced) to the Publique Peace, and to the Obedience of +Subjects necessary thereunto; and to make some of them Good Daemons, +and others Evill; the one as a Spurre to the Observance, the other, as +Reines to withhold them from Violation of the Laws. + + + + +What Were The Daemons Of The Ancients + +What kind of things they were, to whom they attributed the name of +Daemons, appeareth partly in the Genealogie of their Gods, written by +Hesiod, one of the most ancient Poets of the Graecians; and partly in +other Histories; of which I have observed some few before, in the 12. +Chapter of this discourse. + + + + +How That Doctrine Was Spread + +The Graecians, by their Colonies and Conquests, communicated their +Language and Writings into Asia, Egypt, and Italy; and therein, by +necessary consequence their Daemonology, or (as St. Paul calles it) +"their Doctrines of Devils;" And by that meanes, the contagion was +derived also to the Jewes, both of Judaea, and Alexandria, and other +parts, whereinto they were dispersed. But the name of Daemon they did +not (as the Graecians) attribute to Spirits both Good, and Evill; but +to the Evill onely: And to the Good Daemons they gave the name of the +Spirit of God; and esteemed those into whose bodies they entred to be +Prophets. In summe, all singularity if Good, they attributed to the +Spirit of God; and if Evill, to some Daemon, but a kakodaimen, an Evill +Daemon, that is, a Devill. And therefore, they called Daemoniaques, that +is, possessed by the Devill, such as we call Madmen or Lunatiques; or +such as had the Falling Sicknesse; or that spoke any thing, which they +for want of understanding, thought absurd: As also of an Unclean person +in a notorious degree, they used to say he had an Unclean Spirit; of a +Dumbe man, that he had a Dumbe Devill; and of John Baptist (Math. 11. +18.) for the singularity of his fasting, that he had a Devill; and of +our Saviour, because he said, hee that keepeth his sayings should not +see Death In Aeternum, (John 8. 52.) "Now we know thou hast a Devill; +Abraham is dead, and the Prophets are dead:" And again, because he said +(John 7. 20.) "They went about to kill him," the people answered, "Thou +hast a Devill, who goeth about to kill thee?" Whereby it is manifest, +that the Jewes had the same opinions concerning Phantasmes, namely, that +they were not Phantasmes that is, Idols of the braine, but things reall, +and independent on the Fancy. + + + + +Why Our Saviour Controlled It Not + +Which doctrine if it be not true, why (may some say) did not our Saviour +contradict it, and teach the Contrary? nay why does he use on diverse +occasions, such forms of speech as seem to confirm it? To this I answer, +that first, where Christ saith, "A Spirit hath not flesh and bone," +though hee shew that there be Spirits, yet he denies not that they are +Bodies: And where St. Paul sais, "We shall rise Spirituall Bodies," he +acknowledgeth the nature of Spirits, but that they are Bodily Spirits; +which is not difficult to understand. For Air and many other things +are Bodies, though not Flesh and Bone, or any other grosse body, to bee +discerned by the eye. But when our Saviour speaketh to the Devill, and +commandeth him to go out of a man, if by the Devill, be meant a Disease, +as Phrenesy, or Lunacy, or a corporeal Spirit, is not the speech +improper? can Diseases heare? or can there be a corporeall Spirit in a +Body of Flesh and Bone, full already of vitall and animall Spirits? +Are there not therefore Spirits, that neither have Bodies, nor are meer +Imaginations? To the first I answer, that the addressing of our Saviours +command to the Madnesse, or Lunacy he cureth, is no more improper, then +was his rebuking of the Fever, or of the Wind, and Sea; for neither +do these hear: Or than was the command of God, to the Light, to the +Firmament, to the Sunne, and Starres, when he commanded them to bee; for +they could not heare before they had a beeing. But those speeches are +not improper, because they signifie the power of Gods Word: no more +therefore is it improper, to command Madnesse, or Lunacy (under the +appellation of Devils, by which they were then commonly understood,) +to depart out of a mans body. To the second, concerning their being +Incorporeall, I have not yet observed any place of Scripture, from +whence it can be gathered, that any man was ever possessed with any +other Corporeal Spirit, but that of his owne, by which his body is +naturally moved. + + + + +The Scriptures Doe Not Teach That Spirits Are Incorporeall + +Our Saviour, immediately after the Holy Ghost descended upon him in the +form of a Dove, is said by St. Matthew (Chapt. 4. 1.) to have been "led +up by the Spirit into the Wildernesse;" and the same is recited (Luke 4. +1.) in these words, "Jesus being full of the Holy Ghost, was led in +the Spirit into the Wildernesse;" Whereby it is evident, that by +Spirit there, is meant the Holy Ghost. This cannot be interpreted for +a Possession: For Christ, and the Holy Ghost, are but one and the same +substance; which is no possession of one substance, or body, by another. +And whereas in the verses following, he is said "to have been taken +up by the Devill into the Holy City, and set upon a pinnacle of the +Temple," shall we conclude thence that hee was possessed of the Devill, +or carryed thither by violence? And again, "carryed thence by the Devill +into an exceeding high mountain, who shewed him them thence all the +Kingdomes of the world:" herein, wee are not to beleeve he was either +possessed, or forced by the Devill; nor that any Mountaine is high +enough, (according to the literall sense,) to shew him one whole +Hemisphere. What then can be the meaning of this place, other than that +he went of himself into the Wildernesse; and that this carrying of him +up and down, from the Wildernesse to the City, and from thence into a +Mountain, was a Vision? Conformable whereunto, is also the phrase of St. +Luke, that hee was led into the Wildernesse, not By, but In the Spirit: +whereas concerning His being Taken up into the Mountaine, and unto the +Pinnacle of the Temple, hee speaketh as St. Matthew doth. Which suiteth +with the nature of a Vision. + +Again, where St. Luke sayes of Judas Iscariot, that "Satan entred into +him, and thereupon that he went and communed with the Chief Priests, and +Captaines, how he might betray Christ unto them:" it may be answered, +that by the Entring of Satan (that is the Enemy) into him, is meant, the +hostile and traiterous intention of selling his Lord and Master. For as +by the Holy Ghost, is frequently in Scripture understood, the Graces and +good Inclinations given by the Holy Ghost; so by the Entring of +Satan, may bee understood the wicked Cogitations, and Designes of the +Adversaries of Christ, and his Disciples. For as it is hard to say, +that the Devill was entred into Judas, before he had any such hostile +designe; so it is impertinent to say, he was first Christs Enemy in his +heart, and that the Devill entred into him afterwards. Therefore the +Entring of Satan, and his Wicked Purpose, was one and the same thing. + +But if there be no Immateriall Spirit, nor any Possession of mens bodies +by any Spirit Corporeall, it may again be asked, why our Saviour and his +Apostles did not teach the People so; and in such cleer words, as they +might no more doubt thereof. But such questions as these, are more +curious, than necessary for a Christian mans Salvation. Men may as well +aske, why Christ that could have given to all men Faith, Piety, and all +manner of morall Vertues, gave it to some onely, and not to all: and +why he left the search of naturall Causes, and Sciences, to the naturall +Reason and Industry of men, and did not reveal it to all, or any man +supernaturally; and many other such questions: Of which neverthelesse +there may be alledged probable and pious reasons. For as God, when he +brought the Israelites into the Land of Promise, did not secure them +therein, by subduing all the Nations round about them; but left many of +them, as thornes in their sides, to awaken from time to time their +Piety and Industry: so our Saviour, in conducting us toward his heavenly +Kingdome, did not destroy all the difficulties of Naturall Questions; +but left them to exercise our Industry, and Reason; the Scope of +his preaching, being onely to shew us this plain and direct way to +Salvation, namely, the beleef of this Article, "that he was the Christ, +the Son of the living God, sent into the world to sacrifice himselfe for +our Sins, and at his comming again, gloriously to reign over his Elect, +and to save them from their Enemies eternally:" To which, the opinion +of Possession by Spirits, or Phantasmes, are no impediment in the way; +though it be to some an occasion of going out of the way, and to follow +their own Inventions. If wee require of the Scripture an account of all +questions, which may be raised to trouble us in the performance of Gods +commands; we may as well complaine of Moses for not having set downe the +time of the creation of such Spirits, as well as of the Creation of the +Earth, and Sea, and of Men, and Beasts. To conclude, I find in Scripture +that there be Angels, and Spirits, good and evill; but not that they are +Incorporeall, as are the Apparitions men see in the Dark, or in a Dream, +or Vision; which the Latines call Spectra, and took for Daemons. And I +find that there are Spirits Corporeal, (though subtile and Invisible;) +but not that any mans body was possessed, or inhabited by them; And that +the Bodies of the Saints shall be such, namely, Spirituall Bodies, as +St. Paul calls them. + + + + +The Power Of Casting Out Devills, Not The Same It Was In The Primitive +Church + +Neverthelesse, the contrary Doctrine, namely, that there be Incorporeall +Spirits, hath hitherto so prevailed in the Church, that the use of +Exorcisme, (that is to say, of ejection of Devills by Conjuration) is +thereupon built; and (though rarely and faintly practised) is not yet +totally given over. That there were many Daemoniaques in the Primitive +Church, and few Mad-men, and other such singular diseases; whereas in +these times we hear of, and see many Mad-men, and few Daemoniaques, +proceeds not from the change of Nature; but of Names. But how it comes +to passe, that whereas heretofore the Apostles, and after them for a +time, the Pastors of the Church, did cure those singular Diseases, which +now they are not seen to doe; as likewise, why it is not in the power of +every true Beleever now, to doe all that the Faithfull did then, that is +to say, as we read (Mark 16. 17.) "In Christs name to cast out Devills, +to speak with new Tongues, to take up Serpents, to drink deadly Poison +without harm taking, and to cure the Sick by the laying on of their +hands," and all this without other words, but "in the Name of Jesus," +is another question. And it is probable, that those extraordinary gifts +were given to the Church, for no longer a time, than men trusted wholly +to Christ, and looked for their felicity onely in his Kingdome to come; +and consequently, that when they sought Authority, and Riches, and +trusted to their own Subtilty for a Kingdome of this world, these +supernaturall gifts of God were again taken from them. + + + + +Another Relique Of Gentilisme, Worshipping Images, Left In The Church, +Not Brought Into It + +Another relique of Gentilisme, is the Worship of Images, neither +instituted by Moses in the Old, nor by Christ in the New Testament; nor +yet brought in from the Gentiles; but left amongst them, after they had +given their names to Christ. Before our Saviour preached, it was the +generall Religion of the Gentiles, to worship for Gods, those Apparences +that remain in the Brain from the impression of externall Bodies upon +the organs of their Senses, which are commonly called Ideas, Idols, +Phantasmes, Conceits, as being Representations of those externall +Bodies, which cause them, and have nothing in them of reality, no more +than there is in the things that seem to stand before us in a Dream: +And this is the reason why St. Paul says, "Wee know that an Idol is +Nothing:" Not that he thought that an Image of Metall, Stone, or Wood, +was nothing; but that the thing which they honored, or feared in +the Image, and held for a God, was a meer Figment, without place, +habitation, motion, or existence, but in the motions of the Brain. +And the worship of these with Divine Honour, is that which is in the +Scripture called Idolatry, and Rebellion against God. For God being King +of the Jews, and his Lieutenant being first Moses, and afterward the +High Priest; if the people had been permitted to worship, and pray to +Images, (which are Representations of their own Fancies,) they had +had no farther dependence on the true God, of whom there can be no +similitude; nor on his prime Ministers, Moses, and the High Priests; +but every man had governed himself according to his own appetite, to the +utter eversion of the Common-wealth, and their own destruction for want +of Union. And therefore the first Law of God was, "They should not take +for Gods, ALIENOS DEOS, that is, the Gods of other nations, but that +onely true God, who vouchsafed to commune with Moses, and by him to give +them laws and directions, for their peace, and for their salvation +from their enemies." And the second was, that "they should not make to +themselves any Image to Worship, of their own Invention." For it is the +same deposing of a King, to submit to another King, whether he be set up +by a neighbour nation, or by our selves. + + + + +Answer To Certain Seeming Texts For Images + +The places of Scripture pretended to countenance the setting up of +Images, to worship them; or to set them up at all in the places where +God is worshipped, are First, two Examples; one of the Cherubins over +the Ark of God; the other of the Brazen Serpent: Secondly, some texts +whereby we are commanded to worship certain Creatures for their relation +to God; as to worship his Footstool: And lastly, some other texts, by +which is authorized, a religious honoring of Holy things. But before I +examine the force of those places, to prove that which is pretended, I +must first explain what is to be understood by Worshipping, and what by +Images, and Idols. + + + + +What Is Worship + +I have already shewn in the 20 Chapter of this Discourse, that to Honor, +is to value highly the Power of any person: and that such value is +measured, by our comparing him with others. But because there is nothing +to be compared with God in Power; we Honor him not but Dishonour him +by any Value lesse than Infinite. And thus Honor is properly of its own +nature, secret, and internall in the heart. But the inward thoughts of +men, which appeare outwardly in their words and actions, are the signes +of our Honoring, and these goe by the name of WORSHIP, in Latine, +CULTUS. Therefore, to Pray to, to Swear by, to Obey, to bee Diligent, +and Officious in Serving: in summe, all words and actions that betoken +Fear to Offend, or Desire to Please, is Worship, whether those words +and actions be sincere, or feigned: and because they appear as signes of +Honoring, are ordinarily also called Honor. + + + + +Distinction Between Divine And Civill Worship + +The Worship we exhibite to those we esteem to be but men, as to Kings, +and men in Authority, is Civill Worship: But the worship we exhibite +to that which we think to bee God, whatsoever the words, ceremonies, +gestures, or other actions be, is Divine Worship. To fall prostrate +before a King, in him that thinks him but a Man, is but Civill Worship: +And he that but putteth off his hat in the Church, for this cause, that +he thinketh it the House of God, worshippeth with Divine Worship. They +that seek the distinction of Divine and Civill Worship, not in the +intention of the Worshipper, but in the Words douleia, and latreia, +deceive themselves. For whereas there be two sorts of Servants; that +sort, which is of those that are absolutely in the power of their +Masters, as Slaves taken in war, and their Issue, whose bodies are not +in their own power, (their lives depending on the Will of their Masters, +in such manner as to forfeit them upon the least disobedience,) and that +are bought and sold as Beasts, were called Douloi, that is properly, +Slaves, and their Service, Douleia: The other, which is of those that +serve (for hire, or in hope of benefit from their Masters) voluntarily; +are called Thetes; that is, Domestique Servants; to whose service the +Masters have no further right, than is contained in the Covenants made +betwixt them. These two kinds of Servants have thus much common to them +both, that their labour is appointed them by another, whether, as a +Slave, or a voluntary Servant: And the word Latris, is the general name +of both, signifying him that worketh for another, whether, as a Slave, +or a voluntary Servant: So that Latreia signifieth generally all +Service; but Douleia the service of Bondmen onely, and the condition of +Slavery: And both are used in Scripture (to signifie our Service of God) +promiscuously. Douleia, because we are Gods Slaves; Latreia, because +wee Serve him: and in all kinds of Service is contained, not onely +Obedience, but also Worship, that is, such actions, gestures, and words, +as signifie Honor. + + + + +An Image What Phantasmes + +An IMAGE (in the most strict signification of the word) is the +Resemblance of some thing visible: In which sense the Phantasticall +Formes, Apparitions, or Seemings of Visible Bodies to the Sight, are +onely Images; such as are the Shew of a man, or other thing in the +Water, by Reflexion, or Refraction; or of the Sun, or Stars by Direct +Vision in the Air; which are nothing reall in the things seen, nor in +the place where thy seem to bee; nor are their magnitudes and figures +the same with that of the object; but changeable, by the variation of +the organs of Sight, or by glasses; and are present oftentimes in our +Imagination, and in our Dreams, when the object is absent; or changed +into other colours, and shapes, as things that depend onely upon the +Fancy. And these are the Images which are originally and most properly +called Ideas, and IDOLS, and derived from the language of the Graecians, +with whom the word Eido signifieth to See. They are also called +PHANTASMES, which is in the same language, Apparitions. And from these +Images it is that one of the faculties of mans Nature, is called the +Imagination. And from hence it is manifest, that there neither is, nor +can bee any Image made of a thing Invisible. + +It is also evident, that there can be no Image of a thing Infinite: for +all the Images, and Phantasmes that are made by the Impression of things +visible, are figured: but Figure is a quantity every way determined: And +therefore there can bee no Image of God: nor of the Soule of Man; nor of +Spirits, but onely of Bodies Visible, that is, Bodies that have light in +themselves, or are by such enlightened. + + + + +Fictions; Materiall Images + +And whereas a man can fancy Shapes he never saw; making up a Figure out +of the parts of divers creatures; as the Poets make their Centaures, +Chimaeras, and other Monsters never seen: So can he also give Matter to +those Shapes, and make them in Wood, Clay or Metall. And these are also +called Images, not for the resemblance of any corporeall thing, but for +the resemblance of some Phantasticall Inhabitants of the Brain of the +Maker. But in these Idols, as they are originally in the Brain, and +as they are painted, carved, moulded, or moulten in matter, there is a +similitude of the one to the other, for which the Materiall Body made +by Art, may be said to be the Image of the Phantasticall Idoll made by +Nature. + +But in a larger use of the word Image, is contained also, any +Representation of one thing by another. So an earthly Soveraign may be +called the Image of God: And an inferiour Magistrate the Image of an +earthly Soveraign. And many times in the Idolatry of the Gentiles there +was little regard to the similitude of their Materiall Idoll to the +Idol in their fancy, and yet it was called the Image of it. For a +Stone unhewn has been set up for Neptune, and divers other shapes far +different from the shapes they conceived of their Gods. And at this +day we see many Images of the Virgin Mary, and other Saints, unlike one +another, and without correspondence to any one mans Fancy; and yet serve +well enough for the purpose they were erected for; which was no more but +by the Names onely, to represent the Persons mentioned in the History; +to which every man applyeth a Mentall Image of his owne making, or +none at all. And thus an Image in the largest sense, is either the +Resemblance, or the Representation of some thing Visible; or both +together, as it happeneth for the most part. + +But the name of Idoll is extended yet further in Scripture, to +signifie also the Sunne, or a Starre, or any other Creature, visible or +invisible, when they are worshipped for Gods. + + + + +Idolatry What + +Having shewn what is Worship, and what an Image; I will now put them +together, and examine what that IDOLATRY is, which is forbidden in the +Second Commandement, and other places of the Scripture. + +To worship an Image, is voluntarily to doe those externall acts, which +are signes of honoring either the matter of the Image, which is Wood, +Stone, or Metall, or some other visible creature; or the Phantasme of +the brain, for the resemblance, or representation whereof, the matter +was formed and figured; or both together, as one animate Body, composed +of the Matter and the Phantasme, as of a Body and Soule. + +To be uncovered, before a man of Power and Authority, or before the +Throne of a Prince, or in such other places as hee ordaineth to that +purpose in his absence, is to Worship that man, or Prince with Civill +Worship; as being a signe, not of honoring the stoole, or place, but the +Person; and is not Idolatry. But if hee that doth it, should suppose the +Soule of the Prince to be in the Stool, or should present a Petition to +the Stool, it were Divine Worship, and Idolatry. + +To pray to a King for such things, as hee is able to doe for us, though +we prostrate our selves before him, is but Civill Worship; because we +acknowledge no other power in him, but humane: But voluntarily to pray +unto him for fair weather, or for any thing which God onely can doe +for us, is Divine Worship, and Idolatry. On the other side, if a King +compell a man to it by the terrour of Death, or other great corporall +punishment, it is not Idolatry: For the Worship which the Soveraign +commandeth to bee done unto himself by the terrour of his Laws, is not +a sign that he that obeyeth him, does inwardly honour him as a God, but +that he is desirous to save himselfe from death, or from a miserable +life; and that which is not a sign of internall honor, is no Worship; +and therefore no Idolatry. Neither can it bee said, that hee that does +it, scandalizeth, or layeth any stumbling block before his Brother; +because how wise, or learned soever he be that worshippeth in that +manner, another man cannot from thence argue, that he approveth it; but +that he doth it for fear; and that it is not his act, but the act of the +Soveraign. + +To worship God, in some peculiar Place, or turning a mans face towards +an Image, or determinate Place, is not to worship, or honor the Place, +or Image; but to acknowledge it Holy, that is to say, to acknowledge +the Image, or the Place to be set apart from common use: for that is the +meaning of the word Holy; which implies no new quality in the Place, or +Image; but onely a new Relation by Appropriation to God; and therefore +is not Idolatry; no more than it was Idolatry to worship God before +the Brazen Serpent; or for the Jews when they were out of their owne +countrey, to turn their faces (when they prayed) toward the Temple of +Jerusalem; or for Moses to put off his Shoes when he was before the +Flaming Bush, the ground appertaining to Mount Sinai; which place God +had chosen to appear in, and to give his Laws to the People of Israel, +and was therefore Holy ground, not by inhaerent sanctity, but by +separation to Gods use; or for Christians to worship in the Churches, +which are once solemnly dedicated to God for that purpose, by the +Authority of the King, or other true Representant of the Church. But to +worship God, is inanimating, or inhibiting, such Image, or place; that +is to say, an infinite substance in a finite place, is Idolatry: for +such finite Gods, are but Idols of the brain, nothing reall; and are +commonly called in the Scripture by the names of Vanity, and Lyes, and +Nothing. Also to worship God, not as inanimating, or present in the +place, or Image; but to the end to be put in mind of him, or of some +works of his, in case the Place, or Image be dedicated, or set up +by private authority, and not by the authority of them that are our +Soveraign Pastors, is Idolatry. For the Commandement is, "Thou shalt not +make to thy selfe any graven image." God commanded Moses to set up the +Brazen Serpent; hee did not make it to himselfe; it was not therefore +against the Commandement. But the making of the Golden Calfe by Aaron, +and the People, as being done without authority from God, was Idolatry; +not onely because they held it for God, but also because they made it +for a Religious use, without warrant either from God their Soveraign, or +from Moses, that was his Lieutenant. + +The Gentiles worshipped for Gods, Jupiter, and others; that living, were +men perhaps that had done great and glorious Acts; and for the Children +of God, divers men and women, supposing them gotten between an Immortall +Deity, and a mortall man. This was Idolatry, because they made them so +to themselves, having no authority from God, neither in his eternall Law +of Reason, nor in his positive and revealed Will. But though our Saviour +was a man, whom wee also beleeve to bee God Immortall, and the Son of +God; yet this is no Idolatry; because wee build not that beleef upon +our own fancy, or judgment, but upon the Word of God revealed in the +Scriptures. And for the adoration of the Eucharist, if the words of +Christ, "This is my Body," signifie, "that he himselfe, and the seeming +bread in his hand; and not onely so, but that all the seeming morsells +of bread that have ever since been, and any time hereafter shall bee +consecrated by Priests, bee so many Christs bodies, and yet all of them +but one body," then is that no Idolatry, because it is authorized by our +Saviour: but if that text doe not signifie that, (for there is no other +that can be alledged for it,) then, because it is a worship of humane +institution, it is Idolatry. For it is not enough to say, God can +transubstantiate the Bread into Christs Body: For the Gentiles also held +God to be Omnipotent; and might upon that ground no lesse excuse their +Idolatry, by pretending, as well as others, as transubstantiation of +their Wood, and Stone into God Almighty. + +Whereas there be, that pretend Divine Inspiration, to be a supernaturall +entring of the Holy Ghost into a man, and not an acquisition of Gods +grace, by doctrine, and study; I think they are in a very dangerous +Dilemma. For if they worship not the men whom they beleeve to be so +inspired, they fall into Impiety; as not adoring Gods supernaturall +Presence. And again, if they worship them, they commit Idolatry; for the +Apostles would never permit themselves to be so worshipped. Therefore +the safest way is to beleeve, that by the Descending of the Dove upon +the Apostles; and by Christs Breathing on them, when hee gave them +the Holy Ghost; and by the giving of it by Imposition of Hands, are +understood the signes which God hath been pleased to use, or ordain to +be used, of his promise to assist those persons in their study to +Preach his Kingdome, and in their Conversation, that it might not be +Scandalous, but Edifying to others. + + + + +Scandalous Worship Of Images + +Besides the Idolatrous Worship of Images, there is also a Scandalous +Worship of them; which is also a sin; but not Idolatry. For Idolatry is +to worship by signes of an internall, and reall honour: but Scandalous +Worship, is but Seeming Worship; and may sometimes bee joined with +an inward, and hearty detestation, both of the Image, and of the +Phantasticall Daemon, or Idol, to which it is dedicated; and proceed +onely from the fear of death, or other grievous punishment; and is +neverthelesse a sin in them that so worship, in case they be men whose +actions are looked at by others, as lights to guide them by; because +following their ways, they cannot but stumble, and fall in the way of +Religion: Whereas the example of those we regard not, works not on us +at all, but leaves us to our own diligence and caution; and consequently +are no causes of our falling. + +If therefore a Pastor lawfully called to teach and direct others, or any +other, of whose knowledge there is a great opinion, doe externall honor +to an Idol for fear; unlesse he make his feare, and unwillingnesse to +it, as evident as the worship; he Scandalizeth his Brother, by seeming +to approve Idolatry. For his Brother, arguing from the action of his +teacher, or of him whose knowledge he esteemeth great, concludes it +to bee lawfull in it selfe. And this Scandall, is Sin, and a Scandall +given. But if one being no Pastor, nor of eminent reputation for +knowledge in Christian Doctrine, doe the same, and another follow him; +this is no Scandall given; for he had no cause to follow such example: +but is a pretence of Scandall which hee taketh of himselfe for an excuse +before men: For an unlearned man, that is in the power of an idolatrous +King, or State, if commanded on pain of death to worship before an +Idoll, hee detesteth the Idoll in his heart, hee doth well; though if he +had the fortitude to suffer death, rather than worship it, he should +doe better. But if a Pastor, who as Christs Messenger, has undertaken to +teach Christs Doctrine to all nations, should doe the same, it were +not onely a sinfull Scandall, in respect of other Christian mens +consciences, but a perfidious forsaking of his charge. + +The summe of that which I have said hitherto, concerning the Worship of +Images, is that, that he that worshippeth in an Image, or any Creature, +either the Matter thereof, or any Fancy of his own, which he thinketh +to dwell in it; or both together; or beleeveth that such things hear +his Prayers, or see his Devotions, without Ears, or Eyes, committeth +Idolatry: and he that counterfeiteth such Worship for fear of +punishment, if he bee a man whose example hath power amongst his +Brethren, committeth a sin: But he that worshippeth the Creator of the +world before such an Image, or in such a place as he hath not made, or +chosen of himselfe, but taken from the commandement of Gods Word, as the +Jewes did in worshipping God before the Cherubins, and before the Brazen +Serpent for a time, and in, or towards the Temple of Jerusalem, which +was also but for a time, committeth not Idolatry. + +Now for the Worship of Saints, and Images, and Reliques, and other +things at this day practised in the Church of Rome, I say they are not +allowed by the Word of God, not brought into the Church of Rome, from +the Doctrine there taught; but partly left in it at the first conversion +of the Gentiles; and afterwards countenanced, and confirmed, and +augmented by the Bishops of Rome. + + + + +Answer To The Argument From The Cherubins, And Brazen Serpent + +As for the proofs alledged out of Scripture, namely, those examples +of Images appointed by God to bee set up; They were not set up for the +people, or any man to worship; but that they should worship God himselfe +before them: as before the Cherubins over the Ark, and the Brazen +Serpent. For we read not, that the Priest, or any other did worship the +Cherubins; but contrarily wee read (2 Kings 18.4.) that Hezekiah brake +in pieces the Brazen Serpent which Moses had set up, because the +People burnt incense to it. Besides, those examples are not put for +our Imitation, that we also should set up Images, under pretence +of worshipping God before them; because the words of the second +Commandement, "Thou shalt not make to thy selfe any graven Image, &c." +distinguish between the Images that God commanded to be set up, and +those which wee set up to our selves. And therefore from the Cherubins, +or Brazen Serpent, to the Images of mans devising; and from the Worship +commanded by God, to the Will-Worship of men, the argument is not good. +This also is to bee considered, that as Hezekiah brake in pieces the +Brazen Serpent, because the Jews did worship it, to the end they should +doe so no more; so also Christian Soveraigns ought to break down the +Images which their Subjects have been accustomed to worship; that there +be no more occasion of such Idolatry. For at this day, the ignorant +People, where Images are worshipped, doe really beleeve there is a +Divine Power in the Images; and are told by their Pastors, that some +of them have spoken; and have bled; and that miracles have been done by +them; which they apprehend as done by the Saint, which they think either +is the Image it self, or in it. The Israelites, when they worshipped the +Calfe, did think they worshipped the God that brought them out of Egypt; +and yet it was Idolatry, because they thought the Calfe either was +that God, or had him in his belly. And though some man may think it +impossible for people to be so stupid, as to think the Image to be +God, or a Saint; or to worship it in that notion; yet it is manifest +in Scripture to the contrary; where when the Golden Calfe was made, the +people said, (Exod. 32. 2.) "These are thy Gods O Israel;" and where the +Images of Laban (Gen. 31.30.) are called his Gods. And wee see daily by +experience in all sorts of People, that such men as study nothing but +their food and ease, are content to beleeve any absurdity, rather than +to trouble themselves to examine it; holding their faith as it were by +entaile unalienable, except by an expresse and new Law. + + + + +Painting Of Fancies No Idolatry: Abusing Them To Religious Worship Is + +But they inferre from some other places, that it is lawfull to paint +Angels, and also God himselfe: as from Gods walking in the Garden; from +Jacobs seeing God at the top of the ladder; and from other Visions, and +Dreams. But Visions, and Dreams whether naturall, or supernaturall, are +but Phantasmes: and he that painteth an Image of any of them, maketh not +an Image of God, but of his own Phantasm, which is, making of an Idol. I +say not, that to draw a Picture after a fancy, is a Sin; but when it +is drawn, to hold it for a Representation of God, is against the second +Commandement; and can be of no use, but to worship. And the same may be +said of the Images of Angels, and of men dead; unlesse as Monuments of +friends, or of men worthy remembrance: For such use of an Image, is not +Worship of the Image; but a civill honoring of the Person, not that is, +but that was: But when it is done to the Image which we make of a Saint, +for no other reason, but that we think he heareth our prayers, and is +pleased with the honour wee doe him, when dead, and without sense, wee +attribute to him more than humane power; and therefore it is Idolatry. + +Seeing therefore there is no authority, neither in the Law of Moses, +nor in the Gospel, for the religious Worship of Images, or other +Representations of God, which men set up to themselves; or for the +Worship of the Image of any Creature in Heaven, or Earth, or under the +Earth: And whereas Christian Kings, who are living Representants of God, +are not to be worshipped by their Subjects, by any act, that signifieth +a greater esteem of his power, than the nature of mortall man is capable +of; It cannot be imagined, that the Religious Worship now in use, +was brought into the Church, by misunderstanding of the Scripture. It +resteth therefore, that it was left in it, by not destroying the Images +themselves, in the conversion of the Gentiles that worshipped them. + + + + +How Idolatry Was Left In The Church + +The cause whereof, was the immoderate esteem, and prices set upon the +workmanship of them, which made the owners (though converted, from +worshipping them as they had done Religiously for Daemons) to retain +them still in their houses, upon pretence of doing it in the honor of +Christ, of the Virgin Mary, and of the Apostles, and other the Pastors +of the Primitive Church; as being easie, by giving them new names, to +make that an Image of the Virgin Mary, and of her Sonne our Saviour, +which before perhaps was called the Image of Venus, and Cupid; and so of +a Jupiter to make a Barnabas, and of Mercury a Paul, and the like. And +as worldly ambition creeping by degrees into the Pastors, drew them to +an endeavour of pleasing the new made Christians; and also to a liking +of this kind of honour, which they also might hope for after their +decease, as well as those that had already gained it: so the worshipping +of the Images of Christ and his Apostles, grow more and more Idolatrous; +save that somewhat after the time of Constantine, divers Emperors, and +Bishops, and generall Councells observed, and opposed the unlawfulnesse +thereof; but too late, or too weakly. + + + + +Canonizing Of Saints + +The Canonizing of Saints, is another Relique of Gentilisme: It is +neither a misunderstanding of Scripture, nor a new invention of the +Roman Church, but a custome as ancient as the Common-wealth of Rome it +self. The first that ever was canonized at Rome, was Romulus, and that +upon the narration of Julius Proculus, that swore before the Senate, +he spake with him after his death, and was assured by him, he dwelt in +Heaven, and was there called Quirinius, and would be propitious to +the State of their new City: And thereupon the Senate gave Publique +Testimony of his Sanctity. Julius Caesar, and other Emperors after him, +had the like Testimony; that is, were Canonized for Saints; now defined; +and is the same with the Apotheosis of the Heathen. + + + + +The Name Of Pontifex + +It is also from the Roman Heathen, that the Popes have received the +name, and power of PONTIFEX MAXIMUS. This was the name of him that in +the ancient Common-wealth of Rome, had the Supreme Authority under +the Senate and People, of regulating all Ceremonies, and Doctrines +concerning their Religion: And when Augustus Caesar changed the State +into a Monarchy, he took to himselfe no more but this office, and that +of Tribune of the People, (than is to say, the Supreme Power both in +State, and Religion;) and the succeeding Emperors enjoyed the same. But +when the Emperour Constantine lived, who was the first that professed +and authorized Christian Religion, it was consonant to his profession, +to cause Religion to be regulated (under his authority) by the Bishop +of Rome: Though it doe not appear they had so soon the name of Pontifex; +but rather, that the succeeding Bishops took it of themselves, to +countenance the power they exercised over the Bishops of the Roman +Provinces. For it is not any Priviledge of St. Peter, but the Priviledge +of the City of Rome, which the Emperors were alwaies willing to uphold; +that gave them such authority over other Bishops; as may be evidently +seen by that, that the Bishop of Constantinople, when the Emperour made +that City the Seat of the Empire, pretended to bee equall to the Bishop +of Rome; though at last, not without contention, the Pope carryed it, +and became the Pontifex Maximus; but in right onely of the Emperour; and +not without the bounds of the Empire; nor any where, after the Emperour +had lost his power in Rome; though it were the Pope himself that took +his power from him. From whence wee may by the way observe, that there +is no place for the superiority of the Pope over other Bishops, except +in the territories whereof he is himself the Civill Soveraign; and where +the Emperour having Soveraign Power Civill, hath expressely chosen the +Pope for the chief Pastor under himselfe, of his Christian Subjects. + + + + +Procession Of Images + +The carrying about of Images in Procession, is another Relique of the +Religion of the Greeks, and Romans: For they also carried their +Idols from place to place, in a kind of Chariot, which was peculiarly +dedicated to that use, which the Latines called Thensa, and Vehiculum +Deorum; and the Image was placed in a frame, or Shrine, which they +called Ferculum: And that which they called Pompa, is the same that +now is named Procession: According whereunto, amongst the Divine Honors +which were given to Julius Caesar by the Senate, this was one, that in +the Pompe (or Procession) at the Circaean games, he should have Thensam +& Ferculum, a sacred Chariot, and a Shrine; which was as much, as to be +carried up and down as a God: Just as at this day the Popes are carried +by Switzers under a Canopie. + + + + +Wax Candles, And Torches Lighted + +To these Processions also belonged the bearing of burning Torches, and +Candles, before the Images of the Gods, both amongst the Greeks, and +Romans. For afterwards the Emperors of Rome received the same honor; as +we read of Caligula, that at his reception to the Empire, he was carried +from Misenum to Rome, in the midst of a throng of People, the wayes +beset with Altars, and Beasts for Sacrifice, and burning Torches: And +of Caracalla that was received into Alexandria with Incense, and with +casting of Flowers, and Dadouchiais, that is, with Torches; for Dadochoi +were they that amongst the Greeks carried Torches lighted in the +Processions of their Gods: And in processe of time, the devout, but +ignorant People, did many times honor their Bishops with the like +pompe of Wax Candles, and the Images of our Saviour, and the Saints, +constantly, in the Church it self. And thus came in the use of Wax +Candles; and was also established by some of the ancient Councells. + +The Heathens had also their Aqua Lustralis, that is to say, Holy Water. +The Church of Rome imitates them also in their Holy Dayes. They had +their Bacchanalia; and we have our Wakes, answering to them: They +their Saturnalia, and we our Carnevalls, and Shrove-tuesdays liberty +of Servants: They their Procession of Priapus; wee our fetching in, +erection, and dancing about May-poles; and Dancing is one kind of +Worship: They had their Procession called Ambarvalia; and we our +Procession about the fields in the Rogation Week. Nor do I think that +these are all the Ceremonies that have been left in the Church, from the +first conversion of the Gentiles: but they are all that I can for the +present call to mind; and if a man would wel observe that which is +delivered in the Histories, concerning the Religious Rites of the Greeks +and Romanes, I doubt not but he might find many more of these old empty +Bottles of Gentilisme, which the Doctors of the Romane Church, either +by Negligence, or Ambition, have filled up again with the new Wine of +Christianity, that will not faile in time to break them. + + + +CHAPTER XLVI. OF DARKNESSE FROM VAIN PHILOSOPHY, AND FABULOUS TRADITIONS + + + + +What Philosophy Is + +By Philosophy is understood "the Knowledge acquired by Reasoning, from +the Manner of the Generation of any thing, to the Properties; or from +the Properties, to some possible Way of Generation of the same; to the +end to bee able to produce, as far as matter, and humane force permit, +such Effects, as humane life requireth." So the Geometrician, from the +Construction of Figures, findeth out many Properties thereof; and from +the Properties, new Ways of their Construction, by Reasoning; to the end +to be able to measure Land and Water; and for infinite other uses. So +the Astronomer, from the Rising, Setting, and Moving of the Sun, and +Starres, in divers parts of the Heavens, findeth out the Causes of Day, +and Night, and of the different Seasons of the Year; whereby he keepeth +an account of Time: And the like of other Sciences. + + + + +Prudence No Part Of Philosophy + +By which Definition it is evident, that we are not to account as any +part thereof, that originall knowledge called Experience, in which +consisteth Prudence: Because it is not attained by Reasoning, but found +as well in Brute Beasts, as in Man; and is but a Memory of successions +of events in times past, wherein the omission of every little +circumstance altering the effect, frustrateth the expectation of the +most Prudent: whereas nothing is produced by Reasoning aright, but +generall, eternall, and immutable Truth. + + + + +No False Doctrine Is Part Of Philosophy + +Nor are we therefore to give that name to any false Conclusions: For he +that Reasoneth aright in words he understandeth, can never conclude an +Error: + + + +No More Is Revelation Supernaturall + +Nor to that which any man knows by supernaturall Revelation; because it +is not acquired by Reasoning: + + + + +Nor Learning Taken Upon Credit Of Authors + +Nor that which is gotten by Reasoning from the Authority of Books; +because it is not by Reasoning from the Cause to the Effect, nor from +the Effect to the Cause; and is not Knowledge, but Faith. + + + + +Of The Beginnings And Progresse Of Philosophy + +The faculty of Reasoning being consequent to the use of Speech, it was +not possible, but that there should have been some generall Truthes +found out by Reasoning, as ancient almost as Language it selfe. The +Savages of America, are not without some good Morall Sentences; also +they have a little Arithmetick, to adde, and divide in Numbers not too +great: but they are not therefore Philosophers. For as there were Plants +of Corn and Wine in small quantity dispersed in the Fields and Woods, +before men knew their vertue, or made use of them for their nourishment, +or planted them apart in Fields, and Vineyards; in which time they +fed on Akorns, and drank Water: so also there have been divers true, +generall, and profitable Speculations from the beginning; as being the +naturall plants of humane Reason: But they were at first but few in +number; men lived upon grosse Experience; there was no Method; that is +to say, no Sowing, nor Planting of Knowledge by it self, apart from the +Weeds, and common Plants of Errour and Conjecture: And the cause of it +being the want of leasure from procuring the necessities of life, and +defending themselves against their neighbours, it was impossible, till +the erecting of great Common-wealths, it should be otherwise. Leasure +is the mother of Philosophy; and Common-wealth, the mother of Peace, and +Leasure: Where first were great and flourishing Cities, there was first +the study of Philosophy. The Gymnosophists of India, the Magi of Persia, +and the Priests of Chaldea and Egypt, are counted the most ancient +Philosophers; and those Countreys were the most ancient of Kingdomes. +Philosophy was not risen to the Graecians, and other people of the West, +whose Common-wealths (no greater perhaps then Lucca, or Geneva) had +never Peace, but when their fears of one another were equall; nor the +Leasure to observe any thing but one another. At length, when Warre had +united many of these Graecian lesser Cities, into fewer, and greater; +then began Seven Men, of severall parts of Greece, to get the reputation +of being Wise; some of them for Morall and Politique Sentences; and +others for the learning of the Chaldeans and Egyptians, which was +Astronomy, and Geometry. But we hear not yet of any Schools of +Philosophy. + + + + +Of The Schools Of Philosophy Amongst The Athenians + +After the Athenians by the overthrow of the Persian Armies, had gotten +the Dominion of the Sea; and thereby, of all the Islands, and Maritime +Cities of the Archipelago, as well of Asia as Europe; and were grown +wealthy; they that had no employment, neither at home, nor abroad, had +little else to employ themselves in, but either (as St. Luke says, Acts +17.21.) "in telling and hearing news," or in discoursing of Philosophy +publiquely to the youth of the City. Every Master took some place for +that purpose. Plato in certaine publique Walks called Academia, from one +Academus: Aristotle in the Walk of the Temple of Pan, called Lycaeum: +others in the Stoa, or covered Walk, wherein the Merchants Goods were +brought to land: others in other places; where they spent the time of +their Leasure, in teaching or in disputing of their Opinions: and some +in any place, where they could get the youth of the City together to +hear them talk. And this was it which Carneades also did at Rome, when +he was Ambassadour: which caused Cato to advise the Senate to dispatch +him quickly, for feare of corrupting the manners of the young men that +delighted to hear him speak (as they thought) fine things. + +From this it was, that the place where any of them taught, and disputed, +was called Schola, which in their Tongue signifieth Leasure; and their +Disputations, Diatribae, that is to say, Passing of The Time. Also the +Philosophers themselves had the name of their Sects, some of them from +these their Schools: For they that followed Plato’s Doctrine, were +called Academiques; The followers of Aristotle, Peripatetiques, from the +Walk hee taught in; and those that Zeno taught, Stoiques, from the Stoa: +as if we should denominate men from More-fields, from Pauls-Church, and +from the Exchange, because they meet there often, to prate and loyter. + +Neverthelesse, men were so much taken with this custome, that in time +it spread it selfe over all Europe, and the best part of Afrique; so as +there were Schools publiquely erected, and maintained for Lectures, and +Disputations, almost in every Common-wealth. + + + + +Of The Schools Of The Jews + +There were also Schools, anciently, both before, and after the time of +our Saviour, amongst the Jews: but they were Schools of their Law. For +though they were called Synagogues, that is to say, Congregations of the +People; yet in as much as the Law was every Sabbath day read, expounded, +and disputed in them, they differed not in nature, but in name onely +from Publique Schools; and were not onely in Jerusalem, but in every +City of the Gentiles, where the Jews inhabited. There was such a Schoole +at Damascus, whereinto Paul entred, to persecute. There were others at +Antioch, Iconium and Thessalonica, whereinto he entred, to dispute: +And such was the Synagogue of the Libertines, Cyrenians, Alexandrians, +Cilicians, and those of Asia; that is to say, the Schoole of Libertines, +and of Jewes, that were strangers in Jerusalem: And of this Schoole they +were that disputed with Saint Steven. + + + + +The Schoole Of Graecians Unprofitable + +But what has been the Utility of those Schools? what Science is there +at this day acquired by their Readings and Disputings? That wee have +of Geometry, which is the Mother of all Naturall Science, wee are not +indebted for it to the Schools. Plato that was the best Philosopher +of the Greeks, forbad entrance into his Schoole, to all that were not +already in some measure Geometricians. There were many that studied that +Science to the great advantage of mankind: but there is no mention of +their Schools; nor was there any Sect of Geometricians; nor did they +then passe under the name of Philosophers. The naturall Philosophy +of those Schools, was rather a Dream than Science, and set forth in +senselesse and insignificant Language; which cannot be avoided by +those that will teach Philosophy, without having first attained great +knowledge in Geometry: For Nature worketh by Motion; the Wayes, +and Degrees whereof cannot be known, without the knowledge of the +Proportions and Properties of Lines, and Figures. Their Morall +Philosophy is but a description of their own Passions. For the rule of +Manners, without Civill Government, is the Law of Nature; and in it, +the Law Civill; that determineth what is Honest, and Dishonest; what is +Just, and Unjust; and generally what is Good, and Evill: whereas they +make the Rules of Good, and Bad, by their own Liking, and Disliking: By +which means, in so great diversity of taste, there is nothing generally +agreed on; but every one doth (as far as he dares) whatsoever seemeth +good in his own eyes, to the subversion of Common-wealth. Their Logique +which should bee the Method of Reasoning, is nothing else but Captions +of Words, and Inventions how to puzzle such as should goe about to pose +them. To conclude there is nothing so absurd, that the old Philosophers +(as Cicero saith, who was one of them) have not some of them maintained. +And I beleeve that scarce any thing can be more absurdly said +in naturall Philosophy, than that which now is called Aristotles +Metaphysiques, nor more repugnant to Government, than much of that hee +hath said in his Politiques; nor more ignorantly, than a great part of +his Ethiques. + + + + +The Schools Of The Jews Unprofitable + +The Schoole of the Jews, was originally a Schoole of the Law of Moses; +who commanded (Deut. 31.10.) that at the end of every seventh year, at +the Feast of the Tabernacles, it should be read to all the people, that +they might hear, and learn it: Therefore the reading of the Law (which +was in use after the Captivity) every Sabbath day, ought to have had +no other end, but the acquainting of the people with the Commandements +which they were to obey, and to expound unto them the writings of the +Prophets. But it is manifest, by the many reprehensions of them by +our Saviour, that they corrupted the Text of the Law with their +false Commentaries, and vain Traditions; and so little understood the +Prophets, that they did neither acknowledge Christ, nor the works he +did; for which the Prophets prophecyed. So that by their Lectures and +Disputations in their Synagogues, they turned the Doctrine of their Law +into a Phantasticall kind of Philosophy, concerning the incomprehensible +nature of God, and of Spirits; which they compounded of the Vain +Philosophy and Theology of the Graecians, mingled with their own +fancies, drawn from the obscurer places of the Scripture, and which +might most easily bee wrested to their purpose; and from the Fabulous +Traditions of their Ancestors. + + + + +University What It Is + +That which is now called an University, is a Joyning together, and an +Incorporation under one Government of many Publique Schools, in one and +the same Town or City. In which, the principal Schools were ordained for +the three Professions, that is to say, of the Romane Religion, of the +Romane Law, and of the Art of Medicine. And for the study of Philosophy +it hath no otherwise place, then as a handmaid to the Romane Religion: +And since the Authority of Aristotle is onely current there, that +study is not properly Philosophy, (the nature whereof dependeth not on +Authors,) but Aristotelity. And for Geometry, till of very late times it +had no place at all; as being subservient to nothing but rigide Truth. +And if any man by the ingenuity of his owne nature, had attained to any +degree of perfection therein, hee was commonly thought a Magician, and +his Art Diabolicall. + + + + +Errors Brought Into Religion From Aristotles Metaphysiques + +Now to descend to the particular Tenets of Vain Philosophy, derived to +the Universities, and thence into the Church, partly from Aristotle, +partly from Blindnesse of understanding; I shall first consider their +Principles. There is a certain Philosophia Prima, on which all other +Philosophy ought to depend; and consisteth principally, in right +limiting of the significations of such Appellations, or Names, as are +of all others the most Universall: Which Limitations serve to avoid +ambiguity, and aequivocation in Reasoning; and are commonly called +Definitions; such as are the Definitions of Body, Time, Place, Matter, +Forme, Essence, Subject, Substance, Accident, Power, Act, Finite, +Infinite, Quantity, Quality, Motion, Action, Passion, and divers others, +necessary to the explaining of a mans Conceptions concerning the Nature +and Generation of Bodies. The Explication (that is, the setling of the +meaning) of which, and the like Terms, is commonly in the Schools called +Metaphysiques; as being a part of the Philosophy of Aristotle, which +hath that for title: but it is in another sense; for there it signifieth +as much, as "Books written, or placed after his naturall Philosophy:" +But the Schools take them for Books Of Supernaturall Philosophy: for the +word Metaphysiques will bear both these senses. And indeed that which is +there written, is for the most part so far from the possibility of being +understood, and so repugnant to naturall Reason, that whosoever +thinketh there is any thing to bee understood by it, must needs think it +supernaturall. + + + + +Errors Concerning Abstract Essences + +From these Metaphysiques, which are mingled with the Scripture to make +Schoole Divinity, wee are told, there be in the world certaine +Essences separated from Bodies, which they call Abstract Essences, and +Substantiall Formes: For the Interpreting of which Jargon, there is +need of somewhat more than ordinary attention in this place. Also I +ask pardon of those that are not used to this kind of Discourse, for +applying my selfe to those that are. The World, (I mean not the Earth +onely, that denominates the Lovers of it Worldly Men, but the Universe, +that is, the whole masse of all things that are) is Corporeall, that +is to say, Body; and hath the dimensions of Magnitude, namely, Length, +Bredth, and Depth: also every part of Body, is likewise Body, and hath +the like dimensions; and consequently every part of the Universe, +is Body, and that which is not Body, is no part of the Universe: And +because the Universe is all, that which is no part of it, is Nothing; +and consequently No Where. Nor does it follow from hence, that Spirits +are Nothing: for they have dimensions, and are therefore really Bodies; +though that name in common Speech be given to such Bodies onely, as are +visible, or palpable; that is, that have some degree of Opacity: But for +Spirits, they call them Incorporeall; which is a name of more honour, +and may therefore with more piety bee attributed to God himselfe; in +whom wee consider not what Attribute expresseth best his Nature, which +is Incomprehensible; but what best expresseth our desire to honour him. + +To know now upon what grounds they say there be Essences Abstract, or +Substantiall Formes, wee are to consider what those words do properly +signifie. The use of Words, is to register to our selves, and make +manifest to others the Thoughts and Conceptions of our Minds. Of which +Words, some are the names of the Things conceived; as the names of all +sorts of Bodies, that work upon the Senses, and leave an Impression in +the Imagination: Others are the names of the Imaginations themselves; +that is to say, of those Ideas, or mentall Images we have of all things +wee see, or remember: And others againe are names of Names; or of +different sorts of Speech: As Universall, Plurall, Singular, Negation, +True, False, Syllogisme, Interrogation, Promise, Covenant, are the names +of certain Forms of Speech. Others serve to shew the Consequence, or +Repugnance of one name to another; as when one saith, "A Man is a Body," +hee intendeth that the name of Body is necessarily consequent to the +name of Man; as being but severall names of the same thing, Man; which +Consequence is signified by coupling them together with the word Is. +And as wee use the Verbe Is; so the Latines use their Verbe Est, and +the Greeks their Esti through all its Declinations. Whether all other +Nations of the world have in their severall languages a word that +answereth to it, or not, I cannot tell; but I am sure they have not need +of it: For the placing of two names in order may serve to signifie their +Consequence, if it were the custome, (for Custome is it, that give words +their force,) as well as the words Is, or Bee, or Are, and the like. + +And if it were so, that there were a Language without any Verb +answerable to Est, or Is, or Bee; yet the men that used it would bee +not a jot the lesse capable of Inferring, Concluding, and of all kind of +Reasoning, than were the Greeks, and Latines. But what then would become +of these Terms, of Entity, Essence, Essentiall, Essentially, that are +derived from it, and of many more that depend on these, applyed as most +commonly they are? They are therefore no Names of Things; but Signes, by +which wee make known, that wee conceive the Consequence of one name or +Attribute to another: as when we say, "a Man, is, a living Body," wee +mean not that the Man is one thing, the Living Body another, and the Is, +or Beeing a third: but that the Man, and the Living Body, is the same +thing: because the Consequence, "If hee bee a Man, hee is a living +Body," is a true Consequence, signified by that word Is. Therefore, to +bee a Body, to Walke, to bee Speaking, to Live, to See, and the like +Infinitives; also Corporeity, Walking, Speaking, Life, Sight, and the +like, that signifie just the same, are the names of Nothing; as I have +elsewhere more amply expressed. + +But to what purpose (may some man say) is such subtilty in a work of +this nature, where I pretend to nothing but what is necessary to the +doctrine of Government and Obedience? It is to this purpose, that men +may no longer suffer themselves to be abused, by them, that by this +doctrine of Separated Essences, built on the Vain Philosophy of +Aristotle, would fright them from Obeying the Laws of their Countrey, +with empty names; as men fright Birds from the Corn with an empty +doublet, a hat, and a crooked stick. For it is upon this ground, that +when a Man is dead and buried, they say his Soule (that is his Life) can +walk separated from his Body, and is seen by night amongst the graves. +Upon the same ground they say, that the Figure, and Colour, and Tast of +a peece of Bread, has a being, there, where they say there is no Bread: +And upon the same ground they say, that Faith, and Wisdome, and other +Vertues are sometimes powred into a man, sometimes blown into him from +Heaven; as if the Vertuous, and their Vertues could be asunder; and a +great many other things that serve to lessen the dependance of Subjects +on the Soveraign Power of their Countrey. For who will endeavour to obey +the Laws, if he expect Obedience to be Powred or Blown into him? Or who +will not obey a Priest, that can make God, rather than his Soveraign; +nay than God himselfe? Or who, that is in fear of Ghosts, will not bear +great respect to those that can make the Holy Water, that drives them +from him? And this shall suffice for an example of the Errors, which are +brought into the Church, from the Entities, and Essences of Aristotle: +which it may be he knew to be false Philosophy; but writ it as a thing +consonant to, and corroborative of their Religion; and fearing the fate +of Socrates. + +Being once fallen into this Error of Separated Essences, they are +thereby necessarily involved in many other absurdities that follow it. +For seeing they will have these Forms to be reall, they are obliged to +assign them some place. But because they hold them Incorporeall, without +all dimension of Quantity, and all men know that Place is Dimension, and +not to be filled, but by that which is Corporeall; they are driven to +uphold their credit with a distinction, that they are not indeed any +where Circumscriptive, but Definitive: Which Terms being meer Words, and +in this occasion insignificant, passe onely in Latine, that the vanity +of them may bee concealed. For the Circumscription of a thing, is +nothing else but the Determination, or Defining of its Place; and so +both the Terms of the Distinction are the same. And in particular, of +the Essence of a Man, which (they say) is his Soule, they affirm it, +to be All of it in his little Finger, and All of it in every other Part +(how small soever) of his Body; and yet no more Soule in the Whole Body, +than in any one of those Parts. Can any man think that God is served +with such absurdities? And yet all this is necessary to beleeve, +to those that will beleeve the Existence of an Incorporeall Soule, +Separated from the Body. + +And when they come to give account, how an Incorporeall Substance can +be capable of Pain, and be tormented in the fire of Hell, or Purgatory, +they have nothing at all to answer, but that it cannot be known how fire +can burn Soules. + +Again, whereas Motion is change of Place, and Incorporeall Substances +are not capable of Place, they are troubled to make it seem possible, +how a Soule can goe hence, without the Body to Heaven, Hell, or +Purgatory; and how the Ghosts of men (and I may adde of their clothes +which they appear in) can walk by night in Churches, Church-yards, and +other places of Sepulture. To which I know not what they can answer, +unlesse they will say, they walke Definitive, not Circumscriptive, or +Spiritually, not Temporally: for such egregious distinctions are equally +applicable to any difficulty whatsoever. + + + + +Nunc-stans + +For the meaning of Eternity, they will not have it to be an Endlesse +Succession of Time; for then they should not be able to render a reason +how Gods Will, and Praeordaining of things to come, should not be before +his Praescience of the same, as the Efficient Cause before the Effect, +or Agent before the Action; nor of many other their bold opinions +concerning the Incomprehensible Nature of God. But they will teach us, +that Eternity is the Standing still of the Present Time, a Nunc-stans +(as the Schools call it;) which neither they, nor any else understand, +no more than they would a Hic-stans for an Infinite greatnesse of Place. + + + + +One Body In Many Places, And Many Bodies In One Place At Once + +And whereas men divide a Body in their thought, by numbring parts of +it, and in numbring those parts, number also the parts of the Place +it filled; it cannot be, but in making many parts, wee make also many +places of those parts; whereby there cannot bee conceived in the mind of +any man, more, or fewer parts, than there are places for: yet they will +have us beleeve, that by the Almighty power of God, one body may be at +one and the same time in many places; and many bodies at one and the +same time in one place; as if it were an acknowledgment of the Divine +Power, to say, that which is, is not; or that which has been, has not +been. And these are but a small part of the Incongruities they are +forced to, from their disputing Philosophically, in stead of admiring, +and adoring of the Divine and Incomprehensible Nature; whose Attributes +cannot signifie what he is, but ought to signifie our desire to honour +him, with the best Appellations we can think on. But they that venture +to reason of his Nature, from these Attributes of Honour, losing their +understanding in the very first attempt, fall from one Inconvenience +into another, without end, and without number; in the same manner, +as when a man ignorant of the Ceremonies of Court, comming into the +presence of a greater Person than he is used to speak to, and stumbling +at his entrance, to save himselfe from falling, lets slip his Cloake; +to recover his Cloake, lets fall his Hat; and with one disorder after +another, discovers his astonishment and rusticity. + + + + +Absurdities In Naturall Philosophy, As Gravity The Cause Of Heavinesse + +Then for Physiques, that is, the knowledge of the subordinate, and +secundary causes of naturall events; they render none at all, but empty +words. If you desire to know why some kind of bodies sink naturally +downwards toward the Earth, and others goe naturally from it; The +Schools will tell you out of Aristotle, that the bodies that sink +downwards, are Heavy; and that this Heavinesse is it that causes them to +descend: But if you ask what they mean by Heavinesse, they will define +it to bee an endeavour to goe to the center of the Earth: so that the +cause why things sink downward, is an Endeavour to be below: which is +as much as to say, that bodies descend, or ascend, because they doe. +Or they will tell you the center of the Earth is the place of Rest, and +Conservation for Heavy things; and therefore they endeavour to be there: +As if Stones, and Metalls had a desire, or could discern the place they +would bee at, as Man does; or loved Rest, as Man does not; or that a +peece of Glasse were lesse safe in the Window, than falling into the +Street. + + + + +Quantity Put Into Body Already Made + +If we would know why the same Body seems greater (without adding to it) +one time, than another; they say, when it seems lesse, it is Condensed; +when greater, Rarefied. What is that Condensed, and Rarefied? Condensed, +is when there is in the very same Matter, lesse Quantity than before; +and Rarefied, when more. As if there could be Matter, that had not some +determined Quantity; when Quantity is nothing else but the Determination +of Matter; that is to say of Body, by which we say one Body is greater, +or lesser than another, by thus, or thus much. Or as if a Body were made +without any Quantity at all, and that afterwards more, or lesse were put +into it, according as it is intended the Body should be more, or lesse +Dense. + + + + +Powring In Of Soules + +For the cause of the Soule of Man, they say, Creatur Infundendo, and +Creando Infunditur: that is, "It is Created by Powring it in," and +"Powred in by Creation." + + + + +Ubiquity Of Apparition + +For the Cause of Sense, an ubiquity of Species; that is, of the Shews +or Apparitions of objects; which when they be Apparitions to the Eye, is +Sight; when to the Eare, Hearing; to the Palate, Tast; to the Nostrill, +Smelling; and to the rest of the Body, Feeling. + + + + +Will, The Cause Of Willing + +For cause of the Will, to doe any particular action, which is called +Volitio, they assign the Faculty, that is to say, the Capacity in +generall, that men have, to will sometimes one thing, sometimes another, +which is called Voluntas; making the Power the cause of the Act: As +if one should assign for cause of the good or evill Acts of men, their +Ability to doe them. + + + + +Ignorance An Occult Cause + +And in many occasions they put for cause of Naturall events, their own +Ignorance, but disguised in other words: As when they say, Fortune is +the cause of things contingent; that is, of things whereof they know no +cause: And as when they attribute many Effects to Occult Qualities; that +is, qualities not known to them; and therefore also (as they thinke) +to no Man else. And to Sympathy, Antipathy, Antiperistasis, Specificall +Qualities, and other like Termes, which signifie neither the Agent that +produceth them, nor the Operation by which they are produced. + +If such Metaphysiques, and Physiques as this, be not Vain Philosophy, +there was never any; nor needed St. Paul to give us warning to avoid it. + + + + +One Makes The Things Incongruent, Another The Incongruity + +And for their Morall, and Civill Philosophy, it hath the same, or +greater absurdities. If a man doe an action of Injustice, that is to +say, an action contrary to the Law, God they say is the prime cause of +the Law, and also the prime cause of that, and all other Actions; but no +cause at all of the Injustice; which is the Inconformity of the Action +to the Law. This is Vain Philosophy. A man might as well say, that one +man maketh both a streight line, and a crooked, and another maketh their +Incongruity. And such is the Philosophy of all men that resolve of their +Conclusions, before they know their Premises; pretending to comprehend, +that which is Incomprehensible; and of Attributes of Honour to make +Attributes of Nature; as this distinction was made to maintain the +Doctrine of Free-Will, that is, of a Will of man, not subject to the +Will of God. + + + + +Private Appetite The Rule Of Publique Good: + +Aristotle, and other Heathen Philosophers define Good, and Evill, by the +Appetite of men; and well enough, as long as we consider them governed +every one by his own Law: For in the condition of men that have no other +Law but their own Appetites, there can be no generall Rule of Good, and +Evill Actions. But in a Common-wealth this measure is false: Not the +Appetite of Private men, but the Law, which is the Will and Appetite of +the State is the measure. And yet is this Doctrine still practised; and +men judge the Goodnesse, or Wickednesse of their own, and of other mens +actions, and of the actions of the Common-wealth it selfe, by their own +Passions; and no man calleth Good or Evill, but that which is so in his +own eyes, without any regard at all to the Publique Laws; except onely +Monks, and Friers, that are bound by Vow to that simple obedience to +their Superiour, to which every Subject ought to think himself bound by +the Law of Nature to the Civill Soveraign. And this private measure of +Good, is a Doctrine, not onely Vain, but also Pernicious to the Publique +State. + + + + +And That Lawfull Marriage Is Unchastity + +It is also Vain and false Philosophy, to say the work of Marriage is +repugnant to Chastity, or Continence, and by consequence to make them +Morall Vices; as they doe, that pretend Chastity, and Continence, for +the ground of denying Marriage to the Clergy. For they confesse it is +no more, but a Constitution of the Church, that requireth in those holy +Orders that continually attend the Altar, and administration of the +Eucharist, a continuall Abstinence from women, under the name of +continuall Chastity, Continence, and Purity. Therefore they call the +lawfull use of Wives, want of Chastity, and Continence; and so make +Marriage a Sin, or at least a thing so impure, and unclean, as to render +a man unfit for the Altar. If the Law were made because the use of Wives +is Incontinence, and contrary to Chastity, then all marriage is vice; If +because it is a thing too impure, and unclean for a man consecrated to +God; much more should other naturall, necessary, and daily works which +all men doe, render men unworthy to bee Priests, because they are more +unclean. + +But the secret foundation of this prohibition of Marriage of Priests, is +not likely to have been laid so slightly, as upon such errours in Morall +Philosophy; nor yet upon the preference of single life, to the estate of +Matrimony; which proceeded from the wisdome of St. Paul, who perceived +how inconvenient a thing it was, for those that in those times of +persecution were Preachers of the Gospel, and forced to fly from one +countrey to another, to be clogged with the care of wife and children; +but upon the design of the Popes, and Priests of after times, to make +themselves the Clergy, that is to say, sole Heirs of the Kingdome of God +in this world; to which it was necessary to take from them the use of +Marriage, because our Saviour saith, that at the coming of his Kingdome +the Children of God shall "neither Marry, nor bee given in Marriage, but +shall bee as the Angels in heaven;" that is to say, Spirituall. Seeing +then they had taken on them the name of Spirituall, to have allowed +themselves (when there was no need) the propriety of Wives, had been an +Incongruity. + + + + +And That All Government But Popular, Is Tyranny + +From Aristotles Civill Philosophy, they have learned, to call all manner +of Common-wealths but the Popular, (such as was at that time the state +of Athens,) Tyranny. All Kings they called Tyrants; and the Aristocracy +of the thirty Governours set up there by the Lacedemonians that subdued +them, the thirty Tyrants: As also to call the condition of the people +under the Democracy, Liberty. A Tyrant originally signified no more +simply, but a Monarch: But when afterwards in most parts of Greece that +kind of government was abolished, the name began to signifie, not onely +the thing it did before, but with it, the hatred which the Popular +States bare towards it: As also the name of King became odious after the +deposing of the Kings in Rome, as being a thing naturall to all men, +to conceive some great Fault to be signified in any Attribute, that is +given in despight, and to a great Enemy. And when the same men shall be +displeased with those that have the administration of the Democracy, +or Aristocracy, they are not to seek for disgraceful names to expresse +their anger in; but call readily the one Anarchy, and the other +Oligarchy, or the Tyranny Of A Few. And that which offendeth the People, +is no other thing, but that they are governed, not as every one of them +would himselfe, but as the Publique Representant, be it one Man, or an +Assembly of men thinks fit; that is, by an Arbitrary government: for +which they give evill names to their Superiors; never knowing (till +perhaps a little after a Civill warre) that without such Arbitrary +government, such Warre must be perpetuall; and that it is Men, and Arms, +not Words, and Promises, that make the Force and Power of the Laws. + + + + +That Not Men, But Law Governs + +And therefore this is another Errour of Aristotles Politiques, that in +a wel ordered Common-wealth, not Men should govern, but the Laws. What +man, that has his naturall Senses, though he can neither write nor read, +does not find himself governed by them he fears, and beleeves can kill +or hurt him when he obeyeth not? or that beleeves the Law can hurt him; +that is, Words, and Paper, without the Hands, and Swords of men? And +this is of the number of pernicious Errors: for they induce men, as oft +as they like not their Governours, to adhaere to those that call them +Tyrants, and to think it lawfull to raise warre against them: And yet +they are many times cherished from the Pulpit, by the Clergy. + + + + +Laws Over The Conscience + +There is another Errour in their Civill Philosophy (which they never +learned of Aristotle, nor Cicero, nor any other of the Heathen,) to +extend the power of the Law, which is the Rule of Actions onely, to the +very Thoughts, and Consciences of men, by Examination, and Inquisition +of what they Hold, notwithstanding the Conformity of their Speech and +Actions: By which, men are either punished for answering the truth +of their thoughts, or constrained to answer an untruth for fear of +punishment. It is true, that the Civill Magistrate, intending to employ +a Minister in the charge of Teaching, may enquire of him, if hee bee +content to Preach such, and such Doctrines; and in case of refusall, +may deny him the employment: But to force him to accuse himselfe of +Opinions, when his Actions are not by Law forbidden, is against the +Law of Nature; and especially in them, who teach, that a man shall bee +damned to Eternall and extream torments, if he die in a false opinion +concerning an Article of the Christian Faith. For who is there, that +knowing there is so great danger in an error, when the naturall care +of himself, compelleth not to hazard his Soule upon his own judgement, +rather than that of any other man that is unconcerned in his damnation? + + + + +Private Interpretation Of Law + +For a Private man, without the Authority of the Common-wealth, that is +to say, without permission from the Representant thereof, to Interpret +the Law by his own Spirit, is another Error in the Politiques; but not +drawn from Aristotle, nor from any other of the Heathen Philosophers. +For none of them deny, but that in the Power of making Laws, is +comprehended also the Power of Explaining them when there is need. And +are not the Scriptures, in all places where they are Law, made Law by +the Authority of the Common-wealth, and consequently, a part of the +Civill Law? + +Of the same kind it is also, when any but the Soveraign restraineth in +any man that power which the Common-wealth hath not restrained: as they +do, that impropriate the Preaching of the Gospell to one certain Order +of men, where the Laws have left it free. If the State give me leave to +preach, or teach; that is, if it forbid me not, no man can forbid me. +If I find my selfe amongst the Idolaters of America, shall I that am a +Christian, though not in Orders, think it a sin to preach Jesus Christ, +till I have received Orders from Rome? or when I have preached, shall +not I answer their doubts, and expound the Scriptures to them; that is +shall I not Teach? But for this may some say, as also for administring +to them the Sacraments, the necessity shall be esteemed for a sufficient +Mission; which is true: But this is true also, that for whatsoever, +a dispensation is due for the necessity, for the same there needs no +dispensation, when there is no Law that forbids it. Therefore to deny +these Functions to those, to whom the Civill Soveraigne hath not denyed +them, is a taking away of a lawfull Liberty, which is contrary to the +Doctrine of Civill Government. + + + + +Language Of Schoole-Divines + +More examples of Vain Philosophy, brought into Religion by the Doctors +of Schoole-Divinity, might be produced; but other men may if they please +observe them of themselves. I shall onely adde this, that the +Writings of Schoole-Divines, are nothing else for the most part, but +insignificant Traines of strange and barbarous words, or words otherwise +used, then in the common use of the Latine tongue; such as would pose +Cicero, and Varro, and all the Grammarians of ancient Rome. Which if any +man would see proved, let him (as I have said once before) see whether +he can translate any Schoole-Divine into any of the Modern tongues, as +French, English, or any other copious language: for that which cannot +in most of these be made Intelligible, is no Intelligible in the Latine. +Which Insignificancy of language, though I cannot note it for false +Philosophy; yet it hath a quality, not onely to hide the Truth, but also +to make men think they have it, and desist from further search. + + + + +Errors From Tradition + +Lastly, for the errors brought in from false, or uncertain History, what +is all the Legend of fictitious Miracles, in the lives of the Saints; +and all the Histories of Apparitions, and Ghosts, alledged by the +Doctors of the Romane Church, to make good their Doctrines of Hell, and +purgatory, the power of Exorcisme, and other Doctrines which have no +warrant, neither in Reason, nor Scripture; as also all those Traditions +which they call the unwritten Word of God; but old Wives Fables? +Whereof, though they find dispersed somewhat in the Writings of the +ancient Fathers; yet those Fathers were men, that might too easily +beleeve false reports; and the producing of their opinions for testimony +of the truth of what they beleeved, hath no other force with them that +(according to the Counsell of St. John 1 Epist. chap. 4. verse 1.) +examine Spirits, than in all things that concern the power of the Romane +Church, (the abuse whereof either they suspected not, or had benefit +by it,) to discredit their testimony, in respect of too rash beleef of +reports; which the most sincere men, without great knowledge of naturall +causes, (such as the Fathers were) are commonly the most subject to: For +naturally, the best men are the least suspicious of fraudulent purposes. +Gregory the Pope, and S. Bernard have somewhat of Apparitions of Ghosts, +that said they were in Purgatory; and so has our Beda: but no where, I +beleeve, but by report from others. But if they, or any other, relate +any such stories of their own knowledge, they shall not thereby confirm +the more such vain reports; but discover their own Infirmity, or Fraud. + + + + +Suppression Of Reason + +With the Introduction of False, we may joyn also the suppression of True +Philosophy, by such men, as neither by lawfull authority, nor sufficient +study, are competent Judges of the truth. Our own Navigations make +manifest, and all men learned in humane Sciences, now acknowledge there +are Antipodes: And every day it appeareth more and more, that Years, and +Dayes are determined by Motions of the Earth. Neverthelesse, men that +have in their Writings but supposed such Doctrine, as an occasion to +lay open the reasons for, and against it, have been punished for it +by Authority Ecclesiasticall. But what reason is there for it? Is it +because such opinions are contrary to true Religion? that cannot be, +if they be true. Let therefore the truth be first examined by competent +Judges, or confuted by them that pretend to know the contrary. Is +it because they be contrary to the Religion established? Let them be +silenced by the Laws of those, to whom the Teachers of them are subject; +that is, by the Laws Civill: For disobedience may lawfully be punished +in them, that against the Laws teach even true Philosophy. Is it because +they tend to disorder in Government, as countenancing Rebellion, or +Sedition? then let them be silenced, and the Teachers punished by vertue +of his power to whom the care of the Publique quiet is committed; which +is the Authority Civill. For whatsoever Power Ecclesiastiques take upon +themselves (in any place where they are subject to the State) in their +own Right, though they call it Gods Right, is but Usurpation. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVII. OF THE BENEFIT THAT PROCEEDETH FROM SUCH DARKNESSE, AND +TO WHOM IT ACCREWETH + + + + +He That Receiveth Benefit By A Fact, Is Presumed To Be The Author + +Cicero maketh honorable mention of one of the Cassii, a severe Judge +amongst the Romans, for a custome he had, in Criminal causes, (when the +testimony of the witnesses was not sufficient,) to ask the Accusers, +Cui Bono; that is to say, what Profit, Honor, or other Contentment, the +accused obtained, or expected by the Fact. For amongst Praesumptions, +there is none that so evidently declareth the Author, as doth the +BENEFIT of the Action. By the same rule I intend in this place to +examine, who they may be, that have possessed the People so long in this +part of Christendome, with these Doctrines, contrary to the Peaceable +Societies of Mankind. + + + + +That The Church Militant Is The Kingdome Of God, Was First Taught By +The Church Of Rome + +And first, to this Error, That The Present Church Now Militant On Earth, +Is The Kingdome Of God, (that is, the Kingdome of Glory, or the Land of +Promise; not the Kingdome of Grace, which is but a Promise of the +Land,) are annexed these worldly Benefits, First, that the Pastors, +and Teachers of the Church, are entitled thereby, as Gods Publique +Ministers, to a Right of Governing the Church; and consequently (because +the Church, and Common-wealth are the same Persons) to be Rectors, and +Governours of the Common-wealth. By this title it is, that the Pope +prevailed with the subjects of all Christian Princes, to beleeve, that +to disobey him, was to disobey Christ himselfe; and in all differences +between him and other Princes, (charmed with the word Power Spirituall,) +to abandon their lawfull Soveraigns; which is in effect an universall +Monarchy over all Christendome. For though they were first invested in +the right of being Supreme Teachers of Christian Doctrine, by, and +under Christian Emperors, within the limits of the Romane Empire (as is +acknowledged by themselves) by the title of Pontifex Maximus, who was an +Officer subject to the Civill State; yet after the Empire was divided, +and dissolved, it was not hard to obtrude upon the people already +subject to them, another Title, namely, the Right of St. Peter; not +onely to save entire their pretended Power; but also to extend the same +over the same Christian Provinces, though no more united in the Empire +of Rome. This Benefit of an Universall Monarchy, (considering the desire +of men to bear Rule) is a sufficient Presumption, that the popes that +pretended to it, and for a long time enjoyed it, were the Authors of +the Doctrine, by which it was obtained; namely, that the Church now +on Earth, is the Kingdome of Christ. For that granted, it must be +understood, that Christ hath some Lieutenant amongst us, by whom we are +to be told what are his Commandements. + +After that certain Churches had renounced this universall Power of the +Pope, one would expect in reason, that the Civill Soveraigns in all +those Churches, should have recovered so much of it, as (before they had +unadvisedly let it goe) was their own Right, and in their own hands. +And in England it was so in effect; saving that they, by whom the Kings +administred the Government of Religion, by maintaining their imployment +to be in Gods Right, seemed to usurp, if not a Supremacy, yet an +Independency on the Civill Power: and they but seemed to usurp it, in +as much as they acknowledged a Right in the King, to deprive them of the +Exercise of their Functions at his pleasure. + + + + +And Maintained Also By The Presbytery + +But in those places where the Presbytery took that Office, though many +other Doctrines of the Church of Rome were forbidden to be taught; yet +this Doctrine, that the Kingdome of Christ is already come, and that it +began at the Resurrection of our Saviour, was still retained. But Cui +Bono? What Profit did they expect from it? The same which the Popes +expected: to have a Soveraign Power over the People. For what is it for +men to excommunicate their lawful King, but to keep him from all places +of Gods publique Service in his own Kingdom? and with force to resist +him, when he with force endeavoureth to correct them? Or what is it, +without Authority from the Civill Soveraign, to excommunicate any +person, but to take from him his Lawfull Liberty, that is, to usurpe +an unlawfull Power over their Brethren? The Authors therefore of this +Darknesse in Religion, are the Romane, and the Presbyterian Clergy. + + + + +Infallibility + +To this head, I referre also all those Doctrines, that serve them to +keep the possession of this spirituall Soveraignty after it is gotten. +As first, that the Pope In His Publique Capacity Cannot Erre. For who +is there, that beleeving this to be true, will not readily obey him in +whatsoever he commands? + + + + +Subjection Of Bishops + +Secondly, that all other Bishops, in what Common-wealth soever, have +not their Right, neither immediately from God, nor mediately from their +Civill Soveraigns, but from the Pope, is a Doctrine, by which there +comes to be in every Christian Common-wealth many potent men, (for so +are Bishops,) that have their dependance on the Pope, and owe obedience +to him, though he be a forraign Prince; by which means he is able, (as +he hath done many times) to raise a Civill War against the State +that submits not it self to be governed according to his pleasure and +Interest. + + + + +Exemptions Of The Clergy + +Thirdly, the exemption of these, and of all other Priests, and of all +Monkes, and Fryers, from the Power of the Civill Laws. For by this +means, there is a great part of every Common-wealth, that enjoy the +benefit of the Laws, and are protected by the Power of the Civill State, +which neverthelesse pay no part of the Publique expence; nor are +lyable to the penalties, as other Subjects, due to their crimes; and +consequently, stand not in fear of any man, but the Pope; and adhere to +him onely, to uphold his universall Monarchy. + + + + +The Names Of Sacerdotes, And Sacrifices + +Fourthly, the giving to their Priests (which is no more in the New +Testament but Presbyters, that is, Elders) the name of Sacerdotes, that +is, Sacrificers, which was the title of the Civill Soveraign, and his +publique Ministers, amongst the Jews, whilest God was their King. Also, +the making the Lords Supper a Sacrifice, serveth to make the People +beleeve the Pope hath the same power over all Christian, that Moses +and Aaron had over the Jews; that is to say, all power, both Civill and +Ecclesiasticall, as the High Priest then had. + + + + +The Sacramentation Of Marriage + +Fiftly, the teaching that Matrimony is a Sacrament, giveth to the +Clergy the Judging of the lawfulnesse of Marriages; and thereby, of what +Children are Legitimate; and consequently, of the Right of Succession to +haereditary Kingdomes. + + + + +The Single Life Of Priests + +Sixtly, the Deniall of Marriage to Priests, serveth to assure this Power +of the pope over Kings. For if a King be a Priest, he cannot Marry, and +transmit his Kingdome to his Posterity; If he be not a Priest then the +Pope pretendeth this Authority Ecclesiasticall over him, and over his +people. + + + + +Auricular Confession + +Seventhly, from Auricular Confession, they obtain, for the assurance of +their Power, better intelligence of the designs of Princes, and great +persons in the Civill State, than these can have of the designs of the +State Ecclesiasticall. + + + + +Canonization Of Saints, And Declaring Of Martyrs + +Eighthly, by the Canonization of Saints, and declaring who are Martyrs, +they assure their Power, in that they induce simple men into an +obstinacy against the Laws and Commands of their Civill Soveraigns even +to death, if by the Popes excommunication, they be declared Heretiques +or Enemies to the Church; that is, (as they interpret it,) to the Pope. + + + + +Transubstantiation, Penance, Absolution + +Ninthly, they assure the same, by the Power they ascribe to every +Priest, of making Christ; and by the Power of ordaining Pennance; and of +Remitting, and Retaining of sins. + + + + +Purgatory, Indulgences, Externall Works + +Tenthly, by the Doctrine of Purgatory, of Justification by externall +works, and of Indulgences, the Clergy is enriched. + + + + +Daemonology And Exorcism + +Eleventhly, by their Daemonology, and the use of Exorcisme, and other +things appertaining thereto, they keep (or thinke they keep) the People +more in awe of their Power. + + + + +School-Divinity + +Lastly, the Metaphysiques, Ethiques, and Politiques of Aristotle, the +frivolous Distinctions, barbarous Terms, and obscure Language of the +Schoolmen, taught in the Universities, (which have been all erected and +regulated by the Popes Authority,) serve them to keep these Errors +from being detected, and to make men mistake the Ignis Fatuus of Vain +Philosophy, for the Light of the Gospell. + + + + +The Authors Of Spirituall Darknesse, Who They Be + +To these, if they sufficed not, might be added other of their dark +Doctrines, the profit whereof redoundeth manifestly, to the setting up +of an unlawfull Power over the lawfull Soveraigns of Christian People; +or for the sustaining of the same, when it is set up; or to the worldly +Riches, Honour, and Authority of those that sustain it. And therefore by +the aforesaid rule, of Cui Bono, we may justly pronounce for the Authors +of all this Spirituall Darknesse, the Pope, and Roman Clergy, and +all those besides that endeavour to settle in the mindes of men this +erroneous Doctrine, that the Church now on Earth, is that Kingdome of +God mentioned in the Old and New Testament. + +But the Emperours, and other Christian Soveraigns, under whose +Government these Errours, and the like encroachments of Ecclesiastiques +upon their Office, at first crept in, to the disturbance of their +possessions, and of the tranquillity of their Subjects, though they +suffered the same for want of foresight of the Sequel, and of insight +into the designs of their Teachers, may neverthelesse bee esteemed +accessories to their own, and the Publique dammage; For without +their Authority there could at first no seditious Doctrine have been +publiquely preached. I say they might have hindred the same in the +beginning: But when the people were once possessed by those spirituall +men, there was no humane remedy to be applyed, that any man could +invent: And for the remedies that God should provide, who never faileth +in his good time to destroy all the Machinations of men against the +Truth, wee are to attend his good pleasure, that suffereth many times +the prosperity of his enemies, together with their ambition, to grow +to such a height, as the violence thereof openeth the eyes, which the +warinesse of their predecessours had before sealed up, and makes men +by too much grasping let goe all, as Peters net was broken, by the +struggling of too great a multitude of Fishes; whereas the Impatience +of those, that strive to resist such encroachment, before their Subjects +eyes were opened, did but encrease the power they resisted. I doe not +therefore blame the Emperour Frederick for holding the stirrop to our +countryman Pope Adrian; for such was the disposition of his subjects +then, as if hee had not doe it, hee was not likely to have succeeded in +the Empire: But I blame those, that in the beginning, when their power +was entire, by suffering such Doctrines to be forged in the Universities +of their own Dominions, have holden the Stirrop to all the succeeding +Popes, whilest they mounted into the Thrones of all Christian +Soveraigns, to ride, and tire, both them, and their people, at their +pleasure. + +But as the Inventions of men are woven, so also are they ravelled out; +the way is the same, but the order is inverted: The web begins at the +first Elements of Power, which are Wisdom, Humility, Sincerity, and +other vertues of the Apostles, whom the people converted, obeyed, out +of Reverence, not by Obligation: Their Consciences were free, and their +Words and Actions subject to none but the Civill Power. Afterwards the +Presbyters (as the Flocks of Christ encreased) assembling to consider +what they should teach, and thereby obliging themselves to teach nothing +against the Decrees of their Assemblies, made it to be thought the +people were thereby obliged to follow their Doctrine, and when +they refused, refused to keep them company, (that was then called +Excommunication,) not as being Infidels, but as being disobedient: And +this was the first knot upon their Liberty. And the number of Presbyters +encreasing, the Presbyters of the chief City or Province, got themselves +an authority over the parochiall Presbyters, and appropriated to +themselves the names of Bishops: And this was a second knot on Christian +Liberty. Lastly, the Bishop of Rome, in regard of the Imperiall City, +took upon him an Authority (partly by the wills of the Emperours +themselves, and by the title of Pontifex Maximus, and at last when the +Emperours were grown weak, by the priviledges of St. Peter) over all +other Bishops of the Empire: Which was the third and last knot, and the +whole Synthesis and Construction of the Pontificall Power. + +And therefore the Analysis, or Resolution is by the same way; but +beginning with the knot that was last tyed; as wee may see in the +dissolution of the praeterpoliticall Church Government in England. + +First, the Power of the Popes was dissolved totally by Queen Elizabeth; +and the Bishops, who before exercised their Functions in Right of the +Pope, did afterwards exercise the same in Right of the Queen and her +Successours; though by retaining the phrase of Jure Divino, they were +thought to demand it by immediate Right from God: And so was untyed the +first knot. After this, the Presbyterians lately in England obtained the +putting down of Episcopacy: And so was the second knot dissolved: +And almost at the same time, the Power was taken also from the +Presbyterians: And so we are reduced to the Independency of the +Primitive Christians to follow Paul, or Cephas, or Apollos, every man +as he liketh best: Which, if it be without contention, and without +measuring the Doctrine of Christ, by our affection to the Person of his +Minister, (the fault which the Apostle reprehended in the Corinthians,) +is perhaps the best: First, because there ought to be no Power over the +Consciences of men, but of the Word it selfe, working Faith in every +one, not alwayes according to the purpose of them that Plant and Water, +but of God himself, that giveth the Increase: and secondly, because it +is unreasonable in them, who teach there is such danger in every little +Errour, to require of a man endued with Reason of his own, to follow the +Reason of any other man, or of the most voices of many other men; Which +is little better, then to venture his Salvation at crosse and pile. Nor +ought those Teachers to be displeased with this losse of their antient +Authority: For there is none should know better then they, that power is +preserved by the same Vertues by which it is acquired; that is to +say, by Wisdome, Humility, Clearnesse of Doctrine, and sincerity of +Conversation; and not by suppression of the Naturall Sciences, and +of the Morality of Naturall Reason; nor by obscure Language; nor by +Arrogating to themselves more Knowledge than they make appear; nor by +Pious Frauds; nor by such other faults, as in the Pastors of Gods Church +are not only Faults, but also scandalls, apt to make men stumble one +time or other upon the suppression of their Authority. + + + + +Comparison Of The Papacy With The Kingdome Of Fayries + +But after this Doctrine, "that the Church now Militant, is the Kingdome +of God spoken of in the Old and New Testament," was received in +the World; the ambition, and canvasing for the Offices that belong +thereunto, and especially for that great Office of being Christs +Lieutenant, and the Pompe of them that obtained therein the principal +Publique Charges, became by degrees so evident, that they lost the +inward Reverence due to the Pastorall Function: in so much as the Wisest +men, of them that had any power in the Civill State, needed nothing but +the authority of their Princes, to deny them any further Obedience. For, +from the time that the Bishop of Rome had gotten to be acknowledged for +Bishop Universall, by pretence of Succession to St. Peter, their whole +Hierarchy, or Kingdome of Darknesse, may be compared not unfitly to +the Kingdome of Fairies; that is, to the old wives Fables in England, +concerning Ghosts and Spirits, and the feats they play in the night. And +if a man consider the originall of this great Ecclesiasticall Dominion, +he will easily perceive, that the Papacy, is no other, than the Ghost of +the deceased Romane Empire, sitting crowned upon the grave thereof: For +so did the Papacy start up on a Sudden out of the Ruines of that Heathen +Power. + +The Language also, which they use, both in the Churches, and in their +Publique Acts, being Latine, which is not commonly used by any Nation +now in the world, what is it but the Ghost of the Old Romane Language. + +The Fairies in what Nation soever they converse, have but one Universall +King, which some Poets of ours call King Oberon; but the Scripture calls +Beelzebub, Prince of Daemons. The Ecclesiastiques likewise, in whose +Dominions soever they be found, acknowledge but one Universall King, the +Pope. + +The Ecclesiastiques are Spirituall men, and Ghostly Fathers. The +Fairies are Spirits, and Ghosts. Fairies and Ghosts inhabite Darknesse, +Solitudes, and Graves. The Ecclesiastiques walke in Obscurity of +Doctrine, in Monasteries, Churches, and Churchyards. + +The Ecclesiastiques have their Cathedral Churches; which, in what Towne +soever they be erected, by vertue of Holy Water, and certain Charmes +called Exorcismes, have the power to make those Townes, cities, that is +to say, Seats of Empire. The Fairies also have their enchanted Castles, +and certain Gigantique Ghosts, that domineer over the Regions round +about them. + +The fairies are not to be seized on; and brought to answer for the hurt +they do. So also the Ecclesiastiques vanish away from the Tribunals of +Civill Justice. + +The Ecclesiastiques take from young men, the use of Reason, by certain +Charms compounded of Metaphysiques, and Miracles, and Traditions, and +Abused Scripture, whereby they are good for nothing else, but to execute +what they command them. The Fairies likewise are said to take young +Children out of their Cradles, and to change them into Naturall Fools, +which Common people do therefore call Elves, and are apt to mischief. + +In what Shop, or Operatory the Fairies make their Enchantment, the old +Wives have not determined. But the Operatories of the Clergy, are well +enough known to be the Universities, that received their Discipline from +Authority Pontificall. + +When the Fairies are displeased with any body, they are said to +send their Elves, to pinch them. The Ecclesiastiques, when they are +displeased with any Civill State, make also their Elves, that is, +Superstitious, Enchanted Subjects, to pinch their Princes, by preaching +Sedition; or one Prince enchanted with promises, to pinch another. + +The Fairies marry not; but there be amongst them Incubi, that have +copulation with flesh and bloud. The Priests also marry not. + +The Ecclesiastiques take the Cream of the Land, by Donations of ignorant +men, that stand in aw of them, and by Tythes: So also it is in the Fable +of Fairies, that they enter into the Dairies, and Feast upon the Cream, +which they skim from the Milk. + +What kind of Money is currant in the Kingdome of Fairies, is not +recorded in the Story. But the Ecclesiastiques in their Receipts accept +of the same Money that we doe; though when they are to make any Payment, +it is in Canonizations, Indulgences, and Masses. + +To this, and such like resemblances between the Papacy, and the Kingdome +of Fairies, may be added this, that as the Fairies have no existence, +but in the Fancies of ignorant people, rising from the Traditions of old +Wives, or old Poets: so the Spirituall Power of the Pope (without the +bounds of his own Civill Dominion) consisteth onely in the Fear that +Seduced people stand in, of their Excommunication; upon hearing of false +Miracles, false Traditions, and false Interpretations of the Scripture. + +It was not therefore a very difficult matter, for Henry 8. by his +Exorcisme; nor for Qu. Elizabeth by hers, to cast them out. But who +knows that this Spirit of Rome, now gone out, and walking by Missions +through the dry places of China, Japan, and the Indies, that yeeld him +little fruit, may not return, or rather an Assembly of Spirits worse +than he, enter, and inhabite this clean swept house, and make the End +thereof worse than the beginning? For it is not the Romane Clergy onely, +that pretends the Kingdome of God to be of this World, and thereby to +have a Power therein, distinct from that of the Civill State. And +this is all I had a designe to say, concerning the Doctrine of the +POLITIQUES. Which when I have reviewed, I shall willingly expose it to +the censure of my Countrey. + + + + +A REVIEW, AND CONCLUSION + + +From the contrariety of some of the Naturall Faculties of the Mind, one +to another, as also of one Passion to another, and from their reference +to Conversation, there has been an argument taken, to inferre an +impossibility that any one man should be sufficiently disposed to all +sorts of Civill duty. The Severity of Judgment, they say, makes men +Censorious, and unapt to pardon the Errours and Infirmities of other +men: and on the other side, Celerity of Fancy, makes the thoughts lesse +steddy than is necessary, to discern exactly between Right and Wrong. +Again, in all Deliberations, and in all Pleadings, the faculty of solid +Reasoning, is necessary: for without it, the Resolutions of men are +rash, and their Sentences unjust: and yet if there be not powerfull +Eloquence, which procureth attention and Consent, the effect of Reason +will be little. But these are contrary Faculties; the former being +grounded upon principles of Truth; the other upon Opinions already +received, true, or false; and upon the Passions and Interests of men, +which are different, and mutable. + +And amongst the Passions, Courage, (by which I mean the Contempt of +Wounds, and violent Death) enclineth men to private Revenges, and +sometimes to endeavour the unsetling of the Publique Peace; And +Timorousnesse, many times disposeth to the desertion of the Publique +Defence. Both these they say cannot stand together in the same person. + +And to consider the contrariety of mens Opinions, and Manners in +generall, It is they say, impossible to entertain a constant Civill +Amity with all those, with whom the Businesse of the world constrains +us to converse: Which Businesse consisteth almost in nothing else but a +perpetuall contention for Honor, Riches, and Authority. + +To which I answer, that these are indeed great difficulties, but not +Impossibilities: For by Education, and Discipline, they may bee, and +are sometimes reconciled. Judgment, and Fancy may have place in the +same man; but by turnes; as the end which he aimeth at requireth. As the +Israelites in Egypt, were sometimes fastened to their labour of making +Bricks, and other times were ranging abroad to gather Straw: So also may +the Judgment sometimes be fixed upon one certain Consideration, and +the Fancy at another time wandring about the world. So also Reason, +and Eloquence, (though not perhaps in the Naturall Sciences, yet in the +Morall) may stand very well together. For wheresoever there is place for +adorning and preferring of Errour, there is much more place for adorning +and preferring of Truth, if they have it to adorn. Nor is there any +repugnancy between fearing the Laws, and not fearing a publique Enemy; +nor between abstaining from Injury, and pardoning it in others. There is +therefore no such Inconsistence of Humane Nature, with Civill Duties, +as some think. I have known cleernesse of Judgment, and largenesse of +Fancy; strength of Reason, and gracefull Elocution; a Courage for the +Warre, and a Fear for the Laws, and all eminently in one man; and that +was my most noble and honored friend Mr. Sidney Godolphin; who hating no +man, nor hated of any, was unfortunately slain in the beginning of the +late Civill warre, in the Publique quarrel, by an indiscerned, and an +undiscerning hand. + +To the Laws of Nature, declared in the 15. Chapter, I would have this +added, "That every man is bound by Nature, as much as in him lieth, to +protect in Warre, the Authority, by which he is himself protected in +time of Peace." For he that pretendeth a Right of Nature to preserve +his owne body, cannot pretend a Right of Nature to destroy him, by whose +strength he is preserved: It is a manifest contradiction of himselfe. +And though this Law may bee drawn by consequence, from some of those +that are there already mentioned; yet the Times require to have it +inculcated, and remembred. + +And because I find by divers English Books lately printed, that the +Civill warres have not yet sufficiently taught men, in what point of +time it is, that a Subject becomes obliged to the Conquerour; nor what +is Conquest; nor how it comes about, that it obliges men to obey his +Laws: Therefore for farther satisfaction of men therein, I say, the +point of time, wherein a man becomes subject of a Conquerour, is that +point, wherein having liberty to submit to him, he consenteth, either by +expresse words, or by other sufficient sign, to be his Subject. When it +is that a man hath the liberty to submit, I have showed before in the +end of the 21. Chapter; namely, that for him that hath no obligation to +his former Soveraign but that of an ordinary Subject, it is then, when +the means of his life is within the Guards and Garrisons of the Enemy; +for it is then, that he hath no longer Protection from him, but is +protected by the adverse party for his Contribution. Seeing +therefore such contribution is every where, as a thing inevitable, +(notwithstanding it be an assistance to the Enemy,) esteemed lawfull; +as totall Submission, which is but an assistance to the Enemy, cannot +be esteemed unlawfull. Besides, if a man consider that they who submit, +assist the Enemy but with part of their estates, whereas they that +refuse, assist him with the whole, there is no reason to call their +Submission, or Composition an Assistance; but rather a Detriment to the +Enemy. But if a man, besides the obligation of a Subject, hath taken +upon him a new obligation of a Souldier, then he hath not the liberty +to submit to a new Power, as long as the old one keeps the field, and +giveth him means of subsistence, either in his Armies, or Garrisons: +for in this case, he cannot complain of want of Protection, and means to +live as a Souldier: But when that also failes, a Souldier also may seek +his Protection wheresoever he has most hope to have it; and may lawfully +submit himself to his new Master. And so much for the Time when he may +do it lawfully, if hee will. If therefore he doe it, he is undoubtedly +bound to be a true Subject: For a Contract lawfully made, cannot +lawfully be broken. + +By this also a man may understand, when it is, that men may be said to +be Conquered; and in what the nature of Conquest, and the Right of a +Conquerour consisteth: For this Submission is it implyeth them all. +Conquest, is not the Victory it self; but the Acquisition by Victory, +of a Right, over the persons of men. He therefore that is slain, is +Overcome, but not Conquered; He that is taken, and put into prison, or +chaines, is not Conquered, though Overcome; for he is still an Enemy, +and may save himself if hee can: But he that upon promise of Obedience, +hath his Life and Liberty allowed him, is then Conquered, and a Subject; +and not before. The Romanes used to say, that their Generall had +Pacified such a Province, that is to say, in English, Conquered it; and +that the Countrey was Pacified by Victory, when the people of it +had promised Imperata Facere, that is, To Doe What The Romane People +Commanded Them: this was to be Conquered. But this promise may be either +expresse, or tacite: Expresse, by Promise: Tacite, by other signes. As +for example, a man that hath not been called to make such an expresse +Promise, (because he is one whose power perhaps is not considerable;) +yet if he live under their Protection openly, hee is understood to +submit himselfe to the Government: But if he live there secretly, he is +lyable to any thing that may bee done to a Spie, and Enemy of the State. +I say not, hee does any Injustice, (for acts of open Hostility bear not +that name); but that he may be justly put to death. Likewise, if a man, +when his Country is conquered, be out of it, he is not Conquered, nor +Subject: but if at his return, he submit to the Government, he is bound +to obey it. So that Conquest (to define it) is the Acquiring of the +Right of Soveraignty by Victory. Which Right, is acquired, in the +peoples Submission, by which they contract with the Victor, promising +Obedience, for Life and Liberty. + +In the 29th Chapter I have set down for one of the causes of the +Dissolutions of Common-wealths, their Imperfect Generation, consisting +in the want of an Absolute and Arbitrary Legislative Power; for want +whereof, the Civill Soveraign is fain to handle the Sword of Justice +unconstantly, and as if it were too hot for him to hold: One reason +whereof (which I have not there mentioned) is this, That they will all +of them justifie the War, by which their Power was at first gotten, +and whereon (as they think) their Right dependeth, and not on the +Possession. As if, for example, the Right of the Kings of England did +depend on the goodnesse of the cause of William the Conquerour, and upon +their lineall, and directest Descent from him; by which means, there +would perhaps be no tie of the Subjects obedience to their Soveraign +at this day in all the world: wherein whilest they needlessely think to +justifie themselves, they justifie all the successefull Rebellions that +Ambition shall at any time raise against them, and their Successors. +Therefore I put down for one of the most effectuall seeds of the Death +of any State, that the Conquerours require not onely a Submission of +mens actions to them for the future, but also an Approbation of all +their actions past; when there is scarce a Common-wealth in the world, +whose beginnings can in conscience be justified. + +And because the name of Tyranny, signifieth nothing more, nor lesse, +than the name of Soveraignty, be it in one, or many men, saving that +they that use the former word, are understood to bee angry with them +they call Tyrants; I think the toleration of a professed hatred of +Tyranny, is a Toleration of hatred to Common-wealth in general, and +another evill seed, not differing much from the former. For to the +Justification of the Cause of a Conqueror, the Reproach of the Cause +of the Conquered, is for the most part necessary: but neither of them +necessary for the Obligation of the Conquered. And thus much I have +thought fit to say upon the Review of the first and second part of this +Discourse. + +In the 35th Chapter, I have sufficiently declared out of the Scripture, +that in the Common-wealth of the Jewes, God himselfe was made the +Soveraign, by Pact with the People; who were therefore called his +Peculiar People, to distinguish them from the rest of the world, over +whom God reigned not by their Consent, but by his own Power: And that +in this Kingdome Moses was Gods Lieutenant on Earth; and that it was he +that told them what Laws God appointed to doe Execution; especially +in Capitall Punishments; not then thinking it a matter of so necessary +consideration, as I find it since. Wee know that generally in all +Common-wealths, the Execution of Corporeall Punishments, was either put +upon the Guards, or other Souldiers of the Soveraign Power; or given +to those, in whom want of means, contempt of honour, and hardnesse of +heart, concurred, to make them sue for such an Office. But amongst the +Israelites it was a Positive Law of God their Soveraign, that he that +was convicted of a capitall Crime, should be stoned to death by the +People; and that the Witnesses should cast the first Stone, and after +the Witnesses, then the rest of the People. This was a Law that designed +who were to be the Executioners; but not that any one should throw a +Stone at him before Conviction and Sentence, where the Congregation +was Judge. The Witnesses were neverthelesse to be heard before they +proceeded to Execution, unlesse the Fact were committed in the presence +of the Congregation it self, or in sight of the lawfull Judges; for +then there needed no other Witnesses but the Judges themselves. +Neverthelesse, this manner of proceeding being not throughly understood, +hath given occasion to a dangerous opinion, that any man may kill +another, is some cases, by a Right of Zeal; as if the Executions done +upon Offenders in the Kingdome of God in old time, proceeded not from +the Soveraign Command, but from the Authority of Private Zeal: which, if +we consider the texts that seem to favour it, is quite contrary. + +First, where the Levites fell upon the People, that had made and +worshipped the Golden Calfe, and slew three thousand of them; it was by +the Commandement of Moses, from the mouth of God; as is manifest, Exod. +32.27. And when the Son of a woman of Israel had blasphemed God, they +that heard it, did not kill him, but brought him before Moses, who +put him under custody, till God should give Sentence against him; as +appears, Levit. 25.11, 12. Again, (Numbers 25.6, 7.) when Phinehas +killed Zimri and Cosbi, it was not by right of Private Zeale: Their +Crime was committed in the sight of the Assembly; there needed +no Witnesse; the Law was known, and he the heir apparent to the +Soveraignty; and which is the principall point, the Lawfulnesse of his +Act depended wholly upon a subsequent Ratification by Moses, whereof he +had no cause to doubt. And this Presumption of a future Ratification, is +sometimes necessary to the safety [of] a Common-wealth; as in a sudden +Rebellion, any man that can suppresse it by his own Power in the +Countrey where it begins, may lawfully doe it, and provide to have it +Ratified, or Pardoned, whilest it is in doing, or after it is done. Also +Numb. 35.30. it is expressely said, "Whosoever shall kill the Murtherer, +shall kill him upon the word of Witnesses:" but Witnesses suppose +a formall Judicature, and consequently condemn that pretence of Jus +Zelotarum. The Law of Moses concerning him that enticeth to Idolatry, +(that is to say, in the Kingdome of God to a renouncing of his +Allegiance) (Deut. 13.8.) forbids to conceal him, and commands the +Accuser to cause him to be put to death, and to cast the first stone at +him; but not to kill him before he be Condemned. And (Deut. 17. ver.4, +5, 6.) the Processe against Idolatry is exactly set down: For God there +speaketh to the People, as Judge, and commandeth them, when a man is +Accused of Idolatry, to Enquire diligently of the Fact, and finding it +true, then to Stone him; but still the hand of the Witnesse throweth +the first stone. This is not Private Zeal, but Publique Condemnation. In +like manner when a Father hath a rebellious Son, the Law is (Deut. 21. +18.) that he shall bring him before the Judges of the Town, and all the +people of the Town shall Stone him. Lastly, by pretence of these Laws +it was, that St. Steven was Stoned, and not by pretence of Private Zeal: +for before hee was carried away to Execution, he had Pleaded his Cause +before the High Priest. There is nothing in all this, nor in any other +part of the Bible, to countenance Executions by Private Zeal; which +being oftentimes but a conjunction of Ignorance and Passion, is against +both the Justice and Peace of a Common-wealth. + +In the 36th Chapter I have said, that it is not declared in what +manner God spake supernaturally to Moses: Not that he spake not to him +sometimes by Dreams and Visions, and by a supernaturall Voice, as +to other Prophets: For the manner how he spake unto him from the +Mercy-seat, is expressely set down (Numbers 7.89.) in these words, +"From that time forward, when Moses entred into the Tabernacle of the +Congregation to speak with God, he heard a Voice which spake unto him +from over the Mercy-Seate, which is over the Arke of the Testimony, from +between the Cherubins he spake unto him." But it is not declared in +what consisted the praeeminence of the manner of Gods speaking to Moses, +above that of his speaking to other Prophets, as to Samuel, and to +Abraham, to whom he also spake by a Voice, (that is, by Vision) Unlesse +the difference consist in the cleernesse of the Vision. For Face +to Face, and Mouth to Mouth, cannot be literally understood of the +Infinitenesse, and Incomprehensibility of the Divine Nature. + +And as to the whole Doctrine, I see not yet, but the principles of +it are true and proper; and the Ratiocination solid. For I ground the +Civill Right of Soveraigns, and both the Duty and Liberty of Subjects, +upon the known naturall Inclinations of Mankind, and upon the Articles +of the Law of Nature; of which no man, that pretends but reason enough +to govern his private family, ought to be ignorant. And for the Power +Ecclesiasticall of the same Soveraigns, I ground it on such Texts, as +are both evident in themselves, and consonant to the Scope of the whole +Scripture. And therefore am perswaded, that he that shall read it with +a purpose onely to be informed, shall be informed by it. But for those +that by Writing, or Publique Discourse, or by their eminent actions, +have already engaged themselves to the maintaining of contrary opinions, +they will not bee so easily satisfied. For in such cases, it is naturall +for men, at one and the same time, both to proceed in reading, and to +lose their attention, in the search of objections to that they had read +before: Of which, in a time wherein the interests of men are changed +(seeing much of that Doctrine, which serveth to the establishing of a +new Government, must needs be contrary to that which conduced to the +dissolution of the old,) there cannot choose but be very many. + +In that part which treateth of a Christian Common-wealth, there are +some new Doctrines, which, it may be, in a State where the contrary were +already fully determined, were a fault for a Subject without leave to +divulge, as being an usurpation of the place of a Teacher. But in this +time, that men call not onely for Peace, but also for Truth, to offer +such Doctrines as I think True, and that manifestly tend to Peace and +Loyalty, to the consideration of those that are yet in deliberation, is +no more, but to offer New Wine, to bee put into New Cask, that bothe may +be preserved together. And I suppose, that then, when Novelty can breed +no trouble, nor disorder in a State, men are not generally so much +inclined to the reverence of Antiquity, as to preferre Ancient Errors, +before New and well proved Truth. + +There is nothing I distrust more than my Elocution; which neverthelesse +I am confident (excepting the Mischances of the Presse) is not obscure. +That I have neglected the Ornament of quoting ancient Poets, Orators, +and Philosophers, contrary to the custome of late time, (whether I have +done well or ill in it,) proceedeth from my judgment, grounded on many +reasons. For first, all Truth of Doctrine dependeth either upon Reason, +or upon Scripture; both which give credit to many, but never receive it +from any Writer. Secondly, the matters in question are not of Fact, but +of Right, wherein there is no place for Witnesses. There is scarce any +of those old Writers, that contradicteth not sometimes both himself, +and others; which makes their Testimonies insufficient. Fourthly, +such Opinions as are taken onely upon Credit of Antiquity, are not +intrinsically the Judgment of those that cite them, but Words that +passe (like gaping) from mouth to mouth. Fiftly, it is many times with a +fraudulent Designe that men stick their corrupt Doctrine with the Cloves +of other mens Wit. Sixtly, I find not that the Ancients they cite, took +it for an Ornament, to doe the like with those that wrote before them. +Seventhly, it is an argument of Indigestion, when Greek and Latine +Sentences unchewed come up again, as they use to doe, unchanged. Lastly, +though I reverence those men of Ancient time, that either have written +Truth perspicuously, or set us in a better way to find it out our +selves; yet to the Antiquity it self I think nothing due: For if we will +reverence the Age, the Present is the Oldest. If the Antiquity of the +Writer, I am not sure, that generally they to whom such honor is given, +were more Ancient when they wrote, than I am that am Writing: But if it +bee well considered, the praise of Ancient Authors, proceeds not from +the reverence of the Dead, but from the competition, and mutuall envy of +the Living. + +To conclude, there is nothing in this whole Discourse, nor in that I +writ before of the same Subject in Latine, as far as I can perceive, +contrary either to the Word of God, or to good Manners; or to the +disturbance of the Publique Tranquillity. Therefore I think it may be +profitably printed, and more profitably taught in the Universities, in +case they also think so, to whom the judgment of the same belongeth. +For seeing the Universities are the Fountains of Civill, and Morall +Doctrine, from whence the Preachers, and the Gentry, drawing such water +as they find, use to sprinkle the same (both from the Pulpit, and in +their Conversation) upon the People, there ought certainly to be +great care taken, to have it pure, both from the Venime of Heathen +Politicians, and from the Incantation of Deceiving Spirits. And by that +means the most men, knowing their Duties, will be the less subject to +serve the Ambition of a few discontented persons, in their purposes +against the State; and be the lesse grieved with the Contributions +necessary for their Peace, and Defence; and the Governours themselves +have the lesse cause, to maintain at the Common charge any greater +Army, than is necessary to make good the Publique Liberty, against the +Invasions and Encroachments of forraign Enemies. + +And thus I have brought to an end my Discourse of Civill and +Ecclesiasticall Government, occasioned by the disorders of the present +time, without partiality, without application, and without other +designe, than to set before mens eyes the mutuall Relation between +Protection and Obedience; of which the condition of Humane Nature, and +the Laws Divine, (both Naturall and Positive) require an inviolable +observation. And though in the revolution of States, there can be no +very good Constellation for Truths of this nature to be born under, (as +having an angry aspect from the dissolvers of an old Government, and +seeing but the backs of them that erect a new;) yet I cannot think +it will be condemned at this time, either by the Publique Judge of +Doctrine, or by any that desires the continuance of Publique Peace. And +in this hope I return to my interrupted Speculation of Bodies Naturall; +wherein, (if God give me health to finish it,) I hope the Novelty will +as much please, as in the Doctrine of this Artificiall Body it useth to +offend. For such Truth, as opposeth no man profit, nor pleasure, is to +all men welcome. + + + +FINIS + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEVIATHAN *** + + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ +concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, +and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following +the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use +of the Project Gutenberg trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online +at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, +you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located +before using this eBook. + +Title: Little Women; Or, Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy + +Author: Louisa May Alcott + +Illustrator: Frank T. Merrill + +Release date: August 16, 2011 [eBook #37106] + Most recently updated: September 24, 2025 + +Language: English + +Credits: David Edwards, Ernest Schaal, Robert Homa, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE WOMEN; OR, MEG, JO, BETH, AND AMY *** + + + + + [Illustration: LITTLE WOMEN + MEG, JO, BETH, AND AMY + LOUISA M. ALCOTT] + + + + + LITTLE WOMEN. + + +[Illustration: "They all drew to the fire, mother in the big chair, with +Beth at her feet" + (See page 9) FRONTISPIECE] + + + + + LITTLE WOMEN + OR + Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy + + + BY + LOUISA M. ALCOTT + + AUTHOR OF "LITTLE MEN," "AN OLD-FASHIONED GIRL" + "SPINNING-WHEEL STORIES," ETC. + + + _With more than 200 illustrations by Frank T. Merrill + and a picture of the Home of the Little Women + by Edmund H. Garrett_ + + + BOSTON + LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY + + + + + Entered according to Act of Congress, in the years 1868 and 1869, by + LOUISA M. ALCOTT, + In the Clerk's office of the + District Court of the District of Massachusetts. + + + _Copyright, 1880_, + BY LOUISA M. ALCOTT. + + _Copyright, 1896_, + BY JOHN S. P. ALCOTT. + + + BOSTON + ALFRED MUDGE & SON INC. PRINTERS + + + + + [Illustration: Preface] + + + "_Go then, my little Book, and show to all + That entertain and bid thee welcome shall, + What thou dost keep close shut up in thy breast; + And wish what thou dost show them may be blest + To them for good, may make them choose to be + Pilgrims better, by far, than thee or me. + Tell them of Mercy; she is one + Who early hath her pilgrimage begun. + Yea, let young damsels learn of her to prize + The world which is to come, and so be wise; + For little tripping maids may follow God + Along the ways which saintly feet have trod._" + + Adapted from JOHN BUNYAN. + + + + + [Illustration: Contents] + + + Part First. + + CHAPTER + + I. PLAYING PILGRIMS + + II. A MERRY CHRISTMAS + + III. THE LAURENCE BOY + + IV. BURDENS + + V. BEING NEIGHBORLY + + VI. BETH FINDS THE PALACE BEAUTIFUL + + VII. AMY'S VALLEY OF HUMILIATION + + VIII. JO MEETS APOLLYON + + IX. MEG GOES TO VANITY FAIR + + X. THE P. C. AND P. O. + + XI. EXPERIMENTS + + XII. CAMP LAURENCE + + XIII. CASTLES IN THE AIR + + XIV. SECRETS + + XV. A TELEGRAM + + XVI. LETTERS + + XVII. LITTLE FAITHFUL + + XVIII. DARK DAYS + + XIX. AMY'S WILL + + XX. CONFIDENTIAL + + XXI. LAURIE MAKES MISCHIEF, AND JO MAKES PEACE + + XXII. PLEASANT MEADOWS + + XXIII. AUNT MARCH SETTLES THE QUESTION + + + Part Second. + + XXIV. GOSSIP + + XXV. THE FIRST WEDDING + + XXVI. ARTISTIC ATTEMPTS + + XXVII. LITERARY LESSONS + + XXVIII. DOMESTIC EXPERIENCES + + XXIX. CALLS + + XXX. CONSEQUENCES + + XXXI. OUR FOREIGN CORRESPONDENT + + XXXII. TENDER TROUBLES + + XXXIII. JO'S JOURNAL + + XXXIV. A FRIEND + + XXXV. HEARTACHE + + XXXVI. BETH'S SECRET + + XXXVII. NEW IMPRESSIONS + + XXXVIII. ON THE SHELF + + XXXIX. LAZY LAURENCE + + XL. THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW + + XLI. LEARNING TO FORGET + + XLII. ALL ALONE + + XLIII. SURPRISES + + XLIV. MY LORD AND LADY + + XLV. DAISY AND DEMI + + XLVI. UNDER THE UMBRELLA + + XLVII. HARVEST TIME + + [Illustration: Tail-piece to Contents] + + + + + [Illustration: List of illustrations.] + + + [The Illustrations, designed by FRANK T. MERRILL, drawn, engraved, + and printed under the supervision of GEORGE T. ANDREW.] + + PAGE + + They all drew to the fire, mother in the big chair, with + Beth at her feet + + Preface + + Contents + + Tail-piece to Contents + + List of Illustrations + + Tail-piece to Illustrations + + Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents + + Beth put a pair of slippers down to warm + + I used to be so frightened when it was my turn to sit in + the big chair + + Do it this way, clasp your hands so + + It was a cheerful, hopeful letter + + How you used to play Pilgrim's Progress + + No one but Beth could get much music out of the old piano + + At nine they stopped work and sung as usual + + Merry Christmas + + The procession set out + + Out came Meg with gray horse-hair hanging about her face + + A little figure in cloudy white + + The lovers kneeling to receive Don Pedro's blessing + + We talked over the fence + + Tail-piece + + Eating apples and crying over the "Heir of Redclyffe" + + Jo undertook to pinch the papered locks + + Mrs. Gardiner greeted them + + Face to face with the Laurence boy + + They sat down on the stairs + + Tell about the party + + The kitten stuck like a burr just out of reach + + Curling herself up in the big chair + + Reading that everlasting Belsham + + He took her by the ear! by the ear! + + Mr. Laurence hooked up a big fish + + Tail-piece + + Being neighborly + + Laurie opened the window + + Poll tweaked off his wig + + Putting his finger under her chin + + Please give these to your mother + + Tail-piece + + O sir, they do care very much + + Mr. Laurence often opened his study door + + She put both arms around his neck and kissed him + + The Cyclops + + Amy bore without flinching several tingling blows + + You do know her + + Girls, where are you going? + + I burnt it up + + Held Amy up by his arms and hockey + + Packing the go abroady trunk + + Meg's partner appeared + + Asked to be introduced + + I wouldn't, Meg + + Holding a hand of each, Mrs. March said, &c. + + Mr. Pickwick + + Jo threw open the door of the closet + + Jo spent the morning on the river + + Amy sat down to draw + + O Pip! O Pip! + + Miss Crocker made a wry face + + We'll work like bees + + Beth was post-mistress + + Amy capped the climax by putting a clothes-pin on her nose 151 + + Mr. Laurence waving his hat + + Now, Miss Jo, I'll settle you + + A very merry lunch it was + + He went prancing down a quiet street + + "Oh, rise," she said + + A stunning blow from the big Greek lexicon + + He sneezed + + The Portuguese walked the plank + + Will you give me a rose? + + Miss Kate put up her glass + + Ellen Tree + + Tail-piece + + Swinging to and fro in his hammock + + It was rather a pretty little picture + + Waved a brake before her face + + I see him bow and smile + + Tail-piece + + Jo was very busy + + Hurrah for Miss March + + Jo darted away + + Jo laid herself on the sofa and affected to read + + November is the most disagreeable month in the year + + One of them horrid telegraph things + + She came suddenly upon Mr. Brooke + + The man clipped + + Tail-piece + + Letters + + She rolled away + + I wind the clock + + Yours Respectful, Hannah Mullet + + Tail-piece + + It didn't stir, and I knew it was dead + + He sat down beside her + + What do you want now? + + Beth did have the fever + + Gently stroking her head as her mother used to do + + Amy's Will + + Polish up the spoons and the fat silver teapot + + On his back, with all his legs in the air + + I should choose this + + Gravely promenaded to and fro + + Amy's Will + + Tail-piece + + Mrs. March would not leave Beth's side + + Tail-piece + + Letters + + Jo and her mother were reading the note + + Get up and don't be a goose + + "Hold your tongue!" cried Jo, covering her ears + + He stood at the foot, like a lion in the path + + Beth was soon able to lie on the study sofa all day + + The Jungfrau + + Popping in her head now and then + + He sat in the big chair by Beth's sofa with the other + three close by + + Shall I tell you how? + + Bless me, what's all this? + + For Mrs. John Brooke + + Home of the Little Women + + The Dove Cote + + A small watchman's rattle + + Tail-piece + + The First Wedding + + Artistic Attempts + + Her foot held fast in a panful of plaster + + Please don't, it's mine + + Tail-piece + + Literary Lessons + + A check for one hundred dollars + + Tail-piece + + Domestic Experiences + + Both felt desperately uncomfortable + + A bargain, I assure you, ma'am + + Laurie heroically shut his eyes while something was put + into his arms + + Calls + + She took the saddle to the horse + + It might have been worse + + The call at Aunt March's + + Tail-piece + + You shall have another table + + Bought up the bouquets + + Tail-piece + + Flo and I ordered a hansom-cab + + Every one was very kind, especially the officers + + I've seen the imperial family several times + + Trying to sketch the gray-stone lion's head on the wall + + She leaned her head upon her hands + + Now, this is filling at the price + + Up with the Bonnets of Bonnie Dundee + + I amused myself by dropping gingerbread nuts over + the seat + + Thou shalt haf thy Bhaer + + He waved his hand, sock and all + + Dis is mine effalunt + + I sat down upon the floor and read and looked and ate + + Tail-piece + + In the presence of three gentlemen + + A select symposium + + He doesn't prink at his glass before coming + + Jo stuffed the whole bundle into the stove + + He put the sisters into the carriage + + He laid his head down on the mossy post + + O Jo, can't you? + + Tail-piece + + With her head in Jo's lap, while the wind blew + healthfully over her + + Tail-piece + + He hurried forward to meet her + + Here are your flowers + + Demi and Daisy + + Mornin' now + + My dear man, it's a bonnet + + Tail-piece + + Sat piping on a stone while his goats skipped + + Laurie threw himself down on the turf + + A rough sketch of Laurie taming a horse + + The Valley of the Shadow + + Tail-piece + + Sat staring up at the busts + + Turning the ring thoughtfully upon his finger + + O Laurie, Laurie, I knew you'd come + + How well we pull together + + Jo and her father + + Jo laid her head on a comfortable rag-bag and cried + + A substantial lifelike ghost leaning over her + + The tall uncle proceeded to toss and tousle the + small nephew + + O Mr. Bhaer, I am so glad to see you + + Mr. Bhaer sang heartily + + Mrs. Laurence sitting in her mother's lap + + They began to pace up and down + + Tail-piece + + Me loves evvybody + + What makes my legs go, dranpa? + + Dranpa, it's a We + + Tail-piece + + Mr. Bhaer and Jo were enjoying promenades + + Looking up she saw Mr. Bhaer + + Does this suit you, Mr. Bhaer? + + Under the umbrella + + Tail-piece + + Harvest time + + Teddy bore a charmed life + + Leaving Mrs. March and her daughters under the festival + tree + + Tail-piece + + [Illustration: Tail-piece to Illustrations] + + + + + [Illustration: Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents] + + I. + + PLAYING PILGRIMS. + + +"Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents," grumbled Jo, lying +on the rug. + +"It's so dreadful to be poor!" sighed Meg, looking down at her old +dress. + +"I don't think it's fair for some girls to have plenty of pretty things, +and other girls nothing at all," added little Amy, with an injured +sniff. + +"We've got father and mother and each other," said Beth contentedly, +from her corner. + +The four young faces on which the firelight shone brightened at the +cheerful words, but darkened again as Jo said sadly,-- + +"We haven't got father, and shall not have him for a long time." She +didn't say "perhaps never," but each silently added it, thinking of +father far away, where the fighting was. + +Nobody spoke for a minute; then Meg said in an altered tone,-- + +"You know the reason mother proposed not having any presents this +Christmas was because it is going to be a hard winter for every one; and +she thinks we ought not to spend money for pleasure, when our men are +suffering so in the army. We can't do much, but we can make our little +sacrifices, and ought to do it gladly. But I am afraid I don't;" and Meg +shook her head, as she thought regretfully of all the pretty things she +wanted. + +"But I don't think the little we should spend would do any good. We've +each got a dollar, and the army wouldn't be much helped by our giving +that. I agree not to expect anything from mother or you, but I do want +to buy Undine and Sintram for myself; I've wanted it _so_ long," said +Jo, who was a bookworm. + +"I planned to spend mine in new music," said Beth, with a little sigh, +which no one heard but the hearth-brush and kettle-holder. + +"I shall get a nice box of Faber's drawing-pencils; I really need them," +said Amy decidedly. + +"Mother didn't say anything about our money, and she won't wish us to +give up everything. Let's each buy what we want, and have a little fun; +I'm sure we work hard enough to earn it," cried Jo, examining the heels +of her shoes in a gentlemanly manner. + +"I know _I_ do,--teaching those tiresome children nearly all day, when +I'm longing to enjoy myself at home," began Meg, in the complaining tone +again. + +"You don't have half such a hard time as I do," said Jo. "How would you +like to be shut up for hours with a nervous, fussy old lady, who keeps +you trotting, is never satisfied, and worries you till you're ready to +fly out of the window or cry?" + +"It's naughty to fret; but I do think washing dishes and keeping things +tidy is the worst work in the world. It makes me cross; and my hands get +so stiff, I can't practise well at all;" and Beth looked at her rough +hands with a sigh that any one could hear that time. + +"I don't believe any of you suffer as I do," cried Amy; "for you don't +have to go to school with impertinent girls, who plague you if you don't +know your lessons, and laugh at your dresses, and label your father if +he isn't rich, and insult you when your nose isn't nice." + +"If you mean _libel_, I'd say so, and not talk about _labels_, as if +papa was a pickle-bottle," advised Jo, laughing. + +"I know what I mean, and you needn't be _statirical_ about it. It's +proper to use good words, and improve your _vocabilary_," returned Amy, +with dignity. + +"Don't peck at one another, children. Don't you wish we had the money +papa lost when we were little, Jo? Dear me! how happy and good we'd be, +if we had no worries!" said Meg, who could remember better times. + +"You said the other day, you thought we were a deal happier than the +King children, for they were fighting and fretting all the time, in +spite of their money." + +"So I did, Beth. Well, I think we are; for, though we do have to work, +we make fun for ourselves, and are a pretty jolly set, as Jo would say." + +"Jo does use such slang words!" observed Amy, with a reproving look at +the long figure stretched on the rug. Jo immediately sat up, put her +hands in her pockets, and began to whistle. + +"Don't, Jo; it's so boyish!" + +"That's why I do it." + +"I detest rude, unlady-like girls!" + +"I hate affected, niminy-piminy chits!" + +"'Birds in their little nests agree,'" sang Beth, the peace-maker, with +such a funny face that both sharp voices softened to a laugh, and the +"pecking" ended for that time. + +"Really, girls, you are both to be blamed," said Meg, beginning to +lecture in her elder-sisterly fashion. "You are old enough to leave off +boyish tricks, and to behave better, Josephine. It didn't matter so much +when you were a little girl; but now you are so tall, and turn up your +hair, you should remember that you are a young lady." + +"I'm not! and if turning up my hair makes me one, I'll wear it in two +tails till I'm twenty," cried Jo, pulling off her net, and shaking down +a chestnut mane. "I hate to think I've got to grow up, and be Miss +March, and wear long gowns, and look as prim as a China-aster! It's bad +enough to be a girl, anyway, when I like boys' games and work and +manners! I can't get over my disappointment in not being a boy; and it's +worse than ever now, for I'm dying to go and fight with papa, and I can +only stay at home and knit, like a poky old woman!" And Jo shook the +blue army-sock till the needles rattled like castanets, and her ball +bounded across the room. + +"Poor Jo! It's too bad, but it can't be helped; so you must try to be +contented with making your name boyish, and playing brother to us +girls," said Beth, stroking the rough head at her knee with a hand that +all the dish-washing and dusting in the world could not make ungentle in +its touch. + +"As for you, Amy," continued Meg, "you are altogether too particular and +prim. Your airs are funny now; but you'll grow up an affected little +goose, if you don't take care. I like your nice manners and refined ways +of speaking, when you don't try to be elegant; but your absurd words are +as bad as Jo's slang." + +"If Jo is a tom-boy and Amy a goose, what am I, please?" asked Beth, +ready to share the lecture. + +"You're a dear, and nothing else," answered Meg warmly; and no one +contradicted her, for the "Mouse" was the pet of the family. + +As young readers like to know "how people look," we will take this +moment to give them a little sketch of the four sisters, who sat +knitting away in the twilight, while the December snow fell quietly +without, and the fire crackled cheerfully within. It was a comfortable +old room, though the carpet was faded and the furniture very plain; for +a good picture or two hung on the walls, books filled the recesses, +chrysanthemums and Christmas roses bloomed in the windows, and a +pleasant atmosphere of home-peace pervaded it. + +Margaret, the eldest of the four, was sixteen, and very pretty, being +plump and fair, with large eyes, plenty of soft, brown hair, a sweet +mouth, and white hands, of which she was rather vain. Fifteen-year-old +Jo was very tall, thin, and brown, and reminded one of a colt; for she +never seemed to know what to do with her long limbs, which were very +much in her way. She had a decided mouth, a comical nose, and sharp, +gray eyes, which appeared to see everything, and were by turns fierce, +funny, or thoughtful. Her long, thick hair was her one beauty; but it +was usually bundled into a net, to be out of her way. Round shoulders +had Jo, big hands and feet, a fly-away look to her clothes, and the +uncomfortable appearance of a girl who was rapidly shooting up into a +woman, and didn't like it. Elizabeth--or Beth, as every one called +her--was a rosy, smooth-haired, bright-eyed girl of thirteen, with a shy +manner, a timid voice, and a peaceful expression, which was seldom +disturbed. Her father called her "Little Tranquillity," and the name +suited her excellently; for she seemed to live in a happy world of her +own, only venturing out to meet the few whom she trusted and loved. Amy, +though the youngest, was a most important person,--in her own opinion at +least. A regular snow-maiden, with blue eyes, and yellow hair, curling +on her shoulders, pale and slender, and always carrying herself like a +young lady mindful of her manners. What the characters of the four +sisters were we will leave to be found out. + +The clock struck six; and, having swept up the hearth, Beth put a pair +of slippers down to warm. Somehow the sight of the old shoes had a good +effect upon the girls; for mother was coming, and every one brightened +to welcome her. Meg stopped lecturing, and lighted the lamp, Amy got out +of the easy-chair without being asked, and Jo forgot how tired she was +as she sat up to hold the slippers nearer to the blaze. + + [Illustration: Beth put a pair of slippers down to warm] + +"They are quite worn out; Marmee must have a new pair." + +"I thought I'd get her some with my dollar," said Beth. + +"No, I shall!" cried Amy. + +"I'm the oldest," began Meg, but Jo cut in with a decided-- + +"I'm the man of the family now papa is away, and _I_ shall provide the +slippers, for he told me to take special care of mother while he was +gone." + +"I'll tell you what we'll do," said Beth; "let's each get her something +for Christmas, and not get anything for ourselves." + +"That's like you, dear! What will we get?" exclaimed Jo. + +Every one thought soberly for a minute; then Meg announced, as if the +idea was suggested by the sight of her own pretty hands, "I shall give +her a nice pair of gloves." + +"Army shoes, best to be had," cried Jo. + +"Some handkerchiefs, all hemmed," said Beth. + +"I'll get a little bottle of cologne; she likes it, and it won't cost +much, so I'll have some left to buy my pencils," added Amy. + +"How will we give the things?" asked Meg. + +"Put them on the table, and bring her in and see her open the bundles. +Don't you remember how we used to do on our birthdays?" answered Jo. + + [Illustration: I used to be so frightened when it was my + turn to sit in the big chair] + +"I used to be _so_ frightened when it was my turn to sit in the big +chair with the crown on, and see you all come marching round to give the +presents, with a kiss. I liked the things and the kisses, but it was +dreadful to have you sit looking at me while I opened the bundles," said +Beth, who was toasting her face and the bread for tea, at the same time. + +"Let Marmee think we are getting things for ourselves, and then surprise +her. We must go shopping to-morrow afternoon, Meg; there is so much to +do about the play for Christmas night," said Jo, marching up and down, +with her hands behind her back and her nose in the air. + +"I don't mean to act any more after this time; I'm getting too old for +such things," observed Meg, who was as much a child as ever about +"dressing-up" frolics. + +"You won't stop, I know, as long as you can trail round in a white gown +with your hair down, and wear gold-paper jewelry. You are the best +actress we've got, and there'll be an end of everything if you quit the +boards," said Jo. "We ought to rehearse to-night. Come here, Amy, and do +the fainting scene, for you are as stiff as a poker in that." + +"I can't help it; I never saw any one faint, and I don't choose to make +myself all black and blue, tumbling flat as you do. If I can go down +easily, I'll drop; if I can't, I shall fall into a chair and be +graceful; I don't care if Hugo does come at me with a pistol," returned +Amy, who was not gifted with dramatic power, but was chosen because she +was small enough to be borne out shrieking by the villain of the piece. + + [Illustration: Do it this way, clasp your hands so] + +"Do it this way; clasp your hands so, and stagger across the room, +crying frantically, 'Roderigo! save me! save me!'" and away went Jo, +with a melodramatic scream which was truly thrilling. + +Amy followed, but she poked her hands out stiffly before her, and jerked +herself along as if she went by machinery; and her "Ow!" was more +suggestive of pins being run into her than of fear and anguish. Jo gave +a despairing groan, and Meg laughed outright, while Beth let her bread +burn as she watched the fun, with interest. + +"It's no use! Do the best you can when the time comes, and if the +audience laugh, don't blame me. Come on, Meg." + +Then things went smoothly, for Don Pedro defied the world in a speech of +two pages without a single break; Hagar, the witch, chanted an awful +incantation over her kettleful of simmering toads, with weird effect; +Roderigo rent his chains asunder manfully, and Hugo died in agonies of +remorse and arsenic, with a wild "Ha! ha!" + +"It's the best we've had yet," said Meg, as the dead villain sat up and +rubbed his elbows. + +"I don't see how you can write and act such splendid things, Jo. You're +a regular Shakespeare!" exclaimed Beth, who firmly believed that her +sisters were gifted with wonderful genius in all things. + +"Not quite," replied Jo modestly. "I do think 'The Witch's Curse, an +Operatic Tragedy,' is rather a nice thing; but I'd like to try Macbeth, +if we only had a trap-door for Banquo. I always wanted to do the killing +part. 'Is that a dagger that I see before me?'" muttered Jo, rolling her +eyes and clutching at the air, as she had seen a famous tragedian do. + +"No, it's the toasting fork, with mother's shoe on it instead of the +bread. Beth's stage-struck!" cried Meg, and the rehearsal ended in a +general burst of laughter. + +"Glad to find you so merry, my girls," said a cheery voice at the door, +and actors and audience turned to welcome a tall, motherly lady, with a +"can-I-help-you" look about her which was truly delightful. She was not +elegantly dressed, but a noble-looking woman, and the girls thought the +gray cloak and unfashionable bonnet covered the most splendid mother in +the world. + +"Well, dearies, how have you got on to-day? There was so much to do, +getting the boxes ready to go to-morrow, that I didn't come home to +dinner. Has any one called, Beth? How is your cold, Meg? Jo, you look +tired to death. Come and kiss me, baby." + +While making these maternal inquiries Mrs. March got her wet things off, +her warm slippers on, and sitting down in the easy-chair, drew Amy to +her lap, preparing to enjoy the happiest hour of her busy day. The girls +flew about, trying to make things comfortable, each in her own way. Meg +arranged the tea-table; Jo brought wood and set chairs, dropping, +overturning, and clattering everything she touched; Beth trotted to and +fro between parlor and kitchen, quiet and busy; while Amy gave +directions to every one, as she sat with her hands folded. + +As they gathered about the table, Mrs. March said, with a particularly +happy face, "I've got a treat for you after supper." + +A quick, bright smile went round like a streak of sunshine. Beth clapped +her hands, regardless of the biscuit she held, and Jo tossed up her +napkin, crying, "A letter! a letter! Three cheers for father!" + +"Yes, a nice long letter. He is well, and thinks he shall get through +the cold season better than we feared. He sends all sorts of loving +wishes for Christmas, and an especial message to you girls," said Mrs. +March, patting her pocket as if she had got a treasure there. + +"Hurry and get done! Don't stop to quirk your little finger, and simper +over your plate, Amy," cried Jo, choking in her tea, and dropping her +bread, butter side down, on the carpet, in her haste to get at the +treat. + +Beth ate no more, but crept away, to sit in her shadowy corner and brood +over the delight to come, till the others were ready. + +"I think it was so splendid in father to go as a chaplain when he was +too old to be drafted, and not strong enough for a soldier," said Meg +warmly. + +"Don't I wish I could go as a drummer, a _vivan_--what's its name? or a +nurse, so I could be near him and help him," exclaimed Jo, with a groan. + +"It must be very disagreeable to sleep in a tent, and eat all sorts of +bad-tasting things, and drink out of a tin mug," sighed Amy. + +"When will he come home, Marmee?" asked Beth, with a little quiver in +her voice. + +"Not for many months, dear, unless he is sick. He will stay and do his +work faithfully as long as he can, and we won't ask for him back a +minute sooner than he can be spared. Now come and hear the letter." + +They all drew to the fire, mother in the big chair with Beth at her +feet, Meg and Amy perched on either arm of the chair, and Jo leaning on +the back, where no one would see any sign of emotion if the letter +should happen to be touching. + +Very few letters were written in those hard times that were not +touching, especially those which fathers sent home. In this one little +was said of the hardships endured, the dangers faced, or the +homesickness conquered; it was a cheerful, hopeful letter, full of +lively descriptions of camp life, marches, and military news; and only +at the end did the writer's heart overflow with fatherly love and +longing for the little girls at home. + + [Illustration: It was a cheerful, hopeful letter] + +"Give them all my dear love and a kiss. Tell them I think of them by +day, pray for them by night, and find my best comfort in their affection +at all times. A year seems very long to wait before I see them, but +remind them that while we wait we may all work, so that these hard days +need not be wasted. I know they will remember all I said to them, that +they will be loving children to you, will do their duty faithfully, +fight their bosom enemies bravely, and conquer themselves so +beautifully, that when I come back to them I may be fonder and prouder +than ever of my little women." + +Everybody sniffed when they came to that part; Jo wasn't ashamed of the +great tear that dropped off the end of her nose, and Amy never minded +the rumpling of her curls as she hid her face on her mother's shoulder +and sobbed out, "I _am_ a selfish girl! but I'll truly try to be better, +so he mayn't be disappointed in me by and by." + +"We all will!" cried Meg. "I think too much of my looks, and hate to +work, but won't any more, if I can help it." + +"I'll try and be what he loves to call me, 'a little woman,' and not be +rough and wild; but do my duty here instead of wanting to be somewhere +else," said Jo, thinking that keeping her temper at home was a much +harder task than facing a rebel or two down South. + +Beth said nothing, but wiped away her tears with the blue army-sock, and +began to knit with all her might, losing no time in doing the duty that +lay nearest her, while she resolved in her quiet little soul to be all +that father hoped to find her when the year brought round the happy +coming home. + + [Illustration: How you used to play Pilgrim's Progress] + +Mrs. March broke the silence that followed Jo's words, by saying in her +cheery voice, "Do you remember how you used to play Pilgrim's Progress +when you were little things? Nothing delighted you more than to have me +tie my piece-bags on your backs for burdens, give you hats and sticks +and rolls of paper, and let you travel through the house from the +cellar, which was the City of Destruction, up, up, to the house-top, +where you had all the lovely things you could collect to make a +Celestial City." + +"What fun it was, especially going by the lions, fighting Apollyon, and +passing through the Valley where the hobgoblins were!" said Jo. + +"I liked the place where the bundles fell off and tumbled down stairs," +said Meg. + +"My favorite part was when we came out on the flat roof where our +flowers and arbors and pretty things were, and all stood and sung for +joy up there in the sunshine," said Beth, smiling, as if that pleasant +moment had come back to her. + +"I don't remember much about it, except that I was afraid of the cellar +and the dark entry, and always liked the cake and milk we had up at the +top. If I wasn't too old for such things, I'd rather like to play it +over again," said Amy, who began to talk of renouncing childish things +at the mature age of twelve. + +"We never are too old for this, my dear, because it is a play we are +playing all the time in one way or another. Our burdens are here, our +road is before us, and the longing for goodness and happiness is the +guide that leads us through many troubles and mistakes to the peace +which is a true Celestial City. Now, my little pilgrims, suppose you +begin again, not in play, but in earnest, and see how far on you can get +before father comes home." + +"Really, mother? Where are our bundles?" asked Amy, who was a very +literal young lady. + +"Each of you told what your burden was just now, except Beth; I rather +think she hasn't got any," said her mother. + +"Yes, I have; mine is dishes and dusters, and envying girls with nice +pianos, and being afraid of people." + +Beth's bundle was such a funny one that everybody wanted to laugh; but +nobody did, for it would have hurt her feelings very much. + +"Let us do it," said Meg thoughtfully. "It is only another name for +trying to be good, and the story may help us; for though we do want to +be good, it's hard work, and we forget, and don't do our best." + +"We were in the Slough of Despond to-night, and mother came and pulled +us out as Help did in the book. We ought to have our roll of directions, +like Christian. What shall we do about that?" asked Jo, delighted with +the fancy which lent a little romance to the very dull task of doing her +duty. + +"Look under your pillows, Christmas morning, and you will find your +guide-book," replied Mrs. March. + +They talked over the new plan while old Hannah cleared the table; then +out came the four little work-baskets, and the needles flew as the girls +made sheets for Aunt March. It was uninteresting sewing, but to-night no +one grumbled. They adopted Jo's plan of dividing the long seams into +four parts, and calling the quarters Europe, Asia, Africa, and America, +and in that way got on capitally, especially when they talked about the +different countries as they stitched their way through them. + + [Illustration: No one but Beth could get much music out of the old + piano] + +At nine they stopped work, and sung, as usual, before they went to bed. +No one but Beth could get much music out of the old piano; but she had a +way of softly touching the yellow keys, and making a pleasant +accompaniment to the simple songs they sung. Meg had a voice like a +flute, and she and her mother led the little choir. Amy chirped like a +cricket, and Jo wandered through the airs at her own sweet will, always +coming out at the wrong place with a croak or a quaver that spoilt the +most pensive tune. They had always done this from the time they could +lisp + + "Crinkle, crinkle, 'ittle 'tar," + +and it had become a household custom, for the mother was a born singer. +The first sound in the morning was her voice, as she went about the +house singing like a lark; and the last sound at night was the same +cheery sound, for the girls never grew too old for that familiar +lullaby. + + [Illustration: At nine they stopped work and sung as usual] + + + + + [Illustration: A Merry Christmas] + + II. + + A MERRY CHRISTMAS. + + +Jo was the first to wake in the gray dawn of Christmas morning. No +stockings hung at the fireplace, and for a moment she felt as much +disappointed as she did long ago, when her little sock fell down because +it was so crammed with goodies. Then she remembered her mother's +promise, and, slipping her hand under her pillow, drew out a little +crimson-covered book. She knew it very well, for it was that beautiful +old story of the best life ever lived, and Jo felt that it was a true +guide-book for any pilgrim going the long journey. She woke Meg with a +"Merry Christmas," and bade her see what was under her pillow. A +green-covered book appeared, with the same picture inside, and a few +words written by their mother, which made their one present very +precious in their eyes. Presently Beth and Amy woke, to rummage and find +their little books also,--one dove-colored, the other blue; and all sat +looking at and talking about them, while the east grew rosy with the +coming day. + +In spite of her small vanities, Margaret had a sweet and pious nature, +which unconsciously influenced her sisters, especially Jo, who loved her +very tenderly, and obeyed her because her advice was so gently given. + +"Girls," said Meg seriously, looking from the tumbled head beside her to +the two little night-capped ones in the room beyond, "mother wants us to +read and love and mind these books, and we must begin at once. We used +to be faithful about it; but since father went away, and all this war +trouble unsettled us, we have neglected many things. You can do as you +please; but _I_ shall keep my book on the table here, and read a little +every morning as soon as I wake, for I know it will do me good, and help +me through the day." + +Then she opened her new book and began to read. Jo put her arm round +her, and, leaning cheek to cheek, read also, with the quiet expression +so seldom seen on her restless face. + +"How good Meg is! Come, Amy, let's do as they do. I'll help you with the +hard words, and they'll explain things if we don't understand," +whispered Beth, very much impressed by the pretty books and her sisters' +example. + +"I'm glad mine is blue," said Amy; and then the rooms were very still +while the pages were softly turned, and the winter sunshine crept in to +touch the bright heads and serious faces with a Christmas greeting. + +"Where is mother?" asked Meg, as she and Jo ran down to thank her for +their gifts, half an hour later. + +"Goodness only knows. Some poor creeter come a-beggin', and your ma went +straight off to see what was needed. There never _was_ such a woman for +givin' away vittles and drink, clothes and firin'," replied Hannah, who +had lived with the family since Meg was born, and was considered by them +all more as a friend than a servant. + +"She will be back soon, I think; so fry your cakes, and have everything +ready," said Meg, looking over the presents which were collected in a +basket and kept under the sofa, ready to be produced at the proper time. +"Why, where is Amy's bottle of cologne?" she added, as the little flask +did not appear. + +"She took it out a minute ago, and went off with it to put a ribbon on +it, or some such notion," replied Jo, dancing about the room to take the +first stiffness off the new army-slippers. + +"How nice my handkerchiefs look, don't they? Hannah washed and ironed +them for me, and I marked them all myself," said Beth, looking proudly +at the somewhat uneven letters which had cost her such labor. + +"Bless the child! she's gone and put 'Mother' on them instead of 'M. +March.' How funny!" cried Jo, taking up one. + +"Isn't it right? I thought it was better to do it so, because Meg's +initials are 'M. M.,' and I don't want any one to use these but Marmee," +said Beth, looking troubled. + +"It's all right, dear, and a very pretty idea,--quite sensible, too, for +no one can ever mistake now. It will please her very much, I know," said +Meg, with a frown for Jo and a smile for Beth. + +"There's mother. Hide the basket, quick!" cried Jo, as a door slammed, +and steps sounded in the hall. + +Amy came in hastily, and looked rather abashed when she saw her sisters +all waiting for her. + +"Where have you been, and what are you hiding behind you?" asked Meg, +surprised to see, by her hood and cloak, that lazy Amy had been out so +early. + +"Don't laugh at me, Jo! I didn't mean any one should know till the time +came. I only meant to change the little bottle for a big one, and I gave +_all_ my money to get it, and I'm truly trying not to be selfish any +more." + +As she spoke, Amy showed the handsome flask which replaced the cheap +one; and looked so earnest and humble in her little effort to forget +herself that Meg hugged her on the spot, and Jo pronounced her "a +trump," while Beth ran to the window, and picked her finest rose to +ornament the stately bottle. + +"You see I felt ashamed of my present, after reading and talking about +being good this morning, so I ran round the corner and changed it the +minute I was up: and I'm _so_ glad, for mine is the handsomest now." + +Another bang of the street-door sent the basket under the sofa, and the +girls to the table, eager for breakfast. + +"Merry Christmas, Marmee! Many of them! Thank you for our books; we read +some, and mean to every day," they cried, in chorus. + +"Merry Christmas, little daughters! I'm glad you began at once, and hope +you will keep on. But I want to say one word before we sit down. Not far +away from here lies a poor woman with a little new-born baby. Six +children are huddled into one bed to keep from freezing, for they have +no fire. There is nothing to eat over there; and the oldest boy came to +tell me they were suffering hunger and cold. My girls, will you give +them your breakfast as a Christmas present?" + +They were all unusually hungry, having waited nearly an hour, and for a +minute no one spoke; only a minute, for Jo exclaimed impetuously,-- + +"I'm so glad you came before we began!" + +"May I go and help carry the things to the poor little children?" asked +Beth, eagerly. + +"_I_ shall take the cream and the muffins," added Amy, heroically giving +up the articles she most liked. + +Meg was already covering the buckwheats, and piling the bread into one +big plate. + +"I thought you'd do it," said Mrs. March, smiling as if satisfied. "You +shall all go and help me, and when we come back we will have bread and +milk for breakfast, and make it up at dinner-time." + +They were soon ready, and the procession set out. Fortunately it was +early, and they went through back streets, so few people saw them, and +no one laughed at the queer party. + + [Illustration: The procession set out] + +A poor, bare, miserable room it was, with broken windows, no fire, +ragged bed-clothes, a sick mother, wailing baby, and a group of pale, +hungry children cuddled under one old quilt, trying to keep warm. + +How the big eyes stared and the blue lips smiled as the girls went in! + +"Ach, mein Gott! it is good angels come to us!" said the poor woman, +crying for joy. + +"Funny angels in hoods and mittens," said Jo, and set them laughing. + +In a few minutes it really did seem as if kind spirits had been at work +there. Hannah, who had carried wood, made a fire, and stopped up the +broken panes with old hats and her own cloak. Mrs. March gave the mother +tea and gruel, and comforted her with promises of help, while she +dressed the little baby as tenderly as if it had been her own. The +girls, meantime, spread the table, set the children round the fire, and +fed them like so many hungry birds,--laughing, talking, and trying to +understand the funny broken English. + +"Das ist gut!" "Die Engel-kinder!" cried the poor things, as they ate, +and warmed their purple hands at the comfortable blaze. + +The girls had never been called angel children before, and thought it +very agreeable, especially Jo, who had been considered a "Sancho" ever +since she was born. That was a very happy breakfast, though they didn't +get any of it; and when they went away, leaving comfort behind, I think +there were not in all the city four merrier people than the hungry +little girls who gave away their breakfasts and contented themselves +with bread and milk on Christmas morning. + +"That's loving our neighbor better than ourselves, and I like it," said +Meg, as they set out their presents, while their mother was upstairs +collecting clothes for the poor Hummels. + +Not a very splendid show, but there was a great deal of love done up in +the few little bundles; and the tall vase of red roses, white +chrysanthemums, and trailing vines, which stood in the middle, gave +quite an elegant air to the table. + +"She's coming! Strike up, Beth! Open the door, Amy! Three cheers for +Marmee!" cried Jo, prancing about, while Meg went to conduct mother to +the seat of honor. + +Beth played her gayest march, Amy threw open the door, and Meg enacted +escort with great dignity. Mrs. March was both surprised and touched; +and smiled with her eyes full as she examined her presents, and read the +little notes which accompanied them. The slippers went on at once, a new +handkerchief was slipped into her pocket, well scented with Amy's +cologne, the rose was fastened in her bosom, and the nice gloves were +pronounced a "perfect fit." + +There was a good deal of laughing and kissing and explaining, in the +simple, loving fashion which makes these home-festivals so pleasant at +the time, so sweet to remember long afterward, and then all fell to +work. + +The morning charities and ceremonies took so much time that the rest of +the day was devoted to preparations for the evening festivities. Being +still too young to go often to the theatre, and not rich enough to +afford any great outlay for private performances, the girls put their +wits to work, and--necessity being the mother of invention,--made +whatever they needed. Very clever were some of their +productions,--pasteboard guitars, antique lamps made of old-fashioned +butter-boats covered with silver paper, gorgeous robes of old cotton, +glittering with tin spangles from a pickle factory, and armor covered +with the same useful diamond-shaped bits, left in sheets when the lids +of tin preserve-pots were cut out. The furniture was used to being +turned topsy-turvy, and the big chamber was the scene of many innocent +revels. + +No gentlemen were admitted; so Jo played male parts to her heart's +content, and took immense satisfaction in a pair of russet-leather boots +given her by a friend, who knew a lady who knew an actor. These boots, +an old foil, and a slashed doublet once used by an artist for some +picture, were Jo's chief treasures, and appeared on all occasions. The +smallness of the company made it necessary for the two principal actors +to take several parts apiece; and they certainly deserved some credit +for the hard work they did in learning three or four different parts, +whisking in and out of various costumes, and managing the stage besides. +It was excellent drill for their memories, a harmless amusement, and +employed many hours which otherwise would have been idle, lonely, or +spent in less profitable society. + +On Christmas night, a dozen girls piled on to the bed which was the +dress-circle, and sat before the blue and yellow chintz curtains in a +most flattering state of expectancy. There was a good deal of rustling +and whispering behind the curtain, a trifle of lamp-smoke, and an +occasional giggle from Amy, who was apt to get hysterical in the +excitement of the moment. Presently a bell sounded, the curtains flew +apart, and the Operatic Tragedy began. + +"A gloomy wood," according to the one play-bill, was represented by a +few shrubs in pots, green baize on the floor, and a cave in the +distance. This cave was made with a clothes-horse for a roof, bureaus +for walls; and in it was a small furnace in full blast, with a black pot +on it, and an old witch bending over it. The stage was dark, and the +glow of the furnace had a fine effect, especially as real steam issued +from the kettle when the witch took off the cover. A moment was allowed +for the first thrill to subside; then Hugo, the villain, stalked in with +a clanking sword at his side, a slouched hat, black beard, mysterious +cloak, and the boots. After pacing to and fro in much agitation, he +struck his forehead, and burst out in a wild strain, singing of his +hatred to Roderigo, his love for Zara, and his pleasing resolution to +kill the one and win the other. The gruff tones of Hugo's voice, with an +occasional shout when his feelings overcame him, were very impressive, +and the audience applauded the moment he paused for breath. Bowing with +the air of one accustomed to public praise, he stole to the cavern, and +ordered Hagar to come forth with a commanding "What ho, minion! I need +thee!" + +[Illustration: Out came Meg with gray horse-hair hanging about her face] + +Out came Meg, with gray horse-hair hanging about her face, a red and +black robe, a staff, and cabalistic signs upon her cloak. Hugo demanded +a potion to make Zara adore him, and one to destroy Roderigo. Hagar, in +a fine dramatic melody, promised both, and proceeded to call up the +spirit who would bring the love philter:-- + + "Hither, hither, from thy home, + Airy sprite, I bid thee come! + Born of roses, fed on dew, + Charms and potions canst thou brew? + Bring me here, with elfin speed, + The fragrant philter which I need; + Make it sweet and swift and strong, + Spirit, answer now my song!" + + [Illustration: A little figure in cloudy white] + +A soft strain of music sounded, and then at the back of the cave +appeared a little figure in cloudy white, with glittering wings, golden +hair, and a garland of roses on its head. Waving a wand, it sang,-- + + "Hither I come, + From my airy home, + Afar in the silver moon. + Take the magic spell, + And use it well, + Or its power will vanish soon!" + +And, dropping a small, gilded bottle at the witch's feet, the spirit +vanished. Another chant from Hagar produced another apparition,--not a +lovely one; for, with a bang, an ugly black imp appeared, and, having +croaked a reply, tossed a dark bottle at Hugo, and disappeared with a +mocking laugh. Having warbled his thanks and put the potions in his +boots, Hugo departed; and Hagar informed the audience that, as he had +killed a few of her friends in times past, she has cursed him, and +intends to thwart his plans, and be revenged on him. Then the curtain +fell, and the audience reposed and ate candy while discussing the merits +of the play. + +A good deal of hammering went on before the curtain rose again; but when +it became evident what a masterpiece of stage-carpentering had been got +up, no one murmured at the delay. It was truly superb! A tower rose to +the ceiling; half-way up appeared a window, with a lamp burning at it, +and behind the white curtain appeared Zara in a lovely blue and silver +dress, waiting for Roderigo. He came in gorgeous array, with plumed cap, +red cloak, chestnut love-locks, a guitar, and the boots, of course. +Kneeling at the foot of the tower, he sang a serenade in melting tones. +Zara replied, and, after a musical dialogue, consented to fly. Then came +the grand effect of the play. Roderigo produced a rope-ladder, with five +steps to it, threw up one end, and invited Zara to descend. Timidly she +crept from her lattice, put her hand on Roderigo's shoulder, and was +about to leap gracefully down, when, "Alas! alas for Zara!" she forgot +her train,--it caught in the window; the tower tottered, leaned forward, +fell with a crash, and buried the unhappy lovers in the ruins! + +A universal shriek arose as the russet boots waved wildly from the +wreck, and a golden head emerged, exclaiming, "I told you so! I told you +so!" With wonderful presence of mind, Don Pedro, the cruel sire, rushed +in, dragged out his daughter, with a hasty aside,-- + +"Don't laugh! Act as if it was all right!"--and, ordering Roderigo up, +banished him from the kingdom with wrath and scorn. Though decidedly +shaken by the fall of the tower upon him, Roderigo defied the old +gentleman, and refused to stir. This dauntless example fired Zara: she +also defied her sire, and he ordered them both to the deepest dungeons +of the castle. A stout little retainer came in with chains, and led them +away, looking very much frightened, and evidently forgetting the speech +he ought to have made. + +Act third was the castle hall; and here Hagar appeared, having come to +free the lovers and finish Hugo. She hears him coming, and hides; sees +him put the potions into two cups of wine, and bid the timid little +servant "Bear them to the captives in their cells, and tell them I shall +come anon." The servant takes Hugo aside to tell him something, and +Hagar changes the cups for two others which are harmless. Ferdinando, +the "minion," carries them away, and Hagar puts back the cup which holds +the poison meant for Roderigo. Hugo, getting thirsty after a long +warble, drinks it, loses his wits, and, after a good deal of clutching +and stamping, falls flat and dies; while Hagar informs him what she has +done in a song of exquisite power and melody. + +This was a truly thrilling scene, though some persons might have thought +that the sudden tumbling down of a quantity of long hair rather marred +the effect of the villain's death. He was called before the curtain, and +with great propriety appeared, leading Hagar, whose singing was +considered more wonderful than all the rest of the performance put +together. + +Act fourth displayed the despairing Roderigo on the point of stabbing +himself, because he has been told that Zara has deserted him. Just as +the dagger is at his heart, a lovely song is sung under his window, +informing him that Zara is true, but in danger, and he can save her, if +he will. A key is thrown in, which unlocks the door, and in a spasm of +rapture he tears off his chains, and rushes away to find and rescue his +lady-love. + +Act fifth opened with a stormy scene between Zara and Don Pedro. He +wishes her to go into a convent, but she won't hear of it; and, after a +touching appeal, is about to faint, when Roderigo dashes in and demands +her hand. Don Pedro refuses, because he is not rich. They shout and +gesticulate tremendously, but cannot agree, and Roderigo is about to +bear away the exhausted Zara, when the timid servant enters with a +letter and a bag from Hagar, who has mysteriously disappeared. The +latter informs the party that she bequeaths untold wealth to the young +pair, and an awful doom to Don Pedro, if he doesn't make them happy. The +bag is opened, and several quarts of tin money shower down upon the +stage, till it is quite glorified with the glitter. This entirely +softens the "stern sire": he consents without a murmur, all join in a +joyful chorus, and the curtain falls upon the lovers kneeling to receive +Don Pedro's blessing in attitudes of the most romantic grace. + + [Illustration: The lovers kneeling to receive Don Pedro's blessing] + +Tumultuous applause followed, but received an unexpected check; for the +cot-bed, on which the "dress-circle" was built, suddenly shut up, and +extinguished the enthusiastic audience. Roderigo and Don Pedro flew to +the rescue, and all were taken out unhurt, though many were speechless +with laughter. The excitement had hardly subsided, when Hannah appeared, +with "Mrs. March's compliments, and would the ladies walk down to +supper." + +This was a surprise, even to the actors; and, when they saw the table, +they looked at one another in rapturous amazement. It was like Marmee to +get up a little treat for them; but anything so fine as this was +unheard-of since the departed days of plenty. There was +ice-cream,--actually two dishes of it, pink and white,--and cake and +fruit and distracting French bonbons, and, in the middle of the table, +four great bouquets of hot-house flowers! + +It quite took their breath away; and they stared first at the table and +then at their mother, who looked as if she enjoyed it immensely. + +"Is it fairies?" asked Amy, + +"It's Santa Claus," said Beth. + +"Mother did it"; and Meg smiled her sweetest, in spite of her gray beard +and white eyebrows. + +"Aunt March had a good fit, and sent the supper," cried Jo, with a +sudden inspiration. + +"All wrong. Old Mr. Laurence sent it," replied Mrs. March. + +"The Laurence boy's grandfather! What in the world put such a thing into +his head? We don't know him!" exclaimed Meg. + +"Hannah told one of his servants about your breakfast party. He is an +odd old gentleman, but that pleased him. He knew my father, years ago; +and he sent me a polite note this afternoon, saying he hoped I would +allow him to express his friendly feeling toward my children by sending +them a few trifles in honor of the day. I could not refuse; and so you +have a little feast at night to make up for the bread-and-milk +breakfast." + +"That boy put it into his head, I know he did! He's a capital fellow, +and I wish we could get acquainted. He looks as if he'd like to know us; +but he's bashful, and Meg is so prim she won't let me speak to him when +we pass," said Jo, as the plates went round, and the ice began to melt +out of sight, with "Ohs!" and "Ahs!" of satisfaction. + +"You mean the people who live in the big house next door, don't you?" +asked one of the girls. "My mother knows old Mr. Laurence; but says he's +very proud, and doesn't like to mix with his neighbors. He keeps his +grandson shut up, when he isn't riding or walking with his tutor, and +makes him study very hard. We invited him to our party, but he didn't +come. Mother says he's very nice, though he never speaks to us girls." + +"Our cat ran away once, and he brought her back, and we talked over the +fence, and were getting on capitally,--all about cricket, and so +on,--when he saw Meg coming, and walked off. I mean to know him some +day; for he needs fun, I'm sure he does," said Jo decidedly. + + [Illustration: We talked over the fence] + +"I like his manners, and he looks like a little gentleman; so I've no +objection to your knowing him, if a proper opportunity comes. He brought +the flowers himself; and I should have asked him in, if I had been sure +what was going on upstairs. He looked so wistful as he went away, +hearing the frolic, and evidently having none of his own." + +"It's a mercy you didn't, mother!" laughed Jo, looking at her boots. +"But we'll have another play, some time, that he _can_ see. Perhaps +he'll help act; wouldn't that be jolly?" + +"I never had such a fine bouquet before! How pretty it is!" And Meg +examined her flowers with great interest. + +"They _are_ lovely! But Beth's roses are sweeter to me," said Mrs. +March, smelling the half-dead posy in her belt. + +Beth nestled up to her, and whispered softly, "I wish I could send my +bunch to father. I'm afraid he isn't having such a merry Christmas as we +are." + + [Illustration: Tail-piece] + + + + + [Illustration: Eating apples and crying over the "Heir of Redclyffe"] + + III. + + THE LAURENCE BOY. + + +"Jo! Jo! where are you?" cried Meg, at the foot of the garret stairs. + +"Here!" answered a husky voice from above; and, running up, Meg found +her sister eating apples and crying over the "Heir of Redclyffe," +wrapped up in a comforter on an old three-legged sofa by the sunny +window. This was Jo's favorite refuge; and here she loved to retire with +half a dozen russets and a nice book, to enjoy the quiet and the society +of a pet rat who lived near by, and didn't mind her a particle. As Meg +appeared, Scrabble whisked into his hole. Jo shook the tears off her +cheeks, and waited to hear the news. + +"Such fun! only see! a regular note of invitation from Mrs. Gardiner for +to-morrow night!" cried Meg, waving the precious paper, and then +proceeding to read it, with girlish delight. + +"'Mrs. Gardiner would be happy to see Miss March and Miss Josephine at a +little dance on New-Year's Eve.' Marmee is willing we should go; now +what _shall_ we wear?" + +"What's the use of asking that, when you know we shall wear our poplins, +because we haven't got anything else?" answered Jo, with her mouth full. + +"If I only had a silk!" sighed Meg. "Mother says I may when I'm +eighteen, perhaps; but two years is an everlasting time to wait." + +"I'm sure our pops look like silk, and they are nice enough for us. +Yours is as good as new, but I forgot the burn and the tear in mine. +Whatever shall I do? the burn shows badly, and I can't take any out." + +"You must sit still all you can, and keep your back out of sight; the +front is all right. I shall have a new ribbon for my hair, and Marmee +will lend me her little pearl pin, and my new slippers are lovely, and +my gloves will do, though they aren't as nice as I'd like." + +"Mine are spoilt with lemonade, and I can't get any new ones, so I shall +have to go without," said Jo, who never troubled herself much about +dress. + +"You _must_ have gloves, or I won't go," cried Meg decidedly. "Gloves +are more important than anything else; you can't dance without them, and +if you don't I should be _so_ mortified." + +"Then I'll stay still. I don't care much for company dancing; it's no +fun to go sailing round; I like to fly about and cut capers." + +"You can't ask mother for new ones, they are so expensive, and you are +so careless. She said, when you spoilt the others, that she shouldn't +get you any more this winter. Can't you make them do?" asked Meg +anxiously. + +"I can hold them crumpled up in my hand, so no one will know how stained +they are; that's all I can do. No! I'll tell you how we can manage--each +wear one good one and carry a bad one; don't you see?" + +"Your hands are bigger than mine, and you will stretch my glove +dreadfully," began Meg, whose gloves were a tender point with her. + +"Then I'll go without. I don't care what people say!" cried Jo, taking +up her book. + +"You may have it, you may! only don't stain it, and do behave nicely. +Don't put your hands behind you, or stare, or say 'Christopher +Columbus!' will you?" + +"Don't worry about me; I'll be as prim as I can, and not get into any +scrapes, if I can help it. Now go and answer your note, and let me +finish this splendid story." + +So Meg went away to "accept with thanks," look over her dress, and sing +blithely as she did up her one real lace frill; while Jo finished her +story, her four apples, and had a game of romps with Scrabble. + +On New-Year's Eve the parlor was deserted, for the two younger girls +played dressing-maids, and the two elder were absorbed in the +all-important business of "getting ready for the party." Simple as the +toilets were, there was a great deal of running up and down, laughing +and talking, and at one time a strong smell of burnt hair pervaded the +house. Meg wanted a few curls about her face, and Jo undertook to pinch +the papered locks with a pair of hot tongs. + + [Illustration: Jo undertook to pinch the papered locks] + +"Ought they to smoke like that?" asked Beth, from her perch on the bed. + +"It's the dampness drying," replied Jo. + +"What a queer smell! it's like burnt feathers," observed Amy, smoothing +her own pretty curls with a superior air. + +"There, now I'll take off the papers and you'll see a cloud of little +ringlets," said Jo, putting down the tongs. + +She did take off the papers, but no cloud of ringlets appeared, for the +hair came with the papers, and the horrified hair-dresser laid a row of +little scorched bundles on the bureau before her victim. + +"Oh, oh, oh! what _have_ you done? I'm spoilt! I can't go! My hair, oh, +my hair!" wailed Meg, looking with despair at the uneven frizzle on her +forehead. + +"Just my luck! you shouldn't have asked me to do it; I always spoil +everything. I'm so sorry, but the tongs were too hot, and so I've made a +mess," groaned poor Jo, regarding the black pancakes with tears of +regret. + +"It isn't spoilt; just frizzle it, and tie your ribbon so the ends come +on your forehead a bit, and it will look like the last fashion. I've +seen many girls do it so," said Amy consolingly. + +"Serves me right for trying to be fine. I wish I'd let my hair alone," +cried Meg petulantly. + +"So do I, it was so smooth and pretty. But it will soon grow out again," +said Beth, coming to kiss and comfort the shorn sheep. + +After various lesser mishaps, Meg was finished at last, and by the +united exertions of the family Jo's hair was got up and her dress on. +They looked very well in their simple suits,--Meg in silvery drab, with +a blue velvet snood, lace frills, and the pearl pin; Jo in maroon, with +a stiff, gentlemanly linen collar, and a white chrysanthemum or two for +her only ornament. Each put on one nice light glove, and carried one +soiled one, and all pronounced the effect "quite easy and fine." Meg's +high-heeled slippers were very tight, and hurt her, though she would not +own it, and Jo's nineteen hair-pins all seemed stuck straight into her +head, which was not exactly comfortable; but, dear me, let us be elegant +or die! + +"Have a good time, dearies!" said Mrs. March, as the sisters went +daintily down the walk. "Don't eat much supper, and come away at eleven, +when I send Hannah for you." As the gate clashed behind them, a voice +cried from a window,-- + +"Girls, girls! _have_ you both got nice pocket-handkerchiefs?" + +"Yes, yes, spandy nice, and Meg has cologne on hers," cried Jo, adding, +with a laugh, as they went on, "I do believe Marmee would ask that if we +were all running away from an earthquake." + +"It is one of her aristocratic tastes, and quite proper, for a real lady +is always known by neat boots, gloves, and handkerchief," replied Meg, +who had a good many little "aristocratic tastes" of her own. + +"Now don't forget to keep the bad breadth out of sight, Jo. Is my sash +right? and does my hair look _very_ bad?" said Meg, as she turned from +the glass in Mrs. Gardiner's dressing-room, after a prolonged prink. + +"I know I shall forget. If you see me doing anything wrong, just remind +me by a wink, will you?" returned Jo, giving her collar a twitch and her +head a hasty brush. + +"No, winking isn't lady-like; I'll lift my eyebrows if anything is +wrong, and nod if you are all right. Now hold your shoulders straight, +and take short steps, and don't shake hands if you are introduced to any +one: it isn't the thing." + +"How _do_ you learn all the proper ways? I never can. Isn't that music +gay?" + + [Illustration: Mrs. Gardiner greeted them] + +Down they went, feeling a trifle timid, for they seldom went to parties, +and, informal as this little gathering was, it was an event to them. +Mrs. Gardiner, a stately old lady, greeted them kindly, and handed them +over to the eldest of her six daughters. Meg knew Sallie, and was at her +ease very soon; but Jo, who didn't care much for girls or girlish +gossip, stood about, with her back carefully against the wall, and felt +as much out of place as a colt in a flower-garden. Half a dozen jovial +lads were talking about skates in another part of the room, and she +longed to go and join them, for skating was one of the joys of her life. +She telegraphed her wish to Meg, but the eyebrows went up so alarmingly +that she dared not stir. No one came to talk to her, and one by one the +group near her dwindled away, till she was left alone. She could not +roam about and amuse herself, for the burnt breadth would show, so she +stared at people rather forlornly till the dancing began. Meg was asked +at once, and the tight slippers tripped about so briskly that none would +have guessed the pain their wearer suffered smilingly. Jo saw a big +red-headed youth approaching her corner, and fearing he meant to engage +her, she slipped into a curtained recess, intending to peep and enjoy +herself in peace. Unfortunately, another bashful person had chosen the +same refuge; for, as the curtain fell behind her, she found herself face +to face with the "Laurence boy." + + [Illustration: Face to face with the Laurence boy] + +"Dear me, I didn't know any one was here!" stammered Jo, preparing to +back out as speedily as she had bounced in. + +But the boy laughed, and said pleasantly, though he looked a little +startled,-- + +"Don't mind me; stay, if you like." + +"Sha'n't I disturb you?" + +"Not a bit; I only came here because I don't know many people, and felt +rather strange at first, you know." + +"So did I. Don't go away, please, unless you'd rather." + +The boy sat down again and looked at his pumps, till Jo said, trying to +be polite and easy,-- + +"I think I've had the pleasure of seeing you before; you live near us, +don't you?" + +"Next door"; and he looked up and laughed outright, for Jo's prim manner +was rather funny when he remembered how they had chatted about cricket +when he brought the cat home. + +That put Jo at her ease; and she laughed too, as she said, in her +heartiest way,-- + +"We did have such a good time over your nice Christmas present." + +"Grandpa sent it." + +"But you put it into his head, didn't you, now?" + +"How is your cat, Miss March?" asked the boy, trying to look sober, +while his black eyes shone with fun. + +"Nicely, thank you, Mr. Laurence; but I am not Miss March, I'm only Jo," +returned the young lady. + +"I'm not Mr. Laurence, I'm only Laurie." + +"Laurie Laurence,--what an odd name!" + +"My first name is Theodore, but I don't like it, for the fellows called +me Dora, so I made them say Laurie instead." + +"I hate my name, too--so sentimental! I wish every one would say Jo, +instead of Josephine. How did you make the boys stop calling you Dora?" + +"I thrashed 'em." + +"I can't thrash Aunt March, so I suppose I shall have to bear it"; and +Jo resigned herself with a sigh. + +"Don't you like to dance, Miss Jo?" asked Laurie, looking as if he +thought the name suited her. + +"I like it well enough if there is plenty of room, and every one is +lively. In a place like this I'm sure to upset something, tread on +people's toes, or do something dreadful, so I keep out of mischief, and +let Meg sail about. Don't you dance?" + +"Sometimes; you see I've been abroad a good many years, and haven't been +into company enough yet to know how you do things here." + +"Abroad!" cried Jo. "Oh, tell me about it! I love dearly to hear people +describe their travels." + +Laurie didn't seem to know where to begin; but Jo's eager questions soon +set him going, and he told her how he had been at school in Vevay, where +the boys never wore hats, and had a fleet of boats on the lake, and for +holiday fun went walking trips about Switzerland with their teachers. + +"Don't I wish I'd been there!" cried Jo. "Did you go to Paris?" + +"We spent last winter there." + +"Can you talk French?" + +"We were not allowed to speak any thing else at Vevay." + +"Do say some! I can read it, but can't pronounce." + +"Quel nom a cette jeune demoiselle en les pantoufles jolis?" said Laurie +good-naturedly. + +"How nicely you do it! Let me see,--you said, 'Who is the young lady in +the pretty slippers,' didn't you?" + +"Oui, mademoiselle." + +"It's my sister Margaret, and you knew it was! Do you think she is +pretty?" + +"Yes; she makes me think of the German girls, she looks so fresh and +quiet, and dances like a lady." + +Jo quite glowed with pleasure at this boyish praise of her sister, and +stored it up to repeat to Meg. Both peeped and criticised and chatted, +till they felt like old acquaintances. Laurie's bashfulness soon wore +off; for Jo's gentlemanly demeanor amused and set him at his ease, and +Jo was her merry self again, because her dress was forgotten, and nobody +lifted their eyebrows at her. She liked the "Laurence boy" better than +ever, and took several good looks at him, so that she might describe him +to the girls; for they had no brothers, very few male cousins, and boys +were almost unknown creatures to them. + +"Curly black hair; brown skin; big, black eyes; handsome nose; fine +teeth; small hands and feet; taller than I am; very polite, for a boy, +and altogether jolly. Wonder how old he is?" + +It was on the tip of Jo's tongue to ask; but she checked herself in +time, and, with unusual tact, tried to find out in a roundabout way. + +"I suppose you are going to college soon? I see you pegging away at your +books,--no, I mean studying hard"; and Jo blushed at the dreadful +"pegging" which had escaped her. + +Laurie smiled, but didn't seem shocked, and answered, with a shrug,-- + +"Not for a year or two; I won't go before seventeen, anyway." + +"Aren't you but fifteen?" asked Jo, looking at the tall lad, whom she +had imagined seventeen already. + +"Sixteen, next month." + +"How I wish I was going to college! You don't look as if you liked it." + +"I hate it! Nothing but grinding or skylarking. And I don't like the way +fellows do either, in this country." + +"What do you like?" + +"To live in Italy, and to enjoy myself in my own way." + +Jo wanted very much to ask what his own way was; but his black brows +looked rather threatening as he knit them; so she changed the subject by +saying, as her foot kept time, "That's a splendid polka! Why don't you +go and try it?" + +"If you will come too," he answered, with a gallant little bow. + +"I can't; for I told Meg I wouldn't, because--" There Jo stopped, and +looked undecided whether to tell or to laugh. + +"Because what?" asked Laurie curiously. + +"You won't tell?" + +"Never!" + +"Well, I have a bad trick of standing before the fire, and so I burn my +frocks, and I scorched this one; and, though it's nicely mended, it +shows, and Meg told me to keep still, so no one would see it. You may +laugh, if you want to; it is funny, I know." + +But Laurie didn't laugh; he only looked down a minute, and the +expression of his face puzzled Jo, when he said very gently,-- + +"Never mind that; I'll tell you how we can manage: there's a long hall +out there, and we can dance grandly, and no one will see us. Please +come?" + +Jo thanked him, and gladly went, wishing she had two neat gloves, when +she saw the nice, pearl-colored ones her partner wore. The hall was +empty, and they had a grand polka; for Laurie danced well, and taught +her the German step, which delighted Jo, being full of swing and spring. +When the music stopped, they sat down on the stairs to get their breath; +and Laurie was in the midst of an account of a students' festival at +Heidelberg, when Meg appeared in search of her sister. She beckoned, and +Jo reluctantly followed her into a side-room, where she found her on a +sofa, holding her foot, and looking pale. + + [Illustration: They sat down on the stairs] + +"I've sprained my ankle. That stupid high heel turned, and gave me a sad +wrench. It aches so, I can hardly stand, and I don't know how I'm ever +going to get home," she said, rocking to and fro in pain. + +"I knew you'd hurt your feet with those silly shoes. I'm sorry. But I +don't see what you can do, except get a carriage, or stay here all +night," answered Jo, softly rubbing the poor ankle as she spoke. + +"I can't have a carriage, without its costing ever so much. I dare say I +can't get one at all; for most people come in their own, and it's a long +way to the stable, and no one to send." + +"I'll go." + +"No, indeed! It's past nine, and dark as Egypt. I can't stop here, for +the house is full. Sallie has some girls staying with her. I'll rest +till Hannah comes, and then do the best I can." + +"I'll ask Laurie; he will go," said Jo, looking relieved as the idea +occurred to her. + +"Mercy, no! Don't ask or tell any one. Get me my rubbers, and put these +slippers with our things. I can't dance any more; but as soon as supper +is over, watch for Hannah, and tell me the minute she comes." + +"They are going out to supper now. I'll stay with you; I'd rather." + +"No, dear, run along, and bring me some coffee. I'm so tired, I can't +stir!" + +So Meg reclined, with rubbers well hidden, and Jo went blundering away +to the dining-room, which she found after going into a china-closet, and +opening the door of a room where old Mr. Gardiner was taking a little +private refreshment. Making a dart at the table, she secured the coffee, +which she immediately spilt, thereby making the front of her dress as +bad as the back. + +"Oh, dear, what a blunderbuss I am!" exclaimed Jo, finishing Meg's glove +by scrubbing her gown with it. + +"Can I help you?" said a friendly voice; and there was Laurie, with a +full cup in one hand and a plate of ice in the other. + +"I was trying to get something for Meg, who is very tired, and some one +shook me; and here I am, in a nice state," answered Jo, glancing +dismally from the stained skirt to the coffee-colored glove. + +"Too bad! I was looking for some one to give this to. May I take it to +your sister?" + +"Oh, thank you! I'll show you where she is. I don't offer to take it +myself, for I should only get into another scrape if I did." + +Jo led the way; and, as if used to waiting on ladies, Laurie drew up a +little table, brought a second instalment of coffee and ice for Jo, and +was so obliging that even particular Meg pronounced him a "nice boy." +They had a merry time over the bonbons and mottoes, and were in the +midst of a quiet game of "Buzz," with two or three other young people +who had strayed in, when Hannah appeared. Meg forgot her foot, and rose +so quickly that she was forced to catch hold of Jo, with an exclamation +of pain. + +"Hush! Don't say anything," she whispered, adding aloud, "It's nothing. +I turned my foot a little, that's all"; and limped up-stairs to put her +things on. + +Hannah scolded, Meg cried, and Jo was at her wits' end, till she +decided to take things into her own hands. Slipping out, she ran down, +and, finding a servant, asked if he could get her a carriage. It +happened to be a hired waiter, who knew nothing about the neighborhood; +and Jo was looking round for help, when Laurie, who had heard what she +said, came up, and offered his grandfather's carriage, which had just +come for him, he said. + +"It's so early! You can't mean to go yet?" began Jo, looking relieved, +but hesitating to accept the offer. + +"I always go early,--I do, truly! Please let me take you home? It's all +on my way, you know, and it rains, they say." + +That settled it; and, telling him of Meg's mishap, Jo gratefully +accepted, and rushed up to bring down the rest of the party. Hannah +hated rain as much as a cat does; so she made no trouble, and they +rolled away in the luxurious close carriage, feeling very festive and +elegant. Laurie went on the box; so Meg could keep her foot up, and the +girls talked over their party in freedom. + +"I had a capital time. Did you?" asked Jo, rumpling up her hair, and +making herself comfortable. + +"Yes, till I hurt myself. Sallie's friend, Annie Moffat, took a fancy to +me, and asked me to come and spend a week with her, when Sallie does. +She is going in the spring, when the opera comes; and it will be +perfectly splendid, if mother only lets me go," answered Meg, cheering +up at the thought. + +"I saw you dancing with the red-headed man I ran away from. Was he +nice?" + +"Oh, very! His hair is auburn, not red; and he was very polite, and I +had a delicious redowa with him." + +"He looked like a grasshopper in a fit, when he did the new step. Laurie +and I couldn't help laughing. Did you hear us?" + +"No; but it was very rude. What _were_ you about all that time, hidden +away there?" + +Jo told her adventures, and, by the time she had finished, they were at +home. With many thanks, they said "Good night," and crept in, hoping to +disturb no one; but the instant their door creaked, two little +night-caps bobbed up, and two sleepy but eager voices cried out,-- + +"Tell about the party! tell about the party!" + +With what Meg called "a great want of manners," Jo had saved some +bonbons for the little girls; and they soon subsided, after hearing the +most thrilling events of the evening. + +"I declare, it really seems like being a fine young lady, to come home +from the party in a carriage, and sit in my dressing-gown, with a maid +to wait on me," said Meg, as Jo bound up her foot with arnica, and +brushed her hair. + +"I don't believe fine young ladies enjoy themselves a bit more than we +do, in spite of our burnt hair, old gowns, one glove apiece, and tight +slippers that sprain our ankles when we are silly enough to wear them." +And I think Jo was quite right. + + [Illustration: Tell about the party] + + + + + [Illustration: The kitten stuck like a burr just out of reach] + + IV. + + BURDENS. + + +"Oh dear, how hard it does seem to take up our packs and go on," sighed +Meg, the morning after the party; for, now the holidays were over, the +week of merry-making did not fit her for going on easily with the task +she never liked. + +"I wish it was Christmas or New-Year all the time; wouldn't it be fun?" +answered Jo, yawning dismally. + +"We shouldn't enjoy ourselves half so much as we do now. But it does +seem so nice to have little suppers and bouquets, and go to parties, and +drive home, and read and rest, and not work. It's like other people, +you know, and I always envy girls who do such things; I'm so fond of +luxury," said Meg, trying to decide which of two shabby gowns was the +least shabby. + +"Well, we can't have it, so don't let us grumble, but shoulder our +bundles and trudge along as cheerfully as Marmee does. I'm sure Aunt +March is a regular Old Man of the Sea to me, but I suppose when I've +learned to carry her without complaining, she will tumble off, or get so +light that I sha'n't mind her." + +This idea tickled Jo's fancy, and put her in good spirits; but Meg +didn't brighten, for her burden, consisting of four spoilt children, +seemed heavier than ever. She hadn't heart enough even to make herself +pretty, as usual, by putting on a blue neck-ribbon, and dressing her +hair in the most becoming way. + +"Where's the use of looking nice, when no one sees me but those cross +midgets, and no one cares whether I'm pretty or not?" she muttered, +shutting her drawer with a jerk. "I shall have to toil and moil all my +days, with only little bits of fun now and then, and get old and ugly +and sour, because I'm poor, and can't enjoy my life as other girls do. +It's a shame!" + +So Meg went down, wearing an injured look, and wasn't at all agreeable +at breakfast-time. Every one seemed rather out of sorts, and inclined to +croak. Beth had a headache, and lay on the sofa, trying to comfort +herself with the cat and three kittens; Amy was fretting because her +lessons were not learned, and she couldn't find her rubbers; Jo _would_ +whistle and make a great racket getting ready; Mrs. March was very busy +trying to finish a letter, which must go at once; and Hannah had the +grumps, for being up late didn't suit her. + +"There never _was_ such a cross family!" cried Jo, losing her temper +when she had upset an inkstand, broken both boot-lacings, and sat down +upon her hat. + +"You're the crossest person in it!" returned Amy, washing out the sum, +that was all wrong, with the tears that had fallen on her slate. + +"Beth, if you don't keep these horrid cats down cellar I'll have them +drowned," exclaimed Meg angrily, as she tried to get rid of the kitten, +which had scrambled up her back, and stuck like a burr just out of +reach. + +Jo laughed, Meg scolded, Beth implored, and Amy wailed, because she +couldn't remember how much nine times twelve was. + +"Girls, girls, do be quiet one minute! I _must_ get this off by the +early mail, and you drive me distracted with your worry," cried Mrs. +March, crossing out the third spoilt sentence in her letter. + +There was a momentary lull, broken by Hannah, who stalked in, laid two +hot turn-overs on the table, and stalked out again. These turn-overs +were an institution; and the girls called them "muffs," for they had no +others, and found the hot pies very comforting to their hands on cold +mornings. Hannah never forgot to make them, no matter how busy or grumpy +she might be, for the walk was long and bleak; the poor things got no +other lunch, and were seldom home before two. + +"Cuddle your cats, and get over your headache, Bethy. Good-by, Marmee; +we are a set of rascals this morning, but we'll come home regular +angels. Now then, Meg!" and Jo tramped away, feeling that the pilgrims +were not setting out as they ought to do. + +They always looked back before turning the corner, for their mother was +always at the window, to nod and smile, and wave her hand to them. +Somehow it seemed as if they couldn't have got through the day without +that; for, whatever their mood might be, the last glimpse of that +motherly face was sure to affect them like sunshine. + +"If Marmee shook her fist instead of kissing her hand to us, it would +serve us right, for more ungrateful wretches than we are were never +seen," cried Jo, taking a remorseful satisfaction in the snowy walk and +bitter wind. + +"Don't use such dreadful expressions," said Meg, from the depths of the +vail in which she had shrouded herself like a nun sick of the world. + +"I like good strong words, that mean something," replied Jo, catching +her hat as it took a leap off her head, preparatory to flying away +altogether. + +"Call yourself any names you like; but _I_ am neither a rascal nor a +wretch, and I don't choose to be called so." + +"You're a blighted being, and decidedly cross to-day because you can't +sit in the lap of luxury all the time. Poor dear, just wait till I make +my fortune, and you shall revel in carriages and ice-cream and +high-heeled slippers and posies and red-headed boys to dance with." + +"How ridiculous you are, Jo!" but Meg laughed at the nonsense, and felt +better in spite of herself. + +"Lucky for you I am; for if I put on crushed airs, and tried to be +dismal, as you do, we should be in a nice state. Thank goodness, I can +always find something funny to keep me up. Don't croak any more, but +come home jolly, there's a dear." + +Jo gave her sister an encouraging pat on the shoulder as they parted for +the day, each going a different way, each hugging her little warm +turn-over, and each trying to be cheerful in spite of wintry weather, +hard work, and the unsatisfied desires of pleasure-loving youth. + +When Mr. March lost his property in trying to help an unfortunate +friend, the two oldest girls begged to be allowed to do something toward +their own support, at least. Believing that they could not begin too +early to cultivate energy, industry, and independence, their parents +consented, and both fell to work with the hearty good-will which in +spite of all obstacles, is sure to succeed at last. Margaret found a +place as nursery governess, and felt rich with her small salary. As she +said, she _was_ "fond of luxury," and her chief trouble was poverty. She +found it harder to bear than the others, because she could remember a +time when home was beautiful, life full of ease and pleasure, and want +of any kind unknown. She tried not to be envious or discontented, but it +was very natural that the young girl should long for pretty things, gay +friends, accomplishments, and a happy life. At the Kings' she daily saw +all she wanted, for the children's older sisters were just out, and Meg +caught frequent glimpses of dainty ball-dresses and bouquets, heard +lively gossip about theatres, concerts, sleighing parties, and +merry-makings of all kinds, and saw money lavished on trifles which +would have been so precious to her. Poor Meg seldom complained, but a +sense of injustice made her feel bitter toward every one sometimes, for +she had not yet learned to know how rich she was in the blessings which +alone can make life happy. + +Jo happened to suit Aunt March, who was lame, and needed an active +person to wait upon her. The childless old lady had offered to adopt one +of the girls when the troubles came, and was much offended because her +offer was declined. Other friends told the Marches that they had lost +all chance of being remembered in the rich old lady's will; but the +unworldly Marches only said,-- + +"We can't give up our girls for a dozen fortunes. Rich or poor, we will +keep together and be happy in one another." + +The old lady wouldn't speak to them for a time, but happening to meet Jo +at a friend's, something in her comical face and blunt manners struck +the old lady's fancy, and she proposed to take her for a companion. This +did not suit Jo at all; but she accepted the place since nothing better +appeared, and, to every one's surprise, got on remarkably well with her +irascible relative. There was an occasional tempest, and once Jo had +marched home, declaring she couldn't bear it any longer; but Aunt March +always cleared up quickly, and sent for her back again with such urgency +that she could not refuse, for in her heart she rather liked the peppery +old lady. + +I suspect that the real attraction was a large library of fine books, +which was left to dust and spiders since Uncle March died. Jo remembered +the kind old gentleman, who used to let her build railroads and bridges +with his big dictionaries, tell her stories about the queer pictures in +his Latin books, and buy her cards of gingerbread whenever he met her in +the street. The dim, dusty room, with the busts staring down from the +tall book-cases, the cosy chairs, the globes, and, best of all, the +wilderness of books, in which she could wander where she liked, made the +library a region of bliss to her. The moment Aunt March took her nap, or +was busy with company, Jo hurried to this quiet place, and, curling +herself up in the easy-chair, devoured poetry, romance, history, +travels, and pictures, like a regular book-worm. But, like all +happiness, it did not last long; for as sure as she had just reached the +heart of the story, the sweetest verse of the song, or the most perilous +adventure of her traveller, a shrill voice called, "Josy-phine! +Josy-phine!" and she had to leave her paradise to wind yarn, wash the +poodle, or read Belsham's Essays by the hour together. + + [Illustration: Curling herself up in the big chair] + +Jo's ambition was to do something very splendid; what it was she had no +idea, as yet, but left it for time to tell her; and, meanwhile, found +her greatest affliction in the fact that she couldn't read, run, and +ride as much as she liked. A quick temper, sharp tongue, and restless +spirit were always getting her into scrapes, and her life was a series +of ups and downs, which were both comic and pathetic. But the training +she received at Aunt March's was just what she needed; and the thought +that she was doing something to support herself made her happy, in spite +of the perpetual "Josy-phine!" + +Beth was too bashful to go to school; it had been tried, but she +suffered so much that it was given up, and she did her lessons at home, +with her father. Even when he went away, and her mother was called to +devote her skill and energy to Soldiers' Aid Societies, Beth went +faithfully on by herself, and did the best she could. She was a +housewifely little creature, and helped Hannah keep home neat and +comfortable for the workers, never thinking of any reward but to be +loved. Long, quiet days she spent, not lonely nor idle, for her little +world was peopled with imaginary friends, and she was by nature a busy +bee. There were six dolls to be taken up and dressed every morning, for +Beth was a child still, and loved her pets as well as ever. Not one +whole or handsome one among them; all were outcasts till Beth took them +in; for, when her sisters outgrew these idols, they passed to her, +because Amy would have nothing old or ugly. Beth cherished them all the +more tenderly for that very reason, and set up a hospital for infirm +dolls. No pins were ever stuck into their cotton vitals; no harsh words +or blows were ever given them; no neglect ever saddened the heart of the +most repulsive: but all were fed and clothed, nursed and caressed, with +an affection which never failed. One forlorn fragment of _dollanity_ had +belonged to Jo; and, having led a tempestuous life, was left a wreck in +the rag-bag, from which dreary poorhouse it was rescued by Beth, and +taken to her refuge. Having no top to its head, she tied on a neat +little cap, and, as both arms and legs were gone, she hid these +deficiencies by folding it in a blanket, and devoting her best bed to +this chronic invalid. If any one had known the care lavished on that +dolly, I think it would have touched their hearts, even while they +laughed. She brought it bits of bouquets; she read to it, took it out to +breathe the air, hidden under her coat; she sung it lullabys, and never +went to bed without kissing its dirty face, and whispering tenderly, "I +hope you'll have a good night, my poor dear." + +Beth had her troubles as well as the others; and not being an angel, but +a very human little girl, she often "wept a little weep," as Jo said, +because she couldn't take music lessons and have a fine piano. She loved +music so dearly, tried so hard to learn, and practised away so patiently +at the jingling old instrument, that it did seem as if some one (not to +hint Aunt March) ought to help her. Nobody did, however, and nobody saw +Beth wipe the tears off the yellow keys, that wouldn't keep in tune, +when she was all alone. She sang like a little lark about her work, +never was too tired to play for Marmee and the girls, and day after day +said hopefully to herself, "I know I'll get my music some time, if I'm +good." + +There are many Beths in the world, shy and quiet, sitting in corners +till needed, and living for others so cheerfully that no one sees the +sacrifices till the little cricket on the hearth stops chirping, and the +sweet, sunshiny presence vanishes, leaving silence and shadow behind. + +If anybody had asked Amy what the greatest trial of her life was, she +would have answered at once, "My nose." When she was a baby, Jo had +accidentally dropped her into the coal-hod, and Amy insisted that the +fall had ruined her nose forever. It was not big, nor red, like poor +"Petrea's"; it was only rather flat, and all the pinching in the world +could not give it an aristocratic point. No one minded it but herself, +and it was doing its best to grow, but Amy felt deeply the want of a +Grecian nose, and drew whole sheets of handsome ones to console herself. + +"Little Raphael," as her sisters called her, had a decided talent for +drawing, and was never so happy as when copying flowers, designing +fairies, or illustrating stories with queer specimens of art. Her +teachers complained that, instead of doing her sums, she covered her +slate with animals; the blank pages of her atlas were used to copy maps +on; and caricatures of the most ludicrous description came fluttering +out of all her books at unlucky moments. She got through her lessons as +well as she could, and managed to escape reprimands by being a model of +deportment. She was a great favorite with her mates, being +good-tempered, and possessing the happy art of pleasing without effort. +Her little airs and graces were much admired, so were her +accomplishments; for beside her drawing, she could play twelve tunes, +crochet, and read French without mispronouncing more than two thirds of +the words. She had a plaintive way of saying, "When papa was rich we did +so-and-so," which was very touching; and her long words were considered +"perfectly elegant" by the girls. + +Amy was in a fair way to be spoilt; for every one petted her, and her +small vanities and selfishnesses were growing nicely. One thing, +however, rather quenched the vanities; she had to wear her cousin's +clothes. Now Florence's mamma hadn't a particle of taste, and Amy +suffered deeply at having to wear a red instead of a blue bonnet, +unbecoming gowns, and fussy aprons that did not fit. Everything was +good, well made, and little worn; but Amy's artistic eyes were much +afflicted, especially this winter, when her school dress was a dull +purple, with yellow dots, and no trimming. + +"My only comfort," she said to Meg, with tears in her eyes, "is, that +mother don't take tucks in my dresses whenever I'm naughty, as Maria +Parks' mother does. My dear, it's really dreadful; for sometimes she is +so bad, her frock is up to her knees, and she can't come to school. When +I think of this _deggerredation_, I feel that I can bear even my flat +nose and purple gown, with yellow sky-rockets on it." + +Meg was Amy's confidant and monitor, and, by some strange attraction of +opposites, Jo was gentle Beth's. To Jo alone did the shy child tell her +thoughts; and over her big, harum-scarum sister, Beth unconsciously +exercised more influence than any one in the family. The two older girls +were a great deal to one another, but each took one of the younger into +her keeping, and watched over her in her own way; "playing mother" they +called it, and put their sisters in the places of discarded dolls, with +the maternal instinct of little women. + +"Has anybody got anything to tell? It's been such a dismal day I'm +really dying for some amusement," said Meg, as they sat sewing together +that evening. + +"I had a queer time with aunt to-day, and, as I got the best of it, I'll +tell you about it," began Jo, who dearly loved to tell stories. "I was +reading that everlasting Belsham, and droning away as I always do, for +aunt soon drops off, and then I take out some nice book, and read like +fury till she wakes up. I actually made myself sleepy; and, before she +began to nod, I gave such a gape that she asked me what I meant by +opening my mouth wide enough to take the whole book in at once. + + [Illustration: Reading that everlasting Belsham] + +"'I wish I could, and be done with it,' said I, trying not to be saucy. + +"Then she gave me a long lecture on my sins, and told me to sit and +think them over while she just 'lost' herself for a moment. She never +finds herself very soon; so the minute her cap began to bob, like a +top-heavy dahlia, I whipped the 'Vicar of Wakefield' out of my pocket, +and read away, with one eye on him, and one on aunt. I'd just got to +where they all tumbled into the water, when I forgot, and laughed out +loud. Aunt woke up; and, being more good-natured after her nap, told me +to read a bit, and show what frivolous work I preferred to the worthy +and instructive Belsham. I did my very best, and she liked it, though +she only said,-- + +"'I don't understand what it's all about. Go back and begin it, child.' + +"Back I went, and made the Primroses as interesting as ever I could. +Once I was wicked enough to stop in a thrilling place, and say meekly, +'I'm afraid it tires you, ma'am; sha'n't I stop now?' + +"She caught up her knitting, which had dropped out of her hands, gave me +a sharp look through her specs, and said, in her short way,-- + +"'Finish the chapter, and don't be impertinent, miss.'" + +"Did she own she liked it?" asked Meg. + +"Oh, bless you, no! but she let old Belsham rest; and, when I ran back +after my gloves this afternoon, there she was, so hard at the Vicar that +she didn't hear me laugh as I danced a jig in the hall, because of the +good time coming. What a pleasant life she might have, if she only +chose. I don't envy her much, in spite of her money, for after all rich +people have about as many worries as poor ones, I think," added Jo. + +"That reminds me," said Meg, "that I've got something to tell. It isn't +funny, like Jo's story, but I thought about it a good deal as I came +home. At the Kings to-day I found everybody in a flurry, and one of the +children said that her oldest brother had done something dreadful, and +papa had sent him away. I heard Mrs. King crying and Mr. King talking +very loud, and Grace and Ellen turned away their faces when they passed +me, so I shouldn't see how red their eyes were. I didn't ask any +questions, of course; but I felt so sorry for them, and was rather glad +I hadn't any wild brothers to do wicked things and disgrace the family." + +"I think being disgraced in school is a great deal try_inger_ than +anything bad boys can do," said Amy, shaking her head, as if her +experience of life had been a deep one. "Susie Perkins came to school +to-day with a lovely red carnelian ring; I wanted it dreadfully, and +wished I was her with all my might. Well, she drew a picture of Mr. +Davis, with a monstrous nose and a hump, and the words, 'Young ladies, +my eye is upon you!' coming out of his mouth in a balloon thing. We were +laughing over it, when all of a sudden his eye _was_ on us, and he +ordered Susie to bring up her slate. She was _parry_lized with fright, +but she went, and oh, what _do_ you think he did? He took her by the +ear, the ear! just fancy how horrid!--and led her to the recitation +platform, and made her stand there half an hour, holding that slate so +every one could see." + + [Illustration: He took her by the ear! by the ear!] + +"Didn't the girls laugh at the picture?" asked Jo, who relished the +scrape. + +"Laugh? Not one! They sat as still as mice; and Susie cried quarts, I +know she did. I didn't envy her then; for I felt that millions of +carnelian rings wouldn't have made me happy, after that. I never, never +should have got over such a agonizing mortification." And Amy went on +with her work, in the proud consciousness of virtue, and the successful +utterance of two long words in a breath. + +"I saw something that I liked this morning, and I meant to tell it at +dinner, but I forgot," said Beth, putting Jo's topsy-turvy basket in +order as she talked. "When I went to get some oysters for Hannah, Mr. +Laurence was in the fish-shop; but he didn't see me, for I kept behind a +barrel, and he was busy with Mr. Cutter, the fish-man. A poor woman came +in, with a pail and a mop, and asked Mr. Cutter if he would let her do +some scrubbing for a bit of fish, because she hadn't any dinner for her +children, and had been disappointed of a day's work. Mr. Cutter was in a +hurry, and said 'No,' rather crossly; so she was going away, looking +hungry and sorry, when Mr. Laurence hooked up a big fish with the +crooked end of his cane, and held it out to her. She was so glad and +surprised, she took it right in her arms, and thanked him over and over. +He told her to 'go along and cook it,' and she hurried off, so happy! +Wasn't it good of him? Oh, she did look so funny, hugging the big, +slippery fish, and hoping Mr. Laurence's bed in heaven would be 'aisy.'" + + [Illustration: Mr. Laurence hooked up a big fish] + +When they had laughed at Beth's story, they asked their mother for one; +and, after a moment's thought, she said soberly,-- + +"As I sat cutting out blue flannel jackets to-day, at the rooms, I felt +very anxious about father, and thought how lonely and helpless we should +be, if anything happened to him. It was not a wise thing to do; but I +kept on worrying, till an old man came in, with an order for some +clothes. He sat down near me, and I began to talk to him; for he looked +poor and tired and anxious. + +"'Have you sons in the army?' I asked; for the note he brought was not +to me. + +"'Yes, ma'am. I had four, but two were killed, one is a prisoner, and +I'm going to the other, who is very sick in a Washington hospital,' he +answered quietly. + +"'You have done a great deal for your country, sir,' I said, feeling +respect now, instead of pity. + +"'Not a mite more than I ought, ma'am. I'd go myself, if I was any use; +as I ain't, I give my boys, and give 'em free.' + +"He spoke so cheerfully, looked so sincere, and seemed so glad to give +his all, that I was ashamed of myself. I'd given one man, and thought it +too much, while he gave four, without grudging them. I had all my girls +to comfort me at home; and his last son was waiting, miles away, to say +'good by' to him, perhaps! I felt so rich, so happy, thinking of my +blessings, that I made him a nice bundle, gave him some money, and +thanked him heartily for the lesson he had taught me." + +"Tell another story, mother,--one with a moral to it, like this. I like +to think about them afterwards, if they are real, and not too preachy," +said Jo, after a minute's silence. + +Mrs. March smiled, and began at once; for she had told stories to this +little audience for many years, and knew how to please them. + +"Once upon a time, there were four girls, who had enough to eat and +drink and wear, a good many comforts and pleasures, kind friends and +parents, who loved them dearly, and yet they were not contented." (Here +the listeners stole sly looks at one another, and began to sew +diligently.) "These girls were anxious to be good, and made many +excellent resolutions; but they did not keep them very well, and were +constantly saying, 'If we only had this,' or 'If we could only do that,' +quite forgetting how much they already had, and how many pleasant things +they actually could do. So they asked an old woman what spell they could +use to make them happy, and she said, 'When you feel discontented, think +over your blessings, and be grateful.'" (Here Jo looked up quickly, as +if about to speak, but changed her mind, seeing that the story was not +done yet.) + +"Being sensible girls, they decided to try her advice, and soon were +surprised to see how well off they were. One discovered that money +couldn't keep shame and sorrow out of rich people's houses; another +that, though she was poor, she was a great deal happier, with her youth, +health, and good spirits, than a certain fretful, feeble old lady, who +couldn't enjoy her comforts; a third that, disagreeable as it was to +help get dinner, it was harder still to have to go begging for it; and +the fourth, that even carnelian rings were not so valuable as good +behavior. So they agreed to stop complaining, to enjoy the blessings +already possessed, and try to deserve them, lest they should be taken +away entirely, instead of increased; and I believe they were never +disappointed, or sorry that they took the old woman's advice." + +"Now, Marmee, that is very cunning of you to turn our own stories +against us, and give us a sermon instead of a romance!" cried Meg. + +"I like that kind of sermon. It's the sort father used to tell us," said +Beth thoughtfully, putting the needles straight on Jo's cushion. + +"I don't complain near as much as the others do, and I shall be more +careful than ever now; for I've had warning from Susie's downfall," said +Amy morally. + +"We needed that lesson, and we won't forget it. If we do, you just say +to us, as old Chloe did in 'Uncle Tom,' 'Tink ob yer marcies, chillen! +tink ob yer marcies!'" added Jo, who could not, for the life of her, +help getting a morsel of fun out of the little sermon, though she took +it to heart as much as any of them. + + [Illustration: Tail-piece] + + + + + V. + + BEING NEIGHBORLY. + + + [Illustration: Being neighborly] + +"What in the world are you going to do now, Jo?" asked Meg, one snowy +afternoon, as her sister came tramping through the hall, in rubber +boots, old sack and hood, with a broom in one hand and a shovel in the +other. + +"Going out for exercise," answered Jo, with a mischievous twinkle in her +eyes. + +"I should think two long walks this morning would have been enough! It's +cold and dull out; and I advise you to stay, warm and dry, by the fire, +as I do," said Meg, with a shiver. + +"Never take advice! Can't keep still all day, and, not being a pussycat, +I don't like to doze by the fire. I like adventures, and I'm going to +find some." + +Meg went back to toast her feet and read "Ivanhoe"; and Jo began to dig +paths with great energy. The snow was light, and with her broom she soon +swept a path all round the garden, for Beth to walk in when the sun came +out; and the invalid dolls needed air. Now, the garden separated the +Marches' house from that of Mr. Laurence. Both stood in a suburb of the +city, which was still country-like, with groves and lawns, large +gardens, and quiet streets. A low hedge parted the two estates. On one +side was an old, brown house, looking rather bare and shabby, robbed of +the vines that in summer covered its walls, and the flowers which then +surrounded it. On the other side was a stately stone mansion, plainly +betokening every sort of comfort and luxury, from the big coach-house +and well-kept grounds to the conservatory and the glimpses of lovely +things one caught between the rich curtains. Yet it seemed a lonely, +lifeless sort of house; for no children frolicked on the lawn, no +motherly face ever smiled at the windows, and few people went in and +out, except the old gentleman and his grandson. + +To Jo's lively fancy, this fine house seemed a kind of enchanted palace, +full of splendors and delights, which no one enjoyed. She had long +wanted to behold these hidden glories, and to know the "Laurence boy," +who looked as if he would like to be known, if he only knew how to +begin. Since the party, she had been more eager than ever, and had +planned many ways of making friends with him; but he had not been seen +lately, and Jo began to think he had gone away, when she one day spied a +brown face at an upper window, looking wistfully down into their garden, +where Beth and Amy were snow-balling one another. + +"That boy is suffering for society and fun," she said to herself. "His +grandpa does not know what's good for him, and keeps him shut up all +alone. He needs a party of jolly boys to play with, or somebody young +and lively. I've a great mind to go over and tell the old gentleman so!" + +The idea amused Jo, who liked to do daring things, and was always +scandalizing Meg by her queer performances. The plan of "going over" was +not forgotten; and when the snowy afternoon came, Jo resolved to try +what could be done. She saw Mr. Laurence drive off, and then sallied out +to dig her way down to the hedge, where she paused, and took a survey. +All quiet,--curtains down at the lower windows; servants out of sight, +and nothing human visible but a curly black head leaning on a thin hand +at the upper window. + +"There he is," thought Jo, "poor boy! all alone and sick this dismal +day. It's a shame! I'll toss up a snow-ball, and make him look out, and +then say a kind word to him." + +Up went a handful of soft snow, and the head turned at once, showing a +face which lost its listless look in a minute, as the big eyes +brightened and the mouth began to smile. Jo nodded and laughed, and +flourished her broom as she called out,-- + +"How do you do? Are you sick?" + + [Illustration: Laurie opened the window] + +Laurie opened the window, and croaked out as hoarsely as a raven,-- + +"Better, thank you. I've had a bad cold, and been shut up a week." + +"I'm sorry. What do you amuse yourself with?" + +"Nothing; it's as dull as tombs up here." + +"Don't you read?" + +"Not much; they won't let me." + +"Can't somebody read to you?" + +"Grandpa does, sometimes; but my books don't interest him, and I hate to +ask Brooke all the time." + +"Have some one come and see you, then." + +"There isn't any one I'd like to see. Boys make such a row, and my head +is weak." + +"Isn't there some nice girl who'd read and amuse you? Girls are quiet, +and like to play nurse." + +"Don't know any." + +"You know us," began Jo, then laughed, and stopped. + +"So I do! Will you come, please?" cried Laurie. + +"I'm not quiet and nice; but I'll come, if mother will let me. I'll go +ask her. Shut that window, like a good boy, and wait till I come." + +With that, Jo shouldered her broom and marched into the house, wondering +what they would all say to her. Laurie was in a flutter of excitement at +the idea of having company, and flew about to get ready; for, as Mrs. +March said, he was "a little gentleman," and did honor to the coming +guest by brushing his curly pate, putting on a fresh collar, and trying +to tidy up the room, which, in spite of half a dozen servants, was +anything but neat. Presently there came a loud ring, then a decided +voice, asking for "Mr. Laurie," and a surprised-looking servant came +running up to announce a young lady. + +"All right, show her up, it's Miss Jo," said Laurie, going to the door +of his little parlor to meet Jo, who appeared, looking rosy and kind and +quite at her ease, with a covered dish in one hand and Beth's three +kittens in the other. + +"Here I am, bag and baggage," she said briskly. "Mother sent her love, +and was glad if I could do anything for you. Meg wanted me to bring some +of her blanc-mange; she makes it very nicely, and Beth thought her cats +would be comforting. I knew you'd laugh at them, but I couldn't refuse, +she was so anxious to do something." + +It so happened that Beth's funny loan was just the thing; for, in +laughing over the kits, Laurie forgot his bashfulness, and grew sociable +at once. + +"That looks too pretty to eat," he said, smiling with pleasure, as Jo +uncovered the dish, and showed the blanc-mange, surrounded by a garland +of green leaves, and the scarlet flowers of Amy's pet geranium. + +"It isn't anything, only they all felt kindly, and wanted to show it. +Tell the girl to put it away for your tea: it's so simple, you can eat +it; and, being soft, it will slip down without hurting your sore throat. +What a cosy room this is!" + +"It might be if it was kept nice; but the maids are lazy, and I don't +know how to make them mind. It worries me, though." + +"I'll right it up in two minutes; for it only needs to have the hearth +brushed, so,--and the things made straight on the mantel-piece so,--and +the books put here, and the bottles there, and your sofa turned from the +light, and the pillows plumped up a bit. Now, then, you're fixed." + +And so he was; for, as she laughed and talked, Jo had whisked things +into place, and given quite a different air to the room. Laurie watched +her in respectful silence; and when she beckoned him to his sofa, he sat +down with a sigh of satisfaction, saying gratefully,-- + +"How kind you are! Yes, that's what it wanted. Now please take the big +chair, and let me do something to amuse my company." + +"No; I came to amuse you. Shall I read aloud?" and Jo looked +affectionately toward some inviting books near by. + +"Thank you; I've read all those, and if you don't mind, I'd rather +talk," answered Laurie. + +"Not a bit; I'll talk all day if you'll only set me going. Beth says I +never know when to stop." + +"Is Beth the rosy one, who stays at home a good deal, and sometimes goes +out with a little basket?" asked Laurie, with interest. + +"Yes, that's Beth; she's my girl, and a regular good one she is, too." + +"The pretty one is Meg, and the curly-haired one is Amy, I believe?" + +"How did you find that out?" + +Laurie colored up, but answered frankly, "Why, you see, I often hear you +calling to one another, and when I'm alone up here, I can't help looking +over at your house, you always seem to be having such good times. I beg +your pardon for being so rude, but sometimes you forget to put down the +curtain at the window where the flowers are; and when the lamps are +lighted, it's like looking at a picture to see the fire, and you all +round the table with your mother; her face is right opposite, and it +looks so sweet behind the flowers, I can't help watching it. I haven't +got any mother, you know;" and Laurie poked the fire to hide a little +twitching of the lips that he could not control. + +The solitary, hungry look in his eyes went straight to Jo's warm heart. +She had been so simply taught that there was no nonsense in her head, +and at fifteen she was as innocent and frank as any child. Laurie was +sick and lonely; and, feeling how rich she was in home-love and +happiness, she gladly tried to share it with him. Her face was very +friendly and her sharp voice unusually gentle as she said,-- + +"We'll never draw that curtain any more, and I give you leave to look as +much as you like. I just wish, though, instead of peeping, you'd come +over and see us. Mother is so splendid, she'd do you heaps of good, and +Beth would sing to you if _I_ begged her to, and Amy would dance; Meg +and I would make you laugh over our funny stage properties, and we'd +have jolly times. Wouldn't your grandpa let you?" + +"I think he would, if your mother asked him. He's very kind, though he +does not look so; and he lets me do what I like, pretty much, only he's +afraid I might be a bother to strangers," began Laurie, brightening more +and more. + +"We are not strangers, we are neighbors, and you needn't think you'd be +a bother. We _want_ to know you, and I've been trying to do it this ever +so long. We haven't been here a great while, you know, but we have got +acquainted with all our neighbors but you." + +"You see grandpa lives among his books, and doesn't mind much what +happens outside. Mr. Brooke, my tutor, doesn't stay here, you know, and +I have no one to go about with me, so I just stop at home and get on as +I can." + +"That's bad. You ought to make an effort, and go visiting everywhere you +are asked; then you'll have plenty of friends, and pleasant places to go +to. Never mind being bashful; it won't last long if you keep going." + +Laurie turned red again, but wasn't offended at being accused of +bashfulness; for there was so much good-will in Jo, it was impossible +not to take her blunt speeches as kindly as they were meant. + +"Do you like your school?" asked the boy, changing the subject, after a +little pause, during which he stared at the fire, and Jo looked about +her, well pleased. + +"Don't go to school; I'm a business man--girl, I mean. I go to wait on +my great-aunt, and a dear, cross old soul she is, too," answered Jo. + +Laurie opened his mouth to ask another question; but remembering just in +time that it wasn't manners to make too many inquiries into people's +affairs, he shut it again, and looked uncomfortable. Jo liked his good +breeding, and didn't mind having a laugh at Aunt March, so she gave him +a lively description of the fidgety old lady, her fat poodle, the parrot +that talked Spanish, and the library where she revelled. Laurie enjoyed +that immensely; and when she told about the prim old gentleman who came +once to woo Aunt March, and, in the middle of a fine speech, how Poll +had tweaked his wig off to his great dismay, the boy lay back and +laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks, and a maid popped her head +in to see what was the matter. + + [Illustration: Poll tweaked off his wig] + +"Oh! that does me no end of good. Tell on, please," he said, taking his +face out of the sofa-cushion, red and shining with merriment. + +Much elated with her success, Jo did "tell on," all about their plays +and plans, their hopes and fears for father, and the most interesting +events of the little world in which the sisters lived. Then they got to +talking about books; and to Jo's delight, she found that Laurie loved +them as well as she did, and had read even more than herself. + +"If you like them so much, come down and see ours. Grandpa is out, so +you needn't be afraid," said Laurie, getting up. + +"I'm not afraid of anything," returned Jo, with a toss of the head. + +"I don't believe you are!" exclaimed the boy, looking at her with much +admiration, though he privately thought she would have good reason to be +a trifle afraid of the old gentleman, if she met him in some of his +moods. + +The atmosphere of the whole house being summer-like, Laurie led the way +from room to room, letting Jo stop to examine whatever struck her fancy; +and so at last they came to the library, where she clapped her hands, +and pranced, as she always did when especially delighted. It was lined +with books, and there were pictures and statues, and distracting little +cabinets full of coins and curiosities, and sleepy-hollow chairs, and +queer tables, and bronzes; and, best of all, a great open fireplace, +with quaint tiles all round it. + +"What richness!" sighed Jo, sinking into the depth of a velvet chair, +and gazing about her with an air of intense satisfaction. "Theodore +Laurence, you ought to be the happiest boy in the world," she added +impressively. + +"A fellow can't live on books," said Laurie, shaking his head, as he +perched on a table opposite. + +Before he could say more, a bell rung, and Jo flew up, exclaiming with +alarm, "Mercy me! it's your grandpa!" + +"Well, what if it is? You are not afraid of anything, you know," +returned the boy, looking wicked. + +"I think I am a little bit afraid of him, but I don't know why I should +be. Marmee said I might come, and I don't think you're any the worse for +it," said Jo, composing herself, though she kept her eyes on the door. + +"I'm a great deal better for it, and ever so much obliged. I'm only +afraid you are very tired talking to me; it was _so_ pleasant, I +couldn't bear to stop," said Laurie gratefully. + +"The doctor to see you, sir," and the maid beckoned as she spoke. + +"Would you mind if I left you for a minute? I suppose I must see him," +said Laurie. + +"Don't mind me. I'm as happy as a cricket here," answered Jo. + +Laurie went away, and his guest amused herself in her own way. She was +standing before a fine portrait of the old gentleman, when the door +opened again, and, without turning, she said decidedly, "I'm sure now +that I shouldn't be afraid of him, for he's got kind eyes, though his +mouth is grim, and he looks as if he had a tremendous will of his own. +He isn't as handsome as _my_ grandfather, but I like him." + +"Thank you, ma'am," said a gruff voice behind her; and there, to her +great dismay, stood old Mr. Laurence. + +Poor Jo blushed till she couldn't blush any redder, and her heart began +to beat uncomfortably fast as she thought what she had said. For a +minute a wild desire to run away possessed her; but that was cowardly, +and the girls would laugh at her: so she resolved to stay, and get out +of the scrape as she could. A second look showed her that the living +eyes, under the bushy gray eyebrows, were kinder even than the painted +ones; and there was a sly twinkle in them, which lessened her fear a +good deal. The gruff voice was gruffer than ever, as the old gentleman +said abruptly, after that dreadful pause, "So you're not afraid of me, +hey?" + +"Not much, sir." + +"And you don't think me as handsome as your grandfather?" + +"Not quite, sir." + +"And I've got a tremendous will, have I?" + +"I only said I thought so." + +"But you like me, in spite of it?" + +"Yes, I do, sir." + +That answer pleased the old gentleman; he gave a short laugh, shook +hands with her, and, putting his finger under her chin, turned up her +face, examined it gravely, and let it go, saying, with a nod, "You've +got your grandfather's spirit, if you haven't his face. He _was_ a fine +man, my dear; but, what is better, he was a brave and an honest one, and +I was proud to be his friend." + + [Illustration: Putting his finger under her chin] + +"Thank you, sir;" and Jo was quite comfortable after that, for it suited +her exactly. + +"What have you been doing to this boy of mine, hey?" was the next +question, sharply put. + +"Only trying to be neighborly, sir;" and Jo told how her visit came +about. + +"You think he needs cheering up a bit, do you?" + +"Yes, sir; he seems a little lonely, and young folks would do him good +perhaps. We are only girls, but we should be glad to help if we could, +for we don't forget the splendid Christmas present you sent us," said Jo +eagerly. + +"Tut, tut, tut! that was the boy's affair. How is the poor woman?" + +"Doing nicely, sir;" and off went Jo, talking very fast, as she told all +about the Hummels, in whom her mother had interested richer friends than +they were. + +"Just her father's way of doing good. I shall come and see your mother +some fine day. Tell her so. There's the tea-bell; we have it early, on +the boy's account. Come down, and go on being neighborly." + +"If you'd like to have me, sir." + +"Shouldn't ask you, if I didn't;" and Mr. Laurence offered her his arm +with old-fashioned courtesy. + +"What _would_ Meg say to this?" thought Jo, as she was marched away, +while her eyes danced with fun as she imagined herself telling the story +at home. + +"Hey! Why, what the dickens has come to the fellow?" said the old +gentleman, as Laurie came running down stairs, and brought up with a +start of surprise at the astonishing sight of Jo arm-in-arm with his +redoubtable grandfather. + +"I didn't know you'd come, sir," he began, as Jo gave him a triumphant +little glance. + +"That's evident, by the way you racket down stairs. Come to your tea, +sir, and behave like a gentleman;" and having pulled the boy's hair by +way of a caress, Mr. Laurence walked on, while Laurie went through a +series of comic evolutions behind their backs, which nearly produced an +explosion of laughter from Jo. + +The old gentleman did not say much as he drank his four cups of tea, but +he watched the young people, who soon chatted away like old friends, and +the change in his grandson did not escape him. There was color, light, +and life in the boy's face now, vivacity in his manner, and genuine +merriment in his laugh. + +"She's right; the lad _is_ lonely. I'll see what these little girls can +do for him," thought Mr. Laurence, as he looked and listened. He liked +Jo, for her odd, blunt ways suited him; and she seemed to understand the +boy almost as well as if she had been one herself. + +If the Laurences had been what Jo called "prim and poky," she would not +have got on at all, for such people always made her shy and awkward; but +finding them free and easy, she was so herself, and made a good +impression. When they rose she proposed to go, but Laurie said he had +something more to show her, and took her away to the conservatory, which +had been lighted for her benefit. It seemed quite fairylike to Jo, as +she went up and down the walks, enjoying the blooming walls on either +side, the soft light, the damp sweet air, and the wonderful vines and +trees that hung above her,--while her new friend cut the finest flowers +till his hands were full; then he tied them up, saying, with the happy +look Jo liked to see, "Please give these to your mother, and tell her I +like the medicine she sent me very much." + + [Illustration: Please give these to your mother] + +They found Mr. Laurence standing before the fire in the great +drawing-room, but Jo's attention was entirely absorbed by a grand piano, +which stood open. + +"Do you play?" she asked, turning to Laurie with a respectful +expression. + +"Sometimes," he answered modestly. + +"Please do now. I want to hear it, so I can tell Beth." + +"Won't you first?" + +"Don't know how; too stupid to learn, but I love music dearly." + +So Laurie played, and Jo listened, with her nose luxuriously buried in +heliotrope and tea-roses. Her respect and regard for the "Laurence boy" +increased very much, for he played remarkably well, and didn't put on +any airs. She wished Beth could hear him, but she did not say so; only +praised him till he was quite abashed, and his grandfather came to the +rescue. "That will do, that will do, young lady. Too many sugar-plums +are not good for him. His music isn't bad, but I hope he will do as well +in more important things. Going? Well, I'm much obliged to you, and I +hope you'll come again. My respects to your mother. Good-night, Doctor +Jo." + +He shook hands kindly, but looked as if something did not please him. +When they got into the hall, Jo asked Laurie if she had said anything +amiss. He shook his head. + +"No, it was me; he doesn't like to hear me play." + +"Why not?" + +"I'll tell you some day. John is going home with you, as I can't." + +"No need of that; I am not a young lady, and it's only a step. Take care +of yourself, won't you?" + +"Yes; but you will come again, I hope?" + +"If you promise to come and see us after you are well." + +"I will." + +"Good-night, Laurie!" + +"Good-night, Jo, good-night!" + +When all the afternoon's adventures had been told, the family felt +inclined to go visiting in a body, for each found something very +attractive in the big house on the other side of the hedge. Mrs. March +wanted to talk of her father with the old man who had not forgotten him; +Meg longed to walk in the conservatory; Beth sighed for the grand piano; +and Amy was eager to see the fine pictures and statues. + +"Mother, why didn't Mr. Laurence like to have Laurie play?" asked Jo, +who was of an inquiring disposition. + +"I am not sure, but I think it was because his son, Laurie's father, +married an Italian lady, a musician, which displeased the old man, who +is very proud. The lady was good and lovely and accomplished, but he did +not like her, and never saw his son after he married. They both died +when Laurie was a little child, and then his grandfather took him home. +I fancy the boy, who was born in Italy, is not very strong, and the old +man is afraid of losing him, which makes him so careful. Laurie comes +naturally by his love of music, for he is like his mother, and I dare +say his grandfather fears that he may want to be a musician; at any +rate, his skill reminds him of the woman he did not like, and so he +'glowered,' as Jo said." + +"Dear me, how romantic!" exclaimed Meg. + +"How silly!" said Jo. "Let him be a musician, if he wants to, and not +plague his life out sending him to college, when he hates to go." + +"That's why he has such handsome black eyes and pretty manners, I +suppose. Italians are always nice," said Meg, who was a little +sentimental. + +"What do you know about his eyes and his manners? You never spoke to +him, hardly," cried Jo, who was _not_ sentimental. + +"I saw him at the party, and what you tell shows that he knows how to +behave. That was a nice little speech about the medicine mother sent +him." + +"He meant the blanc-mange, I suppose." + +"How stupid you are, child! He meant you, of course." + +"Did he?" and Jo opened her eyes as if it had never occurred to her +before. + +"I never saw such a girl! You don't know a compliment when you get it," +said Meg, with the air of a young lady who knew all about the matter. + +"I think they are great nonsense, and I'll thank you not to be silly, +and spoil my fun. Laurie's a nice boy, and I like him, and I won't have +any sentimental stuff about compliments and such rubbish. We'll all be +good to him, because he hasn't got any mother, and he _may_ come over +and see us, mayn't he, Marmee?" + +"Yes, Jo, your little friend is very welcome, and I hope Meg will +remember that children should be children as long as they can." + +"I don't call myself a child, and I'm not in my teens yet," observed +Amy. "What do you say, Beth?" + +"I was thinking about our 'Pilgrim's Progress,'" answered Beth, who had +not heard a word. "How we got out of the Slough and through the Wicket +Gate by resolving to be good, and up the steep hill by trying; and that +maybe the house over there, full of splendid things, is going to be our +Palace Beautiful." + +"We have got to get by the lions, first," said Jo, as if she rather +liked the prospect. + + [Illustration: Tail-piece] + + + + + VI. + + BETH FINDS THE PALACE BEAUTIFUL. + + +The big house did prove a Palace Beautiful, though it took some time for +all to get in, and Beth found it very hard to pass the lions. Old Mr. +Laurence was the biggest one; but after he had called, said something +funny or kind to each one of the girls, and talked over old times with +their mother, nobody felt much afraid of him, except timid Beth. The +other lion was the fact that they were poor and Laurie rich; for this +made them shy of accepting favors which they could not return. But, +after a while, they found that he considered them the benefactors, and +could not do enough to show how grateful he was for Mrs. March's +motherly welcome, their cheerful society, and the comfort he took in +that humble home of theirs. So they soon forgot their pride, and +interchanged kindnesses without stopping to think which was the greater. + +All sorts of pleasant things happened about that time; for the new +friendship flourished like grass in spring. Every one liked Laurie, and +he privately informed his tutor that "the Marches were regularly +splendid girls." With the delightful enthusiasm of youth, they took the +solitary boy into their midst, and made much of him, and he found +something very charming in the innocent companionship of these +simple-hearted girls. Never having known mother or sisters, he was quick +to feel the influences they brought about him; and their busy, lively +ways made him ashamed of the indolent life he led. He was tired of +books, and found people so interesting now that Mr. Brooke was obliged +to make very unsatisfactory reports; for Laurie was always playing +truant, and running over to the Marches. + +"Never mind; let him take a holiday, and make it up afterwards," said +the old gentleman. "The good lady next door says he is studying too +hard, and needs young society, amusement, and exercise. I suspect she is +right, and that I've been coddling the fellow as if I'd been his +grandmother. Let him do what he likes, as long as he is happy. He can't +get into mischief in that little nunnery over there; and Mrs. March is +doing more for him than we can." + +What good times they had, to be sure! Such plays and tableaux, such +sleigh-rides and skating frolics, such pleasant evenings in the old +parlor, and now and then such gay little parties at the great house. Meg +could walk in the conservatory whenever she liked, and revel in +bouquets; Jo browsed over the new library voraciously, and convulsed the +old gentleman with her criticisms; Amy copied pictures, and enjoyed +beauty to her heart's content; and Laurie played "lord of the manor" in +the most delightful style. + +But Beth, though yearning for the grand piano, could not pluck up +courage to go to the "Mansion of Bliss," as Meg called it. She went once +with Jo; but the old gentleman, not being aware of her infirmity, stared +at her so hard from under his heavy eyebrows, and said "Hey!" so loud, +that he frightened her so much her "feet chattered on the floor," she +told her mother; and she ran away, declaring she would never go there +any more, not even for the dear piano. No persuasions or enticements +could overcome her fear, till, the fact coming to Mr. Laurence's ear in +some mysterious way, he set about mending matters. During one of the +brief calls he made, he artfully led the conversation to music, and +talked away about great singers whom he had seen, fine organs he had +heard, and told such charming anecdotes that Beth found it impossible to +stay in her distant corner, but crept nearer and nearer, as if +fascinated. At the back of his chair she stopped, and stood listening, +with her great eyes wide open, and her cheeks red with the excitement of +this unusual performance. Taking no more notice of her than if she had +been a fly, Mr. Laurence talked on about Laurie's lessons and teachers; +and presently, as if the idea had just occurred to him, he said to Mrs. +March,-- + +"The boy neglects his music now, and I'm glad of it, for he was getting +too fond of it. But the piano suffers for want of use. Wouldn't some of +your girls like to run over, and practise on it now and then, just to +keep it in tune, you know, ma'am?" + +Beth took a step forward, and pressed her hands tightly together to keep +from clapping them, for this was an irresistible temptation; and the +thought of practising on that splendid instrument quite took her breath +away. Before Mrs. March could reply, Mr. Laurence went on with an odd +little nod and smile,-- + +"They needn't see or speak to any one, but run in at any time; for I'm +shut up in my study at the other end of the house, Laurie is out a great +deal, and the servants are never near the drawing-room after nine +o'clock." + +Here he rose, as if going, and Beth made up her mind to speak, for that +last arrangement left nothing to be desired. "Please tell the young +ladies what I say; and if they don't care to come, why, never mind." +Here a little hand slipped into his, and Beth looked up at him with a +face full of gratitude, as she said, in her earnest yet timid way,-- + +"O sir, they do care, very, very much!" + + [Illustration: O sir, they do care very much] + +"Are you the musical girl?" he asked, without any startling "Hey!" as he +looked down at her very kindly. + +"I'm Beth. I love it dearly, and I'll come, if you are quite sure nobody +will hear me--and be disturbed," she added, fearing to be rude, and +trembling at her own boldness as she spoke. + +"Not a soul, my dear. The house is empty half the day; so come, and drum +away as much as you like, and I shall be obliged to you." + +"How kind you are, sir!" + +Beth blushed like a rose under the friendly look he wore; but she was +not frightened now, and gave the big hand a grateful squeeze, because +she had no words to thank him for the precious gift he had given her. +The old gentleman softly stroked the hair off her forehead, and, +stooping down, he kissed her, saying, in a tone few people ever heard,-- + +"I had a little girl once, with eyes like these. God bless you, my dear! +Good day, madam;" and away he went, in a great hurry. + +Beth had a rapture with her mother, and then rushed up to impart the +glorious news to her family of invalids, as the girls were not at home. +How blithely she sung that evening, and how they all laughed at her, +because she woke Amy in the night by playing the piano on her face in +her sleep. Next day, having seen both the old and young gentleman out of +the house, Beth, after two or three retreats, fairly got in at the +side-door, and made her way, as noiselessly as any mouse, to the +drawing-room, where her idol stood. Quite by accident, of course, some +pretty, easy music lay on the piano; and, with trembling fingers, and +frequent stops to listen and look about, Beth at last touched the great +instrument, and straightway forgot her fear, herself, and everything +else but the unspeakable delight which the music gave her, for it was +like the voice of a beloved friend. + +She stayed till Hannah came to take her home to dinner; but she had no +appetite, and could only sit and smile upon every one in a general state +of beatitude. + +After that, the little brown hood slipped through the hedge nearly every +day, and the great drawing-room was haunted by a tuneful spirit that +came and went unseen. She never knew that Mr. Laurence often opened his +study-door to hear the old-fashioned airs he liked; she never saw Laurie +mount guard in the hall to warn the servants away; she never suspected +that the exercise-books and new songs which she found in the rack were +put there for her especial benefit; and when he talked to her about +music at home, she only thought how kind he was to tell things that +helped her so much. So she enjoyed herself heartily, and found, what +isn't always the case, that her granted wish was all she had hoped. +Perhaps it was because she was so grateful for this blessing that a +greater was given her; at any rate, she deserved both. + + [Illustration: Mr. Laurence often opened his study door] + +"Mother, I'm going to work Mr. Laurence a pair of slippers. He is so +kind to me, I must thank him, and I don't know any other way. Can I do +it?" asked Beth, a few weeks after that eventful call of his. + +"Yes, dear. It will please him very much, and be a nice way of thanking +him. The girls will help you about them, and I will pay for the making +up," replied Mrs. March, who took peculiar pleasure in granting Beth's +requests, because she so seldom asked anything for herself. + +After many serious discussions with Meg and Jo, the pattern was chosen, +the materials bought, and the slippers begun. A cluster of grave yet +cheerful pansies, on a deeper purple ground, was pronounced very +appropriate and pretty; and Beth worked away early and late, with +occasional lifts over hard parts. She was a nimble little needle-woman, +and they were finished before any one got tired of them. Then she wrote +a very short, simple note, and, with Laurie's help, got them smuggled on +to the study-table one morning before the old gentleman was up. + +When this excitement was over, Beth waited to see what would happen. All +that day passed, and a part of the next, before any acknowledgment +arrived, and she was beginning to fear she had offended her crotchety +friend. On the afternoon of the second day, she went out to do an +errand, and give poor Joanna, the invalid doll, her daily exercise. As +she came up the street, on her return, she saw three, yes, four, heads +popping in and out of the parlor windows, and the moment they saw her, +several hands were waved, and several joyful voices screamed,-- + +"Here's a letter from the old gentleman! Come quick, and read it!" + +"O Beth, he's sent you--" began Amy, gesticulating with unseemly energy; +but she got no further, for Jo quenched her by slamming down the window. + +Beth hurried on in a flutter of suspense. At the door, her sisters +seized and bore her to the parlor in a triumphal procession, all +pointing, and all saying at once, "Look there! look there!" Beth did +look, and turned pale with delight and surprise; for there stood a +little cabinet-piano, with a letter lying on the glossy lid, directed, +like a sign-board, to "Miss Elizabeth March." + +"For me?" gasped Beth, holding on to Jo, and feeling as if she should +tumble down, it was such an overwhelming thing altogether. + +"Yes; all for you, my precious! Isn't it splendid of him? Don't you +think he's the dearest old man in the world? Here's the key in the +letter. We didn't open it, but we are dying to know what he says," cried +Jo, hugging her sister, and offering the note. + +"You read it! I can't, I feel so queer! Oh, it is too lovely!" and Beth +hid her face in Jo's apron, quite upset by her present. + +Jo opened the paper, and began to laugh, for the first words she saw +were,-- + + "MISS MARCH: + + "_Dear Madam_,--" + +"How nice it sounds! I wish some one would write to me so!" said Amy, +who thought the old-fashioned address very elegant. + + "'I have had many pairs of slippers in my life, but I never had + any that suited me so well as yours,'" continued Jo. + "'Heart's-ease is my favorite flower, and these will always + remind me of the gentle giver. I like to pay my debts; so I + know you will allow "the old gentleman" to send you something + which once belonged to the little granddaughter he lost. With + hearty thanks and best wishes, I remain, + + "'Your grateful friend and humble servant, + + "'JAMES LAURENCE.'" + +"There, Beth, that's an honor to be proud of, I'm sure! Laurie told me +how fond Mr. Laurence used to be of the child who died, and how he kept +all her little things carefully. Just think, he's given you her piano. +That comes of having big blue eyes and loving music," said Jo, trying to +soothe Beth, who trembled, and looked more excited than she had ever +been before. + +"See the cunning brackets to hold candles, and the nice green silk, +puckered up, with a gold rose in the middle, and the pretty rack and +stool, all complete," added Meg, opening the instrument and displaying +its beauties. + +"'Your humble servant, James Laurence'; only think of his writing that +to you. I'll tell the girls. They'll think it's splendid," said Amy, +much impressed by the note. + +"Try it, honey. Let's hear the sound of the baby-pianny," said Hannah, +who always took a share in the family joys and sorrows. + +So Beth tried it; and every one pronounced it the most remarkable piano +ever heard. It had evidently been newly tuned and put in apple-pie +order; but, perfect as it was, I think the real charm of it lay in the +happiest of all happy faces which leaned over it, as Beth lovingly +touched the beautiful black and white keys and pressed the bright +pedals. + +"You'll have to go and thank him," said Jo, by way of a joke; for the +idea of the child's really going never entered her head. + +"Yes, I mean to. I guess I'll go now, before I get frightened thinking +about it." And, to the utter amazement of the assembled family, Beth +walked deliberately down the garden, through the hedge, and in at the +Laurences' door. + +"Well, I wish I may die if it ain't the queerest thing I ever see! The +pianny has turned her head! She'd never have gone in her right mind," +cried Hannah, staring after her, while the girls were rendered quite +speechless by the miracle. + +They would have been still more amazed if they had seen what Beth did +afterward. If you will believe me, she went and knocked at the +study-door before she gave herself time to think; and when a gruff voice +called out, "Come in!" she did go in, right up to Mr. Laurence, who +looked quite taken aback, and held out her hand, saying, with only a +small quaver in her voice, "I came to thank you, sir, for--" But she +didn't finish; for he looked so friendly that she forgot her speech, +and, only remembering that he had lost the little girl he loved, she put +both arms round his neck, and kissed him. + + [Illustration: She put both arms around his neck and kissed him] + +If the roof of the house had suddenly flown off, the old gentleman +wouldn't have been more astonished; but he liked it,--oh, dear, yes, he +liked it amazingly!--and was so touched and pleased by that confiding +little kiss that all his crustiness vanished; and he just set her on his +knee, and laid his wrinkled cheek against her rosy one, feeling as if he +had got his own little granddaughter back again. Beth ceased to fear him +from that moment, and sat there talking to him as cosily as if she had +known him all her life; for love casts out fear, and gratitude can +conquer pride. When she went home, he walked with her to her own gate, +shook hands cordially, and touched his hat as he marched back again, +looking very stately and erect, like a handsome, soldierly old +gentleman, as he was. + +When the girls saw that performance, Jo began to dance a jig, by way of +expressing her satisfaction; Amy nearly fell out of the window in her +surprise; and Meg exclaimed, with uplifted hands, "Well, I do believe +the world is coming to an end!" + + + + + VII. + + AMY'S VALLEY OF HUMILIATION. + + + [Illustration: The Cyclops] + +"That boy is a perfect Cyclops, isn't he?" said Amy, one day, as Laurie +clattered by on horseback, with a flourish of his whip as he passed. + +"How dare you say so, when he's got both his eyes? and very handsome +ones they are, too," cried Jo, who resented any slighting remarks about +her friend. + +"I didn't say anything about his eyes, and I don't see why you need fire +up when I admire his riding." + +"Oh, my goodness! that little goose means a centaur, and she called him +a Cyclops," exclaimed Jo, with a burst of laughter. + +"You needn't be so rude; it's only a 'lapse of lingy,' as Mr. Davis +says," retorted Amy, finishing Jo with her Latin. "I just wish I had a +little of the money Laurie spends on that horse," she added, as if to +herself, yet hoping her sisters would hear. + +"Why?" asked Meg kindly, for Jo had gone off in another laugh at Amy's +second blunder. + +"I need it so much; I'm dreadfully in debt, and it won't be my turn to +have the rag-money for a month." + +"In debt, Amy? What do you mean?" and Meg looked sober. + +"Why, I owe at least a dozen pickled limes, and I can't pay them, you +know, till I have money, for Marmee forbade my having anything charged +at the shop." + +"Tell me all about it. Are limes the fashion now? It used to be pricking +bits of rubber to make balls;" and Meg tried to keep her countenance, +Amy looked so grave and important. + +"Why, you see, the girls are always buying them, and unless you want to +be thought mean, you must do it, too. It's nothing but limes now, for +every one is sucking them in their desks in school-time, and trading +them off for pencils, bead-rings, paper dolls, or something else, at +recess. If one girl likes another, she gives her a lime; if she's mad +with her, she eats one before her face, and don't offer even a suck. +They treat by turns; and I've had ever so many, but haven't returned +them; and I ought, for they are debts of honor, you know." + +"How much will pay them off, and restore your credit?" asked Meg, taking +out her purse. + +"A quarter would more than do it, and leave a few cents over for a treat +for you. Don't you like limes?" + +"Not much; you may have my share. Here's the money. Make it last as long +as you can, for it isn't very plenty, you know." + +"Oh, thank you! It must be so nice to have pocket-money! I'll have a +grand feast, for I haven't tasted a lime this week. I felt delicate +about taking any, as I couldn't return them, and I'm actually suffering +for one." + +Next day Amy was rather late at school; but could not resist the +temptation of displaying, with pardonable pride, a moist brown-paper +parcel, before she consigned it to the inmost recesses of her desk. +During the next few minutes the rumor that Amy March had got twenty-four +delicious limes (she ate one on the way), and was going to treat, +circulated through her "set," and the attentions of her friends became +quite overwhelming. Katy Brown invited her to her next party on the +spot; Mary Kingsley insisted on lending her her watch till recess; and +Jenny Snow, a satirical young lady, who had basely twitted Amy upon her +limeless state, promptly buried the hatchet, and offered to furnish +answers to certain appalling sums. But Amy had not forgotten Miss Snow's +cutting remarks about "some persons whose noses were not too flat to +smell other people's limes, and stuck-up people, who were not too proud +to ask for them;" and she instantly crushed "that Snow girl's" hopes by +the withering telegram, "You needn't be so polite all of a sudden, for +you won't get any." + +A distinguished personage happened to visit the school that morning, and +Amy's beautifully drawn maps received praise, which honor to her foe +rankled in the soul of Miss Snow, and caused Miss March to assume the +airs of a studious young peacock. But, alas, alas! pride goes before a +fall, and the revengeful Snow turned the tables with disastrous success. +No sooner had the guest paid the usual stale compliments, and bowed +himself out, than Jenny, under pretence of asking an important question, +informed Mr. Davis, the teacher, that Amy March had pickled limes in her +desk. + +Now Mr. Davis had declared limes a contraband article, and solemnly +vowed to publicly ferrule the first person who was found breaking the +law. This much-enduring man had succeeded in banishing chewing-gum after +a long and stormy war, had made a bonfire of the confiscated novels and +newspapers, had suppressed a private post-office, had forbidden +distortions of the face, nicknames, and caricatures, and done all that +one man could do to keep half a hundred rebellious girls in order. Boys +are trying enough to human patience, goodness knows! but girls are +infinitely more so, especially to nervous gentlemen, with tyrannical +tempers, and no more talent for teaching than Dr. Blimber. Mr. Davis +knew any quantity of Greek, Latin, Algebra, and ologies of all sorts, so +he was called a fine teacher; and manners, morals, feelings, and +examples were not considered of any particular importance. It was a most +unfortunate moment for denouncing Amy, and Jenny knew it. Mr. Davis had +evidently taken his coffee too strong that morning; there was an east +wind, which always affected his neuralgia; and his pupils had not done +him the credit which he felt he deserved: therefore, to use the +expressive, if not elegant, language of a school-girl, "he was as +nervous as a witch and as cross as a bear." The word "limes" was like +fire to powder; his yellow face flushed, and he rapped on his desk with +an energy which made Jenny skip to her seat with unusual rapidity. + +"Young ladies, attention, if you please!" + +At the stern order the buzz ceased, and fifty pairs of blue, black, +gray, and brown eyes were obediently fixed upon his awful countenance. + +"Miss March, come to the desk." + +Amy rose to comply with outward composure, but a secret fear oppressed +her, for the limes weighed upon her conscience. + +"Bring with you the limes you have in your desk," was the unexpected +command which arrested her before she got out of her seat. + +"Don't take all," whispered her neighbor, a young lady of great presence +of mind. + +Amy hastily shook out half a dozen, and laid the rest down before Mr. +Davis, feeling that any man possessing a human heart would relent when +that delicious perfume met his nose. Unfortunately, Mr. Davis +particularly detested the odor of the fashionable pickle, and disgust +added to his wrath. + +"Is that all?" + +"Not quite," stammered Amy. + +"Bring the rest immediately." + +With a despairing glance at her set, she obeyed. + +"You are sure there are no more?" + +"I never lie, sir." + +"So I see. Now take these disgusting things two by two, and throw them +out of the window." + +There was a simultaneous sigh, which created quite a little gust, as the +last hope fled, and the treat was ravished from their longing lips. +Scarlet with shame and anger, Amy went to and fro six dreadful times; +and as each doomed couple--looking oh! so plump and juicy--fell from her +reluctant hands, a shout from the street completed the anguish of the +girls, for it told them that their feast was being exulted over by the +little Irish children, who were their sworn foes. This--this was too +much; all flashed indignant or appealing glances at the inexorable +Davis, and one passionate lime-lover burst into tears. + +As Amy returned from her last trip, Mr. Davis gave a portentous "Hem!" +and said, in his most impressive manner,-- + +"Young ladies, you remember what I said to you a week ago. I am sorry +this has happened, but I never allow my rules to be infringed, and I +_never_ break my word. Miss March, hold out your hand." + +Amy started, and put both hands behind her, turning on him an imploring +look which pleaded for her better than the words she could not utter. +She was rather a favorite with "old Davis," as, of course, he was +called, and it's my private belief that he _would_ have broken his word +if the indignation of one irrepressible young lady had not found vent in +a hiss. That hiss, faint as it was, irritated the irascible gentleman, +and sealed the culprit's fate. + +"Your hand, Miss March!" was the only answer her mute appeal received; +and, too proud to cry or beseech, Amy set her teeth, threw back her +head defiantly, and bore without flinching several tingling blows on her +little palm. They were neither many nor heavy, but that made no +difference to her. For the first time in her life she had been struck; +and the disgrace, in her eyes, was as deep as if he had knocked her +down. + + [Illustration: Amy bore without flinching several tingling blows] + +"You will now stand on the platform till recess," said Mr. Davis, +resolved to do the thing thoroughly, since he had begun. + +That was dreadful. It would have been bad enough to go to her seat, and +see the pitying faces of her friends, or the satisfied ones of her few +enemies; but to face the whole school, with that shame fresh upon her, +seemed impossible, and for a second she felt as if she could only drop +down where she stood, and break her heart with crying. A bitter sense of +wrong, and the thought of Jenny Snow, helped her to bear it; and, taking +the ignominious place, she fixed her eyes on the stove-funnel above what +now seemed a sea of faces, and stood there, so motionless and white that +the girls found it very hard to study, with that pathetic figure before +them. + +During the fifteen minutes that followed, the proud and sensitive little +girl suffered a shame and pain which she never forgot. To others it +might seem a ludicrous or trivial affair, but to her it was a hard +experience; for during the twelve years of her life she had been +governed by love alone, and a blow of that sort had never touched her +before. The smart of her hand and the ache of her heart were forgotten +in the sting of the thought,-- + +"I shall have to tell at home, and they will be so disappointed in me!" + +The fifteen minutes seemed an hour; but they came to an end at last, and +the word "Recess!" had never seemed so welcome to her before. + +"You can go, Miss March," said Mr. Davis, looking, as he felt, +uncomfortable. + +He did not soon forget the reproachful glance Amy gave him, as she went, +without a word to any one, straight into the ante-room, snatched her +things, and left the place "forever," as she passionately declared to +herself. She was in a sad state when she got home; and when the older +girls arrived, some time later, an indignation meeting was held at +once. Mrs. March did not say much, but looked disturbed, and comforted +her afflicted little daughter in her tenderest manner. Meg bathed the +insulted hand with glycerine and tears; Beth felt that even her beloved +kittens would fail as a balm for griefs like this; Jo wrathfully +proposed that Mr. Davis be arrested without delay; and Hannah shook her +fist at the "villain," and pounded potatoes for dinner as if she had him +under her pestle. + +No notice was taken of Amy's flight, except by her mates; but the +sharp-eyed demoiselles discovered that Mr. Davis was quite benignant in +the afternoon, also unusually nervous. Just before school closed, Jo +appeared, wearing a grim expression, as she stalked up to the desk, and +delivered a letter from her mother; then collected Amy's property, and +departed, carefully scraping the mud from her boots on the door-mat, as +if she shook the dust of the place off her feet. + +"Yes, you can have a vacation from school, but I want you to study a +little every day, with Beth," said Mrs. March, that evening. "I don't +approve of corporal punishment, especially for girls. I dislike Mr. +Davis's manner of teaching, and don't think the girls you associate with +are doing you any good, so I shall ask your father's advice before I +send you anywhere else." + +"That's good! I wish all the girls would leave, and spoil his old +school. It's perfectly maddening to think of those lovely limes," sighed +Amy, with the air of a martyr. + +"I am not sorry you lost them, for you broke the rules, and deserved +some punishment for disobedience," was the severe reply, which rather +disappointed the young lady, who expected nothing but sympathy. + +"Do you mean you are glad I was disgraced before the whole school?" +cried Amy. + +"I should not have chosen that way of mending a fault," replied her +mother; "but I'm not sure that it won't do you more good than a milder +method. You are getting to be rather conceited, my dear, and it is quite +time you set about correcting it. You have a good many little gifts and +virtues, but there is no need of parading them, for conceit spoils the +finest genius. There is not much danger that real talent or goodness +will be overlooked long; even if it is, the consciousness of possessing +and using it well should satisfy one, and the great charm of all power +is modesty." + +"So it is!" cried Laurie, who was playing chess in a corner with Jo. "I +knew a girl, once, who had a really remarkable talent for music, and she +didn't know it; never guessed what sweet little things she composed when +she was alone, and wouldn't have believed it if any one had told her." + +"I wish I'd known that nice girl; maybe she would have helped me, I'm so +stupid," said Beth, who stood beside him, listening eagerly. + +"You do know her, and she helps you better than any one else could," +answered Laurie, looking at her with such mischievous meaning in his +merry black eyes, that Beth suddenly turned very red, and hid her face +in the sofa-cushion, quite overcome by such an unexpected discovery. + + [Illustration: You do know her] + +Jo let Laurie win the game, to pay for that praise of her Beth, who +could not be prevailed upon to play for them after her compliment. So +Laurie did his best, and sung delightfully, being in a particularly +lively humor, for to the Marches he seldom showed the moody side of his +character. When he was gone, Amy, who had been pensive all the evening, +said suddenly, as if busy over some new idea,-- + +"Is Laurie an accomplished boy?" + +"Yes; he has had an excellent education, and has much talent; he will +make a fine man, if not spoilt by petting," replied her mother. + +"And he isn't conceited, is he?" asked Amy. + +"Not in the least; that is why he is so charming, and we all like him so +much." + +"I see; it's nice to have accomplishments, and be elegant; but not to +show off, or get perked up," said Amy thoughtfully. + +"These things are always seen and felt in a person's manner and +conversation, if modestly used; but it is not necessary to display +them," said Mrs. March. + +"Any more than it's proper to wear all your bonnets and gowns and +ribbons at once, that folks may know you've got them," added Jo; and the +lecture ended in a laugh. + + + + + [Illustration: Girls, where are you going?] + + VIII. + + JO MEETS APOLLYON. + + +"Girls, where are you going?" asked Amy, coming into their room one +Saturday afternoon, and finding them getting ready to go out, with an +air of secrecy which excited her curiosity. + +"Never mind; little girls shouldn't ask questions," returned Jo sharply. + +Now if there _is_ anything mortifying to our feelings, when we are +young, it is to be told that; and to be bidden to "run away, dear," is +still more trying to us. Amy bridled up at this insult, and determined +to find out the secret, if she teased for an hour. Turning to Meg, who +never refused her anything very long, she said coaxingly, "Do tell me! I +should think you might let me go, too; for Beth is fussing over her +piano, and I haven't got anything to do, and am _so_ lonely." + +"I can't, dear, because you aren't invited," began Meg; but Jo broke in +impatiently, "Now, Meg, be quiet, or you will spoil it all. You can't +go, Amy; so don't be a baby, and whine about it." + +"You are going somewhere with Laurie, I know you are; you were +whispering and laughing together, on the sofa, last night, and you +stopped when I came in. Aren't you going with him?" + +"Yes, we are; now do be still, and stop bothering." + +Amy held her tongue, but used her eyes, and saw Meg slip a fan into her +pocket. + +"I know! I know! you're going to the theatre to see the 'Seven +Castles!'" she cried; adding resolutely, "and I _shall_ go, for mother +said I might see it; and I've got my rag-money, and it was mean not to +tell me in time." + +"Just listen to me a minute, and be a good child," said Meg soothingly. +"Mother doesn't wish you to go this week, because your eyes are not well +enough yet to bear the light of this fairy piece. Next week you can go +with Beth and Hannah, and have a nice time." + +"I don't like that half as well as going with you and Laurie. Please let +me; I've been sick with this cold so long, and shut up, I'm dying for +some fun. Do, Meg! I'll be ever so good," pleaded Amy, looking as +pathetic as she could. + +"Suppose we take her. I don't believe mother would mind, if we bundle +her up well," began Meg. + +"If _she_ goes _I_ sha'n't; and if I don't, Laurie won't like it; and it +will be very rude, after he invited only us, to go and drag in Amy. I +should think she'd hate to poke herself where she isn't wanted," said Jo +crossly, for she disliked the trouble of overseeing a fidgety child, +when she wanted to enjoy herself. + +Her tone and manner angered Amy, who began to put her boots on, saying, +in her most aggravating way, "I _shall_ go; Meg says I may; and if I pay +for myself, Laurie hasn't anything to do with it." + +"You can't sit with us, for our seats are reserved, and you mustn't sit +alone; so Laurie will give you his place, and that will spoil our +pleasure; or he'll get another seat for you, and that isn't proper, when +you weren't asked. You sha'n't stir a step; so you may just stay where +you are," scolded Jo, crosser than ever, having just pricked her finger +in her hurry. + +Sitting on the floor, with one boot on, Amy began to cry, and Meg to +reason with her, when Laurie called from below, and the two girls +hurried down, leaving their sister wailing; for now and then she forgot +her grown-up ways, and acted like a spoilt child. Just as the party was +setting out, Amy called over the banisters, in a threatening tone, +"You'll be sorry for this, Jo March; see if you ain't." + +"Fiddlesticks!" returned Jo, slamming the door. + +They had a charming time, for "The Seven Castles of the Diamond Lake" +were as brilliant and wonderful as heart could wish. But, in spite of +the comical red imps, sparkling elves, and gorgeous princes and +princesses, Jo's pleasure had a drop of bitterness in it; the fairy +queen's yellow curls reminded her of Amy; and between the acts she +amused herself with wondering what her sister would do to make her +"sorry for it." She and Amy had had many lively skirmishes in the course +of their lives, for both had quick tempers, and were apt to be violent +when fairly roused. Amy teased Jo, and Jo irritated Amy, and +semi-occasional explosions occurred, of which both were much ashamed +afterward. Although the oldest, Jo had the least self-control, and had +hard times trying to curb the fiery spirit which was continually getting +her into trouble; her anger never lasted long, and, having humbly +confessed her fault, she sincerely repented, and tried to do better. Her +sisters used to say that they rather liked to get Jo into a fury, +because she was such an angel afterward. Poor Jo tried desperately to be +good, but her bosom enemy was always ready to flame up and defeat her; +and it took years of patient effort to subdue it. + +When they got home, they found Amy reading in the parlor. She assumed an +injured air as they came in; never lifted her eyes from her book, or +asked a single question. Perhaps curiosity might have conquered +resentment, if Beth had not been there to inquire, and receive a glowing +description of the play. On going up to put away her best hat, Jo's +first look was toward the bureau; for, in their last quarrel, Amy had +soothed her feelings by turning Jo's top drawer upside down on the +floor. Everything was in its place, however; and after a hasty glance +into her various closets, bags, and boxes, Jo decided that Amy had +forgiven and forgotten her wrongs. + +There Jo was mistaken; for next day she made a discovery which produced +a tempest. Meg, Beth, and Amy were sitting together, late in the +afternoon, when Jo burst into the room, looking excited, and demanding +breathlessly, "Has any one taken my book?" + +Meg and Beth said "No," at once, and looked surprised; Amy poked the +fire, and said nothing. Jo saw her color rise, and was down upon her in +a minute. + +"Amy, you've got it?" + +"No, I haven't." + +"You know where it is, then?" + +"No, I don't." + +"That's a fib!" cried Jo, taking her by the shoulders, and looking +fierce enough to frighten a much braver child than Amy. + +"It isn't. I haven't got it, don't know where it is now, and don't +care." + +"You know something about it, and you'd better tell at once, or I'll +make you," and Jo gave her a slight shake. + +"Scold as much as you like, you'll never see your silly old book again," +cried Amy, getting excited in her turn. + +"Why not?" + +"I burnt it up." + + [Illustration: I burnt it up] + +"What! my little book I was so fond of, and worked over, and meant to +finish before father got home? Have you really burnt it?" said Jo, +turning very pale, while her eyes kindled and her hands clutched Amy +nervously. + +"Yes, I did! I told you I'd make you pay for being so cross yesterday, +and I have, so--" + +Amy got no farther, for Jo's hot temper mastered her, and she shook Amy +till her teeth chattered in her head; crying, in a passion of grief and +anger,-- + +"You wicked, wicked girl! I never can write it again, and I'll never +forgive you as long as I live." + +Meg flew to rescue Amy, and Beth to pacify Jo, but Jo was quite beside +herself; and, with a parting box on her sister's ear, she rushed out of +the room up to the old sofa in the garret, and finished her fight alone. + +The storm cleared up below, for Mrs. March came home, and, having heard +the story, soon brought Amy to a sense of the wrong she had done her +sister. Jo's book was the pride of her heart, and was regarded by her +family as a literary sprout of great promise. It was only half a dozen +little fairy tales, but Jo had worked over them patiently, putting her +whole heart into her work, hoping to make something good enough to +print. She had just copied them with great care, and had destroyed the +old manuscript, so that Amy's bonfire had consumed the loving work of +several years. It seemed a small loss to others, but to Jo it was a +dreadful calamity, and she felt that it never could be made up to her. +Beth mourned as for a departed kitten, and Meg refused to defend her +pet; Mrs. March looked grave and grieved, and Amy felt that no one would +love her till she had asked pardon for the act which she now regretted +more than any of them. + +When the tea-bell rung, Jo appeared, looking so grim and unapproachable +that it took all Amy's courage to say meekly,-- + +"Please forgive me, Jo; I'm very, very sorry." + +"I never shall forgive you," was Jo's stern answer; and, from that +moment, she ignored Amy entirely. + +No one spoke of the great trouble,--not even Mrs. March,--for all had +learned by experience that when Jo was in that mood words were wasted; +and the wisest course was to wait till some little accident, or her own +generous nature, softened Jo's resentment, and healed the breach. It was +not a happy evening; for, though they sewed as usual, while their mother +read aloud from Bremer, Scott, or Edgeworth, something was wanting, and +the sweet home-peace was disturbed. They felt this most when +singing-time came; for Beth could only play, Jo stood dumb as a stone, +and Amy broke down, so Meg and mother sung alone. But, in spite of their +efforts to be as cheery as larks, the flute-like voices did not seem to +chord as well as usual, and all felt out of tune. + +As Jo received her good-night kiss, Mrs. March whispered gently,-- + +"My dear, don't let the sun go down upon your anger; forgive each other, +help each other, and begin again to-morrow." + +Jo wanted to lay her head down on that motherly bosom, and cry her grief +and anger all away; but tears were an unmanly weakness, and she felt so +deeply injured that she really _couldn't_ quite forgive yet. So she +winked hard, shook her head, and said, gruffly because Amy was +listening,-- + +"It was an abominable thing, and she don't deserve to be forgiven." + +With that she marched off to bed, and there was no merry or confidential +gossip that night. + +Amy was much offended that her overtures of peace had been repulsed, and +began to wish she had not humbled herself, to feel more injured than +ever, and to plume herself on her superior virtue in a way which was +particularly exasperating. Jo still looked like a thunder-cloud, and +nothing went well all day. It was bitter cold in the morning; she +dropped her precious turn-over in the gutter, Aunt March had an attack +of fidgets, Meg was pensive, Beth _would_ look grieved and wistful when +she got home, and Amy kept making remarks about people who were always +talking about being good, and yet wouldn't try, when other people set +them a virtuous example. + +"Everybody is so hateful, I'll ask Laurie to go skating. He is always +kind and jolly, and will put me to rights, I know," said Jo to herself, +and off she went. + +Amy heard the clash of skates, and looked out with an impatient +exclamation,-- + +"There! she promised I should go next time, for this is the last ice we +shall have. But it's no use to ask such a cross-patch to take me." + +"Don't say that; you _were_ very naughty, and it _is_ hard to forgive +the loss of her precious little book; but I think she might do it now, +and I guess she will, if you try her at the right minute," said Meg. "Go +after them; don't say anything till Jo has got good-natured with Laurie, +then take a quiet minute, and just kiss her, or do some kind thing, and +I'm sure she'll be friends again, with all her heart." + +"I'll try," said Amy, for the advice suited her; and, after a flurry to +get ready, she ran after the friends, who were just disappearing over +the hill. + +It was not far to the river, but both were ready before Amy reached +them. Jo saw her coming, and turned her back; Laurie did not see, for he +was carefully skating along the shore, sounding the ice, for a warm +spell had preceded the cold snap. + +"I'll go on to the first bend, and see if it's all right, before we +begin to race," Amy heard him say, as he shot away, looking like a young +Russian, in his fur-trimmed coat and cap. + +Jo heard Amy panting after her run, stamping her feet and blowing her +fingers, as she tried to put her skates on; but Jo never turned, and +went slowly zigzagging down the river, taking a bitter, unhappy sort of +satisfaction in her sister's troubles. She had cherished her anger till +it grew strong, and took possession of her, as evil thoughts and +feelings always do, unless cast out at once. As Laurie turned the bend, +he shouted back,-- + +"Keep near the shore; it isn't safe in the middle." + +Jo heard, but Amy was just struggling to her feet, and did not catch a +word. Jo glanced over her shoulder, and the little demon she was +harboring said in her ear,-- + +"No matter whether she heard or not, let her take care of herself." + +Laurie had vanished round the bend; Jo was just at the turn, and Amy, +far behind, striking out toward the smoother ice in the middle of the +river. For a minute Jo stood still, with a strange feeling at her heart; +then she resolved to go on, but something held and turned her round, +just in time to see Amy throw up her hands and go down, with the sudden +crash of rotten ice, the splash of water, and a cry that made Jo's heart +stand still with fear. She tried to call Laurie, but her voice was gone; +she tried to rush forward, but her feet seemed to have no strength in +them; and, for a second, she could only stand motionless, staring, with +a terror-stricken face, at the little blue hood above the black water. +Something rushed swiftly by her, and Laurie's voice cried out,-- + +"Bring a rail; quick, quick!" + +How she did it, she never knew; but for the next few minutes she worked +as if possessed, blindly obeying Laurie, who was quite self-possessed, +and, lying flat, held Amy up by his arm and hockey till Jo dragged a +rail from the fence, and together they got the child out, more +frightened than hurt. + + [Illustration: Held Amy up by his arms and hockey] + +"Now then, we must walk her home as fast as we can; pile our things on +her, while I get off these confounded skates," cried Laurie, wrapping +his coat round Amy, and tugging away at the straps, which never seemed +so intricate before. + +Shivering, dripping, and crying, they got Amy home; and, after an +exciting time of it, she fell asleep, rolled in blankets, before a hot +fire. During the bustle Jo had scarcely spoken; but flown about, looking +pale and wild, with her things half off, her dress torn, and her hands +cut and bruised by ice and rails, and refractory buckles. When Amy was +comfortably asleep, the house quiet, and Mrs. March sitting by the bed, +she called Jo to her, and began to bind up the hurt hands. + +"Are you sure she is safe?" whispered Jo, looking remorsefully at the +golden head, which might have been swept away from her sight forever +under the treacherous ice. + +"Quite safe, dear; she is not hurt, and won't even take cold, I think, +you were so sensible in covering and getting her home quickly," replied +her mother cheerfully. + +"Laurie did it all; I only let her go. Mother, if she _should_ die, it +would be my fault"; and Jo dropped down beside the bed, in a passion of +penitent tears, telling all that had happened, bitterly condemning her +hardness of heart, and sobbing out her gratitude for being spared the +heavy punishment which might have come upon her. + +"It's my dreadful temper! I try to cure it; I think I have, and then it +breaks out worse than ever. O mother, what shall I do? what shall I do?" +cried poor Jo, in despair. + +"Watch and pray, dear; never get tired of trying; and never think it is +impossible to conquer your fault," said Mrs. March, drawing the blowzy +head to her shoulder, and kissing the wet cheek so tenderly that Jo +cried harder than ever. + +"You don't know, you can't guess how bad it is! It seems as if I could +do anything when I'm in a passion; I get so savage, I could hurt any +one, and enjoy it. I'm afraid I _shall_ do something dreadful some day, +and spoil my life, and make everybody hate me. O mother, help me, do +help me!" + +"I will, my child, I will. Don't cry so bitterly, but remember this day, +and resolve, with all your soul, that you will never know another like +it. Jo, dear, we all have our temptations, some far greater than yours, +and it often takes us all our lives to conquer them. You think your +temper is the worst in the world; but mine used to be just like it." + +"Yours, mother? Why, you are never angry!" and, for the moment, Jo +forgot remorse in surprise. + +"I've been trying to cure it for forty years, and have only succeeded in +controlling it. I am angry nearly every day of my life, Jo; but I have +learned not to show it; and I still hope to learn not to feel it, though +it may take me another forty years to do so." + +The patience and the humility of the face she loved so well was a better +lesson to Jo than the wisest lecture, the sharpest reproof. She felt +comforted at once by the sympathy and confidence given her; the +knowledge that her mother had a fault like hers, and tried to mend it, +made her own easier to bear and strengthened her resolution to cure it; +though forty years seemed rather a long time to watch and pray, to a +girl of fifteen. + +"Mother, are you angry when you fold your lips tight together, and go +out of the room sometimes, when Aunt March scolds, or people worry +you?" asked Jo, feeling nearer and dearer to her mother than ever +before. + +"Yes, I've learned to check the hasty words that rise to my lips; and +when I feel that they mean to break out against my will, I just go away +a minute, and give myself a little shake, for being so weak and wicked," +answered Mrs. March, with a sigh and a smile, as she smoothed and +fastened up Jo's dishevelled hair. + +"How did you learn to keep still? That is what troubles me--for the +sharp words fly out before I know what I'm about; and the more I say the +worse I get, till it's a pleasure to hurt people's feelings, and say +dreadful things. Tell me how you do it, Marmee dear." + +"My good mother used to help me--" + +"As you do us--" interrupted Jo, with a grateful kiss. + +"But I lost her when I was a little older than you are, and for years +had to struggle on alone, for I was too proud to confess my weakness to +any one else. I had a hard time, Jo, and shed a good many bitter tears +over my failures; for, in spite of my efforts, I never seemed to get on. +Then your father came, and I was so happy that I found it easy to be +good. But by and by, when I had four little daughters round me, and we +were poor, then the old trouble began again; for I am not patient by +nature, and it tried me very much to see my children wanting anything." + +"Poor mother! what helped you then?" + +"Your father, Jo. He never loses patience,--never doubts or +complains,--but always hopes, and works and waits so cheerfully, that +one is ashamed to do otherwise before him. He helped and comforted me, +and showed me that I must try to practise all the virtues I would have +my little girls possess, for I was their example. It was easier to try +for your sakes than for my own; a startled or surprised look from one of +you, when I spoke sharply, rebuked me more than any words could have +done; and the love, respect, and confidence of my children was the +sweetest reward I could receive for my efforts to be the woman I would +have them copy." + +"O mother, if I'm ever half as good as you, I shall be satisfied," cried +Jo, much touched. + +"I hope you will be a great deal better, dear; but you must keep watch +over your 'bosom enemy,' as father calls it, or it may sadden, if not +spoil your life. You have had a warning; remember it, and try with heart +and soul to master this quick temper, before it brings you greater +sorrow and regret than you have known to-day." + +"I will try, mother; I truly will. But you must help me, remind me, and +keep me from flying out. I used to see father sometimes put his finger +on his lips, and look at you with a very kind, but sober face, and you +always folded your lips tight or went away: was he reminding you then?" +asked Jo softly. + +"Yes; I asked him to help me so, and he never forgot it, but saved me +from many a sharp word by that little gesture and kind look." + +Jo saw that her mother's eyes filled and her lips trembled, as she +spoke; and, fearing that she had said too much, she whispered anxiously, +"Was it wrong to watch you, and to speak of it? I didn't mean to be +rude, but it's so comfortable to say all I think to you, and feel so +safe and happy here." + +"My Jo, you may say anything to your mother, for it is my greatest +happiness and pride to feel that my girls confide in me, and know how +much I love them." + +"I thought I'd grieved you." + +"No, dear; but speaking of father reminded me how much I miss him, how +much I owe him, and how faithfully I should watch and work to keep his +little daughters safe and good for him." + +"Yet you told him to go, mother, and didn't cry when he went, and never +complain now, or seem as if you needed any help," said Jo, wondering. + +"I gave my best to the country I love, and kept my tears till he was +gone. Why should I complain, when we both have merely done our duty and +will surely be the happier for it in the end? If I don't seem to need +help, it is because I have a better friend, even than father, to comfort +and sustain me. My child, the troubles and temptations of your life are +beginning, and may be many; but you can overcome and outlive them all if +you learn to feel the strength and tenderness of your Heavenly Father as +you do that of your earthly one. The more you love and trust Him, the +nearer you will feel to Him, and the less you will depend on human power +and wisdom. His love and care never tire or change, can never be taken +from you, but may become the source of life-long peace, happiness, and +strength. Believe this heartily, and go to God with all your little +cares, and hopes, and sins, and sorrows, as freely and confidingly as +you come to your mother." + +Jo's only answer was to hold her mother close, and, in the silence which +followed, the sincerest prayer she had ever prayed left her heart +without words; for in that sad, yet happy hour, she had learned not only +the bitterness of remorse and despair, but the sweetness of self-denial +and self-control; and, led by her mother's hand, she had drawn nearer to +the Friend who welcomes every child with a love stronger than that of +any father, tenderer than that of any mother. + +Amy stirred, and sighed in her sleep; and, as if eager to begin at once +to mend her fault, Jo looked up with an expression on her face which it +had never worn before. + +"I let the sun go down on my anger; I wouldn't forgive her, and to-day, +if it hadn't been for Laurie, it might have been too late! How could I +be so wicked?" said Jo, half aloud, as she leaned over her sister, +softly stroking the wet hair scattered on the pillow. + +As if she heard, Amy opened her eyes, and held out her arms, with a +smile that went straight to Jo's heart. Neither said a word, but they +hugged one another close, in spite of the blankets, and everything was +forgiven and forgotten in one hearty kiss. + + + + + [Illustration: Packing the go abroady trunk] + + IX. + + MEG GOES TO VANITY FAIR. + + +"I do think it was the most fortunate thing in the world that those +children should have the measles just now," said Meg, one April day, as +she stood packing the "go abroady" trunk in her room, surrounded by her +sisters. + +"And so nice of Annie Moffat not to forget her promise. A whole +fortnight of fun will be regularly splendid," replied Jo, looking like a +windmill, as she folded skirts with her long arms. + +"And such lovely weather; I'm so glad of that," added Beth, tidily +sorting neck and hair ribbons in her best box, lent for the great +occasion. + +"I wish I was going to have a fine time, and wear all these nice +things," said Amy, with her mouth full of pins, as she artistically +replenished her sister's cushion. + +"I wish you were all going; but, as you can't, I shall keep my +adventures to tell you when I come back. I'm sure it's the least I can +do, when you have been so kind, lending me things, and helping me get +ready," said Meg, glancing round the room at the very simple outfit, +which seemed nearly perfect in their eyes. + +"What did mother give you out of the treasure-box?" asked Amy, who had +not been present at the opening of a certain cedar chest, in which Mrs. +March kept a few relics of past splendor, as gifts for her girls when +the proper time came. + +"A pair of silk stockings, that pretty carved fan, and a lovely blue +sash. I wanted the violet silk; but there isn't time to make it over, so +I must be contented with my old tarlatan." + +"It will look nicely over my new muslin skirt, and the sash will set it +off beautifully. I wish I hadn't smashed my coral bracelet, for you +might have had it," said Jo, who loved to give and lend, but whose +possessions were usually too dilapidated to be of much use. + +"There is a lovely old-fashioned pearl set in the treasure-box; but +mother said real flowers were the prettiest ornament for a young girl, +and Laurie promised to send me all I want," replied Meg. "Now, let me +see; there's my new gray walking-suit--just curl up the feather in my +hat, Beth,--then my poplin, for Sunday, and the small party,--it looks +heavy for spring, doesn't it? The violet silk would be so nice; oh, +dear!" + +"Never mind; you've got the tarlatan for the big party, and you always +look like an angel in white," said Amy, brooding over the little store +of finery in which her soul delighted. + +"It isn't low-necked, and it doesn't sweep enough, but it will have to +do. My blue house-dress looks so well, turned and freshly trimmed, that +I feel as if I'd got a new one. My silk sacque isn't a bit the fashion, +and my bonnet doesn't look like Sallie's; I didn't like to say +anything, but I was sadly disappointed in my umbrella. I told mother +black, with a white handle, but she forgot, and bought a green one, with +a yellowish handle. It's strong and neat, so I ought not to complain, +but I know I shall feel ashamed of it beside Annie's silk one with a +gold top," sighed Meg, surveying the little umbrella with great +disfavor. + +"Change it," advised Jo. + +"I won't be so silly, or hurt Marmee's feelings, when she took so much +pains to get my things. It's a nonsensical notion of mine, and I'm not +going to give up to it. My silk stockings and two pairs of new gloves +are my comfort. You are a dear, to lend me yours, Jo. I feel so rich, +and sort of elegant, with two new pairs, and the old ones cleaned up for +common;" and Meg took a refreshing peep at her glove-box. + +"Annie Moffat has blue and pink bows on her night-caps; would you put +some on mine?" she asked, as Beth brought up a pile of snowy muslins, +fresh from Hannah's hands. + +"No, I wouldn't; for the smart caps won't match the plain gowns, without +any trimming on them. Poor folks shouldn't rig," said Jo decidedly. + +"I wonder if I shall _ever_ be happy enough to have real lace on my +clothes, and bows on my caps?" said Meg impatiently. + +"You said the other day that you'd be perfectly happy if you could only +go to Annie Moffat's," observed Beth, in her quiet way. + +"So I did! Well, I _am_ happy, and I _won't_ fret; but it does seem as +if the more one gets the more one wants, doesn't it? There, now, the +trays are ready, and everything in but my ball-dress, which I shall +leave for mother to pack," said Meg, cheering up, as she glanced from +the half-filled trunk to the many-times pressed and mended white +tarlatan, which she called her "ball-dress," with an important air. + +The next day was fine, and Meg departed, in style, for a fortnight of +novelty and pleasure. Mrs. March had consented to the visit rather +reluctantly, fearing that Margaret would come back more discontented +than she went. But she had begged so hard, and Sallie had promised to +take good care of her, and a little pleasure seemed so delightful after +a winter of irksome work, that the mother yielded, and the daughter went +to take her first taste of fashionable life. + +The Moffats _were_ very fashionable, and simple Meg was rather daunted, +at first, by the splendor of the house and the elegance of its +occupants. But they were kindly people, in spite of the frivolous life +they led, and soon put their guest at her ease. Perhaps Meg felt, +without understanding why, that they were not particularly cultivated or +intelligent people, and that all their gilding could not quite conceal +the ordinary material of which they were made. It certainly was +agreeable to fare sumptuously, drive in a fine carriage, wear her best +frock every day, and do nothing but enjoy herself. It suited her +exactly; and soon she began to imitate the manners and conversation of +those about her; to put on little airs and graces, use French phrases, +crimp her hair, take in her dresses, and talk about the fashions as well +as she could. The more she saw of Annie Moffat's pretty things, the more +she envied her, and sighed to be rich. Home now looked bare and dismal +as she thought of it, work grew harder than ever, and she felt that she +was a very destitute and much-injured girl, in spite of the new gloves +and silk stockings. + +She had not much time for repining, however, for the three young girls +were busily employed in "having a good time." They shopped, walked, +rode, and called all day; went to theatres and operas, or frolicked at +home in the evening; for Annie had many friends, and knew how to +entertain them. Her older sisters were very fine young ladies, and one +was engaged, which was extremely interesting and romantic, Meg thought. +Mr. Moffat was a fat, jolly old gentleman, who knew her father; and Mrs. +Moffat, a fat, jolly old lady, who took as great a fancy to Meg as her +daughter had done. Every one petted her; and "Daisy," as they called +her, was in a fair way to have her head turned. + +When the evening for the "small party" came, she found that the poplin +wouldn't do at all, for the other girls were putting on thin dresses, +and making themselves very fine indeed; so out came the tarlatan, +looking older, limper, and shabbier than ever beside Sallie's crisp new +one. Meg saw the girls glance at it and then at one another, and her +cheeks began to burn, for, with all her gentleness, she was very proud. +No one said a word about it, but Sallie offered to dress her hair, and +Annie to tie her sash, and Belle, the engaged sister, praised her white +arms; but in their kindness Meg saw only pity for her poverty, and her +heart felt very heavy as she stood by herself, while the others laughed, +chattered, and flew about like gauzy butterflies. The hard, bitter +feeling was getting pretty bad, when the maid brought in a box of +flowers. Before she could speak, Annie had the cover off, and all were +exclaiming at the lovely roses, heath, and fern within. + +"It's for Belle, of course; George always sends her some, but these are +altogether ravishing," cried Annie, with a great sniff. + +"They are for Miss March, the man said. And here's a note," put in the +maid, holding it to Meg. + +"What fun! Who are they from? Didn't know you had a lover," cried the +girls, fluttering about Meg in a high state of curiosity and surprise. + +"The note is from mother, and the flowers from Laurie," said Meg simply, +yet much gratified that he had not forgotten her. + +"Oh, indeed!" said Annie, with a funny look, as Meg slipped the note +into her pocket, as a sort of talisman against envy, vanity, and false +pride; for the few loving words had done her good, and the flowers +cheered her up by their beauty. + +Feeling almost happy again, she laid by a few ferns and roses for +herself, and quickly made up the rest in dainty bouquets for the +breasts, hair, or skirts of her friends, offering them so prettily that +Clara, the elder sister, told her she was "the sweetest little thing she +ever saw;" and they looked quite charmed with her small attention. +Somehow the kind act finished her despondency; and when all the rest +went to show themselves to Mrs. Moffat, she saw a happy, bright-eyed +face in the mirror, as she laid her ferns against her rippling hair, and +fastened the roses in the dress that didn't strike her as so _very_ +shabby now. + +She enjoyed herself very much that evening, for she danced to her +heart's content; every one was very kind, and she had three compliments. +Annie made her sing, and some one said she had a remarkably fine voice; +Major Lincoln asked who "the fresh little girl, with the beautiful +eyes," was; and Mr. Moffat insisted on dancing with her, because she +"didn't dawdle, but had some spring in her," as he gracefully expressed +it. So, altogether, she had a very nice time, till she overheard a bit +of a conversation, which disturbed her extremely. She was sitting just +inside the conservatory, waiting for her partner to bring her an ice, +when she heard a voice ask, on the other side of the flowery wall,-- + +"How old is he?" + +"Sixteen or seventeen, I should say," replied another voice. + +"It would be a grand thing for one of those girls, wouldn't it? Sallie +says they are very intimate now, and the old man quite dotes on them." + +"Mrs M. has made her plans, I dare say, and will play her cards well, +early as it is. The girl evidently doesn't think of it yet," said Mrs. +Moffat. + +"She told that fib about her mamma, as if she did know, and colored up +when the flowers came, quite prettily. Poor thing! she'd be so nice if +she was only got up in style. Do you think she'd be offended if we +offered to lend her a dress for Thursday?" asked another voice. + +"She's proud, but I don't believe she'd mind, for that dowdy tarlatan is +all she has got. She may tear it to-night, and that will be a good +excuse for offering a decent one." + +"We'll see. I shall ask young Laurence, as a compliment to her, and +we'll have fun about it afterward." + + [Illustration: Meg's partner appeared] + +Here Meg's partner appeared, to find her looking much flushed and rather +agitated. She _was_ proud, and her pride was useful just then, for it +helped her hide her mortification, anger, and disgust at what she had +just heard; for, innocent and unsuspicious as she was, she could not +help understanding the gossip of her friends. She tried to forget it, +but could not, and kept repeating to herself, "Mrs. M. has made her +plans," "that fib about her mamma," and "dowdy tarlatan," till she was +ready to cry, and rush home to tell her troubles and ask for advice. As +that was impossible, she did her best to seem gay; and, being rather +excited, she succeeded so well that no one dreamed what an effort she +was making. She was very glad when it was all over, and she was quiet in +her bed, where she could think and wonder and fume till her head ached +and her hot cheeks were cooled by a few natural tears. Those foolish, +yet well-meant words, had opened a new world to Meg, and much disturbed +the peace of the old one, in which, till now, she had lived as happily +as a child. Her innocent friendship with Laurie was spoilt by the silly +speeches she had overheard; her faith in her mother was a little shaken +by the worldly plans attributed to her by Mrs. Moffat, who judged others +by herself; and the sensible resolution to be contented with the simple +wardrobe which suited a poor man's daughter, was weakened by the +unnecessary pity of girls who thought a shabby dress one of the greatest +calamities under heaven. + +Poor Meg had a restless night, and got up heavy-eyed, unhappy, half +resentful toward her friends, and half ashamed of herself for not +speaking out frankly, and setting everything right. Everybody dawdled +that morning, and it was noon before the girls found energy enough even +to take up their worsted work. Something in the manner of her friends +struck Meg at once; they treated her with more respect, she thought; +took quite a tender interest in what she said, and looked at her with +eyes that plainly betrayed curiosity. All this surprised and flattered +her, though she did not understand it till Miss Belle looked up from her +writing, and said, with a sentimental air,-- + +"Daisy, dear, I've sent an invitation to your friend, Mr. Laurence, for +Thursday. We should like to know him, and it's only a proper compliment +to you." + +Meg colored, but a mischievous fancy to tease the girls made her reply +demurely,-- + +"You are very kind, but I'm afraid he won't come." + +"Why not, _chérie_?" asked Miss Belle. + +"He's too old." + +"My child, what do you mean? What is his age, I beg to know!" cried Miss +Clara. + +"Nearly seventy, I believe," answered Meg, counting stitches, to hide +the merriment in her eyes. + +"You sly creature! Of course we meant the young man," exclaimed Miss +Belle, laughing. + +"There isn't any; Laurie is only a little boy," and Meg laughed also at +the queer look which the sisters exchanged as she thus described her +supposed lover. + +"About your age," Nan said. + +"Nearer my sister Jo's; _I_ am seventeen in August," returned Meg, +tossing her head. + +"It's very nice of him to send you flowers, isn't it?" said Annie, +looking wise about nothing. + +"Yes, he often does, to all of us; for their house is full, and we are +so fond of them. My mother and old Mr. Laurence are friends, you know, +so it is quite natural that we children should play together;" and Meg +hoped they would say no more. + +"It's evident Daisy isn't out yet," said Miss Clara to Belle, with a +nod. + +"Quite a pastoral state of innocence all round," returned Miss Belle, +with a shrug. + +"I'm going out to get some little matters for my girls; can I do +anything for you, young ladies?" asked Mrs. Moffat, lumbering in, like +an elephant, in silk and lace. + +"No, thank you, ma'am," replied Sallie. "I've got my new pink silk for +Thursday, and don't want a thing." + +"Nor I,--" began Meg, but stopped, because it occurred to her that she +_did_ want several things, and could not have them. + +"What shall you wear?" asked Sallie. + +"My old white one again, if I can mend it fit to be seen; it got sadly +torn last night," said Meg, trying to speak quite easily, but feeling +very uncomfortable. + +"Why don't you send home for another?" said Sallie, who was not an +observing young lady. + +"I haven't got any other." It cost Meg an effort to say that, but Sallie +did not see it, and exclaimed, in amiable surprise,-- + +"Only that? How funny--" She did not finish her speech, for Belle shook +her head at her, and broke in, saying kindly,-- + +"Not at all; where is the use of having a lot of dresses when she isn't +out? There's no need of sending home, Daisy, even if you had a dozen, +for I've got a sweet blue silk laid away, which I've outgrown, and you +shall wear it, to please me, won't you, dear?" + +"You are very kind, but I don't mind my old dress, if you don't; it does +well enough for a little girl like me," said Meg. + +"Now do let me please myself by dressing you up in style. I admire to do +it, and you'd be a regular little beauty, with a touch here and there. I +sha'n't let any one see you till you are done, and then we'll burst upon +them like Cinderella and her godmother, going to the ball," said Belle, +in her persuasive tone. + +Meg couldn't refuse the offer so kindly made, for a desire to see if she +would be "a little beauty" after touching up, caused her to accept, and +forget all her former uncomfortable feelings towards the Moffats. + +On the Thursday evening, Belle shut herself up with her maid; and, +between them, they turned Meg into a fine lady. They crimped and curled +her hair, they polished her neck and arms with some fragrant powder, +touched her lips with coralline salve, to make them redder, and Hortense +would have added "a _soupçon_ of rouge," if Meg had not rebelled. They +laced her into a sky-blue dress, which was so tight she could hardly +breathe, and so low in the neck that modest Meg blushed at herself in +the mirror. A set of silver filagree was added, bracelets, necklace, +brooch, and even ear-rings, for Hortense tied them on, with a bit of +pink silk, which did not show. A cluster of tea-rosebuds at the bosom, +and a _ruche_, reconciled Meg to the display of her pretty white +shoulders, and a pair of high-heeled blue silk boots satisfied the last +wish of her heart. A laced handkerchief, a plumy fan, and a bouquet in a +silver holder finished her off; and Miss Belle surveyed her with the +satisfaction of a little girl with a newly dressed doll. + +"Mademoiselle is charmante, très jolie, is she not?" cried Hortense, +clasping her hands in an affected rapture. + +"Come and show yourself," said Miss Belle, leading the way to the room +where the others were waiting. + +As Meg went rustling after, with her long skirts trailing, her ear-rings +tinkling, her curls waving, and her heart beating, she felt as if her +"fun" had really begun at last, for the mirror had plainly told her that +she _was_ "a little beauty." Her friends repeated the pleasing phrase +enthusiastically; and, for several minutes, she stood, like the jackdaw +in the fable, enjoying her borrowed plumes, while the rest chattered +like a party of magpies. + +"While I dress, do you drill her, Nan, in the management of her skirt, +and those French heels, or she will trip herself up. Take your silver +butterfly, and catch up that long curl on the left side of her head, +Clara, and don't any of you disturb the charming work of my hands," said +Belle, as she hurried away, looking well pleased with her success. + +"I'm afraid to go down, I feel so queer and stiff and half-dressed," +said Meg to Sallie, as the bell rang, and Mrs. Moffat sent to ask the +young ladies to appear at once. + +"You don't look a bit like yourself, but you are very nice. I'm nowhere +beside you, for Belle has heaps of taste, and you're quite French, I +assure you. Let your flowers hang; don't be so careful of them, and be +sure you don't trip," returned Sallie, trying not to care that Meg was +prettier than herself. + + [Illustration: Asked to be introduced] + +Keeping that warning carefully in mind, Margaret got safely down stairs, +and sailed into the drawing-rooms, where the Moffats and a few early +guests were assembled. She very soon discovered that there is a charm +about fine clothes which attracts a certain class of people, and secures +their respect. Several young ladies, who had taken no notice of her +before, were very affectionate all of a sudden; several young gentlemen, +who had only stared at her at the other party, now not only stared, but +asked to be introduced, and said all manner of foolish but agreeable +things to her; and several old ladies, who sat on sofas, and criticised +the rest of the party, inquired who she was, with an air of interest. +She heard Mrs. Moffat reply to one of them,-- + +"Daisy March--father a colonel in the army--one of our first families, +but reverses of fortune, you know; intimate friends of the Laurences; +sweet creature, I assure you; my Ned is quite wild about her." + +"Dear me!" said the old lady, putting up her glass for another +observation of Meg, who tried to look as if she had not heard, and been +rather shocked at Mrs. Moffat's fibs. + +The "queer feeling" did not pass away, but she imagined herself acting +the new part of fine lady, and so got on pretty well, though the tight +dress gave her a side-ache, the train kept getting under her feet, and +she was in constant fear lest her ear-rings should fly off, and get lost +or broken. She was flirting her fan and laughing at the feeble jokes of +a young gentleman who tried to be witty, when she suddenly stopped +laughing and looked confused; for, just opposite, she saw Laurie. He was +staring at her with undisguised surprise, and disapproval also, she +thought; for, though he bowed and smiled, yet something in his honest +eyes made her blush, and wish she had her old dress on. To complete her +confusion, she saw Belle nudge Annie, and both glance from her to +Laurie, who, she was happy to see, looked unusually boyish and shy. + +"Silly creatures, to put such thoughts into my head! I won't care for +it, or let it change me a bit," thought Meg, and rustled across the room +to shake hands with her friend. + +"I'm glad you came, I was afraid you wouldn't," she said, with her most +grown-up air. + +"Jo wanted me to come, and tell her how you looked, so I did;" answered +Laurie, without turning his eyes upon her, though he half smiled at her +maternal tone. + +"What shall you tell her?" asked Meg, full of curiosity to know his +opinion of her, yet feeling ill at ease with him, for the first time. + +"I shall say I didn't know you; for you look so grown-up, and unlike +yourself, I'm quite afraid of you," he said, fumbling at his +glove-button. + +"How absurd of you! The girls dressed me up for fun, and I rather like +it. Wouldn't Jo stare if she saw me?" said Meg, bent on making him say +whether he thought her improved or not. + +"Yes, I think she would," returned Laurie gravely. + +"Don't you like me so?" asked Meg. + +"No, I don't," was the blunt reply. + +"Why not?" in an anxious tone. + +He glanced at her frizzled head, bare shoulders, and fantastically +trimmed dress, with an expression that abashed her more than his answer, +which had not a particle of his usual politeness about it. + +"I don't like fuss and feathers." + +That was altogether too much from a lad younger than herself; and Meg +walked away, saying petulantly,-- + +"You are the rudest boy I ever saw." + +Feeling very much ruffled, she went and stood at a quiet window, to cool +her cheeks, for the tight dress gave her an uncomfortably brilliant +color. As she stood there, Major Lincoln passed by; and, a minute after, +she heard him saying to his mother,-- + +"They are making a fool of that little girl; I wanted you to see her, +but they have spoilt her entirely; she's nothing but a doll, to-night." + +"Oh, dear!" sighed Meg; "I wish I'd been sensible, and worn my own +things; then I should not have disgusted other people, or felt so +uncomfortable and ashamed myself." + +She leaned her forehead on the cool pane, and stood half hidden by the +curtains, never minding that her favorite waltz had begun, till some one +touched her; and, turning, she saw Laurie, looking penitent, as he said, +with his very best bow, and his hand out,-- + +"Please forgive my rudeness, and come and dance with me." + +"I'm afraid it will be too disagreeable to you," said Meg, trying to +look offended, and failing entirely. + +"Not a bit of it; I'm dying to do it. Come, I'll be good; I don't like +your gown, but I do think you are--just splendid;" and he waved his +hands, as if words failed to express his admiration. + +Meg smiled and relented, and whispered, as they stood waiting to catch +the time,-- + +"Take care my skirt don't trip you up; it's the plague of my life, and I +was a goose to wear it." + +"Pin it round your neck, and then it will be useful," said Laurie, +looking down at the little blue boots, which he evidently approved of. + +Away they went, fleetly and gracefully; for, having practised at home, +they were well matched, and the blithe young couple were a pleasant +sight to see, as they twirled merrily round and round, feeling more +friendly than ever after their small tiff. + +"Laurie, I want you to do me a favor; will you?" said Meg, as he stood +fanning her, when her breath gave out, which it did very soon, though +she would not own why. + +"Won't I!" said Laurie, with alacrity. + +"Please don't tell them at home about my dress to-night. They won't +understand the joke, and it will worry mother." + +"Then why did you do it?" said Laurie's eyes, so plainly that Meg +hastily added,-- + +"I shall tell them, myself, all about it, and ''fess' to mother how +silly I've been. But I'd rather do it myself; so you'll not tell, will +you?" + +"I give you my word I won't; only what shall I say when they ask me?" + +"Just say I looked pretty well, and was having a good time." + +"I'll say the first, with all my heart; but how about the other? You +don't look as if you were having a good time; are you?" and Laurie +looked at her with an expression which made her answer, in a whisper,-- + +"No; not just now. Don't think I'm horrid; I only wanted a little fun, +but this sort doesn't pay, I find, and I'm getting tired of it." + +"Here comes Ned Moffat; what does he want?" said Laurie, knitting his +black brows, as if he did not regard his young host in the light of a +pleasant addition to the party. + +"He put his name down for three dances, and I suppose he's coming for +them. What a bore!" said Meg, assuming a languid air, which amused +Laurie immensely. + +He did not speak to her again till supper-time, when he saw her drinking +champagne with Ned and his friend Fisher, who were behaving "like a pair +of fools," as Laurie said to himself, for he felt a brotherly sort of +right to watch over the Marches, and fight their battles whenever a +defender was needed. + + [Illustration: I wouldn't, Meg] + +"You'll have a splitting headache to-morrow, if you drink much of that. +I wouldn't Meg; your mother doesn't like it, you know," he whispered, +leaning over her chair, as Ned turned to refill her glass, and Fisher +stooped to pick up her fan. + +"I'm not Meg, to-night; I'm 'a doll,' who does all sorts of crazy +things. To-morrow I shall put away my 'fuss and feathers,' and be +desperately good again," she answered, with an affected little laugh. + +"Wish to-morrow was here, then," muttered Laurie, walking off, +ill-pleased at the change he saw in her. + +Meg danced and flirted, chattered and giggled, as the other girls did; +after supper she undertook the German, and blundered through it, nearly +upsetting her partner with her long skirt, and romping in a way that +scandalized Laurie, who looked on and meditated a lecture. But he got no +chance to deliver it, for Meg kept away from him till he came to say +good-night. + +"Remember!" she said, trying to smile, for the splitting headache had +already begun. + +"Silence à la mort," replied Laurie, with a melodramatic flourish, as he +went away. + +This little bit of by-play excited Annie's curiosity; but Meg was too +tired for gossip, and went to bed, feeling as if she had been to a +masquerade, and hadn't enjoyed herself as much as she expected. She was +sick all the next day, and on Saturday went home, quite used up with her +fortnight's fun, and feeling that she had "sat in the lap of luxury" +long enough. + +"It does seem pleasant to be quiet, and not have company manners on all +the time. Home _is_ a nice place, though it isn't splendid," said Meg, +looking about her with a restful expression, as she sat with her mother +and Jo on the Sunday evening. + +"I'm glad to hear you say so, dear, for I was afraid home would seem +dull and poor to you, after your fine quarters," replied her mother, who +had given her many anxious looks that day; for motherly eyes are quick +to see any change in children's faces. + +Meg had told her adventures gayly, and said over and over what a +charming time she had had; but something still seemed to weigh upon her +spirits, and, when the younger girls were gone to bed, she sat +thoughtfully staring at the fire, saying little, and looking worried. As +the clock struck nine, and Jo proposed bed, Meg suddenly left her chair, +and, taking Beth's stool, leaned her elbows on her mother's knee, saying +bravely,-- + +"Marmee, I want to ''fess.'" + +"I thought so; what is it, dear?" + +"Shall I go away?" asked Jo discreetly. + +"Of course not; don't I always tell you everything? I was ashamed to +speak of it before the children, but I want you to know all the dreadful +things I did at the Moffat's." + +"We are prepared," said Mrs. March, smiling, but looking a little +anxious. + +"I told you they dressed me up, but I didn't tell you that they powdered +and squeezed and frizzled, and made me look like a fashion-plate. Laurie +thought I wasn't proper; I know he did, though he didn't say so, and one +man called me 'a doll.' I knew it was silly, but they flattered me, and +said I was a beauty, and quantities of nonsense, so I let them make a +fool of me." + +"Is that all?" asked Jo, as Mrs. March looked silently at the downcast +face of her pretty daughter, and could not find it in her heart to blame +her little follies. + +"No; I drank champagne and romped and tried to flirt, and was altogether +abominable," said Meg self-reproachfully. + +"There is something more, I think;" and Mrs. March smoothed the soft +cheek, which suddenly grew rosy, as Meg answered slowly,-- + +"Yes; it's very silly, but I want to tell it, because I hate to have +people say and think such things about us and Laurie." + +Then she told the various bits of gossip she had heard at the Moffats; +and, as she spoke, Jo saw her mother fold her lips tightly, as if ill +pleased that such ideas should be put into Meg's innocent mind. + +"Well, if that isn't the greatest rubbish I ever heard," cried Jo +indignantly. "Why didn't you pop out and tell them so, on the spot?" + +"I couldn't, it was so embarrassing for me. I couldn't help hearing, at +first, and then I was so angry and ashamed, I didn't remember that I +ought to go away." + +"Just wait till _I_ see Annie Moffat, and I'll show you how to settle +such ridiculous stuff. The idea of having 'plans,' and being kind to +Laurie, because he's rich, and may marry us by and by! Won't he shout, +when I tell him what those silly things say about us poor children?" and +Jo laughed, as if, on second thoughts, the thing struck her as a good +joke. + +"If you tell Laurie, I'll never forgive you! She mustn't, must she, +mother?" said Meg, looking distressed. + +"No; never repeat that foolish gossip, and forget it as soon as you +can," said Mrs. March gravely. "I was very unwise to let you go among +people of whom I know so little,--kind, I dare say, but worldly, +ill-bred, and full of these vulgar ideas about young people. I am more +sorry than I can express for the mischief this visit may have done you, +Meg." + +"Don't be sorry, I won't let it hurt me; I'll forget all the bad, and +remember only the good; for I did enjoy a great deal, and thank you very +much for letting me go. I'll not be sentimental or dissatisfied, mother; +I know I'm a silly little girl, and I'll stay with you till I'm fit to +take care of myself. But it _is_ nice to be praised and admired, and I +can't help saying I like it," said Meg, looking half ashamed of the +confession. + +"That is perfectly natural, and quite harmless, if the liking does not +become a passion, and lead one to do foolish or unmaidenly things. Learn +to know and value the praise which is worth having, and to excite the +admiration of excellent people by being modest as well as pretty, Meg." + +Margaret sat thinking a moment, while Jo stood with her hands behind +her, looking both interested and a little perplexed; for it was a new +thing to see Meg blushing and talking about admiration, lovers, and +things of that sort; and Jo felt as if, during that fortnight, her +sister had grown up amazingly, and was drifting away from her into a +world where she could not follow. + +"Mother, do you have 'plans,' as Mrs. Moffat said?" asked Meg bashfully. + +"Yes, my dear, I have a great many; all mothers do, but mine differ +somewhat from Mrs. Moffat's, I suspect. I will tell you some of them, +for the time has come when a word may set this romantic little head and +heart of yours right, on a very serious subject. You are young, Meg, but +not too young to understand me; and mothers' lips are the fittest to +speak of such things to girls like you. Jo, your turn will come in time, +perhaps, so listen to my 'plans,' and help me carry them out, if they +are good." + +Jo went and sat on one arm of the chair, looking as if she thought they +were about to join in some very solemn affair. Holding a hand of each, +and watching the two young faces wistfully, Mrs. March said, in her +serious yet cheery way,-- + + [Illustration: Holding a hand of each, Mrs. March said, &c.] + +"I want my daughters to be beautiful, accomplished, and good; to be +admired, loved, and respected; to have a happy youth, to be well and +wisely married, and to lead useful, pleasant lives, with as little care +and sorrow to try them as God sees fit to send. To be loved and chosen +by a good man is the best and sweetest thing which can happen to a +woman; and I sincerely hope my girls may know this beautiful experience. +It is natural to think of it, Meg; right to hope and wait for it, and +wise to prepare for it; so that, when the happy time comes, you may +feel ready for the duties and worthy of the joy. My dear girls, I _am_ +ambitious for you, but not to have you make a dash in the world,--marry +rich men merely because they are rich, or have splendid houses, which +are not homes because love is wanting. Money is a needful and precious +thing,--and, when well used, a noble thing,--but I never want you to +think it is the first or only prize to strive for. I'd rather see you +poor men's wives, if you were happy, beloved, contented, than queens on +thrones, without self-respect and peace." + +"Poor girls don't stand any chance, Belle says, unless they put +themselves forward," sighed Meg. + +"Then we'll be old maids," said Jo stoutly. + +"Right, Jo; better be happy old maids than unhappy wives, or unmaidenly +girls, running about to find husbands," said Mrs. March decidedly. +"Don't be troubled, Meg; poverty seldom daunts a sincere lover. Some of +the best and most honored women I know were poor girls, but so +love-worthy that they were not allowed to be old maids. Leave these +things to time; make this home happy, so that you may be fit for homes +of your own, if they are offered you, and contented here if they are +not. One thing remember, my girls: mother is always ready to be your +confidant, father to be your friend; and both of us trust and hope that +our daughters, whether married or single, will be the pride and comfort +of our lives." + +"We will, Marmee, we will!" cried both, with all their hearts, as she +bade them good-night. + + + + + X. + + THE P. C. AND P. O. + + +As spring came on, a new set of amusements became the fashion, and the +lengthening days gave long afternoons for work and play of all sorts. +The garden had to be put in order, and each sister had a quarter of the +little plot to do what she liked with. Hannah used to say, "I'd know +which each of them gardings belonged to, ef I see 'em in Chiny;" and so +she might, for the girls' tastes differed as much as their characters. +Meg's had roses and heliotrope, myrtle, and a little orange-tree in it. +Jo's bed was never alike two seasons, for she was always trying +experiments; this year it was to be a plantation of sun-flowers, the +seeds of which cheerful and aspiring plant were to feed "Aunt +Cockle-top" and her family of chicks. Beth had old-fashioned, fragrant +flowers in her garden,--sweet peas and mignonette, larkspur, pinks, +pansies, and southernwood, with chickweed for the bird, and catnip for +the pussies. Amy had a bower in hers,--rather small and earwiggy, but +very pretty to look at,--with honeysuckles and morning-glories hanging +their colored horns and bells in graceful wreaths all over it; tall, +white lilies, delicate ferns, and as many brilliant, picturesque plants +as would consent to blossom there. + +Gardening, walks, rows on the river, and flower-hunts employed the fine +days; and for rainy ones, they had house diversions,--some old, some +new,--all more or less original. One of these was the "P. C."; for, as +secret societies were the fashion, it was thought proper to have one; +and, as all of the girls admired Dickens, they called themselves the +Pickwick Club. With a few interruptions, they had kept this up for a +year, and met every Saturday evening in the big garret, on which +occasions the ceremonies were as follows: Three chairs were arranged in +a row before a table, on which was a lamp, also four white badges, with +a big "P. C." in different colors on each, and the weekly newspaper, +called "The Pickwick Portfolio," to which all contributed something; +while Jo, who revelled in pens and ink, was the editor. At seven +o'clock, the four members ascended to the club-room, tied their badges +round their heads, and took their seats with great solemnity. Meg, as +the eldest, was Samuel Pickwick; Jo, being of a literary turn, Augustus +Snodgrass; Beth, because she was round and rosy, Tracy Tupman, and Amy, +who was always trying to do what she couldn't, was Nathaniel Winkle. +Pickwick, the president, read the paper, which was filled with original +tales, poetry, local news, funny advertisements, and hints, in which +they good-naturedly reminded each other of their faults and +short-comings. + + [Illustration: Mr. Pickwick] + +On one occasion, Mr. Pickwick put on a pair of spectacles without any +glasses, rapped upon the table, hemmed, and, having stared hard at Mr. +Snodgrass, who was tilting back in his chair, till he arranged himself +properly, began to read:-- + + + The Pickwick Portfolio. + + MAY 20, 18-- + + Poet's Corner. + + ANNIVERSARY ODE. + + Again we meet to celebrate + With badge and solemn rite, + Our fifty-second anniversary, + In Pickwick Hall, to-night. + + We all are here in perfect health, + None gone from our small band; + Again we see each well-known face, + And press each friendly hand. + + Our Pickwick, always at his post, + With reverence we greet, + As, spectacles on nose, he reads + Our well-filled weekly sheet. + + Although he suffers from a cold, + We joy to hear him speak, + For words of wisdom from him fall, + In spite of croak or squeak. + + Old six-foot Snodgrass looms on high, + With elephantine grace, + And beams upon the company, + With brown and jovial face. + + Poetic fire lights up his eye, + He struggles 'gainst his lot. + Behold ambition on his brow, + And on his nose a blot! + + Next our peaceful Tupman comes, + So rosy, plump, and sweet. + Who chokes with laughter at the puns, + And tumbles off his seat. + + Prim little Winkle too is here, + With every hair in place, + A model of propriety, + Though he hates to wash his face. + + The year is gone, we still unite + To joke and laugh and read, + And tread the path of literature + That doth to glory lead. + + Long may our paper prosper well, + Our club unbroken be, + And coming years their blessings pour + On the useful, gay "P. C." + + A. SNODGRASS. + + + THE MASKED MARRIAGE. + + A TALE OF VENICE. + + Gondola after gondola swept up to the marble steps, and left its + lovely load to swell the brilliant throng that filled the + stately halls of Count de Adelon. Knights and ladies, elves and + pages, monks and flower-girls, all mingled gayly in the dance. + Sweet voices and rich melody filled the air; and so with mirth + and music the masquerade went on. + + "Has your Highness seen the Lady Viola to-night?" asked a + gallant troubadour of the fairy queen who floated down the hall + upon his arm. + + "Yes; is she not lovely, though so sad! Her dress is well + chosen, too, for in a week she weds Count Antonio, whom she + passionately hates." + + "By my faith, I envy him. Yonder he comes, arrayed like a + bridegroom, except the black mask. When that is off we shall see + how he regards the fair maid whose heart he cannot win, though + her stern father bestows her hand," returned the troubadour. + + "'Tis whispered that she loves the young English artist who + haunts her steps, and is spurned by the old count," said the + lady, as they joined the dance. + + The revel was at its height when a priest appeared, and, + withdrawing the young pair to an alcove hung with purple velvet, + he motioned them to kneel. Instant silence fell upon the gay + throng; and not a sound, but the dash of fountains or the rustle + of orange-groves sleeping in the moonlight, broke the hush, as + Count de Adelon spoke thus:-- + + "My lords and ladies, pardon the ruse by which I have gathered + you here to witness the marriage of my daughter. Father, we wait + your services." + + All eyes turned toward the bridal party, and a low murmur of + amazement went through the throng, for neither bride nor groom + removed their masks. Curiosity and wonder possessed all hearts, + but respect restrained all tongues till the holy rite was over. + Then the eager spectators gathered round the count, demanding an + explanation. + + "Gladly would I give it if I could; but I only know that it was + the whim of my timid Viola, and I yielded to it. Now, my + children, let the play end. Unmask, and receive my blessing." + + But neither bent the knee; for the young bridegroom replied, in + a tone that startled all listeners, as the mask fell, disclosing + the noble face of Ferdinand Devereux, the artist lover; and, + leaning on the breast where now flashed the star of an English + earl, was the lovely Viola, radiant with joy and beauty. + + "My lord, you scornfully bade me claim your daughter when I + could boast as high a name and vast a fortune as the Count + Antonio. I can do more; for even your ambitious soul cannot + refuse the Earl of Devereux and De Vere, when he gives his + ancient name and boundless wealth in return for the beloved hand + of this fair lady, now my wife." + + The count stood like one changed to stone; and, turning to the + bewildered crowd, Ferdinand added, with a gay smile of triumph, + "To you, my gallant friends, I can only wish that your wooing + may prosper as mine has done; and that you may all win as fair a + bride as I have, by this masked marriage." + + S. PICKWICK. + + * * * * * + + Why is the P. C. like the Tower of Babel? It is full of unruly + members. + + * * * * * + + THE HISTORY OF A SQUASH. + + Once upon a time a farmer planted a little seed in his garden, + and after a while it sprouted and became a vine, and bore many + squashes. One day in October, when they were ripe, he picked one + and took it to market. A grocer-man bought and put it in his + shop. That same morning, a little girl, in a brown hat and blue + dress, with a round face and snub nose, went and bought it for + her mother. She lugged it home, cut it up, and boiled it in the + big pot; mashed some of it, with salt and butter, for dinner; + and to the rest she added a pint of milk, two eggs, four spoons + of sugar, nutmeg, and some crackers; put it in a deep dish, and + baked it till it was brown and nice; and next day it was eaten + by a family named March. + T. TUPMAN. + + * * * * * + + MR. PICKWICK, _Sir_:-- + + I address you upon the subject of sin the sinner I mean is a man + named Winkle who makes trouble in his club by laughing and + sometimes won't write his piece in this fine paper I hope you + will pardon his badness and let him send a French fable because + he can't write out of his head as he has so many lessons to do + and no brains in future I will try to take time by the fetlock + and prepare some work which will be all _commy la fo_ that means + all right I am in haste as it is nearly school time + + Yours respectably, N. WINKLE. + + [The above is a manly and handsome acknowledgment of past + misdemeanors. If our young friend studied punctuation, it would + be well.] + + + A SAD ACCIDENT. + + On Friday last, we were startled by a violent shock in our + basement, followed by cries of distress. On rushing, in a body, + to the cellar, we discovered our beloved President prostrate + upon the floor, having tripped and fallen while getting wood for + domestic purposes. A perfect scene of ruin met our eyes; for in + his fall Mr. Pickwick had plunged his head and shoulders into a + tub of water, upset a keg of soft soap upon his manly form, and + torn his garments badly. On being removed from this perilous + situation, it was discovered that he had suffered no injury but + several bruises; and, we are happy to add, is now doing well. + ED. + + *************************************************************** + * * + * THE PUBLIC BEREAVEMENT. * + * * + * It is our painful duty to record the sudden and mysterious * + * disappearance of our cherished friend, Mrs. Snowball Pat * + * Paw. This lovely and beloved cat was the pet of a large * + * circle of warm and admiring friends; for her beauty * + * attracted all eyes, her graces and virtues endeared her to * + * all hearts, and her loss is deeply felt by the whole * + * community. * + * * + * When last seen, she was sitting at the gate, watching the * + * butcher's cart; and it is feared that some villain, tempted * + * by her charms, basely stole her. Weeks have passed, but no * + * trace of her has been discovered; and we relinquish all * + * hope, tie a black ribbon to her basket, set aside her dish, * + * and weep for her as one lost to us forever. * + * * + *************************************************************** + + * * * * * + + A sympathizing friend sends the following gem:-- + + + A LAMENT + + FOR S. B. PAT PAW. + + We mourn the loss of our little pet, + And sigh o'er her hapless fate, + For never more by the fire she'll sit, + Nor play by the old green gate. + + The little grave where her infant sleeps, + Is 'neath the chestnut tree; + But o'er _her_ grave we may not weep, + We know not where it may be. + + Her empty bed, her idle ball, + Will never see her more; + No gentle tap, no loving purr + Is heard at the parlor-door. + + Another cat comes after her mice, + A cat with a dirty face; + But she does not hunt as our darling did, + Nor play with her airy grace. + + Her stealthy paws tread the very hall + Where Snowball used to play, + But she only spits at the dogs our pet + So gallantly drove away. + + She is useful and mild, and does her best, + But she is not fair to see; + And we cannot give her your place, dear, + Nor worship her as we worship thee. + A. S. + + + ADVERTISEMENTS. + + MISS ORANTHY BLUGGAGE, the accomplished Strong-Minded Lecturer, + will deliver her famous Lecture on "WOMAN AND HER POSITION," at + Pickwick Hall, next Saturday Evening, after the usual + performances. + + A WEEKLY MEETING will be held at Kitchen Place, to teach young + ladies how to cook. Hannah Brown will preside; and all are + invited to attend. + + THE DUSTPAN SOCIETY will meet on Wednesday next, and parade in + the upper story of the Club House. All members to appear in + uniform and shoulder their brooms at nine precisely. + + MRS. BETH BOUNCER will open her new assortment of Doll's + Millinery next week. The latest Paris Fashions have arrived, and + orders are respectfully solicited. + + A NEW PLAY will appear at the Barnville Theatre, in the course + of a few weeks, which will surpass anything ever seen on the + American stage. "THE GREEK SLAVE, or Constantine the Avenger," + is the name of this thrilling drama!!! + + + HINTS. + + If S. P. didn't use so much soap on his hands, he wouldn't + always be late at breakfast. A. S. is requested not to whistle + in the street. T. T. please don't forget Amy's napkin. N. W. + must not fret because his dress has not nine tucks. + + + WEEKLY REPORT. + + Meg--Good. + Jo--Bad. + Beth--Very good. + Amy--Middling. + + +As the President finished reading the paper (which I beg leave to assure +my readers is a _bona fide_ copy of one written by _bona fide_ girls +once upon a time), a round of applause followed, and then Mr. Snodgrass +rose to make a proposition. + +"Mr. President and gentlemen," he began, assuming a parliamentary +attitude and tone, "I wish to propose the admission of a new +member,--one who highly deserves the honor, would be deeply grateful for +it, and would add immensely to the spirit of the club, the literary +value of the paper, and be no end jolly and nice. I propose Mr. Theodore +Laurence as an honorary member of the P. C. Come now, do have him." + +Jo's sudden change of tone made the girls laugh; but all looked rather +anxious, and no one said a word, as Snodgrass took his seat. + +"We'll put it to vote," said the President. "All in favor of this motion +please to manifest it by saying 'Ay.'" + +A loud response from Snodgrass, followed, to everybody's surprise, by a +timid one from Beth. + +"Contrary minded say 'No.'" + +Meg and Amy were contrary minded; and Mr. Winkle rose to say, with great +elegance, "We don't wish any boys; they only joke and bounce about. This +is a ladies' club, and we wish to be private and proper." + +"I'm afraid he'll laugh at our paper, and make fun of us afterward," +observed Pickwick, pulling the little curl on her forehead, as she +always did when doubtful. + +Up rose Snodgrass, very much in earnest. "Sir, I give you my word as a +gentleman, Laurie won't do anything of the sort. He likes to write, and +he'll give a tone to our contributions, and keep us from being +sentimental, don't you see? We can do so little for him, and he does so +much for us, I think the least we can do is to offer him a place here, +and make him welcome if he comes." + +This artful allusion to benefits conferred brought Tupman to his feet, +looking as if he had quite made up his mind. + +"Yes, we ought to do it, even if we _are_ afraid. I say he _may_ come, +and his grandpa, too, if he likes." + +This spirited burst from Beth electrified the club, and Jo left her +seat to shake hands approvingly. "Now then, vote again. Everybody +remember it's our Laurie, and say 'Ay!'" cried Snodgrass excitedly. + +"Ay! ay! ay!" replied three voices at once. + +"Good! Bless you! Now, as there's nothing like 'taking time by the +_fetlock_,' as Winkle characteristically observes, allow me to present +the new member;" and, to the dismay of the rest of the club, Jo threw +open the door of the closet, and displayed Laurie sitting on a rag-bag, +flushed and twinkling with suppressed laughter. + + [Illustration: Jo threw open the door of the closet] + +"You rogue! you traitor! Jo, how could you?" cried the three girls, as +Snodgrass led her friend triumphantly forth; and, producing both a chair +and a badge, installed him in a jiffy. + +"The coolness of you two rascals is amazing," began Mr. Pickwick, trying +to get up an awful frown, and only succeeding in producing an amiable +smile. But the new member was equal to the occasion; and, rising, with a +grateful salutation to the Chair, said, in the most engaging manner, +"Mr. President and ladies,--I beg pardon, gentlemen,--allow me to +introduce myself as Sam Weller, the very humble servant of the club." + +"Good! good!" cried Jo, pounding with the handle of the old warming-pan +on which she leaned. + +"My faithful friend and noble patron," continued Laurie, with a wave of +the hand, "who has so flatteringly presented me, is not to be blamed for +the base stratagem of to-night. I planned it, and she only gave in after +lots of teasing." + +"Come now, don't lay it all on yourself; you know I proposed the +cupboard," broke in Snodgrass, who was enjoying the joke amazingly. + +"Never you mind what she says. I'm the wretch that did it, sir," said +the new member, with a Welleresque nod to Mr. Pickwick. "But on my +honor, I never will do so again, and henceforth _dewote_ myself to the +interest of this immortal club." + +"Hear! hear!" cried Jo, clashing the lid of the warming-pan like a +cymbal. + +"Go on, go on!" added Winkle and Tupman, while the President bowed +benignly. + +"I merely wish to say, that as a slight token of my gratitude for the +honor done me, and as a means of promoting friendly relations between +adjoining nations, I have set up a post-office in the hedge in the lower +corner of the garden; a fine, spacious building, with padlocks on the +doors, and every convenience for the mails,--also the females, if I may +be allowed the expression. It's the old martin-house; but I've stopped +up the door, and made the roof open, so it will hold all sorts of +things, and save our valuable time. Letters, manuscripts, books, and +bundles can be passed in there; and, as each nation has a key, it will +be uncommonly nice, I fancy. Allow me to present the club key; and, +with many thanks for your favor, take my seat." + +Great applause as Mr. Weller deposited a little key on the table, and +subsided; the warming-pan clashed and waved wildly, and it was some time +before order could be restored. A long discussion followed, and every +one came out surprising, for every one did her best; so it was an +unusually lively meeting, and did not adjourn till a late hour, when it +broke up with three shrill cheers for the new member. + +No one ever regretted the admittance of Sam Weller, for a more devoted, +well-behaved, and jovial member no club could have. He certainly did add +"spirit" to the meetings, and "a tone" to the paper; for his orations +convulsed his hearers, and his contributions were excellent, being +patriotic, classical, comical, or dramatic, but never sentimental. Jo +regarded them as worthy of Bacon, Milton, or Shakespeare; and remodelled +her own works with good effect, she thought. + +The P. O. was a capital little institution, and flourished wonderfully, +for nearly as many queer things passed through it as through the real +office. Tragedies and cravats, poetry and pickles, garden-seeds and long +letters, music and gingerbread, rubbers, invitations, scoldings and +puppies. The old gentleman liked the fun, and amused himself by sending +odd bundles, mysterious messages, and funny telegrams; and his gardener, +who was smitten with Hannah's charms, actually sent a love-letter to +Jo's care. How they laughed when the secret came out, never dreaming how +many love-letters that little post-office would hold in the years to +come! + + + + + [Illustration: Jo spent the morning on the river] + + XI. + + EXPERIMENTS. + + +"The first of June! The Kings are off to the seashore to-morrow, and I'm +free. Three months' vacation,--how I shall enjoy it!" exclaimed Meg, +coming home one warm day to find Jo laid upon the sofa in an unusual +state of exhaustion, while Beth took off her dusty boots, and Amy made +lemonade for the refreshment of the whole party. + +"Aunt March went to-day, for which, oh, be joyful!" said Jo. "I was +mortally afraid she'd ask me to go with her; if she had, I should have +felt as if I ought to do it; but Plumfield is about as gay as a +churchyard, you know, and I'd rather be excused. We had a flurry getting +the old lady off, and I had a fright every time she spoke to me, for I +was in such a hurry to be through that I was uncommonly helpful and +sweet, and feared she'd find it impossible to part from me. I quaked +till she was fairly in the carriage, and had a final fright, for, as it +drove off, she popped out her head, saying, 'Josy-phine, won't you--?' +I didn't hear any more, for I basely turned and fled; I did actually +run, and whisked round the corner, where I felt safe." + +"Poor old Jo! she came in looking as if bears were after her," said +Beth, as she cuddled her sister's feet with a motherly air. + +"Aunt March is a regular samphire, is she not?" observed Amy, tasting +her mixture critically. + +"She means _vampire_, not sea-weed; but it doesn't matter; it's too warm +to be particular about one's parts of speech," murmured Jo. + +"What shall you do all your vacation?" asked Amy, changing the subject, +with tact. + +"I shall lie abed late, and do nothing," replied Meg, from the depths of +the rocking-chair. "I've been routed up early all winter, and had to +spend my days working for other people; so now I'm going to rest and +revel to my heart's content." + +"No," said Jo; "that dozy way wouldn't suit me. I've laid in a heap of +books, and I'm going to improve my shining hours reading on my perch in +the old apple-tree, when I'm not having l------" + +"Don't say 'larks!'" implored Amy, as a return snub for the "samphire" +correction. + +"I'll say 'nightingales,' then, with Laurie; that's proper and +appropriate, since he's a warbler." + +"Don't let us do any lessons, Beth, for a while, but play all the time, +and rest, as the girls mean to," proposed Amy. + +"Well, I will, if mother doesn't mind. I want to learn some new songs, +and my children need fitting up for the summer; they are dreadfully out +of order, and really suffering for clothes." + +"May we, mother?" asked Meg, turning to Mrs. March, who sat sewing, in +what they called "Marmee's corner." + +"You may try your experiment for a week, and see how you like it. I +think by Saturday night you will find that all play and no work is as +bad as all work and no play." + +"Oh, dear, no! it will be delicious, I'm sure," said Meg complacently. + +"I now propose a toast, as my 'friend and pardner, Sairy Gamp,' says. +Fun forever, and no grubbing!" cried Jo, rising, glass in hand, as the +lemonade went round. + +They all drank it merrily, and began the experiment by lounging for the +rest of the day. Next morning, Meg did not appear till ten o'clock; her +solitary breakfast did not taste nice, and the room seemed lonely and +untidy; for Jo had not filled the vases, Beth had not dusted, and Amy's +books lay scattered about. Nothing was neat and pleasant but "Marmee's +corner," which looked as usual; and there Meg sat, to "rest and read," +which meant yawn, and imagine what pretty summer dresses she would get +with her salary. Jo spent the morning on the river, with Laurie, and the +afternoon reading and crying over "The Wide, Wide World," up in the +apple-tree. Beth began by rummaging everything out of the big closet, +where her family resided; but, getting tired before half done, she left +her establishment topsy-turvy, and went to her music, rejoicing that she +had no dishes to wash. Amy arranged her bower, put on her best white +frock, smoothed her curls, and sat down to draw, under the honeysuckles, +hoping some one would see and inquire who the young artist was. As no +one appeared but an inquisitive daddy-long-legs, who examined her work +with interest, she went to walk, got caught in a shower, and came home +dripping. + + [Illustration: Amy sat down to draw] + +At tea-time they compared notes, and all agreed that it had been a +delightful, though unusually long day. Meg, who went shopping in the +afternoon, and got a "sweet blue muslin," had discovered, after she had +cut the breadths off, that it wouldn't wash, which mishap made her +slightly cross. Jo had burnt the skin off her nose boating, and got a +raging headache by reading too long. Beth was worried by the confusion +of her closet, and the difficulty of learning three or four songs at +once; and Amy deeply regretted the damage done her frock, for Katy +Brown's party was to be the next day; and now, like Flora McFlimsey, she +had "nothing to wear." But these were mere trifles; and they assured +their mother that the experiment was working finely. She smiled, said +nothing, and, with Hannah's help, did their neglected work, keeping home +pleasant, and the domestic machinery running smoothly. It was +astonishing what a peculiar and uncomfortable state of things was +produced by the "resting and revelling" process. The days kept getting +longer and longer; the weather was unusually variable, and so were +tempers; an unsettled feeling possessed every one, and Satan found +plenty of mischief for the idle hands to do. As the height of luxury, +Meg put out some of her sewing, and then found time hang so heavily that +she fell to snipping and spoiling her clothes, in her attempts to +furbish them up à la Moffat. Jo read till her eyes gave out, and she was +sick of books; got so fidgety that even good-natured Laurie had a +quarrel with her, and so reduced in spirits that she desperately wished +she had gone with Aunt March. Beth got on pretty well, for she was +constantly forgetting that it was to be _all play, and no work_, and +fell back into her old ways now and then; but something in the air +affected her, and, more than once, her tranquillity was much disturbed; +so much so, that, on one occasion, she actually shook poor dear Joanna, +and told her she was "a fright." Amy fared worst of all, for her +resources were small; and when her sisters left her to amuse and care +for herself, she soon found that accomplished and important little self +a great burden. She didn't like dolls, fairy-tales were childish, and +one couldn't draw all the time; tea-parties didn't amount to much, +neither did picnics, unless very well conducted. "If one could have a +fine house, full of nice girls, or go travelling, the summer would be +delightful; but to stay at home with three selfish sisters and a +grown-up boy was enough to try the patience of a Boaz," complained Miss +Malaprop, after several days devoted to pleasure, fretting, and _ennui_. + +No one would own that they were tired of the experiment; but, by Friday +night, each acknowledged to herself that she was glad the week was +nearly done. Hoping to impress the lesson more deeply, Mrs. March, who +had a good deal of humor, resolved to finish off the trial in an +appropriate manner; so she gave Hannah a holiday, and let the girls +enjoy the full effect of the play system. + +When they got up on Saturday morning, there was no fire in the kitchen, +no breakfast in the dining-room, and no mother anywhere to be seen. + +"Mercy on us! what _has_ happened?" cried Jo, staring about her in +dismay. + +Meg ran upstairs, and soon came back again, looking relieved, but rather +bewildered, and a little ashamed. + +"Mother isn't sick, only very tired, and she says she is going to stay +quietly in her room all day, and let us do the best we can. It's a very +queer thing for her to do, she doesn't act a bit like herself; but she +says it has been a hard week for her, so we mustn't grumble, but take +care of ourselves." + +"That's easy enough, and I like the idea; I'm aching for something to +do--that is, some new amusement, you know," added Jo quickly. + +In fact it _was_ an immense relief to them all to have a little work, +and they took hold with a will, but soon realized the truth of Hannah's +saying, "Housekeeping ain't no joke." There was plenty of food in the +larder, and, while Beth and Amy set the table, Meg and Jo got breakfast, +wondering, as they did so, why servants ever talked about hard work. + +"I shall take some up to mother, though she said we were not to think of +her, for she'd take care of herself," said Meg, who presided, and felt +quite matronly behind the teapot. + +So a tray was fitted out before any one began, and taken up, with the +cook's compliments. The boiled tea was very bitter, the omelette +scorched, and the biscuits speckled with saleratus; but Mrs. March +received her repast with thanks, and laughed heartily over it after Jo +was gone. + +"Poor little souls, they will have a hard time, I'm afraid; but they +won't suffer, and it will do them good," she said, producing the more +palatable viands with which she had provided herself, and disposing of +the bad breakfast, so that their feelings might not be hurt,--a motherly +little deception, for which they were grateful. + +Many were the complaints below, and great the chagrin of the head cook +at her failures. "Never mind, I'll get the dinner, and be servant; you +be mistress, keep your hands nice, see company, and give orders," said +Jo, who knew still less than Meg about culinary affairs. + +This obliging offer was gladly accepted; and Margaret retired to the +parlor, which she hastily put in order by whisking the litter under the +sofa, and shutting the blinds, to save the trouble of dusting. Jo, with +perfect faith in her own powers, and a friendly desire to make up the +quarrel, immediately put a note in the office, inviting Laurie to +dinner. + +"You'd better see what you have got before you think of having company," +said Meg, when informed of the hospitable but rash act. + +"Oh, there's corned beef and plenty of potatoes; and I shall get some +asparagus, and a lobster, 'for a relish,' as Hannah says. We'll have +lettuce, and make a salad. I don't know how, but the book tells. I'll +have blanc-mange and strawberries for dessert; and coffee, too, if you +want to be elegant." + +"Don't try too many messes, Jo, for you can't make anything but +gingerbread and molasses candy, fit to eat. I wash my hands of the +dinner-party; and, since you have asked Laurie on your own +responsibility, you may just take care of him." + +"I don't want you to do anything but be civil to him, and help to the +pudding. You'll give me your advice if I get in a muddle, won't you?" +asked Jo, rather hurt. + +"Yes; but I don't know much, except about bread, and a few trifles. You +had better ask mother's leave before you order anything," returned Meg +prudently. + +"Of course I shall; I'm not a fool," and Jo went off in a huff at the +doubts expressed of her powers. + +"Get what you like, and don't disturb me; I'm going out to dinner, and +can't worry about things at home," said Mrs. March, when Jo spoke to +her. "I never enjoyed housekeeping, and I'm going to take a vacation +to-day, and read, write, go visiting, and amuse myself." + +The unusual spectacle of her busy mother rocking comfortably, and +reading, early in the morning, made Jo feel as if some natural +phenomenon had occurred, for an eclipse, an earthquake, or a volcanic +eruption would hardly have seemed stranger. + +"Everything is out of sorts, somehow," she said to herself, going down +stairs. "There's Beth crying; that's a sure sign that something is wrong +with this family. If Amy is bothering, I'll shake her." + +Feeling very much out of sorts herself, Jo hurried into the parlor to +find Beth sobbing over Pip, the canary, who lay dead in the cage, with +his little claws pathetically extended, as if imploring the food for +want of which he had died. + +"It's all my fault--I forgot him--there isn't a seed or a drop left. O +Pip! O Pip! how could I be so cruel to you?" cried Beth, taking the poor +thing in her hands, and trying to restore him. + + [Illustration: O Pip! O Pip!] + +Jo peeped into his half-open eye, felt his little heart, and finding him +stiff and cold, shook her head, and offered her domino-box for a coffin. + +"Put him in the oven, and maybe he will get warm and revive," said Amy +hopefully. + +"He's been starved, and he sha'n't be baked, now he's dead. I'll make +him a shroud, and he shall be buried in the garden; and I'll never have +another bird, never, my Pip! for I am too bad to own one," murmured +Beth, sitting on the floor with her pet folded in her hands. + +"The funeral shall be this afternoon, and we will all go. Now, don't +cry, Bethy; it's a pity, but nothing goes right this week, and Pip has +had the worst of the experiment. Make the shroud, and lay him in my box; +and, after the dinner-party, we'll have a nice little funeral," said Jo, +beginning to feel as if she had undertaken a good deal. + +Leaving the others to console Beth, she departed to the kitchen, which +was in a most discouraging state of confusion. Putting on a big apron, +she fell to work, and got the dishes piled up ready for washing, when +she discovered that the fire was out. + +"Here's a sweet prospect!" muttered Jo, slamming the stove-door open, +and poking vigorously among the cinders. + +Having rekindled the fire, she thought she would go to market while the +water heated. The walk revived her spirits; and, flattering herself that +she had made good bargains, she trudged home again, after buying a very +young lobster, some very old asparagus, and two boxes of acid +strawberries. By the time she got cleared up, the dinner arrived, and +the stove was red-hot. Hannah had left a pan of bread to rise, Meg had +worked it up early, set it on the hearth for a second rising, and +forgotten it. Meg was entertaining Sallie Gardiner in the parlor, when +the door flew open, and a floury, crocky, flushed, and dishevelled +figure appeared, demanding tartly,-- + +"I say, isn't bread 'riz' enough when it runs over the pans?" + +Sallie began to laugh; but Meg nodded, and lifted her eyebrows as high +as they would go, which caused the apparition to vanish, and put the +sour bread into the oven without further delay. Mrs. March went out, +after peeping here and there to see how matters went, also saying a word +of comfort to Beth, who sat making a winding-sheet, while the dear +departed lay in state in the domino-box. A strange sense of helplessness +fell upon the girls as the gray bonnet vanished round the corner; and +despair seized them, when, a few minutes later, Miss Crocker appeared, +and said she'd come to dinner. Now, this lady was a thin, yellow +spinster, with a sharp nose and inquisitive eyes, who saw everything, +and gossiped about all she saw. They disliked her, but had been taught +to be kind to her, simply because she was old and poor, and had few +friends. So Meg gave her the easy-chair, and tried to entertain her, +while she asked questions, criticised everything, and told stories of +the people whom she knew. + +Language cannot describe the anxieties, experiences, and exertions which +Jo underwent that morning; and the dinner she served up became a +standing joke. Fearing to ask any more advice, she did her best alone, +and discovered that something more than energy and good-will is +necessary to make a cook. She boiled the asparagus for an hour, and was +grieved to find the heads cooked off and the stalks harder than ever. +The bread burnt black; for the salad-dressing so aggravated her, that +she let everything else go till she had convinced herself that she could +not make it fit to eat. The lobster was a scarlet mystery to her, but +she hammered and poked, till it was unshelled, and its meagre +proportions concealed in a grove of lettuce-leaves. The potatoes had to +be hurried, not to keep the asparagus waiting, and were not done at +last. The blanc-mange was lumpy, and the strawberries not as ripe as +they looked, having been skilfully "deaconed." + +"Well, they can eat beef, and bread and butter, if they are hungry; only +it's mortifying to have to spend your whole morning for nothing," +thought Jo, as she rang the bell half an hour later than usual, and +stood, hot, tired, and dispirited, surveying the feast spread for +Laurie, accustomed to all sorts of elegance, and Miss Crocker, whose +curious eyes would mark all failures, and whose tattling tongue would +report them far and wide. + +Poor Jo would gladly have gone under the table, as one thing after +another was tasted and left; while Amy giggled, Meg looked distressed, +Miss Crocker pursed up her lips, and Laurie talked and laughed with all +his might, to give a cheerful tone to the festive scene. Jo's one strong +point was the fruit, for she had sugared it well, and had a pitcher of +rich cream to eat with it. Her hot cheeks cooled a trifle, and she drew +a long breath, as the pretty glass plates went round, and every one +looked graciously at the little rosy islands floating in a sea of cream. +Miss Crocker tasted first, made a wry face, and drank some water +hastily. Jo, who had refused, thinking there might not be enough, for +they dwindled sadly after the picking over, glanced at Laurie, but he +was eating away manfully, though there was a slight pucker about his +mouth, and he kept his eye fixed on his plate. Amy, who was fond of +delicate fare, took a heaping spoonful, choked, hid her face in her +napkin, and left the table precipitately. + + [Illustration: Miss Crocker made a wry face] + +"Oh, what is it?" exclaimed Jo trembling. + +"Salt instead of sugar, and the cream is sour," replied Meg, with a +tragic gesture. + +Jo uttered a groan, and fell back in her chair; remembering that she had +given a last hasty powdering to the berries out of one of the two boxes +on the kitchen table, and had neglected to put the milk in the +refrigerator. She turned scarlet, and was on the verge of crying, when +she met Laurie's eyes, which _would_ look merry in spite of his heroic +efforts; the comical side of the affair suddenly struck her, and she +laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks. So did every one else, even +"Croaker," as the girls called the old lady; and the unfortunate dinner +ended gayly, with bread and butter, olives and fun. + +"I haven't strength of mind enough to clear up now, so we will sober +ourselves with a funeral," said Jo, as they rose; and Miss Crocker made +ready to go, being eager to tell the new story at another friend's +dinner-table. + +They did sober themselves, for Beth's sake; Laurie dug a grave under the +ferns in the grove, little Pip was laid in, with many tears, by his +tender-hearted mistress, and covered with moss, while a wreath of +violets and chickweed was hung on the stone which bore his epitaph, +composed by Jo, while she struggled with the dinner:-- + + "Here lies Pip March, + Who died the 7th of June; + Loved and lamented sore, + And not forgotten soon." + +At the conclusion of the ceremonies, Beth retired to her room, overcome +with emotion and lobster; but there was no place of repose, for the beds +were not made, and she found her grief much assuaged by beating up +pillows and putting things in order. Meg helped Jo clear away the +remains of the feast, which took half the afternoon, and left them so +tired that they agreed to be contented with tea and toast for supper. +Laurie took Amy to drive, which was a deed of charity, for the sour +cream seemed to have had a bad effect upon her temper. Mrs. March came +home to find the three older girls hard at work in the middle of the +afternoon; and a glance at the closet gave her an idea of the success of +one part of the experiment. + +Before the housewives could rest, several people called, and there was a +scramble to get ready to see them; then tea must be got, errands done; +and one or two necessary bits of sewing neglected till the last minute. +As twilight fell, dewy and still, one by one they gathered in the porch +where the June roses were budding beautifully, and each groaned or +sighed as she sat down, as if tired or troubled. + +"What a dreadful day this has been!" begun Jo, usually the first to +speak. + +"It has seemed shorter than usual, but _so_ uncomfortable," said Meg. + +"Not a bit like home," added Amy. + +"It can't seem so without Marmee and little Pip," sighed Beth, glancing, +with full eyes, at the empty cage above her head. + +"Here's mother, dear, and you shall have another bird to-morrow, if you +want it." + +As she spoke, Mrs. March came and took her place among them, looking as +if her holiday had not been much pleasanter than theirs. + +"Are you satisfied with your experiment, girls, or do you want another +week of it?" she asked, as Beth nestled up to her, and the rest turned +toward her with brightening faces, as flowers turn toward the sun. + +"I don't!" cried Jo decidedly. + +"Nor I," echoed the others. + +"You think, then, that it is better to have a few duties, and live a +little for others, do you?" + +"Lounging and larking doesn't pay," observed Jo, shaking her head. "I'm +tired of it, and mean to go to work at something right off." + +"Suppose you learn plain cooking; that's a useful accomplishment, which +no woman should be without," said Mrs. March, laughing inaudibly at the +recollection of Jo's dinner-party; for she had met Miss Crocker, and +heard her account of it. + +"Mother, did you go away and let everything be, just to see how we'd get +on?" cried Meg, who had had suspicions all day. + +"Yes; I wanted you to see how the comfort of all depends on each doing +her share faithfully. While Hannah and I did your work, you got on +pretty well, though I don't think you were very happy or amiable; so I +thought, as a little lesson, I would show you what happens when every +one thinks only of herself. Don't you feel that it is pleasanter to help +one another, to have daily duties which make leisure sweet when it +comes, and to bear and forbear, that home may be comfortable and lovely +to us all?" + +"We do, mother, we do!" cried the girls. + +"Then let me advise you to take up your little burdens again; for though +they seem heavy sometimes, they are good for us, and lighten as we learn +to carry them. Work is wholesome, and there is plenty for every one; it +keeps us from _ennui_ and mischief, is good for health and spirits, and +gives us a sense of power and independence better than money or +fashion." + +"We'll work like bees, and love it too; see if we don't!" said Jo. "I'll +learn plain cooking for my holiday task; and the next dinner-party I +have shall be a success." + +"I'll make the set of shirts for father, instead of letting you do it, +Marmee. I can and I will, though I'm not fond of sewing; that will be +better than fussing over my own things, which are plenty nice enough as +they are," said Meg. + +"I'll do my lessons every day, and not spend so much time with my music +and dolls. I am a stupid thing, and ought to be studying, not playing," +was Beth's resolution; while Amy followed their example by heroically +declaring, "I shall learn to make button-holes, and attend to my parts +of speech." + +"Very good! then I am quite satisfied with the experiment, and fancy +that we shall not have to repeat it; only don't go to the other extreme, +and delve like slaves. Have regular hours for work and play; make each +day both useful and pleasant, and prove that you understand the worth of +time by employing it well. Then youth will be delightful, old age will +bring few regrets, and life become a beautiful success, in spite of +poverty." + +"We'll remember, mother!" and they did. + + [Illustration: We'll work like bees] + + + + + XII. + + CAMP LAURENCE. + + + [Illustration: Beth was post-mistress] + +Beth was post-mistress, for, being most at home, she could attend to it +regularly, and dearly liked the daily task of unlocking the little door +and distributing the mail. One July day she came in with her hands full, +and went about the house leaving letters and parcels, like the penny +post. + +"Here's your posy, mother! Laurie never forgets that," she said, putting +the fresh nosegay in the vase that stood in "Marmee's corner," and was +kept supplied by the affectionate boy. + +"Miss Meg March, one letter and a glove," continued Beth, delivering the +articles to her sister, who sat near her mother, stitching wristbands. + +"Why, I left a pair over there, and here is only one," said Meg, looking +at the gray cotton glove. + +"Didn't you drop the other in the garden?" + +"No, I'm sure I didn't; for there was only one in the office." + +"I hate to have odd gloves! Never mind, the other may be found. My +letter is only a translation of the German song I wanted; I think Mr. +Brooke did it, for this isn't Laurie's writing." + +Mrs. March glanced at Meg, who was looking very pretty in her gingham +morning-gown, with the little curls blowing about her forehead, and very +womanly, as she sat sewing at her little work-table, full of tidy white +rolls; so unconscious of the thought in her mother's mind as she sewed +and sung, while her fingers flew, and her thoughts were busied with +girlish fancies as innocent and fresh as the pansies in her belt, that +Mrs. March smiled, and was satisfied. + +"Two letters for Doctor Jo, a book, and a funny old hat, which covered +the whole post-office, stuck outside," said Beth, laughing, as she went +into the study, where Jo sat writing. + +"What a sly fellow Laurie is! I said I wished bigger hats were the +fashion, because I burn my face every hot day. He said, 'Why mind the +fashion? Wear a big hat, and be comfortable!' I said I would if I had +one, and he has sent me this, to try me. I'll wear it, for fun, and show +him I _don't_ care for the fashion;" and, hanging the antique broad-brim +on a bust of Plato, Jo read her letters. + +One from her mother made her cheeks glow and her eyes fill, for it said +to her,-- + + "MY DEAR: + + "I write a little word to tell you with how much satisfaction I + watch your efforts to control your temper. You say nothing about + your trials, failures, or successes, and think, perhaps, that no + one sees them but the Friend whose help you daily ask, if I may + trust the well-worn cover of your guide-book. _I_, too, have + seen them all, and heartily believe in the sincerity of your + resolution, since it begins to bear fruit. Go on, dear, + patiently and bravely, and always believe that no one + sympathizes more tenderly with you than your loving + + "MOTHER." + +"That does me good! that's worth millions of money and pecks of praise. +O Marmee, I do try! I will keep on trying, and not get tired, since I +have you to help me." + +Laying her head on her arms, Jo wet her little romance with a few happy +tears, for she _had_ thought that no one saw and appreciated her efforts +to be good; and this assurance was doubly precious, doubly encouraging, +because unexpected, and from the person whose commendation she most +valued. Feeling stronger than ever to meet and subdue her Apollyon, she +pinned the note inside her frock, as a shield and a reminder, lest she +be taken unaware, and proceeded to open her other letter, quite ready +for either good or bad news. In a big, dashing hand, Laurie wrote,-- + + "DEAR JO, + What ho! + + Some English girls and boys are coming to see me to-morrow and + I want to have a jolly time. If it's fine, I'm going to pitch + my tent in Longmeadow, and row up the whole crew to lunch and + croquet,--have a fire, make messes, gypsy fashion, and all + sorts of larks. They are nice people, and like such things. + Brooke will go, to keep us boys steady, and Kate Vaughn will + play propriety for the girls. I want you all to come; can't let + Beth off, at any price, and nobody shall worry her. Don't + bother about rations,--I'll see to that, and everything + else,--only do come, there's a good fellow! + + "In a tearing hurry, + Yours ever, LAURIE." + +"Here's richness!" cried Jo, flying in to tell the news to Meg. + +"Of course we can go, mother? it will be such a help to Laurie, for I +can row, and Meg see to the lunch, and the children be useful in some +way." + +"I hope the Vaughns are not fine, grown-up people. Do you know anything +about them, Jo?" asked Meg. + +"Only that there are four of them. Kate is older than you, Fred and +Frank (twins) about my age, and a little girl (Grace), who is nine or +ten. Laurie knew them abroad, and liked the boys; I fancied, from the +way he primmed up his mouth in speaking of her, that he didn't admire +Kate much." + +"I'm so glad my French print is clean; it's just the thing, and so +becoming!" observed Meg complacently. "Have you anything decent, Jo?" + +"Scarlet and gray boating suit, good enough for me. I shall row and +tramp about, so I don't want any starch to think of. You'll come, +Bethy?" + +"If you won't let any of the boys talk to me." + +"Not a boy!" + +"I like to please Laurie; and I'm not afraid of Mr. Brooke, he is so +kind; but I don't want to play, or sing, or say anything. I'll work +hard, and not trouble any one; and you'll take care of me, Jo, so I'll +go." + +"That's my good girl; you do try to fight off your shyness, and I love +you for it. Fighting faults isn't easy, as I know; and a cheery word +kind of gives a lift. Thank you, mother," and Jo gave the thin cheek a +grateful kiss, more precious to Mrs. March than if it had given back the +rosy roundness of her youth. + +"I had a box of chocolate drops, and the picture I wanted to copy," said +Amy, showing her mail. + +"And I got a note from Mr. Laurence, asking me to come over and play to +him to-night, before the lamps are lighted, and I shall go," added Beth, +whose friendship with the old gentleman prospered finely. + +"Now let's fly round, and do double duty to-day, so that we can play +to-morrow with free minds," said Jo, preparing to replace her pen with a +broom. + +When the sun peeped into the girls' room early next morning, to promise +them a fine day, he saw a comical sight. Each had made such preparation +for the fête as seemed necessary and proper. Meg had an extra row of +little curl-papers across her forehead, Jo had copiously anointed her +afflicted face with cold cream, Beth had taken Joanna to bed with her to +atone for the approaching separation, and Amy had capped the climax by +putting a clothes-pin on her nose, to uplift the offending feature. It +was one of the kind artists use to hold the paper on their +drawing-boards, therefore quite appropriate and effective for the +purpose to which it was now put. This funny spectacle appeared to amuse +the sun, for he burst out with such radiance that Jo woke up, and +roused all her sisters by a hearty laugh at Amy's ornament. + + [Illustration: Amy capped the climax by putting a clothes-pin on her + nose] + +Sunshine and laughter were good omens for a pleasure party, and soon a +lively bustle began in both houses. Beth, who was ready first, kept +reporting what went on next door, and enlivened her sisters' toilets by +frequent telegrams from the window. + +"There goes the man with the tent! I see Mrs. Barker doing up the lunch +in a hamper and a great basket. Now Mr. Laurence is looking up at the +sky, and the weathercock; I wish he would go, too. There's Laurie, +looking like a sailor,--nice boy! Oh, mercy me! here's a carriage full +of people--a tall lady, a little girl, and two dreadful boys. One is +lame; poor thing, he's got a crutch. Laurie didn't tell us that. Be +quick, girls! it's getting late. Why, there is Ned Moffat, I do declare. +Look, Meg, isn't that the man who bowed to you one day, when we were +shopping?" + +"So it is. How queer that he should come. I thought he was at the +Mountains. There is Sallie; I'm glad she got back in time. Am I all +right, Jo?" cried Meg, in a flutter. + +"A regular daisy. Hold up your dress and put your hat straight; it looks +sentimental tipped that way, and will fly off at the first puff. Now, +then, come on!" + +"O Jo, you are not going to wear that awful hat? It's too absurd! You +shall _not_ make a guy of yourself," remonstrated Meg, as Jo tied down, +with a red ribbon, the broad-brimmed, old-fashioned Leghorn Laurie had +sent for a joke. + +"I just will, though, for it's capital,--so shady, light, and big. It +will make fun; and I don't mind being a guy if I'm comfortable." With +that Jo marched straight away, and the rest followed,--a bright little +band of sisters, all looking their best, in summer suits, with happy +faces under the jaunty hat-brims. + +Laurie ran to meet, and present them to his friends, in the most cordial +manner. The lawn was the reception-room, and for several minutes a +lively scene was enacted there. Meg was grateful to see that Miss Kate, +though twenty, was dressed with a simplicity which American girls would +do well to imitate; and she was much flattered by Mr. Ned's assurances +that he came especially to see her. Jo understood why Laurie "primmed up +his mouth" when speaking of Kate, for that young lady had a +stand-off-don't-touch-me air, which contrasted strongly with the free +and easy demeanor of the other girls. Beth took an observation of the +new boys, and decided that the lame one was not "dreadful," but gentle +and feeble, and she would be kind to him on that account. Amy found +Grace a well-mannered, merry little person; and after staring dumbly at +one another for a few minutes, they suddenly became very good friends. + +Tents, lunch, and croquet utensils having been sent on beforehand, the +party was soon embarked, and the two boats pushed off together, leaving +Mr. Laurence waving his hat on the shore. Laurie and Jo rowed one boat; +Mr. Brooke and Ned the other; while Fred Vaughn, the riotous twin, did +his best to upset both by paddling about in a wherry like a disturbed +water-bug. Jo's funny hat deserved a vote of thanks, for it was of +general utility; it broke the ice in the beginning, by producing a +laugh; it created quite a refreshing breeze, flapping to and fro, as she +rowed, and would make an excellent umbrella for the whole party, if a +shower came up, she said. Kate looked rather amazed at Jo's proceedings, +especially as she exclaimed "Christopher Columbus!" when she lost her +oar; and Laurie said, "My dear fellow, did I hurt you?" when he tripped +over her feet in taking his place. But after putting up her glass to +examine the queer girl several times, Miss Kate decided that she was +"odd, but rather clever," and smiled upon her from afar. + + [Illustration: Mr. Laurence waving his hat] + +Meg, in the other boat, was delightfully situated, face to face with the +rowers, who both admired the prospect, and feathered their oars with +uncommon "skill and dexterity." Mr. Brooke was a grave, silent young +man, with handsome brown eyes and a pleasant voice. Meg liked his quiet +manners, and considered him a walking encyclopædia of useful knowledge. +He never talked to her much; but he looked at her a good deal, and she +felt sure that he did not regard her with aversion. Ned, being in +college, of course put on all the airs which Freshmen think it their +bounden duty to assume; he was not very wise, but very good-natured, and +altogether an excellent person to carry on a picnic. Sallie Gardiner was +absorbed in keeping her white piqué dress clean, and chattering with the +ubiquitous Fred, who kept Beth in constant terror by his pranks. + +It was not far to Longmeadow; but the tent was pitched and the wickets +down by the time they arrived. A pleasant green field, with three +wide-spreading oaks in the middle, and a smooth strip of turf for +croquet. + +"Welcome to Camp Laurence!" said the young host, as they landed, with +exclamations of delight. + +"Brooke is commander-in-chief; I am commissary-general; the other +fellows are staff-officers; and you, ladies, are company. The tent is +for your especial benefit, and that oak is your drawing-room; this is +the mess-room, and the third is the camp-kitchen. Now, let's have a game +before it gets hot, and then we'll see about dinner." + +Frank, Beth, Amy, and Grace sat down to watch the game played by the +other eight. Mr. Brooke chose Meg, Kate, and Fred; Laurie took Sallie, +Jo, and Ned. The Englishers played well; but the Americans played +better, and contested every inch of the ground as strongly as if the +spirit of '76 inspired them. Jo and Fred had several skirmishes, and +once narrowly escaped high words. Jo was through the last wicket, and +had missed the stroke, which failure ruffled her a good deal. Fred was +close behind her, and his turn came before hers; he gave a stroke, his +ball hit the wicket, and stopped an inch on the wrong side. No one was +very near; and running up to examine, he gave it a sly nudge with his +toe, which put it just an inch on the right side. + +"I'm through! Now, Miss Jo, I'll settle you, and get in first," cried +the young gentleman, swinging his mallet for another blow. + + [Illustration: Now, Miss Jo, I'll settle you] + +"You pushed it; I saw you; it's my turn now," said Jo sharply. + +"Upon my word, I didn't move it; it rolled a bit, perhaps, but that is +allowed; so stand off, please, and let me have a go at the stake." + +"We don't cheat in America, but you can, if you choose," said Jo +angrily. + +"Yankees are a deal the most tricky, everybody knows. There you go!" +returned Fred, croqueting her ball far away. + +Jo opened her lips to say something rude, but checked herself in time, +colored up to her forehead, and stood a minute, hammering down a wicket +with all her might, while Fred hit the stake, and declared himself out +with much exultation. She went off to get her ball, and was a long time +finding it, among the bushes; but she came back, looking cool and quiet, +and waited her turn patiently. It took several strokes to regain the +place she had lost; and, when she got there, the other side had nearly +won, for Kate's ball was the last but one, and lay near the stake. + +"By George, it's all up with us! Good-by, Kate. Miss Jo owes me one, so +you are finished," cried Fred excitedly, as they all drew near to see +the finish. + +"Yankees have a trick of being generous to their enemies," said Jo, with +a look that made the lad redden, "especially when they beat them," she +added, as, leaving Kate's ball untouched, she won the game by a clever +stroke. + +Laurie threw up his hat; then remembered that it wouldn't do to exult +over the defeat of his guests, and stopped in the middle of a cheer to +whisper to his friend,-- + +"Good for you, Jo! He did cheat, I saw him; we can't tell him so, but he +won't do it again, take my word for it." + +Meg drew her aside, under pretence of pinning up a loose braid, and said +approvingly,-- + +"It was dreadfully provoking; but you kept your temper, and I'm so glad, +Jo." + +"Don't praise me, Meg, for I could box his ears this minute. I should +certainly have boiled over if I hadn't stayed among the nettles till I +got my rage under enough to hold my tongue. It's simmering now, so I +hope he'll keep out of my way," returned Jo, biting her lips, as she +glowered at Fred from under her big hat. + +"Time for lunch," said Mr. Brooke, looking at his watch. +"Commissary-general, will you make the fire and get water, while Miss +March, Miss Sallie, and I spread the table? Who can make good coffee?" + +"Jo can," said Meg, glad to recommend her sister. So Jo, feeling that +her late lessons in cookery were to do her honor, went to preside over +the coffee-pot, while the children collected dry sticks, and the boys +made a fire, and got water from a spring near by. Miss Kate sketched, +and Frank talked to Beth, who was making little mats of braided rushes +to serve as plates. + +The commander-in-chief and his aids soon spread the table-cloth with an +inviting array of eatables and drinkables, prettily decorated with green +leaves. Jo announced that the coffee was ready, and every one settled +themselves to a hearty meal; for youth is seldom dyspeptic, and exercise +develops wholesome appetites. A very merry lunch it was; for everything +seemed fresh and funny, and frequent peals of laughter startled a +venerable horse who fed near by. There was a pleasing inequality in the +table, which produced many mishaps to cups and plates; acorns dropped +into the milk, little black ants partook of the refreshments without +being invited, and fuzzy caterpillars swung down from the tree, to see +what was going on. Three white-headed children peeped over the fence, +and an objectionable dog barked at them from the other side of the river +with all his might and main. + + [Illustration: "A very merry lunch it was."--Page 156.] + +"There's salt here, if you prefer it," said Laurie, as he handed Jo a +saucer of berries. + +"Thank you, I prefer spiders," she replied, fishing up two unwary little +ones who had gone to a creamy death. "How dare you remind me of that +horrid dinner-party, when yours is so nice in every way?" added Jo, +as they both laughed, and ate out of one plate, the china having run +short. + +"I had an uncommonly good time that day, and haven't got over it yet. +This is no credit to me, you know; I don't do anything; it's you and Meg +and Brooke who make it go, and I'm no end obliged to you. What shall we +do when we can't eat any more?" asked Laurie, feeling that his trump +card had been played when lunch was over. + +"Have games, till it's cooler. I brought 'Authors,' and I dare say Miss +Kate knows something new and nice. Go and ask her; she's company, and +you ought to stay with her more." + +"Aren't you company too? I thought she'd suit Brooke; but he keeps +talking to Meg, and Kate just stares at them through that ridiculous +glass of hers. I'm going, so you needn't try to preach propriety, for +you can't do it, Jo." + +Miss Kate did know several new games; and as the girls would not, and +the boys could not, eat any more, they all adjourned to the drawing-room +to play "Rigmarole." + +"One person begins a story, any nonsense you like, and tells as long as +he pleases, only taking care to stop short at some exciting point, when +the next takes it up and does the same. It's very funny when well done, +and makes a perfect jumble of tragical comical stuff to laugh over. +Please start it, Mr. Brooke," said Kate, with a commanding air, which +surprised Meg, who treated the tutor with as much respect as any other +gentleman. + +Lying on the grass at the feet of the two young ladies, Mr. Brooke +obediently began the story, with the handsome brown eyes steadily fixed +upon the sunshiny river. + +"Once on a time, a knight went out into the world to seek his fortune, +for he had nothing but his sword and his shield. He travelled a long +while, nearly eight-and-twenty years, and had a hard time of it, till he +came to the palace of a good old king, who had offered a reward to any +one who would tame and train a fine but unbroken colt, of which he was +very fond. The knight agreed to try, and got on slowly but surely; for +the colt was a gallant fellow, and soon learned to love his new master, +though he was freakish and wild. Every day, when he gave his lessons to +this pet of the king's, the knight rode him through the city; and, as +he rode, he looked everywhere for a certain beautiful face, which he had +seen many times in his dreams, but never found. One day, as he went +prancing down a quiet street, he saw at the window of a ruinous castle +the lovely face. He was delighted, inquired who lived in this old +castle, and was told that several captive princesses were kept there by +a spell, and spun all day to lay up money to buy their liberty. The +knight wished intensely that he could free them; but he was poor, and +could only go by each day, watching for the sweet face, and longing to +see it out in the sunshine. At last, he resolved to get into the castle +and ask how he could help them. He went and knocked; the great door flew +open, and he beheld--" + + [Illustration: He went prancing down a quiet street] + +"A ravishingly lovely lady, who exclaimed, with a cry of rapture, 'At +last! at last!'" continued Kate, who had read French novels, and admired +the style. "''Tis she!' cried Count Gustave, and fell at her feet in an +ecstasy of joy. 'Oh, rise!' she said, extending a hand of marble +fairness. 'Never! till you tell me how I may rescue you,' swore the +knight, still kneeling. 'Alas, my cruel fate condemns me to remain here +till my tyrant is destroyed.' 'Where is the villain?' 'In the mauve +salon. Go, brave heart, and save me from despair.' 'I obey, and return +victorious or dead!' With these thrilling words he rushed away, and +flinging open the door of the mauve salon, was about to enter, when he +received--" + + [Illustration: "Oh, rise," she said] + +"A stunning blow from the big Greek lexicon, which an old fellow in a +black gown fired at him," said Ned. "Instantly Sir What's-his-name +recovered himself, pitched the tyrant out of the window, and turned to +join the lady, victorious, but with a bump on his brow; found the door +locked, tore up the curtains, made a rope ladder, got half-way down when +the ladder broke, and he went head first into the moat, sixty feet +below. Could swim like a duck, paddled round the castle till he came to +a little door guarded by two stout fellows; knocked their heads together +till they cracked like a couple of nuts, then, by a trifling exertion of +his prodigious strength, he smashed in the door, went up a pair of stone +steps covered with dust a foot thick, toads as big as your fist, and +spiders that would frighten you into hysterics, Miss March. At the top +of these steps he came plump upon a sight that took his breath away and +chilled his blood--" + + [Illustration: A stunning blow from the big Greek lexicon] + +"A tall figure, all in white with a veil over its face and a lamp in its +wasted hand," went on Meg. "It beckoned, gliding noiselessly before him +down a corridor as dark and cold as any tomb. Shadowy effigies in armor +stood on either side, a dead silence reigned, the lamp burned blue, and +the ghostly figure ever and anon turned its face toward him, showing the +glitter of awful eyes through its white veil. They reached a curtained +door, behind which sounded lovely music; he sprang forward to enter, but +the spectre plucked him back, and waved threateningly before him a--" + +"Snuff-box," said Jo, in a sepulchral tone, which convulsed the +audience. "'Thankee,' said the knight politely, as he took a pinch, and +sneezed seven times so violently that his head fell off. 'Ha! ha!' +laughed the ghost; and having peeped through the key-hole at the +princesses spinning away for dear life, the evil spirit picked up her +victim and put him in a large tin box, where there were eleven other +knights packed together without their heads, like sardines, who all rose +and began to--" + + [Illustration: He sneezed] + +"Dance a hornpipe," cut in Fred, as Jo paused for breath; "and, as they +danced, the rubbishy old castle turned to a man-of-war in full sail. 'Up +with the jib, reef the tops'l halliards, helm hard a lee, and man the +guns!' roared the captain, as a Portuguese pirate hove in sight, with a +flag black as ink flying from her foremast. 'Go in and win, my +hearties!' says the captain; and a tremendous fight begun. Of course the +British beat; they always do." + +"No, they don't!" cried Jo, aside. + +"Having taken the pirate captain prisoner, sailed slap over the +schooner, whose decks were piled with dead, and whose lee-scuppers ran +blood, for the order had been 'Cutlasses, and die hard!' 'Bosen's mate, +take a bight of the flying-jib sheet, and start this villain if he don't +confess his sins double quick,' said the British captain. The Portuguese +held his tongue like a brick, and walked the plank, while the jolly tars +cheered like mad. But the sly dog dived, came up under the man-of-war, +scuttled her, and down she went, with all sail set, 'To the bottom of +the sea, sea, sea,' where--" + + [Illustration: The Portuguese walked the plank] + +"Oh, gracious! what _shall_ I say?" cried Sallie, as Fred ended his +rigmarole, in which he had jumbled together, pell-mell, nautical phrases +and facts, out of one of his favorite books. "Well they went to the +bottom, and a nice mermaid welcomed them, but was much grieved on +finding the box of headless knights, and kindly pickled them in brine, +hoping to discover the mystery about them; for, being a woman, she was +curious. By and by a diver came down, and the mermaid said, 'I'll give +you this box of pearls if you can take it up;' for she wanted to restore +the poor things to life, and couldn't raise the heavy load herself. So +the diver hoisted it up, and was much disappointed, on opening it, to +find no pearls. He left it in a great lonely field, where it was found +by a--" + +"Little goose-girl, who kept a hundred fat geese in the field," said +Amy, when Sallie's invention gave out. "The little girl was sorry for +them, and asked an old woman what she should do to help them. 'Your +geese will tell you, they know everything,' said the old woman. So she +asked what she should use for new heads, since the old ones were lost, +and all the geese opened their hundred mouths and screamed--" + +"'Cabbages!'" continued Laurie promptly. "'Just the thing,' said the +girl, and ran to get twelve fine ones from her garden. She put them on, +the knights revived at once, thanked her, and went on their way +rejoicing, never knowing the difference, for there were so many other +heads like them in the world that no one thought anything of it. The +knight in whom I'm interested went back to find the pretty face, and +learned that the princesses had spun themselves free, and all gone to be +married, but one. He was in a great state of mind at that; and mounting +the colt, who stood by him through thick and thin, rushed to the castle +to see which was left. Peeping over the hedge, he saw the queen of his +affections picking flowers in her garden. 'Will you give me a rose?' +said he. 'You must come and get it. I can't come to you; it isn't +proper,' said she, as sweet as honey. He tried to climb over the hedge, +but it seemed to grow higher and higher; then he tried to push through, +but it grew thicker and thicker, and he was in despair. So he patiently +broke twig after twig, till he had made a little hole, through which he +peeped, saying imploringly, 'Let me in! let me in!' But the pretty +princess did not seem to understand, for she picked her roses quietly, +and left him to fight his way in. Whether he did or not, Frank will tell +you." + + [Illustration: Will you give me a rose?] + +"I can't; I'm not playing, I never do," said Frank, dismayed at the +sentimental predicament out of which he was to rescue the absurd couple. +Beth had disappeared behind Jo, and Grace was asleep. + +"So the poor knight is to be left sticking in the hedge, is he?" asked +Mr. Brooke, still watching the river, and playing with the wild rose in +his button-hole. + +"I guess the princess gave him a posy, and opened the gate, after a +while," said Laurie, smiling to himself, as he threw acorns at his +tutor. + +"What a piece of nonsense we have made! With practice we might do +something quite clever. Do you know 'Truth'?" asked Sallie, after they +had laughed over their story. + +"I hope so," said Meg soberly. + +"The game, I mean?" + +"What is it?" said Fred. + +"Why, you pile up your hands, choose a number, and draw out in turn, and +the person who draws at the number has to answer truly any questions put +by the rest. It's great fun." + +"Let's try it," said Jo, who liked new experiments. + +Miss Kate and Mr. Brooke, Meg, and Ned declined, but Fred, Sallie, Jo, +and Laurie piled and drew; and the lot fell to Laurie. + +"Who are your heroes?" asked Jo. + +"Grandfather and Napoleon." + +"Which lady here do you think prettiest?" said Sallie. + +"Margaret." + +"Which do you like best?" from Fred. + +"Jo, of course." + +"What silly questions you ask!" and Jo gave a disdainful shrug as the +rest laughed at Laurie's matter-of-fact tone. + +"Try again; Truth isn't a bad game," said Fred. + +"It's a very good one for you," retorted Jo, in a low voice. + +Her turn came next. + +"What is your greatest fault?" asked Fred, by way of testing in her the +virtue he lacked himself. + +"A quick temper." + +"What do you most wish for?" said Laurie. + +"A pair of boot-lacings," returned Jo, guessing and defeating his +purpose. + +"Not a true answer; you must say what you really do want most." + +"Genius; don't you wish you could give it to me, Laurie?" and she slyly +smiled in his disappointed face. + +"What virtues do you most admire in a man?" asked Sallie. + +"Courage and honesty." + +"Now my turn," said Fred, as his hand came last. + +"Let's give it to him," whispered Laurie to Jo, who nodded, and asked at +once,-- + +"Didn't you cheat at croquet?" + +"Well, yes, a little bit." + +"Good! Didn't you take your story out of 'The Sea-Lion?'" said Laurie. + +"Rather." + +"Don't you think the English nation perfect in every respect?" asked +Sallie. + +"I should be ashamed of myself if I didn't." + +"He's a true John Bull. Now, Miss Sallie, you shall have a chance +without waiting to draw. I'll harrow up your feelings first, by asking +if you don't think you are something of a flirt," said Laurie, as Jo +nodded to Fred, as a sign that peace was declared. + +"You impertinent boy! of course I'm not," exclaimed Sallie, with an air +that proved the contrary. + +"What do you hate most?" asked Fred. + +"Spiders and rice-pudding." + +"What do you like best?" asked Jo. + +"Dancing and French gloves." + +"Well, _I_ think Truth is a very silly play; let's have a sensible game +of Authors, to refresh our minds," proposed Jo. + +Ned, Frank, and the little girls joined in this, and, while it went on, +the three elders sat apart, talking. Miss Kate took out her sketch +again, and Margaret watched her, while Mr. Brooke lay on the grass, with +a book, which he did not read. + +"How beautifully you do it! I wish I could draw," said Meg, with mingled +admiration and regret in her voice. + +"Why don't you learn? I should think you had taste and talent for it," +replied Miss Kate graciously. + +"I haven't time." + +"Your mamma prefers other accomplishments, I fancy. So did mine; but I +proved to her that I had talent, by taking a few lessons privately, and +then she was quite willing I should go on. Can't you do the same with +your governess?" + +"I have none." + +"I forgot; young ladies in America go to school more than with us. Very +fine schools they are, too, papa says. You go to a private one, I +suppose?" + +"I don't go at all; I am a governess myself." + +"Oh, indeed!" said Miss Kate; but she might as well have said, "Dear me, +how dreadful!" for her tone implied it, and something in her face made +Meg color, and wish she had not been so frank. + +Mr. Brooke looked up, and said quickly, "Young ladies in America love +independence as much as their ancestors did, and are admired and +respected for supporting themselves." + +"Oh, yes; of course it's very nice and proper in them to do so. We have +many most respectable and worthy young women, who do the same and are +employed by the nobility, because, being the daughters of gentlemen, +they are both well-bred and accomplished, you know," said Miss Kate, in +a patronizing tone, that hurt Meg's pride, and made her work seem not +only more distasteful, but degrading. + +"Did the German song suit, Miss March?" inquired Mr. Brooke, breaking an +awkward pause. + +"Oh, yes! it was very sweet, and I'm much obliged to whoever translated +it for me;" and Meg's downcast face brightened as she spoke. + +"Don't you read German?" asked Miss Kate, with a look of surprise. + +"Not very well. My father, who taught me, is away, and I don't get on +very fast alone, for I've no one to correct my pronunciation." + +"Try a little now; here is Schiller's 'Mary Stuart,' and a tutor who +loves to teach," and Mr. Brooke laid his book on her lap, with an +inviting smile. + +"It's so hard I'm afraid to try," said Meg, grateful, but bashful in the +presence of the accomplished young lady beside her. + +"I'll read a bit to encourage you;" and Miss Kate read one of the most +beautiful passages, in a perfectly correct but perfectly expressionless +manner. + +Mr. Brooke made no comment, as she returned the book to Meg, who said +innocently,-- + +"I thought it was poetry." + +"Some of it is. Try this passage." + +There was a queer smile about Mr. Brooke's mouth as he opened at poor +Mary's lament. + +Meg, obediently following the long grass-blade which her new tutor used +to point with, read slowly and timidly, unconsciously making poetry of +the hard words by the soft intonation of her musical voice. Down the +page went the green guide, and presently, forgetting her listener in the +beauty of the sad scene, Meg read as if alone, giving a little touch of +tragedy to the words of the unhappy queen. If she had seen the brown +eyes then, she would have stopped short; but she never looked up, and +the lesson was not spoiled for her. + +"Very well indeed!" said Mr. Brooke, as she paused, quite ignoring her +many mistakes, and looking as if he did, indeed, "love to teach." + +Miss Kate put up her glass, and, having taken a survey of the little +tableau before her, shut her sketch-book, saying, with condescension,-- + + [Illustration: Miss Kate put up her glass] + +"You've a nice accent, and, in time, will be a clever reader. I advise +you to learn, for German is a valuable accomplishment to teachers. I +must look after Grace, she is romping;" and Miss Kate strolled away, +adding to herself, with a shrug, "I didn't come to chaperone a +governess, though she _is_ young and pretty. What odd people these +Yankees are; I'm afraid Laurie will be quite spoilt among them." + +"I forgot that English people rather turn up their noses at governesses, +and don't treat them as we do," said Meg, looking after the retreating +figure with an annoyed expression. + +"Tutors, also, have rather a hard time of it there, as I know to my +sorrow. There's no place like America for us workers, Miss Margaret;" +and Mr. Brooke looked so contented and cheerful, that Meg was ashamed to +lament her hard lot. + +"I'm glad I live in it then. I don't like my work, but I get a good deal +of satisfaction out of it after all, so I won't complain; I only wish I +liked teaching as you do." + +"I think you would if you had Laurie for a pupil. I shall be very sorry +to lose him next year," said Mr. Brooke, busily punching holes in the +turf. + +"Going to college, I suppose?" Meg's lips asked that question, but her +eyes added, "And what becomes of you?" + +"Yes; it's high time he went, for he is ready; and as soon as he is off, +I shall turn soldier. I am needed." + +"I am glad of that!" exclaimed Meg. "I should think every young man +would want to go; though it is hard for the mothers and sisters who stay +at home," she added sorrowfully. + +"I have neither, and very few friends, to care whether I live or die," +said Mr. Brooke, rather bitterly, as he absently put the dead rose in +the hole he had made and covered it up, like a little grave. + +"Laurie and his grandfather would care a great deal, and we should all +be very sorry to have any harm happen to you," said Meg heartily. + +"Thank you; that sounds pleasant," began Mr. Brooke, looking cheerful +again; but before he could finish his speech, Ned, mounted on the old +horse, came lumbering up to display his equestrian skill before the +young ladies, and there was no more quiet that day. + +"Don't you love to ride?" asked Grace of Amy, as they stood resting, +after a race round the field with the others, led by Ned. + +"I dote upon it; my sister Meg used to ride when papa was rich, but we +don't keep any horses now, except Ellen Tree," added Amy, laughing. + +"Tell me about Ellen Tree; is it a donkey?" asked Grace curiously. + + [Illustration: Ellen Tree] + +"Why, you see, Jo is crazy about horses, and so am I, but we've only got +an old side-saddle, and no horse. Out in our garden is an apple-tree, +that has a nice low branch; so Jo put the saddle on it, fixed some reins +on the part that turns up, and we bounce away on Ellen Tree whenever we +like." + +"How funny!" laughed Grace. "I have a pony at home, and ride nearly +every day in the park, with Fred and Kate; it's very nice, for my +friends go too, and the Row is full of ladies and gentlemen." + +"Dear, how charming! I hope I shall go abroad some day; but I'd rather +go to Rome than the Row," said Amy, who had not the remotest idea what +the Row was, and wouldn't have asked for the world. + +Frank, sitting just behind the little girls, heard what they were +saying, and pushed his crutch away from him with an impatient gesture as +he watched the active lads going through all sorts of comical +gymnastics. Beth, who was collecting the scattered Author-cards, looked +up, and said, in her shy yet friendly way,-- + +"I'm afraid you are tired; can I do anything for you?" + +"Talk to me, please; it's dull, sitting by myself," answered Frank, who +had evidently been used to being made much of at home. + +If he had asked her to deliver a Latin oration, it would not have seemed +a more impossible task to bashful Beth; but there was no place to run +to, no Jo to hide behind now, and the poor boy looked so wistfully at +her, that she bravely resolved to try. + +"What do you like to talk about?" she asked, fumbling over the cards, +and dropping half as she tried to tie them up. + +"Well, I like to hear about cricket and boating and hunting," said +Frank, who had not yet learned to suit his amusements to his strength. + +"My heart! what shall I do? I don't know anything about them," thought +Beth; and, forgetting the boy's misfortune in her flurry, she said, +hoping to make him talk, "I never saw any hunting, but I suppose you +know all about it." + +"I did once; but I can never hunt again, for I got hurt leaping a +confounded five-barred gate; so there are no more horses and hounds for +me," said Frank, with a sigh that made Beth hate herself for her +innocent blunder. + +"Your deer are much prettier than our ugly buffaloes," she said, turning +to the prairies for help, and feeling glad that she had read one of the +boys' books in which Jo delighted. + +Buffaloes proved soothing and satisfactory; and, in her eagerness to +amuse another, Beth forgot herself, and was quite unconscious of her +sisters' surprise and delight at the unusual spectacle of Beth talking +away to one of the dreadful boys, against whom she had begged +protection. + +"Bless her heart! She pities him, so she is good to him," said Jo, +beaming at her from the croquet-ground. + +"I always said she was a little saint," added Meg, as if there could be +no further doubt of it. + +"I haven't heard Frank laugh so much for ever so long," said Grace to +Amy, as they sat discussing dolls, and making tea-sets out of the +acorn-cups. + +"My sister Beth is a very _fastidious_ girl, when she likes to be," said +Amy, well pleased at Beth's success. She meant "fascinating," but as +Grace didn't know the exact meaning of either word, "fastidious" sounded +well, and made a good impression. + +An impromptu circus, fox and geese, and an amicable game of croquet, +finished the afternoon. At sunset the tent was struck, hampers packed, +wickets pulled up, boats loaded, and the whole party floated down the +river, singing at the tops of their voices. Ned, getting sentimental, +warbled a serenade with the pensive refrain,-- + + "Alone, alone, ah! woe, alone," + +and at the lines-- + + "We each are young, we each have a heart, + Oh, why should we stand thus coldly apart?" + +he looked at Meg with such a lackadaisical expression that she laughed +outright and spoilt his song. + +"How can you be so cruel to me?" he whispered, under cover of a lively +chorus. "You've kept close to that starched-up Englishwoman all day, and +now you snub me." + +"I didn't mean to; but you looked so funny I really couldn't help it," +replied Meg, passing over the first part of his reproach; for it was +quite true that she _had_ shunned him, remembering the Moffat party and +the talk after it. + +Ned was offended, and turned to Sallie for consolation, saying to her +rather pettishly, "There isn't a bit of flirt in that girl, is there?" + +"Not a particle; but she's a dear," returned Sallie, defending her +friend even while confessing her short-comings. + +"She's not a stricken deer, any way," said Ned, trying to be witty, and +succeeding as well as very young gentlemen usually do. + +On the lawn, where it had gathered, the little party separated with +cordial good-nights and good-byes, for the Vaughns were going to Canada. +As the four sisters went home through the garden, Miss Kate looked after +them, saying, without the patronizing tone in her voice, "In spite of +their demonstrative manners, American girls are very nice when one knows +them." + +"I quite agree with you," said Mr. Brooke. + + [Illustration: Tail-piece] + + + + + [Illustration: Swinging to and fro in his hammock] + + XIII. + + CASTLES IN THE AIR. + + +Laurie lay luxuriously swinging to and fro in his hammock, one warm +September afternoon, wondering what his neighbors were about, but too +lazy to go and find out. He was in one of his moods; for the day had +been both unprofitable and unsatisfactory, and he was wishing he could +live it over again. The hot weather made him indolent, and he had +shirked his studies, tried Mr. Brooke's patience to the utmost, +displeased his grandfather by practising half the afternoon, frightened +the maid-servants half out of their wits, by mischievously hinting that +one of his dogs was going mad, and, after high words with the stable-man +about some fancied neglect of his horse, he had flung himself into his +hammock, to fume over the stupidity of the world in general, till the +peace of the lovely day quieted him in spite of himself. Staring up into +the green gloom of the horse-chestnut trees above him, he dreamed dreams +of all sorts, and was just imagining himself tossing on the ocean, in a +voyage round the world, when the sound of voices brought him ashore in a +flash. Peeping through the meshes of the hammock, he saw the Marches +coming out, as if bound on some expedition. + +"What in the world are those girls about now?" thought Laurie, opening +his sleepy eyes to take a good look, for there was something rather +peculiar in the appearance of his neighbors. Each wore a large, flapping +hat, a brown linen pouch slung over one shoulder, and carried a long +staff. Meg had a cushion, Jo a book, Beth a basket, and Amy a portfolio. +All walked quietly through the garden, out at the little back gate, and +began to climb the hill that lay between the house and river. + +"Well, that's cool!" said Laurie to himself, "to have a picnic and never +ask me. They can't be going in the boat, for they haven't got the key. +Perhaps they forgot it; I'll take it to them, and see what's going on." + +Though possessed of half a dozen hats, it took him some time to find +one; then there was a hunt for the key, which was at last discovered in +his pocket; so that the girls were quite out of sight when he leaped the +fence and ran after them. Taking the shortest way to the boat-house, he +waited for them to appear: but no one came, and he went up the hill to +take an observation. A grove of pines covered one part of it, and from +the heart of this green spot came a clearer sound than the soft sigh of +the pines or the drowsy chirp of the crickets. + +"Here's a landscape!" thought Laurie, peeping through the bushes, and +looking wide-awake and good-natured already. + +It _was_ rather a pretty little picture; for the sisters sat together in +the shady nook, with sun and shadow flickering over them, the aromatic +wind lifting their hair and cooling their hot cheeks, and all the little +wood-people going on with their affairs as if these were no strangers, +but old friends. Meg sat upon her cushion, sewing daintily with her +white hands, and looking as fresh and sweet as a rose, in her pink +dress, among the green. Beth was sorting the cones that lay thick under +the hemlock near by, for she made pretty things of them. Amy was +sketching a group of ferns, and Jo was knitting as she read aloud. A +shadow passed over the boy's face as he watched them, feeling that he +ought to go away, because uninvited; yet lingering, because home seemed +very lonely, and this quiet party in the woods most attractive to his +restless spirit. He stood so still that a squirrel, busy with its +harvesting, ran down a pine close beside him, saw him suddenly and +skipped back, scolding so shrilly that Beth looked up, espied the +wistful face behind the birches, and beckoned with a reassuring smile. + + [Illustration: It was rather a pretty little picture] + +"May I come in, please? or shall I be a bother?" he asked, advancing +slowly. + +Meg lifted her eyebrows, but Jo scowled at her defiantly, and said, at +once, "Of course you may. We should have asked you before, only we +thought you wouldn't care for such a girl's game as this." + +"I always liked your games; but if Meg doesn't want me, I'll go away." + +"I've no objection, if you do something; it's against the rules to be +idle here," replied Meg, gravely but graciously. + +"Much obliged; I'll do anything if you'll let me stop a bit, for it's as +dull as the Desert of Sahara down there. Shall I sew, read, cone, draw, +or do all at once? Bring on your bears; I'm ready," and Laurie sat down, +with a submissive expression delightful to behold. + +"Finish this story while I set my heel," said Jo, handing him the book. + +"Yes'm," was the meek answer, as he began, doing his best to prove his +gratitude for the favor of an admission into the "Busy Bee Society." + +The story was not a long one, and, when it was finished, he ventured to +ask a few questions as a reward of merit. + +"Please, ma'am, could I inquire if this highly instructive and charming +institution is a new one?" + +"Would you tell him?" asked Meg of her sisters. + +"He'll laugh," said Amy warningly. + +"Who cares?" said Jo. + +"I guess he'll like it," added Beth. + +"Of course I shall! I give you my word I won't laugh. Tell away, Jo, and +don't be afraid." + +"The idea of being afraid of you! Well, you see we used to play +'Pilgrim's Progress,' and we have been going on with it in earnest, all +winter and summer." + +"Yes, I know," said Laurie, nodding wisely. + +"Who told you?" demanded Jo. + +"Spirits." + +"No, I did; I wanted to amuse him one night when you were all away, and +he was rather dismal. He did like it, so don't scold, Jo," said Beth +meekly. + +"You can't keep a secret. Never mind; it saves trouble now." + +"Go on, please," said Laurie, as Jo became absorbed in her work, looking +a trifle displeased. + +"Oh, didn't she tell you about this new plan of ours? Well, we have +tried not to waste our holiday, but each has had a task, and worked at +it with a will. The vacation is nearly over, the stints are all done, +and we are ever so glad that we didn't dawdle." + +"Yes, I should think so;" and Laurie thought regretfully of his own idle +days. + +"Mother likes to have us out of doors as much as possible; so we bring +our work here, and have nice times. For the fun of it we bring our +things in these bags, wear the old hats, use poles to climb the hill, +and play pilgrims, as we used to do years ago. We call this hill the +'Delectable Mountain,' for we can look far away and see the country +where we hope to live some time." + +Jo pointed, and Laurie sat up to examine; for through an opening in the +wood one could look across the wide, blue river, the meadows on the +other side, far over the outskirts of the great city, to the green hills +that rose to meet the sky. The sun was low, and the heavens plowed with +the splendor of an autumn sunset. Gold and purple clouds lay on the +hill-tops; and rising high into the ruddy light were silvery white +peaks, that shone like the airy spires of some Celestial City. + +"How beautiful that is!" said Laurie softly, for he was quick to see and +feel beauty of any kind. + +"It's often so; and we like to watch it, for it is never the same, but +always splendid," replied Amy, wishing she could paint it. + +"Jo talks about the country where we hope to live some time,--the real +country, she means, with pigs and chickens, and haymaking. It would be +nice, but I wish the beautiful country up there was real, and we could +ever go to it," said Beth musingly. + +"There is a lovelier country even than that, where we _shall_ go, by and +by, when we are good enough," answered Meg, with her sweet voice. + +"It seems so long to wait, so hard to do; I want to fly away at once, as +those swallows fly, and go in at that splendid gate." + +"You'll get there, Beth, sooner or later; no fear of that," said Jo; +"I'm the one that will have to fight and work, and climb and wait, and +maybe never get in after all." + +"You'll have me for company, if that's any comfort. I shall have to do a +deal of travelling before I come in sight of your Celestial City. If I +arrive late, you'll say a good word for me, won't you, Beth?" + +Something in the boy's face troubled his little friend; but she said +cheerfully, with her quiet eyes on the changing clouds, "If people +really want to go, and really try all their lives, I think they will get +in; for I don't believe there are any locks on that door, or any guards +at the gate. I always imagine it is as it is in the picture, where the +shining ones stretch out their hands to welcome poor Christian as he +comes up from the river." + +"Wouldn't it be fun if all the castles in the air which we make could +come true, and we could live in them?" said Jo, after a little pause. + +"I've made such quantities it would be hard to choose which I'd have," +said Laurie, lying flat, and throwing cones at the squirrel who had +betrayed him. + +"You'd have to take your favorite one. What is it?" asked Meg. + +"If I tell mine, will you tell yours?" + +"Yes, if the girls will too." + +"We will. Now, Laurie." + +"After I'd seen as much of the world as I want to, I'd like to settle in +Germany, and have just as much music as I choose. I'm to be a famous +musician myself, and all creation is to rush to hear me; and I'm never +to be bothered about money or business, but just enjoy myself, and live +for what I like. That's my favorite castle. What's yours, Meg?" + +Margaret seemed to find it a little hard to tell hers, and waved a brake +before her face, as if to disperse imaginary gnats, while she said +slowly, "I should like a lovely house, full of all sorts of luxurious +things,--nice food, pretty clothes, handsome furniture, pleasant people, +and heaps of money. I am to be mistress of it, and manage it as I like, +with plenty of servants, so I never need work a bit. How I should enjoy +it! for I wouldn't be idle, but do good, and make every one love me +dearly." + + [Illustration: Waved a brake before her face] + +"Wouldn't you have a master for your castle in the air?" asked Laurie +slyly. + +"I said 'pleasant people,' you know;" and Meg carefully tied up her shoe +as she spoke, so that no one saw her face. + +"Why don't you say you'd have a splendid, wise, good husband, and some +angelic little children? You know your castle wouldn't be perfect +without," said blunt Jo, who had no tender fancies yet, and rather +scorned romance, except in books. + +"You'd have nothing but horses, inkstands, and novels in yours," +answered Meg petulantly. + +"Wouldn't I, though? I'd have a stable full of Arabian steeds, rooms +piled with books, and I'd write out of a magic inkstand, so that my +works should be as famous as Laurie's music. I want to do something +splendid before I go into my castle,--something heroic or wonderful, +that won't be forgotten after I'm dead. I don't know what, but I'm on +the watch for it, and mean to astonish you all, some day. I think I +shall write books, and get rich and famous: that would suit me, so that +is _my_ favorite dream." + +"Mine is to stay at home safe with father and mother, and help take care +of the family," said Beth contentedly. + +"Don't you wish for anything else?" asked Laurie. + +"Since I had my little piano, I am perfectly satisfied. I only wish we +may all keep well and be together; nothing else." + +"I have ever so many wishes; but the pet one is to be an artist, and go +to Rome, and do fine pictures, and be the best artist in the whole +world," was Amy's modest desire. + +"We're an ambitious set, aren't we? Every one of us, but Beth, wants to +be rich and famous, and gorgeous in every respect. I do wonder if any of +us will ever get our wishes," said Laurie, chewing grass, like a +meditative calf. + +"I've got the key to my castle in the air; but whether I can unlock the +door remains to be seen," observed Jo mysteriously. + +"I've got the key to mine, but I'm not allowed to try it. Hang college!" +muttered Laurie, with an impatient sigh. + +"Here's mine!" and Amy waved her pencil. + +"I haven't got any," said Meg forlornly. + +"Yes, you have," said Laurie at once. + +"Where?" + +"In your face." + +"Nonsense; that's of no use." + +"Wait and see if it doesn't bring you something worth having," replied +the boy, laughing at the thought of a charming little secret which he +fancied he knew. + +Meg colored behind the brake, but asked no questions, and looked across +the river with the same expectant expression which Mr. Brooke had worn +when he told the story of the knight. + +"If we are all alive ten years hence, let's meet, and see how many of us +have got our wishes, or how much nearer we are then than now," said Jo, +always ready with a plan. + +"Bless me! how old I shall be,--twenty-seven!" exclaimed Meg who felt +grown up already, having just reached seventeen. + +"You and I shall be twenty-six, Teddy, Beth twenty-four, and Amy +twenty-two. What a venerable party!" said Jo. + +"I hope I shall have done something to be proud of by that time; but I'm +such a lazy dog, I'm afraid I shall 'dawdle,' Jo." + +"You need a motive, mother says; and when you get it, she is sure you'll +work splendidly." + +"Is she? By Jupiter I will, if I only get the chance!" cried Laurie, +sitting up with sudden energy. "I ought to be satisfied to please +grandfather, and I do try, but it's working against the grain, you see, +and comes hard. He wants me to be an India merchant, as he was, and I'd +rather be shot. I hate tea and silk and spices, and every sort of +rubbish his old ships bring, and I don't care how soon they go to the +bottom when I own them. Going to college ought to satisfy him, for if I +give him four years he ought to let me off from the business; but he's +set, and I 've got to do just as he did, unless I break away and please +myself, as my father did. If there was any one left to stay with the old +gentleman, I'd do it to-morrow." + +Laurie spoke excitedly, and looked ready to carry his threat into +execution on the slightest provocation; for he was growing up very fast, +and, in spite of his indolent ways, had a young man's hatred of +subjection, a young man's restless longing to try the world for himself. + +"I advise you to sail away in one of your ships, and never come home +again till you have tried your own way," said Jo, whose imagination was +fired by the thought of such a daring exploit, and whose sympathy was +excited by what she called "Teddy's wrongs." + +"That's not right, Jo; you mustn't talk in that way, and Laurie mustn't +take your bad advice. You should do just what your grandfather wishes, +my dear boy," said Meg, in her most maternal tone. "Do your best at +college, and, when he sees that you try to please him, I'm sure he won't +be hard or unjust to you. As you say, there is no one else to stay with +and love him, and you'd never forgive yourself if you left him without +his permission. Don't be dismal or fret, but do your duty; and you'll +get your reward, as good Mr. Brooke has, by being respected and loved." + +"What do you know about him?" asked Laurie, grateful for the good +advice, but objecting to the lecture, and glad to turn the conversation +from himself, after his unusual outbreak. + +"Only what your grandpa told us about him,--how he took good care of his +own mother till she died, and wouldn't go abroad as tutor to some nice +person, because he wouldn't leave her; and how he provides now for an +old woman who nursed his mother; and never tells any one, but is just as +generous and patient and good as he can be." + +"So he is, dear old fellow!" said Laurie heartily, as Meg paused, +looking flushed and earnest with her story. "It's like grandpa to find +out all about him, without letting him know, and to tell all his +goodness to others, so that they might like him. Brooke couldn't +understand why your mother was so kind to him, asking him over with me, +and treating him in her beautiful friendly way. He thought she was just +perfect, and talked about it for days and days, and went on about you +all in flaming style. If ever I do get my wish, you see what I'll do for +Brooke." + +"Begin to do something now, by not plaguing his life out," said Meg +sharply. + +"How do you know I do, miss?" + +"I can always tell by his face, when he goes away. If you have been +good, he looks satisfied and walks briskly; if you have plagued him, +he's sober and walks slowly, as if he wanted to go back and do his work +better." + +"Well, I like that! So you keep an account of my good and bad marks in +Brooke's face, do you? I see him bow and smile as he passes your window, +but I didn't know you'd got up a telegraph." + + [Illustration: I see him bow and smile] + +"We haven't; don't be angry, and oh, don't tell him I said anything! It +was only to show that I cared how you get on, and what is said here is +said in confidence, you know," cried Meg, much alarmed at the thought of +what might follow from her careless speech. + +"_I_ don't tell tales," replied Laurie, with his "high and mighty" air, +as Jo called a certain expression which he occasionally wore. "Only if +Brooke is going to be a thermometer, I must mind and have fair weather +for him to report." + +"Please don't be offended. I didn't mean to preach or tell tales or be +silly; I only thought Jo was encouraging you in a feeling which you'd be +sorry for, by and by. You are so kind to us, we feel as if you were our +brother, and say just what we think. Forgive me, I meant it kindly." And +Meg offered her hand with a gesture both affectionate and timid. + +Ashamed of his momentary pique, Laurie squeezed the kind little hand, +and said frankly, "I'm the one to be forgiven; I'm cross, and have been +out of sorts all day. I like to have you tell me my faults and be +sisterly, so don't mind if I am grumpy sometimes; I thank you all the +same." + +Bent on showing that he was not offended, he made himself as agreeable +as possible,--wound cotton for Meg, recited poetry to please Jo, shook +down cones for Beth, and helped Amy with her ferns, proving himself a +fit person to belong to the "Busy Bee Society." In the midst of an +animated discussion on the domestic habits of turtles (one of those +amiable creatures having strolled up from the river), the faint sound of +a bell warned them that Hannah had put the tea "to draw," and they would +just have time to get home to supper. + +"May I come again?" asked Laurie. + +"Yes, if you are good, and love your book, as the boys in the primer are +told to do," said Meg smiling. + +"I'll try." + +"Then you may come, and I'll teach you to knit as the Scotchmen do; +there's a demand for socks just now," added Jo, waving hers, like a big +blue worsted banner, as they parted at the gate. + +That night, when Beth played to Mr. Laurence in the twilight, Laurie, +standing in the shadow of the curtain, listened to the little David, +whose simple music always quieted his moody spirit, and watched the old +man, who sat with his gray head on his hand, thinking tender thoughts of +the dead child he had loved so much. Remembering the conversation of the +afternoon, the boy said to himself, with the resolve to make the +sacrifice cheerfully, "I'll let my castle go, and stay with the dear old +gentleman while he needs me, for I am all he has." + + [Illustration: Tail-piece] + + + + + [Illustration: Jo was very busy] + + XIV. + + SECRETS. + + +Jo was very busy in the garret, for the October days began to grow +chilly, and the afternoons were short. For two or three hours the sun +lay warmly in the high window, showing Jo seated on the old sofa, +writing busily, with her papers spread out upon a trunk before her, +while Scrabble, the pet rat, promenaded the beams overhead, accompanied +by his oldest son, a fine young fellow, who was evidently very proud of +his whiskers. Quite absorbed in her work, Jo scribbled away till the +last page was filled, when she signed her name with a flourish, and +threw down her pen, exclaiming,-- + +"There, I've done my best! If this won't suit I shall have to wait till +I can do better." + +Lying back on the sofa, she read the manuscript carefully through, +making dashes here and there, and putting in many exclamation points, +which looked like little balloons; then she tied it up with a smart red +ribbon, and sat a minute looking at it with a sober, wistful expression, +which plainly showed how earnest her work had been. Jo's desk up here +was an old tin kitchen, which hung against the wall. In it she kept her +papers and a few books, safely shut away from Scrabble, who, being +likewise of a literary turn, was fond of making a circulating library of +such books as were left in his way, by eating the leaves. From this tin +receptacle Jo produced another manuscript; and, putting both in her +pocket, crept quietly down stairs, leaving her friends to nibble her +pens and taste her ink. + +She put on her hat and jacket as noiselessly as possible, and, going to +the back entry window, got out upon the roof of a low porch, swung +herself down to the grassy bank, and took a roundabout way to the road. +Once there, she composed herself, hailed a passing omnibus, and rolled +away to town, looking very merry and mysterious. + +If any one had been watching her, he would have thought her movements +decidedly peculiar; for, on alighting, she went off at a great pace till +she reached a certain number in a certain busy street; having found the +place with some difficulty, she went into the door-way, looked up the +dirty stairs, and, after standing stock still a minute, suddenly dived +into the street, and walked away as rapidly as she came. This +manœuvre she repeated several times, to the great amusement of a +black-eyed young gentleman lounging in the window of a building +opposite. On returning for the third time, Jo gave herself a shake, +pulled her hat over her eyes, and walked up the stairs, looking as if +she were going to have all her teeth out. + +There was a dentist's sign, among others, which adorned the entrance, +and, after staring a moment at the pair of artificial jaws which slowly +opened and shut to draw attention to a fine set of teeth, the young +gentleman put on his coat, took his hat, and went down to post himself +in the opposite door-way, saying, with a smile and a shiver,-- + +"It's like her to come alone, but if she has a bad time she'll need some +one to help her home." + +In ten minutes Jo came running down stairs with a very red face, and the +general appearance of a person who had just passed through a trying +ordeal of some sort. When she saw the young gentleman she looked +anything but pleased, and passed him with a nod; but he followed, asking +with an air of sympathy,-- + +"Did you have a bad time?" + +"Not very." + +"You got through quickly." + +"Yes, thank goodness!" + +"Why did you go alone?" + +"Didn't want any one to know." + +"You're the oddest fellow I ever saw. How many did you have out?" + +Jo looked at her friend as if she did not understand him; then began to +laugh, as if mightily amused at something. + +"There are two which I want to have come out, but I must wait a week." + +"What are you laughing at? You are up to some mischief, Jo," said +Laurie, looking mystified. + +"So are you. What were you doing, sir, up in that billiard saloon?" + +"Begging your pardon, ma'am, it wasn't a billiard saloon, but a +gymnasium, and I was taking a lesson in fencing." + +"I'm glad of that." + +"Why?" + +"You can teach me, and then when we play Hamlet, you can be Laertes, and +we'll make a fine thing of the fencing scene." + +Laurie burst out with a hearty boy's laugh, which made several +passers-by smile in spite of themselves. + +"I'll teach you whether we play Hamlet or not; it's grand fun, and will +straighten you up capitally. But I don't believe that was your only +reason for saying 'I'm glad,' in that decided way; was it, now?" + +"No, I was glad that you were not in the saloon, because I hope you +never go to such places. Do you?" + +"Not often." + +"I wish you wouldn't." + +"It's no harm, Jo. I have billiards at home, but it's no fun unless you +have good players; so, as I'm fond of it, I come sometimes and have a +game with Ned Moffat or some of the other fellows." + +"Oh dear, I'm so sorry, for you'll get to liking it better and better, +and will waste time and money, and grow like those dreadful boys. I did +hope you'd stay respectable, and be a satisfaction to your friends," +said Jo, shaking her head. + +"Can't a fellow take a little innocent amusement now and then without +losing his respectability?" asked Laurie, looking nettled. + +"That depends upon how and where he takes it. I don't like Ned and his +set, and wish you'd keep out of it. Mother won't let us have him at our +house, though he wants to come; and if you grow like him she won't be +willing to have us frolic together as we do now." + +"Won't she?" asked Laurie anxiously. + +"No, she can't bear fashionable young men, and she'd shut us all up in +bandboxes rather than have us associate with them." + +"Well, she needn't get out her bandboxes yet; I'm not a fashionable +party, and don't mean to be; but I do like harmless larks now and then, +don't you?" + +"Yes, nobody minds them, so lark away, but don't get wild, will you? or +there will be an end of all our good times." + +"I'll be a double-distilled saint." + +"I can't bear saints: just be a simple, honest, respectable boy, and +we'll never desert you. I don't know what I _should_ do if you acted +like Mr. King's son; he had plenty of money, but didn't know how to +spend it, and got tipsy and gambled, and ran away, and forged his +father's name, I believe, and was altogether horrid." + +"You think I'm likely to do the same? Much obliged." + +"No, I don't--oh, _dear_, no!--but I hear people talking about money +being such a temptation, and I sometimes wish you were poor; I shouldn't +worry then." + +"Do you worry about me, Jo?" + +"A little, when you look moody or discontented, as you sometimes do; for +you've got such a strong will, if you once get started wrong, I'm afraid +it would be hard to stop you." + +Laurie walked in silence a few minutes, and Jo watched him, wishing she +had held her tongue, for his eyes looked angry, though his lips still +smiled as if at her warnings. + +"Are you going to deliver lectures all the way home?" he asked +presently. + +"Of course not; why?" + +"Because if you are, I'll take a 'bus; if you are not, I'd like to walk +with you, and tell you something very interesting." + +"I won't preach any more, and I'd like to hear the news immensely." + +"Very well, then; come on. It's a secret, and if I tell you, you must +tell me yours." + +"I haven't got any," began Jo, but stopped suddenly, remembering that +she had. + +"You know you have,--you can't hide anything; so up and 'fess, or I +won't tell," cried Laurie. + +"Is your secret a nice one?" + +"Oh, isn't it! all about people you know, and such fun! You ought to +hear it, and I've been aching to tell it this long time. Come, you +begin." + +"You'll not say anything about it at home, will you?" + +"Not a word." + +"And you won't tease me in private?" + +"I never tease." + +"Yes, you do; you get everything you want out of people. I don't know +how you do it, but you are a born wheedler." + +"Thank you; fire away." + +"Well, I've left two stories with a newspaper man, and he's to give his +answer next week," whispered Jo, in her confidant's ear. + +"Hurrah for Miss March, the celebrated American authoress!" cried +Laurie, throwing up his hat and catching it again, to the great delight +of two ducks, four cats, five hens, and half a dozen Irish children; for +they were out of the city now. + + [Illustration: Hurrah for Miss March] + +"Hush! It won't come to anything, I dare say; but I couldn't rest till I +had tried, and I said nothing about it, because I didn't want any one +else to be disappointed." + +"It won't fail. Why, Jo, your stories are works of Shakespeare, +compared to half the rubbish that is published every day. Won't it be +fun to see them in print; and sha'n't we feel proud of our authoress?" + +Jo's eyes sparkled, for it is always pleasant to be believed in; and a +friend's praise is always sweeter than a dozen newspaper puffs. + +"Where's _your_ secret? Play fair, Teddy, or I'll never believe you +again," she said, trying to extinguish the brilliant hopes that blazed +up at a word of encouragement. + +"I may get into a scrape for telling; but I didn't promise not to, so I +will, for I never feel easy in my mind till I've told you any plummy bit +of news I get. I know where Meg's glove is." + +"Is that all?" said Jo, looking disappointed, as Laurie nodded and +twinkled, with a face full of mysterious intelligence. + +"It's quite enough for the present, as you'll agree when I tell you +where it is." + +"Tell, then." + +Laurie bent, and whispered three words in Jo's ear, which produced a +comical change. She stood and stared at him for a minute, looking both +surprised and displeased, then walked on, saying sharply, "How do you +know?" + +"Saw it." + +"Where?" + +"Pocket." + +"All this time?" + +"Yes; isn't that romantic?" + +"No, it's horrid." + +"Don't you like it?" + +"Of course I don't. It's ridiculous; it won't be allowed. My patience! +what would Meg say?" + +"You are not to tell any one; mind that." + +"I didn't promise." + +"That was understood, and I trusted you." + +"Well, I won't for the present, any way; but I'm disgusted, and wish you +hadn't told me." + +"I thought you'd be pleased." + +"At the idea of anybody coming to take Meg away? No, thank you." + +"You'll feel better about it when somebody comes to take you away." + +"I'd like to see any one try it," cried Jo fiercely. + +"So should I!" and Laurie chuckled at the idea. + +"I don't think secrets agree with me; I feel rumpled up in my mind since +you told me that," said Jo, rather ungratefully. + +"Race down this hill with me, and you'll be all right," suggested +Laurie. + +No one was in sight; the smooth road sloped invitingly before her; and +finding the temptation irresistible, Jo darted away, soon leaving hat +and comb behind her, and scattering hair-pins as she ran. Laurie reached +the goal first, and was quite satisfied with the success of his +treatment; for his Atalanta came panting up, with flying hair, bright +eyes, ruddy cheeks, and no signs of dissatisfaction in her face. + + [Illustration: Jo darted away] + +"I wish I was a horse; then I could run for miles in this splendid air, +and not lose my breath. It was capital; but see what a guy it's made me. +Go, pick up my things, like a cherub as you are," said Jo, dropping down +under a maple-tree, which was carpeting the bank with crimson leaves. + +Laurie leisurely departed to recover the lost property, and Jo bundled +up her braids, hoping no one would pass by till she was tidy again. But +some one did pass, and who should it be but Meg, looking particularly +ladylike in her state and festival suit, for she had been making calls. + +"What in the world are you doing here?" she asked, regarding her +dishevelled sister with well-bred surprise. + +"Getting leaves," meekly answered Jo, sorting the rosy handful she had +just swept up. + +"And hair-pins," added Laurie, throwing half a dozen into Jo's lap. +"They grow on this road, Meg; so do combs and brown straw hats." + +"You have been running, Jo; how could you? When _will_ you stop such +romping ways?" said Meg reprovingly, as she settled her cuffs, and +smoothed her hair, with which the wind had taken liberties. + +"Never till I'm stiff and old, and have to use a crutch. Don't try to +make me grow up before my time, Meg: it's hard enough to have you change +all of a sudden; let me be a little girl as long as I can." + +As she spoke, Jo bent over the leaves to hide the trembling of her lips; +for lately she had felt that Margaret was fast getting to be a woman, +and Laurie's secret made her dread the separation which must surely come +some time, and now seemed very near. He saw the trouble in her face, and +drew Meg's attention from it by asking quickly, "Where have you been +calling, all so fine?" + +"At the Gardiners', and Sallie has been telling me all about Belle +Moffat's wedding. It was very splendid, and they have gone to spend the +winter in Paris. Just think how delightful that must be!" + +"Do you envy her, Meg?" said Laurie. + +"I'm afraid I do." + +"I'm glad of it!" muttered Jo, tying on her hat with a jerk. + +"Why?" asked Meg, looking surprised. + +"Because if you care much about riches, you will never go and marry a +poor man," said Jo, frowning at Laurie, who was mutely warning her to +mind what she said. + +"I shall never '_go_ and marry' any one," observed Meg, walking on with +great dignity, while the others followed, laughing, whispering, skipping +stones, and "behaving like children," as Meg said to herself, though she +might have been tempted to join them if she had not had her best dress +on. + +For a week or two, Jo behaved so queerly that her sisters were quite +bewildered. She rushed to the door when the postman rang; was rude to +Mr. Brooke whenever they met; would sit looking at Meg with a woe-begone +face, occasionally jumping up to shake, and then to kiss her, in a very +mysterious manner; Laurie and she were always making signs to one +another, and talking about "Spread Eagles," till the girls declared they +had both lost their wits. On the second Saturday after Jo got out of the +window, Meg, as she sat sewing at her window, was scandalized by the +sight of Laurie chasing Jo all over the garden, and finally capturing +her in Amy's bower. What went on there, Meg could not see; but shrieks +of laughter were heard, followed by the murmur of voices and a great +flapping of newspapers. + +"What shall we do with that girl? She never _will_ behave like a young +lady," sighed Meg, as she watched the race with a disapproving face. + +"I hope she won't; she is so funny and dear as she is," said Beth, who +had never betrayed that she was a little hurt at Jo's having secrets +with any one but her. + +"It's very trying, but we never can make her _commy la fo_," added Amy, +who sat making some new frills for herself, with her curls tied up in a +very becoming way,--two agreeable things, which made her feel unusually +elegant and ladylike. + +In a few minutes Jo bounced in, laid herself on the sofa, and affected +to read. + + [Illustration: Jo laid herself on the sofa and affected to read] + +"Have you anything interesting there?" asked Meg, with condescension. + +"Nothing but a story; won't amount to much, I guess," returned Jo, +carefully keeping the name of the paper out of sight. + +"You'd better read it aloud; that will amuse us and keep you out of +mischief," said Amy, in her most grown-up tone. + +"What's the name?" asked Beth, wondering why Jo kept her face behind the +sheet. + +"The Rival Painters." + +"That sounds well; read it," said Meg. + +With a loud "Hem!" and a long breath, Jo began to read very fast. The +girls listened with interest, for the tale was romantic, and somewhat +pathetic, as most of the characters died in the end. + +"I like that about the splendid picture," was Amy's approving remark, as +Jo paused. + +"I prefer the lovering part. Viola and Angelo are two of our favorite +names; isn't that queer?" said Meg, wiping her eyes, for the "lovering +part" was tragical. + +"Who wrote it?" asked Beth, who had caught a glimpse of Jo's face. + +The reader suddenly sat up, cast away the paper, displaying a flushed +countenance, and, with a funny mixture of solemnity and excitement, +replied in a loud voice, "Your sister." + +"You?" cried Meg, dropping her work. + +"It's very good," said Amy critically. + +"I knew it! I knew it! O my Jo, I _am_ so proud!" and Beth ran to hug +her sister, and exult over this splendid success. + +Dear me, how delighted they all were, to be sure! how Meg wouldn't +believe it till she saw the words, "Miss Josephine March," actually +printed in the paper; how graciously Amy criticised the artistic parts +of the story, and offered hints for a sequel, which unfortunately +couldn't be carried out, as the hero and heroine were dead; how Beth got +excited, and skipped and sung with joy; how Hannah came in to exclaim +"Sakes alive, well I never!" in great astonishment at "that Jo's +doin's;" how proud Mrs. March was when she knew it; how Jo laughed, with +tears in her eyes, as she declared she might as well be a peacock and +done with it; and how the "Spread Eagle" might be said to flap his wings +triumphantly over the House of March, as the paper passed from hand to +hand. + +"Tell us all about it." "When did it come?" "How much did you get for +it?" "What _will_ father say?" "Won't Laurie laugh?" cried the family, +all in one breath, as they clustered about Jo; for these foolish, +affectionate people made a jubilee of every little household joy. + +"Stop jabbering, girls, and I'll tell you everything," said Jo, +wondering if Miss Burney felt any grander over her "Evelina" than she +did over her "Rival Painters." Having told how she disposed of her +tales, Jo added, "And when I went to get my answer, the man said he +liked them both, but didn't pay beginners, only let them print in his +paper, and noticed the stories. It was good practice, he said; and when +the beginners improved, any one would pay. So I let him have the two +stories, and to-day this was sent to me, and Laurie caught me with it, +and insisted on seeing it, so I let him; and he said it was good, and I +shall write more, and he's going to get the next paid for, and I _am_ so +happy, for in time I may be able to support myself and help the girls." + +Jo's breath gave out here; and, wrapping her head in the paper, she +bedewed her little story with a few natural tears; for to be +independent, and earn the praise of those she loved were the dearest +wishes of her heart, and this seemed to be the first step toward that +happy end. + + + + + XV. + + A TELEGRAM. + + + [Illustration: November is the most disagreeable month in the year] + +"November is the most disagreeable month in the whole year," said +Margaret, standing at the window one dull afternoon, looking out at the +frost-bitten garden. + +"That's the reason I was born in it," observed Jo pensively, quite +unconscious of the blot on her nose. + +"If something very pleasant should happen now, we should think it a +delightful month," said Beth, who took a hopeful view of everything, +even November. + +"I dare say; but nothing pleasant ever _does_ happen in this family," +said Meg, who was out of sorts. "We go grubbing along day after day, +without a bit of change, and very little fun. We might as well be in a +treadmill." + +"My patience, how blue we are!" cried Jo. "I don't much wonder, poor +dear, for you see other girls having splendid times, while you grind, +grind, year in and year out. Oh, don't I wish I could manage things for +you as I do for my heroines! You're pretty enough and good enough +already, so I'd have some rich relation leave you a fortune +unexpectedly; then you'd dash out as an heiress, scorn every one who +has slighted you, go abroad, and come home my Lady Something, in a blaze +of splendor and elegance." + +"People don't have fortunes left them in that style now-a-days; men have +to work, and women to marry for money. It's a dreadfully unjust world," +said Meg bitterly. + +"Jo and I are going to make fortunes for you all; just wait ten years, +and see if we don't," said Amy, who sat in a corner, making mud pies, as +Hannah called her little clay models of birds, fruit, and faces. + +"Can't wait, and I'm afraid I haven't much faith in ink and dirt, though +I'm grateful for your good intentions." + +Meg sighed, and turned to the frost-bitten garden again; Jo groaned, and +leaned both elbows on the table in a despondent attitude, but Amy +spatted away energetically; and Beth, who sat at the other window, said, +smiling, "Two pleasant things are going to happen right away: Marmee is +coming down the street, and Laurie is tramping through the garden as if +he had something nice to tell." + +In they both came, Mrs. March with her usual question, "Any letter from +father, girls?" and Laurie to say in his persuasive way, "Won't some of +you come for a drive? I've been working away at mathematics till my head +is in a muddle, and I'm going to freshen my wits by a brisk turn. It's a +dull day, but the air isn't bad, and I'm going to take Brooke home, so +it will be gay inside, if it isn't out. Come, Jo, you and Beth will go, +won't you?" + +"Of course we will." + +"Much obliged, but I'm busy;" and Meg whisked out her work-basket, for +she had agreed with her mother that it was best, for her at least, not +to drive often with the young gentleman. + +"We three will be ready in a minute," cried Amy, running away to wash +her hands. + +"Can I do anything for you, Madam Mother?" asked Laurie, leaning over +Mrs. March's chair, with the affectionate look and tone he always gave +her. + +"No, thank you, except call at the office, if you'll be so kind, dear. +It's our day for a letter, and the postman hasn't been. Father is as +regular as the sun, but there's some delay on the way, perhaps." + +A sharp ring interrupted her, and a minute after Hannah came in with a +letter. + +"It's one of them horrid telegraph things, mum," she said, handing it as +if she was afraid it would explode and do some damage. + + [Illustration: One of them horrid telegraph things] + +At the word "telegraph," Mrs. March snatched it, read the two lines it +contained, and dropped back into her chair as white as if the little +paper had sent a bullet to her heart. Laurie dashed down stairs for +water, while Meg and Hannah supported her, and Jo read aloud, in a +frightened voice,-- + + "MRS. MARCH: + + "Your husband is very ill. Come at once. + "S. HALE, + "Blank Hospital, Washington" + +How still the room was as they listened breathlessly, how strangely the +day darkened outside, and how suddenly the whole world seemed to change, +as the girls gathered about their mother, feeling as if all the +happiness and support of their lives was about to be taken from them. +Mrs. March was herself again directly; read the message over, and +stretched out her arms to her daughters, saying, in a tone they never +forgot, "I shall go at once, but it may be too late. O children, +children, help me to bear it!" + +For several minutes there was nothing but the sound of sobbing in the +room, mingled with broken words of comfort, tender assurances of help, +and hopeful whispers that died away in tears. Poor Hannah was the first +to recover, and with unconscious wisdom she set all the rest a good +example; for, with her, work was the panacea for most afflictions. + +"The Lord keep the dear man! I won't waste no time a cryin', but git +your things ready right away, mum," she said, heartily, as she wiped her +face on her apron, gave her mistress a warm shake of the hand with her +own hard one, and went away, to work like three women in one. + +"She's right; there's no time for tears now. Be calm, girls, and let me +think." + +They tried to be calm, poor things, as their mother sat up, looking +pale, but steady, and put away her grief to think and plan for them. + +"Where's Laurie?" she asked presently, when she had collected her +thoughts, and decided on the first duties to be done. + +"Here, ma'am. Oh, let me do something!" cried the boy, hurrying from the +next room, whither he had withdrawn, feeling that their first sorrow was +too sacred for even his friendly eyes to see. + +"Send a telegram saying I will come at once. The next train goes early +in the morning. I'll take that." + +"What else? The horses are ready; I can go anywhere, do anything," he +said, looking ready to fly to the ends of the earth. + +"Leave a note at Aunt March's. Jo, give me that pen and paper." + +Tearing off the blank side of one of her newly copied pages, Jo drew the +table before her mother, well knowing that money for the long, sad +journey must be borrowed, and feeling as if she could do anything to add +a little to the sum for her father. + +"Now go, dear; but don't kill yourself driving at a desperate pace; +there is no need of that." + +Mrs. March's warning was evidently thrown away; for five minutes later +Laurie tore by the window on his own fleet horse, riding as if for his +life. + +"Jo, run to the rooms, and tell Mrs. King that I can't come. On the way +get these things. I'll put them down; they'll be needed, and I must go +prepared for nursing. Hospital stores are not always good. Beth, go and +ask Mr. Laurence for a couple of bottles of old wine: I'm not too proud +to beg for father; he shall have the best of everything. Amy, tell +Hannah to get down the black trunk; and, Meg, come and help me find my +things, for I'm half bewildered." + +Writing, thinking, and directing, all at once, might well bewilder the +poor lady, and Meg begged her to sit quietly in her room for a little +while, and let them work. Every one scattered like leaves before a gust +of wind; and the quiet, happy household was broken up as suddenly as if +the paper had been an evil spell. + +Mr. Laurence came hurrying back with Beth, bringing every comfort the +kind old gentleman could think of for the invalid, and friendliest +promises of protection for the girls during the mother's absence, which +comforted her very much. There was nothing he didn't offer, from his own +dressing-gown to himself as escort. But that last was impossible. Mrs. +March would not hear of the old gentleman's undertaking the long +journey; yet an expression of relief was visible when he spoke of it, +for anxiety ill fits one for travelling. He saw the look, knit his heavy +eyebrows, rubbed his hands, and marched abruptly away, saying he'd be +back directly. No one had time to think of him again till, as Meg ran +through the entry, with a pair of rubbers in one hand and a cup of tea +in the other, she came suddenly upon Mr. Brooke. + + [Illustration: She came suddenly upon Mr. Brooke] + +"I'm very sorry to hear of this, Miss March," he said, in the kind, +quiet tone which sounded very pleasantly to her perturbed spirit. "I +came to offer myself as escort to your mother. Mr. Laurence has +commissions for me in Washington, and it will give me real satisfaction +to be of service to her there." + +Down dropped the rubbers, and the tea was very near following, as Meg +put out her hand, with a face so full of gratitude, that Mr. Brooke +would have felt repaid for a much greater sacrifice than the trifling +one of time and comfort which he was about to make. + +"How kind you all are! Mother will accept, I'm sure; and it will be such +a relief to know that she has some one to take care of her. Thank you +very, very much!" + +Meg spoke earnestly, and forgot herself entirely till something in the +brown eyes looking down at her made her remember the cooling tea, and +lead the way into the parlor, saying she would call her mother. + +Everything was arranged by the time Laurie returned with a note from +Aunt March, enclosing the desired sum, and a few lines repeating what +she had often said before,--that she had always told them it was absurd +for March to go into the army, always predicted that no good would come +of it, and she hoped they would take her advice next time. Mrs. March +put the note in the fire, the money in her purse, and went on with her +preparations, with her lips folded tightly, in a way which Jo would have +understood if she had been there. + +The short afternoon wore away; all the other errands were done, and Meg +and her mother busy at some necessary needle-work, while Beth and Amy +got tea, and Hannah finished her ironing with what she called a "slap +and a bang," but still Jo did not come. They began to get anxious; and +Laurie went off to find her, for no one ever knew what freak Jo might +take into her head. He missed her, however, and she came walking in with +a very queer expression of countenance, for there was a mixture of fun +and fear, satisfaction and regret, in it, which puzzled the family as +much as did the roll of bills she laid before her mother, saying, with a +little choke in her voice, "That's my contribution towards making +father comfortable and bringing him home!" + +"My dear, where did you get it? Twenty-five dollars! Jo, I hope you +haven't done anything rash? + +"No, it's mine honestly; I didn't beg, borrow, or steal it. I earned it; +and I don't think you'll blame me, for I only sold what was my own." + +As she spoke, Jo took off her bonnet, and a general outcry arose, for +all her abundant hair was cut short. + +"Your hair! Your beautiful hair!" "O Jo, how could you? Your one +beauty." "My dear girl, there was no need of this." "She doesn't look +like my Jo any more, but I love her dearly for it!" + +As every one exclaimed, and Beth hugged the cropped head tenderly, Jo +assumed an indifferent air, which did not deceive any one a particle, +and said, rumpling up the brown bush, and trying to look as if she liked +it, "It doesn't affect the fate of the nation, so don't wail, Beth. It +will be good for my vanity; I was getting too proud of my wig. It will +do my brains good to have that mop taken off; my head feels deliciously +light and cool, and the barber said I could soon have a curly crop, +which will be boyish, becoming, and easy to keep in order. I'm +satisfied; so please take the money, and let's have supper." + +"Tell me all about it, Jo. _I_ am not quite satisfied, but I can't blame +you, for I know how willingly you sacrificed your vanity, as you call +it, to your love. But, my dear, it was not necessary, and I'm afraid you +will regret it, one of these days," said Mrs. March. + +"No, I won't!" returned Jo stoutly, feeling much relieved that her prank +was not entirely condemned. + +"What made you do it?" asked Amy, who would as soon have thought of +cutting off her head as her pretty hair. + +"Well, I was wild to do something for father," replied Jo, as they +gathered about the table, for healthy young people can eat even in the +midst of trouble. "I hate to borrow as much as mother does, and I knew +Aunt March would croak; she always does, if you ask for a ninepence. Meg +gave all her quarterly salary toward the rent, and I only got some +clothes with mine, so I felt wicked, and was bound to have some money, +if I sold the nose off my face to get it." + +"You needn't feel wicked, my child: you had no winter things, and got +the simplest with your own hard earnings," said Mrs. March, with a look +that warmed Jo's heart. + +"I hadn't the least idea of selling my hair at first, but as I went +along I kept thinking what I could do, and feeling as if I'd like to +dive into some of the rich stores and help myself. In a barber's window +I saw tails of hair with the prices marked; and one black tail, not so +thick as mine, was forty dollars. It came over me all of a sudden that I +had one thing to make money out of, and without stopping to think, I +walked in, asked if they bought hair, and what they would give for +mine." + +"I don't see how you dared to do it," said Beth, in a tone of awe. + +"Oh, he was a little man who looked as if he merely lived to oil his +hair. He rather stared, at first, as if he wasn't used to having girls +bounce into his shop and ask him to buy their hair. He said he didn't +care about mine, it wasn't the fashionable color, and he never paid much +for it in the first place; the work put into it made it dear, and so on. +It was getting late, and I was afraid, if it wasn't done right away, +that I shouldn't have it done at all, and you know when I start to do a +thing, I hate to give it up; so I begged him to take it, and told him +why I was in such a hurry. It was silly, I dare say, but it changed his +mind, for I got rather excited, and told the story in my topsy-turvy +way, and his wife heard, and said so kindly,-- + +"'Take it, Thomas, and oblige the young lady; I'd do as much for our +Jimmy any day if I had a spire of hair worth selling.'" + +"Who was Jimmy?" asked Amy, who liked to have things explained as they +went along. + +"Her son, she said, who was in the army. How friendly such things make +strangers feel, don't they? She talked away all the time the man +clipped, and diverted my mind nicely." + + [Illustration: The man clipped] + +"Didn't you feel dreadfully when the first cut came?" asked Meg, with a +shiver. + +"I took a last look at my hair while the man got his things, and that +was the end of it. I never snivel over trifles like that; I will +confess, though, I felt queer when I saw the dear old hair laid out on +the table, and felt only the short, rough ends on my head. It almost +seemed as if I'd an arm or a leg off. The woman saw me look at it, and +picked out a long lock for me to keep. I'll give it to you, Marmee, just +to remember past glories by; for a crop is so comfortable I don't think +I shall ever have a mane again." + +Mrs. March folded the wavy, chestnut lock, and laid it away with a short +gray one in her desk. She only said "Thank you, deary," but something in +her face made the girls change the subject, and talk as cheerfully as +they could about Mr. Brooke's kindness, the prospect of a fine day +to-morrow, and the happy times they would have when father came home to +be nursed. + +No one wanted to go to bed, when, at ten o'clock, Mrs. March put by the +last finished job, and said, "Come, girls." Beth went to the piano and +played the father's favorite hymn; all began bravely, but broke down +one by one, till Beth was left alone, singing with all her heart, for to +her music was always a sweet consoler. + +"Go to bed and don't talk, for we must be up early, and shall need all +the sleep we can get. Good-night, my darlings," said Mrs. March, as the +hymn ended, for no one cared to try another. + +They kissed her quietly, and went to bed as silently as if the dear +invalid lay in the next room. Beth and Amy soon fell asleep in spite of +the great trouble, but Meg lay awake, thinking the most serious thoughts +she had ever known in her short life. Jo lay motionless, and her sister +fancied that she was asleep, till a stifled sob made her exclaim, as she +touched a wet cheek,-- + +"Jo, dear, what is it? Are you crying about father?" + +"No, not now." + +"What then?" + +"My--my hair!" burst out poor Jo, trying vainly to smother her emotion +in the pillow. + +It did not sound at all comical to Meg, who kissed and caressed the +afflicted heroine in the tenderest manner. + +"I'm not sorry," protested Jo, with a choke. "I'd do it again to-morrow, +if I could. It's only the vain, selfish part of me that goes and cries +in this silly way. Don't tell any one, it's all over now. I thought you +were asleep, so I just made a little private moan for my one beauty. How +came you to be awake?" + +"I can't sleep, I'm so anxious," said Meg. + +"Think about something pleasant, and you'll soon drop off." + +"I tried it, but felt wider awake than ever." + +"What did you think of?" + +"Handsome faces,--eyes particularly," answered Meg, smiling to herself, +in the dark. + +"What color do you like best?" + +"Brown--that is, sometimes; blue are lovely." + +Jo laughed, and Meg sharply ordered her not to talk, then amiably +promised to make her hair curl, and fell asleep to dream of living in +her castle in the air. + +The clocks were striking midnight, and the rooms were very still, as a +figure glided quietly from bed to bed, smoothing a coverlid here, +settling a pillow there, and pausing to look long and tenderly at each +unconscious face, to kiss each with lips that mutely blessed, and to +pray the fervent prayers which only mothers utter. As she lifted the +curtain to look out into the dreary night, the moon broke suddenly from +behind the clouds, and shone upon her like a bright, benignant face, +which seemed to whisper in the silence, "Be comforted, dear soul! There +is always light behind the clouds." + + [Illustration: Tail-piece] + + + + + [Illustration: Letters] + + XVI. + + LETTERS. + + +In the cold gray dawn the sisters lit their lamp, and read their chapter +with an earnestness never felt before; for now the shadow of a real +trouble had come, the little books were full of help and comfort; and, +as they dressed, they agreed to say good-by cheerfully and hopefully, +and send their mother on her anxious journey unsaddened by tears or +complaints from them. Everything seemed very strange when they went +down,--so dim and still outside, so full of light and bustle within. +Breakfast at that early hour seemed odd, and even Hannah's familiar face +looked unnatural as she flew about her kitchen with her night-cap on. +The big trunk stood ready in the hall, mother's cloak and bonnet lay on +the sofa, and mother herself sat trying to eat, but looking so pale and +worn with sleeplessness and anxiety that the girls found it very hard to +keep their resolution. Meg's eyes kept filling in spite of herself; Jo +was obliged to hide her face in the kitchen roller more than once; and +the little girls' wore a grave, troubled expression, as if sorrow was a +new experience to them. + +Nobody talked much, but as the time drew very near, and they sat waiting +for the carriage, Mrs. March said to the girls, who were all busied +about her, one folding her shawl, another smoothing out the strings of +her bonnet, a third putting on her overshoes, and a fourth fastening up +her travelling bag,-- + +"Children, I leave you to Hannah's care and Mr. Laurence's protection. +Hannah is faithfulness itself, and our good neighbor will guard you as +if you were his own. I have no fears for you, yet I am anxious that you +should take this trouble rightly. Don't grieve and fret when I am gone, +or think that you can comfort yourselves by being idle and trying to +forget. Go on with your work as usual, for work is a blessed solace. +Hope and keep busy; and whatever happens, remember that you never can be +fatherless." + +"Yes, mother." + +"Meg, dear, be prudent, watch over your sisters, consult Hannah, and, in +any perplexity, go to Mr. Laurence. Be patient, Jo, don't get despondent +or do rash things; write to me often, and be my brave girl, ready to +help and cheer us all. Beth, comfort yourself with your music, and be +faithful to the little home duties; and you, Amy, help all you can, be +obedient, and keep happy safe at home." + +"We will, mother! we will!" + +The rattle of an approaching carriage made them all start and listen. +That was the hard minute, but the girls stood it well: no one cried, no +one ran away or uttered a lamentation, though their hearts were very +heavy as they sent loving messages to father, remembering, as they +spoke, that it might be too late to deliver them. They kissed their +mother quietly, clung about her tenderly, and tried to wave their hands +cheerfully when she drove away. + +Laurie and his grandfather came over to see her off, and Mr. Brooke +looked so strong and sensible and kind that the girls christened him +"Mr. Greatheart" on the spot. + +"Good-by, my darlings! God bless and keep us all!" whispered Mrs. March, +as she kissed one dear little face after the other, and hurried into the +carriage. + +As she rolled away, the sun came out, and, looking back, she saw it +shining on the group at the gate, like a good omen. They saw it also, +and smiled and waved their hands; and the last thing she beheld, as she +turned the corner, was the four bright faces, and behind them, like a +body-guard, old Mr. Laurence, faithful Hannah, and devoted Laurie. + + [Illustration: She rolled away] + +"How kind every one is to us!" she said, turning to find fresh proof of +it in the respectful sympathy of the young man's face. + +"I don't see how they can help it," returned Mr. Brooke, laughing so +infectiously that Mrs. March could not help smiling; and so the long +journey began with the good omens of sunshine, smiles, and cheerful +words. + +"I feel as if there had been an earthquake," said Jo, as their neighbors +went home to breakfast, leaving them to rest and refresh themselves. + +"It seems as if half the house was gone," added Meg forlornly. + +Beth opened her lips to say something, but could only point to the pile +of nicely-mended hose which lay on mother's table, showing that even in +her last hurried moments she had thought and worked for them. It was a +little thing, but it went straight to their hearts; and, in spite of +their brave resolutions, they all broke down, and cried bitterly. + +Hannah wisely allowed them to relieve their feelings, and, when the +shower showed signs of clearing up, she came to the rescue, armed with a +coffee-pot. + +"Now, my dear young ladies, remember what your ma said, and don't fret. +Come and have a cup of coffee all round, and then let's fall to work, +and be a credit to the family." + +Coffee was a treat, and Hannah showed great tact in making it that +morning. No one could resist her persuasive nods, or the fragrant +invitation issuing from the nose of the coffee-pot. They drew up to the +table, exchanged their handkerchiefs for napkins, and in ten minutes +were all right again. + +"'Hope and keep busy;' that's the motto for us, so let's see who will +remember it best. I shall go to Aunt March, as usual. Oh, won't she +lecture though!" said Jo, as she sipped with returning spirit. + +"I shall go to my Kings, though I'd much rather stay at home and attend +to things here," said Meg, wishing she hadn't made her eyes so red. + +"No need of that; Beth and I can keep house perfectly well," put in Amy, +with an important air. + +"Hannah will tell us what to do; and we'll have everything nice when you +come home," added Beth, getting out her mop and dish-tub without delay. + +"I think anxiety is very interesting," observed Amy, eating sugar, +pensively. + +The girls couldn't help laughing, and felt better for it, though Meg +shook her head at the young lady who could find consolation in a +sugar-bowl. + +The sight of the turn-overs made Jo sober again; and when the two went +out to their daily tasks, they looked sorrowfully back at the window +where they were accustomed to see their mother's face. It was gone; but +Beth had remembered the little household ceremony, and there she was, +nodding away at them like a rosy-faced mandarin. + +"That's so like my Beth!" said Jo, waving her hat, with a grateful face. +"Good-by, Meggy; I hope the Kings won't train to-day. Don't fret about +father, dear," she added, as they parted. + +"And I hope Aunt March won't croak. Your hair _is_ becoming, and it +looks very boyish and nice," returned Meg, trying not to smile at the +curly head, which looked comically small on her tall sister's shoulders. + +"That's my only comfort;" and, touching her hat _à la_ Laurie, away went +Jo, feeling like a shorn sheep on a wintry day. + +News from their father comforted the girls very much; for, though +dangerously ill, the presence of the best and tenderest of nurses had +already done him good. Mr. Brooke sent a bulletin every day, and, as the +head of the family, Meg insisted on reading the despatches, which grew +more and more cheering as the week passed. At first, every one was eager +to write, and plump envelopes were carefully poked into the letter-box +by one or other of the sisters, who felt rather important with their +Washington correspondence. As one of these packets contained +characteristic notes from the party, we will rob an imaginary mail, and +read them:-- + + "MY DEAREST MOTHER,-- + + "It is impossible to tell you how happy your last letter made + us, for the news was so good we couldn't help laughing and + crying over it. How very kind Mr. Brooke is, and how fortunate + that Mr. Laurence's business detains him near you so long, + since he is so useful to you and father. The girls are all as + good as gold. Jo helps me with the sewing, and insists on doing + all sorts of hard jobs. I should be afraid she might overdo, if + I didn't know that her 'moral fit' wouldn't last long. Beth is + as regular about her tasks as a clock, and never forgets what + you told her. She grieves about father, and looks sober except + when she is at her little piano. Amy minds me nicely, and I + take great care of her. She does her own hair, and I am + teaching her to make button-holes and mend her stockings. She + tries very hard, and I know you will be pleased with her + improvement when you come. Mr. Laurence watches over us like a + motherly old hen, as Jo says; and Laurie is very kind and + neighborly. He and Jo keep us merry, for we get pretty blue + sometimes, and feel like orphans, with you so far away. Hannah + is a perfect saint; she does not scold at all, and always calls + me Miss 'Margaret,' which is quite proper, you know, and treats + me with respect. We are all well and busy; but we long, day + and night, to have you back. Give my dearest love to father, + and believe me, ever your own + "MEG." + +This note, prettily written on scented paper, was a great contrast to +the next, which was scribbled on a big sheet of thin foreign paper, +ornamented with blots and all manner of flourishes and curly-tailed +letters:-- + + "MY PRECIOUS MARMEE,-- + + "Three cheers for dear father! Brooke was a trump to telegraph + right off, and let us know the minute he was better. I rushed + up garret when the letter came, and tried to thank God for + being so good to us; but I could only cry, and say, 'I'm glad! + I'm glad!' Didn't that do as well as a regular prayer? for I + felt a great many in my heart. We have such funny times; and + now I can enjoy them, for every one is so desperately good, + it's like living in a nest of turtle-doves. You'd laugh to see + Meg head the table and try to be motherish. She gets prettier + every day, and I'm in love with her sometimes. The children are + regular archangels, and I--well, I'm Jo, and never shall be + anything else. Oh, I must tell you that I came near having a + quarrel with Laurie. I freed my mind about a silly little + thing, and he was offended. I was right, but didn't speak as I + ought, and he marched home, saying he wouldn't come again till + I begged pardon. I declared I wouldn't, and got mad. It lasted + all day; I felt bad, and wanted you very much. Laurie and I are + both so proud, it's hard to beg pardon; but I thought he'd come + to it, for I _was_ in the right. He didn't come; and just at + night I remembered what you said when Amy fell into the river. + I read my little book, felt better, resolved not to let the sun + set on _my_ anger, and ran over to tell Laurie I was sorry. I + met him at the gate, coming for the same thing. We both + laughed, begged each other's pardon, and felt all good and + comfortable again. + + "I made a 'pome' yesterday, when I was helping Hannah wash; and, + as father likes my silly little things, I put it in to amuse + him. Give him the lovingest hug that ever was, and kiss yourself + a dozen times for your + "TOPSY-TURVY JO." + + "A SONG FROM THE SUDS. + + "Queen of my tub, I merrily sing, + While the white foam rises high; + And sturdily wash and rinse and wring, + And fasten the clothes to dry; + Then out in the free fresh air they swing, + Under the sunny sky. + + "I wish we could wash from our hearts and souls + The stains of the week away, + And let water and air by their magic make + Ourselves as pure as they; + Then on the earth there would be indeed + A glorious washing-day! + + "Along the path of a useful life, + Will heart's-ease ever bloom; + The busy mind has no time to think + Of sorrow or care or gloom; + And anxious thoughts may be swept away, + As we bravely wield a broom. + + "I am glad a task to me is given, + To labor at day by day; + For it brings me health and strength and hope, + And I cheerfully learn to say,-- + 'Head, you may think, Heart, you may feel, + But, Hand, you shall work alway!'" + + "DEAR MOTHER,-- + + "There is only room for me to send my love, and some pressed + pansies from the root I have been keeping safe in the house for + father to see. I read every morning, try to be good all day, + and sing myself to sleep with father's tune. I can't sing 'Land + of the Leal' now; it makes me cry. Every one is very kind, and + we are as happy as we can be without you. Amy wants the rest of + the page, so I must stop. I didn't forget to cover the holders, + and I wind the clock and air the rooms every day. + + "Kiss dear father on the cheek he calls mine. Oh, do come soon + to your loving + "LITTLE BETH." + + [Illustration: I wind the clock] + + "MA CHERE MAMMA,-- + + "We are all well I do my lessons always and never corroberate + the girls--Meg says I mean contradick so I put in both words + and you can take the properest. Meg is a great comfort to me + and lets me have jelly every night at tea its so good for me Jo + says because it keeps me sweet tempered. Laurie is not as + respeckful as he ought to be now I am almost in my teens, he + calls me Chick and hurts my feelings by talking French to me + very fast when I say Merci or Bon jour as Hattie King does. The + sleeves of my blue dress were all worn out, and Meg put in new + ones, but the full front came wrong and they are more blue than + the dress. I felt bad but did not fret I bear my troubles well + but I do wish Hannah would put more starch in my aprons and + have buckwheats every day. Can't she? Didn't I make that + interrigation point nice? Meg says my punchtuation and spelling + are disgraceful and I am mortyfied but dear me I have so many + things to do, I can't stop. Adieu, I send heaps of love to + Papa. + "Your affectionate daughter, + "AMY CURTIS MARCH." + + "DEAR MIS MARCH,-- + + "I jes drop a line to say we git on fust rate. The girls is + clever and fly round right smart. Miss Meg is going to make a + proper good housekeeper; she hes the liking for it, and gits + the hang of things surprisin quick. Jo doos beat all for goin + ahead, but she don't stop to cal'k'late fust, and you never + know where she's like to bring up. She done out a tub of + clothes on Monday, but she starched 'em afore they was + wrenched, and blued a pink calico dress till I thought I should + a died a laughin. Beth is the best of little creeters, and a + sight of help to me, bein so forehanded and dependable. She + tries to learn everything, and really goes to market beyond her + years; likewise keeps accounts, with my help, quite wonderful. + We have got on very economical so fur; I don't let the girls + hev coffee only once a week, accordin to your wish, and keep em + on plain wholesome vittles. Amy does well about frettin, wearin + her best clothes and eatin sweet stuff. Mr. Laurie is as full + of didoes as usual, and turns the house upside down frequent; + but he heartens up the girls, and so I let em hev full swing. + The old gentleman sends heaps of things, and is rather wearin, + but means wal, and it aint my place to say nothin. My bread is + riz, so no more at this time. I send my duty to Mr. March, and + hope he's seen the last of his Pewmonia. + "Yours Respectful, + "HANNAH MULLET." + + [Illustration: Yours Respectful, Hannah Mullet] + + "HEAD NURSE OF WARD NO. 2,-- + + "All serene on the Rappahannock, troops in fine condition, + commissary department well conducted, the Home Guard under + Colonel Teddy always on duty, Commander-in-chief General + Laurence reviews the army daily, Quartermaster Mullett keeps + order in camp, and Major Lion does picket duty at night. A + salute of twenty-four guns was fired on receipt of good news + from Washington, and a dress parade took place at + head-quarters. Commander-in-chief sends best wishes, in which + he is heartily joined by + "COLONEL TEDDY." + + "DEAR MADAM,-- + + "The little girls are all well; Beth and my boy report daily; + Hannah is a model servant, and guards pretty Meg like a dragon. + Glad the fine weather holds; pray make Brooke useful, and draw + on me for funds if expenses exceed your estimate. Don't let + your husband want anything. Thank God he is mending. + "Your sincere friend and servant, + "JAMES LAURENCE." + + [Illustration: Tail-piece] + + + + + XVII. + + LITTLE FAITHFUL. + + +For a week the amount of virtue in the old house would have supplied the +neighborhood. It was really amazing, for every one seemed in a heavenly +frame of mind, and self-denial was all the fashion. Relieved of their +first anxiety about their father, the girls insensibly relaxed their +praiseworthy efforts a little, and began to fall back into the old ways. +They did not forget their motto, but hoping and keeping busy seemed to +grow easier; and after such tremendous exertions, they felt that +Endeavor deserved a holiday, and gave it a good many. + +Jo caught a bad cold through neglect to cover the shorn head enough, and +was ordered to stay at home till she was better, for Aunt March didn't +like to hear people read with colds in their heads. Jo liked this, and +after an energetic rummage from garret to cellar, subsided on the sofa +to nurse her cold with arsenicum and books. Amy found that housework and +art did not go well together, and returned to her mud pies. Meg went +daily to her pupils, and sewed, or thought she did, at home, but much +time was spent in writing long letters to her mother, or reading the +Washington despatches over and over. Beth kept on, with only slight +relapses into idleness or grieving. All the little duties were +faithfully done each day, and many of her sisters' also, for they were +forgetful, and the house seemed like a clock whose pendulum was gone +a-visiting. When her heart got heavy with longings for mother or fears +for father, she went away into a certain closet, hid her face in the +folds of a certain dear old gown, and made her little moan and prayed +her little prayer quietly by herself. Nobody knew what cheered her up +after a sober fit, but every one felt how sweet and helpful Beth was, +and fell into a way of going to her for comfort or advice in their small +affairs. + +All were unconscious that this experience was a test of character; and, +when the first excitement was over, felt that they had done well, and +deserved praise. So they did; but their mistake was in ceasing to do +well, and they learned this lesson through much anxiety and regret. + +"Meg, I wish you'd go and see the Hummels; you know mother told us not +to forget them," said Beth, ten days after Mrs. March's departure. + +"I'm too tired to go this afternoon," replied Meg, rocking comfortably +as she sewed. + +"Can't you, Jo?" asked Beth. + +"Too stormy for me with my cold." + +"I thought it was almost well." + +"It's well enough for me to go out with Laurie, but not well enough to +go to the Hummels'," said Jo, laughing, but looking a little ashamed of +her inconsistency. + +"Why don't you go yourself?" asked Meg. + +"I _have_ been every day, but the baby is sick, and I don't know what to +do for it. Mrs. Hummel goes away to work, and Lottchen takes care of it; +but it gets sicker and sicker, and I think you or Hannah ought to go." + +Beth spoke earnestly, and Meg promised she would go to-morrow. + +"Ask Hannah for some nice little mess, and take it round, Beth; the air +will do you good," said Jo, adding apologetically, "I'd go, but I want +to finish my writing." + +"My head aches and I'm tired, so I thought may be some of you would go," +said Beth. + +"Amy will be in presently, and she will run down for us," suggested Meg. + +"Well, I'll rest a little and wait for her." + +So Beth lay down on the sofa, the others returned to their work, and the +Hummels were forgotten. An hour passed: Amy did not come; Meg went to +her room to try on a new dress; Jo was absorbed in her story, and Hannah +was sound asleep before the kitchen fire, when Beth quietly put on her +hood, filled her basket with odds and ends for the poor children, and +went out into the chilly air, with a heavy head, and a grieved look in +her patient eyes. It was late when she came back, and no one saw her +creep upstairs and shut herself into her mother's room. Half an hour +after Jo went to "mother's closet" for something, and there found Beth +sitting on the medicine chest, looking very grave, with red eyes, and a +camphor-bottle in her hand. + +"Christopher Columbus! What's the matter?" cried Jo, as Beth put out her +hand as if to warn her off, and asked quickly,-- + +"You've had the scarlet fever, haven't you?" + +"Years ago, when Meg did. Why?" + +"Then I'll tell you. Oh, Jo, the baby's dead!" + +"What baby?" + +"Mrs. Hummel's; it died in my lap before she got home," cried Beth, with +a sob. + +"My poor dear, how dreadful for you! I ought to have gone," said Jo, +taking her sister in her arms as she sat down in her mother's big chair, +with a remorseful face. + +"It wasn't dreadful, Jo, only so sad! I saw in a minute that it was +sicker, but Lottchen said her mother had gone for a doctor, so I took +baby and let Lotty rest. It seemed asleep, but all of a sudden it gave a +little cry, and trembled, and then lay very still. I tried to warm its +feet, and Lotty gave it some milk, but it didn't stir, and I knew it was +dead." + + [Illustration: It didn't stir, and I knew it was dead] + +"Don't cry, dear! What did you do?" + +"I just sat and held it softly till Mrs. Hummel came with the doctor. He +said it was dead, and looked at Heinrich and Minna, who have got sore +throats. 'Scarlet fever, ma'am. Ought to have called me before,' he said +crossly. Mrs. Hummel told him she was poor, and had tried to cure baby +herself, but now it was too late, and she could only ask him to help the +others, and trust to charity for his pay. He smiled then, and was +kinder; but it was very sad, and I cried with them till he turned round, +all of a sudden, and told me to go home and take belladonna right away, +or I'd have the fever." + +"No, you won't!" cried Jo, hugging her close, with a frightened look. "O +Beth, if you should be sick I never could forgive myself! What _shall_ +we do?" + +"Don't be frightened, I guess I shan't have it badly. I looked in +mother's book, and saw that it begins with headache, sore throat, and +queer feelings like mine, so I did take some belladonna, and I feel +better," said Beth, laying her cold hands on her hot forehead, and +trying to look well. + +"If mother was only at home!" exclaimed Jo, seizing the book, and +feeling that Washington was an immense way off. She read a page, looked +at Beth, felt her head, peeped into her throat, and then said gravely; +"You've been over the baby every day for more than a week, and among the +others who are going to have it; so I'm afraid _you_ are going to have +it, Beth. I'll call Hannah, she knows all about sickness." + +"Don't let Amy come; she never had it, and I should hate to give it to +her. Can't you and Meg have it over again?" asked Beth, anxiously. + +"I guess not; don't care if I do; serve me right, selfish pig, to let +you go, and stay writing rubbish myself!" muttered Jo, as she went to +consult Hannah. + +The good soul was wide awake in a minute, and took the lead at once, +assuring Jo that there was no need to worry; every one had scarlet +fever, and, if rightly treated, nobody died,--all of which Jo believed, +and felt much relieved as they went up to call Meg. + +"Now I'll tell you what we'll do," said Hannah, when she had examined +and questioned Beth; "we will have Dr. Bangs, just to take a look at +you, dear, and see that we start right; then we'll send Amy off to Aunt +March's, for a spell, to keep her out of harm's way, and one of you +girls can stay at home and amuse Beth for a day or two." + +"I shall stay, of course; I'm oldest," began Meg, looking anxious and +self-reproachful. + +"_I_ shall, because it's my fault she is sick; I told mother I'd do the +errands, and I haven't," said Jo decidedly. + +"Which will you have, Beth? there ain't no need of but one," said +Hannah. + +"Jo, please;" and Beth leaned her head against her sister, with a +contented look, which effectually settled that point. + +"I'll go and tell Amy," said Meg, feeling a little hurt, yet rather +relieved, on the whole, for she did not like nursing, and Jo did. + +Amy rebelled outright, and passionately declared that she had rather +have the fever than go to Aunt March. Meg reasoned, pleaded, and +commanded: all in vain. Amy protested that she would _not_ go; and Meg +left her in despair, to ask Hannah what should be done. Before she came +back, Laurie walked into the parlor to find Amy sobbing, with her head +in the sofa-cushions. She told her story, expecting to be consoled; but +Laurie only put his hands in his pockets and walked about the room, +whistling softly, as he knit his brows in deep thought. Presently he sat +down beside her, and said, in his most wheedlesome tone, "Now be a +sensible little woman, and do as they say. No, don't cry, but hear what +a jolly plan I've got. You go to Aunt March's, and I'll come and take +you out every day, driving or walking, and we'll have capital times. +Won't that be better than moping here?" + + [Illustration: He sat down beside her] + +"I don't wish to be sent off as if I was in the way," began Amy, in an +injured voice. + +"Bless your heart, child, it's to keep you well. You don't want to be +sick, do you?" + +"No, I'm sure I don't; but I dare say I shall be, for I've been with +Beth all the time." + +"That's the very reason you ought to go away at once, so that you may +escape it. Change of air and care will keep you well, I dare say; or, if +it does not entirely, you will have the fever more lightly. I advise you +to be off as soon as you can, for scarlet fever is no joke, miss." + +"But it's dull at Aunt March's, and she is so cross," said Amy, looking +rather frightened. + +"It won't be dull with me popping in every day to tell you how Beth is, +and take you out gallivanting. The old lady likes me, and I'll be as +sweet as possible to her, so she won't peck at us, whatever we do." + +"Will you take me out in the trotting wagon with Puck?" + +"On my honor as a gentleman." + +"And come every single day?" + +"See if I don't." + +"And bring me back the minute Beth is well?" + +"The identical minute." + +"And go to the theatre, truly?" + +"A dozen theatres, if we may." + +"Well--I guess--I will," said Amy slowly. + +"Good girl! Call Meg, and tell her you'll give in," said Laurie, with an +approving pat, which annoyed Amy more than the "giving in." + +Meg and Jo came running down to behold the miracle which had been +wrought; and Amy, feeling very precious and self-sacrificing, promised +to go, if the doctor said Beth was going to be ill. + +"How is the little dear?" asked Laurie; for Beth was his especial pet, +and he felt more anxious about her than he liked to show. + +"She is lying down on mother's bed, and feels better. The baby's death +troubled her, but I dare say she has only got cold. Hannah _says_ she +thinks so; but she _looks_ worried, and that makes me fidgety," answered +Meg. + +"What a trying world it is!" said Jo, rumpling up her hair in a fretful +sort of way. "No sooner do we get out of one trouble than down comes +another. There doesn't seem to be anything to hold on to when mother's +gone; so I'm all at sea." + +"Well, don't make a porcupine of yourself, it isn't becoming. Settle +your wig, Jo, and tell me if I shall telegraph to your mother, or do +anything?" asked Laurie, who never had been reconciled to the loss of +his friend's one beauty. + +"That is what troubles me," said Meg. "I think we ought to tell her if +Beth is really ill, but Hannah says we mustn't, for mother can't leave +father, and it will only make them anxious. Beth won't be sick long, and +Hannah knows just what to do, and mother said we were to mind her, so I +suppose we must, but it doesn't seem quite right to me." + +"Hum, well, I can't say; suppose you ask grandfather after the doctor +has been." + +"We will. Jo, go and get Dr. Bangs at once," commanded Meg; "we can't +decide anything till he has been." + +"Stay where you are, Jo; I'm errand-boy to this establishment," said +Laurie, taking up his cap. + +"I'm afraid you are busy," began Meg. + +"No, I've done my lessons for the day." + +"Do you study in vacation time?" asked Jo. + +"I follow the good example my neighbors set me," was Laurie's answer, as +he swung himself out of the room. + +"I have great hopes of my boy," observed Jo, watching him fly over the +fence with an approving smile. + +"He does very well--for a boy," was Meg's somewhat ungracious answer, +for the subject did not interest her. + +Dr. Bangs came, said Beth had symptoms of the fever, but thought she +would have it lightly, though he looked sober over the Hummel story. Amy +was ordered off at once, and provided with something to ward off danger, +she departed in great state, with Jo and Laurie as escort. + +Aunt March received them with her usual hospitality. + +"What do you want now?" she asked, looking sharply over her spectacles, +while the parrot, sitting on the back of her chair, called out,-- + + [Illustration: What do you want now?] + +"Go away. No boys allowed here." + +Laurie retired to the window, and Jo told her story. + +"No more than I expected, if you are allowed to go poking about among +poor folks. Amy can stay and make herself useful if she isn't sick, +which I've no doubt she will be,--looks like it now. Don't cry, child, +it worries me to hear people sniff." + +Amy _was_ on the point of crying, but Laurie slyly pulled the parrot's +tail, which caused Polly to utter an astonished croak, and call out,-- + +"Bless my boots!" in such a funny way, that she laughed instead. + +"What do you hear from your mother?" asked the old lady gruffly. + +"Father is much better," replied Jo, trying to keep sober. + +"Oh, is he? Well, that won't last long, I fancy; March never had any +stamina," was the cheerful reply. + +"Ha, ha! never say die, take a pinch of snuff, good by, good by!" +squalled Polly, dancing on her perch, and clawing at the old lady's cap +as Laurie tweaked him in the rear. + +"Hold your tongue, you disrespectful old bird! and, Jo, you'd better go +at once; it isn't proper to be gadding about so late with a rattle-pated +boy like--" + +"Hold your tongue, you disrespectful old bird!" cried Polly, tumbling +off the chair with a bounce, and running to peck the "rattle-pated" boy, +who was shaking with laughter at the last speech. + +"I don't think I _can_ bear it, but I'll try," thought Amy, as she was +left alone with Aunt March. + +"Get along, you fright!" screamed Polly; and at that rude speech Amy +could not restrain a sniff. + + + + + XVIII. + + DARK DAYS. + + + [Illustration: Beth did have the fever] + +Beth did have the fever, and was much sicker than any one but Hannah and +the doctor suspected. The girls knew nothing about illness, and Mr. +Laurence was not allowed to see her, so Hannah had everything all her +own way, and busy Dr. Bangs did his best, but left a good deal to the +excellent nurse. Meg stayed at home, lest she should infect the Kings, +and kept house, feeling very anxious and a little guilty when she wrote +letters in which no mention was made of Beth's illness. She could not +think it right to deceive her mother, but she had been bidden to mind +Hannah, and Hannah wouldn't hear of "Mrs. March bein' told, and worried +just for sech a trifle." Jo devoted herself to Beth day and night; not a +hard task, for Beth was very patient, and bore her pain uncomplainingly +as long as she could control herself. But there came a time when during +the fever fits she began to talk in a hoarse, broken voice, to play on +the coverlet, as if on her beloved little piano, and try to sing with a +throat so swollen that there was no music left; a time when she did not +know the familiar faces round her, but addressed them by wrong names, +and called imploringly for her mother. Then Jo grew frightened, Meg +begged to be allowed to write the truth, and even Hannah said she "would +think of it, though there was no danger _yet_." A letter from Washington +added to their trouble, for Mr. March had had a relapse, and could not +think of coming home for a long while. + +How dark the days seemed now, how sad and lonely the house, and how +heavy were the hearts of the sisters as they worked and waited, while +the shadow of death hovered over the once happy home! Then it was that +Margaret, sitting alone with tears dropping often on her work, felt how +rich she had been in things more precious than any luxuries money could +buy,--in love, protection, peace, and health, the real blessings of +life. Then it was that Jo, living in the darkened room, with that +suffering little sister always before her eyes, and that pathetic voice +sounding in her ears, learned to see the beauty and the sweetness of +Beth's nature, to feel how deep and tender a place she filled in all +hearts, and to acknowledge the worth of Beth's unselfish ambition, to +live for others, and make home happy by the exercise of those simple +virtues which all may possess, and which all should love and value more +than talent, wealth, or beauty. And Amy, in her exile, longed eagerly to +be at home, that she might work for Beth, feeling now that no service +would be hard or irksome, and remembering, with regretful grief, how +many neglected tasks those willing hands had done for her. Laurie +haunted the house like a restless ghost, and Mr. Laurence locked the +grand piano, because he could not bear to be reminded of the young +neighbor who used to make the twilight pleasant for him. Every one +missed Beth. The milkman, baker, grocer, and butcher inquired how she +did; poor Mrs. Hummel came to beg pardon for her thoughtlessness, and to +get a shroud for Minna; the neighbors sent all sorts of comforts and +good wishes, and even those who knew her best were surprised to find how +many friends shy little Beth had made. + +Meanwhile she lay on her bed with old Joanna at her side, for even in +her wanderings she did not forget her forlorn _protégé_. She longed for +her cats, but would not have them brought, lest they should get sick; +and, in her quiet hours, she was full of anxiety about Jo. She sent +loving messages to Amy, bade them tell her mother that she would write +soon; and often begged for pencil and paper to try to say a word, that +father might not think she had neglected him. But soon even these +intervals of consciousness ended, and she lay hour after hour, tossing +to and fro, with incoherent words on her lips, or sank into a heavy +sleep which brought her no refreshment. Dr. Bangs came twice a day, +Hannah sat up at night, Meg kept a telegram in her desk all ready to +send off at any minute, and Jo never stirred from Beth's side. + +The first of December was a wintry day indeed to them, for a bitter wind +blew, snow fell fast, and the year seemed getting ready for its death. +When Dr. Bangs came that morning, he looked long at Beth, held the hot +hand in both his own a minute, and laid it gently down, saying, in a low +tone, to Hannah,-- + +"If Mrs. March _can_ leave her husband, she'd better be sent for." + +Hannah nodded without speaking, for her lips twitched nervously; Meg +dropped down into a chair as the strength seemed to go out of her limbs +at the sound of those words; and Jo, after standing with a pale face for +a minute, ran to the parlor, snatched up the telegram, and, throwing on +her things, rushed out into the storm. She was soon back, and, while +noiselessly taking off her cloak, Laurie came in with a letter, saying +that Mr. March was mending again. Jo read it thankfully, but the heavy +weight did not seem lifted off her heart, and her face was so full of +misery that Laurie asked quickly,-- + +"What is it? is Beth worse?" + +"I've sent for mother," said Jo, tugging at her rubber boots with a +tragical expression. + +"Good for you, Jo! Did you do it on your own responsibility?" asked +Laurie, as he seated her in the hall chair, and took off the rebellious +boots, seeing how her hands shook. + +"No, the doctor told us to." + +"O Jo, it's not so bad as that?" cried Laurie, with a startled face. + +"Yes, it is; she doesn't know us, she doesn't even talk about the +flocks of green doves, as she calls the vine-leaves on the wall; she +doesn't look like my Beth, and there's nobody to help us bear it; mother +and father both gone, and God seems so far away I can't find Him." + +As the tears streamed fast down poor Jo's cheeks, she stretched out her +hand in a helpless sort of way, as if groping in the dark, and Laurie +took it in his, whispering, as well as he could, with a lump in his +throat,-- + +"I'm here. Hold on to me, Jo, dear!" + +She could not speak, but she did "hold on," and the warm grasp of the +friendly human hand comforted her sore heart, and seemed to lead her +nearer to the Divine arm which alone could uphold her in her trouble. +Laurie longed to say something tender and comfortable, but no fitting +words came to him, so he stood silent, gently stroking her bent head as +her mother used to do. It was the best thing he could have done; far +more soothing than the most eloquent words, for Jo felt the unspoken +sympathy, and, in the silence, learned the sweet solace which affection +administers to sorrow. Soon she dried the tears which had relieved her, +and looked up with a grateful face. + + [Illustration: Gently stroking her head as her mother used to do] + +"Thank you, Teddy, I'm better now; I don't feel so forlorn, and will try +to bear it if it comes." + +"Keep hoping for the best; that will help you, Jo. Soon your mother will +be here, and then everything will be right." + +"I'm so glad father is better; now she won't feel so bad about leaving +him. Oh, me! it does seem as if all the troubles came in a heap, and I +got the heaviest part on my shoulders," sighed Jo, spreading her wet +handkerchief over her knees to dry. + +"Doesn't Meg pull fair?" asked Laurie, looking indignant. + +"Oh, yes; she tries to, but she can't love Bethy as I do; and she won't +miss her as I shall. Beth is my conscience, and I _can't_ give her up. I +can't! I can't!" + +Down went Jo's face into the wet handkerchief, and she cried +despairingly; for she had kept up bravely till now, and never shed a +tear. Laurie drew his hand across his eyes, but could not speak till he +had subdued the choky feeling in his throat and steadied his lips. It +might be unmanly, but he couldn't help it, and I am glad of it. +Presently, as Jo's sobs quieted, he said hopefully, "I don't think she +will die; she's so good, and we all love her so much, I don't believe +God will take her away yet." + +"The good and dear people always do die," groaned Jo, but she stopped +crying, for her friend's words cheered her up, in spite of her own +doubts and fears. + +"Poor girl, you're worn out. It isn't like you to be forlorn. Stop a +bit; I'll hearten you up in a jiffy." + +Laurie went off two stairs at a time, and Jo laid her wearied head down +on Beth's little brown hood, which no one had thought of moving from the +table where she left it. It must have possessed some magic, for the +submissive spirit of its gentle owner seemed to enter into Jo; and, when +Laurie came running down with a glass of wine, she took it with a smile, +and said bravely, "I drink--Health to my Beth! You are a good doctor, +Teddy, and _such_ a comfortable friend; how can I ever pay you?" she +added, as the wine refreshed her body, as the kind words had done her +troubled mind. + +"I'll send in my bill, by and by; and to-night I'll give you something +that will warm the cockles of your heart better than quarts of wine," +said Laurie, beaming at her with a face of suppressed satisfaction at +something. + +"What is it?" cried Jo, forgetting her woes for a minute, in her wonder. + +"I telegraphed to your mother yesterday, and Brooke answered she'd come +at once, and she'll be here to-night, and everything will be all right. +Aren't you glad I did it?" + +Laurie spoke very fast, and turned red and excited all in a minute, for +he had kept his plot a secret, for fear of disappointing the girls or +harming Beth. Jo grew quite white, flew out of her chair, and the moment +he stopped speaking she electrified him by throwing her arms round his +neck, and crying out, with a joyful cry, "O Laurie! O mother! I _am_ so +glad!" She did not weep again, but laughed hysterically, and trembled +and clung to her friend as if she was a little bewildered by the sudden +news. Laurie, though decidedly amazed, behaved with great presence of +mind; he patted her back soothingly, and, finding that she was +recovering, followed it up by a bashful kiss or two, which brought Jo +round at once. Holding on to the banisters, she put him gently away, +saying breathlessly, "Oh, don't! I didn't mean to; it was dreadful of +me; but you were such a dear to go and do it in spite of Hannah that I +couldn't help flying at you. Tell me all about it, and don't give me +wine again; it makes me act so." + +"I don't mind," laughed Laurie, as he settled his tie. "Why, you see I +got fidgety, and so did grandpa. We thought Hannah was overdoing the +authority business, and your mother ought to know. She'd never forgive +us if Beth--well, if anything happened, you know. So I got grandpa to +say it was high time we did something, and off I pelted to the office +yesterday, for the doctor looked sober, and Hannah most took my head off +when I proposed a telegram. I never _can_ bear to be 'lorded over;' so +that settled my mind, and I did it. Your mother will come, I know, and +the late train is in at two, A.M. I shall go for her; and you've only +got to bottle up your rapture, and keep Beth quiet, till that blessed +lady gets here." + +"Laurie, you're an angel! How shall I ever thank you?" + +"Fly at me again; I rather like it," said Laurie, looking +mischievous,--a thing he had not done for a fortnight. + +"No, thank you. I'll do it by proxy, when your grandpa comes. Don't +tease, but go home and rest, for you'll be up half the night. Bless you, +Teddy, bless you!" + +Jo had backed into a corner; and, as she finished her speech, she +vanished precipitately into the kitchen, where she sat down upon a +dresser, and told the assembled cats that she was "happy, oh, _so_ +happy!" while Laurie departed, feeling that he had made rather a neat +thing of it. + +"That's the interferingest chap I ever see; but I forgive him, and do +hope Mrs. March is coming on right away," said Hannah, with an air of +relief, when Jo told the good news. + +Meg had a quiet rapture, and then brooded over the letter, while Jo set +the sick-room in order, and Hannah "knocked up a couple of pies in case +of company unexpected." A breath of fresh air seemed to blow through the +house, and something better than sunshine brightened the quiet rooms. +Everything appeared to feel the hopeful change; Beth's bird began to +chirp again, and a half-blown rose was discovered on Amy's bush in the +window; the fires seemed to burn with unusual cheeriness; and every time +the girls met, their pale faces broke into smiles as they hugged one +another, whispering encouragingly, "Mother's coming, dear! mother's +coming!" Every one rejoiced but Beth; she lay in that heavy stupor, +alike unconscious of hope and joy, doubt and danger. It was a piteous +sight,--the once rosy face so changed and vacant, the once busy hands so +weak and wasted, the once smiling lips quite dumb, and the once pretty, +well-kept hair scattered rough and tangled on the pillow. All day she +lay so, only rousing now and then to mutter, "Water!" with lips so +parched they could hardly shape the word; all day Jo and Meg hovered +over her, watching, waiting, hoping, and trusting in God and mother; and +all day the snow fell, the bitter wind raged, and the hours dragged +slowly by. But night came at last; and every time the clock struck, the +sisters, still sitting on either side the bed, looked at each other with +brightening eyes, for each hour brought help nearer. The doctor had been +in to say that some change, for better or worse, would probably take +place about midnight, at which time he would return. + +Hannah, quite worn out, lay down on the sofa at the bed's foot, and fell +fast asleep; Mr. Laurence marched to and fro in the parlor, feeling that +he would rather face a rebel battery than Mrs. March's anxious +countenance as she entered; Laurie lay on the rug, pretending to rest, +but staring into the fire with the thoughtful look which made his black +eyes beautifully soft and clear. + +The girls never forgot that night, for no sleep came to them as they +kept their watch, with that dreadful sense of powerlessness which comes +to us in hours like those. + +"If God spares Beth I never will complain again," whispered Meg +earnestly. + +"If God spares Beth I'll try to love and serve Him all my life," +answered Jo, with equal fervor. + +"I wish I had no heart, it aches so," sighed Meg, after a pause. + +"If life is often as hard as this, I don't see how we ever shall get +through it," added her sister despondently. + +Here the clock struck twelve, and both forgot themselves in watching +Beth, for they fancied a change passed over her wan face. The house was +still as death, and nothing but the wailing of the wind broke the deep +hush. Weary Hannah slept on, and no one but the sisters saw the pale +shadow which seemed to fall upon the little bed. An hour went by, and +nothing happened except Laurie's quiet departure for the station. +Another hour,--still no one came; and anxious fears of delay in the +storm, or accidents by the way, or, worst of all, a great grief at +Washington, haunted the poor girls. + +It was past two, when Jo, who stood at the window thinking how dreary +the world looked in its winding-sheet of snow, heard a movement by the +bed, and, turning quickly, saw Meg kneeling before their mother's +easy-chair, with her face hidden. A dreadful fear passed coldly over Jo, +as she thought, "Beth is dead, and Meg is afraid to tell me." + +She was back at her post in an instant, and to her excited eyes a great +change seemed to have taken place. The fever flush and the look of pain +were gone, and the beloved little face looked so pale and peaceful in +its utter repose, that Jo felt no desire to weep or to lament. Leaning +low over this dearest of her sisters, she kissed the damp forehead with +her heart on her lips, and softly whispered, "Good-by, my Beth; +good-by!" + +As if waked by the stir, Hannah started out of her sleep, hurried to the +bed, looked at Beth, felt her hands, listened at her lips, and then, +throwing her apron over her head, sat down to rock to and fro, +exclaiming, under her breath, "The fever's turned; she's sleepin' +nat'ral; her skin's damp, and she breathes easy. Praise be given! Oh, my +goodness me!" + +Before the girls could believe the happy truth, the doctor came to +confirm it. He was a homely man, but they thought his face quite +heavenly when he smiled, and said, with a fatherly look at them, "Yes, +my dears, I think the little girl will pull through this time. Keep the +house quiet; let her sleep, and when she wakes, give her--" + +What they were to give, neither heard; for both crept into the dark +hall, and, sitting on the stairs, held each other close, rejoicing with +hearts too full for words. When they went back to be kissed and cuddled +by faithful Hannah, they found Beth lying, as she used to do, with her +cheek pillowed on her hand, the dreadful pallor gone, and breathing +quietly, as if just fallen asleep. + +"If mother would only come now!" said Jo, as the winter night began to +wane. + +"See," said Meg, coming up with a white, half-opened rose, "I thought +this would hardly be ready to lay in Beth's hand to-morrow if she--went +away from us. But it has blossomed in the night, and now I mean to put +it in my vase here, so that when the darling wakes, the first thing she +sees will be the little rose, and mother's face." + +Never had the sun risen so beautifully, and never had the world seemed +so lovely, as it did to the heavy eyes of Meg and Jo, as they looked out +in the early morning, when their long, sad vigil was done. + +"It looks like a fairy world," said Meg, smiling to herself, as she +stood behind the curtain, watching the dazzling sight. + +"Hark!" cried Jo, starting to her feet. + +Yes, there was a sound of bells at the door below, a cry from Hannah, +and then Laurie's voice saying, in a joyful whisper, "Girls, she's come! +she's come!" + + + + + [Illustration: Amy's Will] + + XIX. + + AMY'S WILL. + + +While these things were happening at home, Amy was having hard times at +Aunt March's. She felt her exile deeply, and, for the first time in her +life, realized how much she was beloved and petted at home. Aunt March +never petted any one; she did not approve of it; but she meant to be +kind, for the well-behaved little girl pleased her very much, and Aunt +March had a soft place in her old heart for her nephew's children, +though she didn't think proper to confess it. She really did her best to +make Amy happy, but, dear me, what mistakes she made! Some old people +keep young at heart in spite of wrinkles and gray hairs, can sympathize +with children's little cares and joys, make them feel at home, and can +hide wise lessons under pleasant plays, giving and receiving friendship +in the sweetest way. But Aunt March had not this gift, and she worried +Amy very much with her rules and orders, her prim ways, and long, prosy +talks. Finding the child more docile and amiable than her sister, the +old lady felt it her duty to try and counteract, as far as possible, the +bad effects of home freedom and indulgence. So she took Amy in hand, and +taught her as she herself had been taught sixty years ago,--a process +which carried dismay to Amy's soul, and made her feel like a fly in the +web of a very strict spider. + + [Illustration: Polish up the spoons and the fat silver teapot] + +She had to wash the cups every morning, and polish up the old-fashioned +spoons, the fat silver teapot, and the glasses, till they shone. Then +she must dust the room, and what a trying job that was! Not a speck +escaped Aunt March's eye, and all the furniture had claw legs, and much +carving, which was never dusted to suit. Then Polly must be fed, the +lap-dog combed, and a dozen trips upstairs and down, to get things, or +deliver orders, for the old lady was very lame, and seldom left her big +chair. After these tiresome labors, she must do her lessons, which was a +daily trial of every virtue she possessed. Then she was allowed one hour +for exercise or play, and didn't she enjoy it? Laurie came every day, +and wheedled Aunt March, till Amy was allowed to go out with him, when +they walked and rode, and had capital times. After dinner, she had to +read aloud, and sit still while the old lady slept, which she usually +did for an hour, as she dropped off over the first page. Then patchwork +or towels appeared, and Amy sewed with outward meekness and inward +rebellion till dusk, when she was allowed to amuse herself as she liked +till tea-time. The evenings were the worst of all, for Aunt March fell +to telling long stories about her youth, which were so unutterably dull +that Amy was always ready to go to bed, intending to cry over her hard +fate, but usually going to sleep before she had squeezed out more than a +tear or two. + +If it had not been for Laurie, and old Esther, the maid, she felt that +she never could have got through that dreadful time. The parrot alone +was enough to drive her distracted, for he soon felt that she did not +admire him, and revenged himself by being as mischievous as possible. He +pulled her hair whenever she came near him, upset his bread and milk to +plague her when she had newly cleaned his cage, made Mop bark by pecking +at him while Madam dozed; called her names before company, and behaved +in all respects like a reprehensible old bird. Then she could not endure +the dog,--a fat, cross beast, who snarled and yelped at her when she +made his toilet, and who lay on his back, with all his legs in the air +and a most idiotic expression of countenance when he wanted something to +eat, which was about a dozen times a day. The cook was bad-tempered, the +old coachman deaf, and Esther the only one who ever took any notice of +the young lady. + + [Illustration: On his back, with all his legs in the air] + +Esther was a Frenchwoman, who had lived with "Madame," as she called her +mistress, for many years, and who rather tyrannized over the old lady, +who could not get along without her. Her real name was Estelle, but +Aunt March ordered her to change it, and she obeyed, on condition that +she was never asked to change her religion. She took a fancy to +Mademoiselle, and amused her very much, with odd stories of her life in +France, when Amy sat with her while she got up Madame's laces. She also +allowed her to roam about the great house, and examine the curious and +pretty things stored away in the big wardrobes and the ancient chests; +for Aunt March hoarded like a magpie. Amy's chief delight was an Indian +cabinet, full of queer drawers, little pigeon-holes, and secret places, +in which were kept all sorts of ornaments, some precious, some merely +curious, all more or less antique. To examine and arrange these things +gave Amy great satisfaction, especially the jewel-cases, in which, on +velvet cushions, reposed the ornaments which had adorned a belle forty +years ago. There was the garnet set which Aunt March wore when she came +out, the pearls her father gave her on her wedding-day, her lover's +diamonds, the jet mourning rings and pins, the queer lockets, with +portraits of dead friends, and weeping willows made of hair inside; the +baby bracelets her one little daughter had worn; Uncle March's big +watch, with the red seal so many childish hands had played with, and in +a box, all by itself, lay Aunt March's wedding-ring, too small now for +her fat finger, but put carefully away, like the most precious jewel of +them all. + + [Illustration: I should choose this] + +"Which would Mademoiselle choose if she had her will?" asked Esther, who +always sat near to watch over and lock up the valuables. + +"I like the diamonds best, but there is no necklace among them, and I'm +fond of necklaces, they are so becoming. I should choose this if I +might," replied Amy, looking with great admiration at a string of gold +and ebony beads, from which hung a heavy cross of the same. + +"I, too, covet that, but not as a necklace; ah, no! to me it is a +rosary, and as such I should use it like a good Catholic," said Esther, +eying the handsome thing wistfully. + +"Is it meant to use as you use the string of good-smelling wooden beads +hanging over your glass?" asked Amy. + +"Truly, yes, to pray with. It would be pleasing to the saints if one +used so fine a rosary as this, instead of wearing it as a vain bijou." + +"You seem to take a great deal of comfort in your prayers, Esther, and +always come down looking quiet and satisfied. I wish I could." + +"If Mademoiselle was a Catholic, she would find true comfort; but, as +that is not to be, it would be well if you went apart each day, to +meditate and pray, as did the good mistress whom I served before Madame. +She had a little chapel, and in it found solacement for much trouble." + +"Would it be right for me to do so too?" asked Amy, who, in her +loneliness, felt the need of help of some sort, and found that she was +apt to forget her little book, now that Beth was not there to remind her +of it. + +"It would be excellent and charming; and I shall gladly arrange the +little dressing-room for you if you like it. Say nothing to Madame, but +when she sleeps go you and sit alone a while to think good thoughts, and +pray the dear God to preserve your sister." + +Esther was truly pious, and quite sincere in her advice; for she had an +affectionate heart, and felt much for the sisters in their anxiety. Amy +liked the idea, and gave her leave to arrange the light closet next her +room, hoping it would do her good. + +"I wish I knew where all these pretty things would go when Aunt March +dies," she said, as she slowly replaced the shining rosary, and shut the +jewel-cases one by one. + +"To you and your sisters. I know it; Madame confides in me; I witnessed +her will, and it is to be so," whispered Esther, smiling. + +"How nice! but I wish she'd let us have them now. Pro-cras-ti-nation is +not agreeable," observed Amy, taking a last look at the diamonds. + +"It is too soon yet for the young ladies to wear these things. The first +one who is affianced will have the pearls--Madame has said it; and I +have a fancy that the little turquoise ring will be given to you when +you go, for Madame approves your good behavior and charming manners." + +"Do you think so? Oh, I'll be a lamb, if I can only have that lovely +ring! It's ever so much prettier than Kitty Bryant's. I do like Aunt +March, after all;" and Amy tried on the blue ring with a delighted face, +and a firm resolve to earn it. + +From that day she was a model of obedience, and the old lady +complacently admired the success of her training. Esther fitted up the +closet with a little table, placed a footstool before it, and over it a +picture taken from one of the shut-up rooms. She thought it was of no +great value, but, being appropriate, she borrowed it, well knowing that +Madame would never know it, nor care if she did. It was, however, a very +valuable copy of one of the famous pictures of the world, and Amy's +beauty-loving eyes were never tired of looking up at the sweet face of +the divine mother, while tender thoughts of her own were busy at her +heart. On the table she laid her little Testament and hymn-book, kept a +vase always full of the best flowers Laurie brought her, and came every +day to "sit alone, thinking good thoughts, and praying the dear God to +preserve her sister." Esther had given her a rosary of black beads, with +a silver cross, but Amy hung it up and did not use it, feeling doubtful +as to its fitness for Protestant prayers. + +The little girl was very sincere in all this, for, being left alone +outside the safe home-nest, she felt the need of some kind hand to hold +by so sorely, that she instinctively turned to the strong and tender +Friend, whose fatherly love most closely surrounds his little children. +She missed her mother's help to understand and rule herself, but having +been taught where to look, she did her best to find the way, and walk in +it confidingly. But Amy was a young pilgrim, and just now her burden +seemed very heavy. She tried to forget herself, to keep cheerful, and be +satisfied with doing right, though no one saw or praised her for it. In +her first effort at being very, very good, she decided to make her will, +as Aunt March had done; so that if she _did_ fall ill and die, her +possessions might be justly and generously divided. It cost her a pang +even to think of giving up the little treasures which in her eyes were +as precious as the old lady's jewels. + +During one of her play-hours she wrote out the important document as +well as she could, with some help from Esther as to certain legal terms, +and, when the good-natured Frenchwoman had signed her name, Amy felt +relieved, and laid it by to show Laurie, whom she wanted as a second +witness. As it was a rainy day, she went upstairs to amuse herself in +one of the large chambers, and took Polly with her for company. In this +room there was a wardrobe full of old-fashioned costumes, with which +Esther allowed her to play, and it was her favorite amusement to array +herself in the faded brocades, and parade up and down before the long +mirror, making stately courtesies, and sweeping her train about, with a +rustle which delighted her ears. So busy was she on this day that she +did not hear Laurie's ring, nor see his face peeping in at her, as she +gravely promenaded to and fro, flirting her fan and tossing her head, on +which she wore a great pink turban, contrasting oddly with her blue +brocade dress and yellow quilted petticoat. She was obliged to walk +carefully, for she had on high-heeled shoes, and, as Laurie told Jo +afterward, it was a comical sight to see her mince along in her gay +suit, with Polly sidling and bridling just behind her, imitating her as +well as he could, and occasionally stopping to laugh or exclaim, "Ain't +we fine? Get along, you fright! Hold your tongue! Kiss me, dear! Ha! +ha!" + + [Illustration: Gravely promenaded to and fro] + +Having with difficulty restrained an explosion of merriment, lest it +should offend her majesty, Laurie tapped, and was graciously received. + +"Sit down and rest while I put these things away; then I want to consult +you about a very serious matter," said Amy, when she had shown her +splendor, and driven Polly into a corner. "That bird is the trial of my +life," she continued, removing the pink mountain from her head, while +Laurie seated himself astride of a chair. "Yesterday, when aunt was +asleep, and I was trying to be as still as a mouse, Polly began to +squall and flap about in his cage; so I went to let him out, and found a +big spider there. I poked it out, and it ran under the bookcase; Polly +marched straight after it, stooped down and peeped under the bookcase, +saying, in his funny way, with a cock of his eye, 'Come out and take a +walk, my dear.' I _couldn't_ help laughing, which made Poll swear, and +aunt woke up and scolded us both." + +"Did the spider accept the old fellow's invitation?" asked Laurie, +yawning. + +"Yes; out it came, and away ran Polly, frightened to death, and +scrambled up on aunt's chair, calling out, 'Catch her! catch her! catch +her!' as I chased the spider. + +"That's a lie! Oh lor!" cried the parrot, pecking at Laurie's toes. + +"I'd wring your neck if you were mine, you old torment," cried Laurie, +shaking his fist at the bird, who put his head on one side, and gravely +croaked, "Allyluyer! bless your buttons, dear!" + +"Now I'm ready," said Amy, shutting the wardrobe, and taking a paper out +of her pocket. "I want you to read that, please, and tell me if it is +legal and right. I felt that I ought to do it, for life is uncertain and +I don't want any ill-feeling over my tomb." + + [Illustration: Amy's Will] + +Laurie bit his lips, and turning a little from the pensive speaker, read +the following document, with praiseworthy gravity, considering the +spelling:-- + + "MY LAST WILL AND TESTIMENT. + + "I, Amy Curtis March, being in my sane mind, do give and + bequeethe all my earthly property--viz. to wit:--namely + + "To my father, my best pictures, sketches, maps, and works of + art, including frames. Also my $100, to do what he likes with. + + "To my mother, all my clothes, except the blue apron with + pockets,--also my likeness, and my medal, with much love. + + "To my dear sister Margaret, I give my turkquoise ring (if I get + it), also my green box with the doves on it, also my piece of + real lace for her neck, and my sketch of her as a memorial of + her 'little girl.' + + "To Jo I leave my breast-pin, the one mended with sealing wax, + also my bronze inkstand--she lost the cover--and my most + precious plaster rabbit, because I am sorry I burnt up her + story. + + "To Beth (if she lives after me) I give my dolls and the little + bureau, my fan, my linen collars and my new slippers if she can + wear them being thin when she gets well. And I herewith also + leave her my regret that I ever made fun of old Joanna. + + "To my friend and neighbor Theodore Laurence I bequeethe my + paper marshay portfolio, my clay model of a horse though he did + say it hadn't any neck. Also in return for his great kindness in + the hour of affliction any one of my artistic works he likes, + Noter Dame is the best. + + "To our venerable benefactor Mr. Laurence I leave my purple box + with a looking glass in the cover which will be nice for his + pens and remind him of the departed girl who thanks him for his + favors to her family, specially Beth. + + "I wish my favorite playmate Kitty Bryant to have the blue silk + apron and my gold-bead ring with a kiss. + + "To Hannah I give the bandbox she wanted and all the patch work + I leave hoping she 'will remember me, when it you see.' + + "And now having disposed of my most valuable property I hope all + will be satisfied and not blame the dead. I forgive every one, + and trust we may all meet when the trump shall sound. Amen. + + "To this will and testiment I set my hand and seal on this 20th + day of Nov. Anni Domino 1861. + "AMY CURTIS MARCH. + + {ESTELLE VALNOR, + "_Witnesses_: { + {THEODORE LAURENCE." + +The last name was written in pencil, and Amy explained that he was to +rewrite it in ink, and seal it up for her properly. + +"What put it into your head? Did any one tell you about Beth's giving +away her things?" asked Laurie soberly, as Amy laid a bit of red tape, +with sealing-wax, a taper, and a standish before him. + +She explained; and then asked anxiously, "What about Beth?" + +"I'm sorry I spoke; but as I did, I'll tell you. She felt so ill one day +that she told Jo she wanted to give her piano to Meg, her cats to you, +and the poor old doll to Jo, who would love it for her sake. She was +sorry she had so little to give, and left locks of hair to the rest of +us, and her best love to grandpa. _She_ never thought of a will." + +Laurie was signing and sealing as he spoke, and did not look up till a +great tear dropped on the paper. Amy's face was full of trouble; but she +only said, "Don't people put sort of postscripts to their wills, +sometimes?" + +"Yes; 'codicils,' they call them." + +"Put one in mine then--that I wish _all_ my curls cut off, and given +round to my friends. I forgot it; but I want it done, though it will +spoil my looks." + +Laurie added it, smiling at Amy's last and greatest sacrifice. Then he +amused her for an hour, and was much interested in all her trials. But +when he came to go, Amy held him back to whisper, with trembling lips, +"Is there really any danger about Beth?" + +"I'm afraid there is; but we must hope for the best, so don't cry, +dear;" and Laurie put his arm about her with a brotherly gesture which +was very comforting. + +When he had gone, she went to her little chapel, and, sitting in the +twilight, prayed for Beth, with streaming tears and an aching heart, +feeling that a million turquoise rings would not console her for the +loss of her gentle little sister. + + [Illustration: Tail-piece] + + + + + [Illustration: Mrs. March would not leave Beth's side] + + XX. + + CONFIDENTIAL. + + +I don't think I have any words in which to tell the meeting of the +mother and daughters; such hours are beautiful to live, but very hard to +describe, so I will leave it to the imagination of my readers, merely +saying that the house was full of genuine happiness, and that Meg's +tender hope was realized; for when Beth woke from that long, healing +sleep, the first objects on which her eyes fell _were_ the little rose +and mother's face. Too weak to wonder at anything, she only smiled, and +nestled close into the loving arms about her, feeling that the hungry +longing was satisfied at last. Then she slept again, and the girls +waited upon their mother, for she would not unclasp the thin hand which +clung to hers even in sleep. Hannah had "dished up" an astonishing +breakfast for the traveller, finding it impossible to vent her +excitement in any other way; and Meg and Jo fed their mother like +dutiful young storks, while they listened to her whispered account of +father's state, Mr. Brooke's promise to stay and nurse him, the delays +which the storm occasioned on the homeward journey, and the unspeakable +comfort Laurie's hopeful face had given her when she arrived, worn out +with fatigue, anxiety, and cold. + +What a strange, yet pleasant day that was! so brilliant and gay without, +for all the world seemed abroad to welcome the first snow; so quiet and +reposeful within, for every one slept, spent with watching, and a +Sabbath stillness reigned through the house, while nodding Hannah +mounted guard at the door. With a blissful sense of burdens lifted off, +Meg and Jo closed their weary eyes, and lay at rest, like storm-beaten +boats, safe at anchor in a quiet harbor. Mrs. March would not leave +Beth's side, but rested in the big chair, waking often to look at, +touch, and brood over her child, like a miser over some recovered +treasure. + +Laurie, meanwhile, posted off to comfort Amy, and told his story so well +that Aunt March actually "sniffed" herself, and never once said, "I told +you so." Amy came out so strong on this occasion that I think the good +thoughts in the little chapel really began to bear fruit. She dried her +tears quickly, restrained her impatience to see her mother, and never +even thought of the turquoise ring, when the old lady heartily agreed in +Laurie's opinion, that she behaved "like a capital little woman." Even +Polly seemed impressed, for he called her "good girl," blessed her +buttons, and begged her to "come and take a walk, dear," in his most +affable tone. She would very gladly have gone out to enjoy the bright +wintry weather; but, discovering that Laurie was dropping with sleep in +spite of manful efforts to conceal the fact, she persuaded him to rest +on the sofa, while she wrote a note to her mother. She was a long time +about it; and, when she returned, he was stretched out, with both arms +under his head, sound asleep, while Aunt March had pulled down the +curtains, and sat doing nothing in an unusual fit of benignity. + +After a while, they began to think he was not going to wake till night, +and I'm not sure that he would, had he not been effectually roused by +Amy's cry of joy at sight of her mother. There probably were a good +many happy little girls in and about the city that day, but it is my +private opinion that Amy was the happiest of all, when she sat in her +mother's lap and told her trials, receiving consolation and compensation +in the shape of approving smiles and fond caresses. They were alone +together in the chapel, to which her mother did not object when its +purpose was explained to her. + +"On the contrary, I like it very much, dear," looking from the dusty +rosary to the well-worn little book, and the lovely picture with its +garland of evergreen. "It is an excellent plan to have some place where +we can go to be quiet, when things vex or grieve us. There are a good +many hard times in this life of ours, but we can always bear them if we +ask help in the right way. I think my little girl is learning this?" + +"Yes, mother; and when I go home I mean to have a corner in the big +closet to put my books, and the copy of that picture which I've tried to +make. The woman's face is not good,--it's too beautiful for me to +draw,--but the baby is done better, and I love it very much. I like to +think He was a little child once, for then I don't seem so far away, and +that helps me." + +As Amy pointed to the smiling Christ-child on his mother's knee, Mrs. +March saw something on the lifted hand that made her smile. She said +nothing, but Amy understood the look, and, after a minute's pause, she +added gravely,-- + +"I wanted to speak to you about this, but I forgot it. Aunt gave me the +ring to-day; she called me to her and kissed me, and put it on my +finger, and said I was a credit to her, and she'd like to keep me +always. She gave that funny guard to keep the turquoise on, as it's too +big. I'd like to wear them, mother; can I?" + +"They are very pretty, but I think you're rather too young for such +ornaments, Amy," said Mrs. March, looking at the plump little hand, with +the band of sky-blue stones on the forefinger, and the quaint guard, +formed of two tiny, golden hands clasped together. + +"I'll try not to be vain," said Amy. "I don't think I like it only +because it's so pretty; but I want to wear it as the girl in the story +wore her bracelet, to remind me of something." + +"Do you mean Aunt March?" asked her mother, laughing. + +"No, to remind me not to be selfish." Amy looked so earnest and sincere +about it, that her mother stopped laughing, and listened respectfully to +the little plan. + +"I've thought a great deal lately about my 'bundle of naughties,' and +being selfish is the largest one in it; so I'm going to try hard to cure +it, if I can. Beth isn't selfish, and that's the reason every one loves +her and feels so bad at the thoughts of losing her. People wouldn't feel +half so bad about me if I was sick, and I don't deserve to have them; +but I'd like to be loved and missed by a great many friends, so I'm +going to try and be like Beth all I can. I'm apt to forget my +resolutions; but if I had something always about me to remind me, I +guess I should do better. May I try this way?" + +"Yes; but I have more faith in the corner of the big closet. Wear your +ring, dear, and do your best; I think you will prosper, for the sincere +wish to be good is half the battle. Now I must go back to Beth. Keep up +your heart, little daughter, and we will soon have you home again." + +That evening, while Meg was writing to her father, to report the +traveller's safe arrival, Jo slipped up stairs into Beth's room, and, +finding her mother in her usual place, stood a minute twisting her +fingers in her hair, with a worried gesture and an undecided look. + +"What is it, deary?" asked Mrs. March, holding out her hand, with a face +which invited confidence. + +"I want to tell you something, mother." + +"About Meg?" + +"How quickly you guessed! Yes, it's about her, and though it's a little +thing, it fidgets me." + +"Beth is asleep; speak low, and tell me all about it. That Moffat hasn't +been here, I hope?" asked Mrs. March rather sharply. + +"No, I should have shut the door in his face if he had," said Jo, +settling herself on the floor at her mother's feet. "Last summer Meg +left a pair of gloves over at the Laurences', and only one was returned. +We forgot all about it, till Teddy told me that Mr. Brooke had it. He +kept it in his waistcoat pocket, and once it fell out, and Teddy joked +him about it, and Mr. Brooke owned that he liked Meg, but didn't dare +say so, she was so young and he so poor. Now, isn't it a _dread_ful +state of things?" + +"Do you think Meg cares for him?" asked Mrs. March, with an anxious +look. + +"Mercy me! I don't know anything about love and such nonsense!" cried +Jo, with a funny mixture of interest and contempt. "In novels, the girls +show it by starting and blushing, fainting away, growing thin, and +acting like fools. Now Meg does not do anything of the sort: she eats +and drinks and sleeps, like a sensible creature: she looks straight in +my face when I talk about that man, and only blushes a little bit when +Teddy jokes about lovers. I forbid him to do it, but he doesn't mind me +as he ought." + +"Then you fancy that Meg is _not_ interested in John?" + +"Who?" cried Jo, staring. + +"Mr. Brooke. I call him 'John' now; we fell into the way of doing so at +the hospital, and he likes it." + +"Oh, dear! I know you'll take his part: he's been good to father, and +you won't send him away, but let Meg marry him, if she wants to. Mean +thing! to go petting papa and helping you, just to wheedle you into +liking him;" and Jo pulled her hair again with a wrathful tweak. + +"My dear, don't get angry about it, and I will tell you how it happened. +John went with me at Mr. Laurence's request, and was so devoted to poor +father that we couldn't help getting fond of him. He was perfectly open +and honorable about Meg, for he told us he loved her, but would earn a +comfortable home before he asked her to marry him. He only wanted our +leave to love her and work for her, and the right to make her love him +if he could. He is a truly excellent young man, and we could not refuse +to listen to him; but I will not consent to Meg's engaging herself so +young." + +"Of course not; it would be idiotic! I knew there was mischief brewing; +I felt it; and now it's worse than I imagined. I just wish I could marry +Meg myself, and keep her safe in the family." + +This odd arrangement made Mrs. March smile; but she said gravely, "Jo, I +confide in you, and don't wish you to say anything to Meg yet. When John +comes back, and I see them together, I can judge better of her feelings +toward him." + +"She'll see his in those handsome eyes that she talks about, and then +it will be all up with her. She's got such a soft heart, it will melt +like butter in the sun if any one looks sentimentally at her. She read +the short reports he sent more than she did your letters, and pinched me +when I spoke of it, and likes brown eyes, and doesn't think John an ugly +name, and she'll go and fall in love, and there's an end of peace and +fun, and cosy times together. I see it all! they'll go lovering around +the house, and we shall have to dodge; Meg will be absorbed, and no good +to me any more; Brooke will scratch up a fortune somehow, carry her off, +and make a hole in the family; and I shall break my heart, and +everything will be abominably uncomfortable. Oh, dear me! why weren't we +all boys, then there wouldn't be any bother." + +Jo leaned her chin on her knees, in a disconsolate attitude, and shook +her fist at the reprehensible John. Mrs. March sighed, and Jo looked up +with an air of relief. + +"You don't like it, mother? I'm glad of it. Let's send him about his +business, and not tell Meg a word of it, but all be happy together as we +always have been." + +"I did wrong to sigh, Jo. It is natural and right you should all go to +homes of your own, in time; but I do want to keep my girls as long as I +can; and I am sorry that this happened so soon, for Meg is only +seventeen, and it will be some years before John can make a home for +her. Your father and I have agreed that she shall not bind herself in +any way, nor be married, before twenty. If she and John love one +another, they can wait, and test the love by doing so. She is +conscientious, and I have no fear of her treating him unkindly. My +pretty, tender-hearted girl! I hope things will go happily with her." + +"Hadn't you rather have her marry a rich man?" asked Jo, as her mother's +voice faltered a little over the last words. + +"Money is a good and useful thing, Jo; and I hope my girls will never +feel the need of it too bitterly, nor be tempted by too much. I should +like to know that John was firmly established in some good business, +which gave him an income large enough to keep free from debt and make +Meg comfortable. I'm not ambitious for a splendid fortune, a fashionable +position, or a great name for my girls. If rank and money come with +love and virtue, also, I should accept them gratefully, and enjoy your +good fortune; but I know, by experience, how much genuine happiness can +be had in a plain little house, where the daily bread is earned, and +some privations give sweetness to the few pleasures. I am content to see +Meg begin humbly, for, if I am not mistaken, she will be rich in the +possession of a good man's heart, and that is better than a fortune." + +"I understand, mother, and quite agree; but I'm disappointed about Meg, +for I'd planned to have her marry Teddy by and by, and sit in the lap of +luxury all her days. Wouldn't it be nice?" asked Jo, looking up, with a +brighter face. + +"He is younger than she, you know," began Mrs. March; but Jo broke in,-- + +"Only a little; he's old for his age, and tall; and can be quite +grown-up in his manners if he likes. Then he's rich and generous and +good, and loves us all; and _I_ say it's a pity my plan is spoilt." + +"I'm afraid Laurie is hardly grown up enough for Meg, and altogether too +much of a weathercock, just now, for any one to depend on. Don't make +plans, Jo; but let time and their own hearts mate your friends. We can't +meddle safely in such matters, and had better not get 'romantic +rubbish,' as you call it, into our heads, lest it spoil our friendship." + +"Well, I won't; but I hate to see things going all criss-cross and +getting snarled up, when a pull here and a snip there would straighten +it out. I wish wearing flat-irons on our heads would keep us from +growing up. But buds will be roses, and kittens, cats,--more's the +pity!" + +"What's that about flat-irons and cats?" asked Meg, as she crept into +the room, with the finished letter in her hand. + +"Only one of my stupid speeches. I'm going to bed; come, Peggy," said +Jo, unfolding herself, like an animated puzzle. + +"Quite right, and beautifully written. Please add that I send my love to +John," said Mrs. March, as she glanced over the letter, and gave it +back. + +"Do you call him 'John'?" asked Meg, smiling, with her innocent eyes +looking down into her mother's. + +"Yes; he has been like a son to us, and we are very fond of him," +replied Mrs. March, returning the look with a keen one. + +"I'm glad of that, he is so lonely. Good-night, mother, dear. It is so +inexpressibly comfortable to have you here," was Meg's quiet answer. + +The kiss her mother gave her was a very tender one; and, as she went +away, Mrs. March said, with a mixture of satisfaction and regret, "She +does not love John yet, but will soon learn to." + + [Illustration: Tail-piece] + + + + + [Illustration: Letters] + + XXI. + + LAURIE MAKES MISCHIEF, AND JO MAKES PEACE. + + +Jo's face was a study next day, for the secret rather weighed upon her, +and she found it hard not to look mysterious and important. Meg observed +it, but did not trouble herself to make inquiries, for she had learned +that the best way to manage Jo was by the law of contraries, so she felt +sure of being told everything if she did not ask. She was rather +surprised, therefore, when the silence remained unbroken, and Jo assumed +a patronizing air, which decidedly aggravated Meg, who in her turn +assumed an air of dignified reserve, and devoted herself to her mother. +This left Jo to her own devices; for Mrs. March had taken her place as +nurse, and bade her rest, exercise, and amuse herself after her long +confinement. Amy being gone, Laurie was her only refuge; and, much as +she enjoyed his society, she rather dreaded him just then, for he was an +incorrigible tease, and she feared he would coax her secret from her. + +She was quite right, for the mischief-loving lad no sooner suspected a +mystery than he set himself to find it out, and led Jo a trying life of +it. He wheedled, bribed, ridiculed, threatened, and scolded; affected +indifference, that he might surprise the truth from her; declared he +knew, then that he didn't care; and, at last, by dint of perseverance, +he satisfied himself that it concerned Meg and Mr. Brooke. Feeling +indignant that he was not taken into his tutor's confidence, he set his +wits to work to devise some proper retaliation for the slight. + +Meg meanwhile had apparently forgotten the matter, and was absorbed in +preparations for her father's return; but all of a sudden a change +seemed to come over her, and, for a day or two, she was quite unlike +herself. She started when spoken to, blushed when looked at, was very +quiet, and sat over her sewing, with a timid, troubled look on her face. +To her mother's inquiries she answered that she was quite well, and Jo's +she silenced by begging to be let alone. + +"She feels it in the air--love, I mean--and she's going very fast. She's +got most of the symptoms,--is twittery and cross, doesn't eat, lies +awake, and mopes in corners. I caught her singing that song he gave her, +and once she said 'John,' as you do, and then turned as red as a poppy. +Whatever shall we do?" said Jo, looking ready for any measures, however +violent. + +"Nothing but wait. Let her alone, be kind and patient, and father's +coming will settle everything," replied her mother. + +"Here's a note to you, Meg, all sealed up. How odd! Teddy never seals +mine," said Jo, next day, as she distributed the contents of the little +post-office. + +Mrs. March and Jo were deep in their own affairs, when a sound from Meg +made them look up to see her staring at her note, with a frightened +face. + +"My child, what is it?" cried her mother, running to her, while Jo tried +to take the paper which had done the mischief. + +"It's all a mistake--he didn't send it. O Jo, how could you do it?" and +Meg hid her face in her hands, crying as if her heart was quite broken. + +"Me! I've done nothing! What's she talking about?" cried Jo, bewildered. + +Meg's mild eyes kindled with anger as she pulled a crumpled note from +her pocket, and threw it at Jo, saying reproachfully,-- + +"You wrote it, and that bad boy helped you. How could you be so rude, so +mean, and cruel to us both?" + +Jo hardly heard her, for she and her mother were reading the note, which +was written in a peculiar hand. + + [Illustration: Jo and her mother were reading the note] + + "MY DEAREST MARGARET,-- + + "I can no longer restrain my passion, and must know my fate + before I return. I dare not tell your parents yet, but I think + they would consent if they knew that we adored one another. Mr. + Laurence will help me to some good place, and then, my sweet + girl, you will make me happy. I implore you to say nothing to + your family yet, but to send one word of hope through Laurie to + "Your devoted JOHN." + +"Oh, the little villain! that's the way he meant to pay me for keeping +my word to mother. I'll give him a hearty scolding, and bring him over +to beg pardon," cried Jo, burning to execute immediate justice. But her +mother held her back, saying, with a look she seldom wore,-- + +"Stop, Jo, you must clear yourself first. You have played so many +pranks, that I am afraid you have had a hand in this." + +"On my word, mother, I haven't! I never saw that note before, and don't +know anything about it, as true as I live!" said Jo, so earnestly that +they believed her. "If I _had_ taken a part in it I'd have done it +better than this, and have written a sensible note. I should think you'd +have known Mr. Brooke wouldn't write such stuff as that," she added, +scornfully tossing down the paper. + +"It's like his writing," faltered Meg, comparing it with the note in her +hand. + +"O Meg, you didn't answer it?" cried Mrs. March quickly. + +"Yes, I did!" and Meg hid her face again, overcome with shame. + +"Here's a scrape! _Do_ let me bring that wicked boy over to explain, and +be lectured. I can't rest till I get hold of him;" and Jo made for the +door again. + +"Hush! let me manage this, for it is worse than I thought. Margaret, +tell me the whole story," commanded Mrs. March, sitting down by Meg, yet +keeping hold of Jo, lest she should fly off. + +"I received the first letter from Laurie, who didn't look as if he knew +anything about it," began Meg, without looking up. "I was worried at +first, and meant to tell you; then I remembered how you liked Mr. +Brooke, so I thought you wouldn't mind if I kept my little secret for a +few days. I'm so silly that I liked to think no one knew; and, while I +was deciding what to say, I felt like the girls in books, who have such +things to do. Forgive me, mother, I'm paid for my silliness now; I never +can look him in the face again." + +"What did you say to him?" asked Mrs. March. + +"I only said I was too young to do anything about it yet; that I didn't +wish to have secrets from you, and he must speak to father. I was very +grateful for his kindness, and would be his friend, but nothing more, +for a long while." + +Mrs. March smiled, as if well pleased, and Jo clapped her hands, +exclaiming, with a laugh,-- + +"You are almost equal to Caroline Percy, who was a pattern of prudence! +Tell on, Meg. What did he say to that?" + +"He writes in a different way entirely, telling me that he never sent +any love-letter at all, and is very sorry that my roguish sister, Jo, +should take such liberties with our names. It's very kind and +respectful, but think how dreadful for me!" + +Meg leaned against her mother, looking the image of despair, and Jo +tramped about the room, calling Laurie names. All of a sudden she +stopped, caught up the two notes, and, after looking at them closely, +said decidedly, "I don't believe Brooke ever saw either of these +letters. Teddy wrote both, and keeps yours to crow over me with, because +I wouldn't tell him my secret." + +"Don't have any secrets, Jo; tell it to mother, and keep out of trouble, +as I should have done," said Meg warningly. + +"Bless you, child! Mother told me." + +"That will do, Jo. I'll comfort Meg while you go and get Laurie. I shall +sift the matter to the bottom, and put a stop to such pranks at once." + +Away ran Jo, and Mrs. March gently told Meg Mr. Brooke's real feelings. +"Now, dear, what are your own? Do you love him enough to wait till he +can make a home for you, or will you keep yourself quite free for the +present?" + +"I've been so scared and worried, I don't want to have anything to do +with lovers for a long while,--perhaps never," answered Meg petulantly. +"If John _doesn't_ know anything about this nonsense, don't tell him, +and make Jo and Laurie hold their tongues. I won't be deceived and +plagued and made a fool of,--it's a shame!" + +Seeing that Meg's usually gentle temper was roused and her pride hurt by +this mischievous joke, Mrs. March soothed her by promises of entire +silence, and great discretion for the future. The instant Laurie's step +was heard in the hall, Meg fled into the study, and Mrs. March received +the culprit alone. Jo had not told him why he was wanted, fearing he +wouldn't come; but he knew the minute he saw Mrs. March's face, and +stood twirling his hat, with a guilty air which convicted him at once. +Jo was dismissed, but chose to march up and down the hall like a +sentinel, having some fear that the prisoner might bolt. The sound of +voices in the parlor rose and fell for half an hour; but what happened +during that interview the girls never knew. + +When they were called in, Laurie was standing by their mother, with such +a penitent face that Jo forgave him on the spot, but did not think it +wise to betray the fact. Meg received his humble apology, and was much +comforted by the assurance that Brooke knew nothing of the joke. + +"I'll never tell him to my dying day,--wild horses sha'n't drag it out +of me; so you'll forgive me, Meg, and I'll do anything to show how +out-and-out sorry I am," he added, looking very much ashamed of himself. + +"I'll try; but it was a very ungentlemanly thing to do. I didn't think +you could be so sly and malicious, Laurie," replied Meg, trying to hide +her maidenly confusion under a gravely reproachful air. + +"It was altogether abominable, and I don't deserve to be spoken to for a +month; but you will, though, won't you?" and Laurie folded his hands +together with such an imploring gesture, as he spoke in his irresistibly +persuasive tone, that it was impossible to frown upon him, in spite of +his scandalous behavior. Meg pardoned him, and Mrs. March's grave face +relaxed, in spite of her efforts to keep sober, when she heard him +declare that he would atone for his sins by all sorts of penances, and +abase himself like a worm before the injured damsel. + +Jo stood aloof, meanwhile, trying to harden her heart against him, and +succeeding only in primming up her face into an expression of entire +disapprobation. Laurie looked at her once or twice, but, as she showed +no sign of relenting, he felt injured, and turned his back on her till +the others were done with him, when he made her a low bow, and walked +off without a word. + +As soon as he had gone, she wished she had been more forgiving; and when +Meg and her mother went upstairs, she felt lonely, and longed for Teddy. +After resisting for some time, she yielded to the impulse, and, armed +with a book to return, went over to the big house. + +"Is Mr. Laurence in?" asked Jo, of a housemaid, who was coming down +stairs. + +"Yes, miss; but I don't believe he's seeable just yet." + +"Why not? is he ill?" + +"La, no, miss, but he's had a scene with Mr. Laurie, who is in one of +his tantrums about something, which vexes the old gentleman, so I +dursn't go nigh him." + +"Where is Laurie?" + +"Shut up in his room, and he won't answer, though I've been a-tapping. I +don't know what's to become of the dinner, for it's ready, and there's +no one to eat it." + +"I'll go and see what the matter is. I'm not afraid of either of them." + +Up went Jo, and knocked smartly on the door of Laurie's little study. + +"Stop that, or I'll open the door and make you!" called out the young +gentleman, in a threatening tone. + +Jo immediately knocked again; the door flew open, and in she bounced, +before Laurie could recover from his surprise. Seeing that he really +_was_ out of temper, Jo, who knew how to manage him, assumed a contrite +expression, and going artistically down upon her knees, said meekly, +"Please forgive me for being so cross. I came to make it up, and can't +go away till I have." + +"It's all right. Get up, and don't be a goose, Jo," was the cavalier +reply to her petition. + + [Illustration: Get up and don't be a goose] + +"Thank you; I will. Could I ask what's the matter? You don't look +exactly easy in your mind." + +"I've been shaken, and I won't bear it!" growled Laurie indignantly. + +"Who did it?" demanded Jo. + +"Grandfather; if it had been any one else I'd have--" and the injured +youth finished his sentence by an energetic gesture of the right arm. + +"That's nothing; I often shake you, and you don't mind," said Jo +soothingly. + +"Pooh! you're a girl, and it's fun; but I'll allow no man to shake +_me_." + +"I don't think any one would care to try it, if you looked as much like +a thunder-cloud as you do now. Why were you treated so?" + +"Just because I wouldn't say what your mother wanted me for. I'd +promised not to tell, and of course I wasn't going to break my word." + +"Couldn't you satisfy your grandpa in any other way?" + +"No; he _would_ have the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the +truth. I'd have told my part of the scrape, if I could without bringing +Meg in. As I couldn't, I held my tongue, and bore the scolding till the +old gentleman collared me. Then I got angry, and bolted, for fear I +should forget myself." + +"It wasn't nice, but he's sorry, I know; so go down and make up. I'll +help you." + +"Hanged if I do! I'm not going to be lectured and pummelled by every +one, just for a bit of a frolic. I _was_ sorry about Meg, and begged +pardon like a man; but I won't do it again, when I wasn't in the wrong." + +"He didn't know that." + +"He ought to trust me, and not act as if I was a baby. It's no use, Jo; +he's got to learn that I'm able to take care of myself, and don't need +any one's apron-string to hold on by." + +"What pepper-pots you are!" sighed Jo. "How do you mean to settle this +affair?" + +"Well, he ought to beg pardon, and believe me when I say I can't tell +him what the fuss's about." + +"Bless you! he won't do that." + +"I won't go down till he does." + +"Now, Teddy, be sensible; let it pass, and I'll explain what I can. You +can't stay here, so what's the use of being melodramatic?" + +"I don't intend to stay here long, any way. I'll slip off and take a +journey somewhere, and when grandpa misses me he'll come round fast +enough." + +"I dare say; but you ought not to go and worry him." + +"Don't preach. I'll go to Washington and see Brooke; it's gay there, and +I'll enjoy myself after the troubles." + +"What fun you'd have! I wish I could run off too," said Jo, forgetting +her part of Mentor in lively visions of martial life at the capital. + +"Come on, then! Why not? You go and surprise your father, and I'll stir +up old Brooke. It would be a glorious joke; let's do it, Jo. We'll leave +a letter saying we are all right, and trot off at once. I've got money +enough; it will do you good, and be no harm, as you go to your father." + +For a moment Jo looked as if she would agree; for, wild as the plan was, +it just suited her. She was tired of care and confinement, longed for +change, and thoughts of her father blended temptingly with the novel +charms of camps and hospitals, liberty and fun. Her eyes kindled as they +turned wistfully toward the window, but they fell on the old house +opposite, and she shook her head with sorrowful decision. + +"If I was a boy, we'd run away together, and have a capital time; but as +I'm a miserable girl, I must be proper, and stop at home. Don't tempt +me, Teddy, it's a crazy plan." + +"That's the fun of it," began Laurie, who had got a wilful fit on him, +and was possessed to break out of bounds in some way. + +"Hold your tongue!" cried Jo, covering her ears. "'Prunes and prisms' +are my doom, and I may as well make up my mind to it. I came here to +moralize, not to hear about things that make me skip to think of." + + [Illustration: "Hold your tongue!" cried Jo, covering her ears] + +"I know Meg would wet-blanket such a proposal, but I thought you had +more spirit," began Laurie insinuatingly. + +"Bad boy, be quiet! Sit down and think of your own sins, don't go making +me add to mine. If I get your grandpa to apologize for the shaking, will +you give up running away?" asked Jo seriously. + +"Yes, but you won't do it," answered Laurie, who wished "to make up," +but felt that his outraged dignity must be appeased first. + +"If I can manage the young one I can the old one," muttered Jo, as she +walked away, leaving Laurie bent over a railroad map, with his head +propped up on both hands. + +"Come in!" and Mr. Laurence's gruff voice sounded gruffer than ever, as +Jo tapped at his door. + +"It's only me, sir, come to return a book," she said blandly, as she +entered. + +"Want any more?" asked the old gentleman, looking grim and vexed, but +trying not to show it. + +"Yes, please. I like old Sam so well, I think I'll try the second +volume," returned Jo, hoping to propitiate him by accepting a second +dose of Boswell's "Johnson," as he had recommended that lively work. + +The shaggy eyebrows unbent a little, as he rolled the steps toward the +shelf where the Johnsonian literature was placed. Jo skipped up, and, +sitting on the top step, affected to be searching for her book, but was +really wondering how best to introduce the dangerous object of her +visit. Mr. Laurence seemed to suspect that something was brewing in her +mind; for, after taking several brisk turns about the room, he faced +round on her, speaking so abruptly that "Rasselas" tumbled face downward +on the floor. + +"What has that boy been about? Don't try to shield him. I know he has +been in mischief by the way he acted when he came home. I can't get a +word from him; and when I threatened to shake the truth out of him he +bolted upstairs, and locked himself into his room." + +"He did do wrong, but we forgave him, and all promised not to say a word +to any one," began Jo reluctantly. + +"That won't do; he shall not shelter himself behind a promise from you +soft-hearted girls. If he's done anything amiss, he shall confess, beg +pardon, and be punished. Out with it, Jo, I won't be kept in the dark." + +Mr. Laurence looked so alarming and spoke so sharply that Jo would have +gladly run away, if she could, but she was perched aloft on the steps, +and he stood at the foot, a lion in the path, so she had to stay and +brave it out. + + [Illustration: He stood at the foot, like a lion in the path] + +"Indeed, sir, I cannot tell; mother forbade it. Laurie has confessed, +asked pardon, and been punished quite enough. We don't keep silence to +shield him, but some one else, and it will make more trouble if you +interfere. Please don't; it was partly my fault, but it's all right now; +so let's forget it, and talk about the 'Rambler,' or something +pleasant." + +"Hang the 'Rambler!' come down and give me your word that this +harum-scarum boy of mine hasn't done anything ungrateful or impertinent. +If he has, after all your kindness to him, I'll thrash him with my own +hands." + +The threat sounded awful, but did not alarm Jo, for she knew the +irascible old gentleman would never lift a finger against his grandson, +whatever he might say to the contrary. She obediently descended, and +made as light of the prank as she could without betraying Meg or +forgetting the truth. + +"Hum--ha--well, if the boy held his tongue because he promised, and not +from obstinacy, I'll forgive him. He's a stubborn fellow, and hard to +manage," said Mr. Laurence, rubbing up his hair till it looked as if he +had been out in a gale, and smoothing the frown from his brow with an +air of relief. + +"So am I; but a kind word will govern me when all the king's horses and +all the king's men couldn't," said Jo, trying to say a kind word for her +friend, who seemed to get out of one scrape only to fall into another. + +"You think I'm not kind to him, hey?" was the sharp answer. + +"Oh, dear, no, sir; you are rather too kind sometimes, and then just a +trifle hasty when he tries your patience. Don't you think you are?" + +Jo was determined to have it out now, and tried to look quite placid, +though she quaked a little after her bold speech. To her great relief +and surprise, the old gentleman only threw his spectacles on to the +table with a rattle, and exclaimed frankly,-- + +"You're right, girl, I am! I love the boy, but he tries my patience past +bearing, and I don't know how it will end, if we go on so." + +"I'll tell you, he'll run away." Jo was sorry for that speech the +minute it was made; she meant to warn him that Laurie would not bear +much restraint, and hoped he would be more forbearing with the lad. + +Mr. Laurence's ruddy face changed suddenly, and he sat down, with a +troubled glance at the picture of a handsome man, which hung over his +table. It was Laurie's father, who _had_ run away in his youth, and +married against the imperious old man's will. Jo fancied he remembered +and regretted the past, and she wished she had held her tongue. + +"He won't do it unless he is very much worried, and only threatens it +sometimes, when he gets tired of studying. I often think I should like +to, especially since my hair was cut; so, if you ever miss us, you may +advertise for two boys, and look among the ships bound for India." + +She laughed as she spoke, and Mr. Laurence looked relieved, evidently +taking the whole as a joke. + +"You hussy, how dare you talk in that way? Where's your respect for me, +and your proper bringing up? Bless the boys and girls! What torments +they are; yet we can't do without them," he said, pinching her cheeks +good-humoredly. "Go and bring that boy down to his dinner, tell him it's +all right, and advise him not to put on tragedy airs with his +grandfather. I won't bear it." + +"He won't come, sir; he feels badly because you didn't believe him when +he said he couldn't tell. I think the shaking hurt his feelings very +much." + +Jo tried to look pathetic, but must have failed, for Mr. Laurence began +to laugh, and she knew the day was won. + +"I'm sorry for that, and ought to thank him for not shaking _me_, I +suppose. What the dickens does the fellow expect?" and the old gentleman +looked a trifle ashamed of his own testiness. + +"If I were you, I'd write him an apology, sir. He says he won't come +down till he has one, and talks about Washington, and goes on in an +absurd way. A formal apology will make him see how foolish he is, and +bring him down quite amiable. Try it; he likes fun, and this way is +better than talking. I'll carry it up, and teach him his duty." + +Mr. Laurence gave her a sharp look, and put on his spectacles, saying +slowly, "You're a sly puss, but I don't mind being managed by you and +Beth. Here, give me a bit of paper, and let us have done with this +nonsense." + +The note was written in the terms which one gentleman would use to +another after offering some deep insult. Jo dropped a kiss on the top of +Mr. Laurence's bald head, and ran up to slip the apology under Laurie's +door, advising him, through the key-hole, to be submissive, decorous, +and a few other agreeable impossibilities. Finding the door locked +again, she left the note to do its work, and was going quietly away, +when the young gentleman slid down the banisters, and waited for her at +the bottom, saying, with his most virtuous expression of countenance, +"What a good fellow you are, Jo! Did you get blown up?" he added, +laughing. + +"No; he was pretty mild, on the whole." + +"Ah! I got it all round; even you cast me off over there, and I felt +just ready to go to the deuce," he began apologetically. + +"Don't talk in that way; turn over a new leaf and begin again, Teddy, my +son." + +"I keep turning over new leaves, and spoiling them, as I used to spoil +my copy-books; and I make so many beginnings there never will be an +end," he said dolefully. + +"Go and eat your dinner; you'll feel better after it. Men always croak +when they are hungry," and Jo whisked out at the front door after that. + +"That's a 'label' on my 'sect,'" answered Laurie, quoting Amy, as he +went to partake of humble-pie dutifully with his grandfather, who was +quite saintly in temper and overwhelmingly respectful in manner all the +rest of the day. + +Every one thought the matter ended and the little cloud blown over; but +the mischief was done, for, though others forgot it, Meg remembered. She +never alluded to a certain person, but she thought of him a good deal, +dreamed dreams more than ever; and once Jo, rummaging her sister's desk +for stamps, found a bit of paper scribbled over with the words, "Mrs. +John Brooke;" whereat she groaned tragically, and cast it into the fire, +feeling that Laurie's prank had hastened the evil day for her. + + + + + [Illustration: Beth was soon able to lie on the study sofa all day] + + XXII. + + PLEASANT MEADOWS. + + +Like sunshine after storm were the peaceful weeks which followed. The +invalids improved rapidly, and Mr. March began to talk of returning +early in the new year. Beth was soon able to lie on the study sofa all +day, amusing herself with the well-beloved cats, at first, and, in time, +with doll's sewing, which had fallen sadly behindhand. Her once active +limbs were so stiff and feeble that Jo took her a daily airing about the +house in her strong arms. Meg cheerfully blackened and burnt her white +hands cooking delicate messes for "the dear;" while Amy, a loyal slave +of the ring, celebrated her return by giving away as many of her +treasures as she could prevail on her sisters to accept. + +As Christmas approached, the usual mysteries began to haunt the house, +and Jo frequently convulsed the family by proposing utterly impossible +or magnificently absurd ceremonies, in honor of this unusually merry +Christmas. Laurie was equally impracticable, and would have had +bonfires, sky-rockets, and triumphal arches, if he had had his own way. +After many skirmishes and snubbings, the ambitious pair were considered +effectually quenched, and went about with forlorn faces, which were +rather belied by explosions of laughter when the two got together. + +Several days of unusually mild weather fitly ushered in a splendid +Christmas Day. Hannah "felt in her bones" that it was going to be an +unusually fine day, and she proved herself a true prophetess, for +everybody and everything seemed bound to produce a grand success. To +begin with, Mr. March wrote that he should soon be with them; then Beth +felt uncommonly well that morning, and, being dressed in her mother's +gift,--a soft crimson merino wrapper,--was borne in triumph to the +window to behold the offering of Jo and Laurie. The Unquenchables had +done their best to be worthy of the name, for, like elves, they had +worked by night, and conjured up a comical surprise. Out in the garden +stood a stately snow-maiden, crowned with holly, bearing a basket of +fruit and flowers in one hand, a great roll of new music in the other, a +perfect rainbow of an Afghan round her chilly shoulders, and a Christmas +carol issuing from her lips, on a pink paper streamer:-- + + "THE JUNGFRAU TO BETH. + + "God bless you, dear Queen Bess! + May nothing you dismay, + But health and peace and happiness + Be yours, this Christmas Day. + + "Here's fruit to feed our busy bee, + And flowers for her nose; + Here's music for her pianee, + An Afghan for her toes. + + "A portrait of Joanna, see, + By Raphael No. 2, + Who labored with great industry + To make it fair and true. + + "Accept a ribbon red, I beg, + For Madam Purrer's tail; + And ice-cream made by lovely Peg,-- + A Mont Blanc in a pail. + + "Their dearest love my makers laid + Within my breast of snow: + Accept it, and the Alpine maid, + From Laurie and from Jo." + + [Illustration: The Jungfrau] + +How Beth laughed when she saw it, how Laurie ran up and down to bring in +the gifts, and what ridiculous speeches Jo made as she presented them! + +"I'm so full of happiness, that, if father was only here, I couldn't +hold one drop more," said Beth, quite sighing with contentment as Jo +carried her off to the study to rest after the excitement, and to +refresh herself with some of the delicious grapes the "Jungfrau" had +sent her. + +"So am I," added Jo, slapping the pocket wherein reposed the +long-desired Undine and Sintram. + +"I'm sure I am," echoed Amy, poring over the engraved copy of the +Madonna and Child, which her mother had given her, in a pretty frame. + +"Of course I am!" cried Meg, smoothing the silvery folds of her first +silk dress; for Mr. Laurence had insisted on giving it. + +"How can _I_ be otherwise?" said Mrs. March gratefully, as her eyes went +from her husband's letter to Beth's smiling face, and her hand caressed +the brooch made of gray and golden, chestnut and dark brown hair, which +the girls had just fastened on her breast. + +Now and then, in this work-a-day world, things do happen in the +delightful story-book fashion, and what a comfort that is. Half an hour +after every one had said they were so happy they could only hold one +drop more, the drop came. Laurie opened the parlor door, and popped his +head in very quietly. He might just as well have turned a somersault and +uttered an Indian war-whoop; for his face was so full of suppressed +excitement and his voice so treacherously joyful, that every one jumped +up, though he only said, in a queer, breathless voice, "Here's another +Christmas present for the March family." + +Before the words were well out of his mouth, he was whisked away +somehow, and in his place appeared a tall man, muffled up to the eyes, +leaning on the arm of another tall man, who tried to say something and +couldn't. Of course there was a general stampede; and for several +minutes everybody seemed to lose their wits, for the strangest things +were done, and no one said a word. Mr. March became invisible in the +embrace of four pairs of loving arms; Jo disgraced herself by nearly +fainting away, and had to be doctored by Laurie in the china-closet; Mr. +Brooke kissed Meg entirely by mistake, as he somewhat incoherently +explained; and Amy, the dignified, tumbled over a stool, and, never +stopping to get up, hugged and cried over her father's boots in the most +touching manner. Mrs. March was the first to recover herself, and held +up her hand with a warning, "Hush! remember Beth!" + +But it was too late; the study door flew open, the little red wrapper +appeared on the threshold,--joy put strength into the feeble limbs,--and +Beth ran straight into her father's arms. Never mind what happened just +after that; for the full hearts overflowed, washing away the bitterness +of the past, and leaving only the sweetness of the present. + +It was not at all romantic, but a hearty laugh set everybody straight +again, for Hannah was discovered behind the door, sobbing over the fat +turkey, which she had forgotten to put down when she rushed up from the +kitchen. As the laugh subsided, Mrs. March began to thank Mr. Brooke for +his faithful care of her husband, at which Mr. Brooke suddenly +remembered that Mr. March needed rest, and, seizing Laurie, he +precipitately retired. Then the two invalids were ordered to repose, +which they did, by both sitting in one big chair, and talking hard. + +Mr. March told how he had longed to surprise them, and how, when the +fine weather came, he had been allowed by his doctor to take advantage +of it; how devoted Brooke had been, and how he was altogether a most +estimable and upright young man. Why Mr. March paused a minute just +there, and, after a glance at Meg, who was violently poking the fire, +looked at his wife with an inquiring lift of the eyebrows, I leave you +to imagine; also why Mrs. March gently nodded her head, and asked, +rather abruptly, if he wouldn't have something to eat. Jo saw and +understood the look; and she stalked grimly away to get wine and +beef-tea, muttering to herself, as she slammed the door, "I hate +estimable young men with brown eyes!" + +There never _was_ such a Christmas dinner as they had that day. The fat +turkey was a sight to behold, when Hannah sent him up, stuffed, browned, +and decorated; so was the plum-pudding, which quite melted in one's +mouth; likewise the jellies, in which Amy revelled like a fly in a +honey-pot. Everything turned out well, which was a mercy, Hannah said, +"For my mind was that flustered, mum, that it's a merrycle I didn't +roast the pudding, and stuff the turkey with raisins, let alone bilin' +of it in a cloth." + +Mr. Laurence and his grandson dined with them, also Mr. Brooke,--at whom +Jo glowered darkly, to Laurie's infinite amusement. Two easy-chairs +stood side by side at the head of the table, in which sat Beth and her +father, feasting modestly on chicken and a little fruit. They drank +healths, told stories, sung songs, "reminisced," as the old folks say, +and had a thoroughly good time. A sleigh-ride had been planned, but the +girls would not leave their father; so the guests departed early, and, +as twilight gathered, the happy family sat together round the fire. + +"Just a year ago we were groaning over the dismal Christmas we expected +to have. Do you remember?" asked Jo, breaking a short pause which had +followed a long conversation about many things. + +"Rather a pleasant year on the whole!" said Meg, smiling at the fire, +and congratulating herself on having treated Mr. Brooke with dignity. + +"I think it's been a pretty hard one," observed Amy, watching the light +shine on her ring, with thoughtful eyes. + +"I'm glad it's over, because we've got you back," whispered Beth, who +sat on her father's knee. + +"Rather a rough road for you to travel, my little pilgrims, especially +the latter part of it. But you have got on bravely; and I think the +burdens are in a fair way to tumble off very soon," said Mr. March, +looking with fatherly satisfaction at the four young faces gathered +round him. + +"How do you know? Did mother tell you?" asked Jo. + +"Not much; straws show which way the wind blows, and I've made several +discoveries to-day." + +"Oh, tell us what they are!" cried Meg, who sat beside him. + +"Here is one;" and taking up the hand which lay on the arm of his chair, +he pointed to the roughened forefinger, a burn on the back, and two or +three little hard spots on the palm. "I remember a time when this hand +was white and smooth, and your first care was to keep it so. It was very +pretty then, but to me it is much prettier now,--for in these seeming +blemishes I read a little history. A burnt-offering has been made of +vanity; this hardened palm has earned something better than blisters; +and I'm sure the sewing done by these pricked fingers will last a long +time, so much good-will went into the stitches. Meg, my dear, I value +the womanly skill which keeps home happy more than white hands or +fashionable accomplishments. I'm proud to shake this good, industrious +little hand, and hope I shall not soon be asked to give it away." + +If Meg had wanted a reward for hours of patient labor, she received it +in the hearty pressure of her father's hand and the approving smile he +gave her. + +"What about Jo? Please say something nice; for she has tried so hard, +and been so very, very good to me," said Beth, in her father's ear. + +He laughed, and looked across at the tall girl who sat opposite, with an +unusually mild expression in her brown face. + +"In spite of the curly crop, I don't see the 'son Jo' whom I left a year +ago," said Mr. March. "I see a young lady who pins her collar straight, +laces her boots neatly, and neither whistles, talks slang, nor lies on +the rug as she used to do. Her face is rather thin and pale, just now, +with watching and anxiety; but I like to look at it, for it has grown +gentler, and her voice is lower; she doesn't bounce, but moves quietly, +and takes care of a certain little person in a motherly way which +delights me. I rather miss my wild girl; but if I get a strong, helpful, +tender-hearted woman in her place, I shall feel quite satisfied. I don't +know whether the shearing sobered our black sheep, but I do know that in +all Washington I couldn't find anything beautiful enough to be bought +with the five-and-twenty dollars which my good girl sent me." + +Jo's keen eyes were rather dim for a minute, and her thin face grew rosy +in the firelight, as she received her father's praise, feeling that she +did deserve a portion of it. + +"Now Beth," said Amy, longing for her turn, but ready to wait. + +"There's so little of her, I'm afraid to say much, for fear she will +slip away altogether, though she is not so shy as she used to be," began +their father cheerfully; but recollecting how nearly he _had_ lost her, +he held her close, saying tenderly, with her cheek against his own, +"I've got you safe, my Beth, and I'll keep you so, please God." + +After a minute's silence, he looked down at Amy, who sat on the cricket +at his feet, and said, with a caress of the shining hair,-- + +"I observed that Amy took drumsticks at dinner, ran errands for her +mother all the afternoon, gave Meg her place to-night, and has waited +on every one with patience and good-humor. I also observe that she does +not fret much nor look in the glass, and has not even mentioned a very +pretty ring which she wears; so I conclude that she has learned to think +of other people more and of herself less, and has decided to try and +mould her character as carefully as she moulds her little clay figures. +I am glad of this; for though I should be very proud of a graceful +statue made by her, I shall be infinitely prouder of a lovable daughter, +with a talent for making life beautiful to herself and others." + +"What are you thinking of, Beth?" asked Jo, when Amy had thanked her +father and told about her ring. + +"I read in 'Pilgrim's Progress' to-day, how, after many troubles, +Christian and Hopeful came to a pleasant green meadow, where lilies +bloomed all the year round, and there they rested happily, as we do now, +before they went on to their journey's end," answered Beth; adding, as +she slipped out of her father's arms, and went slowly to the instrument, +"It's singing time now, and I want to be in my old place. I'll try to +sing the song of the shepherd-boy which the Pilgrims heard. I made the +music for father, because he likes the verses." + +So, sitting at the dear little piano, Beth softly touched the keys, and, +in the sweet voice they had never thought to hear again, sung to her own +accompaniment the quaint hymn, which was a singularly fitting song for +her:-- + + "He that is down need fear no fall, + He that is low no pride; + He that is humble ever shall + Have God to be his guide. + + "I am content with what I have, + Little be it or much; + And, Lord! contentment still I crave, + Because Thou savest such. + + "Fulness to them a burden is, + That go on pilgrimage; + Here little, and hereafter bliss, + Is best from age to age!" + + + + + XXIII. + + AUNT MARCH SETTLES THE QUESTION. + + + [Illustration: Popping in her head now and then] + +Like bees swarming after their queen, mother and daughters hovered about +Mr. March the next day, neglecting everything to look at, wait upon, and +listen to the new invalid, who was in a fair way to be killed by +kindness. As he sat propped up in a big chair by Beth's sofa, with the +other three close by, and Hannah popping in her head now and then, "to +peek at the dear man," nothing seemed needed to complete their +happiness. But something _was_ needed, and the elder ones felt it, +though none confessed the fact. Mr. and Mrs. March looked at one another +with an anxious expression, as their eyes followed Meg. Jo had sudden +fits of sobriety, and was seen to shake her fist at Mr. Brooke's +umbrella, which had been left in the hall; Meg was absent-minded, shy, +and silent, started when the bell rang, and colored when John's name was +mentioned; Amy said "Every one seemed waiting for something, and +couldn't settle down, which was queer, since father was safe at home," +and Beth innocently wondered why their neighbors didn't run over as +usual. + + [Illustration: "He sat in the big chair by Beth's sofa with the other + three close by."--Page 277.] + +Laurie went by in the afternoon, and, seeing Meg at the window, seemed +suddenly possessed with a melodramatic fit, for he fell down upon one +knee in the snow, beat his breast, tore his hair, and clasped his hands +imploringly, as if begging some boon; and when Meg told him to behave +himself and go away, he wrung imaginary tears out of his handkerchief, +and staggered round the corner as if in utter despair. + +"What does the goose mean?" said Meg, laughing, and trying to look +unconscious. + +"He's showing you how your John will go on by and by. Touching, isn't +it?" answered Jo scornfully. + +"Don't say _my John_, it isn't proper or true;" but Meg's voice lingered +over the words as if they sounded pleasant to her. "Please don't plague +me, Jo; I've told you I don't care _much_ about him, and there isn't to +be anything said, but we are all to be friendly, and go on as before." + +"We can't, for something _has_ been said, and Laurie's mischief has +spoilt you for me. I see it, and so does mother; you are not like your +old self a bit, and seem ever so far away from me. I don't mean to +plague you, and will bear it like a man, but I do wish it was all +settled. I hate to wait; so if you mean ever to do it, make haste and +have it over quickly," said Jo pettishly. + +"_I_ can't say or do anything till he speaks, and he won't, because +father said I was too young," began Meg, bending over her work, with a +queer little smile, which suggested that she did not quite agree with +her father on that point. + +"If he did speak, you wouldn't know what to say, but would cry or blush, +or let him have his own way, instead of giving a good, decided, No." + +"I'm not so silly and weak as you think. I know just what I should say, +for I've planned it all, so I needn't be taken unawares; there's no +knowing what may happen, and I wished to be prepared." + +Jo couldn't help smiling at the important air which Meg had +unconsciously assumed, and which was as becoming as the pretty color +varying in her cheeks. + +"Would you mind telling me what you'd say?" asked Jo more respectfully. + +"Not at all; you are sixteen now, quite old enough to be my confidant, +and my experience will be useful to you by and by, perhaps, in your own +affairs of this sort." + +"Don't mean to have any; it's fun to watch other people philander, but I +should feel like a fool doing it myself," said Jo, looking alarmed at +the thought. + +"I think not, if you liked any one very much, and he liked you." Meg +spoke as if to herself, and glanced out at the lane, where she had often +seen lovers walking together in the summer twilight. + +"I thought you were going to tell your speech to that man," said Jo, +rudely shortening her sister's little reverie. + +"Oh, I should merely say, quite calmly and decidedly, 'Thank you, Mr. +Brooke, you are very kind, but I agree with father that I am too young +to enter into any engagement at present; so please say no more, but let +us be friends as we were.'" + +"Hum! that's stiff and cool enough. I don't believe you'll ever say it, +and I know he won't be satisfied if you do. If he goes on like the +rejected lovers in books, you'll give in, rather than hurt his +feelings." + +"No, I won't. I shall tell him I've made up my mind, and shall walk out +of the room with dignity." + +Meg rose as she spoke, and was just going to rehearse the dignified +exit, when a step in the hall made her fly into her seat, and begin to +sew as if her life depended on finishing that particular seam in a given +time. Jo smothered a laugh at the sudden change, and, when some one gave +a modest tap, opened the door with a grim aspect, which was anything but +hospitable. + +"Good afternoon. I came to get my umbrella,--that is, to see how your +father finds himself to-day," said Mr. Brooke, getting a trifle confused +as his eye went from one tell-tale face to the other. + +"It's very well, he's in the rack, I'll get him, and tell it you are +here," and having jumbled her father and the umbrella well together in +her reply, Jo slipped out of the room to give Meg a chance to make her +speech and air her dignity. But the instant she vanished, Meg began to +sidle towards the door, murmuring,-- + +"Mother will like to see you. Pray sit down, I'll call her." + +"Don't go; are you afraid of me, Margaret?" and Mr. Brooke looked so +hurt that Meg thought she must have done something very rude. She +blushed up to the little curls on her forehead, for he had never called +her Margaret before, and she was surprised to find how natural and sweet +it seemed to hear him say it. Anxious to appear friendly and at her +ease, she put out her hand with a confiding gesture, and said +gratefully,-- + +"How can I be afraid when you have been so kind to father? I only wish I +could thank you for it." + + [Illustration: Shall I tell you how?] + +"Shall I tell you how?" asked Mr. Brooke, holding the small hand fast in +both his own, and looking down at Meg with so much love in the brown +eyes, that her heart began to flutter, and she both longed to run away +and to stop and listen. + +"Oh no, please don't--I'd rather not," she said, trying to withdraw her +hand, and looking frightened in spite of her denial. + +"I won't trouble you, I only want to know if you care for me a little, +Meg. I love you so much, dear," added Mr. Brooke tenderly. + +This was the moment for the calm, proper speech, but Meg didn't make it; +she forgot every word of it, hung her head, and answered, "I don't +know," so softly, that John had to stoop down to catch the foolish +little reply. + +He seemed to think it was worth the trouble, for he smiled to himself as +if quite satisfied, pressed the plump hand gratefully, and said, in his +most persuasive tone, "Will you try and find out? I want to know _so_ +much; for I can't go to work with any heart until I learn whether I am +to have my reward in the end or not." + +"I'm too young," faltered Meg, wondering why she was so fluttered, yet +rather enjoying it. + +"I'll wait; and in the meantime, you could be learning to like me. Would +it be a very hard lesson, dear?" + +"Not if I chose to learn it, but--" + +"Please choose to learn, Meg. I love to teach, and this is easier than +German," broke in John, getting possession of the other hand, so that +she had no way of hiding her face, as he bent to look into it. + +His tone was properly beseeching; but, stealing a shy look at him, Meg +saw that his eyes were merry as well as tender, and that he wore the +satisfied smile of one who had no doubt of his success. This nettled +her; Annie Moffat's foolish lessons in coquetry came into her mind, and +the love of power, which sleeps in the bosoms of the best of little +women, woke up all of a sudden and took possession of her. She felt +excited and strange, and, not knowing what else to do, followed a +capricious impulse, and, withdrawing her hands, said petulantly, "I +_don't_ choose. Please go away and let me be!" + +Poor Mr. Brooke looked as if his lovely castle in the air was tumbling +about his ears, for he had never seen Meg in such a mood before, and it +rather bewildered him. + +"Do you really mean that?" he asked anxiously, following her as she +walked away. + +"Yes, I do; I don't want to be worried about such things. Father says I +needn't; it's too soon and I'd rather not." + +"Mayn't I hope you'll change your mind by and by? I'll wait, and say +nothing till you have had more time. Don't play with me, Meg. I didn't +think that of you." + +"Don't think of me at all. I'd rather you wouldn't," said Meg, taking a +naughty satisfaction in trying her lover's patience and her own power. + +He was grave and pale now, and looked decidedly more like the novel +heroes whom she admired; but he neither slapped his forehead nor tramped +about the room, as they did; he just stood looking at her so wistfully, +so tenderly, that she found her heart relenting in spite of her. What +would have happened next I cannot say, if Aunt March had not come +hobbling in at this interesting minute. + +The old lady couldn't resist her longing to see her nephew; for she had +met Laurie as she took her airing, and, hearing of Mr. March's arrival, +drove straight out to see him. The family were all busy in the back part +of the house, and she had made her way quietly in, hoping to surprise +them. She did surprise two of them so much that Meg started as if she +had seen a ghost, and Mr. Brooke vanished into the study. + +"Bless me, what's all this?" cried the old lady, with a rap of her cane, +as she glanced from the pale young gentleman to the scarlet young lady. + + [Illustration: Bless me, what's all this?] + +"It's father's friend. I'm _so_ surprised to see you!" stammered Meg, +feeling that she was in for a lecture now. + +"That's evident," returned Aunt March, sitting down. "But what is +father's friend saying to make you look like a peony? There's mischief +going on, and I insist upon knowing what it is," with another rap. + +"We were merely talking. Mr. Brooke came for his umbrella," began Meg, +wishing that Mr. Brooke and the umbrella were safely out of the house. + +"Brooke? That boy's tutor? Ah! I understand now. I know all about it. Jo +blundered into a wrong message in one of your father's letters, and I +made her tell me. You haven't gone and accepted him, child?" cried Aunt +March, looking scandalized. + +"Hush! he'll hear. Sha'n't I call mother?" said Meg, much troubled. + +"Not yet. I've something to say to you, and I must free my mind at once. +Tell me, do you mean to marry this Cook? If you do, not one penny of my +money ever goes to you. Remember that, and be a sensible girl," said the +old lady impressively. + +Now Aunt March possessed in perfection the art of rousing the spirit of +opposition in the gentlest people, and enjoyed doing it. The best of us +have a spice of perversity in us, especially when we are young and in +love. If Aunt March had begged Meg to accept John Brooke, she would +probably have declared she couldn't think of it; but as she was +peremptorily ordered _not_ to like him, she immediately made up her mind +that she would. Inclination as well as perversity made the decision +easy, and, being already much excited, Meg opposed the old lady with +unusual spirit. + +"I shall marry whom I please, Aunt March, and you can leave your money +to any one you like," she said, nodding her head with a resolute air. + +"Highty tighty! Is that the way you take my advice, miss? You'll be +sorry for it, by and by, when you've tried love in a cottage, and found +it a failure." + +"It can't be a worse one than some people find in big houses," retorted +Meg. + +Aunt March put on her glasses and took a look at the girl, for she did +not know her in this new mood. Meg hardly knew herself, she felt so +brave and independent,--so glad to defend John, and assert her right to +love him, if she liked. Aunt March saw that she had begun wrong, and, +after a little pause, made a fresh start, saying, as mildly as she +could, "Now, Meg, my dear, be reasonable, and take my advice. I mean it +kindly, and don't want you to spoil your whole life by making a mistake +at the beginning. You ought to marry well, and help your family; it's +your duty to make a rich match, and it ought to be impressed upon you." + +"Father and mother don't think so; they like John, though he _is_ poor." + +"Your parents, my dear, have no more worldly wisdom than two babies." + +"I'm glad of it," cried Meg stoutly. + +Aunt March took no notice, but went on with her lecture. "This Rook is +poor, and hasn't got any rich relations, has he?" + +"No; but he has many warm friends." + +"You can't live on friends; try it, and see how cool they'll grow. He +hasn't any business, has he?" + +"Not yet; Mr. Laurence is going to help him." + +"That won't last long. James Laurence is a crotchety old fellow, and not +to be depended on. So you intend to marry a man without money, position, +or business, and go on working harder than you do now, when you might be +comfortable all your days by minding me and doing better? I thought you +had more sense, Meg." + +"I couldn't do better if I waited half my life! John is good and wise; +he's got heaps of talent; he's willing to work, and sure to get on, he's +so energetic and brave. Every one likes and respects him, and I'm proud +to think he cares for me, though I'm so poor and young and silly," said +Meg, looking prettier than ever in her earnestness. + +"He knows _you_ have got rich relations, child; that's the secret of his +liking, I suspect." + +"Aunt March, how dare you say such a thing? John is above such meanness, +and I won't listen to you a minute if you talk so," cried Meg +indignantly, forgetting everything but the injustice of the old lady's +suspicions. "My John wouldn't marry for money, anymore than I would. We +are willing to work, and we mean to wait. I'm not afraid of being poor, +for I've been happy so far, and I know I shall be with him, because he +loves me, and I--" + +Meg stopped there, remembering all of a sudden that she hadn't made up +her mind; that she had told "her John" to go away, and that he might be +overhearing her inconsistent remarks. + +Aunt March was very angry, for she had set her heart on having her +pretty niece make a fine match, and something in the girl's happy young +face made the lonely old woman feel both sad and sour. + +"Well, I wash my hands of the whole affair! You are a wilful child, and +you've lost more than you know by this piece of folly. No, I won't stop; +I'm disappointed in you, and haven't spirits to see your father now. +Don't expect anything from me when you are married; your Mr. Book's +friends must take care of you. I'm done with you forever." + +And, slamming the door in Meg's face, Aunt March drove off in high +dudgeon. She seemed to take all the girl's courage with her; for, when +left alone, Meg stood a moment, undecided whether to laugh or cry. +Before she could make up her mind, she was taken possession of by Mr. +Brooke, who said, all in one breath, "I couldn't help hearing, Meg. +Thank you for defending me, and Aunt March for proving that you _do_ +care for me a little bit." + +"I didn't know how much, till she abused you," began Meg. + +"And I needn't go away, but may stay and be happy, may I, dear?" + +Here was another fine chance to make the crushing speech and the stately +exit, but Meg never thought of doing either, and disgraced herself +forever in Jo's eyes by meekly whispering, "Yes, John," and hiding her +face on Mr. Brooke's waistcoat. + +Fifteen minutes after Aunt March's departure, Jo came softly down +stairs, paused an instant at the parlor door, and, hearing no sound +within, nodded and smiled, with a satisfied expression, saying to +herself, "She has sent him away as we planned, and that affair is +settled. I'll go and hear the fun, and have a good laugh over it." + +But poor Jo never got her laugh, for she was transfixed upon the +threshold by a spectacle which held her there, staring with her mouth +nearly as wide open as her eyes. Going in to exult over a fallen enemy, +and to praise a strong-minded sister for the banishment of an +objectionable lover, it certainly _was_ a shock to behold the aforesaid +enemy serenely sitting on the sofa, with the strong-minded sister +enthroned upon his knee, and wearing an expression of the most abject +submission. Jo gave a sort of gasp, as if a cold shower-bath had +suddenly fallen upon her,--for such an unexpected turning of the tables +actually took her breath away. At the odd sound, the lovers turned and +saw her. Meg jumped up, looking both proud and shy; but "that man," as +Jo called him, actually laughed, and said coolly, as he kissed the +astonished new-comer, "Sister Jo, congratulate us!" + +That was adding insult to injury,--it was altogether too much,--and, +making some wild demonstration with her hands, Jo vanished without a +word. Rushing upstairs, she startled the invalids by exclaiming +tragically, as she burst into the room, "Oh, _do_ somebody go down +quick; John Brooke is acting dreadfully, and Meg likes it!" + +Mr. and Mrs. March left the room with speed; and, casting herself upon +the bed, Jo cried and scolded tempestuously as she told the awful news +to Beth and Amy. The little girls, however, considered it a most +agreeable and interesting event, and Jo got little comfort from them; so +she went up to her refuge in the garret, and confided her troubles to +the rats. + +Nobody ever knew what went on in the parlor that afternoon; but a great +deal of talking was done, and quiet Mr. Brooke astonished his friends by +the eloquence and spirit with which he pleaded his suit, told his plans, +and persuaded them to arrange everything just as he wanted it. + +The tea-bell rang before he had finished describing the paradise which +he meant to earn for Meg, and he proudly took her in to supper, both +looking so happy that Jo hadn't the heart to be jealous or dismal. Amy +was very much impressed by John's devotion and Meg's dignity. Beth +beamed at them from a distance, while Mr. and Mrs. March surveyed the +young couple with such tender satisfaction that it was perfectly evident +Aunt March was right in calling them as "unworldly as a pair of babies." +No one ate much, but every one looked very happy, and the old room +seemed to brighten up amazingly when the first romance of the family +began there. + +"You can't say nothing pleasant ever happens now, can you, Meg?" said +Amy, trying to decide how she would group the lovers in the sketch she +was planning to take. + +"No, I'm sure I can't. How much has happened since I said that! It seems +a year ago," answered Meg, who was in a blissful dream, lifted far above +such common things as bread and butter. + +"The joys come close upon the sorrows this time, and I rather think the +changes have begun," said Mrs. March. "In most families there comes, now +and then, a year full of events; this has been such an one, but it ends +well, after all." + +"Hope the next will end better," muttered Jo, who found it very hard to +see Meg absorbed in a stranger before her face; for Jo loved a few +persons very dearly, and dreaded to have their affection lost or +lessened in any way. + +"I hope the third year from this _will_ end better; I mean it shall, if +I live to work out my plans," said Mr. Brooke, smiling at Meg, as if +everything had become possible to him now. + +"Doesn't it seem very long to wait?" asked Amy, who was in a hurry for +the wedding. + +"I've got so much to learn before I shall be ready, it seems a short +time to me," answered Meg, with a sweet gravity in her face, never seen +there before. + +"You have only to wait; _I_ am to do the work," said John, beginning his +labors by picking up Meg's napkin, with an expression which caused Jo to +shake her head, and then say to herself, with an air of relief, as the +front door banged, "Here comes Laurie. Now we shall have a little +sensible conversation." + +But Jo was mistaken; for Laurie came prancing in, overflowing with +spirits, bearing a great bridal-looking bouquet for "Mrs. John Brooke," +and evidently laboring under the delusion that the whole affair had been +brought about by his excellent management. + + [Illustration: For Mrs. John Brooke] + +"I knew Brooke would have it all his own way, he always does; for when +he makes up his mind to accomplish anything, it's done, though the sky +falls," said Laurie, when he had presented his offering and his +congratulations. + +"Much obliged for that recommendation. I take it as a good omen for the +future, and invite you to my wedding on the spot," answered Mr. Brooke, +who felt at peace with all mankind, even his mischievous pupil. + +"I'll come if I'm at the ends of the earth; for the sight of Jo's face +alone, on that occasion, would be worth a long journey. You don't look +festive, ma'am; what's the matter?" asked Laurie, following her into a +corner of the parlor, whither all had adjourned to greet Mr. Laurence. + +"I don't approve of the match, but I've made up my mind to bear it, and +shall not say a word against it," said Jo solemnly. "You can't know how +hard it is for me to give up Meg," she continued, with a little quiver +in her voice. + +"You don't give her up. You only go halves," said Laurie consolingly. + +"It never can be the same again. I've lost my dearest friend," sighed +Jo. + +"You've got me, anyhow. I'm not good for much, I know; but I'll stand +by you, Jo, all the days of my life; upon my word I will!" and Laurie +meant what he said. + +"I know you will, and I'm ever so much obliged; you are always a great +comfort to me, Teddy," returned Jo, gratefully shaking hands. + +"Well, now, don't be dismal, there's a good fellow. It's all right, you +see. Meg is happy; Brooke will fly round and get settled immediately; +grandpa will attend to him, and it will be very jolly to see Meg in her +own little house. We'll have capital times after she is gone, for I +shall be through college before long, and then we'll go abroad, or some +nice trip or other. Wouldn't that console you?" + +"I rather think it would; but there's no knowing what may happen in +three years," said Jo thoughtfully. + +"That's true. Don't you wish you could take a look forward, and see +where we shall all be then? I do," returned Laurie. + +"I think not, for I might see something sad; and every one looks so +happy now, I don't believe they could be much improved," and Jo's eyes +went slowly round the room, brightening as they looked, for the prospect +was a pleasant one. + +Father and mother sat together, quietly re-living the first chapter of +the romance which for them began some twenty years ago. Amy was drawing +the lovers, who sat apart in a beautiful world of their own, the light +of which touched their faces with a grace the little artist could not +copy. Beth lay on her sofa, talking cheerily with her old friend, who +held her little hand as if he felt that it possessed the power to lead +him along the peaceful way she walked. Jo lounged in her favorite low +seat, with the grave, quiet look which best became her; and Laurie, +leaning on the back of her chair, his chin on a level with her curly +head, smiled with his friendliest aspect, and nodded at her in the long +glass which reflected them both. + + * * * * * + +So grouped, the curtain falls upon Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy. Whether it +ever rises again, depends upon the reception given to the first act of +the domestic drama called "LITTLE WOMEN." + + + + + [Illustration: Home of the Little Women] + + + + + The Second Part + + + + + [Illustration: The Dove Cote] + + XXIV. + + GOSSIP. + + +In order that we may start afresh, and go to Meg's wedding with free +minds, it will be well to begin with a little gossip about the Marches. +And here let me premise, that if any of the elders think there is too +much "lovering" in the story, as I fear they may (I'm not afraid the +young folks will make that objection), I can only say with Mrs. March, +"What _can_ you expect when I have four gay girls in the house, and a +dashing young neighbor over the way?" + +The three years that have passed have brought but few changes to the +quiet family. The war is over, and Mr. March safely at home, busy with +his books and the small parish which found in him a minister by nature +as by grace,--a quiet, studious man, rich in the wisdom that is better +than learning, the charity which calls all mankind "brother," the piety +that blossoms into character, making it august and lovely. + +These attributes, in spite of poverty and the strict integrity which +shut him out from the more worldly successes, attracted to him many +admirable persons, as naturally as sweet herbs draw bees, and as +naturally he gave them the honey into which fifty years of hard +experience had distilled no bitter drop. Earnest young men found the +gray-headed scholar as young at heart as they; thoughtful or troubled +women instinctively brought their doubts and sorrows to him, sure of +finding the gentlest sympathy, the wisest counsel; sinners told their +sins to the pure-hearted old man, and were both rebuked and saved; +gifted men found a companion in him; ambitious men caught glimpses of +nobler ambitions than their own; and even worldlings confessed that his +beliefs were beautiful and true, although "they wouldn't pay." + +To outsiders, the five energetic women seemed to rule the house, and so +they did in many things; but the quiet scholar, sitting among his books, +was still the head of the family, the household conscience, anchor, and +comforter; for to him the busy, anxious women always turned in troublous +times, finding him, in the truest sense of those sacred words, husband +and father. + +The girls gave their hearts into their mother's keeping, their souls +into their father's; and to both parents, who lived and labored so +faithfully for them, they gave a love that grew with their growth, and +bound them tenderly together by the sweetest tie which blesses life and +outlives death. + +Mrs. March is as brisk and cheery, though rather grayer, than when we +saw her last, and just now so absorbed in Meg's affairs that the +hospitals and homes, still full of wounded "boys" and soldiers' widows, +decidedly miss the motherly missionary's visits. + +John Brooke did his duty manfully for a year, got wounded, was sent +home, and not allowed to return. He received no stars or bars, but he +deserved them, for he cheerfully risked all he had; and life and love +are very precious when both are in full bloom. Perfectly resigned to his +discharge, he devoted himself to getting well, preparing for business, +and earning a home for Meg. With the good sense and sturdy independence +that characterized him, he refused Mr. Laurence's more generous offers, +and accepted the place of book-keeper feeling better satisfied to begin +with an honestly-earned salary, than by running any risks with borrowed +money. + +Meg had spent the time in working as well as waiting, growing womanly in +character, wise in housewifely arts, and prettier than ever; for love is +a great beautifier. She had her girlish ambitions and hopes, and felt +some disappointment at the humble way in which the new life must begin. +Ned Moffat had just married Sallie Gardiner, and Meg couldn't help +contrasting their fine house and carriage, many gifts, and splendid +outfit, with her own, and secretly wishing she could have the same. But +somehow envy and discontent soon vanished when she thought of all the +patient love and labor John had put into the little home awaiting her; +and when they sat together in the twilight, talking over their small +plans, the future always grew so beautiful and bright that she forgot +Sallie's splendor, and felt herself the richest, happiest girl in +Christendom. + +Jo never went back to Aunt March, for the old lady took such a fancy to +Amy that she bribed her with the offer of drawing lessons from one of +the best teachers going; and for the sake of this advantage, Amy would +have served a far harder mistress. So she gave her mornings to duty, her +afternoons to pleasure, and prospered finely. Jo, meantime, devoted +herself to literature and Beth, who remained delicate long after the +fever was a thing of the past. Not an invalid exactly, but never again +the rosy, healthy creature she had been; yet always hopeful, happy, and +serene, busy with the quiet duties she loved, every one's friend, and an +angel in the house, long before those who loved her most had learned to +know it. + +As long as "The Spread Eagle" paid her a dollar a column for her +"rubbish," as she called it, Jo felt herself a woman of means, and spun +her little romances diligently. But great plans fermented in her busy +brain and ambitious mind, and the old tin kitchen in the garret held a +slowly increasing pile of blotted manuscript, which was one day to place +the name of March upon the roll of fame. + +Laurie, having dutifully gone to college to please his grandfather, was +now getting through it in the easiest possible manner to please +himself. A universal favorite, thanks to money, manners, much talent, +and the kindest heart that ever got its owner into scrapes by trying to +get other people out of them, he stood in great danger of being spoilt, +and probably would have been, like many another promising boy, if he had +not possessed a talisman against evil in the memory of the kind old man +who was bound up in his success, the motherly friend who watched over +him as if he were her son, and last, but not least by any means, the +knowledge that four innocent girls loved, admired, and believed in him +with all their hearts. + +Being only "a glorious human boy," of course he frolicked and flirted, +grew dandified, aquatic, sentimental, or gymnastic, as college fashions +ordained; hazed and was hazed, talked slang, and more than once came +perilously near suspension and expulsion. But as high spirits and the +love of fun were the causes of these pranks, he always managed to save +himself by frank confession, honorable atonement, or the irresistible +power of persuasion which he possessed in perfection. In fact, he rather +prided himself on his narrow escapes, and liked to thrill the girls with +graphic accounts of his triumphs over wrathful tutors, dignified +professors, and vanquished enemies. The "men of my class" were heroes in +the eyes of the girls, who never wearied of the exploits of "our +fellows," and were frequently allowed to bask in the smiles of these +great creatures, when Laurie brought them home with him. + +Amy especially enjoyed this high honor, and became quite a belle among +them; for her ladyship early felt and learned to use the gift of +fascination with which she was endowed. Meg was too much absorbed in her +private and particular John to care for any other lords of creation, and +Beth too shy to do more than peep at them, and wonder how Amy dared to +order them about so; but Jo felt quite in her element, and found it very +difficult to refrain from imitating the gentlemanly attitudes, phrases, +and feats, which seemed more natural to her than the decorums prescribed +for young ladies. They all liked Jo immensely, but never fell in love +with her, though very few escaped without paying the tribute of a +sentimental sigh or two at Amy's shrine. And speaking of sentiment +brings us very naturally to the "Dove-cote." + +That was the name of the little brown house which Mr. Brooke had +prepared for Meg's first home. Laurie had christened it, saying it was +highly appropriate to the gentle lovers, who "went on together like a +pair of turtle-doves, with first a bill and then a coo." It was a tiny +house, with a little garden behind, and a lawn about as big as a +pocket-handkerchief in front. Here Meg meant to have a fountain, +shrubbery, and a profusion of lovely flowers; though just at present, +the fountain was represented by a weather-beaten urn, very like a +dilapidated slop-bowl; the shrubbery consisted of several young larches, +undecided whether to live or die; and the profusion of flowers was +merely hinted by regiments of sticks, to show where seeds were planted. +But inside, it was altogether charming, and the happy bride saw no fault +from garret to cellar. To be sure, the hall was so narrow, it was +fortunate that they had no piano, for one never could have been got in +whole; the dining-room was so small that six people were a tight fit; +and the kitchen stairs seemed built for the express purpose of +precipitating both servants and china pell-mell into the coal-bin. But +once get used to these slight blemishes, and nothing could be more +complete, for good sense and good taste had presided over the +furnishing, and the result was highly satisfactory. There were no +marble-topped tables, long mirrors, or lace curtains in the little +parlor, but simple furniture, plenty of books, a fine picture or two, a +stand of flowers in the bay-window, and, scattered all about, the pretty +gifts which came from friendly hands, and were the fairer for the loving +messages they brought. + +I don't think the Parian Psyche Laurie gave lost any of its beauty +because John put up the bracket it stood upon; that any upholsterer +could have draped the plain muslin curtains more gracefully than Amy's +artistic hand; or that any store-room was ever better provided with good +wishes, merry words, and happy hopes, than that in which Jo and her +mother put away Meg's few boxes, barrels, and bundles; and I am morally +certain that the spandy-new kitchen never _could_ have looked so cosey +and neat if Hannah had not arranged every pot and pan a dozen times +over, and laid the fire all ready for lighting, the minute "Mis. Brooke +came home." I also doubt if any young matron ever began life with so +rich a supply of dusters, holders, and piece-bags; for Beth made enough +to last till the silver wedding came round, and invented three +different kinds of dishcloths for the express service of the bridal +china. + +People who hire all these things done for them never know what they +lose; for the homeliest tasks get beautified if loving hands do them, +and Meg found so many proofs of this, that everything in her small nest, +from the kitchen roller to the silver vase on her parlor table, was +eloquent of home love and tender forethought. + +What happy times they had planning together, what solemn shopping +excursions; what funny mistakes they made, and what shouts of laughter +arose over Laurie's ridiculous bargains. In his love of jokes, this +young gentleman, though nearly through college, was as much of a boy as +ever. His last whim had been to bring with him, on his weekly visits, +some new, useful, and ingenious article for the young housekeeper. Now a +bag of remarkable clothes-pins; next, a wonderful nutmeg-grater, which +fell to pieces at the first trial; a knife-cleaner that spoilt all the +knives; or a sweeper that picked the nap neatly off the carpet, and left +the dirt; labor-saving soap that took the skin off one's hands; +infallible cements which stuck firmly to nothing but the fingers of the +deluded buyer; and every kind of tin-ware, from a toy savings-bank for +odd pennies, to a wonderful boiler which would wash articles in its own +steam, with every prospect of exploding in the process. + +In vain Meg begged him to stop. John laughed at him, and Jo called him +"Mr. Toodles." He was possessed with a mania for patronizing Yankee +ingenuity, and seeing his friends fitly furnished forth. So each week +beheld some fresh absurdity. + +Everything was done at last, even to Amy's arranging different colored +soaps to match the different colored rooms, and Beth's setting the table +for the first meal. + +"Are you satisfied? Does it seem like home, and do you feel as if you +should be happy here?" asked Mrs. March, as she and her daughter went +through the new kingdom, arm-in-arm; for just then they seemed to cling +together more tenderly than ever. + +"Yes, mother, perfectly satisfied, thanks to you all, and _so_ happy +that I can't talk about it," answered Meg, with a look that was better +than words. + +"If she only had a servant or two it would be all right," said Amy, +coming out of the parlor, where she had been trying to decide whether +the bronze Mercury looked best on the whatnot or the mantle-piece. + +"Mother and I have talked that over, and I have made up my mind to try +her way first. There will be so little to do, that, with Lotty to run my +errands and help me here and there, I shall only have enough work to +keep me from getting lazy or homesick," answered Meg tranquilly. + +"Sallie Moffat has four," began Amy. + +"If Meg had four the house wouldn't hold them, and master and missis +would have to camp in the garden," broke in Jo, who, enveloped in a big +blue pinafore, was giving the last polish to the door-handles. + +"Sallie isn't a poor man's wife, and many maids are in keeping with her +fine establishment. Meg and John begin humbly, but I have a feeling that +there will be quite as much happiness in the little house as in the big +one. It's a great mistake for young girls like Meg to leave themselves +nothing to do but dress, give orders, and gossip. When I was first +married, I used to long for my new clothes to wear out or get torn, so +that I might have the pleasure of mending them; for I got heartily sick +of doing fancy work and tending my pocket handkerchief." + +"Why didn't you go into the kitchen and make messes, as Sallie says she +does, to amuse herself, though they never turn out well, and the +servants laugh at her," said Meg. + +"I did, after a while; not to 'mess,' but to learn of Hannah how things +should be done, that my servants need _not_ laugh at me. It was play +then; but there came a time when I was truly grateful that I not only +possessed the will but the power to cook wholesome food for my little +girls, and help myself when I could no longer afford to hire help. You +begin at the other end, Meg, dear; but the lessons you learn now will be +of use to you by and by, when John is a richer man, for the mistress of +a house, however splendid, should know how work ought to be done, if she +wishes to be well and honestly served." + +"Yes, mother, I'm sure of that," said Meg, listening respectfully to the +little lecture; for the best of women will hold forth upon the +all-absorbing subject of housekeeping. "Do you know I like this room +most of all in my baby-house," added Meg, a minute after, as they went +upstairs, and she looked into her well-stored linen-closet. + +Beth was there, laying the snowy piles smoothly on the shelves, and +exulting over the goodly array. All three laughed as Meg spoke; for that +linen-closet was a joke. You see, having said that if Meg married "that +Brooke" she shouldn't have a cent of her money, Aunt March was rather in +a quandary, when time had appeased her wrath and made her repent her +vow. She never broke her word, and was much exercised in her mind how to +get round it, and at last devised a plan whereby she could satisfy +herself. Mrs. Carrol, Florence's mamma, was ordered to buy, have made, +and marked, a generous supply of house and table linen, and send it as +_her_ present, all of which was faithfully done; but the secret leaked +out, and was greatly enjoyed by the family; for Aunt March tried to look +utterly unconscious, and insisted that she could give nothing but the +old-fashioned pearls, long promised to the first bride. + +"That's a housewifely taste which I am glad to see. I had a young friend +who set up housekeeping with six sheets, but she had finger bowls for +company, and that satisfied her," said Mrs. March, patting the damask +table-cloths, with a truly feminine appreciation of their fineness. + +"I haven't a single finger-bowl, but this is a 'set out' that will last +me all my days, Hannah says;" and Meg looked quite contented, as well +she might. + +"Toodles is coming," cried Jo from below; and they all went down to meet +Laurie, whose weekly visit was an important event in their quiet lives. + +A tall, broad-shouldered young fellow, with a cropped head, a felt-basin +of a hat, and a fly-away coat, came tramping down the road at a great +pace, walked over the low fence without stopping to open the gate, +straight up to Mrs. March, with both hands out, and a hearty-- + +"Here I am, mother! Yes, it's all right." + +The last words were in answer to the look the elder lady gave him; a +kindly questioning look, which the handsome eyes met so frankly that the +little ceremony closed, as usual, with a motherly kiss. + +"For Mrs. John Brooke, with the maker's congratulations and compliments. +Bless you, Beth! What a refreshing spectacle you are, Jo. Amy, you are +getting altogether too handsome for a single lady." + +As Laurie spoke, he delivered a brown paper parcel to Meg, pulled Beth's +hair-ribbon, stared at Jo's big pinafore, and fell into an attitude of +mock rapture before Amy, then shook hands all round, and every one began +to talk. + +"Where is John?" asked Meg anxiously. + +"Stopped to get the license for to-morrow, ma'am." + +"Which side won the last match, Teddy?" inquired Jo, who persisted in +feeling an interest in manly sports, despite her nineteen years. + +"Ours, of course. Wish you'd been there to see." + +"How is the lovely Miss Randal?" asked Amy, with a significant smile. + +"More cruel than ever; don't you see how I'm pining away?" and Laurie +gave his broad chest a sounding slap and heaved a melodramatic sigh. + +"What's the last joke? Undo the bundle and see, Meg," said Beth, eying +the knobby parcel with curiosity. + +"It's a useful thing to have in the house in case of fire or thieves," +observed Laurie, as a watchman's rattle appeared, amid the laughter of +the girls. + + [Illustration: A small watchman's rattle] + +"Any time when John is away, and you get frightened, Mrs. Meg, just +swing that out of the front window, and it will rouse the neighborhood +in a jiffy. Nice thing, isn't it?" and Laurie gave them a sample of its +powers that made them cover up their ears. + +"There's gratitude for you! and speaking of gratitude reminds me to +mention that you may thank Hannah for saving your wedding-cake from +destruction. I saw it going into your house as I came by, and if she +hadn't defended it manfully I'd have had a pick at it, for it looked +like a remarkably plummy one." + +"I wonder if you will ever grow up, Laurie," said Meg, in a matronly +tone. + +"I'm doing my best, ma'am, but can't get much higher, I'm afraid, as six +feet is about all men can do in these degenerate days," responded the +young gentleman, whose head was about level with the little chandelier. +"I suppose it would be profanation to eat anything in this spick and +span new bower, so, as I'm tremendously hungry, I propose an +adjournment," he added presently. + +"Mother and I are going to wait for John. There are some last things to +settle," said Meg, bustling away. + +"Beth and I are going over to Kitty Bryant's to get more flowers for +to-morrow," added Amy, tying a picturesque hat over her picturesque +curls, and enjoying the effect as much as anybody. + +"Come, Jo, don't desert a fellow. I'm in such a state of exhaustion I +can't get home without help. Don't take off your apron, whatever you do; +it's peculiarly becoming," said Laurie, as Jo bestowed his especial +aversion in her capacious pocket, and offered him her arm to support his +feeble steps. + +"Now, Teddy, I want to talk seriously to you about to-morrow," began Jo, +as they strolled away together. "You _must_ promise to behave well, and +not cut up any pranks, and spoil our plans." + +"Not a prank." + +"And don't say funny things when we ought to be sober." + +"I never do; you are the one for that." + +"And I implore you not to look at me during the ceremony; I shall +certainly laugh if you do." + +"You won't see me; you'll be crying so hard that the thick fog round you +will obscure the prospect." + +"I never cry unless for some great affliction." + +"Such as fellows going to college, hey?" cut in Laurie, with a +suggestive laugh. + +"Don't be a peacock. I only moaned a trifle to keep the girls company." + +"Exactly. I say, Jo, how is grandpa this week; pretty amiable?" + +"Very; why, have you got into a scrape, and want to know how he'll take +it?" asked Jo rather sharply. + +"Now, Jo, do you think I'd look your mother in the face, and say 'All +right,' if it wasn't?" and Laurie stopped short, with an injured air. + +"No, I don't." + +"Then don't go and be suspicious; I only want some money," said Laurie, +walking on again, appeased by her hearty tone. + +"You spend a great deal, Teddy." + +"Bless you, _I_ don't spend it; it spends itself, somehow, and is gone +before I know it." + +"You are so generous and kind-hearted that you let people borrow, and +can't say 'No' to any one. We heard about Henshaw, and all you did for +him. If you always spent money in that way, no one would blame you," +said Jo warmly. + +"Oh, he made a mountain out of a mole-hill. You wouldn't have me let +that fine fellow work himself to death, just for the want of a little +help, when he is worth a dozen of us lazy chaps, would you?" + +"Of course not; but I don't see the use of your having seventeen +waistcoats, endless neckties, and a new hat every time you come home. I +thought you'd got over the dandy period; but every now and then it +breaks out in a new spot. Just now it's the fashion to be hideous,--to +make your head look like a scrubbing-brush, wear a strait-jacket, +orange gloves, and clumping, square-toed boots. If it was cheap +ugliness, I'd say nothing; but it costs as much as the other, and I +don't get any satisfaction out of it." + +Laurie threw back his head, and laughed so heartily at this attack, that +the felt-basin fell off, and Jo walked on it, which insult only afforded +him an opportunity for expatiating on the advantages of a +rough-and-ready costume, as he folded up the maltreated hat, and stuffed +it into his pocket. + +"Don't lecture any more, there's a good soul! I have enough all through +the week, and like to enjoy myself when I come home. I'll get myself up +regardless of expense, to-morrow, and be a satisfaction to my friends." + +"I'll leave you in peace if you'll _only_ let your hair grow. I'm not +aristocratic, but I do object to being seen with a person who looks like +a young prize-fighter," observed Jo severely. + +"This unassuming style promotes study; that's why we adopt it," returned +Laurie, who certainly could not be accused of vanity, having voluntarily +sacrificed a handsome curly crop to the demand for +quarter-of-an-inch-long stubble. + +"By the way, Jo, I think that little Parker is really getting desperate +about Amy. He talks of her constantly, writes poetry, and moons about in +a most suspicious manner. He'd better nip his little passion in the bud, +hadn't he?" added Laurie, in a confidential, elder-brotherly tone, after +a minute's silence. + +"Of course he had; we don't want any more marrying in this family for +years to come. Mercy on us, what _are_ the children thinking of?" and Jo +looked as much scandalized as if Amy and little Parker were not yet in +their teens. + +"It's a fast age, and I don't know what we are coming to, ma'am. You are +a mere infant, but you'll go next, Jo, and we'll be left lamenting," +said Laurie, shaking his head over the degeneracy of the times. + +"Don't be alarmed; I'm not one of the agreeable sort. Nobody will want +me, and it's a mercy, for there should always be one old maid in a +family." + +"You won't give any one a chance," said Laurie, with a sidelong glance, +and a little more color than before in his sunburnt face. "You won't +show the soft side of your character; and if a fellow gets a peep at it +by accident, and can't help showing that he likes it, you treat him as +Mrs. Gummidge did her sweetheart,--throw cold water over him,--and get +so thorny no one dares touch or look at you." + +"I don't like that sort of thing; I'm too busy to be worried with +nonsense, and I think it's dreadful to break up families so. Now don't +say any more about it; Meg's wedding has turned all our heads, and we +talk of nothing but lovers and such absurdities. I don't wish to get +cross, so let's change the subject;" and Jo looked quite ready to fling +cold water on the slightest provocation. + +Whatever his feelings might have been, Laurie found a vent for them in a +long low whistle, and the fearful prediction, as they parted at the +gate, "Mark my words, Jo, you'll go next." + + [Illustration: Tail-piece] + + + + + [Illustration: The First Wedding] + + XXV. + + THE FIRST WEDDING. + + +The June roses over the porch were awake bright and early on that +morning, rejoicing with all their hearts in the cloudless sunshine, like +friendly little neighbors, as they were. Quite flushed with excitement +were their ruddy faces, as they swung in the wind, whispering to one +another what they had seen; for some peeped in at the dining-room +windows, where the feast was spread, some climbed up to nod and smile at +the sisters as they dressed the bride, others waved a welcome to those +who came and went on various errands in garden, porch, and hall, and +all, from the rosiest full-blown flower to the palest baby-bud, offered +their tribute of beauty and fragrance to the gentle mistress who had +loved and tended them so long. + +Meg looked very like a rose herself; for all that was best and sweetest +in heart and soul seemed to bloom into her face that day, making it fair +and tender, with a charm more beautiful than beauty. Neither silk, lace, +nor orange-flowers would she have. "I don't want to look strange or +fixed up to-day," she said. "I don't want a fashionable wedding, but +only those about me whom I love, and to them I wish to look and be my +familiar self." + +So she made her wedding gown herself, sewing into it the tender hopes +and innocent romances of a girlish heart. Her sisters braided up her +pretty hair, and the only ornaments she wore were the lilies of the +valley, which "her John" liked best of all the flowers that grew. + +"You _do_ look just like our own dear Meg, only so very sweet and lovely +that I should hug you if it wouldn't crumple your dress," cried Amy, +surveying her with delight, when all was done. + +"Then I am satisfied. But please hug and kiss me, every one, and don't +mind my dress; I want a great many crumples of this sort put into it +to-day;" and Meg opened her arms to her sisters, who clung about her +with April faces for a minute, feeling that the new love had not changed +the old. + +"Now I'm going to tie John's cravat for him, and then to stay a few +minutes with father quietly in the study;" and Meg ran down to perform +these little ceremonies, and then to follow her mother wherever she +went, conscious that, in spite of the smiles on the motherly face, there +was a secret sorrow hid in the motherly heart at the flight of the first +bird from the nest. + +As the younger girls stand together, giving the last touches to their +simple toilet, it may be a good time to tell of a few changes which +three years have wrought in their appearance; for all are looking their +best just now. + +Jo's angles are much softened; she has learned to carry herself with +ease, if not grace. The curly crop has lengthened into a thick coil, +more becoming to the small head atop of the tall figure. There is a +fresh color in her brown cheeks, a soft shine in her eyes, and only +gentle words fall from her sharp tongue to-day. + +Beth has grown slender, pale, and more quiet than ever; the beautiful, +kind eyes are larger, and in them lies an expression that saddens one, +although it is not sad itself. It is the shadow of pain which touches +the young face with such pathetic patience; but Beth seldom complains, +and always speaks hopefully of "being better soon." + +Amy is with truth considered "the flower of the family;" for at sixteen +she has the air and bearing of a full-grown woman--not beautiful, but +possessed of that indescribable charm called grace. One saw it in the +lines of her figure, the make and motion of her hands, the flow of her +dress, the droop of her hair,--unconscious, yet harmonious, and as +attractive to many as beauty itself. Amy's nose still afflicted her, for +it never _would_ grow Grecian; so did her mouth, being too wide, and +having a decided chin. These offending features gave character to her +whole face, but she never could see it, and consoled herself with her +wonderfully fair complexion, keen blue eyes, and curls, more golden and +abundant than ever. + +All three wore suits of thin silver gray (their best gowns for the +summer), with blush-roses in hair and bosom; and all three looked just +what they were,--fresh-faced, happy-hearted girls, pausing a moment in +their busy lives to read with wistful eyes the sweetest chapter in the +romance of womanhood. + +There were to be no ceremonious performances, everything was to be as +natural and homelike as possible; so when Aunt March arrived, she was +scandalized to see the bride come running to welcome and lead her in, to +find the bridegroom fastening up a garland that had fallen down, and to +catch a glimpse of the paternal minister marching upstairs with a grave +countenance, and a wine-bottle under each arm. + +"Upon my word, here's a state of things!" cried the old lady, taking the +seat of honor prepared for her, and settling the folds of her lavender +_moire_ with a great rustle. "You oughtn't to be seen till the last +minute, child." + +"I'm not a show, aunty, and no one is coming to stare at me, to +criticise my dress, or count the cost of my luncheon. I'm too happy to +care what any one says or thinks, and I'm going to have my little +wedding just as I like it. John, dear, here's your hammer;" and away +went Meg to help "that man" in his highly improper employment. + +Mr. Brooke didn't even say "Thank you," but as he stooped for the +unromantic tool, he kissed his little bride behind the folding-door, +with a look that made Aunt March whisk out her pocket-handkerchief, with +a sudden dew in her sharp old eyes. + +A crash, a cry, and a laugh from Laurie, accompanied by the indecorous +exclamation, "Jupiter Ammon! Jo's upset the cake again!" caused a +momentary flurry, which was hardly over when a flock of cousins arrived, +and "the party came in," as Beth used to say when a child. + +"Don't let that young giant come near me; he worries me worse than +mosquitoes," whispered the old lady to Amy, as the rooms filled, and +Laurie's black head towered above the rest. + +"He has promised to be very good to-day, and he _can_ be perfectly +elegant if he likes," returned Amy, gliding away to warn Hercules to +beware of the dragon, which warning caused him to haunt the old lady +with a devotion that nearly distracted her. + +There was no bridal procession, but a sudden silence fell upon the room +as Mr. March and the young pair took their places under the green arch. +Mother and sisters gathered close, as if loath to give Meg up; the +fatherly voice broke more than once, which only seemed to make the +service more beautiful and solemn; the bridegroom's hand trembled +visibly, and no one heard his replies; but Meg looked straight up in her +husband's eyes, and said, "I will!" with such tender trust in her own +face and voice that her mother's heart rejoiced, and Aunt March sniffed +audibly. + +Jo did _not_ cry, though she was very near it once, and was only saved +from a demonstration by the consciousness that Laurie was staring +fixedly at her, with a comical mixture of merriment and emotion in his +wicked black eyes. Beth kept her face hidden on her mother's shoulder, +but Amy stood like a graceful statue, with a most becoming ray of +sunshine touching her white forehead and the flower in her hair. + +It wasn't at all the thing, I'm afraid, but the minute she was fairly +married, Meg cried, "The first kiss for Marmee!" and, turning, gave it +with her heart on her lips. During the next fifteen minutes she looked +more like a rose than ever, for every one availed themselves of their +privileges to the fullest extent, from Mr. Laurence to old Hannah, who, +adorned with a head-dress fearfully and wonderfully made, fell upon her +in the hall, crying, with a sob and a chuckle, "Bless you, deary, a +hundred times! The cake ain't hurt a mite, and everything looks lovely." + +Everybody cleared up after that, and said something brilliant, or tried +to, which did just as well, for laughter is ready when hearts are light. +There was no display of gifts, for they were already in the little +house, nor was there an elaborate breakfast, but a plentiful lunch of +cake and fruit, dressed with flowers. Mr. Laurence and Aunt March +shrugged and smiled at one another when water, lemonade, and coffee were +found to be the only sorts of nectar which the three Hebes carried +round. No one said anything, however, till Laurie, who insisted on +serving the bride, appeared before her, with a loaded salver in his hand +and a puzzled expression on his face. + +"Has Jo smashed all the bottles by accident?" he whispered, "or am I +merely laboring under a delusion that I saw some lying about loose this +morning?" + +"No; your grandfather kindly offered us his best, and Aunt March +actually sent some, but father put away a little for Beth, and +despatched the rest to the Soldiers' Home. You know he thinks that wine +should be used only in illness, and mother says that neither she nor her +daughters will ever offer it to any young man under her roof." + +Meg spoke seriously, and expected to see Laurie frown or laugh; but he +did neither, for after a quick look at her, he said, in his impetuous +way, "I like that! for I've seen enough harm done to wish other women +would think as you do." + +"You are not made wise by experience, I hope?" and there was an anxious +accent in Meg's voice. + +"No; I give you my word for it. Don't think too well of me, either; this +is not one of my temptations. Being brought up where wine is as common +as water, and almost as harmless, I don't care for it; but when a pretty +girl offers it, one doesn't like to refuse, you see." + +"But you will, for the sake of others, if not for your own. Come, +Laurie, promise, and give me one more reason to call this the happiest +day of my life." + +A demand so sudden and so serious made the young man hesitate a moment, +for ridicule is often harder to bear than self-denial. Meg knew that if +he gave the promise he would keep it at all costs; and, feeling her +power, used it as a woman may for her friend's good. She did not speak, +but she looked up at him with a face made very eloquent by happiness, +and a smile which said, "No one can refuse me anything to-day." Laurie +certainly could not; and, with an answering smile, he gave her his hand, +saying heartily, "I promise, Mrs. Brooke!" + +"I thank you, very, very much." + +"And I drink 'long life to your resolution,' Teddy," cried Jo, baptizing +him with a splash of lemonade, as she waved her glass, and beamed +approvingly upon him. + +So the toast was drunk, the pledge made, and loyally kept, in spite of +many temptations; for, with instinctive wisdom, the girls had seized a +happy moment to do their friend a service, for which he thanked them all +his life. + +After lunch, people strolled about, by twos and threes, through house +and garden, enjoying the sunshine without and within. Meg and John +happened to be standing together in the middle of the grass-plot, when +Laurie was seized with an inspiration which put the finishing touch to +this unfashionable wedding. + +"All the married people take hands and dance round the new-made husband +and wife, as the Germans do, while we bachelors and spinsters prance in +couples outside!" cried Laurie, promenading down the path with Amy, with +such infectious spirit and skill that every one else followed their +example without a murmur. Mr. and Mrs. March, Aunt and Uncle Carrol, +began it; others rapidly joined in; even Sallie Moffat, after a moment's +hesitation, threw her train over her arm, and whisked Ned into the ring. +But the crowning joke was Mr. Laurence and Aunt March; for when the +stately old gentleman _chasséed_ solemnly up to the old lady, she just +tucked her cane under her arm, and hopped briskly away to join hands +with the rest, and dance about the bridal pair, while the young folks +pervaded the garden, like butterflies on a midsummer day. + +Want of breath brought the impromptu ball to a close, and then people +began to go. + +"I wish you well, my dear, I heartily wish you well; but I think you'll +be sorry for it," said Aunt March to Meg, adding to the bridegroom, as +he led her to the carriage, "You've got a treasure, young man, see that +you deserve it." + +"That is the prettiest wedding I've been to for an age, Ned, and I don't +see why, for there wasn't a bit of style about it," observed Mrs. Moffat +to her husband, as they drove away. + +"Laurie, my lad, if you ever want to indulge in this sort of thing, get +one of those little girls to help you, and I shall be perfectly +satisfied," said Mr. Laurence, settling himself in his easy-chair to +rest, after the excitement of the morning. + +"I'll do my best to gratify you, sir," was Laurie's unusually dutiful +reply, as he carefully unpinned the posy Jo had put in his button-hole. + +The little house was not far away, and the only bridal journey Meg had +was the quiet walk with John, from the old home to the new. When she +came down, looking like a pretty Quakeress in her dove-colored suit and +straw bonnet tied with white, they all gathered about her to say +"good-by," as tenderly as if she had been going to make the grand tour. + +"Don't feel that I am separated from you, Marmee dear, or that I love +you any the less for loving John so much," she said, clinging to her +mother, with full eyes, for a moment. "I shall come every day, father, +and expect to keep my old place in all your hearts, though I _am_ +married. Beth is going to be with me a great deal, and the other girls +will drop in now and then to laugh at my housekeeping struggles. Thank +you all for my happy wedding-day. Good-by, good-by!" + +They stood watching her, with faces full of love and hope and tender +pride, as she walked away, leaning on her husband's arm, with her hands +full of flowers, and the June sunshine brightening her happy face,--and +so Meg's married life began. + + + + + [Illustration: Artistic Attempts] + + XXVI. + + ARTISTIC ATTEMPTS. + + +It takes people a long time to learn the difference between talent and +genius, especially ambitious young men and women. Amy was learning this +distinction through much tribulation; for, mistaking enthusiasm for +inspiration, she attempted every branch of art with youthful audacity. +For a long time there was a lull in the "mud-pie" business, and she +devoted herself to the finest pen-and-ink drawing, in which she showed +such taste and skill that her graceful handiwork proved both pleasant +and profitable. But overstrained eyes soon caused pen and ink to be laid +aside for a bold attempt at poker-sketching. While this attack lasted, +the family lived in constant fear of a conflagration; for the odor of +burning wood pervaded the house at all hours; smoke issued from attic +and shed with alarming frequency, red-hot pokers lay about +promiscuously, and Hannah never went to bed without a pail of water and +the dinner-bell at her door, in case of fire. Raphael's face was found +boldly executed on the under side of the moulding-board, and Bacchus on +the head of a beer-barrel; a chanting cherub adorned the cover of the +sugar-bucket, and attempts to portray Romeo and Juliet supplied +kindlings for some time. + +From fire to oil was a natural transition for burnt fingers, and Amy +fell to painting with undiminished ardor. An artist friend fitted her +out with his cast-off palettes, brushes, and colors; and she daubed +away, producing pastoral and marine views such as were never seen on +land or sea. Her monstrosities in the way of cattle would have taken +prizes at an agricultural fair; and the perilous pitching of her vessels +would have produced sea-sickness in the most nautical observer, if the +utter disregard to all known rules of shipbuilding and rigging had not +convulsed him with laughter at the first glance. Swarthy boys and +dark-eyed Madonnas, staring at you from one corner of the studio, +suggested Murillo; oily-brown shadows of faces, with a lurid streak in +the wrong place, meant Rembrandt; buxom ladies and dropsical infants, +Rubens; and Turner appeared in tempests of blue thunder, orange +lightning, brown rain, and purple clouds, with a tomato-colored splash +in the middle, which might be the sun or a buoy, a sailor's shirt or a +king's robe, as the spectator pleased. + +Charcoal portraits came next; and the entire family hung in a row, +looking as wild and crocky as if just evoked from a coal-bin. Softened +into crayon sketches, they did better; for the likenesses were good, and +Amy's hair, Jo's nose, Meg's mouth, and Laurie's eyes were pronounced +"wonderfully fine." A return to clay and plaster followed, and ghostly +casts of her acquaintances haunted corners of the house, or tumbled off +closet-shelves on to people's heads. Children were enticed in as models, +till their incoherent accounts of her mysterious doings caused Miss Amy +to be regarded in the light of a young ogress. Her efforts in this line, +however, were brought to an abrupt close by an untoward accident, which +quenched her ardor. Other models failing her for a time, she undertook +to cast her own pretty foot, and the family were one day alarmed by an +unearthly bumping and screaming, and running to the rescue, found the +young enthusiast hopping wildly about the shed, with her foot held fast +in a pan-full of plaster, which had hardened with unexpected rapidity. +With much difficulty and some danger she was dug out; for Jo was so +overcome with laughter while she excavated, that her knife went too far, +cut the poor foot, and left a lasting memorial of one artistic attempt, +at least. + + [Illustration: Her foot held fast in a panful of plaster] + +After this Amy subsided, till a mania for sketching from nature set her +to haunting river, field, and wood, for picturesque studies, and sighing +for ruins to copy. She caught endless colds sitting on damp grass to +book "a delicious bit," composed of a stone, a stump, one mushroom, and +a broken mullein-stalk, or "a heavenly mass of clouds," that looked like +a choice display of feather-beds when done. She sacrificed her +complexion floating on the river in the midsummer sun, to study light +and shade, and got a wrinkle over her nose, trying after "points of +sight," or whatever the squint-and-string performance is called. + +If "genius is eternal patience," as Michael Angelo affirms, Amy +certainly had some claim to the divine attribute, for she persevered in +spite of all obstacles, failures, and discouragements, firmly believing +that in time she should do something worthy to be called "high art." + +She was learning, doing, and enjoying other things, meanwhile, for she +had resolved to be an attractive and accomplished woman, even if she +never became a great artist. Here she succeeded better; for she was one +of those happily created beings who please without effort, make friends +everywhere, and take life so gracefully and easily that less fortunate +souls are tempted to believe that such are born under a lucky star. +Everybody liked her, for among her good gifts was tact. She had an +instinctive sense of what was pleasing and proper, always said the right +thing to the right person, did just what suited the time and place, and +was so self-possessed that her sisters used to say, "If Amy went to +court without any rehearsal beforehand, she'd know exactly what to do." + +One of her weaknesses was a desire to move in "our best society," +without being quite sure what the _best_ really was. Money, position, +fashionable accomplishments, and elegant manners were most desirable +things in her eyes, and she liked to associate with those who possessed +them, often mistaking the false for the true, and admiring what was not +admirable. Never forgetting that by birth she was a gentlewoman, she +cultivated her aristocratic tastes and feelings, so that when the +opportunity came she might be ready to take the place from which poverty +now excluded her. + +"My lady," as her friends called her, sincerely desired to be a genuine +lady, and was so at heart, but had yet to learn that money cannot buy +refinement of nature, that rank does not always confer nobility, and +that true breeding makes itself felt in spite of external drawbacks. + +"I want to ask a favor of you, mamma," Amy said, coming in, with an +important air, one day. + +"Well, little girl, what is it?" replied her mother, in whose eyes the +stately young lady still remained "the baby." + +"Our drawing class breaks up next week, and before the girls separate +for the summer, I want to ask them out here for a day. They are wild to +see the river, sketch the broken bridge, and copy some of the things +they admire in my book. They have been very kind to me in many ways, and +I am grateful, for they are all rich, and know I am poor, yet they never +made any difference." + +"Why should they?" and Mrs. March put the question with what the girls +called her "Maria Theresa air." + +"You know as well as I that it _does_ make a difference with nearly +every one, so don't ruffle up, like a dear, motherly hen, when your +chickens get pecked by smarter birds; the ugly duckling turned out a +swan, you know;" and Amy smiled without bitterness, for she possessed a +happy temper and hopeful spirit. + +Mrs. March laughed, and smoothed down her maternal pride as she asked,-- + +"Well, my swan, what is your plan?" + +"I should like to ask the girls out to lunch next week, to take them a +drive to the places they want to see, a row on the river, perhaps, and +make a little artistic _fête_ for them." + +"That looks feasible. What do you want for lunch? Cake, sandwiches, +fruit, and coffee will be all that is necessary, I suppose?" + +"Oh dear, no! we must have cold tongue and chicken, French chocolate and +ice-cream, besides. The girls are used to such things, and I want my +lunch to be proper and elegant, though I _do_ work for my living." + +"How many young ladies are there?" asked her mother, beginning to look +sober. + +"Twelve or fourteen in the class, but I dare say they won't all come." + +"Bless me, child, you will have to charter an omnibus to carry them +about." + +"Why, mother, how _can_ you think of such a thing? Not more than six or +eight will probably come, so I shall hire a beach-wagon, and borrow Mr. +Laurence's cherry-bounce." (Hannah's pronunciation of _char-à-banc_.) + +"All this will be expensive, Amy." + +"Not very; I've calculated the cost, and I'll pay for it myself." + +"Don't you think, dear, that as these girls are used to such things, and +the best we can do will be nothing new, that some simpler plan would be +pleasanter to them, as a change, if nothing more, and much better for us +than buying or borrowing what we don't need, and attempting a style not +in keeping with our circumstances?" + +"If I can't have it as I like, I don't care to have it at all. I know +that I can carry it out perfectly well, if you and the girls will help +a little; and I don't see why I can't if I'm willing to pay for it," +said Amy, with the decision which opposition was apt to change into +obstinacy. + +Mrs. March knew that experience was an excellent teacher, and when it +was possible she left her children to learn alone the lessons which she +would gladly have made easier, if they had not objected to taking advice +as much as they did salts and senna. + +"Very well, Amy; if your heart is set upon it, and you see your way +through without too great an outlay of money, time, and temper, I'll say +no more. Talk it over with the girls, and whichever way you decide, I'll +do my best to help you." + +"Thanks, mother; you are always _so_ kind;" and away went Amy to lay her +plan before her sisters. + +Meg agreed at once, and promised her aid, gladly offering anything she +possessed, from her little house itself to her very best salt-spoons. +But Jo frowned upon the whole project, and would have nothing to do with +it at first. + +"Why in the world should you spend your money, worry your family, and +turn the house upside down for a parcel of girls who don't care a +sixpence for you? I thought you had too much pride and sense to truckle +to any mortal woman just because she wears French boots and rides in a +_coupé_," said Jo, who, being called from the tragical climax of her +novel, was not in the best mood for social enterprises. + +"I _don't_ truckle, and I hate being patronized as much as you do!" +returned Amy indignantly, for the two still jangled when such questions +arose. "The girls do care for me, and I for them, and there's a great +deal of kindness and sense and talent among them, in spite of what you +call fashionable nonsense. You don't care to make people like you, to go +into good society, and cultivate your manners and tastes. I do, and I +mean to make the most of every chance that comes. _You_ can go through +the world with your elbows out and your nose in the air, and call it +independence, if you like. That's not my way." + +When Amy whetted her tongue and freed her mind she usually got the best +of it, for she seldom failed to have common sense on her side, while Jo +carried her love of liberty and hate of conventionalities to such an +unlimited extent that she naturally found herself worsted in an +argument. Amy's definition of Jo's idea of independence was such a good +hit that both burst out laughing, and the discussion took a more amiable +turn. Much against her will, Jo at length consented to sacrifice a day +to Mrs. Grundy, and help her sister through what she regarded as "a +nonsensical business." + +The invitations were sent, nearly all accepted, and the following Monday +was set apart for the grand event. Hannah was out of humor because her +week's work was deranged, and prophesied that "ef the washin' and +ironin' warn't done reg'lar nothin' would go well anywheres." This hitch +in the mainspring of the domestic machinery had a bad effect upon the +whole concern; but Amy's motto was "Nil desperandum," and having made up +her mind what to do, she proceeded to do it in spite of all obstacles. +To begin with, Hannah's cooking didn't turn out well: the chicken was +tough, the tongue too salt, and the chocolate wouldn't froth properly. +Then the cake and ice cost more than Amy expected, so did the wagon; and +various other expenses, which seemed trifling at the outset, counted up +rather alarmingly afterward. Beth got cold and took to her bed, Meg had +an unusual number of callers to keep her at home, and Jo was in such a +divided state of mind that her breakages, accidents, and mistakes were +uncommonly numerous, serious, and trying. + +"If it hadn't been for mother I never should have got through," as Amy +declared afterward, and gratefully remembered when "the best joke of the +season" was entirely forgotten by everybody else. + +If it was not fair on Monday, the young ladies were to come on +Tuesday,--an arrangement which aggravated Jo and Hannah to the last +degree. On Monday morning the weather was in that undecided state which +is more exasperating than a steady pour. It drizzled a little, shone a +little, blew a little, and didn't make up its mind till it was too late +for any one else to make up theirs. Amy was up at dawn, hustling people +out of their beds and through their breakfasts, that the house might be +got in order. The parlor struck her as looking uncommonly shabby; but +without stopping to sigh for what she had not, she skilfully made the +best of what she had, arranging chairs over the worn places in the +carpet, covering stains on the walls with pictures framed in ivy, and +filling up empty corners with home-made statuary, which gave an artistic +air to the room, as did the lovely vases of flowers Jo scattered about. + +The lunch looked charmingly; and as she surveyed it, she sincerely hoped +it would taste well, and that the borrowed glass, china, and silver +would get safely home again. The carriages were promised, Meg and mother +were all ready to do the honors, Beth was able to help Hannah behind the +scenes, Jo had engaged to be as lively and amiable as an absent mind, an +aching head, and a very decided disapproval of everybody and everything +would allow, and, as she wearily dressed, Amy cheered herself with +anticipations of the happy moment, when, lunch safely over, she should +drive away with her friends for an afternoon of artistic delights; for +the "cherry-bounce" and the broken bridge were her strong points. + +Then came two hours of suspense, during which she vibrated from parlor +to porch, while public opinion varied like the weathercock. A smart +shower at eleven had evidently quenched the enthusiasm of the young +ladies who were to arrive at twelve, for nobody came; and at two the +exhausted family sat down in a blaze of sunshine to consume the +perishable portions of the feast, that nothing might be lost. + +"No doubt about the weather to-day; they will certainly come, so we must +fly round and be ready for them," said Amy, as the sun woke her next +morning. She spoke briskly, but in her secret soul she wished she had +said nothing about Tuesday, for her interest, like her cake, was getting +a little stale. + +"I can't get any lobsters, so you will have to do without salad to-day," +said Mr. March, coming in half an hour later, with an expression of +placid despair. + +"Use the chicken, then; the toughness won't matter in a salad," advised +his wife. + +"Hannah left it on the kitchen-table a minute, and the kittens got at +it. I'm very sorry, Amy," added Beth, who was still a patroness of cats. + +"Then I _must_ have a lobster, for tongue alone won't do," said Amy +decidedly. + +"Shall I rush into town and demand one?" asked Jo, with the magnanimity +of a martyr. + +"You'd come bringing it home under your arm, without any paper, just to +try me. I'll go myself," answered Amy, whose temper was beginning to +fail. + +Shrouded in a thick veil and armed with a genteel travelling-basket, she +departed, feeling that a cool drive would soothe her ruffled spirit, and +fit her for the labors of the day. After some delay, the object of her +desire was procured, likewise a bottle of dressing, to prevent further +loss of time at home, and off she drove again, well pleased with her own +forethought. + +As the omnibus contained only one other passenger, a sleepy old lady, +Amy pocketed her veil, and beguiled the tedium of the way by trying to +find out where all her money had gone to. So busy was she with her card +full of refractory figures that she did not observe a new-comer, who +entered without stopping the vehicle, till a masculine voice said, +"Good-morning, Miss March," and, looking up, she beheld one of Laurie's +most elegant college friends. Fervently hoping that he would get out +before she did, Amy utterly ignored the basket at her feet, and, +congratulating herself that she had on her new travelling dress, +returned the young man's greeting with her usual suavity and spirit. + +They got on excellently; for Amy's chief care was soon set at rest by +learning that the gentleman would leave first, and she was chatting away +in a peculiarly lofty strain, when the old lady got out. In stumbling to +the door, she upset the basket, and--oh, horror!--the lobster, in all +its vulgar size and brilliancy, was revealed to the highborn eyes of a +Tudor. + +"By Jove, she's forgotten her dinner!" cried the unconscious youth, +poking the scarlet monster into its place with his cane, and preparing +to hand out the basket after the old lady. + +"Please don't--it's--it's mine," murmured Amy, with a face nearly as red +as her fish. + + [Illustration: Please don't, it's mine] + +"Oh, really, I beg pardon; it's an uncommonly fine one, isn't it?" said +Tudor, with great presence of mind, and an air of sober interest that +did credit to his breeding. + +Amy recovered herself in a breath, set her basket boldly on the seat, +and said, laughing,-- + +"Don't you wish you were to have some of the salad he's to make, and to +see the charming young ladies who are to eat it?" + +Now that was tact, for two of the ruling foibles of the masculine mind +were touched: the lobster was instantly surrounded by a halo of pleasing +reminiscences, and curiosity about "the charming young ladies" diverted +his mind from the comical mishap. + +"I suppose he'll laugh and joke over it with Laurie, but I sha'n't see +them; that's a comfort," thought Amy, as Tudor bowed and departed. + +She did not mention this meeting at home (though she discovered that, +thanks to the upset, her new dress was much damaged by the rivulets of +dressing that meandered down the skirt), but went through with the +preparations which now seemed more irksome than before; and at twelve +o'clock all was ready again. Feeling that the neighbors were interested +in her movements, she wished to efface the memory of yesterday's +failure by a grand success to-day; so she ordered the "cherry-bounce," +and drove away in state to meet and escort her guests to the banquet. + +"There's the rumble, they're coming! I'll go into the porch to meet +them; it looks hospitable, and I want the poor child to have a good time +after all her trouble," said Mrs. March, suiting the action to the word. +But after one glance, she retired, with an indescribable expression, +for, looking quite lost in the big carriage, sat Amy and one young lady. + +"Run, Beth, and help Hannah clear half the things off the table; it will +be too absurd to put a luncheon for twelve before a single girl," cried +Jo, hurrying away to the lower regions, too excited to stop even for a +laugh. + +In came Amy, quite calm, and delightfully cordial to the one guest who +had kept her promise; the rest of the family, being of a dramatic turn, +played their parts equally well, and Miss Eliott found them a most +hilarious set; for it was impossible to entirely control the merriment +which possessed them. The remodelled lunch being gayly partaken of, the +studio and garden visited, and art discussed with enthusiasm, Amy +ordered a buggy (alas for the elegant cherry-bounce!) and drove her +friend quietly about the neighborhood till sunset, when "the party went +out." + +As she came walking in, looking very tired, but as composed as ever, she +observed that every vestige of the unfortunate _fête_ had disappeared, +except a suspicious pucker about the corners of Jo's mouth. + +"You've had a lovely afternoon for your drive, dear," said her mother, +as respectfully as if the whole twelve had come. + +"Miss Eliott is a very sweet girl, and seemed to enjoy herself, I +thought," observed Beth, with unusual warmth. + +"Could you spare me some of your cake? I really need some, I have so +much company, and I can't make such delicious stuff as yours," asked Meg +soberly. + +"Take it all; I'm the only one here who likes sweet things, and it will +mould before I can dispose of it," answered Amy, thinking with a sigh of +the generous store she had laid in for such an end as this. + +"It's a pity Laurie isn't here to help us," began Jo, as they sat down +to ice-cream and salad for the second time in two days. + +A warning look from her mother checked any further remarks, and the +whole family ate in heroic silence, till Mr. March mildly observed, +"Salad was one of the favorite dishes of the ancients, and Evelyn"--here +a general explosion of laughter cut short the "history of sallets," to +the great surprise of the learned gentleman. + +"Bundle everything into a basket and send it to the Hummels: Germans +like messes. I'm sick of the sight of this; and there's no reason you +should all die of a surfeit because I've been a fool," cried Amy, wiping +her eyes. + +"I thought I _should_ have died when I saw you two girls rattling about +in the what-you-call-it, like two little kernels in a very big nutshell, +and mother waiting in state to receive the throng," sighed Jo, quite +spent with laughter. + +"I'm very sorry you were disappointed, dear, but we all did our best to +satisfy you," said Mrs. March, in a tone full of motherly regret. + +"I _am_ satisfied; I've done what I undertook, and it's not my fault +that it failed; I comfort myself with that," said Amy, with a little +quiver in her voice. "I thank you all very much for helping me, and I'll +thank you still more if you won't allude to it for a month, at least." + +No one did for several months; but the word "_fête_" always produced a +general smile, and Laurie's birthday gift to Amy was a tiny coral +lobster in the shape of a charm for her watch-guard. + + [Illustration: Tail-piece] + + + + + [Illustration: Literary Lessons] + + XXVII. + + LITERARY LESSONS. + + +Fortune suddenly smiled upon Jo, and dropped a good-luck penny in her +path. Not a golden penny, exactly, but I doubt if half a million would +have given more real happiness than did the little sum that came to her +in this wise. + +Every few weeks she would shut herself up in her room, put on her +scribbling suit, and "fall into a vortex," as she expressed it, writing +away at her novel with all her heart and soul, for till that was +finished she could find no peace. Her "scribbling suit" consisted of a +black woollen pinafore on which she could wipe her pen at will, and a +cap of the same material, adorned with a cheerful red bow, into which +she bundled her hair when the decks were cleared for action. This cap +was a beacon to the inquiring eyes of her family, who during these +periods kept their distance, merely popping in their heads +semi-occasionally, to ask, with interest, "Does genius burn, Jo?" They +did not always venture even to ask this question, but took an +observation of the cap, and judged accordingly. If this expressive +article of dress was drawn low upon the forehead, it was a sign that +hard work was going on; in exciting moments it was pushed rakishly +askew; and when despair seized the author it was plucked wholly off, and +cast upon the floor. At such times the intruder silently withdrew; and +not until the red bow was seen gayly erect upon the gifted brow, did any +one dare address Jo. + +She did not think herself a genius by any means; but when the writing +fit came on, she gave herself up to it with entire abandon, and led a +blissful life, unconscious of want, care, or bad weather, while she sat +safe and happy in an imaginary world, full of friends almost as real and +dear to her as any in the flesh. Sleep forsook her eyes, meals stood +untasted, day and night were all too short to enjoy the happiness which +blessed her only at such times, and made these hours worth living, even +if they bore no other fruit. The divine afflatus usually lasted a week +or two, and then she emerged from her "vortex," hungry, sleepy, cross, +or despondent. + +She was just recovering from one of these attacks when she was prevailed +upon to escort Miss Crocker to a lecture, and in return for her virtue +was rewarded with a new idea. It was a People's Course, the lecture on +the Pyramids, and Jo rather wondered at the choice of such a subject for +such an audience, but took it for granted that some great social evil +would be remedied or some great want supplied by unfolding the glories +of the Pharaohs to an audience whose thoughts were busy with the price +of coal and flour, and whose lives were spent in trying to solve harder +riddles than that of the Sphinx. + +They were early; and while Miss Crocker set the heel of her stocking, Jo +amused herself by examining the faces of the people who occupied the +seat with them. On her left were two matrons, with massive foreheads, +and bonnets to match, discussing Woman's Rights and making tatting. +Beyond sat a pair of humble lovers, artlessly holding each other by the +hand, a sombre spinster eating peppermints out of a paper bag, and an +old gentleman taking his preparatory nap behind a yellow bandanna. On +her right, her only neighbor was a studious-looking lad absorbed in a +newspaper. + +It was a pictorial sheet, and Jo examined the work of art nearest her, +idly wondering what unfortuitous concatenation of circumstances needed +the melodramatic illustration of an Indian in full war costume, tumbling +over a precipice with a wolf at his throat, while two infuriated young +gentlemen, with unnaturally small feet and big eyes, were stabbing each +other close by, and a dishevelled female was flying away in the +background with her mouth wide open. Pausing to turn a page, the lad saw +her looking, and, with boyish good-nature, offered half his paper, +saying bluntly, "Want to read it? That's a first-rate story." + +Jo accepted it with a smile, for she had never outgrown her liking for +lads, and soon found herself involved in the usual labyrinth of love, +mystery, and murder, for the story belonged to that class of light +literature in which the passions have a holiday, and when the author's +invention fails, a grand catastrophe clears the stage of one half the +_dramatis personæ_, leaving the other half to exult over their downfall. + +"Prime, isn't it?" asked the boy, as her eye went down the last +paragraph of her portion. + +"I think you and I could do as well as that if we tried," returned Jo, +amused at his admiration of the trash. + +"I should think I was a pretty lucky chap if I could. She makes a good +living out of such stories, they say;" and he pointed to the name of +Mrs. S. L. A. N. G. Northbury, under the title of the tale. + +"Do you know her?" asked Jo, with sudden interest. + +"No; but I read all her pieces, and I know a fellow who works in the +office where this paper is printed." + +"Do you say she makes a good living out of stories like this?" and Jo +looked more respectfully at the agitated group and thickly-sprinkled +exclamation-points that adorned the page. + +"Guess she does! She knows just what folks like, and gets paid well for +writing it." + +Here the lecture began, but Jo heard very little of it, for while Prof. +Sands was prosing away about Belzoni, Cheops, scarabei, and +hieroglyphics, she was covertly taking down the address of the paper, +and boldly resolving to try for the hundred-dollar prize offered in its +columns for a sensational story. By the time the lecture ended and the +audience awoke, she had built up a splendid fortune for herself (not the +first founded upon paper), and was already deep in the concoction of her +story, being unable to decide whether the duel should come before the +elopement or after the murder. + +She said nothing of her plan at home, but fell to work next day, much to +the disquiet of her mother, who always looked a little anxious when +"genius took to burning." Jo had never tried this style before, +contenting herself with very mild romances for the "Spread Eagle." Her +theatrical experience and miscellaneous reading were of service now, for +they gave her some idea of dramatic effect, and supplied plot, language, +and costumes. Her story was as full of desperation and despair as her +limited acquaintance with those uncomfortable emotions enabled her to +make it, and, having located it in Lisbon, she wound up with an +earthquake, as a striking and appropriate _dénouement_. The manuscript +was privately despatched, accompanied by a note, modestly saying that if +the tale didn't get the prize, which the writer hardly dared expect, she +would be very glad to receive any sum it might be considered worth. + +Six weeks is a long time to wait, and a still longer time for a girl to +keep a secret; but Jo did both, and was just beginning to give up all +hope of ever seeing her manuscript again, when a letter arrived which +almost took her breath away; for on opening it, a check for a hundred +dollars fell into her lap. For a minute she stared at it as if it had +been a snake, then she read her letter and began to cry. If the amiable +gentleman who wrote that kindly note could have known what intense +happiness he was giving a fellow-creature, I think he would devote his +leisure hours, if he has any, to that amusement; for Jo valued the +letter more than the money, because it was encouraging; and after years +of effort it was _so_ pleasant to find that she had learned to do +something, though it was only to write a sensation story. + + [Illustration: A check for one hundred dollars] + +A prouder young woman was seldom seen than she, when, having composed +herself, she electrified the family by appearing before them with the +letter in one hand, the check in the other, announcing that she had won +the prize. Of course there was a great jubilee, and when the story came +every one read and praised it; though after her father had told her that +the language was good, the romance fresh and hearty, and the tragedy +quite thrilling, he shook his head, and said in his unworldly way,-- + +"You can do better than this, Jo. Aim at the highest, and never mind the +money." + +"_I_ think the money is the best part of it. What _will_ you do with +such a fortune?" asked Amy, regarding the magic slip of paper with a +reverential eye. + +"Send Beth and mother to the seaside for a month or two," answered Jo +promptly. + +"Oh, how splendid! No, I can't do it, dear, it would be so selfish," +cried Beth, who had clapped her thin hands, and taken a long breath, as +if pining for fresh ocean-breezes; then stopped herself, and motioned +away the check which her sister waved before her. + +"Ah, but you shall go, I've set my heart on it; that's what I tried for, +and that's why I succeeded. I never get on when I think of myself alone, +so it will help me to work for you, don't you see? Besides, Marmee needs +the change, and she won't leave you, so you _must_ go. Won't it be fun +to see you come home plump and rosy again? Hurrah for Dr. Jo, who always +cures her patients!" + +To the sea side they went, after much discussion; and though Beth didn't +come home as plump and rosy as could be desired, she was much better, +while Mrs. March declared she felt ten years younger; so Jo was +satisfied with the investment of her prize money, and fell to work with +a cheery spirit, bent on earning more of those delightful checks. She +did earn several that year, and began to feel herself a power in the +house; for by the magic of a pen, her "rubbish" turned into comforts for +them all. "The Duke's Daughter" paid the butcher's bill, "A Phantom +Hand" put down a new carpet, and the "Curse of the Coventrys" proved the +blessing of the Marches in the way of groceries and gowns. + +Wealth is certainly a most desirable thing, but poverty has its sunny +side, and one of the sweet uses of adversity is the genuine satisfaction +which comes from hearty work of head or hand; and to the inspiration of +necessity, we owe half the wise, beautiful, and useful blessings of the +world. Jo enjoyed a taste of this satisfaction, and ceased to envy +richer girls, taking great comfort in the knowledge that she could +supply her own wants, and need ask no one for a penny. + +Little notice was taken of her stories, but they found a market; and, +encouraged by this fact, she resolved to make a bold stroke for fame and +fortune. Having copied her novel for the fourth time, read it to all her +confidential friends, and submitted it with fear and trembling to three +publishers, she at last disposed of it, on condition that she would cut +it down one third, and omit all the parts which she particularly +admired. + +"Now I must either bundle it back into my tin-kitchen to mould, pay for +printing it myself, or chop it up to suit purchasers, and get what I can +for it. Fame is a very good thing to have in the house, but cash is more +convenient; so I wish to take the sense of the meeting on this important +subject," said Jo, calling a family council. + +"Don't spoil your book, my girl, for there is more in it than you know, +and the idea is well worked out. Let it wait and ripen," was her +father's advice; and he practised as he preached, having waited +patiently thirty years for fruit of his own to ripen, and being in no +haste to gather it, even now, when it was sweet and mellow. + +"It seems to me that Jo will profit more by making the trial than by +waiting," said Mrs. March. "Criticism is the best test of such work, for +it will show her both unsuspected merits and faults, and help her to do +better next time. We are too partial; but the praise and blame of +outsiders will prove useful, even if she gets but little money." + +"Yes," said Jo, knitting her brows, "that's just it; I've been fussing +over the thing so long, I really don't know whether it's good, bad, or +indifferent. It will be a great help to have cool, impartial persons +take a look at it, and tell me what they think of it." + +"I wouldn't leave out a word of it; you'll spoil it if you do, for the +interest of the story is more in the minds than in the actions of the +people, and it will be all a muddle if you don't explain as you go on," +said Meg, who firmly believed that this book was the most remarkable +novel ever written. + +"But Mr. Allen says, 'Leave out the explanations, make it brief and +dramatic, and let the characters tell the story,'" interrupted Jo, +turning to the publisher's note. + +"Do as he tells you; he knows what will sell, and we don't. Make a good, +popular book, and get as much money as you can. By and by, when, you've +got a name, you can afford to digress, and have philosophical and +metaphysical people in your novels," said Amy, who took a strictly +practical view of the subject. + +"Well," said Jo, laughing, "if my people _are_ 'philosophical and +metaphysical,' it isn't my fault, for I know nothing about such things, +except what I hear father say, sometimes. If I've got some of his wise +ideas jumbled up with my romance, so much the better for me. Now, Beth, +what do you say?" + +"I should so like to see it printed _soon_," was all Beth said, and +smiled in saying it; but there was an unconscious emphasis on the last +word, and a wistful look in the eyes that never lost their childlike +candor, which chilled Jo's heart, for a minute, with a foreboding fear, +and decided her to make her little venture "soon." + +So, with Spartan firmness, the young authoress laid her first-born on +her table, and chopped it up as ruthlessly as any ogre. In the hope of +pleasing every one, she took every one's advice; and, like the old man +and his donkey in the fable, suited nobody. + +Her father liked the metaphysical streak which had unconsciously got +into it; so that was allowed to remain, though she had her doubts about +it. Her mother thought that there _was_ a trifle too much description; +out, therefore, it nearly all came, and with it many necessary links in +the story. Meg admired the tragedy; so Jo piled up the agony to suit +her, while Amy objected to the fun, and, with the best intentions in +life, Jo quenched the sprightly scenes which relieved the sombre +character of the story. Then, to complete the ruin, she cut it down one +third, and confidingly sent the poor little romance, like a picked +robin, out into the big, busy world, to try its fate. + +Well, it was printed, and she got three hundred dollars for it; likewise +plenty of praise and blame, both so much greater than she expected that +she was thrown into a state of bewilderment, from which it took her some +time to recover. + +"You said, mother, that criticism would help me; but how can it, when +it's so contradictory that I don't know whether I've written a promising +book or broken all the ten commandments?" cried poor Jo, turning over a +heap of notices, the perusal of which filled her with pride and joy one +minute, wrath and dire dismay the next. "This man says 'An exquisite +book, full of truth, beauty, and earnestness; all is sweet, pure, and +healthy,'" continued the perplexed authoress. "The next, 'The theory of +the book is bad, full of morbid fancies, spiritualistic ideas, and +unnatural characters.' Now, as I had no theory of any kind, don't +believe in Spiritualism, and copied my characters from life, I don't see +how this critic _can_ be right. Another says, 'It's one of the best +American novels which has appeared for years' (I know better than that); +and the next asserts that 'though it is original, and written with great +force and feeling, it is a dangerous book.' 'Tisn't! Some make fun of +it, some over-praise, and nearly all insist that I had a deep theory to +expound, when I only wrote it for the pleasure and the money. I wish I'd +printed it whole or not at all, for I do hate to be so misjudged." + +Her family and friends administered comfort and commendation liberally; +yet it was a hard time for sensitive, high-spirited Jo, who meant so +well, and had apparently done so ill. But it did her good, for those +whose opinion had real value gave her the criticism which is an author's +best education; and when the first soreness was over, she could laugh at +her poor little book, yet believe in it still, and feel herself the +wiser and stronger for the buffeting she had received. + +"Not being a genius, like Keats, it won't kill me," she said stoutly; +"and I've got the joke on my side, after all; for the parts that were +taken straight out of real life are denounced as impossible and absurd, +and the scenes that I made up out of my own silly head are pronounced +'charmingly natural, tender, and true.' So I'll comfort myself with +that; and when I'm ready, I'll up again and take another." + + [Illustration: Tail-piece] + + + + + [Illustration: Domestic Experiences] + + XXVIII. + + DOMESTIC EXPERIENCES. + + +Like most other young matrons, Meg began her married life with the +determination to be a model housekeeper. John should find home a +paradise; he should always see a smiling face, should fare sumptuously +every day, and never know the loss of a button. She brought so much +love, energy, and cheerfulness to the work that she could not but +succeed, in spite of some obstacles. Her paradise was not a tranquil +one; for the little woman fussed, was over-anxious to please, and +bustled about like a true Martha, cumbered with many cares. She was too +tired, sometimes, even to smile; John grew dyspeptic after a course of +dainty dishes, and ungratefully demanded plain fare. As for buttons, she +soon learned to wonder where they went, to shake her head over the +carelessness of men, and to threaten to make him sew them on himself, +and then see if _his_ work would stand impatient tugs and clumsy fingers +any better than hers. + +They were very happy, even after they discovered that they couldn't live +on love alone. John did not find Meg's beauty diminished, though she +beamed at him from behind the familiar coffee-pot; nor did Meg miss any +of the romance from the daily parting, when her husband followed up his +kiss with the tender inquiry, "Shall I send home veal or mutton for +dinner, darling?" The little house ceased to be a glorified bower, but +it became a home, and the young couple soon felt that it was a change +for the better. At first they played keep-house, and frolicked over it +like children; then John took steadily to business, feeling the cares of +the head of a family upon his shoulders; and Meg laid by her cambric +wrappers, put on a big apron, and fell to work, as before said, with +more energy than discretion. + +While the cooking mania lasted she went through Mrs. Cornelius's Receipt +Book as if it were a mathematical exercise, working out the problems +with patience and care. Sometimes her family were invited in to help eat +up a too bounteous feast of successes, or Lotty would be privately +despatched with a batch of failures, which were to be concealed from all +eyes in the convenient stomachs of the little Hummels. An evening with +John over the account-books usually produced a temporary lull in the +culinary enthusiasm, and a frugal fit would ensue, during which the poor +man was put through a course of bread-pudding, hash, and warmed-over +coffee, which tried his soul, although he bore it with praiseworthy +fortitude. Before the golden mean was found, however, Meg added to her +domestic possessions what young couples seldom get on long without,--a +family jar. + +Fired with a housewifely wish to see her store-room stocked with +home-made preserves, she undertook to put up her own currant jelly. John +was requested to order home a dozen or so of little pots, and an extra +quantity of sugar, for their own currants were ripe, and were to be +attended to at once. As John firmly believed that "my wife" was equal to +anything, and took a natural pride in her skill, he resolved that she +should be gratified, and their only crop of fruit laid by in a most +pleasing form for winter use. Home came four dozen delightful little +pots, half a barrel of sugar, and a small boy to pick the currants for +her. With her pretty hair tucked into a little cap, arms bared to the +elbow, and a checked apron which had a coquettish look in spite of the +bib, the young housewife fell to work, feeling no doubts about her +success; for hadn't she seen Hannah do it hundreds of times? The array +of pots rather amazed her at first, but John was so fond of jelly, and +the nice little jars would look so well on the top shelf, that Meg +resolved to fill them all, and spent a long day picking, boiling, +straining, and fussing over her jelly. She did her best; she asked +advice of Mrs. Cornelius; she racked her brain to remember what Hannah +did that she had left undone; she reboiled, resugared, and restrained, +but that dreadful stuff wouldn't "_jell_." + +She longed to run home, bib and all, and ask mother to lend a hand, but +John and she had agreed that they would never annoy any one with their +private worries, experiments, or quarrels. They had laughed over that +last word as if the idea it suggested was a most preposterous one; but +they had held to their resolve, and whenever they could get on without +help they did so, and no one interfered, for Mrs. March had advised the +plan. So Meg wrestled alone with the refractory sweetmeats all that hot +summer day, and at five o'clock sat down in her topsy-turvy kitchen, +wrung her bedaubed hands, lifted up her voice and wept. + +Now, in the first flush of the new life, she had often said,-- + +"My husband shall always feel free to bring a friend home whenever he +likes. I shall always be prepared; there shall be no flurry, no +scolding, no discomfort, but a neat house, a cheerful wife, and a good +dinner. John, dear, never stop to ask my leave, invite whom you please, +and be sure of a welcome from me." + +How charming that was, to be sure! John quite glowed with pride to hear +her say it, and felt what a blessed thing it was to have a superior +wife. But, although they had had company from time to time, it never +happened to be unexpected, and Meg had never had an opportunity to +distinguish herself till now. It always happens so in this vale of +tears; there is an inevitability about such things which we can only +wonder at, deplore, and bear as we best can. + +If John had not forgotten all about the jelly, it really would have been +unpardonable in him to choose that day, of all the days in the year, to +bring a friend home to dinner unexpectedly. Congratulating himself that +a handsome repast had been ordered that morning, feeling sure that it +would be ready to the minute, and indulging in pleasant anticipations of +the charming effect it would produce, when his pretty wife came running +out to meet him, he escorted his friend to his mansion, with the +irrepressible satisfaction of a young host and husband. + +It is a world of disappointments, as John discovered when he reached the +Dove-cote. The front door usually stood hospitably open; now it was not +only shut, but locked, and yesterday's mud still adorned the steps. The +parlor-windows were closed and curtained, no picture of the pretty wife +sewing on the piazza, in white, with a distracting little bow in her +hair, or a bright-eyed hostess, smiling a shy welcome as she greeted her +guest. Nothing of the sort, for not a soul appeared, but a +sanguinary-looking boy asleep under the currant-bushes. + +"I'm afraid something has happened. Step into the garden, Scott, while I +look up Mrs. Brooke," said John, alarmed at the silence and solitude. + +Round the house he hurried, led by a pungent smell of burnt sugar, and +Mr. Scott strolled after him, with a queer look on his face. He paused +discreetly at a distance when Brooke disappeared; but he could both see +and hear, and, being a bachelor, enjoyed the prospect mightily. + +In the kitchen reigned confusion and despair; one edition of jelly was +trickled from pot to pot, another lay upon the floor, and a third was +burning gayly on the stove. Lotty, with Teutonic phlegm, was calmly +eating bread and currant wine, for the jelly was still in a hopelessly +liquid state, while Mrs. Brooke, with her apron over her head, sat +sobbing dismally. + +"My dearest girl, what is the matter?" cried John, rushing in, with +awful visions of scalded hands, sudden news of affliction, and secret +consternation at the thought of the guest in the garden. + +"O John, I _am_ so tired and hot and cross and worried! I've been at it +till I'm all worn out. Do come and help me or I _shall_ die!" and the +exhausted housewife cast herself upon his breast, giving him a sweet +welcome in every sense of the word, for her pinafore had been baptized +at the same time as the floor. + +"What worries you, dear? Has anything dreadful happened?" asked the +anxious John, tenderly kissing the crown of the little cap, which was +all askew. + +"Yes," sobbed Meg despairingly. + +"Tell me quick, then. Don't cry, I can bear anything better than that. +Out with it, love." + +"The--the jelly won't jell and I don't know what to do!" + +John Brooke laughed then as he never dared to laugh afterward; and the +derisive Scott smiled involuntarily as he heard the hearty peal, which +put the finishing stroke to poor Meg's woe. + +"Is that all? Fling it out of window, and don't bother any more about +it. I'll buy you quarts if you want it; but for heaven's sake don't have +hysterics, for I've brought Jack Scott home to dinner, and--" + +John got no further, for Meg cast him off, and clasped her hands with a +tragic gesture as she fell into a chair, exclaiming in a tone of mingled +indignation, reproach, and dismay,-- + +"A man to dinner, and everything in a mess! John Brooke, how _could_ you +do such a thing?" + +"Hush, he's in the garden! I forgot the confounded jelly, but it can't +be helped now," said John, surveying the prospect with an anxious eye. + +"You ought to have sent word, or told me this morning, and you ought to +have remembered how busy I was," continued Meg petulantly; for even +turtle-doves will peck when ruffled. + +"I didn't know it this morning, and there was no time to send word, for +I met him on the way out. I never thought of asking leave, when you have +always told me to do as I liked. I never tried it before, and hang me if +I ever do again!" added John, with an aggrieved air. + +"I should hope not! Take him away at once; I can't see him, and there +isn't any dinner." + +"Well, I like that! Where's the beef and vegetables I sent home, and the +pudding you promised?" cried John, rushing to the larder. + +"I hadn't time to cook anything; I meant to dine at mother's. I'm sorry, +but I was _so_ busy;" and Meg's tears began again. + +John was a mild man, but he was human; and after a long day's work, to +come home tired, hungry, and hopeful, to find a chaotic house, an empty +table, and a cross wife was not exactly conducive to repose of mind or +manner. He restrained himself, however, and the little squall would have +blown over, but for one unlucky word. + +"It's a scrape, I acknowledge; but if you will lend a hand, we'll pull +through, and have a good time yet. Don't cry, dear, but just exert +yourself a bit, and knock us up something to eat. We're both as hungry +as hunters, so we sha'n't mind what it is. Give us the cold meat, and +bread and cheese; we won't ask for jelly." + +He meant it for a good-natured joke; but that one word sealed his fate. +Meg thought it was _too_ cruel to hint about her sad failure, and the +last atom of patience vanished as he spoke. + +"You must get yourself out of the scrape as you can; I'm too used up to +'exert' myself for any one. It's like a man to propose a bone and vulgar +bread and cheese for company. I won't have anything of the sort in my +house. Take that Scott up to mother's, and tell him I'm away, sick, +dead,--anything. I won't see him, and you two can laugh at me and my +jelly as much as you like: you won't have anything else here;" and +having delivered her defiance all in one breath, Meg cast away her +pinafore, and precipitately left the field to bemoan herself in her own +room. + +What those two creatures did in her absence, she never knew; but Mr. +Scott was not taken "up to mother's," and when Meg descended, after they +had strolled away together, she found traces of a promiscuous lunch +which filled her with horror. Lotty reported that they had eaten "a +much, and greatly laughed, and the master bid her throw away all the +sweet stuff, and hide the pots." + +Meg longed to go and tell mother; but a sense of shame at her own +short-comings, of loyalty to John, "who might be cruel, but nobody +should know it," restrained her; and after a summary clearing up, she +dressed herself prettily, and sat down to wait for John to come and be +forgiven. + +Unfortunately, John didn't come, not seeing the matter in that light. He +had carried it off as a good joke with Scott, excused his little wife as +well as he could, and played the host so hospitably that his friend +enjoyed the impromptu dinner, and promised to come again. But John was +angry, though he did not show it; he felt that Meg had got him into a +scrape, and then deserted him in his hour of need. "It wasn't fair to +tell a man to bring folks home any time, with perfect freedom, and when +he took you at your word, to flame up and blame him, and leave him in +the lurch, to be laughed at or pitied. No, by George, it wasn't! and Meg +must know it." He had fumed inwardly during the feast, but when the +flurry was over, and he strolled home, after seeing Scott off, a milder +mood came over him. "Poor little thing! it was hard upon her when she +tried so heartily to please me. She was wrong, of course, but then she +was young. I must be patient and teach her." He hoped she had not gone +home--he hated gossip and interference. For a minute he was ruffled +again at the mere thought of it; and then the fear that Meg would cry +herself sick softened his heart, and sent him on at a quicker pace, +resolving to be calm and kind, but firm, quite firm, and show her where +she had failed in her duty to her spouse. + +Meg likewise resolved to be "calm and kind, but firm," and show _him_ +his duty. She longed to run to meet him, and beg pardon, and be kissed +and comforted, as she was sure of being; but, of course, she did nothing +of the sort, and when she saw John coming, began to hum quite naturally, +as she rocked and sewed, like a lady of leisure in her best parlor. + +John was a little disappointed not to find a tender Niobe; but, feeling +that his dignity demanded the first apology, he made none, only came +leisurely in, and laid himself upon the sofa, with the singularly +relevant remark,-- + +"We are going to have a new moon, my dear." + +"I've no objection," was Meg's equally soothing remark. + +A few other topics of general interest were introduced by Mr. Brooke, +and wet-blanketed by Mrs. Brooke, and conversation languished. John went +to one window, unfolded his paper, and wrapped himself in it, +figuratively speaking. Meg went to the other window, and sewed as if new +rosettes for her slippers were among the necessaries of life. Neither +spoke; both looked quite "calm and firm," and both felt desperately +uncomfortable. + + [Illustration: Both felt desperately uncomfortable] + +"Oh dear," thought Meg, "married life is very trying, and does need +infinite patience, as well as love, as mother says." The word "mother" +suggested other maternal counsels, given long ago, and received with +unbelieving protests. + +"John is a good man, but he has his faults, and you must learn to see +and bear with them, remembering your own. He is very decided, but never +will be obstinate, if you reason kindly, not oppose impatiently. He is +very accurate, and particular about the truth--a good trait, though you +call him 'fussy.' Never deceive him by look or word, Meg, and he will +give you the confidence you deserve, the support you need. He has a +temper, not like ours,--one flash, and then all over,--but the white, +still anger, that is seldom stirred, but once kindled, is hard to +quench. Be careful, very careful, not to wake this anger against +yourself, for peace and happiness depend on keeping his respect. Watch +yourself, be the first to ask pardon if you both err, and guard against +the little piques, misunderstandings, and hasty words that often pave +the way for bitter sorrow and regret." + +These words came back to Meg, as she sat sewing in the sunset, +especially the last. This was the first serious disagreement; her own +hasty speeches sounded both silly and unkind, as she recalled them, her +own anger looked childish now, and thoughts of poor John coming home to +such a scene quite melted her heart. She glanced at him with tears in +her eyes, but he did not see them; she put down her work and got up, +thinking, "I _will_ be the first to say, 'Forgive me,'" but he did not +seem to hear her; she went very slowly across the room, for pride was +hard to swallow, and stood by him, but he did not turn his head. For a +minute she felt as if she really couldn't do it; then came the thought, +"This is the beginning, I'll do my part, and have nothing to reproach +myself with," and stooping down, she softly kissed her husband on the +forehead. Of course that settled it; the penitent kiss was better than a +world of words, and John had her on his knee in a minute, saying +tenderly,-- + +"It was too bad to laugh at the poor little jelly-pots. Forgive me, +dear, I never will again!" + +But he did, oh bless you, yes, hundreds of times, and so did Meg, both +declaring that it was the sweetest jelly they ever made; for family +peace was preserved in that little family jar. + +After this, Meg had Mr. Scott to dinner by special invitation, and +served him up a pleasant feast without a cooked wife for the first +course; on which occasion she was so gay and gracious, and made +everything go off so charmingly, that Mr. Scott told John he was a happy +fellow, and shook his head over the hardships of bachelorhood all the +way home. + +In the autumn, new trials and experiences came to Meg. Sallie Moffat +renewed her friendship, was always running out for a dish of gossip at +the little house, or inviting "that poor dear" to come in and spend the +day at the big house. It was pleasant, for in dull weather Meg often +felt lonely; all were busy at home, John absent till night, and nothing +to do but sew, or read, or potter about. So it naturally fell out that +Meg got into the way of gadding and gossiping with her friend. Seeing +Sallie's pretty things made her long for such, and pity herself because +she had not got them. Sallie was very kind, and often offered her the +coveted trifles; but Meg declined them, knowing that John wouldn't like +it; and then this foolish little woman went and did what John disliked +infinitely worse. + +She knew her husband's income, and she loved to feel that he trusted +her, not only with his happiness, but what some men seem to value +more,--his money. She knew where it was, was free to take what she +liked, and all he asked was that she should keep account of every penny, +pay bills once a month, and remember that she was a poor man's wife. +Till now, she had done well, been prudent and exact, kept her little +account-books neatly, and showed them to him monthly without fear. But +that autumn the serpent got into Meg's paradise, and tempted her, like +many a modern Eve, not with apples, but with dress. Meg didn't like to +be pitied and made to feel poor; it irritated her, but she was ashamed +to confess it, and now and then she tried to console herself by buying +something pretty, so that Sallie needn't think she had to economize. She +always felt wicked after it, for the pretty things were seldom +necessaries; but then they cost so little, it wasn't worth worrying +about; so the trifles increased unconsciously, and in the shopping +excursions she was no longer a passive looker-on. + +But the trifles cost more than one would imagine; and when she cast up +her accounts at the end of the month, the sum total rather scared her. +John was busy that month, and left the bills to her; the next month he +was absent; but the third he had a grand quarterly settling up, and Meg +never forgot it. A few days before she had done a dreadful thing, and it +weighed upon her conscience. Sallie had been buying silks, and Meg +longed for a new one,--just a handsome light one for parties, her black +silk was so common, and thin things for evening wear were only proper +for girls. Aunt March usually gave the sisters a present of twenty-five +dollars apiece at New Year; that was only a month to wait, and here was +a lovely violet silk going at a bargain, and she had the money, if she +only dared to take it. John always said what was his was hers; but would +he think it right to spend not only the prospective five-and-twenty, but +another five-and-twenty out of the household fund? That was the +question. Sallie had urged her to do it, had offered to loan the money, +and with the best intentions in life, had tempted Meg beyond her +strength. In an evil moment the shopman held up the lovely, shimmering +folds, and said, "A bargain, I assure you, ma'am." She answered, "I'll +take it;" and it was cut off and paid for, and Sallie had exulted, and +she had laughed as if it were a thing of no consequence, and driven +away, feeling as if she had stolen something, and the police were after +her. + + [Illustration: A bargain, I assure you, ma'am] + +When she got home, she tried to assuage the pangs of remorse by +spreading forth the lovely silk; but it looked less silvery now, didn't +become her, after all, and the words "fifty dollars" seemed stamped like +a pattern down each breadth. She put it away; but it haunted her, not +delightfully, as a new dress should, but dreadfully, like the ghost of a +folly that was not easily laid. When John got out his books that night, +Meg's heart sank, and for the first time in her married life, she was +afraid of her husband. The kind, brown eyes looked as if they could be +stern; and though he was unusually merry, she fancied he had found her +out, but didn't mean to let her know it. The house-bills were all paid, +the books all in order. John had praised her, and was undoing the old +pocket-book which they called the "bank," when Meg, knowing that it was +quite empty, stopped his hand, saying nervously,-- + +"You haven't seen my private expense book yet." + +John never asked to see it; but she always insisted on his doing so, and +used to enjoy his masculine amazement at the queer things women wanted, +and made him guess what "piping" was, demand fiercely the meaning of a +"hug-me-tight," or wonder how a little thing composed of three rosebuds, +a bit of velvet, and a pair of strings, could possibly be a bonnet, and +cost five or six dollars. That night he looked as if he would like the +fun of quizzing her figures and pretending to be horrified at her +extravagance, as he often did, being particularly proud of his prudent +wife. + +The little book was brought slowly out, and laid down before him. Meg +got behind his chair under pretence of smoothing the wrinkles out of his +tired forehead, and standing there, she said, with her panic increasing +with every word,-- + +"John, dear, I'm ashamed to show you my book, for I've really been +dreadfully extravagant lately. I go about so much I must have things, +you know, and Sallie advised my getting it, so I did; and my New-Year's +money will partly pay for it: but I was sorry after I'd done it, for I +knew you'd think it wrong in me." + +John laughed, and drew her round beside him, saying good-humoredly, +"Don't go and hide. I won't beat you if you _have_ got a pair of killing +boots; I'm rather proud of my wife's feet, and don't mind if she does +pay eight or nine dollars for her boots, if they are good ones." + +That had been one of her last "trifles," and John's eye had fallen on it +as he spoke. "Oh, what _will_ he say when he comes to that awful fifty +dollars!" thought Meg, with a shiver. + +"It's worse than boots, it's a silk dress," she said, with the calmness +of desperation, for she wanted the worst over. + +"Well, dear, what is the 'dem'd total,' as Mr. Mantalini says?" + +That didn't sound like John, and she knew he was looking up at her with +the straightforward look that she had always been ready to meet and +answer with one as frank till now. She turned the page and her head at +the same time, pointing to the sum which would have been bad enough +without the fifty, but which was appalling to her with that added. For a +minute the room was very still; then John said slowly,--but she could +feel it cost him an effort to express no displeasure,-- + +"Well, I don't know that fifty is much for a dress, with all the +furbelows and notions you have to have to finish it off these days." + +"It isn't made or trimmed," sighed Meg faintly, for a sudden +recollection of the cost still to be incurred quite overwhelmed her. + +"Twenty-five yards of silk seems a good deal to cover one small woman, +but I've no doubt my wife will look as fine as Ned Moffat's when she +gets it on," said John dryly. + +"I know you are angry, John, but I can't help it. I don't mean to waste +your money, and I didn't think those little things would count up so. I +can't resist them when I see Sallie buying all she wants, and pitying me +because I don't. I try to be contented, but it is hard, and I'm tired of +being poor." + +The last words were spoken so low she thought he did not hear them, but +he did, and they wounded him deeply, for he had denied himself many +pleasures for Meg's sake. She could have bitten her tongue out the +minute she had said it, for John pushed the books away, and got up, +saying, with a little quiver in his voice, "I was afraid of this; I do +my best, Meg." If he had scolded her, or even shaken her, it would not +have broken her heart like those few words. She ran to him and held him +close, crying, with repentant tears, "O John, my dear, kind, +hard-working boy, I didn't mean it! It was so wicked, so untrue and +ungrateful, how could I say it! Oh, how could I say it!" + +He was very kind, forgave her readily, and did not utter one reproach; +but Meg knew that she had done and said a thing which would not be +forgotten soon, although he might never allude to it again. She had +promised to love him for better for worse; and then she, his wife, had +reproached him with his poverty, after spending his earnings recklessly. +It was dreadful; and the worst of it was John went on so quietly +afterward, just as if nothing had happened, except that he stayed in +town later, and worked at night when she had gone to cry herself to +sleep. A week of remorse nearly made Meg sick; and the discovery that +John had countermanded the order for his new great-coat reduced her to a +state of despair which was pathetic to behold. He had simply said, in +answer to her surprised inquiries as to the change, "I can't afford it, +my dear." + +Meg said no more, but a few minutes after he found her in the hall, with +her face buried in the old great-coat, crying as if her heart would +break. + +They had a long talk that night, and Meg learned to love her husband +better for his poverty, because it seemed to have made a man of him, +given him the strength and courage to fight his own way, and taught him +a tender patience with which to bear and comfort the natural longings +and failures of those he loved. + +Next day she put her pride in her pocket, went to Sallie, told the +truth, and asked her to buy the silk as a favor. The good-natured Mrs. +Moffat willingly did so, and had the delicacy not to make her a present +of it immediately afterward. Then Meg ordered home the great-coat, and, +when John arrived, she put it on, and asked him how he liked her new +silk gown. One can imagine what answer he made, how he received his +present, and what a blissful state of things ensued. John came home +early, Meg gadded no more; and that great-coat was put on in the morning +by a very happy husband, and taken off at night by a most devoted little +wife. So the year rolled round, and at midsummer there came to Meg a new +experience,--the deepest and tenderest of a woman's life. + +Laurie came sneaking into the kitchen of the Dove-cote, one Saturday, +with an excited face, and was received with the clash of cymbals; for +Hannah clapped her hands with a saucepan in one and the cover in the +other. + +"How's the little mamma? Where is everybody? Why didn't you tell me +before I came home?" began Laurie, in a loud whisper. + +"Happy as a queen, the dear! Every soul of 'em is upstairs a worshipin'; +we didn't want no hurrycanes round. Now you go into the parlor, and I'll +send 'em down to you," with which somewhat involved reply Hannah +vanished, chuckling ecstatically. + +Presently Jo appeared, proudly bearing a flannel bundle laid forth upon +a large pillow. Jo's face was very sober, but her eyes twinkled, and +there was an odd sound in her voice of repressed emotion of some sort. + +"Shut your eyes and hold out your arms," she said invitingly. + +Laurie backed precipitately into a corner, and put his hands behind him +with an imploring gesture: "No, thank you, I'd rather not. I shall drop +it or smash it, as sure as fate." + +"Then you sha'n't see your nevvy," said Jo decidedly, turning as if to +go. + +"I will, I will! only you must be responsible for damages;" and, obeying +orders, Laurie heroically shut his eyes while something was put into his +arms. A peal of laughter from Jo, Amy, Mrs. March, Hannah, and John +caused him to open them the next minute, to find himself invested with +two babies instead of one. + +[Illustration: Laurie heroically shut his eyes while something was put + into his arms] + +No wonder they laughed, for the expression of his face was droll enough +to convulse a Quaker, as he stood and stared wildly from the unconscious +innocents to the hilarious spectators, with such dismay that Jo sat down +on the floor and screamed. + +"Twins, by Jupiter!" was all he said for a minute; then, turning to the +women with an appealing look that was comically piteous, he added, "Take +'em quick, somebody! I'm going to laugh, and I shall drop 'em." + +John rescued his babies, and marched up and down, with one on each arm, +as if already initiated into the mysteries of baby-tending, while Laurie +laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. + +"It's the best joke of the season, isn't it? I wouldn't have you told, +for I set my heart on surprising you, and I flatter myself I've done +it," said Jo, when she got her breath. + +"I never was more staggered in my life. Isn't it fun? Are they boys? +What are you going to name them? Let's have another look. Hold me up, +Jo; for upon my life it's one too many for me," returned Laurie, +regarding the infants with the air of a big, benevolent Newfoundland +looking at a pair of infantile kittens. + +"Boy and girl. Aren't they beauties?" said the proud papa, beaming upon +the little, red squirmers as if they were unfledged angels. + +"Most remarkable children I ever saw. Which is which?" and Laurie bent +like a well-sweep to examine the prodigies. + +"Amy put a blue ribbon on the boy and a pink on the girl, French +fashion, so you can always tell. Besides, one has blue eyes and one +brown. Kiss them, Uncle Teddy," said wicked Jo. + +"I'm afraid they mightn't like it," began Laurie, with unusual timidity +in such matters. + +"Of course they will; they are used to it now. Do it this minute, sir!" +commanded Jo, fearing he might propose a proxy. + +Laurie screwed up his face, and obeyed with a gingerly peck at each +little cheek that produced another laugh, and made the babies squeal. + +"There, I knew they didn't like it! That's the boy; see him kick; he +hits out with his fists like a good one. Now then, young Brooke, pitch +into a man of your own size, will you?" cried Laurie, delighted with a +poke in the face from a tiny fist, flapping aimlessly about. + +"He's to be named John Laurence, and the girl Margaret, after mother and +grandmother. We shall call her Daisy, so as not to have two Megs, and I +suppose the mannie will be Jack, unless we find a better name," said +Amy, with aunt-like interest. + +"Name him Demijohn, and call him 'Demi' for short," said Laurie. + +"Daisy and Demi,--just the thing! I _knew_ Teddy would do it," cried Jo, +clapping her hands. + +Teddy certainly had done it that time, for the babies were "Daisy" and +"Demi" to the end of the chapter. + + + + + XXIX. + + CALLS. + + + [Illustration: Calls] + +"Come, Jo, it's time." + +"For what?" + +"You don't mean to say you have forgotten that you promised to make half +a dozen calls with me to-day?" + +"I've done a good many rash and foolish things in my life, but I don't +think I ever was mad enough to say I'd make six calls in one day, when a +single one upsets me for a week." + +"Yes, you did; it was a bargain between us. I was to finish the crayon +of Beth for you, and you were to go properly with me, and return our +neighbors' visits." + +"If it was fair--that was in the bond; and I stand to the letter of my +bond, Shylock. There is a pile of clouds in the east; it's _not_ fair, +and I don't go." + +"Now, that's shirking. It's a lovely day, no prospect of rain, and you +pride yourself on keeping promises; so be honorable; come and do your +duty, and then be at peace for another six months." + +At that minute Jo was particularly absorbed in dressmaking; for she was +mantua-maker general to the family, and took especial credit to herself +because she could use a needle as well as a pen. It was very provoking +to be arrested in the act of a first trying-on, and ordered out to make +calls in her best array, on a warm July day. She hated calls of the +formal sort, and never made any till Amy compelled her with a bargain, +bribe, or promise. In the present instance, there was no escape; and +having clashed her scissors rebelliously, while protesting that she +smelt thunder, she gave in, put away her work, and taking up her hat and +gloves with an air of resignation, told Amy the victim was ready. + +"Jo March, you are perverse enough to provoke a saint! You don't intend +to make calls in that state, I hope," cried Amy, surveying her with +amazement. + +"Why not? I'm neat and cool and comfortable; quite proper for a dusty +walk on a warm day. If people care more for my clothes than they do for +me, I don't wish to see them. You can dress for both, and be as elegant +as you please: it pays for you to be fine; it doesn't for me, and +furbelows only worry me." + +"Oh dear!" sighed Amy; "now she's in a contrary fit, and will drive me +distracted before I can get her properly ready. I'm sure it's no +pleasure to me to go to-day, but it's a debt we owe society, and there's +no one to pay it but you and me. I'll do anything for you, Jo, if you'll +only dress yourself nicely, and come and help me do the civil. You can +talk so well, look so aristocratic in your best things, and behave so +beautifully, if you try, that I'm proud of you. I'm afraid to go alone; +do come and take care of me." + +"You're an artful little puss to flatter and wheedle your cross old +sister in that way. The idea of my being aristocratic and well-bred, and +your being afraid to go anywhere alone! I don't know which is the most +absurd. Well, I'll go if I must, and do my best. You shall be commander +of the expedition, and I'll obey blindly; will that satisfy you?" said +Jo, with a sudden change from perversity to lamb-like submission. + +"You're a perfect cherub! Now put on all your best things, and I'll tell +you how to behave at each place, so that you will make a good +impression. I want people to like you, and they would if you'd only try +to be a little more agreeable. Do your hair the pretty way, and put the +pink rose in your bonnet; it's becoming, and you look too sober in your +plain suit. Take your light gloves and the embroidered handkerchief. +We'll stop at Meg's, and borrow her white sunshade, and then you can +have my dove-colored one." + +While Amy dressed, she issued her orders, and Jo obeyed them; not +without entering her protest, however, for she sighed as she rustled +into her new organdie, frowned darkly at herself as she tied her bonnet +strings in an irreproachable bow, wrestled viciously with pins as she +put on her collar, wrinkled up her features generally as she shook out +the handkerchief, whose embroidery was as irritating to her nose as the +present mission was to her feelings; and when she had squeezed her hands +into tight gloves with three buttons and a tassel, as the last touch of +elegance, she turned to Amy with an imbecile expression of countenance, +saying meekly,-- + +"I'm perfectly miserable; but if you consider me presentable, I die +happy." + +"You are highly satisfactory; turn slowly round, and let me get a +careful view." Jo revolved, and Amy gave a touch here and there, then +fell back, with her head on one side, observing graciously, "Yes, you'll +do; your head is all I could ask, for that white bonnet _with_ the rose +is quite ravishing. Hold back your shoulders, and carry your hands +easily, no matter if your gloves do pinch. There's one thing you can do +well, Jo, that is, wear a shawl--I can't; but it's very nice to see you, +and I'm so glad Aunt March gave you that lovely one; it's simple, but +handsome, and those folds over the arm are really artistic. Is the point +of my mantle in the middle, and have I looped my dress evenly? I like to +show my boots, for my feet _are_ pretty, though my nose isn't." + +"You are a thing of beauty and a joy forever," said Jo, looking through +her hand with the air of a connoisseur at the blue feather against the +gold hair. "Am I to drag my best dress through the dust, or loop it up, +please, ma'am?" + +"Hold it up when you walk, but drop it in the house; the sweeping style +suits you best, and you must learn to trail your skirts gracefully. You +haven't half buttoned one cuff; do it at once. You'll never look +finished if you are not careful about the little details, for they make +up the pleasing whole." + +Jo sighed, and proceeded to burst the buttons off her glove, in doing up +her cuff; but at last both were ready, and sailed away, looking as +"pretty as picters," Hannah said, as she hung out of the upper window to +watch them. + +"Now, Jo dear, the Chesters consider themselves very elegant people, so +I want you to put on your best deportment. Don't make any of your abrupt +remarks, or do anything odd, will you? Just be calm, cool, and +quiet,--that's safe and ladylike; and you can easily do it for fifteen +minutes," said Amy, as they approached the first place, having borrowed +the white parasol and been inspected by Meg, with a baby on each arm. + +"Let me see. 'Calm, cool, and quiet,'--yes, I think I can promise that. +I've played the part of a prim young lady on the stage, and I'll try it +off. My powers are great, as you shall see; so be easy in your mind, my +child." + +Amy looked relieved, but naughty Jo took her at her word; for, during +the first call, she sat with every limb gracefully composed, every fold +correctly draped, calm as a summer sea, cool as a snow-bank, and as +silent as a sphinx. In vain Mrs. Chester alluded to her "charming +novel," and the Misses Chester introduced parties, picnics, the opera, +and the fashions; each and all were answered by a smile, a bow, and a +demure "Yes" or "No," with the chill on. In vain Amy telegraphed the +word "Talk," tried to draw her out, and administered covert pokes with +her foot. Jo sat as if blandly unconscious of it all, with deportment +like Maud's face, "icily regular, splendidly null." + +"What a haughty, uninteresting creature that oldest Miss March is!" was +the unfortunately audible remark of one of the ladies, as the door +closed upon their guests. Jo laughed noiselessly all through the hall, +but Amy looked disgusted at the failure of her instructions, and very +naturally laid the blame upon Jo. + +"How could you mistake me so? I merely meant you to be properly +dignified and composed, and you made yourself a perfect stock and +stone. Try to be sociable at the Lambs', gossip as other girls do, and +be interested in dress and flirtations and whatever nonsense comes up. +They move in the best society, are valuable persons for us to know, and +I wouldn't fail to make a good impression there for anything." + +"I'll be agreeable; I'll gossip and giggle, and have horrors and +raptures over any trifle you like. I rather enjoy this, and now I'll +imitate what is called 'a charming girl;' I can do it, for I have May +Chester as a model, and I'll improve upon her. See if the Lambs don't +say, 'What a lively, nice creature that Jo March is!'" + +Amy felt anxious, as well she might, for when Jo turned freakish there +was no knowing where she would stop. Amy's face was a study when she saw +her sister skim into the next drawing-room, kiss all the young ladies +with effusion, beam graciously upon the young gentlemen, and join in the +chat with a spirit which amazed the beholder. Amy was taken possession +of by Mrs. Lamb, with whom she was a favorite, and forced to hear a long +account of Lucretia's last attack, while three delightful young +gentlemen hovered near, waiting for a pause when they might rush in and +rescue her. So situated, she was powerless to check Jo, who seemed +possessed by a spirit of mischief, and talked away as volubly as the old +lady. A knot of heads gathered about her, and Amy strained her ears to +hear what was going on; for broken sentences filled her with alarm, +round eyes and uplifted hands tormented her with curiosity, and frequent +peals of laughter made her wild to share the fun. One may imagine her +suffering on overhearing fragments of this sort of conversation:-- + +"She rides splendidly,--who taught her?" + +"No one; she used to practise mounting, holding the reins, and sitting +straight on an old saddle in a tree. Now she rides anything, for she +doesn't know what fear is, and the stable-man lets her have horses +cheap, because she trains them to carry ladies so well. She has such a +passion for it, I often tell her if everything else fails she can be a +horse-breaker, and get her living so." + +At this awful speech Amy contained herself with difficulty, for the +impression was being given that she was rather a fast young lady, which +was her especial aversion. But what could she do? for the old lady was +in the middle of her story, and long before it was done Jo was off +again, making more droll revelations, and committing still more fearful +blunders. + +"Yes, Amy was in despair that day, for all the good beasts were gone, +and of three left, one was lame, one blind, and the other so balky that +you had to put dirt in his mouth before he would start. Nice animal for +a pleasure party, wasn't it?" + +"Which did she choose?" asked one of the laughing gentlemen, who enjoyed +the subject. + +"None of them; she heard of a young horse at the farmhouse over the +river, and, though a lady had never ridden him, she resolved to try, +because he was handsome and spirited. Her struggles were really +pathetic; there was no one to bring the horse to the saddle, so she took +the saddle to the horse. My dear creature, she actually rowed it over +the river, put it on her head, and marched up to the barn to the utter +amazement of the old man!" + + [Illustration: She took the saddle to the horse] + +"Did she ride the horse?" + +"Of course she did, and had a capital time. I expected to see her +brought home in fragments, but she managed him perfectly, and was the +life of the party." + +"Well, I call that plucky!" and young Mr. Lamb turned an approving +glance upon Amy, wondering what his mother could be saying to make the +girl look so red and uncomfortable. + +She was still redder and more uncomfortable a moment after, when a +sudden turn in the conversation introduced the subject of dress. One of +the young ladies asked Jo where she got the pretty drab hat she wore to +the picnic; and stupid Jo, instead of mentioning the place where it was +bought two years ago, must needs answer, with unnecessary frankness, +"Oh, Amy painted it; you can't buy those soft shades, so we paint ours +any color we like. It's a great comfort to have an artistic sister." + +"Isn't that an original idea?" cried Miss Lamb, who found Jo great fun. + +"That's nothing compared to some of her brilliant performances. There's +nothing the child can't do. Why, she wanted a pair of blue boots for +Sallie's party, so she just painted her soiled white ones the loveliest +shade of sky-blue you ever saw, and they looked exactly like satin," +added Jo, with an air of pride in her sister's accomplishments that +exasperated Amy till she felt that it would be a relief to throw her +card-case at her. + +"We read a story of yours the other day, and enjoyed it very much," +observed the elder Miss Lamb, wishing to compliment the literary lady, +who did not look the character just then, it must be confessed. + +Any mention of her "works" always had a bad effect upon Jo, who either +grew rigid and looked offended, or changed the subject with a _brusque_ +remark, as now. "Sorry you could find nothing better to read. I write +that rubbish because it sells, and ordinary people like it. Are you +going to New York this winter?" + +As Miss Lamb had "enjoyed" the story, this speech was not exactly +grateful or complimentary. The minute it was made Jo saw her mistake; +but, fearing to make the matter worse, suddenly remembered that it was +for her to make the first move toward departure, and did so with an +abruptness that left three people with half-finished sentences in their +mouths. + +"Amy, we _must_ go. _Good_-by, dear; _do_ come and see us; we are +_pining_ for a visit. I don't dare to ask _you_, Mr. Lamb; but if you +_should_ come, I don't think I shall have the heart to send you away." + +Jo said this with such a droll imitation of May Chester's gushing style +that Amy got out of the room as rapidly as possible, feeling a strong +desire to laugh and cry at the same time. + +"Didn't I do that well?" asked Jo, with a satisfied air, as they walked +away. + +"Nothing could have been worse," was Amy's crushing reply. "What +possessed you to tell those stories about my saddle, and the hats and +boots, and all the rest of it?" + +"Why, it's funny, and amuses people. They know we are poor, so it's no +use pretending that we have grooms, buy three or four hats a season, and +have things as easy and fine as they do." + +"You needn't go and tell them all our little shifts, and expose our +poverty in that perfectly unnecessary way. You haven't a bit of proper +pride, and never will learn when to hold your tongue and when to speak," +said Amy despairingly. + +Poor Jo looked abashed, and silently chafed the end of her nose with the +stiff handkerchief, as if performing a penance for her misdemeanors. + +"How shall I behave here?" she asked, as they approached the third +mansion. + +"Just as you please; I wash my hands of you," was Amy's short answer. + +"Then I'll enjoy myself. The boys are at home, and we'll have a +comfortable time. Goodness knows I need a little change, for elegance +has a bad effect upon my constitution," returned Jo gruffly, being +disturbed by her failures to suit. + +An enthusiastic welcome from three big boys and several pretty children +speedily soothed her ruffled feelings; and, leaving Amy to entertain the +hostess and Mr. Tudor, who happened to be calling likewise, Jo devoted +herself to the young folks, and found the change refreshing. She +listened to college stories with deep interest, caressed pointers and +poodles without a murmur, agreed heartily that "Tom Brown was a brick," +regardless of the improper form of praise; and when one lad proposed a +visit to his turtle-tank, she went with an alacrity which caused mamma +to smile upon her, as that motherly lady settled the cap which was left +in a ruinous condition by filial hugs, bear-like but affectionate, and +dearer to her than the most faultless _coiffure_ from the hands of an +inspired Frenchwoman. + +Leaving her sister to her own devices, Amy proceeded to enjoy herself to +her heart's content. Mr. Tudor's uncle had married an English lady who +was third cousin to a living lord, and Amy regarded the whole family +with great respect; for, in spite of her American birth and breeding, +she possessed that reverence for titles which haunts the best of +us,--that unacknowledged loyalty to the early faith in kings which set +the most democratic nation under the sun in a ferment at the coming of a +royal yellow-haired laddie, some years ago, and which still has +something to do with the love the young country bears the old, like that +of a big son for an imperious little mother, who held him while she +could, and let him go with a farewell scolding when he rebelled. But +even the satisfaction of talking with a distant connection of the +British nobility did not render Amy forgetful of time; and when the +proper number of minutes had passed, she reluctantly tore herself from +this aristocratic society, and looked about for Jo, fervently hoping +that her incorrigible sister would not be found in any position which +should bring disgrace upon the name of March. + + [Illustration: It might have been worse] + +It might have been worse, but Amy considered it bad; for Jo sat on the +grass, with an encampment of boys about her, and a dirty-footed dog +reposing on the skirt of her state and festival dress, as she related +one of Laurie's pranks to her admiring audience. One small child was +poking turtles with Amy's cherished parasol, a second was eating +gingerbread over Jo's best bonnet, and a third playing ball with her +gloves. But all were enjoying themselves; and when Jo collected her +damaged property to go, her escort accompanied her, begging her to come +again, "it was such fun to hear about Laurie's larks." + +"Capital boys, aren't they? I feel quite young and brisk again after +that," said Jo, strolling along with her hands behind her, partly from +habit, partly to conceal the bespattered parasol. + +"Why do you always avoid Mr. Tudor?" asked Amy, wisely refraining from +any comment upon Jo's dilapidated appearance. + +"Don't like him; he puts on airs, snubs his sisters, worries his father, +and doesn't speak respectfully of his mother. Laurie says he is fast, +and _I_ don't consider him a desirable acquaintance; so I let him +alone." + +"You might treat him civilly, at least. You gave him a cool nod; and +just now you bowed and smiled in the politest way to Tommy Chamberlain, +whose father keeps a grocery store. If you had just reversed the nod and +the bow, it would have been right," said Amy reprovingly. + +"No, it wouldn't," returned perverse Jo; "I neither like, respect, nor +admire Tudor, though his grandfather's uncle's nephew's niece _was_ +third cousin to a lord. Tommy is poor and bashful and good and very +clever; I think well of him, and like to show that I do, for he _is_ a +gentleman in spite of the brown-paper parcels." + +"It's no use trying to argue with you," began Amy. + +"Not the least, my dear," interrupted Jo; "so let us look amiable, and +drop a card here, as the Kings are evidently out, for which I'm deeply +grateful." + +The family card-case having done its duty, the girls walked on, and Jo +uttered another thanksgiving on reaching the fifth house, and being told +that the young ladies were engaged. + +"Now let us go home, and never mind Aunt March to-day. We can run down +there any time, and it's really a pity to trail through the dust in our +best bibs and tuckers, when we are tired and cross." + +"Speak for yourself, if you please. Aunt likes to have us pay her the +compliment of coming in style, and making a formal call; it's a little +thing to do, but it gives her pleasure, and I don't believe it will hurt +your things half so much as letting dirty dogs and clumping boys spoil +them. Stoop down, and let me take the crumbs off of your bonnet." + +"What a good girl you are, Amy!" said Jo, with a repentant glance from +her own damaged costume to that of her sister, which was fresh and +spotless still. "I wish it was as easy for me to do little things to +please people as it is for you. I think of them, but it takes too much +time to do them; so I wait for a chance to confer a great favor, and let +the small ones slip; but they tell best in the end, I fancy." + +Amy smiled, and was mollified at once, saying with a maternal air,-- + +"Women should learn to be agreeable, particularly poor ones; for they +have no other way of repaying the kindnesses they receive. If you'd +remember that, and practise it, you'd be better liked than I am, because +there is more of you." + +"I'm a crotchety old thing, and always shall be, but I'm willing to own +that you are right; only it's easier for me to risk my life for a person +than to be pleasant to him when I don't feel like it. It's a great +misfortune to have such strong likes and dislikes, isn't it?" + +"It's a greater not to be able to hide them. I don't mind saying that I +don't approve of Tudor any more than you do; but I'm not called upon to +tell him so; neither are you, and there is no use in making yourself +disagreeable because he is." + +"But I think girls ought to show when they disapprove of young men; and +how can they do it except by their manners? Preaching does not do any +good, as I know to my sorrow, since I've had Teddy to manage; but there +are many little ways in which I can influence him without a word, and I +say we _ought_ to do it to others if we can." + +"Teddy is a remarkable boy, and can't be taken as a sample of other +boys," said Amy, in a tone of solemn conviction, which would have +convulsed the "remarkable boy," if he had heard it. "If we were belles, +or women of wealth and position, we might do something, perhaps; but for +us to frown at one set of young gentlemen because we don't approve of +them, and smile upon another set because we do, wouldn't have a particle +of effect, and we should only be considered odd and puritanical." + +"So we are to countenance things and people which we detest, merely +because we are not belles and millionaires, are we? That's a nice sort +of morality." + +"I can't argue about it, I only know that it's the way of the world; and +people who set themselves against it only get laughed at for their +pains. I don't like reformers, and I hope you will never try to be one." + +"I do like them, and I shall be one if I can; for in spite of the +laughing, the world would never get on without them. We can't agree +about that, for you belong to the old set, and I to the new: you will +get on the best, but I shall have the liveliest time of it. I should +rather enjoy the brickbats and hooting, I think." + +"Well, compose yourself now, and don't worry aunt with your new ideas." + +"I'll try not to, but I'm always possessed to burst out with some +particularly blunt speech or revolutionary sentiment before her; it's my +doom, and I can't help it." + +They found Aunt Carrol with the old lady, both absorbed in some very +interesting subject; but they dropped it as the girls came in, with a +conscious look which betrayed that they had been talking about their +nieces. Jo was not in a good humor, and the perverse fit returned; but +Amy, who had virtuously done her duty, kept her temper, and pleased +everybody, was in a most angelic frame of mind. This amiable spirit was +felt at once, and both the aunts "my deared" her affectionately, looking +what they afterwards said emphatically,--"That child improves every +day." + +"Are you going to help about the fair, dear?" asked Mrs. Carrol, as Amy +sat down beside her with the confiding air elderly people like so well +in the young. + +"Yes, aunt. Mrs. Chester asked me if I would, and I offered to tend a +table, as I have nothing but my time to give." + +"I'm not," put in Jo decidedly. "I hate to be patronized, and the +Chesters think it's a great favor to allow us to help with their highly +connected fair. I wonder you consented, Amy: they only want you to +work." + +"I am willing to work: it's for the freedmen as well as the Chesters, +and I think it very kind of them to let me share the labor and the fun. +Patronage does not trouble me when it is well meant." + +"Quite right and proper. I like your grateful spirit, my dear; it's a +pleasure to help people who appreciate our efforts: some do not, and +that is trying," observed Aunt March, looking over her spectacles at Jo, +who sat apart, rocking herself, with a somewhat morose expression. + + [Illustration: The call at Aunt March's] + +If Jo had only known what a great happiness was wavering in the balance +for one of them, she would have turned dovelike in a minute; but, +unfortunately, we don't have windows in our breasts, and cannot see what +goes on in the minds of our friends; better for us that we cannot as a +general thing, but now and then it would be such a comfort, such a +saving of time and temper. By her next speech, Jo deprived herself of +several years of pleasure, and received a timely lesson in the art of +holding her tongue. + +"I don't like favors; they oppress and make me feel like a slave. I'd +rather do everything for myself, and be perfectly independent." + +"Ahem!" coughed Aunt Carrol softly, with a look at Aunt March. + +"I told you so," said Aunt March, with a decided nod to Aunt Carrol. + +Mercifully unconscious of what she had done, Jo sat with her nose in the +air, and a revolutionary aspect which was anything but inviting. + +"Do you speak French, dear?" asked Mrs. Carrol, laying her hand on +Amy's. + +"Pretty well, thanks to Aunt March, who lets Esther talk to me as often +as I like," replied Amy, with a grateful look, which caused the old lady +to smile affably. + +"How are you about languages?" asked Mrs. Carrol of Jo. + +"Don't know a word; I'm very stupid about studying anything; can't bear +French, it's such a slippery, silly sort of language," was the _brusque_ +reply. + +Another look passed between the ladies, and Aunt March said to Amy, "You +are quite strong and well, now, dear, I believe? Eyes don't trouble you +any more, do they?" + +"Not at all, thank you, ma'am. I'm very well, and mean to do great +things next winter, so that I may be ready for Rome, whenever that +joyful time arrives." + +"Good girl! You deserve to go, and I'm sure you will some day," said +Aunt March, with an approving pat on the head, as Amy picked up her ball +for her. + + "Cross-patch, draw the latch, + Sit by the fire and spin," + +squalled Polly, bending down from his perch on the back of her chair to +peep into Jo's face, with such a comical air of impertinent inquiry that +it was impossible to help laughing. + +"Most observing bird," said the old lady. + +"Come and take a walk, my dear?" cried Polly, hopping toward the +china-closet, with a look suggestive of lump-sugar. + +"Thank you, I will. Come, Amy;" and Jo brought the visit to an end, +feeling more strongly than ever that calls did have a bad effect upon +her constitution. She shook hands in a gentlemanly manner, but Amy +kissed both the aunts, and the girls departed, leaving behind them the +impression of shadow and sunshine; which impression caused Aunt March to +say, as they vanished,-- + +"You'd better do it, Mary; I'll supply the money," and Aunt Carrol to +reply decidedly, "I certainly will, if her father and mother consent." + + [Illustration: Tail-piece] + + + + + [Illustration: You shall have another table] + + XXX. + + CONSEQUENCES. + + +Mrs. Chester's fair was so very elegant and select that it was +considered a great honor by the young ladies of the neighborhood to be +invited to take a table, and every one was much interested in the +matter. Amy was asked, but Jo was not, which was fortunate for all +parties, as her elbows were decidedly akimbo at this period of her life, +and it took a good many hard knocks to teach her how to get on easily. +The "haughty, uninteresting creature" was let severely alone; but Amy's +talent and taste were duly complimented by the offer of the art-table, +and she exerted herself to prepare and secure appropriate and valuable +contributions to it. + +Everything went on smoothly till the day before the fair opened; then +there occurred one of the little skirmishes which it is almost +impossible to avoid, when some five and twenty women, old and young, +with all their private piques and prejudices, try to work together. + +May Chester was rather jealous of Amy because the latter was a greater +favorite than herself, and, just at this time, several trifling +circumstances occurred to increase the feeling. Amy's dainty pen-and-ink +work entirely eclipsed May's painted vases,--that was one thorn; then +the all-conquering Tudor had danced four times with Amy, at a late +party, and only once with May,--that was thorn number two; but the chief +grievance that rankled in her soul, and gave her an excuse for her +unfriendly conduct, was a rumor which some obliging gossip had whispered +to her, that the March girls had made fun of her at the Lambs'. All the +blame of this should have fallen upon Jo, for her naughty imitation had +been too lifelike to escape detection, and the frolicsome Lambs had +permitted the joke to escape. No hint of this had reached the culprits, +however, and Amy's dismay can be imagined, when, the very evening before +the fair, as she was putting the last touches to her pretty table, Mrs. +Chester, who, of course, resented the supposed ridicule of her daughter, +said, in a bland tone, but with a cold look,-- + +"I find, dear, that there is some feeling among the young ladies about +my giving this table to any one but my girls. As this is the most +prominent, and some say the most attractive table of all, and they are +the chief getters-up of the fair, it is thought best for them to take +this place. I'm sorry, but I know you are too sincerely interested in +the cause to mind a little personal disappointment, and you shall have +another table if you like." + +Mrs. Chester had fancied beforehand that it would be easy to deliver +this little speech; but when the time came, she found it rather +difficult to utter it naturally, with Amy's unsuspicious eyes looking +straight at her, full of surprise and trouble. + +Amy felt that there was something behind this, but could not guess what, +and said quietly, feeling hurt, and showing that she did,-- + +"Perhaps you had rather I took no table at all?" + +"Now, my dear, don't have any ill feeling, I beg; it's merely a matter +of expediency, you see; my girls will naturally take the lead, and this +table is considered their proper place. _I_ think it very appropriate +to you, and feel very grateful for your efforts to make it so pretty; +but we must give up our private wishes, of course, and I will see that +you have a good place elsewhere. Wouldn't you like the flower-table? The +little girls undertook it, but they are discouraged. You could make a +charming thing of it, and the flower-table is always attractive, you +know." + +"Especially to gentlemen," added May, with a look which enlightened Amy +as to one cause of her sudden fall from favor. She colored angrily, but +took no other notice of that girlish sarcasm, and answered, with +unexpected amiability,-- + +"It shall be as you please, Mrs. Chester. I'll give up my place here at +once, and attend to the flowers, if you like." + +"You can put your own things on your own table, if you prefer," began +May, feeling a little conscience-stricken, as she looked at the pretty +racks, the painted shells, and quaint illuminations Amy had so carefully +made and so gracefully arranged. She meant it kindly, but Amy mistook +her meaning, and said quickly,-- + +"Oh, certainly, if they are in your way;" and sweeping her contributions +into her apron, pell-mell, she walked off, feeling that herself and her +works of art had been insulted past forgiveness. + +"Now she's mad. Oh, dear, I wish I hadn't asked you to speak, mamma," +said May, looking disconsolately at the empty spaces on her table. + +"Girls' quarrels are soon over," returned her mother, feeling a trifle +ashamed of her own part in this one, as well she might. + +The little girls hailed Amy and her treasures with delight, which +cordial reception somewhat soothed her perturbed spirit, and she fell to +work, determined to succeed florally, if she could not artistically. But +everything seemed against her: it was late, and she was tired; every one +was too busy with their own affairs to help her; and the little girls +were only hindrances, for the dears fussed and chattered like so many +magpies, making a great deal of confusion in their artless efforts to +preserve the most perfect order. The evergreen arch wouldn't stay firm +after she got it up, but wiggled and threatened to tumble down on her +head when the hanging baskets were filled; her best tile got a splash of +water, which left a sepia tear on the Cupid's cheek; she bruised her +hands with hammering, and got cold working in a draught, which last +affliction filled her with apprehensions for the morrow. Any girl-reader +who has suffered like afflictions will sympathize with poor Amy, and +wish her well through with her task. + +There was great indignation at home when she told her story that +evening. Her mother said it was a shame, but told her she had done +right; Beth declared she wouldn't go to the fair at all; and Jo demanded +why she didn't take all her pretty things and leave those mean people to +get on without her. + +"Because they are mean is no reason why I should be. I hate such things, +and though I think I've a right to be hurt, I don't intend to show it. +They will feel that more than angry speeches or huffy actions, won't +they, Marmee?" + +"That's the right spirit, my dear; a kiss for a blow is always best, +though it's not very easy to give it sometimes," said her mother, with +the air of one who had learned the difference between preaching and +practising. + +In spite of various very natural temptations to resent and retaliate, +Amy adhered to her resolution all the next day, bent on conquering her +enemy by kindness. She began well, thanks to a silent reminder that came +to her unexpectedly, but most opportunely. As she arranged her table +that morning, while the little girls were in an ante-room filling the +baskets, she took up her pet production,--a little book, the antique +cover of which her father had found among his treasures, and in which, +on leaves of vellum, she had beautifully illuminated different texts. As +she turned the pages, rich in dainty devices, with very pardonable +pride, her eye fell upon one verse that made her stop and think. Framed +in a brilliant scroll-work of scarlet, blue, and gold, with little +spirits of good-will helping one another up and down among the thorns +and flowers, were the words, "Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself." + +"I ought, but I don't," thought Amy, as her eye went from the bright +page to May's discontented face behind the big vases, that could not +hide the vacancies her pretty work had once filled. Amy stood a minute, +turning the leaves in her hand, reading on each some sweet rebuke for +all heart-burnings and uncharitableness of spirit. Many wise and true +sermons are preached us every day by unconscious ministers in street, +school, office, or home; even a fair-table may become a pulpit, if it +can offer the good and helpful words which are never out of season. +Amy's conscience preached her a little sermon from that text, then and +there; and she did what many of us do not always do,--took the sermon to +heart, and straightway put it in practice. + +A group of girls were standing about May's table, admiring the pretty +things, and talking over the change of saleswomen. They dropped their +voices, but Amy knew they were speaking of her, hearing one side of the +story, and judging accordingly. It was not pleasant, but a better spirit +had come over her, and presently a chance offered for proving it. She +heard May say sorrowfully,-- + +"It's too bad, for there is no time to make other things, and I don't +want to fill up with odds and ends. The table was just complete then: +now it's spoilt." + +"I dare say she'd put them back if you asked her," suggested some one. + +"How could I after all the fuss?" began May, but she did not finish, for +Amy's voice came across the hall, saying pleasantly,-- + +"You may have them, and welcome, without asking, if you want them. I was +just thinking I'd offer to put them back, for they belong to your table +rather than mine. Here they are; please take them, and forgive me if I +was hasty in carrying them away last night." + +As she spoke, Amy returned her contribution, with a nod and a smile, and +hurried away again, feeling that it was easier to do a friendly thing +than it was to stay and be thanked for it. + +"Now, I call that lovely of her, don't you?" cried one girl. + +May's answer was inaudible; but another young lady, whose temper was +evidently a little soured by making lemonade, added, with a disagreeable +laugh, "Very lovely; for she knew she wouldn't sell them at her own +table." + +Now, that was hard; when we make little sacrifices we like to have them +appreciated, at least; and for a minute Amy was sorry she had done it, +feeling that virtue was not always its own reward. But it is,--as she +presently discovered; for her spirits began to rise, and her table to +blossom under her skilful hands; the girls were very kind, and that one +little act seemed to have cleared the atmosphere amazingly. + +It was a very long day, and a hard one to Amy, as she sat behind her +table, often quite alone, for the little girls deserted very soon: few +cared to buy flowers in summer, and her bouquets began to droop long +before night. + +The art-table _was_ the most attractive in the room; there was a crowd +about it all day long, and the tenders were constantly flying to and fro +with important faces and rattling money-boxes. Amy often looked +wistfully across, longing to be there, where she felt at home and happy, +instead of in a corner with nothing to do. It might seem no hardship to +some of us; but to a pretty, blithe young girl, it was not only tedious, +but very trying; and the thought of being found there in the evening by +her family, and Laurie and his friends, made it a real martyrdom. + +She did not go home till night, and then she looked so pale and quiet +that they knew the day had been a hard one, though she made no +complaint, and did not even tell what she had done. Her mother gave her +an extra cordial cup of tea, Beth helped her dress, and made a charming +little wreath for her hair, while Jo astonished her family by getting +herself up with unusual care, and hinting darkly that the tables were +about to be turned. + +"Don't do anything rude, pray, Jo. I won't have any fuss made, so let it +all pass, and behave yourself," begged Amy, as she departed early, +hoping to find a reinforcement of flowers to refresh her poor little +table. + +"I merely intend to make myself entrancingly agreeable to every one I +know, and to keep them in your corner as long as possible. Teddy and his +boys will lend a hand, and we'll have a good time yet," returned Jo, +leaning over the gate to watch for Laurie. Presently the familiar tramp +was heard in the dusk, and she ran out to meet him. + +"Is that my boy?" + +"As sure as this is my girl!" and Laurie tucked her hand under his arm, +with the air of a man whose every wish was gratified. + +"O Teddy, such doings!" and Jo told Amy's wrongs with sisterly zeal. + +"A flock of our fellows are going to drive over by and by, and I'll be +hanged if I don't make them buy every flower she's got, and camp down +before her table afterward," said Laurie, espousing her cause with +warmth. + +"The flowers are not at all nice, Amy says, and the fresh ones may not +arrive in time. I don't wish to be unjust or suspicious, but I shouldn't +wonder if they never came at all. When people do one mean thing they are +very likely to do another," observed Jo, in a disgusted tone. + +"Didn't Hayes give you the best out of our gardens? I told him to." + +"I didn't know that; he forgot, I suppose; and, as your grandpa was +poorly, I didn't like to worry him by asking, though I did want some." + +"Now, Jo, how could you think there was any need of asking! They are +just as much yours as mine. Don't we always go halves in everything?" +began Laurie, in the tone that always made Jo turn thorny. + +"Gracious, I hope not! half of some of your things wouldn't suit me at +all. But we mustn't stand philandering here; I've got to help Amy, so +you go and make yourself splendid; and if you'll be so very kind as to +let Hayes take a few nice flowers up to the Hall, I'll bless you +forever." + +"Couldn't you do it now?" asked Laurie, so suggestively that Jo shut the +gate in his face with inhospitable haste, and called through the bars, +"Go away, Teddy; I'm busy." + +Thanks to the conspirators, the tables _were_ turned that night; for +Hayes sent up a wilderness of flowers, with a lovely basket, arranged in +his best manner, for a centre-piece; then the March family turned out +_en masse_, and Jo exerted herself to some purpose, for people not only +came, but stayed, laughing at her nonsense, admiring Amy's taste, and +apparently enjoying themselves very much. Laurie and his friends +gallantly threw themselves into the breach, bought up the bouquets, +encamped before the table, and made that corner the liveliest spot in +the room. Amy was in her element now, and, out of gratitude, if nothing +more, was as sprightly and gracious as possible,--coming to the +conclusion, about that time, that virtue _was_ its own reward, after +all. + + [Illustration: Bought up the bouquets] + +Jo behaved herself with exemplary propriety; and when Amy was happily +surrounded by her guard of honor, Jo circulated about the hall, picking +up various bits of gossip, which enlightened her upon the subject of the +Chester change of base. She reproached herself for her share of the +ill-feeling, and resolved to exonerate Amy as soon as possible; she also +discovered what Amy had done about the things in the morning, and +considered her a model of magnanimity. As she passed the art-table, she +glanced over it for her sister's things, but saw no signs of them. +"Tucked away out of sight, I dare say," thought Jo, who could forgive +her own wrongs, but hotly resented any insult offered to her family. + +"Good evening, Miss Jo. How does Amy get on?" asked May, with a +conciliatory air, for she wanted to show that she also could be +generous. + +"She has sold everything she had that was worth selling, and now she is +enjoying herself. The flower-table is always attractive, you know, +'especially to gentlemen.'" + +Jo _couldn't_ resist giving that little slap, but May took it so meekly +she regretted it a minute after, and fell to praising the great vases, +which still remained unsold. + +"Is Amy's illumination anywhere about? I took a fancy to buy that for +father," said Jo, very anxious to learn the fate of her sister's work. + +"Everything of Amy's sold long ago; I took care that the right people +saw them, and they made a nice little sum of money for us," returned +May, who had overcome sundry small temptations, as well as Amy, that +day. + +Much gratified, Jo rushed back to tell the good news; and Amy looked +both touched and surprised by the report of May's words and manner. + +"Now, gentlemen, I want you to go and do your duty by the other tables +as generously as you have by mine--especially the art-table," she said, +ordering out "Teddy's Own," as the girls called the college friends. + +"'Charge, Chester, charge!' is the motto for that table; but do your +duty like men, and you'll get your money's worth of _art_ in every sense +of the word," said the irrepressible Jo, as the devoted phalanx prepared +to take the field. + +"To hear is to obey, but March is fairer far than May," said little +Parker, making a frantic effort to be both witty and tender, and getting +promptly quenched by Laurie, who said, "Very well, my son, for a small +boy!" and walked him off, with a paternal pat on the head. + +"Buy the vases," whispered Amy to Laurie, as a final heaping of coals of +fire on her enemy's head. + +To May's great delight, Mr. Laurence not only bought the vases, but +pervaded the hall with one under each arm. The other gentlemen +speculated with equal rashness in all sorts of frail trifles, and +wandered helplessly about afterward, burdened with wax flowers, painted +fans, filigree portfolios, and other useful and appropriate purchases. + +Aunt Carrol was there, heard the story, looked pleased, and said +something to Mrs. March in a corner, which made the latter lady beam +with satisfaction, and watch Amy with a face full of mingled pride and +anxiety, though she did not betray the cause of her pleasure till +several days later. + +The fair was pronounced a success; and when May bade Amy good night, she +did not "gush" as usual, but gave her an affectionate kiss, and a look +which said, "Forgive and forget." That satisfied Amy; and when she got +home she found the vases paraded on the parlor chimney-piece, with a +great bouquet in each. "The reward of merit for a magnanimous March," as +Laurie announced with a flourish. + +"You've a deal more principle and generosity and nobleness of character +than I ever gave you credit for, Amy. You've behaved sweetly, and I +respect you with all my heart," said Jo warmly, as they brushed their +hair together late that night. + +"Yes, we all do, and love her for being so ready to forgive. It must +have been dreadfully hard, after working so long, and setting your heart +on selling your own pretty things. I don't believe I could have done it +as kindly as you did," added Beth from her pillow. + +"Why, girls, you needn't praise me so; I only did as I'd be done by. You +laugh at me when I say I want to be a lady, but I mean a true +gentlewoman in mind and manners, and I try to do it as far as I know +how. I can't explain exactly, but I want to be above the little +meannesses and follies and faults that spoil so many women. I'm far from +it now, but I do my best, and hope in time to be what mother is." + +Amy spoke earnestly, and Jo said, with a cordial hug,-- + +"I understand now what you mean, and I'll never laugh at you again. You +are getting on faster than you think, and I'll take lessons of you in +true politeness, for you've learned the secret, I believe. Try away, +deary; you'll get your reward some day, and no one will be more +delighted than I shall." + +A week later Amy did get her reward, and poor Jo found it hard to be +delighted. A letter came from Aunt Carrol, and Mrs. March's face was +illuminated to such a degree, when she read it, that Jo and Beth, who +were with her, demanded what the glad tidings were. + +"Aunt Carrol is going abroad next month, and wants--" + +"Me to go with her!" burst in Jo, flying out of her chair in an +uncontrollable rapture. + +"No, dear, not you; it's Amy." + +"O mother! she's too young; it's my turn first. I've wanted it so +long--it would do me so much good, and be so altogether splendid--I +_must_ go." + +"I'm afraid it's impossible, Jo. Aunt says Amy, decidedly, and it is not +for us to dictate when she offers such a favor." + +"It's always so. Amy has all the fun and I have all the work. It isn't +fair, oh, it isn't fair!" cried Jo passionately. + +"I'm afraid it is partly your own fault, dear. When Aunt spoke to me the +other day, she regretted your blunt manners and too independent spirit; +and here she writes, as if quoting something you had said,--'I planned +at first to ask Jo; but as "favors burden her," and she "hates French," +I think I won't venture to invite her. Amy is more docile, will make a +good companion for Flo, and receive gratefully any help the trip may +give her.'" + +"Oh, my tongue, my abominable tongue! why can't I learn to keep it +quiet?" groaned Jo, remembering words which had been her undoing. When +she had heard the explanation of the quoted phrases, Mrs. March said +sorrowfully,-- + +"I wish you could have gone, but there is no hope of it this time; so +try to bear it cheerfully, and don't sadden Amy's pleasure by reproaches +or regrets." + +"I'll try," said Jo, winking hard, as she knelt down to pick up the +basket she had joyfully upset. "I'll take a leaf out of her book, and +try not only to seem glad, but to be so, and not grudge her one minute +of happiness; but it won't be easy, for it is a dreadful +disappointment;" and poor Jo bedewed the little fat pincushion she held +with several very bitter tears. + +"Jo, dear, I'm very selfish, but I couldn't spare you, and I'm glad you +are not going quite yet," whispered Beth, embracing her, basket and all, +with such a clinging touch and loving face, that Jo felt comforted in +spite of the sharp regret that made her want to box her own ears, and +humbly beg Aunt Carrol to burden her with this favor, and see how +gratefully she would bear it. + +By the time Amy came in, Jo was able to take her part in the family +jubilation; not quite as heartily as usual, perhaps, but without +repinings at Amy's good fortune. The young lady herself received the +news as tidings of great joy, went about in a solemn sort of rapture, +and began to sort her colors and pack her pencils that evening, leaving +such trifles as clothes, money, and passports to those less absorbed in +visions of art than herself. + +"It isn't a mere pleasure trip to me, girls," she said impressively, as +she scraped her best palette. "It will decide my career; for if I have +any genius, I shall find it out in Rome, and will do something to prove +it." + +"Suppose you haven't?" said Jo, sewing away, with red eyes, at the new +collars which were to be handed over to Amy. + +"Then I shall come home and teach drawing for my living," replied the +aspirant for fame, with philosophic composure; but she made a wry face +at the prospect, and scratched away at her palette as if bent on +vigorous measures before she gave up her hopes. + +"No, you won't; you hate hard work, and you'll marry some rich man, and +come home to sit in the lap of luxury all your days," said Jo. + +"Your predictions sometimes come to pass, but I don't believe that one +will. I'm sure I wish it would, for if I can't be an artist myself, I +should like to be able to help those who are," said Amy, smiling, as if +the part of Lady Bountiful would suit her better than that of a poor +drawing-teacher. + +"Hum!" said Jo, with a sigh; "if you wish it you'll have it, for your +wishes are always granted--mine never." + +"Would you like to go?" asked Amy, thoughtfully patting her nose with +her knife. + +"Rather!" + +"Well, in a year or two I'll send for you, and we'll dig in the Forum +for relics, and carry out all the plans we've made so many times." + +"Thank you; I'll remind you of your promise when that joyful day comes, +if it ever does," returned Jo, accepting the vague but magnificent offer +as gratefully as she could. + +There was not much time for preparation, and the house was in a ferment +till Amy was off. Jo bore up very well till the last flutter of blue +ribbon vanished, when she retired to her refuge, the garret, and cried +till she couldn't cry any more. Amy likewise bore up stoutly till the +steamer sailed; then, just as the gangway was about to be withdrawn, it +suddenly came over her that a whole ocean was soon to roll between her +and those who loved her best, and she clung to Laurie, the last +lingerer, saying with a sob,-- + +"Oh, take care of them for me; and if anything should happen--" + +"I will, dear, I will; and if anything happens, I'll come and comfort +you," whispered Laurie, little dreaming that he would be called upon to +keep his word. + +So Amy sailed away to find the old world, which is always new and +beautiful to young eyes, while her father and friend watched her from +the shore, fervently hoping that none but gentle fortunes would befall +the happy-hearted girl, who waved her hand to them till they could see +nothing but the summer sunshine dazzling on the sea. + + [Illustration: Tail-piece] + + + + + [Illustration: Flo and I ordered a hansom-cab] + + XXXI. + + OUR FOREIGN CORRESPONDENT. + + + "LONDON. + "DEAREST PEOPLE,-- + + "Here I really sit at a front window of the Bath Hotel, + Piccadilly. It's not a fashionable place, but uncle stopped here + years ago, and won't go anywhere else; however, we don't mean to + stay long, so it's no great matter. Oh, I can't begin to tell + you how I enjoy it all! I never can, so I'll only give you bits + out of my note-book, for I've done nothing but sketch and + scribble since I started. + + "I sent a line from Halifax, when I felt pretty miserable, but + after that I got on delightfully, seldom ill, on deck all day, + with plenty of pleasant people to amuse me. Every one was very + kind to me, especially the officers. Don't laugh, Jo; gentlemen + really are very necessary aboard ship, to hold on to, or to wait + upon one; and as they have nothing to do, it's a mercy to make + them useful, otherwise they would smoke themselves to death, I'm + afraid. + + [Illustration: "Every one was very kind, especially the + officers."--Page 378.] + + "Aunt and Flo were poorly all the way, and liked to be let + alone, so when I had done what I could for them, I went and + enjoyed myself. Such walks on deck, such sunsets, such splendid + air and waves! It was almost as exciting as riding a fast + horse, when we went rushing on so grandly. I wish Beth could + have come, it would have done her so much good; as for Jo, she + would have gone up and sat on the main-top jib, or whatever the + high thing is called, made friends with the engineers, and + tooted on the captain's speaking-trumpet, she'd have been in + such a state of rapture. + + "It was all heavenly, but I was glad to see the Irish coast, and + found it very lovely, so green and sunny, with brown cabins here + and there, ruins on some of the hills, and gentlemen's + country-seats in the valleys, with deer feeding in the parks. It + was early in the morning, but I didn't regret getting up to see + it, for the bay was full of little boats, the shore _so_ + picturesque, and a rosy sky overhead. I never shall forget it. + + "At Queenstown one of my new acquaintances left us,--Mr. + Lennox,--and when I said something about the Lakes of Killarney, + he sighed and sung, with a look at me,-- + + 'Oh, have you e'er heard of Kate Kearney? + She lives on the banks of Killarney; + From the glance of her eye, + Shun danger and fly, + For fatal's the glance of Kate Kearney.' + + Wasn't that nonsensical? + + "We only stopped at Liverpool a few hours. It's a dirty, noisy + place, and I was glad to leave it. Uncle rushed out and bought a + pair of dog-skin gloves, some ugly, thick shoes, and an + umbrella, and got shaved _à la_ mutton-chop, the first thing. + Then he flattered himself that he looked like a true Briton; but + the first time he had the mud cleaned off his shoes, the little + bootblack knew that an American stood in them, and said, with a + grin, 'There yer har, sir. I've give 'em the latest Yankee + shine.' It amused uncle immensely. Oh, I _must_ tell you what + that absurd Lennox did! He got his friend Ward, who came on with + us, to order a bouquet for me, and the first thing I saw in my + room was a lovely one, with 'Robert Lennox's compliments,' on + the card. Wasn't that fun, girls? I like travelling. + + "I never _shall_ get to London if I don't hurry. The trip was + like riding through a long picture-gallery, full of lovely + landscapes. The farmhouses were my delight; with thatched roofs, + ivy up to the eaves, latticed windows, and stout women with rosy + children at the doors. The very cattle looked more tranquil than + ours, as they stood knee-deep in clover, and the hens had a + contented cluck, as if they never got nervous, like Yankee + biddies. Such perfect color I never saw,--the grass so green, + sky so blue, grain so yellow, woods so dark,--I was in a rapture + all the way. So was Flo; and we kept bouncing from one side to + the other, trying to see everything while we were whisking along + at the rate of sixty miles an hour. Aunt was tired and went to + sleep, but uncle read his guide-book, and wouldn't be astonished + at anything. This is the way we went on: Amy, flying up,--'Oh, + that must be Kenilworth, that gray place among the trees!' Flo, + darting to my window,--'How sweet! We must go there some time, + won't we, papa?' Uncle, calmly admiring his boots,--'No, my + dear, not unless you want beer; that's a brewery.' + + "A pause,--then Flo cried out, 'Bless me, there's a gallows and + a man going up.' 'Where, where?' shrieks Amy, staring out at two + tall posts with a cross-beam and some dangling chains. 'A + colliery,' remarks uncle, with a twinkle of the eye. 'Here's a + lovely flock of lambs all lying down,' says Amy. 'See, papa, + aren't they pretty!' added Flo sentimentally. 'Geese, young + ladies,' returns uncle, in a tone that keeps us quiet till Flo + settles down to enjoy 'The Flirtations of Capt. Cavendish,' and + I have the scenery all to myself. + + "Of course it rained when we got to London, and there was + nothing to be seen but fog and umbrellas. We rested, unpacked, + and shopped a little between the showers. Aunt Mary got me some + new things, for I came off in such a hurry I wasn't half ready. + A white hat and blue feather, a muslin dress to match, and the + loveliest mantle you ever saw. Shopping in Regent Street is + perfectly splendid; things seem so cheap--nice ribbons only + sixpence a yard. I laid in a stock, but shall get my gloves in + Paris. Doesn't that sound sort of elegant and rich? + + "Flo and I, for the fun of it, ordered a hansom cab, while aunt + and uncle were out, and went for a drive, though we learned + afterward that it wasn't the thing for young ladies to ride in + them alone. It was so droll! for when we were shut in by the + wooden apron, the man drove so fast that Flo was frightened, and + told me to stop him. But he was up outside behind somewhere, and + I couldn't get at him. He didn't hear me call, nor see me flap + my parasol in front, and there we were, quite helpless, rattling + away, and whirling around corners at a break-neck pace. At last, + in my despair, I saw a little door in the roof, and on poking it + open, a red eye appeared, and a beery voice said,-- + + "'Now then, mum?' + + "I gave my order as soberly as I could, and slamming down the + door, with an 'Aye, aye, mum,' the man made his horse walk, as + if going to a funeral. I poked again, and said, 'A little + faster;' then off he went, helter-skelter, as before, and we + resigned ourselves to our fate. + + "To-day was fair and we went to Hyde Park, close by, for we are + more aristocratic than we look. The Duke of Devonshire lives + near. I often see his footmen lounging at the back gate; and the + Duke of Wellington's house is not far off. Such sights as I saw, + my dear! It was as good as Punch, for there were fat dowagers + rolling about in their red and yellow coaches, with gorgeous + Jeameses in silk stockings and velvet coats, up behind, and + powdered coachmen in front. Smart maids, with the rosiest + children I ever saw; handsome girls, looking half asleep; + dandies, in queer English hats and lavender kids, lounging + about, and tall soldiers, in short red jackets and muffin caps + stuck on one side, looking so funny I longed to sketch them. + + "Rotten Row means '_Route de Roi_,' or the king's way; but now + it's more like a riding-school than anything else. The horses + are splendid, and the men, especially the grooms, ride well; but + the women are stiff, and bounce, which isn't according to our + rules. I longed to show them a tearing American gallop, for they + trotted solemnly up and down, in their scant habits and high + hats, looking like the women in a toy Noah's Ark. Every one + rides,--old men, stout ladies, little children,--and the young + folks do a deal of flirting here; I saw a pair exchange + rosebuds, for it's the thing to wear one in the button-hole, and + I thought it rather a nice little idea. + + "In the P.M. to Westminster Abbey; but don't expect me to + describe it, that's impossible--so I'll only say it was sublime! + This evening we are going to see Fechter, which will be an + appropriate end to the happiest day of my life. + + "MIDNIGHT. + + "It's very late, but I can't let my letter go in the morning + without telling you what happened last evening. Who do you think + came in, as we were at tea? Laurie's English friends, Fred and + Frank Vaughn! I was _so_ surprised, for I shouldn't have known + them but for the cards. Both are tall fellows, with whiskers; + Fred handsome in the English style, and Frank much better, for + he only limps slightly, and uses no crutches. They had heard + from Laurie where we were to be, and came to ask us to their + house; but uncle won't go, so we shall return the call, and see + them as we can. They went to the theatre with us, and we did + have _such_ a good time, for Frank devoted himself to Flo, and + Fred and I talked over past, present, and future fun as if we + had known each other all our days. Tell Beth Frank asked for + her, and was sorry to hear of her ill health. Fred laughed when + I spoke of Jo, and sent his 'respectful compliments to the big + hat.' Neither of them had forgotten Camp Laurence, or the fun we + had there. What ages ago it seems, doesn't it? + + "Aunt is tapping on the wall for the third time, so I _must_ + stop. I really feel like a dissipated London fine lady, writing + here so late, with my room full of pretty things, and my head a + jumble of parks, theatres, new gowns, and gallant creatures who + say 'Ah!' and twirl their blond mustaches with the true English + lordliness. I long to see you all, and in spite of my nonsense + am, as ever, your loving + AMY." + + + "DEAR GIRLS,-- "PARIS. + + "In my last I told you about our London visit,--how kind the + Vaughns were, and what pleasant parties they made for us. I + enjoyed the trips to Hampton Court and the Kensington Museum + more than anything else,--for at Hampton I saw Raphael's + cartoons, and, at the Museum, rooms full of pictures by Turner, + Lawrence, Reynolds, Hogarth, and the other great creatures. The + day in Richmond Park was charming, for we had a regular English + picnic, and I had more splendid oaks and groups of deer than I + could copy; also heard a nightingale, and saw larks go up. We + 'did' London to our hearts' content, thanks to Fred and Frank, + and were sorry to go away; for, though English people are slow + to take you in, when they once make up their minds to do it they + cannot be outdone in hospitality, _I_ think. The Vaughns hope to + meet us in Rome next winter, and I shall be dreadfully + disappointed if they don't, for Grace and I are great friends, + and the boys very nice fellows,--especially Fred. + + "Well, we were hardly settled here, when he turned up again, + saying he had come for a holiday, and was going to Switzerland. + Aunt looked sober at first, but he was so cool about it she + couldn't say a word; and now we get on nicely, and are very glad + he came, for he speaks French like a native, and I don't know + what we should do without him. Uncle doesn't know ten words, and + insists on talking English very loud, as if that would make + people understand him. Aunt's pronunciation is old-fashioned, + and Flo and I, though we flattered ourselves that we knew a good + deal, find we don't, and are very grateful to have Fred do the + '_parley vooing_,' as uncle calls it. + + "Such delightful times as we are having! sight-seeing from + morning till night, stopping for nice lunches in the gay + _cafés_, and meeting with all sorts of droll adventures. Rainy + days I spend in the Louvre, revelling in pictures. Jo would turn + up her naughty nose at some of the finest, because she has no + soul for art; but _I_ have, and I'm cultivating eye and taste as + fast as I can. She would like the relics of great people better, + for I've seen her Napoleon's cocked hat and gray coat, his + baby's cradle and his old toothbrush; also Marie Antoinette's + little shoe, the ring of Saint Denis, Charlemagne's sword, and + many other interesting things. I'll talk for hours about them + when I come, but haven't time to write. + + "The Palais Royale is a heavenly place,--so full of _bijouterie_ + and lovely things that I'm nearly distracted because I can't buy + them. Fred wanted to get me some, but of course I didn't allow + it. Then the Bois and the Champs Elysées are _très magnifique_. + I've seen the imperial family several times,--the emperor an + ugly, hard-looking man, the empress pale and pretty, but dressed + in bad taste, _I_ thought,--purple dress, green hat, and yellow + gloves. Little Nap. is a handsome boy, who sits chatting to his + tutor, and kisses his hand to the people as he passes in his + four-horse barouche, with postilions in red satin jackets, and a + mounted guard before and behind. + + [Illustration: I've seen the imperial family several times] + + "We often walk in the Tuileries Gardens, for they are lovely, + though the antique Luxembourg Gardens suit me better. Père la + Chaise is very curious, for many of the tombs are like small + rooms, and, looking in, one sees a table, with images or + pictures of the dead, and chairs for the mourners to sit in + when they come to lament. That is so Frenchy. + + "Our rooms are on the Rue de Rivoli, and, sitting in the + balcony, we look up and down the long, brilliant street. It is + so pleasant that we spend our evenings talking there, when too + tired with our day's work to go out. Fred is very entertaining, + and is altogether the most agreeable young man I ever + knew,--except Laurie, whose manners are more charming. I wish + Fred was dark, for I don't fancy light men; however, the Vaughns + are very rich, and come of an excellent family, so I won't find + fault with their yellow hair, as my own is yellower. + + "Next week we are off to Germany and Switzerland; and, as we + shall travel fast, I shall only be able to give you hasty + letters. I keep my diary, and try to 'remember correctly and + describe clearly all that I see and admire,' as father advised. + It is good practice for me, and, with my sketch-book, will give + you a better idea of my tour than these scribbles. + + "Adieu; I embrace you tenderly. VOTRE AMIE." + + + "MY DEAR MAMMA,-- "HEIDELBERG. + + "Having a quiet hour before we leave for Berne, I'll try to tell + you what has happened, for some of it is very important, as you + will see. + + "The sail up the Rhine was perfect, and I just sat and enjoyed + it with all my might. Get father's old guide-books, and read + about it; I haven't words beautiful enough to describe it. At + Coblentz we had a lovely time, for some students from Bonn, with + whom Fred got acquainted on the boat, gave us a serenade. It was + a moonlight night, and, about one o'clock, Flo and I were waked + by the most delicious music under our windows. We flew up, and + hid behind the curtains; but sly peeps showed us Fred and the + students singing away down below. It was the most romantic thing + I ever saw,--the river, the bridge of boats, the great fortress + opposite, moonlight everywhere, and music fit to melt a heart of + stone. + + "When they were done we threw down some flowers, and saw them + scramble for them, kiss their hands to the invisible ladies, and + go laughing away,--to smoke and drink beer, I suppose. Next + morning Fred showed me one of the crumpled flowers in his + vest-pocket, and looked very sentimental. I laughed at him, and + said I didn't throw it, but Flo, which seemed to disgust him, + for he tossed it out of the window, and turned sensible again. + I'm afraid I'm going to have trouble with that boy, it begins to + look like it. + + "The baths at Nassau were very gay, so was Baden-Baden, where + Fred lost some money, and I scolded him. He needs some one to + look after him when Frank is not with him. Kate said once she + hoped he'd marry soon, and I quite agree with her that it would + be well for him. Frankfort was delightful; I saw Goethe's house, + Schiller's statue, and Dannecker's famous 'Ariadne.' It was very + lovely, but I should have enjoyed it more if I had known the + story better. I didn't like to ask, as every one knew it, or + pretended they did. I wish Jo would tell me all about it; I + ought to have read more, for I find I don't know anything, and + it mortifies me. + + "Now comes the serious part,--for it happened here, and Fred is + just gone. He has been so kind and jolly that we all got quite + fond of him; I never thought of anything but a travelling + friendship, till the serenade night. Since then I've begun to + feel that the moonlight walks, balcony talks, and daily + adventures were something more to him than fun. I haven't + flirted, mother, truly, but remembered what you said to me, and + have done my very best. I can't help it if people like me; I + don't try to make them, and it worries me if I don't care for + them, though Jo says I haven't got any heart. Now I know mother + will shake her head, and the girls say, 'Oh, the mercenary + little wretch!' but I've made up my mind, and, if Fred asks me, + I shall accept him, though I'm not madly in love. I like him, + and we get on comfortably together. He is handsome, young, + clever enough, and very rich,--ever so much richer than the + Laurences. I don't think his family would object, and I should + be very happy, for they are all kind, well-bred, generous + people, and they like me. Fred, as the eldest twin, will have + the estate, I suppose, and such a splendid one as it is! A city + house in a fashionable street, not so showy as our big houses, + but twice as comfortable, and full of solid luxury, such as + English people believe in. I like it, for it's genuine. I've + seen the plate, the family jewels, the old servants, and + pictures of the country place, with its park, great house, + lovely grounds, and fine horses. Oh, it would be all I should + ask! and I'd rather have it than any title such as girls snap up + so readily, and find nothing behind. I may be mercenary, but I + hate poverty, and don't mean to bear it a minute longer than I + can help. One of us _must_ marry well; Meg didn't, Jo won't, + Beth can't yet, so I shall, and make everything cosey all round. + I wouldn't marry a man I hated or despised. You may be sure of + that; and, though Fred is not my model hero, he does very well, + and, in time, I should get fond enough of him if he was very + fond of me, and let me do just as I liked. So I've been turning + the matter over in my mind the last week, for it was impossible + to help seeing that Fred liked me. He said nothing, but little + things showed it; he never goes with Flo, always gets on my side + of the carriage, table, or promenade, looks sentimental when we + are alone, and frowns at any one else who ventures to speak to + me. Yesterday, at dinner, when an Austrian officer stared at us, + and then said something to his friend,--a rakish-looking + baron,--about '_ein wonderschönes Blöndchen_,' Fred looked as + fierce as a lion, and cut his meat so savagely, it nearly flew + off his plate. He isn't one of the cool, stiff Englishmen, but + is rather peppery, for he has Scotch blood in him, as one might + guess from his bonnie blue eyes. + + "Well, last evening we went up to the castle about sunset,--at + least all of us but Fred, who was to meet us there, after going + to the Post Restante for letters. We had a charming time poking + about the ruins, the vaults where the monster tun is, and the + beautiful gardens made by the elector, long ago, for his English + wife. I liked the great terrace best, for the view was divine; + so, while the rest went to see the rooms inside, I sat there + trying to sketch the gray stone lion's head on the wall, with + scarlet woodbine sprays hanging round it. I felt as if I'd got + into a romance, sitting there, watching the Neckar rolling + through the valley, listening to the music of the Austrian band + below, and waiting for my lover, like a real story-book girl. I + had a feeling that something was going to happen, and I was + ready for it. I didn't feel blushy or quakey, but quite cool, + and only a little excited. + +[Illustration: Trying to sketch the gray-stone lion's head on the wall] + + "By and by I heard Fred's voice, and then he came hurrying + through the great arch to find me. He looked so troubled that I + forgot all about myself, and asked what the matter was. He said + he'd just got a letter begging him to come home, for Frank was + very ill; so he was going at once, in the night train, and only + had time to say good-by. I was very sorry for him, and + disappointed for myself, but only for a minute, because he + said, as he shook hands,--and said it in a way that I could not + mistake,--'I shall soon come back; you won't forget me, Amy?' + + "I didn't promise, but I looked at him, and he seemed satisfied, + and there was no time for anything but messages and good-byes, + for he was off in an hour, and we all miss him very much. I know + he wanted to speak, but I think, from something he once hinted, + that he had promised his father not to do anything of the sort + yet awhile, for he is a rash boy, and the old gentleman dreads a + foreign daughter-in-law. We shall soon meet in Rome; and then, + if I don't change my mind, I'll say 'Yes, thank you,' when he + says 'Will you, please?' + + "Of course this is all _very private_, but I wished you to know + what was going on. Don't be anxious about me; remember I am your + 'prudent Amy,' and be sure I will do nothing rashly. Send me as + much advice as you like; I'll use it if I can. I wish I could + see you for a good talk, Marmee. Love and trust me. + + "Ever your AMY." + + + + + XXXII. + + TENDER TROUBLES. + + +"Jo, I'm anxious about Beth." + +"Why, mother, she has seemed unusually well since the babies came." + +"It's not her health that troubles me now; it's her spirits. I'm sure +there is something on her mind, and I want you to discover what it is." + +"What makes you think so, mother?" + +"She sits alone a good deal, and doesn't talk to her father as much as +she used. I found her crying over the babies the other day. When she +sings, the songs are always sad ones, and now and then I see a look in +her face that I don't understand. This isn't like Beth, and it worries +me." + +"Have you asked her about it?" + +"I have tried once or twice; but she either evaded my questions, or +looked so distressed that I stopped. I never force my children's +confidence, and I seldom have to wait for it long." + +Mrs. March glanced at Jo as she spoke, but the face opposite seemed +quite unconscious of any secret disquietude but Beth's; and, after +sewing thoughtfully for a minute, Jo said,-- + +"I think she is growing up, and so begins to dream dreams, and have +hopes and fears and fidgets, without knowing why, or being able to +explain them. Why, mother, Beth's eighteen, but we don't realize it, and +treat her like a child, forgetting she's a woman." + +"So she is. Dear heart, how fast you do grow up," returned her mother, +with a sigh and a smile. + +"Can't be helped, Marmee, so you must resign yourself to all sorts of +worries, and let your birds hop out of the nest, one by one. I promise +never to hop very far, if that is any comfort to you." + +"It is a great comfort, Jo; I always feel strong when you are at home, +now Meg is gone. Beth is too feeble and Amy too young to depend upon; +but when the tug comes, you are always ready." + +"Why, you know I don't mind hard jobs much, and there must always be one +scrub in a family. Amy is splendid in fine works, and I'm not; but I +feel in my element when all the carpets are to be taken up, or half the +family fall sick at once. Amy is distinguishing herself abroad; but if +anything is amiss at home, I'm your man." + +"I leave Beth to your hands, then, for she will open her tender little +heart to her Jo sooner than to any one else. Be very kind, and don't let +her think any one watches or talks about her. If she only would get +quite strong and cheerful again, I shouldn't have a wish in the world." + +"Happy woman! I've got heaps." + +"My dear, what are they?" + +"I'll settle Bethy's troubles, and then I'll tell you mine. They are not +very wearing, so they'll keep;" and Jo stitched away, with a wise nod +which set her mother's heart at rest about her, for the present at +least. + +While apparently absorbed in her own affairs, Jo watched Beth; and, +after many conflicting conjectures, finally settled upon one which +seemed to explain the change in her. A slight incident gave Jo the clue +to the mystery, she thought, and lively fancy, loving heart did the +rest. She was affecting to write busily one Saturday afternoon, when she +and Beth were alone together; yet as she scribbled, she kept her eye on +her sister, who seemed unusually quiet. Sitting at the window, Beth's +work often dropped into her lap, and she leaned her head upon her hand, +in a dejected attitude, while her eyes rested on the dull, autumnal +landscape. Suddenly some one passed below, whistling like an operatic +blackbird, and a voice called out,-- + + [Illustration: She leaned her head upon her hands] + +"All serene! Coming in to-night." + +Beth started, leaned forward, smiled and nodded, watched the passer-by +till his quick tramp died away, then said softly, as if to herself,-- + +"How strong and well and happy that dear boy looks." + +"Hum!" said Jo, still intent upon her sister's face; for the bright +color faded as quickly as it came, the smile vanished, and presently a +tear lay shining on the window-ledge. Beth whisked it off, and glanced +apprehensively at Jo; but she was scratching away at a tremendous rate, +apparently engrossed in "Olympia's Oath." The instant Beth turned, Jo +began her watch again, saw Beth's hand go quietly to her eyes more than +once, and, in her half-averted face, read a tender sorrow that made her +own eyes fill. Fearing to betray herself, she slipped away, murmuring +something about needing more paper. + +"Mercy on me, Beth loves Laurie!" she said, sitting down in her own +room, pale with the shock of the discovery which she believed she had +just made. "I never dreamt of such a thing. What _will_ mother say? I +wonder if he--" there Jo stopped, and turned scarlet with a sudden +thought. "If he shouldn't love back again, how dreadful it would be. He +must; I'll make him!" and she shook her head threateningly at the +picture of the mischievous-looking boy laughing at her from the wall. +"Oh dear, we _are_ growing up with a vengeance. Here's Meg married and a +mamma, Amy flourishing away at Paris, and Beth in love. I'm the only one +that has sense enough to keep out of mischief." Jo thought intently for +a minute, with her eyes fixed on the picture; then she smoothed out her +wrinkled forehead, and said, with a decided nod at the face opposite, +"No, thank you, sir; you're very charming, but you've no more stability +than a weathercock; so you needn't write touching notes, and smile in +that insinuating way, for it won't do a bit of good, and I won't have +it." + +Then she sighed, and fell into a reverie, from which she did not wake +till the early twilight sent her down to take new observations, which +only confirmed her suspicion. Though Laurie flirted with Amy and joked +with Jo, his manner to Beth had always been peculiarly kind and gentle, +but so was everybody's; therefore, no one thought of imagining that he +cared more for her than for the others. Indeed, a general impression had +prevailed in the family, of late, that "our boy" was getting fonder than +ever of Jo, who, however, wouldn't hear a word upon the subject, and +scolded violently if any one dared to suggest it. If they had known the +various tender passages of the past year, or rather attempts at tender +passages which had been nipped in the bud, they would have had the +immense satisfaction of saying, "I told you so." But Jo hated +"philandering," and wouldn't allow it, always having a joke or a smile +ready at the least sign of impending danger. + +When Laurie first went to college, he fell in love about once a month; +but these small flames were as brief as ardent, did no damage, and much +amused Jo, who took great interest in the alternations of hope, despair, +and resignation, which were confided to her in their weekly +conferences. But there came a time when Laurie ceased to worship at many +shrines, hinted darkly at one all-absorbing passion, and indulged +occasionally in Byronic fits of gloom. Then he avoided the tender +subject altogether, wrote philosophical notes to Jo, turned studious, +and gave out that he was going to "dig," intending to graduate in a +blaze of glory. This suited the young lady better than twilight +confidences, tender pressures of the hand, and eloquent glances of the +eye; for with Jo, brain developed earlier than heart, and she preferred +imaginary heroes to real ones, because, when tired of them, the former +could be shut up in the tin-kitchen till called for, and the latter were +less manageable. + +Things were in this state when the grand discovery was made, and Jo +watched Laurie that night as she had never done before. If she had not +got the new idea into her head, she would have seen nothing unusual in +the fact that Beth was very quiet, and Laurie very kind to her. But +having given the rein to her lively fancy, it galloped away with her at +a great pace; and common sense, being rather weakened by a long course +of romance writing, did not come to the rescue. As usual, Beth lay on +the sofa, and Laurie sat in a low chair close by, amusing her with all +sorts of gossip; for she depended on her weekly "spin," and he never +disappointed her. But that evening, Jo fancied that Beth's eyes rested +on the lively, dark face beside her with peculiar pleasure, and that she +listened with intense interest to an account of some exciting +cricket-match, though the phrases, "caught off a tice," "stumped off his +ground," and "the leg hit for three," were as intelligible to her as +Sanscrit. She also fancied, having set her heart upon seeing it, that +she saw a certain increase of gentleness in Laurie's manner, that he +dropped his voice now and then, laughed less than usual, was a little +absent-minded, and settled the afghan over Beth's feet with an assiduity +that was really almost tender. + +"Who knows? stranger things have happened," thought Jo, as she fussed +about the room. "She will make quite an angel of him, and he will make +life delightfully easy and pleasant for the dear, if they only love each +other. I don't see how he can help it; and I do believe he would if the +rest of us were out of the way." + +As every one _was_ out of the way but herself, Jo began to feel that +she ought to dispose of herself with all speed. But where should she go? +and burning to lay herself upon the shrine of sisterly devotion, she sat +down to settle that point. + +Now, the old sofa was a regular patriarch of a sofa,--long, broad, +well-cushioned, and low; a trifle shabby, as well it might be, for the +girls had slept and sprawled on it as babies, fished over the back, rode +on the arms, and had menageries under it as children, and rested tired +heads, dreamed dreams, and listened to tender talk on it as young women. +They all loved it, for it was a family refuge, and one corner had always +been Jo's favorite lounging-place. Among the many pillows that adorned +the venerable couch was one, hard, round, covered with prickly +horsehair, and furnished with a knobby button at each end; this +repulsive pillow was her especial property, being used as a weapon of +defence, a barricade, or a stern preventive of too much slumber. + +Laurie knew this pillow well, and had cause to regard it with deep +aversion, having been unmercifully pummelled with it in former days, +when romping was allowed, and now frequently debarred by it from taking +the seat he most coveted, next to Jo in the sofa corner. If "the +sausage" as they called it, stood on end, it was a sign that he might +approach and repose; but if it lay flat across the sofa, woe to the man, +woman, or child who dared disturb it! That evening Jo forgot to +barricade her corner, and had not been in her seat five minutes, before +a massive form appeared beside her, and, with both arms spread over the +sofa-back, both long legs stretched out before him, Laurie exclaimed, +with a sigh of satisfaction,-- + +"Now, _this_ is filling at the price." + + [Illustration: Now, this is filling at the price] + +"No slang," snapped Jo, slamming down the pillow. But it was too late, +there was no room for it; and, coasting on to the floor, it disappeared +in a most mysterious manner. + +"Come, Jo, don't be thorny. After studying himself to a skeleton all the +week, a fellow deserves petting, and ought to get it." + +"Beth will pet you; I'm busy." + +"No, she's not to be bothered with me; but you like that sort of thing, +unless you've suddenly lost your taste for it. Have you? Do you hate +your boy, and want to fire pillows at him?" + +Anything more wheedlesome than that touching appeal was seldom heard, +but Jo quenched "her boy" by turning on him with the stern query,-- + +"How many bouquets have you sent Miss Randal this week?" + +"Not one, upon my word. She's engaged. Now then." + +"I'm glad of it; that's one of your foolish extravagances,--sending +flowers and things to girls for whom you don't care two pins," continued +Jo reprovingly. + +"Sensible girls, for whom I do care whole papers of pins, won't let me +send them 'flowers and things,' so what can I do? My feelings must have +a _went_." + +"Mother doesn't approve of flirting, even in fun; and you do flirt +desperately, Teddy." + +"I'd give anything if I could answer, 'So do you.' As I can't, I'll +merely say that I don't see any harm in that pleasant little game, if +all parties understand that it's only play." + +"Well, it does look pleasant, but I can't learn how it's done. I've +tried, because one feels awkward in company, not to do as everybody else +is doing; but I don't seem to get on," said Jo, forgetting to play +Mentor. + +"Take lessons of Amy; she has a regular talent for it." + +"Yes, she does it very prettily, and never seems to go too far. I +suppose it's natural to some people to please without trying, and others +to always say and do the wrong thing in the wrong place." + +"I'm glad you can't flirt; it's really refreshing to see a sensible, +straightforward girl, who can be jolly and kind without making a fool of +herself. Between ourselves, Jo, some of the girls I know really do go on +at such a rate I'm ashamed of them. They don't mean any harm, I'm sure; +but if they knew how we fellows talked about them afterward, they'd mend +their ways, I fancy." + +"They do the same; and, as their tongues are the sharpest, you fellows +get the worst of it, for you are as silly as they, every bit. If you +behaved properly, they would; but, knowing you like their nonsense, they +keep it up, and then you blame them." + +"Much you know about it, ma'am," said Laurie, in a superior tone. "We +don't like romps and flirts, though we may act as if we did sometimes. +The pretty, modest girls are never talked about, except respectfully, +among gentlemen. Bless your innocent soul! If you could be in my place +for a month you'd see things that would astonish you a trifle. Upon my +word, when I see one of those harum-scarum girls, I always want to say +with our friend Cock Robin,-- + + "'Out upon you, fie upon you, + Bold-faced jig!'" + +It was impossible to help laughing at the funny conflict between +Laurie's chivalrous reluctance to speak ill of womankind, and his very +natural dislike of the unfeminine folly of which fashionable society +showed him many samples. Jo knew that "young Laurence" was regarded as a +most eligible _parti_ by worldly mammas, was much smiled upon by their +daughters, and flattered enough by ladies of all ages to make a coxcomb +of him; so she watched him rather jealously, fearing he would be spoilt, +and rejoiced more than she confessed to find that he still believed in +modest girls. Returning suddenly to her admonitory tone, she said, +dropping her voice, "If you _must_ have a 'went,' Teddy, go and devote +yourself to one of the 'pretty, modest girls' whom you do respect, and +not waste your time with the silly ones." + +"You really advise it?" and Laurie looked at her with an odd mixture of +anxiety and merriment in his face. + +"Yes, I do; but you'd better wait till you are through college, on the +whole, and be fitting yourself for the place meantime. You're not half +good enough for--well, whoever the modest girl maybe," and Jo looked a +little queer likewise, for a name had almost escaped her. + +"That I'm not!" acquiesced Laurie, with an expression of humility quite +new to him, as he dropped his eyes, and absently wound Jo's apron-tassel +round his finger. + +"Mercy on us, this will never do," thought Jo; adding aloud, "Go and +sing to me. I'm dying for some music, and always like yours." + +"I'd rather stay here, thank you." + +"Well, you can't; there isn't room. Go and make yourself useful, since +you are too big to be ornamental. I thought you hated to be tied to a +woman's apron-string?" retorted Jo, quoting certain rebellious words of +his own. + +"Ah, that depends on who wears the apron!" and Laurie gave an audacious +tweak at the tassel. + +"Are you going?" demanded Jo, diving for the pillow. + +He fled at once, and the minute it was well "Up with the bonnets of +bonnie Dundee," she slipped away, to return no more till the young +gentleman had departed in high dudgeon. + + [Illustration: Up with the Bonnets of Bonnie Dundee] + +Jo lay long awake that night, and was just dropping off when the sound +of a stifled sob made her fly to Beth's bedside, with the anxious +inquiry, "What is it, dear?" + +"I thought you were asleep," sobbed Beth. + +"Is it the old pain, my precious?" + +"No; it's a new one; but I can bear it," and Beth tried to check her +tears. + +"Tell me all about it, and let me cure it as I often did the other." + +"You can't; there is no cure." There Beth's voice gave way, and, +clinging to her sister, she cried so despairingly that Jo was +frightened. + +"Where is it? Shall I call mother?" + +Beth did not answer the first question; but in the dark one hand went +involuntarily to her heart, as if the pain were there; with the other +she held Jo fast, whispering eagerly, "No, no, don't call her, don't +tell her. I shall be better soon. Lie down here and 'poor' my head. I'll +be quiet, and go to sleep; indeed I will." + +Jo obeyed; but as her hand went softly to and fro across Beth's hot +forehead and wet eyelids, her heart was very full, and she longed to +speak. But young as she was, Jo had learned that hearts, like flowers, +cannot be rudely handled, but must open naturally; so, though she +believed she knew the cause of Beth's new pain, she only said, in her +tenderest tone, "Does anything trouble you, deary?" + +"Yes, Jo," after a long pause. + +"Wouldn't it comfort you to tell me what it is?" + +"Not now, not yet." + +"Then I won't ask; but remember, Bethy, that mother and Jo are always +glad to hear and help you, if they can." + +"I know it. I'll tell you by and by." + +"Is the pain better now?" + +"Oh, yes, much better; you are so comfortable, Jo!" + +"Go to sleep, dear; I'll stay with you." + +So cheek to cheek they fell asleep, and on the morrow Beth seemed quite +herself again; for at eighteen, neither heads nor hearts ache long, and +a loving word can medicine most ills. + +But Jo had made up her mind, and, after pondering over a project for +some days, she confided it to her mother. + +"You asked me the other day what my wishes were. I'll tell you one of +them, Marmee," she began, as they sat alone together. "I want to go away +somewhere this winter for a change." + +"Why, Jo?" and her mother looked up quickly, as if the words suggested a +double meaning. + +With her eyes on her work, Jo answered soberly, "I want something new; I +feel restless, and anxious to be seeing, doing, and learning more than I +am. I brood too much over my own small affairs, and need stirring up, +so, as I can be spared this winter, I'd like to hop a little way, and +try my wings." + +"Where will you hop?" + +"To New York. I had a bright idea yesterday, and this is it. You know +Mrs. Kirke wrote to you for some respectable young person to teach her +children and sew. It's rather hard to find just the thing, but I think I +should suit if I tried." + +"My dear, go out to service in that great boarding-house!" and Mrs. +March looked surprised, but not displeased. + +"It's not exactly going out to service; for Mrs. Kirke is your +friend,--the kindest soul that ever lived,--and would make things +pleasant for me, I know. Her family is separate from the rest, and no +one knows me there. Don't care if they do; it's honest work, and I'm not +ashamed of it." + +"Nor I; but your writing?" + +"All the better for the change. I shall see and hear new things, get new +ideas, and, even if I haven't much time there, I shall bring home +quantities of material for my rubbish." + +"I have no doubt of it; but are these your only reasons for this sudden +fancy?" + +"No, mother." + +"May I know the others?" + +Jo looked up and Jo looked down, then said slowly, with sudden color in +her cheeks, "It may be vain and wrong to say it, but--I'm afraid--Laurie +is getting too fond of me." + +"Then you don't care for him in the way it is evident he begins to care +for you?" and Mrs. March looked anxious as she put the question. + +"Mercy, no! I love the dear boy, as I always have, and am immensely +proud of him; but as for anything more, it's out of the question." + +"I'm glad of that, Jo." + +"Why, please?" + +"Because, dear, I don't think you suited to one another. As friends you +are very happy, and your frequent quarrels soon blow over; but I fear +you would both rebel if you were mated for life. You are too much alike +and too fond of freedom, not to mention hot tempers and strong wills, to +get on happily together, in a relation which needs infinite patience and +forbearance, as well as love." + +"That's just the feeling I had, though I couldn't express it. I'm glad +you think he is only beginning to care for me. It would trouble me sadly +to make him unhappy; for I couldn't fall in love with the dear old +fellow merely out of gratitude, could I?" + +"You are sure of his feeling for you?" + +The color deepened in Jo's cheeks, as she answered, with the look of +mingled pleasure, pride, and pain which young girls wear when speaking +of first lovers,-- + +"I'm afraid it is so, mother; he hasn't said anything, but he looks a +great deal. I think I had better go away before it comes to anything." + +"I agree with you, and if it can be managed you shall go." + +Jo looked relieved, and, after a pause, said, smiling, "How Mrs. Moffat +would wonder at your want of management, if she knew; and how she will +rejoice that Annie still may hope." + +"Ah, Jo, mothers may differ in their management, but the hope is the +same in all,--the desire to see their children happy. Meg is so, and I +am content with her success. You I leave to enjoy your liberty till you +tire of it; for only then will you find that there is something sweeter. +Amy is my chief care now, but her good sense will help her. For Beth, I +indulge no hopes except that she may be well. By the way, she seems +brighter this last day or two. Have you spoken to her?" + +"Yes; she owned she had a trouble, and promised to tell me by and by. I +said no more, for I think I know it;" and Jo told her little story. + +Mrs. March shook her head, and did not take so romantic a view of the +case, but looked grave, and repeated her opinion that, for Laurie's +sake, Jo should go away for a time. + +"Let us say nothing about it to him till the plan is settled; then I'll +run away before he can collect his wits and be tragical. Beth must think +I'm going to please myself, as I am, for I can't talk about Laurie to +her; but she can pet and comfort him after I'm gone, and so cure him of +this romantic notion. He's been through so many little trials of the +sort, he's used to it, and will soon get over his love-lornity." + +Jo spoke hopefully, but could not rid herself of the foreboding fear +that this "little trial" would be harder than the others, and that +Laurie would not get over his "love-lornity" as easily as heretofore. + +The plan was talked over in a family council, and agreed upon; for Mrs. +Kirke gladly accepted Jo, and promised to make a pleasant home for her. +The teaching would render her independent; and such leisure as she got +might be made profitable by writing, while the new scenes and society +would be both useful and agreeable. Jo liked the prospect and was eager +to be gone, for the home-nest was growing too narrow for her restless +nature and adventurous spirit. When all was settled, with fear and +trembling she told Laurie; but to her surprise he took it very quietly. +He had been graver than usual of late, but very pleasant; and, when +jokingly accused of turning over a new leaf, he answered soberly, "So I +am; and I mean this one shall stay turned." + +Jo was very much relieved that one of his virtuous fits should come on +just then, and made her preparations with a lightened heart,--for Beth +seemed more cheerful,--and hoped she was doing the best for all. + +"One thing I leave to your especial care," she said, the night before +she left. + +"You mean your papers?" asked Beth. + +"No, my boy. Be very good to him, won't you?" + +"Of course I will; but I can't fill your place, and he'll miss you +sadly." + +"It won't hurt him; so remember, I leave him in your charge, to plague, +pet, and keep in order." + +"I'll do my best, for your sake," promised Beth, wondering why Jo looked +at her so queerly. + +When Laurie said "Good-by," he whispered significantly, "It won't do a +bit of good, Jo. My eye is on you; so mind what you do, or I'll come and +bring you home." + + + + + [Illustration: I amused myself by dropping gingerbread nuts over the + seat] + + XXXIII. + + JO'S JOURNAL. + + + "NEW YORK, November. + + "DEAR MARMEE AND BETH,-- + + "I'm going to write you a regular volume, for I've got heaps to + tell, though I'm not a fine young lady travelling on the + continent. When I lost sight of father's dear old face, I felt a + trifle blue, and might have shed a briny drop or two, if an + Irish lady with four small children, all crying more or less, + hadn't diverted my mind; for I amused myself by dropping + gingerbread nuts over the seat every time they opened their + mouths to roar. + + "Soon the sun came out, and taking it as a good omen, I cleared + up likewise, and enjoyed my journey with all my heart. + + "Mrs. Kirke welcomed me so kindly I felt at home at once, even + in that big house full of strangers. She gave me a funny little + sky-parlor--all she had; but there is a stove in it, and a nice + table in a sunny window, so I can sit here and write whenever I + like. A fine view and a church-tower opposite atone for the many + stairs, and I took a fancy to my den on the spot. The nursery, + where I am to teach and sew, is a pleasant room next Mrs. + Kirke's private parlor, and the two little girls are pretty + children,--rather spoilt, I fancy, but they took to me after + telling them 'The Seven Bad Pigs;' and I've no doubt I shall + make a model governess. + + "I am to have my meals with the children, if I prefer it to the + great table, and for the present I do, for I _am_ bashful, + though no one will believe it. + + "'Now, my dear, make yourself at home,' said Mrs. K. in her + motherly way; 'I'm on the drive from morning to night, as you + may suppose with such a family; but a great anxiety will be off + my mind if I know the children are safe with you. My rooms are + always open to you, and your own shall be as comfortable as I + can make it. There are some pleasant people in the house if you + feel sociable, and your evenings are always free. Come to me if + anything goes wrong, and be as happy as you can. There's the + tea-bell; I must run and change my cap;' and off she bustled, + leaving me to settle myself in my new nest. + + "As I went downstairs, soon after, I saw something I liked. The + flights are very long in this tall house, and as I stood waiting + at the head of the third one for a little servant girl to lumber + up, I saw a gentleman come along behind her, take the heavy hod + of coal out of her hand, carry it all the way up, put it down at + a door near by, and walk away, saying, with a kind nod and a + foreign accent,-- + + "'It goes better so. The little back is too young to haf such + heaviness.' + + "Wasn't it good of him? I like such things, for, as father says, + trifles show character. When I mentioned it to Mrs. K., that + evening, she laughed, and said,-- + + "'That must have been Professor Bhaer; he's always doing things + of that sort.' + + "Mrs. K. told me he was from Berlin; very learned and good, but + poor as a church-mouse, and gives lessons to support himself and + two little orphan nephews whom he is educating here, according + to the wishes of his sister, who married an American. Not a very + romantic story, but it interested me; and I was glad to hear + that Mrs. K. lends him her parlor for some of his scholars. + There is a glass door between it and the nursery, and I mean to + peep at him, and then I'll tell you how he looks. He's almost + forty, so it's no harm, Marmee. + + "After tea and a go-to-bed romp with the little girls, I + attacked the big work-basket, and had a quiet evening chatting + with my new friend. I shall keep a journal-letter, and send it + once a week; so good-night, and more to-morrow." + + "_Tuesday Eve._ + + "Had a lively time in my seminary, this morning, for the + children acted like Sancho; and at one time I really thought I + should shake them all round. Some good angel inspired me to try + gymnastics, and I kept it up till they were glad to sit down and + keep still. After luncheon, the girl took them out for a walk, + and I went to my needle-work, like little Mabel, 'with a willing + mind.' I was thanking my stars that I'd learned to make nice + button-holes, when the parlor-door opened and shut, and some one + began to hum,-- + + 'Kennst du das land,' + + like a big bumble-bee. It was dreadfully improper, I know, but I + couldn't resist the temptation; and lifting one end of the + curtain before the glass door, I peeped in. Professor Bhaer was + there; and while he arranged his books, I took a good look at + him. A regular German,--rather stout, with brown hair tumbled + all over his head, a bushy beard, good nose, the kindest eyes I + ever saw, and a splendid big voice that does one's ears good, + after our sharp or slipshod American gabble. His clothes were + rusty, his hands were large, and he hadn't a really handsome + feature in his face, except his beautiful teeth; yet I liked + him, for he had a fine head; his linen was very nice, and he + looked like a gentleman, though two buttons were off his coat, + and there was a patch on one shoe. He looked sober in spite of + his humming, till he went to the window to turn the hyacinth + bulbs toward the sun, and stroke the cat, who received him like + an old friend. Then he smiled; and when a tap came at the door, + called out in a loud, brisk tone,-- + + "'Herein!' + + "I was just going to run, when I caught sight of a morsel of a + child carrying a big book, and stopped to see what was going on. + + "'Me wants my Bhaer,' said the mite, slamming down her book, and + running to meet him. + + "'Thou shalt haf thy Bhaer; come, then, and take a goot hug from + him, my Tina,' said the Professor, catching her up, with a + laugh, and holding her so high over his head that she had to + stoop her little face to kiss him. + + [Illustration: Thou shalt haf thy Bhaer] + + "'Now me mus tuddy my lessin,' went on the funny little thing; + so he put her up at the table, opened the great dictionary she + had brought, and gave her a paper and pencil, and she scribbled + away, turning a leaf now and then, and passing her little fat + finger down the page, as if finding a word, so soberly that I + nearly betrayed myself by a laugh, while Mr. Bhaer stood + stroking her pretty hair, with a fatherly look, that made me + think she must be his own, though she looked more French than + German. + + "Another knock and the appearance of two young ladies sent me + back to my work, and there I virtuously remained through all the + noise and gabbling that went on next door. One of the girls kept + laughing affectedly, and saying 'Now Professor,' in a + coquettish tone, and the other pronounced her German with an + accent that must have made it hard for him to keep sober. + + "Both seemed to try his patience sorely; for more than once I + heard him say emphatically, 'No, no, it is _not_ so; you haf not + attend to what I say;' and once there was a loud rap, as if he + struck the table with his book, followed by the despairing + exclamation, 'Prut! it all goes bad this day.' + + "Poor man, I pitied him; and when the girls were gone, took just + one more peep, to see if he survived it. He seemed to have + thrown himself back in his chair, tired out, and sat there with + his eyes shut till the clock struck two, when he jumped up, put + his books in his pocket, as if ready for another lesson, and, + taking little Tina, who had fallen asleep on the sofa, in his + arms, he carried her quietly away. I fancy he has a hard life of + it. + + "Mrs. Kirke asked me if I wouldn't go down to the five o'clock + dinner; and, feeling a little bit homesick, I thought I would, + just to see what sort of people are under the same roof with me. + So I made myself respectable, and tried to slip in behind Mrs. + Kirke; but as she is short, and I'm tall, my efforts at + concealment were rather a failure. She gave me a seat by her, + and after my face cooled off, I plucked up courage, and looked + about me. The long table was full, and every one intent on + getting their dinner,--the gentlemen especially, who seemed to + be eating on time, for they _bolted_ in every sense of the word, + vanishing as soon as they were done. There was the usual + assortment of young men absorbed in themselves; young couples + absorbed in each other; married ladies in their babies, and old + gentlemen in politics. I don't think I shall care to have much + to do with any of them, except one sweet-faced maiden lady, who + looks as if she had something in her. + + "Cast away at the very bottom of the table was the Professor, + shouting answers to the questions of a very inquisitive, deaf + old gentleman on one side, and talking philosophy with a + Frenchman on the other. If Amy had been here, she'd have turned + her back on him forever, because, sad to relate, he had a great + appetite, and shovelled in his dinner in a manner which would + have horrified 'her ladyship.' I didn't mind, for I like 'to see + folks eat with a relish,' as Hannah says, and the poor man must + have needed a deal of food after teaching idiots all day. + + "As I went upstairs after dinner, two of the young men were + settling their hats before the hall-mirror, and I heard one say + low to the other, 'Who's the new party?' + + "'Governess, or something of that sort.' + + "'What the deuce is she at our table for?' + + "'Friend of the old lady's.' + + "'Handsome head, but no style.' + + "'Not a bit of it. Give us a light and come on.' + + "I felt angry at first, and then I didn't care, for a governess + is as good as a clerk, and I've got sense, if I haven't style, + which is more than some people have, judging from the remarks of + the elegant beings who clattered away, smoking like bad + chimneys. I hate ordinary people!" + + "_Thursday._ + + "Yesterday was a quiet day, spent in teaching, sewing, and + writing in my little room, which is very cosey, with a light and + fire. I picked up a few bits of news, and was introduced to the + Professor. It seems that Tina is the child of the Frenchwoman + who does the fine ironing in the laundry here. The little thing + has lost her heart to Mr. Bhaer, and follows him about the house + like a dog whenever he is at home, which delights him, as he is + very fond of children, though a 'bacheldore.' Kitty and Minnie + Kirke likewise regard him with affection, and tell all sorts of + stories about the plays he invents, the presents he brings, and + the splendid tales he tells. The young men quiz him, it seems, + call him Old Fritz, Lager Beer, Ursa Major, and make all manner + of jokes on his name. But he enjoys it like a boy, Mrs. K. says, + and takes it so good-naturedly that they all like him, in spite + of his foreign ways. + + "The maiden lady is a Miss Norton,--rich, cultivated, and kind. + She spoke to me at dinner to-day (for I went to table again, + it's such fun to watch people), and asked me to come and see her + at her room. She has fine books and pictures, knows interesting + persons, and seems friendly; so I shall make myself agreeable, + for I _do_ want to get into good society, only it isn't the same + sort that Amy likes. + + "I was in our parlor last evening, when Mr. Bhaer came in with + some newspapers for Mrs. Kirke. She wasn't there, but Minnie, + who is a little old woman, introduced me very prettily: 'This is + mamma's friend, Miss March.' + + "'Yes; and she's jolly and we like her lots,' added Kitty, who + is an _enfant terrible_. + + "We both bowed, and then we laughed, for the prim introduction + and the blunt addition were rather a comical contrast. + + "'Ah, yes, I hear these naughty ones go to vex you, Mees Marsch. + If so again, call at me and I come,' he said, with a threatening + frown that delighted the little wretches. + + "I promised I would, and he departed; but it seems as if I was + doomed to see a good deal of him, for to-day, as I passed his + door on my way out, by accident I knocked against it with my + umbrella. It flew open, and there he stood in his dressing gown, + with a big blue sock on one hand, and a darning-needle in the + other; he didn't seem at all ashamed of it, for when I explained + and hurried on, he waved his hand, sock and all, saying in his + loud, cheerful way,-- + + [Illustration: He waved his hand, sock and all] + + "'You haf a fine day to make your walk. _Bon voyage, + mademoiselle._' + + "I laughed all the way downstairs; but it was a little pathetic, + also, to think of the poor man having to mend his own clothes. + The German gentlemen embroider, I know; but darning hose is + another thing, and not so pretty." + + "_Saturday._ + + "Nothing has happened to write about, except a call on Miss + Norton, who has a room full of lovely things, and who was very + charming, for she showed me all her treasures, and asked me if I + would sometimes go with her to lectures and concerts, as her + escort,--if I enjoyed them. She put it as a favor, but I'm sure + Mrs. Kirke has told her about us, and she does it out of + kindness to me. I'm as proud as Lucifer, but such favors from + such people don't burden me, and I accepted gratefully. + + "When I got back to the nursery there was such an uproar in the + parlor that I looked in; and there was Mr. Bhaer down on his + hands and knees, with Tina on his back, Kitty leading him with a + jump-rope, and Minnie feeding two small boys with seed-cakes, as + they roared and ramped in cages built of chairs. + + "'We are playing _nargerie_,' explained Kitty. + + "'Dis is mine effalunt!' added Tina, holding on by the + Professor's hair. + + [Illustration: Dis is mine effalunt] + + "'Mamma always allows us to do what we like Saturday afternoon, + when Franz and Emil come, doesn't she, Mr. Bhaer?' said + Minnie. + + "The 'effalunt' sat up, looking as much in earnest as any of + them, and said soberly to me,-- + + "'I gif you my wort it is so. If we make too large a noise you + shall say "Hush!" to us, and we go more softly.' + + "I promised to do so, but left the door open, and enjoyed the + fun as much as they did,--for a more glorious frolic I never + witnessed. They played tag and soldiers, danced and sung, and + when it began to grow dark they all piled on to the sofa about + the Professor, while he told charming fairy stories of the + storks on the chimney-tops, and the little 'kobolds,' who ride + the snow-flakes as they fall. I wish Americans were as simple + and natural as Germans, don't you? + + "I'm so fond of writing, I should go spinning on forever if + motives of economy didn't stop me, for though I've used thin + paper and written fine, I tremble to think of the stamps this + long letter will need. Pray forward Amy's as soon as you can + spare them. My small news will sound very flat after her + splendors, but you will like them, I know. Is Teddy studying so + hard that he can't find time to write to his friends? Take good + care of him for me, Beth, and tell me all about the babies, and + give heaps of love to every one. + + "From your faithful JO. + + "P. S. On reading over my letter it strikes me as rather Bhaery; + but I am always interested in odd people, and I really had + nothing else to write about. Bless you!" + + "DECEMBER. + + "MY PRECIOUS BETSEY,-- + + "As this is to be a scribble-scrabble letter, I direct it to + you, for it may amuse you, and give you some idea of my goings + on; for, though quiet, they are rather amusing, for which, oh, + be joyful! After what Amy would call Herculaneum efforts, in the + way of mental and moral agriculture, my young ideas begin to + shoot and my little twigs to bend as I could wish. They are not + so interesting to me as Tina and the boys, but I do my duty by + them, and they are fond of me. Franz and Emil are jolly little + lads, quite after my own heart; for the mixture of German and + American spirit in them produces a constant state of + effervescence. Saturday afternoons are riotous times, whether + spent in the house or out; for on pleasant days they all go to + walk, like a seminary, with the Professor and myself to keep + order; and then such fun! + + "We are very good friends now, and I've begun to take lessons. I + really couldn't help it, and it all came about in such a droll + way that I must tell you. To begin at the beginning, Mrs. Kirke + called to me, one day, as I passed Mr. Bhaer's room, where she + was rummaging. + + "'Did you ever see such a den, my dear? Just come and help me + put these books to rights, for I've turned everything upside + down, trying to discover what he has done with the six new + handkerchiefs I gave him not long ago.' + + "I went in, and while we worked I looked about me, for it was 'a + den,' to be sure. Books and papers everywhere; a broken + meerschaum, and an old flute over the mantel-piece as if done + with; a ragged bird, without any tail, chirped on one + window-seat, and a box of white mice adorned the other; + half-finished boats and bits of string lay among the + manuscripts; dirty little boots stood drying before the fire; + and traces of the dearly beloved boys, for whom he makes a slave + of himself, were to be seen all over the room. After a grand + rummage three of the missing articles were found,--one over the + bird-cage, one covered with ink, and a third burnt brown, having + been used as a holder. + + "'Such a man!' laughed good-natured Mrs. K., as she put the + relics in the rag-bag. 'I suppose the others are torn up to rig + ships, bandage cut fingers, or make kite-tails. It's dreadful, + but I can't scold him: he's so absent-minded and good-natured, + he lets those boys ride over him rough-shod. I agreed to do his + washing and mending, but he forgets to give out his things and I + forget to look them over, so he comes to a sad pass sometimes.' + + "'Let me mend them,' said I. 'I don't mind it, and he needn't + know. I'd like to,--he's so kind to me about bringing my letters + and lending books.' + + "So I have got his things in order, and knit heels into two + pairs of the socks,--for they were boggled out of shape with his + queer darns. Nothing was said, and I hoped he wouldn't find it + out, but one day last week he caught me at it. Hearing the + lessons he gives to others has interested and amused me so much + that I took a fancy to learn; for Tina runs in and out, leaving + the door open, and I can hear. I had been sitting near this + door, finishing off the last sock, and trying to understand what + he said to a new scholar, who is as stupid as I am. The girl had + gone, and I thought he had also, it was so still, and I was + busily gabbling over a verb, and rocking to and fro in a most + absurd way, when a little crow made me look up, and there was + Mr. Bhaer looking and laughing quietly, while he made signs to + Tina not to betray him. + + "'So!' he said, as I stopped and stared like a goose, 'you peep + at me, I peep at you, and that is not bad; but see, I am not + pleasanting when I say, haf you a wish for German?' + + "'Yes; but you are too busy. I am too stupid to learn,' I + blundered out, as red as a peony. + + "'Prut! we will make the time, and we fail not to find the + sense. At efening I shall gif a little lesson with much + gladness; for, look you, Mees Marsch, I haf this debt to pay,' + and he pointed to my work. 'Yes, they say to one another, these + so kind ladies, "he is a stupid old fellow; he will see not what + we do; he will never opserve that his sock-heels go not in holes + any more, he will think his buttons grow out new when they fall, + and believe that strings make theirselves." Ah! but I haf an + eye, and I see much. I haf a heart, and I feel the thanks for + this. Come, a little lesson then and now, or no more good fairy + works for me and mine.' + + "Of course I couldn't say anything after that, and as it really + is a splendid opportunity, I made the bargain, and we began. I + took four lessons, and then I stuck fast in a grammatical bog. + The Professor was very patient with me, but it must have been + torment to him, and now and then he'd look at me with such an + expression of mild despair that it was a toss-up with me whether + to laugh or cry. I tried both ways; and when it came to a sniff + of utter mortification and woe, he just threw the grammar on to + the floor, and marched out of the room. I felt myself disgraced + and deserted forever, but didn't blame him a particle, and was + scrambling my papers together, meaning to rush upstairs and + shake myself hard, when in he came, as brisk and beaming as if + I'd covered myself with glory. + + "'Now we shall try a new way. You and I will read these pleasant + little Märchen together, and dig no more in that dry book, that + goes in the corner for making us trouble.' + + "He spoke so kindly, and opened Hans Andersen's fairy tales so + invitingly before me, that I was more ashamed than ever, and + went at my lesson in a neck-or-nothing style that seemed to + amuse him immensely. I forgot my bashfulness, and pegged away + (no other word will express it) with all my might, tumbling over + long words, pronouncing according to the inspiration of the + minute, and doing my very best. When I finished reading my first + page, and stopped for breath, he clapped his hands and cried + out, in his hearty way, 'Das ist gute! Now we go well! My turn. + I do him in German; gif me your ear.' And away he went, rumbling + out the words with his strong voice, and a relish which was good + to see as well as hear. Fortunately the story was the 'Constant + Tin Soldier,' which is droll, you know, so I could laugh,--and I + did,--though I didn't understand half he read, for I couldn't + help it, he was so earnest, I so excited, and the whole thing so + comical. + + "After that we got on better, and now I read my lessons pretty + well; for this way of studying suits me, and I can see that the + grammar gets tucked into the tales and poetry as one gives pills + in jelly. I like it very much, and he doesn't seem tired of it + yet,--which is very good of him, isn't it? I mean to give him + something on Christmas, for I dare not offer money. Tell me + something nice, Marmee. + + "I'm glad Laurie seems so happy and busy, that he has given up + smoking, and lets his hair grow. You see Beth manages him better + than I did. I'm not jealous, dear; do your best, only don't make + a saint of him. I'm afraid I couldn't like him without a spice + of human naughtiness. Read him bits of my letters. I haven't + time to write much, and that will do just as well. Thank Heaven + Beth continues so comfortable." + + + "JANUARY. + + "A Happy New Year to you all, my dearest family, which of course + includes Mr. L. and a young man by the name of Teddy. I can't + tell you how much I enjoyed your Christmas bundle, for I didn't + get it till night, and had given up hoping. Your letter came in + the morning, but you said nothing about a parcel, meaning it + for a surprise; so I was disappointed, for I'd had a 'kind of a + feeling' that you wouldn't forget me. I felt a little low in my + mind, as I sat up in my room, after tea; and when the big, + muddy, battered-looking bundle was brought to me, I just hugged + it, and pranced. It was so _homey_ and refreshing, that I sat + down on the floor and read and looked and ate and laughed and + cried, in my usual absurd way. The things were just what I + wanted, and all the better for being made instead of bought. + Beth's new 'ink-bib' was capital; and Hannah's box of hard + gingerbread will be a treasure. I'll be sure and wear the nice + flannels you sent, Marmee, and read carefully the books father + has marked. Thank you all, heaps and heaps! + + [Illustration: I sat down upon the floor and read and looked and ate] + + "Speaking of books reminds me that I'm getting rich in that + line for, on New Year's Day, Mr. Bhaer gave me a fine + Shakespeare. It is one he values much, and I've often admired + it, set up in the place of honor, with his German Bible, Plato, + Homer, and Milton; so you may imagine how I felt when he + brought it down, without its cover, and showed me my name in + it, 'from my friend Friedrich Bhaer.' + + "'You say often you wish a library: here I gif you one; for + between these lids (he meant covers) is many books in one. Read + him well, and he will help you much; for the study of character + in this book will help you to read it in the world and paint it + with your pen.' + + "I thanked him as well as I could, and talk now about 'my + library,' as if I had a hundred books. I never knew how much + there was in Shakespeare before; but then I never had a Bhaer to + explain it to me. Now _don't_ laugh at his horrid name; it isn't + pronounced either Bear or Beer, as people _will_ say it, but + something between the two, as only Germans can give it. I'm glad + you both like what I tell you about him, and hope you will know + him some day. Mother would admire his warm heart, father his + wise head. I admire both, and feel rich in my new 'friend + Friedrich Bhaer.' + + "Not having much money, or knowing what he'd like, I got several + little things, and put them about the room, where he would find + them unexpectedly. They were useful, pretty, or funny,--a new + standish on his table, a little vase for his flower,--he always + has one, or a bit of green in a glass, to keep him fresh, he + says,--and a holder for his blower, so that he needn't burn up + what Amy calls 'mouchoirs.' I made it like those Beth + invented,--a big butterfly with a fat body, and black and yellow + wings, worsted feelers, and bead eyes. It took his fancy + immensely, and he put it on his mantel-piece as an article of + _vertu_; so it was rather a failure after all. Poor as he is, he + didn't forget a servant or a child in the house; and not a soul + here, from the French laundry-woman to Miss Norton, forgot him. + I was so glad of that. + + "They got up a masquerade, and had a gay time New Year's Eve. I + didn't mean to go down, having no dress; but at the last minute, + Mrs. Kirke remembered some old brocades, and Miss Norton lent me + lace and feathers; so I dressed up as Mrs. Malaprop, and sailed + in with a mask on. No one knew me, for I disguised my voice, and + no one dreamed of the silent, haughty Miss March (for they think + I am very stiff and cool, most of them; and so I am to + whipper-snappers) could dance and dress, and burst out into a + 'nice derangement of epitaphs, like an allegory on the banks of + the Nile.' I enjoyed it very much; and when we unmasked, it was + fun to see them stare at me. I heard one of the young men tell + another that he knew I'd been an actress; in fact, he thought he + remembered seeing me at one of the minor theatres. Meg will + relish that joke. Mr. Bhaer was Nick Bottom, and Tina was + Titania,--a perfect little fairy in his arms. To see them dance + was 'quite a landscape,' to use a Teddyism. + + "I had a very happy New Year, after all; and when I thought it + over in my room, I felt as if I was getting on a little in spite + of my many failures; for I'm cheerful all the time now, work + with a will, and take more interest in other people than I used + to, which is satisfactory. Bless you all! Ever your loving + + JO." + + [Illustration: Tail-piece] + + + + + [Illustration: In the presence of three gentlemen] + + XXXIV. + + A FRIEND. + + +Though very happy in the social atmosphere about her, and very busy with +the daily work that earned her bread, and made it sweeter for the +effort, Jo still found time for literary labors. The purpose which now +took possession of her was a natural one to a poor and ambitious girl; +but the means she took to gain her end were not the best. She saw that +money conferred power: money and power, therefore, she resolved to have; +not to be used for herself alone, but for those whom she loved more than +self. + +The dream of filling home with comforts, giving Beth everything she +wanted, from strawberries in winter to an organ in her bedroom; going +abroad herself, and always having _more_ than enough, so that she might +indulge in the luxury of charity, had been for years Jo's most cherished +castle in the air. + +The prize-story experience had seemed to open a way which might, after +long travelling and much up-hill work lead to this delightful _château +en Espagne_. But the novel disaster quenched her courage for a time, for +public opinion is a giant which has frightened stouter-hearted Jacks on +bigger bean-stalks than hers. Like that immortal hero, she reposed +awhile after the first attempt, which resulted in a tumble, and the +least lovely of the giant's treasures, if I remember rightly. But the +"up again and take another" spirit was as strong in Jo as in Jack; so +she scrambled up, on the shady side this time, and got more booty, but +nearly left behind her what was far more precious than the money-bags. + +She took to writing sensation stories; for in those dark ages, even +all-perfect America read rubbish. She told no one, but concocted a +"thrilling tale," and boldly carried it herself to Mr. Dashwood, editor +of the "Weekly Volcano." She had never read "Sartor Resartus," but she +had a womanly instinct that clothes possess an influence more powerful +over many than the worth of character or the magic of manners. So she +dressed herself in her best, and, trying to persuade herself that she +was neither excited nor nervous, bravely climbed two pairs of dark and +dirty stairs to find herself in a disorderly room, a cloud of +cigar-smoke, and the presence of three gentlemen, sitting with their +heels rather higher than their hats, which articles of dress none of +them took the trouble to remove on her appearance. Somewhat daunted by +this reception, Jo hesitated on the threshold, murmuring in much +embarrassment,-- + +"Excuse me, I was looking for the 'Weekly Volcano' office; I wished to +see Mr. Dashwood." + +Down went the highest pair of heels, up rose the smokiest gentleman, +and, carefully cherishing his cigar between his fingers, he advanced, +with a nod, and a countenance expressive of nothing but sleep. Feeling +that she must get through the matter somehow, Jo produced her +manuscript, and, blushing redder and redder with each sentence, +blundered out fragments of the little speech carefully prepared for the +occasion. + +"A friend of mine desired me to offer--a story--just as an +experiment--would like your opinion--be glad to write more if this +suits." + +While she blushed and blundered, Mr. Dashwood had taken the manuscript, +and was turning over the leaves with a pair of rather dirty fingers, and +casting critical glances up and down the neat pages. + +"Not a first attempt, I take it?" observing that the pages were +numbered, covered only on one side, and not tied up with a ribbon,--sure +sign of a novice. + +"No, sir; she has had some experience, and got a prize for a tale in the +'Blarneystone Banner.'" + +"Oh, did she?" and Mr. Dashwood gave Jo a quick look, which seemed to +take note of everything she had on, from the bow in her bonnet to the +buttons on her boots. "Well, you can leave it, if you like. We've more +of this sort of thing on hand than we know what to do with at present; +but I'll run my eye over it, and give you an answer next week." + +Now, Jo did _not_ like to leave it, for Mr. Dashwood didn't suit her at +all; but, under the circumstances, there was nothing for her to do but +bow and walk away, looking particularly tall and dignified, as she was +apt to do when nettled or abashed. Just then she was both; for it was +perfectly evident, from the knowing glances exchanged among the +gentlemen, that her little fiction of "my friend" was considered a good +joke; and a laugh, produced by some inaudible remark of the editor, as +he closed the door, completed her discomfiture. Half resolving never to +return, she went home, and worked off her irritation by stitching +pinafores vigorously; and in an hour or two was cool enough to laugh +over the scene, and long for next week. + +When she went again, Mr. Dashwood was alone, whereat she rejoiced; Mr. +Dashwood was much wider awake than before, which was agreeable; and Mr. +Dashwood was not too deeply absorbed in a cigar to remember his manners: +so the second interview was much more comfortable than the first. + +"We'll take this" (editors never say I), "if you don't object to a few +alterations. It's too long, but omitting the passages I've marked will +make it just the right length," he said, in a business-like tone. + +Jo hardly knew her own MS. again, so crumpled and underscored were its +pages and paragraphs; but, feeling as a tender parent might on being +asked to cut off her baby's legs in order that it might fit into a new +cradle, she looked at the marked passages, and was surprised to find +that all the moral reflections--which she had carefully put in as +ballast for much romance--had been stricken out. + +"But, sir, I thought every story should have some sort of a moral, so I +took care to have a few of my sinners repent." + +Mr. Dashwood's editorial gravity relaxed into a smile, for Jo had +forgotten her "friend," and spoken as only an author could. + +"People want to be amused, not preached at, you know. Morals don't sell +nowadays;" which was not quite a correct statement, by the way. + +"You think it would do with these alterations, then?" + +"Yes; it's a new plot, and pretty well worked up--language good, and so +on," was Mr. Dashwood's affable reply. + +"What do you--that is, what compensation--" began Jo, not exactly +knowing how to express herself. + +"Oh, yes, well, we give from twenty-five to thirty for things of this +sort. Pay when it comes out," returned Mr. Dashwood, as if that point +had escaped him; such trifles often do escape the editorial mind, it is +said. + +"Very well; you can have it," said Jo, handing back the story, with a +satisfied air; for, after the dollar-a-column work, even twenty-five +seemed good pay. + +"Shall I tell my friend you will take another if she has one better than +this?" asked Jo, unconscious of her little slip of the tongue, and +emboldened by her success. + +"Well, we'll look at it; can't promise to take it. Tell her to make it +short and spicy, and never mind the moral. What name would your friend +like to put to it?" in a careless tone. + +"None at all, if you please; she doesn't wish her name to appear, and +has no _nom de plume_," said Jo, blushing in spite of herself. + +"Just as she likes, of course. The tale will be out next week; will you +call for the money, or shall I send it?" asked Mr. Dashwood, who felt a +natural desire to know who his new contributor might be. + +"I'll call. Good morning, sir." + +As she departed, Mr. Dashwood put up his feet, with the graceful remark, +"Poor and proud, as usual, but she'll do." + +Following Mr. Dashwood's directions, and making Mrs. Northbury her +model, Jo rashly took a plunge into the frothy sea of sensational +literature; but, thanks to the life-preserver thrown her by a friend, +she came up again, not much the worse for her ducking. + +Like most young scribblers, she went abroad for her characters and +scenery; and banditti, counts, gypsies, nuns, and duchesses appeared +upon her stage, and played their parts with as much accuracy and spirit +as could be expected. Her readers were not particular about such trifles +as grammar, punctuation, and probability, and Mr. Dashwood graciously +permitted her to fill his columns at the lowest prices, not thinking it +necessary to tell her that the real cause of his hospitality was the +fact that one of his hacks, on being offered higher wages, had basely +left him in the lurch. + +She soon became interested in her work, for her emaciated purse grew +stout, and the little hoard she was making to take Beth to the mountains +next summer grew slowly but surely as the weeks passed. One thing +disturbed her satisfaction, and that was that she did not tell them at +home. She had a feeling that father and mother would not approve, and +preferred to have her own way first, and beg pardon afterward. It was +easy to keep her secret, for no name appeared with her stories; Mr. +Dashwood had, of course, found it out very soon, but promised to be +dumb; and, for a wonder, kept his word. + +She thought it would do her no harm, for she sincerely meant to write +nothing of which she should be ashamed, and quieted all pricks of +conscience by anticipations of the happy minute when she should show her +earnings and laugh over her well-kept secret. + +But Mr. Dashwood rejected any but thrilling tales; and, as thrills could +not be produced except by harrowing up the souls of the readers, history +and romance, land and sea, science and art, police records and lunatic +asylums, had to be ransacked for the purpose. Jo soon found that her +innocent experience had given her but few glimpses of the tragic world +which underlies society; so, regarding it in a business light, she set +about supplying her deficiencies with characteristic energy. Eager to +find material for stories, and bent on making them original in plot, if +not masterly in execution, she searched newspapers for accidents, +incidents, and crimes; she excited the suspicions of public librarians +by asking for works on poisons; she studied faces in the street, and +characters, good, bad, and indifferent, all about her; she delved in the +dust of ancient times for facts or fictions so old that they were as +good as new, and introduced herself to folly, sin, and misery, as well +as her limited opportunities allowed. She thought she was prospering +finely; but, unconsciously, she was beginning to desecrate some of the +womanliest attributes of a woman's character. She was living in bad +society; and, imaginary though it was, its influence affected her, for +she was feeding heart and fancy on dangerous and unsubstantial food, and +was fast brushing the innocent bloom from her nature by a premature +acquaintance with the darker side of life, which comes soon enough to +all of us. + +She was beginning to feel rather than see this, for much describing of +other people's passions and feelings set her to studying and speculating +about her own,--a morbid amusement, in which healthy young minds do not +voluntarily indulge. Wrong-doing always brings its own punishment; and, +when Jo most needed hers, she got it. + +I don't know whether the study of Shakespeare helped her to read +character, or the natural instinct of a woman for what was honest, +brave, and strong; but while endowing her imaginary heroes with every +perfection under the sun, Jo was discovering a live hero, who interested +her in spite of many human imperfections. Mr. Bhaer, in one of their +conversations, had advised her to study simple, true, and lovely +characters, wherever she found them, as good training for a writer. Jo +took him at his word, for she coolly turned round and studied him,--a +proceeding which would have much surprised him, had he known it, for the +worthy Professor was very humble in his own conceit. + +Why everybody liked him was what puzzled Jo, at first. He was neither +rich nor great, young nor handsome; in no respect what is called +fascinating, imposing, or brilliant; and yet he was as attractive as a +genial fire, and people seemed to gather about him as naturally as about +a warm hearth. He was poor, yet always appeared to be giving something +away; a stranger, yet every one was his friend; no longer young, but as +happy-hearted as a boy; plain and peculiar, yet his face looked +beautiful to many, and his oddities were freely forgiven for his sake. +Jo often watched him, trying to discover the charm, and, at last, +decided that it was benevolence which worked the miracle. If he had any +sorrow, "it sat with its head under its wing," and he turned only his +sunny side to the world. There were lines upon his forehead, but Time +seemed to have touched him gently, remembering how kind he was to +others. The pleasant curves about his mouth were the memorials of many +friendly words and cheery laughs; his eyes were never cold or hard, and +his big hand had a warm, strong grasp that was more expressive than +words. + +His very clothes seemed to partake of the hospitable nature of the +wearer. They looked as if they were at ease, and liked to make him +comfortable; his capacious waistcoat was suggestive of a large heart +underneath; his rusty coat had a social air, and the baggy pockets +plainly proved that little hands often went in empty and came out full; +his very boots were benevolent, and his collars never stiff and raspy +like other people's. + +"That's it!" said Jo to herself, when she at length discovered that +genuine good-will towards one's fellow-men could beautify and dignify +even a stout German teacher, who shovelled in his dinner, darned his own +socks, and was burdened with the name of Bhaer. + +Jo valued goodness highly, but she also possessed a most feminine +respect for intellect, and a little discovery which she made about the +Professor added much to her regard for him. He never spoke of himself, +and no one ever knew that in his native city he had been a man much +honored and esteemed for learning and integrity, till a countryman came +to see him, and, in a conversation with Miss Norton, divulged the +pleasing fact. From her Jo learned it, and liked it all the better +because Mr. Bhaer had never told it. She felt proud to know that he was +an honored Professor in Berlin, though only a poor language-master in +America; and his homely, hard-working life was much beautified by the +spice of romance which this discovery gave it. + +Another and a better gift than intellect was shown her in a most +unexpected manner. Miss Norton had the _entrée_ into literary society, +which Jo would have had no chance of seeing but for her. The solitary +woman felt an interest in the ambitious girl, and kindly conferred many +favors of this sort both on Jo and the Professor. She took them with +her, one night, to a select symposium, held in honor of several +celebrities. + + [Illustration: A select symposium] + +Jo went prepared to bow down and adore the mighty ones whom she had +worshipped with youthful enthusiasm afar off. But her reverence for +genius received a severe shock that night, and it took her some time to +recover from the discovery that the great creatures were only men and +women after all. Imagine her dismay, on stealing a glance of timid +admiration at the poet whose lines suggested an ethereal being fed on +"spirit, fire, and dew," to behold him devouring his supper with an +ardor which flushed his intellectual countenance. Turning as from a +fallen idol, she made other discoveries which rapidly dispelled her +romantic illusions. The great novelist vibrated between two decanters +with the regularity of a pendulum; the famous divine flirted openly with +one of the Madame de Staëls of the age, who looked daggers at another +Corinne, who was amiably satirizing her, after out-manœuvring her in +efforts to absorb the profound philosopher, who imbibed tea Johnsonianly +and appeared to slumber, the loquacity of the lady rendering speech +impossible. The scientific celebrities, forgetting their mollusks and +glacial periods, gossiped about art, while devoting themselves to +oysters and ices with characteristic energy; the young musician, who was +charming the city like a second Orpheus, talked horses; and the specimen +of the British nobility present happened to be the most ordinary man of +the party. + +Before the evening was half over, Jo felt so completely _désillusionée_, +that she sat down in a corner to recover herself. Mr. Bhaer soon joined +her, looking rather out of his element, and presently several of the +philosophers, each mounted on his hobby, came ambling up to hold an +intellectual tournament in the recess. The conversation was miles beyond +Jo's comprehension, but she enjoyed it, though Kant and Hegel were +unknown gods, the Subjective and Objective unintelligible terms; and the +only thing "evolved from her inner consciousness," was a bad headache +after it was all over. It dawned upon her gradually that the world was +being picked to pieces, and put together on new, and, according to the +talkers, on infinitely better principles than before; that religion was +in a fair way to be reasoned into nothingness, and intellect was to be +the only God. Jo knew nothing about philosophy or metaphysics of any +sort, but a curious excitement, half pleasurable, half painful, came +over her, as she listened with a sense of being turned adrift into time +and space, like a young balloon out on a holiday. + +She looked round to see how the Professor liked it, and found him +looking at her with the grimmest expression she had ever seen him wear. +He shook his head, and beckoned her to come away; but she was +fascinated, just then, by the freedom of Speculative Philosophy, and +kept her seat, trying to find out what the wise gentlemen intended to +rely upon after they had annihilated all the old beliefs. + +Now, Mr. Bhaer was a diffident man, and slow to offer his own opinions, +not because they were unsettled, but too sincere and earnest to be +lightly spoken. As he glanced from Jo to several other young people, +attracted by the brilliancy of the philosophic pyrotechnics, he knit his +brows, and longed to speak, fearing that some inflammable young soul +would be led astray by the rockets, to find, when the display was over, +that they had only an empty stick or a scorched hand. + +He bore it as long as he could; but when he was appealed to for an +opinion, he blazed up with honest indignation, and defended religion +with all the eloquence of truth,--an eloquence which made his broken +English musical, and his plain face beautiful. He had a hard fight, for +the wise men argued well; but he didn't know when he was beaten, and +stood to his colors like a man. Somehow, as he talked, the world got +right again to Jo; the old beliefs, that had lasted so long, seemed +better than the new; God was not a blind force, and immortality was not +a pretty fable, but a blessed fact. She felt as if she had solid ground +under her feet again; and when Mr. Bhaer paused, out-talked, but not one +whit convinced, Jo wanted to clap her hands and thank him. + +She did neither; but she remembered this scene, and gave the Professor +her heartiest respect, for she knew it cost him an effort to speak out +then and there, because his conscience would not let him be silent. She +began to see that character is a better possession than money, rank, +intellect, or beauty; and to feel that if greatness is what a wise man +has defined it to be, "truth, reverence, and good-will," then her friend +Friedrich Bhaer was not only good, but great. + +This belief strengthened daily. She valued his esteem, she coveted his +respect, she wanted to be worthy of his friendship; and, just when the +wish was sincerest, she came near losing everything. It all grew out of +a cocked hat; for one evening the Professor came in to give Jo her +lesson, with a paper soldier-cap on his head, which Tina had put there, +and he had forgotten to take off. + +"It's evident he doesn't look in his glass before coming down," thought +Jo, with a smile, as he said "Goot efening," and sat soberly down, quite +unconscious of the ludicrous contrast between his subject and his +head-gear, for he was going to read her the "Death of Wallenstein." + + [Illustration: He doesn't prink at his glass before coming] + +She said nothing at first, for she liked to hear him laugh out his big, +hearty laugh, when anything funny happened, so she left him to discover +it for himself, and presently forgot all about it; for to hear a German +read Schiller is rather an absorbing occupation. After the reading came +the lesson, which was a lively one, for Jo was in a gay mood that night, +and the cocked-hat kept her eyes dancing with merriment. The Professor +didn't know what to make of her, and stopped at last, to ask, with an +air of mild surprise that was irresistible,-- + +"Mees Marsch, for what do you laugh in your master's face? Haf you no +respect for me, that you go on so bad?" + +"How can I be respectful, sir, when you forget to take your hat off?" +said Jo. + +Lifting his hand to his head, the absent-minded Professor gravely felt +and removed the little cocked-hat, looked at it a minute, and then threw +back his head, and laughed like a merry bass-viol. + +"Ah! I see him now; it is that imp Tina who makes me a fool with my cap. +Well, it is nothing; but see you, if this lesson goes not well, you too +shall wear him." + +But the lesson did not go at all for a few minutes, because Mr. Bhaer +caught sight of a picture on the hat, and, unfolding it, said, with an +air of great disgust,-- + +"I wish these papers did not come in the house; they are not for +children to see, nor young people to read. It is not well, and I haf no +patience with those who make this harm." + +Jo glanced at the sheet, and saw a pleasing illustration composed of a +lunatic, a corpse, a villain, and a viper. She did not like it; but the +impulse that made her turn it over was not one of displeasure, but fear, +because, for a minute, she fancied the paper was the "Volcano." It was +not, however, and her panic subsided as she remembered that, even if it +had been, and one of her own tales in it, there would have been no name +to betray her. She had betrayed herself, however, by a look and a blush; +for, though an absent man, the Professor saw a good deal more than +people fancied. He knew that Jo wrote, and had met her down among the +newspaper offices more than once; but as she never spoke of it, he asked +no questions, in spite of a strong desire to see her work. Now it +occurred to him that she was doing what she was ashamed to own, and it +troubled him. He did not say to himself, "It is none of my business; +I've no right to say anything," as many people would have done; he only +remembered that she was young and poor, a girl far away from mother's +love and father's care; and he was moved to help her with an impulse as +quick and natural as that which would prompt him to put out his hand to +save a baby from a puddle. All this flashed through his mind in a +minute, but not a trace of it appeared in his face; and by the time the +paper was turned, and Jo's needle threaded, he was ready to say quite +naturally, but very gravely,-- + +"Yes, you are right to put it from you. I do not like to think that good +young girls should see such things. They are made pleasant to some, but +I would more rather give my boys gunpowder to play with than this bad +trash." + +"All may not be bad, only silly, you know; and if there is a demand for +it, I don't see any harm in supplying it. Many very respectable people +make an honest living out of what are called sensation stories," said +Jo, scratching gathers so energetically that a row of little slits +followed her pin. + +"There is a demand for whiskey, but I think you and I do not care to +sell it. If the respectable people knew what harm they did, they would +not feel that the living _was_ honest. They haf no right to put poison +in the sugar-plum, and let the small ones eat it. No; they should think +a little, and sweep mud in the street before they do this thing." + +Mr. Bhaer spoke warmly, and walked to the fire, crumpling the paper in +his hands. Jo sat still, looking as if the fire had come to her; for her +cheeks burned long after the cocked hat had turned to smoke, and gone +harmlessly up the chimney. + +"I should like much to send all the rest after him," muttered the +Professor, coming back with a relieved air. + +Jo thought what a blaze her pile of papers upstairs would make, and her +hard-earned money lay rather heavily on her conscience at that minute. +Then she thought consolingly to herself, "Mine are not like that; they +are only silly, never bad, so I won't be worried;" and taking up her +book, she said, with a studious face,-- + +"Shall we go on, sir? I'll be very good and proper now." + +"I shall hope so," was all he said, but he meant more than she imagined; +and the grave, kind look he gave her made her feel as if the words +"Weekly Volcano" were printed in large type on her forehead. + +As soon as she went to her room, she got out her papers, and carefully +re-read every one of her stories. Being a little short-sighted, Mr. +Bhaer sometimes used eye-glasses, and Jo had tried them once, smiling to +see how they magnified the fine print of her book; now she seemed to +have got on the Professor's mental or moral spectacles also; for the +faults of these poor stories glared at her dreadfully, and filled her +with dismay. + +"They _are_ trash, and will soon be worse than trash if I go on; for +each is more sensational than the last. I've gone blindly on, hurting +myself and other people, for the sake of money; I know it's so, for I +can't read this stuff in sober earnest without being horribly ashamed of +it; and what _should_ I do if they were seen at home, or Mr. Bhaer got +hold of them?" + +Jo turned hot at the bare idea, and stuffed the whole bundle into her +stove, nearly setting the chimney afire with the blaze. + + [Illustration: Jo stuffed the whole bundle into the stove] + +"Yes, that's the best place for such inflammable nonsense; I'd better +burn the house down, I suppose, than let other people blow themselves up +with my gunpowder," she thought, as she watched the "Demon of the Jura" +whisk away, a little black cinder with fiery eyes. + +But when nothing remained of all her three months' work except a heap of +ashes, and the money in her lap, Jo looked sober, as she sat on the +floor, wondering what she ought to do about her wages. + +"I think I haven't done much harm _yet_, and may keep this to pay for my +time," she said, after a long meditation, adding impatiently, "I almost +wish I hadn't any conscience, it's so inconvenient. If I didn't care +about doing right, and didn't feel uncomfortable when doing wrong, I +should get on capitally. I can't help wishing sometimes, that father and +mother hadn't been so particular about such things." + +Ah, Jo, instead of wishing that, thank God that "father and mother +_were_ particular," and pity from your heart those who have no such +guardians to hedge them round with principles which may seem like +prison-walls to impatient youth, but which will prove sure foundations +to build character upon in womanhood. + +Jo wrote no more sensational stories, deciding that the money did not +pay for her share of the sensation; but, going to the other extreme, as +is the way with people of her stamp, she took a course of Mrs. Sherwood, +Miss Edgeworth, and Hannah More; and then produced a tale which might +have been more properly called an essay or a sermon, so intensely moral +was it. She had her doubts about it from the beginning; for her lively +fancy and girlish romance felt as ill at ease in the new style as she +would have done masquerading in the stiff and cumbrous costume of the +last century. She sent this didactic gem to several markets, but it +found no purchaser; and she was inclined to agree with Mr. Dashwood, +that morals didn't sell. + +Then she tried a child's story, which she could easily have disposed of +if she had not been mercenary enough to demand filthy lucre for it. The +only person who offered enough to make it worth her while to try +juvenile literature was a worthy gentleman who felt it his mission to +convert all the world to his particular belief. But much as she liked to +write for children, Jo could not consent to depict all her naughty boys +as being eaten by bears or tossed by mad bulls, because they did not go +to a particular Sabbath-school, nor all the good infants, who did go, as +rewarded by every kind of bliss, from gilded gingerbread to escorts of +angels, when they departed this life with psalms or sermons on their +lisping tongues. So nothing came of these trials; and Jo corked up her +inkstand, and said, in a fit of very wholesome humility,-- + +"I don't know anything; I'll wait till I do before I try again, and, +meantime, 'sweep mud in the street,' if I can't do better; that's +honest, at least;" which decision proved that her second tumble down the +bean-stalk had done her some good. + +While these internal revolutions were going on, her external life had +been as busy and uneventful as usual; and if she sometimes looked +serious or a little sad no one observed it but Professor Bhaer. He did +it so quietly that Jo never knew he was watching to see if she would +accept and profit by his reproof; but she stood the test, and he was +satisfied; for, though no words passed between them, he knew that she +had given up writing. Not only did he guess it by the fact that the +second finger of her right hand was no longer inky, but she spent her +evenings downstairs now, was met no more among newspaper offices, and +studied with a dogged patience, which assured him that she was bent on +occupying her mind with something useful, if not pleasant. + +He helped her in many ways, proving himself a true friend, and Jo was +happy; for, while her pen lay idle, she was learning other lessons +beside German, and laying a foundation for the sensation story of her +own life. + +It was a pleasant winter and a long one, for she did not leave Mrs. +Kirke till June. Every one seemed sorry when the time came; the children +were inconsolable, and Mr. Bhaer's hair stuck straight up all over his +head, for he always rumpled it wildly when disturbed in mind. + +"Going home? Ah, you are happy that you haf a home to go in," he said, +when she told him, and sat silently pulling his beard, in the corner, +while she held a little levee on that last evening. + +She was going early, so she bade them all good-by over night; and when +his turn came, she said warmly,-- + +"Now, sir, you won't forget to come and see us, if you ever travel our +way, will you? I'll never forgive you if you do, for I want them all to +know my friend." + +"Do you? Shall I come?" he asked, looking down at her with an eager +expression which she did not see. + +"Yes, come next month; Laurie graduates then, and you'd enjoy +Commencement as something new." + +"That is your best friend, of whom you speak?" he said, in an altered +tone. + +"Yes, my boy Teddy; I'm very proud of him, and should like you to see +him." + +Jo looked up then, quite unconscious of anything but her own pleasure in +the prospect of showing them to one another. Something in Mr. Bhaer's +face suddenly recalled the fact that she might find Laurie more than a +"best friend," and, simply because she particularly wished not to look +as if anything was the matter, she involuntarily began to blush; and the +more she tried not to, the redder she grew. If it had not been for Tina +on her knee, she didn't know what would have become of her. Fortunately, +the child was moved to hug her; so she managed to hide her face an +instant, hoping the Professor did not see it. But he did, and his own +changed again from that momentary anxiety to its usual expression, as he +said cordially,-- + +"I fear I shall not make the time for that, but I wish the friend much +success, and you all happiness. Gott bless you!" and with that, he shook +hands warmly, shouldered Tina, and went away. + +But after the boys were abed, he sat long before his fire, with the +tired look on his face, and the "_heimweh_," or homesickness, lying +heavy at his heart. Once, when he remembered Jo, as she sat with the +little child in her lap and that new softness in her face, he leaned his +head on his hands a minute, and then roamed about the room, as if in +search of something that he could not find. + +"It is not for me; I must not hope it now," he said to himself, with a +sigh that was almost a groan; then, as if reproaching himself for the +longing that he could not repress, he went and kissed the two towzled +heads upon the pillow, took down his seldom-used meerschaum, and opened +his Plato. + +He did his best, and did it manfully; but I don't think he found that a +pair of rampant boys, a pipe, or even the divine Plato, were very +satisfactory substitutes for wife and child and home. + +Early as it was, he was at the station, next morning, to see Jo off; +and, thanks to him, she began her solitary journey with the pleasant +memory of a familiar face smiling its farewell, a bunch of violets to +keep her company, and, best of all, the happy thought,-- + +"Well, the winter's gone, and I've written no books, earned no fortune; +but I've made a friend worth having, and I'll try to keep him all my +life." + + + + + [Illustration: He put the sisters into the carriage] + + XXXV. + + HEARTACHE. + + +Whatever his motive might have been, Laurie studied to some purpose that +year, for he graduated with honor, and gave the Latin oration with the +grace of a Phillips and the eloquence of a Demosthenes, so his friends +said. They were all there, his grandfather,--oh, so proud!--Mr. and Mrs. +March, John and Meg, Jo and Beth, and all exulted over him with the +sincere admiration which boys make light of at the time, but fail to win +from the world by any after-triumphs. + +"I've got to stay for this confounded supper, but I shall be home early +to-morrow; you'll come and meet me as usual, girls?" Laurie said, as he +put the sisters into the carriage after the joys of the day were over. +He said "girls," but he meant Jo, for she was the only one who kept up +the old custom; she had not the heart to refuse her splendid, successful +boy anything, and answered warmly,-- + +"I'll come, Teddy, rain or shine, and march before you, playing '_Hail +the conquering hero comes_,' on a jews-harp." + +Laurie thanked her with a look that made her think, in a sudden panic, +"Oh, deary me! I know he'll say something, and then what shall I do?" + +Evening meditation and morning work somewhat allayed her fears, and +having decided that she wouldn't be vain enough to think people were +going to propose when she had given them every reason to know what her +answer would be, she set forth at the appointed time, hoping Teddy +wouldn't do anything to make her hurt his poor little feelings. A call +at Meg's, and a refreshing sniff and sip at the Daisy and Demijohn, +still further fortified her for the _tête-à-tête_, but when she saw a +stalwart figure looming in the distance, she had a strong desire to turn +about and run away. + +"Where's the jews-harp, Jo?" cried Laurie, as soon as he was within +speaking distance. + +"I forgot it;" and Jo took heart again, for that salutation could not be +called lover-like. + +She always used to take his arm on these occasions; now she did not, and +he made no complaint, which was a bad sign, but talked on rapidly about +all sorts of far-away subjects, till they turned from the road into the +little path that led homeward through the grove. Then he walked more +slowly, suddenly lost his fine flow of language, and, now and then, a +dreadful pause occurred. To rescue the conversation from one of the +wells of silence into which it kept falling, Jo said hastily,-- + +"Now you must have a good long holiday!" + +"I intend to." + +Something in his resolute tone made Jo look up quickly to find him +looking down at her with an expression that assured her the dreaded +moment had come, and made her put out her hand with an imploring,-- + +"No, Teddy, please don't!" + +"I will, and you _must_ hear me. It's no use, Jo; we've got to have it +out, and the sooner the better for both of us," he answered, getting +flushed and excited all at once. + +"Say what you like, then; I'll listen," said Jo, with a desperate sort +of patience. + +Laurie was a young lover, but he was in earnest, and meant to "have it +out," if he died in the attempt; so he plunged into the subject with +characteristic impetuosity, saying in a voice that _would_ get choky now +and then, in spite of manful efforts to keep it steady,-- + +"I've loved you ever since I've known you, Jo; couldn't help it, you've +been so good to me. I've tried to show it, but you wouldn't let me; now +I'm going to make you hear, and give me an answer, for I _can't_ go on +so any longer." + +"I wanted to save you this; I thought you'd understand--" began Jo, +finding it a great deal harder than she expected. + +"I know you did; but girls are so queer you never know what they mean. +They say No when they mean Yes, and drive a man out of his wits just for +the fun of it," returned Laurie, entrenching himself behind an +undeniable fact. + +"_I_ don't. I never wanted to make you care for me so, and I went away +to keep you from it if I could." + +"I thought so; it was like you, but it was no use. I only loved you all +the more, and I worked hard to please you, and I gave up billiards and +everything you didn't like, and waited and never complained, for I hoped +you'd love me, though I'm not half good enough--" here there was a choke +that couldn't be controlled, so he decapitated buttercups while he +cleared his "confounded throat." + +"Yes, you are; you're a great deal too good for me, and I'm so grateful +to you, and so proud and fond of you, I don't see why I can't love you +as you want me to. I've tried, but I can't change the feeling, and it +would be a lie to say I do when I don't." + +"Really, truly, Jo?" + +He stopped short, and caught both her hands as he put his question with +a look that she did not soon forget. + +"Really, truly, dear." + +They were in the grove now, close by the stile; and when the last words +fell reluctantly from Jo's lips, Laurie dropped her hands and turned as +if to go on, but for once in his life that fence was too much for him; +so he just laid his head down on the mossy post, and stood so still that +Jo was frightened. + + [Illustration: He laid his head down on the mossy post] + +"O Teddy, I'm so sorry, so desperately sorry, I could kill myself if it +would do any good! I wish you wouldn't take it so hard. I can't help it; +you know it's impossible for people to make themselves love other people +if they don't," cried Jo inelegantly but remorsefully, as she softly +patted his shoulder, remembering the time when he had comforted her so +long ago. + +"They do sometimes," said a muffled voice from the post. + +"I don't believe it's the right sort of love, and I'd rather not try +it," was the decided answer. + +There was a long pause, while a blackbird sung blithely on the willow by +the river, and the tall grass rustled in the wind. Presently Jo said +very soberly, as she sat down on the step of the stile,-- + +"Laurie, I want to tell you something." + +He started as if he had been shot, threw up his head, and cried out, in +a fierce tone-- + +"_Don't_ tell me that, Jo; I can't bear it now!" + +"Tell what?" she asked, wondering at his violence. + +"That you love that old man." + +"What old man?" demanded Jo, thinking he must mean his grandfather. + +"That devilish Professor you were always writing about. If you say you +love him, I know I shall do something desperate;" and he looked as if he +would keep his word, as he clenched his hands, with a wrathful spark in +his eyes. + +Jo wanted to laugh, but restrained herself, and said warmly, for she, +too, was getting excited with all this,-- + +"Don't swear, Teddy! He isn't old, nor anything bad, but good and kind, +and the best friend I've got, next to you. Pray, don't fly into a +passion; I want to be kind, but I know I shall get angry if you abuse my +Professor. I haven't the least idea of loving him or anybody else." + +"But you will after a while, and then what will become of me?" + +"You'll love some one else too, like a sensible boy, and forget all this +trouble." + +"I _can't_ love any one else; and I'll never forget you, Jo, never! +never!" with a stamp to emphasize his passionate words. + +"What _shall_ I do with him?" sighed Jo, finding that emotions were more +unmanageable than she expected. "You haven't heard what I wanted to tell +you. Sit down and listen; for indeed I want to do right and make you +happy," she said, hoping to soothe him with a little reason, which +proved that she knew nothing about love. + +Seeing a ray of hope in that last speech, Laurie threw himself down on +the grass at her feet, leaned his arm on the lower step of the stile, +and looked up at her with an expectant face. Now that arrangement was +not conducive to calm speech or clear thought on Jo's part; for how +_could_ she say hard things to her boy while he watched her with eyes +full of love and longing, and lashes still wet with the bitter drop or +two her hardness of heart had wrung from him? She gently turned his head +away, saying, as she stroked the wavy hair which had been allowed to +grow for her sake,--how touching that was, to be sure!-- + +"I agree with mother that you and I are not suited to each other, +because our quick tempers and strong wills would probably make us very +miserable, if we were so foolish as to--" Jo paused a little over the +last word, but Laurie uttered it with a rapturous expression,-- + +"Marry,--no, we shouldn't! If you loved me, Jo, I should be a perfect +saint, for you could make me anything you like." + +"No, I can't. I've tried it and failed, and I won't risk our happiness +by such a serious experiment. We don't agree and we never shall; so +we'll be good friends all our lives, but we won't go and do anything +rash." + +"Yes, we will if we get the chance," muttered Laurie rebelliously. + +"Now do be reasonable, and take a sensible view of the case," implored +Jo, almost at her wit's end. + +"I won't be reasonable; I don't want to take what you call 'a sensible +view;' it won't help me, and it only makes you harder. I don't believe +you've got any heart." + +"I wish I hadn't!" + +There was a little quiver in Jo's voice, and, thinking it a good omen, +Laurie turned round, bringing all his persuasive powers to bear as he +said, in the wheedlesome tone that had never been so dangerously +wheedlesome before,-- + +"Don't disappoint us, dear! Every one expects it. Grandpa has set his +heart upon it, your people like it, and I can't get on without you. Say +you will, and let's be happy. Do, do!" + +Not until months afterward did Jo understand how she had the strength of +mind to hold fast to the resolution she had made when she decided that +she did not love her boy, and never could. It was very hard to do, but +she did it, knowing that delay was both useless and cruel. + +"I can't say 'Yes' truly, so I won't say it at all. You'll see that I'm +right, by and by, and thank me for it"--she began solemnly. + +"I'll be hanged if I do!" and Laurie bounced up off the grass, burning +with indignation at the bare idea. + +"Yes, you will!" persisted Jo; "you'll get over this after a while, and +find some lovely, accomplished girl, who will adore you, and make a fine +mistress for your fine house. I shouldn't. I'm homely and awkward and +odd and old, and you'd be ashamed of me, and we should quarrel,--we +can't help it even now, you see,--and I shouldn't like elegant society +and you would, and you'd hate my scribbling, and I couldn't get on +without it, and we should be unhappy, and wish we hadn't done it, and +everything would be horrid!" + +"Anything more?" asked Laurie, finding it hard to listen patiently to +this prophetic burst. + +"Nothing more, except that I don't believe I shall ever marry. I'm happy +as I am, and love my liberty too well to be in any hurry to give it up +for any mortal man." + +"I know better!" broke in Laurie. "You think so now; but there'll come a +time when you _will_ care for somebody, and you'll love him +tremendously, and live and die for him. I know you will, it's your way, +and I shall have to stand by and see it;" and the despairing lover cast +his hat upon the ground with a gesture that would have seemed comical, +if his face had not been so tragical. + +"Yes, I _will_ live and die for him, if he ever comes and makes me love +him in spite of myself, and you must do the best you can!" cried Jo, +losing patience with poor Teddy. "I've done my best, but you _won't_ be +reasonable, and it's selfish of you to keep teasing for what I can't +give. I shall always be fond of you, very fond indeed, as a friend, but +I'll never marry you; and the sooner you believe it, the better for both +of us,--so now!" + +That speech was like fire to gunpowder. Laurie looked at her a minute as +if he did not quite know what to do with himself, then turned sharply +away, saying, in a desperate sort of tone,-- + +"You'll be sorry some day, Jo." + +"Oh, where are you going?" she cried, for his face frightened her. + +"To the devil!" was the consoling answer. + +For a minute Jo's heart stood still, as he swung himself down the bank, +toward the river; but it takes much folly, sin, or misery to send a +young man to a violent death, and Laurie was not one of the weak sort +who are conquered by a single failure. He had no thought of a +melodramatic plunge, but some blind instinct led him to fling hat and +coat into his boat, and row away with all his might, making better time +up the river than he had done in many a race. Jo drew a long breath and +unclasped her hands as she watched the poor fellow trying to outstrip +the trouble which he carried in his heart. + +"That will do him good, and he'll come home in such a tender, penitent +state of mind, that I sha'n't dare to see him," she said; adding, as she +went slowly home, feeling as if she had murdered some innocent thing, +and buried it under the leaves,-- + +"Now I must go and prepare Mr. Laurence to be very kind to my poor boy. +I wish he'd love Beth; perhaps he may, in time, but I begin to think I +was mistaken about her. Oh dear! how can girls like to have lovers and +refuse them. I think it's dreadful." + +Being sure that no one could do it so well as herself, she went straight +to Mr. Laurence, told the hard story bravely through, and then broke +down, crying so dismally over her own insensibility that the kind old +gentleman, though sorely disappointed, did not utter a reproach. He +found it difficult to understand how any girl could help loving Laurie, +and hoped she would change her mind, but he knew even better than Jo +that love cannot be forced, so he shook his head sadly, and resolved to +carry his boy out of harm's way; for Young Impetuosity's parting words +to Jo disturbed him more than he would confess. + +When Laurie came home, dead tired, but quite composed, his grandfather +met him as if he knew nothing, and kept up the delusion very +successfully for an hour or two. But when they sat together in the +twilight, the time they used to enjoy so much, it was hard work for the +old man to ramble on as usual, and harder still for the young one to +listen to praises of the last year's success, which to him now seemed +love's labor lost. He bore it as long as he could, then went to his +piano, and began to play. The windows were open; and Jo, walking in the +garden with Beth, for once understood music better than her sister, for +he played the "Sonata Pathétique," and played it as he never did before. + +"That's very fine, I dare say, but it's sad enough to make one cry; give +us something gayer, lad," said Mr. Laurence, whose kind old heart was +full of sympathy, which he longed to show, but knew not how. + +Laurie dashed into a livelier strain, played stormily for several +minutes, and would have got through bravely, if, in a momentary lull, +Mrs. March's voice had not been heard calling,-- + +"Jo, dear, come in; I want you." + +Just what Laurie longed to say, with a different meaning! As he +listened, he lost his place; the music ended with a broken chord, and +the musician sat silent in the dark. + +"I can't stand this," muttered the old gentleman. Up he got, groped his +way to the piano, laid a kind hand on either of the broad shoulders, and +said, as gently as a woman,-- + +"I know, my boy, I know." + +No answer for an instant; then Laurie asked sharply,-- + +"Who told you?" + +"Jo herself." + +"Then there's an end of it!" and he shook off his grandfather's hands +with an impatient motion; for, though grateful for the sympathy, his +man's pride could not bear a man's pity. + +"Not quite; I want to say one thing, and then there shall be an end of +it," returned Mr. Laurence, with unusual mildness. "You won't care to +stay at home just now, perhaps?" + +"I don't intend to run away from a girl. Jo can't prevent my seeing her, +and I shall stay and do it as long as I like," interrupted Laurie, in a +defiant tone. + +"Not if you are the gentleman I think you. I'm disappointed, but the +girl can't help it; and the only thing left for you to do is to go away +for a time. Where will you go?" + +"Anywhere. I don't care what becomes of me;" and Laurie got up, with a +reckless laugh, that grated on his grandfather's ear. + +"Take it like a man, and don't do anything rash, for God's sake. Why not +go abroad, as you planned, and forget it?" + +"I can't." + +"But you've been wild to go, and I promised you should when you got +through college." + +"Ah, but I didn't mean to go alone!" and Laurie walked fast through the +room, with an expression which it was well his grandfather did not see. + +"I don't ask you to go alone; there's some one ready and glad to go with +you, anywhere in the world." + +"Who, sir?" stopping to listen. + +"Myself." + +Laurie came back as quickly as he went, and put out his hand, saying +huskily,-- + +"I'm a selfish brute; but--you know--grandfather--" + +"Lord help me, yes, I do know, for I've been through it all before, once +in my own young days, and then with your father. Now, my dear boy, just +sit quietly down, and hear my plan. It's all settled, and can be carried +out at once," said Mr. Laurence, keeping hold of the young man, as if +fearful that he would break away, as his father had done before him. + +"Well, sir, what is it?" and Laurie sat down, without a sign of interest +in face or voice. + +"There is business in London that needs looking after; I meant you +should attend to it; but I can do it better myself, and things here will +get on very well with Brooke to manage them. My partners do almost +everything; I'm merely holding on till you take my place, and can be off +at any time." + +"But you hate travelling, sir; I can't ask it of you at your age," began +Laurie, who was grateful for the sacrifice, but much preferred to go +alone, if he went at all. + +The old gentleman knew that perfectly well, and particularly desired to +prevent it; for the mood in which he found his grandson assured him that +it would not be wise to leave him to his own devices. So, stifling a +natural regret at the thought of the home comforts he would leave behind +him, he said stoutly,-- + +"Bless your soul, I'm not superannuated yet. I quite enjoy the idea; it +will do me good, and my old bones won't suffer, for travelling nowadays +is almost as easy as sitting in a chair." + +A restless movement from Laurie suggested that _his_ chair was not easy, +or that he did not like the plan, and made the old man add hastily,-- + +"I don't mean to be a marplot or a burden; I go because I think you'd +feel happier than if I was left behind. I don't intend to gad about with +you, but leave you free to go where you like, while I amuse myself in my +own way. I've friends in London and Paris, and should like to visit +them; meantime you can go to Italy, Germany, Switzerland, where you +will, and enjoy pictures, music, scenery, and adventures to your heart's +content." + +Now, Laurie felt just then that his heart was entirely broken, and the +world a howling wilderness; but at the sound of certain words which the +old gentleman artfully introduced into his closing sentence, the broken +heart gave an unexpected leap, and a green oasis or two suddenly +appeared in the howling wilderness. He sighed, and then said, in a +spiritless tone,-- + +"Just as you like, sir; it doesn't matter where I go or what I do." + +"It does to me, remember that, my lad; I give you entire liberty, but I +trust you to make an honest use of it. Promise me that, Laurie." + +"Anything you like, sir." + +"Good," thought the old gentleman. "You don't care now, but there'll +come a time when that promise will keep you out of mischief, or I'm much +mistaken." + +Being an energetic individual, Mr. Laurence struck while the iron was +hot; and before the blighted being recovered spirit enough to rebel, +they were off. During the time necessary for preparation, Laurie bore +himself as young gentlemen usually do in such cases. He was moody, +irritable, and pensive by turns; lost his appetite, neglected his dress, +and devoted much time to playing tempestuously on his piano; avoided Jo, +but consoled himself by staring at her from his window, with a tragical +face that haunted her dreams by night, and oppressed her with a heavy +sense of guilt by day. Unlike some sufferers, he never spoke of his +unrequited passion, and would allow no one, not even Mrs. March, to +attempt consolation or offer sympathy. On some accounts, this was a +relief to his friends; but the weeks before his departure were very +uncomfortable, and every one rejoiced that the "poor, dear fellow was +going away to forget his trouble, and come home happy." Of course, he +smiled darkly at their delusion, but passed it by, with the sad +superiority of one who knew that his fidelity, like his love, was +unalterable. + +When the parting came he affected high spirits, to conceal certain +inconvenient emotions which seemed inclined to assert themselves. This +gayety did not impose upon anybody, but they tried to look as if it did, +for his sake, and he got on very well till Mrs. March kissed him, with +a whisper full of motherly solicitude; then, feeling that he was going +very fast, he hastily embraced them all round, not forgetting the +afflicted Hannah, and ran downstairs as if for his life. Jo followed a +minute after to wave her hand to him if he looked round. He did look +round, came back, put his arms about her, as she stood on the step above +him, and looked up at her with a face that made his short appeal both +eloquent and pathetic. + +"O Jo, can't you?" + + [Illustration: O Jo, can't you?] + +"Teddy, dear, I wish I could!" + +That was all, except a little pause; then Laurie straightened himself +up, said "It's all right, never mind," and went away without another +word. Ah, but it wasn't all right, and Jo _did_ mind; for while the +curly head lay on her arm a minute after her hard answer, she felt as if +she had stabbed her dearest friend; and when he left her without a look +behind him, she knew that the boy Laurie never would come again. + + [Illustration: Tail-piece] + + + + + XXXVI. + + BETH'S SECRET. + + +When Jo came home that spring, she had been struck with the change in +Beth. No one spoke of it or seemed aware of it, for it had come too +gradually to startle those who saw her daily; but to eyes sharpened by +absence, it was very plain; and a heavy weight fell on Jo's heart as she +saw her sister's face. It was no paler and but little thinner than in +the autumn; yet there was a strange, transparent look about it, as if +the mortal was being slowly refined away, and the immortal shining +through the frail flesh with an indescribably pathetic beauty. Jo saw +and felt it, but said nothing at the time, and soon the first impression +lost much of its power; for Beth seemed happy, no one appeared to doubt +that she was better; and, presently, in other cares, Jo for a time +forgot her fear. + +But when Laurie was gone, and peace prevailed again, the vague anxiety +returned and haunted her. She had confessed her sins and been forgiven; +but when she showed her savings and proposed the mountain trip, Beth had +thanked her heartily, but begged not to go so far away from home. +Another little visit to the seashore would suit her better, and, as +grandma could not be prevailed upon to leave the babies, Jo took Beth +down to the quiet place, where she could live much in the open air, and +let the fresh sea-breezes blow a little color into her pale cheeks. + +It was not a fashionable place, but, even among the pleasant people +there, the girls made few friends, preferring to live for one another. +Beth was too shy to enjoy society, and Jo too wrapped up in her to care +for any one else; so they were all in all to each other, and came and +went, quite unconscious of the interest they excited in those about +them, who watched with sympathetic eyes the strong sister and the feeble +one, always together, as if they felt instinctively that a long +separation was not far away. + +They did feel it, yet neither spoke of it; for often between ourselves +and those nearest and dearest to us there exists a reserve which it is +very hard to overcome. Jo felt as if a veil had fallen between her heart +and Beth's; but when she put out her hand to lift it up, there seemed +something sacred in the silence, and she waited for Beth to speak. She +wondered, and was thankful also, that her parents did not seem to see +what she saw; and, during the quiet weeks, when the shadow grew so plain +to her, she said nothing of it to those at home, believing that it would +tell itself when Beth came back no better. She wondered still more if +her sister really guessed the hard truth, and what thoughts were passing +through her mind during the long hours when she lay on the warm rocks, +with her head in Jo's lap, while the winds blew healthfully over her, +and the sea made music at her feet. + + [Illustration: With her head in Jo's lap, while the wind blew + healthfully over her] + +One day Beth told her. Jo thought she was asleep, she lay so still; and, +putting down her book, sat looking at her with wistful eyes, trying to +see signs of hope in the faint color on Beth's cheeks. But she could not +find enough to satisfy her, for the cheeks were very thin, and the hands +seemed too feeble to hold even the rosy little shells they had been +gathering. It came to her then more bitterly than ever that Beth was +slowly drifting away from her, and her arms instinctively tightened +their hold upon the dearest treasure she possessed. For a minute her +eyes were too dim for seeing, and, when they cleared, Beth was looking +up at her so tenderly that there was hardly any need for her to say,-- + +"Jo, dear, I'm glad you know it. I've tried to tell you, but I +couldn't." + +There was no answer except her sister's cheek against her own, not even +tears; for when most deeply moved, Jo did not cry. She was the weaker, +then, and Beth tried to comfort and sustain her, with her arms about +her, and the soothing words she whispered in her ear. + +"I've known it for a good while, dear, and, now I'm used to it, it isn't +hard to think of or to bear. Try to see it so, and don't be troubled +about me, because it's best; indeed it is." + +"Is this what made you so unhappy in the autumn, Beth? You did not feel +it then, and keep it to yourself so long, did you?" asked Jo, refusing +to see or say that it _was_ best, but glad to know that Laurie had no +part in Beth's trouble. + +"Yes, I gave up hoping then, but I didn't like to own it. I tried to +think it was a sick fancy, and would not let it trouble any one. But +when I saw you all so well and strong, and full of happy plans, it was +hard to feel that I could never be like you, and then I was miserable, +Jo." + +"O Beth, and you didn't tell me, didn't let me comfort and help you! How +could you shut me out, and bear it all alone?" + +Jo's voice was full of tender reproach, and her heart ached to think of +the solitary struggle that must have gone on while Beth learned to say +good-by to health, love, and life, and take up her cross so cheerfully. + +"Perhaps it was wrong, but I tried to do right; I wasn't sure, no one +said anything, and I hoped I was mistaken. It would have been selfish to +frighten you all when Marmee was so anxious about Meg, and Amy away, and +you so happy with Laurie,--at least, I thought so then." + +"And I thought that you loved him, Beth, and I went away because I +couldn't," cried Jo, glad to say all the truth. + +Beth looked so amazed at the idea that Jo smiled in spite of her pain, +and added softly,-- + +"Then you didn't, deary? I was afraid it was so, and imagined your poor +little heart full of love-lornity all that while." + +"Why, Jo, how could I, when he was so fond of you?" asked Beth, as +innocently as a child. "I do love him dearly; he is so good to me, how +can I help it? But he never could be anything to me but my brother. I +hope he truly will be, sometime." + +"Not through me," said Jo decidedly. "Amy is left for him, and they +would suit excellently; but I have no heart for such things, now. I +don't care what becomes of anybody but you, Beth. You _must_ get well." + +"I want to, oh, so much! I try, but every day I lose a little, and feel +more sure that I shall never gain it back. It's like the tide, Jo, when +it turns, it goes slowly, but it can't be stopped." + +"It _shall_ be stopped, your tide must not turn so soon, nineteen is too +young. Beth, I can't let you go. I'll work and pray and fight against +it. I'll keep you in spite of everything; there must be ways, it can't +be too late. God won't be so cruel as to take you from me," cried poor +Jo rebelliously, for her spirit was far less piously submissive than +Beth's. + +Simple, sincere people seldom speak much of their piety; it shows itself +in acts, rather than in words, and has more influence than homilies or +protestations. Beth could not reason upon or explain the faith that gave +her courage and patience to give up life, and cheerfully wait for death. +Like a confiding child, she asked no questions, but left everything to +God and nature, Father and mother of us all, feeling sure that they, and +they only, could teach and strengthen heart and spirit for this life and +the life to come. She did not rebuke Jo with saintly speeches, only +loved her better for her passionate affection, and clung more closely to +the dear human love, from which our Father never means us to be weaned, +but through which He draws us closer to Himself. She could not say, "I'm +glad to go," for life was very sweet to her; she could only sob out, "I +try to be willing," while she held fast to Jo, as the first bitter wave +of this great sorrow broke over them together. + +By and by Beth said, with recovered serenity,-- + +"You'll tell them this when we go home?" + +"I think they will see it without words," sighed Jo; for now it seemed +to her that Beth changed every day. + +"Perhaps not; I've heard that the people who love best are often +blindest to such things. If they don't see it, you will tell them for +me. I don't want any secrets, and it's kinder to prepare them. Meg has +John and the babies to comfort her, but you must stand by father and +mother, won't you, Jo?" + +"If I can; but, Beth, I don't give up yet; I'm going to believe that it +_is_ a sick fancy, and not let you think it's true," said Jo, trying to +speak cheerfully. + +Beth lay a minute thinking, and then said in her quiet way,-- + +"I don't know how to express myself, and shouldn't try, to any one but +you, because I can't speak out, except to my Jo. I only mean to say +that I have a feeling that it never was intended I should live long. I'm +not like the rest of you; I never made any plans about what I'd do when +I grew up; I never thought of being married, as you all did. I couldn't +seem to imagine myself anything but stupid little Beth, trotting about +at home, of no use anywhere but there. I never wanted to go away, and +the hard part now is the leaving you all. I'm not afraid, but it seems +as if I should be homesick for you even in heaven." + +Jo could not speak; and for several minutes there was no sound but the +sigh of the wind and the lapping of the tide. A white-winged gull flew +by, with the flash of sunshine on its silvery breast; Beth watched it +till it vanished, and her eyes were full of sadness. A little +gray-coated sand-bird came tripping over the beach, "peeping" softly to +itself, as if enjoying the sun and sea; it came quite close to Beth, +looked at her with a friendly eye, and sat upon a warm stone, dressing +its wet feathers, quite at home. Beth smiled, and felt comforted, for +the tiny thing seemed to offer its small friendship, and remind her that +a pleasant world was still to be enjoyed. + +"Dear little bird! See, Jo, how tame it is. I like peeps better than the +gulls: they are not so wild and handsome, but they seem happy, confiding +little things. I used to call them my birds, last summer; and mother +said they reminded her of me,--busy, quaker-colored creatures, always +near the shore, and always chirping that contented little song of +theirs. You are the gull, Jo, strong and wild, fond of the storm and the +wind, flying far out to sea, and happy all alone. Meg is the +turtle-dove, and Amy is like the lark she writes about, trying to get up +among the clouds, but always dropping down into its nest again. Dear +little girl! she's so ambitious, but her heart is good and tender; and +no matter how high she flies, she never will forget home. I hope I shall +see her again, but she seems _so_ far away." + +"She is coming in the spring, and I mean that you shall be all ready to +see and enjoy her. I'm going to have you well and rosy by that time," +began Jo, feeling that of all the changes in Beth, the talking change +was the greatest, for it seemed to cost no effort now, and she thought +aloud in a way quite unlike bashful Beth. + +"Jo, dear, don't hope any more; it won't do any good, I'm sure of that. +We won't be miserable, but enjoy being together while we wait. We'll +have happy times, for I don't suffer much, and I think the tide will go +out easily, if you help me." + +Jo leaned down to kiss the tranquil face; and with that silent kiss, she +dedicated herself soul and body to Beth. + +She was right: there was no need of any words when they got home, for +father and mother saw plainly, now, what they had prayed to be saved +from seeing. Tired with her short journey, Beth went at once to bed, +saying how glad she was to be at home; and when Jo went down, she found +that she would be spared the hard task of telling Beth's secret. Her +father stood leaning his head on the mantel-piece, and did not turn as +she came in; but her mother stretched out her arms as if for help, and +Jo went to comfort her without a word. + + [Illustration: Tail-piece] + + + + + [Illustration: He hurried forward to meet her] + + XXXVII. + + NEW IMPRESSIONS. + + +At three o'clock in the afternoon, all the fashionable world at Nice may +be seen on the Promenade des Anglais,--a charming place; for the wide +walk, bordered with palms, flowers, and tropical shrubs, is bounded on +one side by the sea, on the other by the grand drive, lined with hotels +and villas, while beyond lie orange-orchards and the hills. Many nations +are represented, many languages spoken, many costumes worn; and, on a +sunny day, the spectacle is as gay and brilliant as a carnival. Haughty +English, lively French, sober Germans, handsome Spaniards, ugly +Russians, meek Jews, free-and-easy Americans, all drive, sit, or saunter +here, chatting over the news, and criticising the latest celebrity who +has arrived,--Ristori or Dickens, Victor Emmanuel or the Queen of the +Sandwich Islands. The equipages are as varied as the company, and +attract as much attention, especially the low basket-barouches in which +ladies drive themselves, with a pair of dashing ponies, gay nets to keep +their voluminous flounces from overflowing the diminutive vehicles, and +little grooms on the perch behind. + +Along this walk, on Christmas Day, a tall young man walked slowly, with +his hands behind him, and a somewhat absent expression of countenance. +He looked like an Italian, was dressed like an Englishman, and had the +independent air of an American,--a combination which caused sundry pairs +of feminine eyes to look approvingly after him, and sundry dandies in +black velvet suits, with rose-colored neckties, buff gloves, and +orange-flowers in their button-holes, to shrug their shoulders, and then +envy him his inches. There were plenty of pretty faces to admire, but +the young man took little notice of them, except to glance, now and +then, at some blonde girl, or lady in blue. Presently he strolled out of +the promenade, and stood a moment at the crossing, as if undecided +whether to go and listen to the band in the Jardin Publique, or to +wander along the beach toward Castle Hill. The quick trot of ponies' +feet made him look up, as one of the little carriages, containing a +single lady, came rapidly down the street. The lady was young, blonde, +and dressed in blue. He stared a minute, then his whole face woke up, +and, waving his hat like a boy, he hurried forward to meet her. + +"O Laurie, is it really you? I thought you'd never come!" cried Amy, +dropping the reins, and holding out both hands, to the great +scandalization of a French mamma, who hastened her daughter's steps, +lest she should be demoralized by beholding the free manners of these +"mad English." + +"I was detained by the way, but I promised to spend Christmas with you, +and here I am." + +"How is your grandfather? When did you come? Where are you staying?" + +"Very well--last night--at the Chauvain. I called at your hotel, but you +were all out." + +"I have so much to say, I don't know where to begin! Get in, and we can +talk at our ease; I was going for a drive, and longing for company. +Flo's saving up for to-night." + +"What happens then, a ball?" + +"A Christmas party at our hotel. There are many Americans there, and +they give it in honor of the day. You'll go with us, of course? Aunt +will be charmed." + +"Thank you. Where now?" asked Laurie, leaning back and folding his arms, +a proceeding which suited Amy, who preferred to drive; for her +parasol-whip and blue reins over the white ponies' backs, afforded her +infinite satisfaction. + +"I'm going to the banker's first, for letters, and then to Castle Hill; +the view is so lovely, and I like to feed the peacocks. Have you ever +been there?" + +"Often, years ago; but I don't mind having a look at it." + +"Now tell me all about yourself. The last I heard of you, your +grandfather wrote that he expected you from Berlin." + +"Yes, I spent a month there, and then joined him in Paris, where he has +settled for the winter. He has friends there, and finds plenty to amuse +him; so I go and come, and we get on capitally." + +"That's a sociable arrangement," said Amy, missing something in Laurie's +manner, though she couldn't tell what. + +"Why, you see he hates to travel, and I hate to keep still; so we each +suit ourselves, and there is no trouble. I am often with him, and he +enjoys my adventures, while I like to feel that some one is glad to see +me when I get back from my wanderings. Dirty old hole, isn't it?" he +added, with a look of disgust, as they drove along the boulevard to the +Place Napoleon, in the old city. + +"The dirt is picturesque, so I don't mind. The river and the hills are +delicious, and these glimpses of the narrow cross-streets are my +delight. Now we shall have to wait for that procession to pass; it's +going to the Church of St. John." + +While Laurie listlessly watched the procession of priests under their +canopies, white-veiled nuns bearing lighted tapers, and some brotherhood +in blue, chanting as they walked, Amy watched him, and felt a new sort +of shyness steal over her; for he was changed, and she could not find +the merry-faced boy she left in the moody-looking man beside her. He was +handsomer than ever, and greatly improved, she thought; but now that the +flush of pleasure at meeting her was over, he looked tired and +spiritless,--not sick, nor exactly unhappy, but older and graver than a +year or two of prosperous life should have made him. She couldn't +understand it, and did not venture to ask questions; so she shook her +head, and touched up her ponies, as the procession wound away across the +arches of the Paglioni bridge, and vanished in the church. + +"_Que pensez vous_?" she said, airing her French, which had improved in +quantity, if not in quality, since she came abroad. + +"That mademoiselle has made good use of her time, and the result is +charming," replied Laurie, bowing, with his hand on his heart, and an +admiring look. + +She blushed with pleasure, but somehow the compliment did not satisfy +her like the blunt praises he used to give her at home, when he +promenaded round her on festival occasions, and told her she was +"altogether jolly," with a hearty smile and an approving pat on the +head. She didn't like the new tone; for, though not _blasé_, it sounded +indifferent in spite of the look. + +"If that's the way he's going to grow up, I wish he'd stay a boy," she +thought, with a curious sense of disappointment and discomfort, trying +meantime to seem quite easy and gay. + +At Avigdor's she found the precious home-letters, and, giving the reins +to Laurie, read them luxuriously as they wound up the shady road between +green hedges, where tea-roses bloomed as freshly as in June. + +"Beth is very poorly, mother says. I often think I ought to go home, but +they all say 'stay;' so I do, for I shall never have another chance like +this," said Amy, looking sober over one page. + +"I think you are right, there; you could do nothing at home, and it is a +great comfort to them to know that you are well and happy, and enjoying +so much, my dear." + +He drew a little nearer, and looked more like his old self, as he said +that; and the fear that sometimes weighed on Amy's heart was lightened, +for the look, the act, the brotherly "my dear," seemed to assure her +that if any trouble did come, she would not be alone in a strange land. +Presently she laughed, and showed him a small sketch of Jo in her +scribbling-suit, with the bow rampantly erect upon her cap, and issuing +from her mouth the words, "Genius burns!" + +Laurie smiled, took it, put it in his vest-pocket, "to keep it from +blowing away," and listened with interest to the lively letter Amy read +him. + +"This will be a regularly merry Christmas to me, with presents in the +morning, you and letters in the afternoon, and a party at night," said +Amy, as they alighted among the ruins of the old fort, and a flock of +splendid peacocks came trooping about them, tamely waiting to be fed. +While Amy stood laughing on the bank above him as she scattered crumbs +to the brilliant birds, Laurie looked at her as she had looked at him, +with a natural curiosity to see what changes time and absence had +wrought. He found nothing to perplex or disappoint, much to admire and +approve; for, overlooking a few little affectations of speech and +manner, she was as sprightly and graceful as ever, with the addition of +that indescribable something in dress and bearing which we call +elegance. Always mature for her age, she had gained a certain _aplomb_ +in both carriage and conversation, which made her seem more of a woman +of the world than she was; but her old petulance now and then showed +itself, her strong will still held its own, and her native frankness was +unspoiled by foreign polish. + +Laurie did not read all this while he watched her feed the peacocks, but +he saw enough to satisfy and interest him, and carried away a pretty +little picture of a bright-faced girl standing in the sunshine, which +brought out the soft hue of her dress, the fresh color of her cheeks, +the golden gloss of her hair, and made her a prominent figure in the +pleasant scene. + +As they came up on to the stone plateau that crowns the hill, Amy waved +her hand as if welcoming him to her favorite haunt, and said, pointing +here and there,-- + +"Do you remember the Cathedral and the Corso, the fishermen dragging +their nets in the bay, and the lovely road to Villa Franca, Schubert's +Tower, just below, and, best of all, that speck far out to sea which +they say is Corsica?" + +"I remember; it's not much changed," he answered, without enthusiasm. + +"What Jo would give for a sight of that famous speck!" said Amy, feeling +in good spirits, and anxious to see him so also. + +"Yes," was all he said, but he turned and strained his eyes to see the +island which a greater usurper than even Napoleon now made interesting +in his sight. + +"Take a good look at it for her sake, and then come and tell me what you +have been doing with yourself all this while," said Amy, seating +herself, ready for a good talk. + +But she did not get it; for, though he joined her, and answered all her +questions freely, she could only learn that he had roved about the +continent and been to Greece. So, after idling away an hour, they drove +home again; and, having paid his respects to Mrs. Carrol, Laurie left +them, promising to return in the evening. + +It must be recorded of Amy that she deliberately "prinked" that night. +Time and absence had done its work on both the young people; she had +seen her old friend in a new light, not as "our boy," but as a handsome +and agreeable man, and she was conscious of a very natural desire to +find favor in his sight. Amy knew her good points, and made the most of +them, with the taste and skill which is a fortune to a poor and pretty +woman. + +Tarlatan and tulle were cheap at Nice, so she enveloped herself in them +on such occasions, and, following the sensible English fashion of simple +dress for young girls, got up charming little toilettes with fresh +flowers, a few trinkets, and all manner of dainty devices, which were +both inexpensive and effective. It must be confessed that the artist +sometimes got possession of the woman, and indulged in antique +_coiffures_, statuesque attitudes, and classic draperies. But, dear +heart, we all have our little weaknesses, and find it easy to pardon +such in the young, who satisfy our eyes with their comeliness, and keep +our hearts merry with their artless vanities. + +"I do want him to think I look well, and tell them so at home," said Amy +to herself, as she put on Flo's old white silk ball-dress, and covered +it with a cloud of fresh illusion, out of which her white shoulders and +golden head emerged with a most artistic effect. Her hair she had the +sense to let alone, after gathering up the thick waves and curls into a +Hebe-like knot at the back of her head. + +"It's not the fashion, but it's becoming, and I can't afford to make a +fright of myself," she used to say, when advised to frizzle, puff, or +braid, as the latest style commanded. + +Having no ornaments fine enough for this important occasion, Amy looped +her fleecy skirts with rosy clusters of azalea, and framed the white +shoulders in delicate green vines. Remembering the painted boots, she +surveyed her white satin slippers with girlish satisfaction, and +_chasséed_ down the room, admiring her aristocratic feet all by herself. + +"My new fan just matches my flowers, my gloves fit to a charm, and the +real lace on aunt's _mouchoir_ gives an air to my whole dress. If I only +had a classical nose and mouth I should be perfectly happy," she said, +surveying herself with a critical eye, and a candle in each hand. + +In spite of this affliction, she looked unusually gay and graceful as +she glided away; she seldom ran,--it did not suit her style, she +thought, for, being tall, the stately and Junoesque was more appropriate +than the sportive or piquante. She walked up and down the long saloon +while waiting for Laurie, and once arranged herself under the +chandelier, which had a good effect upon her hair; then she thought +better of it, and went away to the other end of the room, as if ashamed +of the girlish desire to have the first view a propitious one. It so +happened that she could not have done a better thing, for Laurie came in +so quietly she did not hear him; and, as she stood at the distant +window, with her head half turned, and one hand gathering up her dress, +the slender, white figure against the red curtains was as effective as a +well-placed statue. + +"Good evening, Diana!" said Laurie, with the look of satisfaction she +liked to see in his eyes when they rested on her. + +"Good evening, Apollo!" she answered, smiling back at him, for he, too, +looked unusually _debonnaire_, and the thought of entering the ball-room +on the arm of such a personable man caused Amy to pity the four plain +Misses Davis from the bottom of her heart. + +"Here are your flowers; I arranged them myself, remembering that you +didn't like what Hannah calls a 'sot-bookay,'" said Laurie, handing her +a delicate nosegay, in a holder that she had long coveted as she daily +passed it in Cardiglia's window. + + [Illustration: Here are your flowers] + +"How kind you are!" she exclaimed gratefully. "If I'd known you were +coming I'd have had something ready for you to-day, though not as pretty +as this, I'm afraid." + +"Thank you; it isn't what it should be, but you have improved it," he +added, as she snapped the silver bracelet on her wrist. + +"Please don't." + +"I thought you liked that sort of thing?" + +"Not from you; it doesn't sound natural, and I like your old bluntness +better." + +"I'm glad of it," he answered, with a look of relief; then buttoned her +gloves for her, and asked if his tie was straight, just as he used to do +when they went to parties together, at home. + +The company assembled in the long _salle à manger_, that evening, was +such as one sees nowhere but on the Continent. The hospitable Americans +had invited every acquaintance they had in Nice, and, having no +prejudice against titles, secured a few to add lustre to their Christmas +ball. + +A Russian prince condescended to sit in a corner for an hour, and talk +with a massive lady, dressed like Hamlet's mother, in black velvet, with +a pearl bridle under her chin. A Polish count, aged eighteen, devoted +himself to the ladies, who pronounced him "a fascinating dear," and a +German Serene Something, having come for the supper alone, roamed +vaguely about, seeking what he might devour. Baron Rothschild's private +secretary, a large-nosed Jew, in tight boots, affably beamed upon the +world, as if his master's name crowned him with a golden halo; a stout +Frenchman, who knew the Emperor, came to indulge his mania for dancing, +and Lady de Jones, a British matron, adorned the scene with her little +family of eight. Of course, there were many light-footed, shrill-voiced +American girls, handsome, lifeless-looking English ditto, and a few +plain but piquante French demoiselles; likewise the usual set of +travelling young gentlemen, who disported themselves gayly, while mammas +of all nations lined the walls, and smiled upon them benignly when they +danced with their daughters. + +Any young girl can imagine Amy's state of mind when she "took the stage" +that night, leaning on Laurie's arm. She knew she looked well, she loved +to dance, she felt that her foot was on her native heath in a ball-room, +and enjoyed the delightful sense of power which comes when young girls +first discover the new and lovely kingdom they are born to rule by +virtue of beauty, youth, and womanhood. She did pity the Davis girls, +who were awkward, plain, and destitute of escort, except a grim papa and +three grimmer maiden aunts, and she bowed to them in her friendliest +manner as she passed; which was good of her, as it permitted them to see +her dress, and burn with curiosity to know who her distinguished-looking +friend might be. With the first burst of the band, Amy's color rose, her +eyes began to sparkle, and her feet to tap the floor impatiently; for +she danced well, and wanted Laurie to know it: therefore the shock she +received can better be imagined than described, when he said, in a +perfectly tranquil tone,-- + +"Do you care to dance?" + +"One usually does at a ball." + +Her amazed look and quick answer caused Laurie to repair his error as +fast as possible. + +"I meant the first dance. May I have the honor?" + +"I can give you one if I put off the Count. He dances divinely; but he +will excuse me, as you are an old friend," said Amy, hoping that the +name would have a good effect, and show Laurie that she was not to be +trifled with. + +"Nice little boy, but rather a short Pole to support + + "'A daughter of the gods, + Divinely tall, and most divinely fair,'" + +was all the satisfaction she got, however. + +The set in which they found themselves was composed of English, and Amy +was compelled to walk decorously through a cotillon, feeling all the +while as if she could dance the Tarantula with a relish. Laurie resigned +her to the "nice little boy," and went to do his duty to Flo, without +securing Amy for the joys to come, which reprehensible want of +forethought was properly punished, for she immediately engaged herself +till supper, meaning to relent if he then gave any signs of penitence. +She showed him her ball-book with demure satisfaction when he strolled, +instead of rushing, up to claim her for the next, a glorious +polka-redowa; but his polite regrets didn't impose upon her, and when +she gallopaded away with the Count, she saw Laurie sit down by her aunt +with an actual expression of relief. + +That was unpardonable; and Amy took no more notice of him for a long +while, except a word now and then, when she came to her chaperon, +between the dances, for a necessary pin or a moment's rest. Her anger +had a good effect, however, for she hid it under a smiling face, and +seemed unusually blithe and brilliant. Laurie's eyes followed her with +pleasure, for she neither romped nor sauntered, but danced with spirit +and grace, making the delightsome pastime what it should be. He very +naturally fell to studying her from this new point of view; and, before +the evening was half over, had decided that "little Amy was going to +make a very charming woman." + +It was a lively scene, for soon the spirit of the social season took +possession of every one, and Christmas merriment made all faces shine, +hearts happy, and heels light. The musicians fiddled, tooted, and banged +as if they enjoyed it; everybody danced who could, and those who +couldn't admired their neighbors with uncommon warmth. The air was dark +with Davises, and many Joneses gambolled like a flock of young giraffes. +The golden secretary darted through the room like a meteor, with a +dashing Frenchwoman, who carpeted the floor with her pink satin train. +The Serene Teuton found the supper-table, and was happy, eating steadily +through the bill of fare, and dismayed the _garçons_ by the ravages he +committed. But the Emperor's friend covered himself with glory, for he +danced everything, whether he knew it or not, and introduced impromptu +pirouettes when the figures bewildered him. The boyish abandon of that +stout man was charming to behold; for, though he "carried weight," he +danced like an india-rubber ball. He ran, he flew, he pranced; his face +glowed, his bald head shone; his coat-tails waved wildly, his pumps +actually twinkled in the air, and when the music stopped, he wiped the +drops from his brow, and beamed upon his fellow-men like a French +Pickwick without glasses. + +Amy and her Pole distinguished themselves by equal enthusiasm, but more +graceful agility; and Laurie found himself involuntarily keeping time to +the rhythmic rise and fall of the white slippers as they flew by as +indefatigably as if winged. When little Vladimir finally relinquished +her, with assurances that he was "desolated to leave so early," she was +ready to rest, and see how her recreant knight had borne his punishment. + +It had been successful; for, at three-and-twenty, blighted affections +find a balm in friendly society, and young nerves will thrill, young +blood dance, and healthy young spirits rise, when subjected to the +enchantment of beauty, light, music, and motion. Laurie had a waked-up +look as he rose to give her his seat; and when he hurried away to bring +her some supper, she said to herself, with a satisfied smile,-- + +"Ah, I thought that would do him good!" + +"You look like Balzac's 'Femme peinte par elle-même,'" he said, as he +fanned her with one hand, and held her coffee-cup in the other. + +"My rouge won't come off;" and Amy rubbed her brilliant cheek, and +showed him her white glove with a sober simplicity that made him laugh +outright. + +"What do you call this stuff?" he asked, touching a fold of her dress +that had blown over his knee. + +"Illusion." + +"Good name for it; it's very pretty--new thing, isn't it?" + +"It's as old as the hills; you have seen it on dozens of girls, and you +never found out that it was pretty till now--_stupide_!" + +"I never saw it on you before, which accounts for the mistake, you see." + +"None of that, it is forbidden; I'd rather take coffee than compliments +just now. No, don't lounge, it makes me nervous." + +Laurie sat bolt upright, and meekly took her empty plate, feeling an odd +sort of pleasure in having "little Amy" order him about; for she had +lost her shyness now, and felt an irresistible desire to trample on him, +as girls have a delightful way of doing when lords of creation show any +signs of subjection. + +"Where did you learn all this sort of thing?" he asked, with a quizzical +look. + +"As 'this sort of thing' is rather a vague expression, would you kindly +explain?" returned Amy, knowing perfectly well what he meant, but +wickedly leaving him to describe what is indescribable. + +"Well--the general air, the style, the self-possession, +the--the--illusion--you know," laughed Laurie, breaking down, and +helping himself out of his quandary with the new word. + +Amy was gratified, but, of course, didn't show it, and demurely +answered, "Foreign life polishes one in spite of one's self; I study as +well as play; and as for this"--with a little gesture toward her +dress--"why, tulle is cheap, posies to be had for nothing, and I am used +to making the most of my poor little things." + +Amy rather regretted that last sentence, fearing it wasn't in good +taste; but Laurie liked her the better for it, and found himself both +admiring and respecting the brave patience that made the most of +opportunity, and the cheerful spirit that covered poverty with flowers. +Amy did not know why he looked at her so kindly, nor why he filled up +her book with his own name, and devoted himself to her for the rest of +the evening, in the most delightful manner; but the impulse that wrought +this agreeable change was the result of one of the new impressions which +both of them were unconsciously giving and receiving. + + + + + [Illustration: Demi and Daisy] + + XXXVIII. + + ON THE SHELF. + + +In France the young girls have a dull time of it till they are married, +when "_Vive la liberté_" becomes their motto. In America, as every one +knows, girls early sign the declaration of independence, and enjoy their +freedom with republican zest; but the young matrons usually abdicate +with the first heir to the throne, and go into a seclusion almost as +close as a French nunnery, though by no means as quiet. Whether they +like it or not, they are virtually put upon the shelf as soon as the +wedding excitement is over, and most of them might exclaim, as did a +very pretty woman the other day, "I'm as handsome as ever, but no one +takes any notice of me because I'm married." + +Not being a belle or even a fashionable lady, Meg did not experience +this affliction till her babies were a year old, for in her little world +primitive customs prevailed, and she found herself more admired and +beloved than ever. + +As she was a womanly little woman, the maternal instinct was very +strong, and she was entirely absorbed in her children, to the utter +exclusion of everything and everybody else. Day and night she brooded +over them with tireless devotion and anxiety, leaving John to the tender +mercies of the help, for an Irish lady now presided over the kitchen +department. Being a domestic man, John decidedly missed the wifely +attentions he had been accustomed to receive; but, as he adored his +babies, he cheerfully relinquished his comfort for a time, supposing, +with masculine ignorance, that peace would soon be restored. But three +months passed, and there was no return of repose; Meg looked worn and +nervous, the babies absorbed every minute of her time, the house was +neglected, and Kitty, the cook, who took life "aisy," kept him on short +commons. When he went out in the morning he was bewildered by small +commissions for the captive mamma; if he came gayly in at night, eager +to embrace his family, he was quenched by a "Hush! they are just asleep +after worrying all day." If he proposed a little amusement at home, "No, +it would disturb the babies." If he hinted at a lecture or concert, he +was answered with a reproachful look, and a decided "Leave my children +for pleasure, never!" His sleep was broken by infant wails and visions +of a phantom figure pacing noiselessly to and fro in the watches of the +night; his meals were interrupted by the frequent flight of the +presiding genius, who deserted him, half-helped, if a muffled chirp +sounded from the nest above; and when he read his paper of an evening, +Demi's colic got into the shipping-list, and Daisy's fall affected the +price of stocks, for Mrs. Brooke was only interested in domestic news. + +The poor man was very uncomfortable, for the children had bereft him of +his wife; home was merely a nursery, and the perpetual "hushing" made +him feel like a brutal intruder whenever he entered the sacred precincts +of Babyland. He bore it very patiently for six months, and, when no +signs of amendment appeared, he did what other paternal exiles +do,--tried to get a little comfort elsewhere. Scott had married and gone +to housekeeping not far off, and John fell into the way of running over +for an hour or two of an evening, when his own parlor was empty, and his +own wife singing lullabies that seemed to have no end. Mrs. Scott was a +lively, pretty girl, with nothing to do but be agreeable, and she +performed her mission most successfully. The parlor was always bright +and attractive, the chess-board ready, the piano in tune, plenty of gay +gossip, and a nice little supper set forth in tempting style. + +John would have preferred his own fireside if it had not been so lonely; +but as it was, he gratefully took the next best thing, and enjoyed his +neighbor's society. + +Meg rather approved of the new arrangement at first, and found it a +relief to know that John was having a good time instead of dozing in the +parlor, or tramping about the house and waking the children. But by and +by, when the teething worry was over, and the idols went to sleep at +proper hours, leaving mamma time to rest, she began to miss John, and +find her work-basket dull company, when he was not sitting opposite in +his old dressing-gown, comfortably scorching his slippers on the fender. +She would not ask him to stay at home, but felt injured because he did +not know that she wanted him without being told, entirely forgetting the +many evenings he had waited for her in vain. She was nervous and worn +out with watching and worry, and in that unreasonable frame of mind +which the best of mothers occasionally experience when domestic cares +oppress them. Want of exercise robs them of cheerfulness, and too much +devotion to that idol of American women, the teapot, makes them feel as +if they were all nerve and no muscle. + +"Yes," she would say, looking in the glass, "I'm getting old and ugly; +John doesn't find me interesting any longer, so he leaves his faded wife +and goes to see his pretty neighbor, who has no incumbrances. Well, the +babies love me; they don't care if I am thin and pale, and haven't time +to crimp my hair; they are my comfort, and some day John will see what +I've gladly sacrificed for them, won't he, my precious?" + +To which pathetic appeal Daisy would answer with a coo, or Demi with a +crow, and Meg would put by her lamentations for a maternal revel, which +soothed her solitude for the time being. But the pain increased as +politics absorbed John, who was always running over to discuss +interesting points with Scott, quite unconscious that Meg missed him. +Not a word did she say, however, till her mother found her in tears one +day, and insisted on knowing what the matter was, for Meg's drooping +spirits had not escaped her observation. + +"I wouldn't tell any one except you, mother; but I really do need +advice, for, if John goes on so much longer I might as well be widowed," +replied Mrs. Brooke, drying her tears on Daisy's bib, with an injured +air. + +"Goes on how, my dear?" asked her mother anxiously. + +"He's away all day, and at night, when I want to see him, he is +continually going over to the Scotts'. It isn't fair that I should have +the hardest work, and never any amusement. Men are very selfish, even +the best of them." + +"So are women; don't blame John till you see where you are wrong +yourself." + +"But it can't be right for him to neglect me." + +"Don't you neglect him?" + +"Why, mother, I thought you'd take my part!" + +"So I do, as far as sympathizing goes; but I think the fault is yours, +Meg." + +"I don't see how." + +"Let me show you. Did John ever neglect you, as you call it, while you +made it a point to give him your society of an evening, his only leisure +time?" + +"No; but I can't do it now, with two babies to tend." + +"I think you could, dear; and I think you ought. May I speak quite +freely, and will you remember that it's mother who blames as well as +mother who sympathizes?" + +"Indeed I will! Speak to me as if I were little Meg again. I often feel +as if I needed teaching more than ever since these babies look to me for +everything." + +Meg drew her low chair beside her mother's, and, with a little +interruption in either lap, the two women rocked and talked lovingly +together, feeling that the tie of motherhood made them more one than +ever. + +"You have only made the mistake that most young wives make,--forgotten +your duty to your husband in your love for your children. A very natural +and forgivable mistake, Meg, but one that had better be remedied before +you take to different ways; for children should draw you nearer than +ever, not separate you, as if they were all yours, and John had nothing +to do but support them. I've seen it for some weeks, but have not +spoken, feeling sure it would come right in time." + +"I'm afraid it won't. If I ask him to stay, he'll think I'm jealous; and +I wouldn't insult him by such an idea. He doesn't see that I want him, +and I don't know how to tell him without words." + +"Make it so pleasant he won't want to go away. My dear, he's longing for +his little home; but it isn't home without you, and you are always in +the nursery." + +"Oughtn't I to be there?" + +"Not all the time; too much confinement makes you nervous, and then you +are unfitted for everything. Besides, you owe something to John as well +as to the babies; don't neglect husband for children, don't shut him out +of the nursery, but teach him how to help in it. His place is there as +well as yours, and the children need him; let him feel that he has his +part to do, and he will do it gladly and faithfully, and it will be +better for you all." + +"You really think so, mother?" + +"I know it, Meg, for I've tried it; and I seldom give advice unless I've +proved its practicability. When you and Jo were little, I went on just +as you are, feeling as if I didn't do my duty unless I devoted myself +wholly to you. Poor father took to his books, after I had refused all +offers of help, and left me to try my experiment alone. I struggled +along as well as I could, but Jo was too much for me. I nearly spoilt +her by indulgence. You were poorly, and I worried about you till I fell +sick myself. Then father came to the rescue, quietly managed everything, +and made himself so helpful that I saw my mistake, and never have been +able to get on without him since. That is the secret of our home +happiness: he does not let business wean him from the little cares and +duties that affect us all, and I try not to let domestic worries destroy +my interest in his pursuits. Each do our part alone in many things, but +at home we work together, always." + +"It is so, mother; and my great wish is to be to my husband and children +what you have been to yours. Show me how; I'll do anything you say." + +"You always were my docile daughter. Well, dear, if I were you, I'd let +John have more to do with the management of Demi, for the boy needs +training, and it's none too soon to begin. Then I'd do what I have often +proposed, let Hannah come and help you; she is a capital nurse, and you +may trust the precious babies to her while you do more housework. You +need the exercise, Hannah would enjoy the rest, and John would find his +wife again. Go out more; keep cheerful as well as busy, for you are the +sunshine-maker of the family, and if you get dismal there is no fair +weather. Then I'd try to take an interest in whatever John likes,--talk +with him, let him read to you, exchange ideas, and help each other in +that way. Don't shut yourself up in a bandbox because you are a woman, +but understand what is going on, and educate yourself to take your part +in the world's work, for it all affects you and yours." + +"John is so sensible, I'm afraid he will think I'm stupid if I ask +questions about politics and things." + +"I don't believe he would; love covers a multitude of sins, and of whom +could you ask more freely than of him? Try it, and see if he doesn't +find your society far more agreeable than Mrs. Scott's suppers." + +"I will. Poor John! I'm afraid I _have_ neglected him sadly, but I +thought I was right, and he never said anything." + +"He tried not to be selfish, but he _has_ felt rather forlorn, I fancy. +This is just the time, Meg, when young married people are apt to grow +apart, and the very time when they ought to be most together; for the +first tenderness soon wears off, unless care is taken to preserve it; +and no time is so beautiful and precious to parents as the first years +of the little lives given them to train. Don't let John be a stranger to +the babies, for they will do more to keep him safe and happy in this +world of trial and temptation than anything else, and through them you +will learn to know and love one another as you should. Now, dear, +good-by; think over mother's preachment, act upon it if it seems good, +and God bless you all!" + +Meg did think it over, found it good, and acted upon it, though the +first attempt was not made exactly as she planned to have it. Of course +the children tyrannized over her, and ruled the house as soon as they +found out that kicking and squalling brought them whatever they wanted. +Mamma was an abject slave to their caprices, but papa was not so easily +subjugated, and occasionally afflicted his tender spouse by an attempt +at paternal discipline with his obstreperous son. For Demi inherited a +trifle of his sire's firmness of character,--we won't call it +obstinacy,--and when he made up his little mind to have or to do +anything, all the king's horses and all the king's men could not change +that pertinacious little mind. Mamma thought the dear too young to be +taught to conquer his prejudices, but papa believed that it never was +too soon to learn obedience; so Master Demi early discovered that when +he undertook to "wrastle" with "parpar," he always got the worst of it; +yet, like the Englishman, Baby respected the man who conquered him, and +loved the father whose grave "No, no," was more impressive than all +mamma's love-pats. + +A few days after the talk with her mother, Meg resolved to try a social +evening with John; so she ordered a nice supper, set the parlor in +order, dressed herself prettily, and put the children to bed early, that +nothing should interfere with her experiment. But, unfortunately, Demi's +most unconquerable prejudice was against going to bed, and that night he +decided to go on a rampage; so poor Meg sung and rocked, told stories +and tried every sleep-provoking wile she could devise, but all in vain, +the big eyes wouldn't shut; and long after Daisy had gone to byelow, +like the chubby little bunch of good-nature she was, naughty Demi lay +staring at the light, with the most discouragingly wide-awake expression +of countenance. + +"Will Demi lie still like a good boy, while mamma runs down and gives +poor papa his tea?" asked Meg, as the hall-door softly closed, and the +well-known step went tiptoeing into the dining-room. + +"Me has tea!" said Demi, preparing to join in the revel. + +"No; but I'll save you some little cakies for breakfast, if you'll go +bye-by like Daisy. Will you, lovey?" + +"Iss!" and Demi shut his eyes tight, as if to catch sleep and hurry the +desired day. + +Taking advantage of the propitious moment, Meg slipped away, and ran +down to greet her husband with a smiling face, and the little blue bow +in her hair which was his especial admiration. He saw it at once, and +said, with pleased surprise,-- + +"Why, little mother, how gay we are to-night. Do you expect company?" + +"Only you, dear." + +"Is it a birthday, anniversary, or anything?" + +"No; I'm tired of being a dowdy, so I dressed up as a change. You always +make yourself nice for table, no matter how tired you are; so why +shouldn't I when I have the time?" + +"I do it out of respect to you, my dear," said old-fashioned John. + +"Ditto, ditto, Mr. Brooke," laughed Meg, looking young and pretty again, +as she nodded to him over the teapot. + +"Well, it's altogether delightful, and like old times. This tastes +right. I drink your health, dear." And John sipped his tea with an air +of reposeful rapture, which was of very short duration, however; for, as +he put down his cup, the door-handle rattled mysteriously, and a little +voice was heard, saying impatiently,-- + +"Opy doy; me's tummin!" + +"It's that naughty boy. I told him to go to sleep alone, and here he is, +downstairs, getting his death a-cold pattering over that canvas," said +Meg, answering the call. + + [Illustration: Mornin' now] + +"Mornin' now," announced Demi, in a joyful tone, as he entered, with his +long night-gown gracefully festooned over his arm, and every curl +bobbing gayly as he pranced about the table, eying the "cakies" with +loving glances. + +"No, it isn't morning yet. You must go to bed, and not trouble poor +mamma; then you can have the little cake with sugar on it." + +"Me loves parpar," said the artful one, preparing to climb the paternal +knee, and revel in forbidden joys. But John shook his head, and said to +Meg,-- + +"If you told him to stay up there, and go to sleep alone, make him do +it, or he will never learn to mind you." + +"Yes, of course. Come, Demi;" and Meg led her son away, feeling a +strong desire to spank the little marplot who hopped beside her, +laboring under the delusion that the bribe was to be administered as +soon as they reached the nursery. + +Nor was he disappointed; for that short-sighted woman actually gave him +a lump of sugar, tucked him into his bed, and forbade any more +promenades till morning. + +"Iss!" said Demi the perjured, blissfully sucking his sugar, and +regarding his first attempt as eminently successful. + +Meg returned to her place, and supper was progressing pleasantly, when +the little ghost walked again, and exposed the maternal delinquencies by +boldly demanding,-- + +"More sudar, marmar." + +"Now this won't do," said John, hardening his heart against the engaging +little sinner. "We shall never know any peace till that child learns to +go to bed properly. You have made a slave of yourself long enough; give +him one lesson, and then there will be an end of it. Put him in his bed +and leave him, Meg." + +"He won't stay there; he never does, unless I sit by him." + +"I'll manage him. Demi, go upstairs, and get into your bed, as mamma +bids you." + +"S'ant!" replied the young rebel, helping himself to the coveted +"cakie," and beginning to eat the same with calm audacity. + +"You must never say that to papa; I shall carry you if you don't go +yourself." + +"Go 'way; me don't love parpar;" and Demi retired to his mother's skirts +for protection. + +But even that refuge proved unavailing, for he was delivered over to the +enemy, with a "Be gentle with him, John," which struck the culprit with +dismay; for when mamma deserted him, then the judgment-day was at hand. +Bereft of his cake, defrauded of his frolic, and borne away by a strong +hand to that detested bed, poor Demi could not restrain his wrath, but +openly defied papa, and kicked and screamed lustily all the way +upstairs. The minute he was put into bed on one side, he rolled out on +the other, and made for the door, only to be ignominiously caught up by +the tail of his little toga, and put back again, which lively +performance was kept up till the young man's strength gave out, when he +devoted himself to roaring at the top of his voice. This vocal exercise +usually conquered Meg; but John sat as unmoved as the post which is +popularly believed to be deaf. No coaxing, no sugar, no lullaby, no +story; even the light was put out, and only the red glow of the fire +enlivened the "big dark" which Demi regarded with curiosity rather than +fear. This new order of things disgusted him, and he howled dismally for +"marmar," as his angry passions subsided, and recollections of his +tender bondwoman returned to the captive autocrat. The plaintive wail +which succeeded the passionate roar went to Meg's heart, and she ran up +to say beseechingly,-- + +"Let me stay with him; he'll be good, now, John." + +"No, my dear, I've told him he must go to sleep, as you bid him; and he +must, if I stay here all night." + +"But he'll cry himself sick," pleaded Meg, reproaching herself for +deserting her boy. + +"No, he won't, he's so tired he will soon drop off, and then the matter +is settled; for he will understand that he has got to mind. Don't +interfere; I'll manage him." + +"He's my child, and I can't have his spirit broken by harshness." + +"He's my child, and I won't have his temper spoilt by indulgence. Go +down, my dear, and leave the boy to me." + +When John spoke in that masterful tone, Meg always obeyed, and never +regretted her docility. + +"Please let me kiss him once, John?" + +"Certainly. Demi, say 'good-night' to mamma, and let her go and rest, +for she is very tired with taking care of you all day." + +Meg always insisted upon it that the kiss won the victory; for after it +was given, Demi sobbed more quietly, and lay quite still at the bottom +of the bed, whither he had wriggled in his anguish of mind. + +"Poor little man, he's worn out with sleep and crying. I'll cover him +up, and then go and set Meg's heart at rest," thought John, creeping to +the bedside, hoping to find his rebellious heir asleep. + +But he wasn't; for the moment his father peeped at him, Demi's eyes +opened, his little chin began to quiver, and he put up his arms, saying, +with a penitent hiccough, "Me's dood, now." + +Sitting on the stairs, outside, Meg wondered at the long silence which +followed the uproar; and, after imagining all sorts of impossible +accidents, she slipped into the room, to set her fears at rest. Demi lay +fast asleep; not in his usual spread-eagle attitude, but in a subdued +bunch, cuddled close in the circle of his father's arm and holding his +father's finger, as if he felt that justice was tempered with mercy, and +had gone to sleep a sadder and a wiser baby. So held, John had waited +with womanly patience till the little hand relaxed its hold; and, while +waiting, had fallen asleep, more tired by that tussle with his son than +with his whole day's work. + +As Meg stood watching the two faces on the pillow, she smiled to +herself, and then slipped away again, saying, in a satisfied tone,-- + +"I never need fear that John will be too harsh with my babies: he _does_ +know how to manage them, and will be a great help, for Demi _is_ getting +too much for me." + +When John came down at last, expecting to find a pensive or reproachful +wife, he was agreeably surprised to find Meg placidly trimming a bonnet, +and to be greeted with the request to read something about the election, +if he was not too tired. John saw in a minute that a revolution of some +kind was going on, but wisely asked no questions, knowing that Meg was +such a transparent little person, she couldn't keep a secret to save her +life, and therefore the clew would soon appear. He read a long debate +with the most amiable readiness, and then explained it in his most lucid +manner, while Meg tried to look deeply interested, to ask intelligent +questions, and keep her thoughts from wandering from the state of the +nation to the state of her bonnet. In her secret soul, however, she +decided that politics were as bad as mathematics, and that the mission +of politicians seemed to be calling each other names; but she kept these +feminine ideas to herself, and when John paused, shook her head, and +said with what she thought diplomatic ambiguity,-- + +"Well, I really don't see what we are coming to." + +John laughed, and watched her for a minute, as she poised a pretty +little preparation of lace and flowers on her hand, and regarded it with +the genuine interest which his harangue had failed to waken. + +"She is trying to like politics for my sake, so I'll try and like +millinery for hers, that's only fair," thought John the Just, adding +aloud,-- + +"That's very pretty; is it what you call a breakfast-cap?" + + [Illustration: My dear man, it's a bonnet] + +"My dear man, it's a bonnet! My very best go-to-concert-and-theatre +bonnet." + +"I beg your pardon; it was so small, I naturally mistook it for one of +the fly-away things you sometimes wear. How do you keep it on?" + +"These bits of lace are fastened under the chin with a rosebud, so;" and +Meg illustrated by putting on the bonnet, and regarding him with an air +of calm satisfaction that was irresistible. + +"It's a love of a bonnet, but I prefer the face inside, for it looks +young and happy again," and John kissed the smiling face, to the great +detriment of the rosebud under the chin. + +"I'm glad you like it, for I want you to take me to one of the new +concerts some night; I really need some music to put me in tune. Will +you, please?" + +"Of course I will, with all my heart, or anywhere else you like. You +have been shut up so long, it will do you no end of good, and I shall +enjoy it, of all things. What put it into your head, little mother?" + +"Well, I had a talk with Marmee the other day, and told her how nervous +and cross and out of sorts I felt, and she said I needed change and less +care; so Hannah is to help me with the children, and I'm to see to +things about the house more, and now and then have a little fun, just to +keep me from getting to be a fidgety, broken-down old woman before my +time. It's only an experiment, John, and I want to try it for your sake +as much as for mine, because I've neglected you shamefully lately, and +I'm going to make home what it used to be, if I can. You don't object, I +hope?" + +Never mind what John said, or what a very narrow escape the little +bonnet had from utter ruin; all that we have any business to know, is +that John did _not_ appear to object, judging from the changes which +gradually took place in the house and its inmates. It was not all +Paradise by any means, but every one was better for the division of +labor system; the children throve under the paternal rule, for accurate, +steadfast John brought order and obedience into Babydom, while Meg +recovered her spirits and composed her nerves by plenty of wholesome +exercise, a little pleasure, and much confidential conversation with her +sensible husband. Home grew home-like again, and John had no wish to +leave it, unless he took Meg with him. The Scotts came to the Brookes' +now, and every one found the little house a cheerful place, full of +happiness, content, and family love. Even gay Sallie Moffatt liked to go +there. "It is always so quiet and pleasant here; it does me good, Meg," +she used to say, looking about her with wistful eyes, as if trying to +discover the charm, that she might use it in her great house, full of +splendid loneliness; for there were no riotous, sunny-faced babies +there, and Ned lived in a world of his own, where there was no place for +her. + +This household happiness did not come all at once, but John and Meg had +found the key to it, and each year of married life taught them how to +use it, unlocking the treasuries of real home-love and mutual +helpfulness, which the poorest may possess, and the richest cannot buy. +This is the sort of shelf on which young wives and mothers may consent +to be laid, safe from the restless fret and fever of the world, finding +loyal lovers in the little sons and daughters who cling to them, +undaunted by sorrow, poverty, or age; walking side by side, through fair +and stormy weather, with a faithful friend, who is, in the true sense of +the good old Saxon word, the "house-band," and learning, as Meg learned, +that a woman's happiest kingdom is home, her highest honor the art of +ruling it, not as a queen, but a wise wife and mother. + + [Illustration: Tail-piece] + + + + + [Illustration: Sat piping on a stone while his goats skipped] + + XXXIX. + + LAZY LAURENCE. + + +Laurie went to Nice intending to stay a week, and remained a month. He +was tired of wandering about alone, and Amy's familiar presence seemed +to give a home-like charm to the foreign scenes in which she bore a +part. He rather missed the "petting" he used to receive, and enjoyed a +taste of it again; for no attentions, however flattering, from +strangers, were half so pleasant as the sisterly adoration of the girls +at home. Amy never would pet him like the others, but she was very glad +to see him now, and quite clung to him, feeling that he was the +representative of the dear family for whom she longed more than she +would confess. They naturally took comfort in each other's society, and +were much together, riding, walking, dancing, or dawdling, for, at Nice, +no one can be very industrious during the gay season. But, while +apparently amusing themselves in the most careless fashion, they were +half-consciously making discoveries and forming opinions about each +other. Amy rose daily in the estimation of her friend, but he sunk in +hers, and each felt the truth before a word was spoken. Amy tried to +please, and succeeded, for she was grateful for the many pleasures he +gave her, and repaid him with the little services to which womanly women +know how to lend an indescribable charm. Laurie made no effort of any +kind, but just let himself drift along as comfortably as possible, +trying to forget, and feeling that all women owed him a kind word +because one had been cold to him. It cost him no effort to be generous, +and he would have given Amy all the trinkets in Nice if she would have +taken them; but, at the same time, he felt that he could not change the +opinion she was forming of him, and he rather dreaded the keen blue eyes +that seemed to watch him with such half-sorrowful, half-scornful +surprise. + +"All the rest have gone to Monaco for the day; I preferred to stay at +home and write letters. They are done now, and I am going to Valrosa to +sketch; will you come?" said Amy, as she joined Laurie one lovely day +when he lounged in as usual, about noon. + +"Well, yes; but isn't it rather warm for such a long walk?" he answered +slowly, for the shaded _salon_ looked inviting, after the glare without. + +"I'm going to have the little carriage, and Baptiste can drive, so +you'll have nothing to do but hold your umbrella and keep your gloves +nice," returned Amy, with a sarcastic glance at the immaculate kids, +which were a weak point with Laurie. + +"Then I'll go with pleasure;" and he put out his hand for her +sketch-book. But she tucked it under her arm with a sharp-- + +"Don't trouble yourself; it's no exertion to me, but _you_ don't look +equal to it." + +Laurie lifted his eyebrows, and followed at a leisurely pace as she ran +downstairs; but when they got into the carriage he took the reins +himself, and left little Baptiste nothing to do but fold his arms and +fall asleep on his perch. + +The two never quarrelled,--Amy was too well-bred, and just now Laurie +was too lazy; so, in a minute he peeped under her hat-brim with an +inquiring air; she answered with a smile, and they went on together in +the most amicable manner. + +It was a lovely drive, along winding roads rich in the picturesque +scenes that delight beauty-loving eyes. Here an ancient monastery, +whence the solemn chanting of the monks came down to them. There a +bare-legged shepherd, in wooden shoes, pointed hat, and rough jacket +over one shoulder, sat piping on a stone, while his goats skipped among +the rocks or lay at his feet. Meek, mouse-colored donkeys, laden with +panniers of freshly-cut grass, passed by, with a pretty girl in a +_capaline_ sitting between the green piles, or an old woman spinning +with a distaff as she went. Brown, soft-eyed children ran out from the +quaint stone hovels to offer nosegays, or bunches of oranges still on +the bough. Gnarled olive-trees covered the hills with their dusky +foliage, fruit hung golden in the orchard, and great scarlet anemones +fringed the roadside; while beyond green slopes and craggy heights, the +Maritime Alps rose sharp and white against the blue Italian sky. + +Valrosa well deserved its name, for, in that climate of perpetual +summer, roses blossomed everywhere. They overhung the archway, thrust +themselves between the bars of the great gate with a sweet welcome to +passers-by, and lined the avenue, winding through lemon-trees and +feathery palms up to the villa on the hill. Every shadowy nook, where +seats invited one to stop and rest, was a mass of bloom; every cool +grotto had its marble nymph smiling from a veil of flowers, and every +fountain reflected crimson, white, or pale pink roses, leaning down to +smile at their own beauty. Roses covered the walls of the house, draped +the cornices, climbed the pillars, and ran riot over the balustrade of +the wide terrace, whence one looked down on the sunny Mediterranean, and +the white-walled city on its shore. + +"This is a regular honeymoon Paradise, isn't it? Did you ever see such +roses?" asked Amy, pausing on the terrace to enjoy the view, and a +luxurious whiff of perfume that came wandering by. + +"No, nor felt such thorns," returned Laurie, with his thumb in his +mouth, after a vain attempt to capture a solitary scarlet flower that +grew just beyond his reach. + +"Try lower down, and pick those that have no thorns," said Amy, +gathering three of the tiny cream-colored ones that starred the wall +behind her. She put them in his button-hole, as a peace-offering, and he +stood a minute looking down at them with a curious expression, for in +the Italian part of his nature there was a touch of superstition, and +he was just then in that state of half-sweet, half-bitter melancholy, +when imaginative young men find significance in trifles, and food for +romance everywhere. He had thought of Jo in reaching after the thorny +red rose, for vivid flowers became her, and she had often worn ones like +that from the greenhouse at home. The pale roses Amy gave him were the +sort that the Italians lay in dead hands, never in bridal wreaths, and, +for a moment, he wondered if the omen was for Jo or for himself; but the +next instant his American common-sense got the better of sentimentality, +and he laughed a heartier laugh than Amy had heard since he came. + +"It's good advice; you'd better take it and save your fingers," she +said, thinking her speech amused him. + +"Thank you, I will," he answered in jest, and a few months later he did +it in earnest. + +"Laurie, when are you going to your grandfather?" she asked presently, +as she settled herself on a rustic seat. + +"Very soon." + +"You have said that a dozen times within the last three weeks." + +"I dare say; short answers save trouble." + +"He expects you, and you really ought to go." + +"Hospitable creature! I know it." + +"Then why don't you do it?" + +"Natural depravity, I suppose." + +"Natural indolence, you mean. It's really dreadful!" and Amy looked +severe. + +"Not so bad as it seems, for I should only plague him if I went, so I +might as well stay, and plague you a little longer, you can bear it +better; in fact, I think it agrees with you excellently;" and Laurie +composed himself for a lounge on the broad ledge of the balustrade. + +Amy shook her head, and opened her sketch-book with an air of +resignation; but she had made up her mind to lecture "that boy," and in +a minute she began again. + +"What are you doing just now?" + +"Watching lizards." + +"No, no; I mean what do you intend and wish to do?" + +"Smoke a cigarette, if you'll allow me." + +"How provoking you are! I don't approve of cigars, and I will only allow +it on condition that you let me put you into my sketch; I need a +figure." + +"With all the pleasure in life. How will you have me,--full-length or +three-quarters, on my head or my heels? I should respectfully suggest a +recumbent posture, then put yourself in also, and call it '_Dolce far +niente._'" + +"Stay as you are, and go to sleep if you like. _I_ intend to work hard," +said Amy, in her most energetic tone. + +"What delightful enthusiasm!" and he leaned against a tall urn with an +air of entire satisfaction. + +"What would Jo say if she saw you now?" asked Amy impatiently, hoping to +stir him up by the mention of her still more energetic sister's name. + +"As usual, 'Go away, Teddy, I'm busy!'" He laughed as he spoke, but the +laugh was not natural, and a shade passed over his face, for the +utterance of the familiar name touched the wound that was not healed +yet. Both tone and shadow struck Amy, for she had seen and heard them +before, and now she looked up in time to catch a new expression on +Laurie's face,--a hard, bitter look, full of pain, dissatisfaction, and +regret. It was gone before she could study it, and the listless +expression back again. She watched him for a moment with artistic +pleasure, thinking how like an Italian he looked, as he lay basking in +the sun with uncovered head, and eyes full of southern dreaminess; for +he seemed to have forgotten her, and fallen into a reverie. + +"You look like the effigy of a young knight asleep on his tomb," she +said, carefully tracing the well-cut profile defined against the dark +stone. + +"Wish I was!" + +"That's a foolish wish, unless you have spoilt your life. You are so +changed, I sometimes think--" there Amy stopped, with a half-timid, +half-wistful look, more significant than her unfinished speech. + +Laurie saw and understood the affectionate anxiety which she hesitated +to express, and looking straight into her eyes, said, just as he used to +say it to her mother,-- + +"It's all right, ma'am." + +That satisfied her and set at rest the doubts that had begun to worry +her lately. It also touched her, and she showed that it did, by the +cordial tone in which she said,-- + +"I'm glad of that! I didn't think you'd been a very bad boy, but I +fancied you might have wasted money at that wicked Baden-Baden, lost +your heart to some charming Frenchwoman with a husband, or got into some +of the scrapes that young men seem to consider a necessary part of a +foreign tour. Don't stay out there in the sun; come and lie on the grass +here, and 'let us be friendly,' as Jo used to say when we got in the +sofa-corner and told secrets." + + [Illustration: Laurie threw himself down on the turf] + +Laurie obediently threw himself down on the turf, and began to amuse +himself by sticking daisies into the ribbons of Amy's hat, that lay +there. + +"I'm all ready for the secrets;" and he glanced up with a decided +expression of interest in his eyes. + +"I've none to tell; you may begin." + +"Haven't one to bless myself with. I thought perhaps you'd had some news +from home." + +"You have heard all that has come lately. Don't you hear often? I +fancied Jo would send you volumes." + +"She's very busy; I'm roving about so, it's impossible to be regular, +you know. When do you begin your great work of art, Raphaella?" he +asked, changing the subject abruptly after another pause, in which he +had been wondering if Amy knew his secret, and wanted to talk about it. + +"Never," she answered, with a despondent but decided air. "Rome took all +the vanity out of me; for after seeing the wonders there, I felt too +insignificant to live, and gave up all my foolish hopes in despair." + +"Why should you, with so much energy and talent?" + +"That's just why,--because talent isn't genius, and no amount of energy +can make it so. I want to be great, or nothing. I won't be a +common-place dauber, so I don't intend to try any more." + +"And what are you going to do with yourself now, if I may ask?" + +"Polish up my other talents, and be an ornament to society, if I get the +chance." + +It was a characteristic speech, and sounded daring; but audacity becomes +young people, and Amy's ambition had a good foundation. Laurie smiled, +but he liked the spirit with which she took up a new purpose when a +long-cherished one died, and spent no time lamenting. + +"Good! and here is where Fred Vaughn comes in, I fancy." + +Amy preserved a discreet silence, but there was a conscious look in her +downcast face, that made Laurie sit up and say gravely,-- + +"Now I'm going to play brother, and ask questions. May I?" + +"I don't promise to answer." + +"Your face will, if your tongue won't. You aren't woman of the world +enough yet to hide your feelings, my dear. I heard rumors about Fred and +you last year, and it's my private opinion that, if he had not been +called home so suddenly and detained so long, something would have come +of it--hey?" + +"That's not for me to say," was Amy's prim reply; but her lips would +smile, and there was a traitorous sparkle of the eye, which betrayed +that she knew her power and enjoyed the knowledge. + +"You are not engaged, I hope?" and Laurie looked very elder-brotherly +and grave all of a sudden. + +"No." + +"But you will be, if he comes back and goes properly down upon his +knees, won't you?" + +"Very likely." + +"Then you are fond of old Fred?" + +"I could be, if I tried." + +"But you don't intend to try till the proper moment? Bless my soul, what +unearthly prudence! He's a good fellow, Amy, but not the man I fancied +you'd like." + +"He is rich, a gentleman, and has delightful manners," began Amy, trying +to be quite cool and dignified, but feeling a little ashamed of herself, +in spite of the sincerity of her intentions. + +"I understand; queens of society can't get on without money, so you mean +to make a good match, and start in that way? Quite right and proper, as +the world goes, but it sounds odd from the lips of one of your mother's +girls." + +"True, nevertheless." + +A short speech, but the quiet decision with which it was uttered +contrasted curiously with the young speaker. Laurie felt this +instinctively, and laid himself down again, with a sense of +disappointment which he could not explain. His look and silence, as well +as a certain inward self-disapproval, ruffled Amy, and made her resolve +to deliver her lecture without delay. + +"I wish you'd do me the favor to rouse yourself a little," she said +sharply. + +"Do it for me, there's a dear girl." + +"I could, if I tried;" and she looked as if she would like doing it in +the most summary style. + +"Try, then; I give you leave," returned Laurie, who enjoyed having some +one to tease, after his long abstinence from his favorite pastime. + +"You'd be angry in five minutes." + +"I'm never angry with you. It takes two flints to make a fire: you are +as cool and soft as snow." + +"You don't know what I can do; snow produces a glow and a tingle, if +applied rightly. Your indifference is half affectation, and a good +stirring up would prove it." + +"Stir away; it won't hurt me and it may amuse you, as the big man said +when his little wife beat him. Regard me in the light of a husband or a +carpet, and beat till you are tired, if that sort of exercise agrees +with you." + +Being decidedly nettled herself, and longing to see him shake off the +apathy that so altered him, Amy sharpened both tongue and pencil, and +began:-- + +"Flo and I have got a new name for you; it's 'Lazy Laurence.' How do you +like it?" + +She thought it would annoy him; but he only folded his arms under his +head, with an imperturbable "That's not bad. Thank you, ladies." + +"Do you want to know what I honestly think of you?" + +"Pining to be told." + +"Well, I despise you." + +If she had even said "I hate you," in a petulant or coquettish tone, he +would have laughed, and rather liked it; but the grave, almost sad, +accent of her voice made him open his eyes, and ask quickly,-- + +"Why, if you please?" + +"Because, with every chance for being good, useful, and happy, you are +faulty, lazy, and miserable." + +"Strong language, mademoiselle." + +"If you like it, I'll go on." + +"Pray, do; it's quite interesting." + +"I thought you'd find it so; selfish people always like to talk about +themselves." + +"Am _I_ selfish?" The question slipped out involuntarily and in a tone +of surprise, for the one virtue on which he prided himself was +generosity. + +"Yes, very selfish," continued Amy, in a calm, cool voice, twice as +effective, just then, as an angry one. "I'll show you how, for I've +studied you while we have been frolicking, and I'm not at all satisfied +with you. Here you have been abroad nearly six months, and done nothing +but waste time and money and disappoint your friends." + +"Isn't a fellow to have any pleasure after a four-years grind?" + +"You don't look as if you'd had much; at any rate, you are none the +better for it, as far as I can see. I said, when we first met, that you +had improved. Now I take it all back, for I don't think you half so nice +as when I left you at home. You have grown abominably lazy; you like +gossip, and waste time on frivolous things; you are contented to be +petted and admired by silly people, instead of being loved and respected +by wise ones. With money, talent, position, health, and beauty,--ah, you +like that, Old Vanity! but it's the truth, so I can't help saying +it,--with all these splendid things to use and enjoy, you can find +nothing to do but dawdle; and, instead of being the man you might and +ought to be, you are only--" There she stopped, with a look that had +both pain and pity in it. + +"Saint Laurence on a gridiron," added Laurie, blandly finishing the +sentence. But the lecture began to take effect, for there was a +wide-awake sparkle in his eyes now, and a half-angry, half-injured +expression replaced the former indifference. + +"I supposed you'd take it so. You men tell us we are angels, and say we +can make you what we will; but the instant we honestly try to do you +good, you laugh at us, and won't listen, which proves how much your +flattery is worth." Amy spoke bitterly, and turned her back on the +exasperating martyr at her feet. + +In a minute a hand came down over the page, so that she could not draw, +and Laurie's voice said, with a droll imitation of a penitent child,-- + +"I will be good, oh, I will be good!" + +But Amy did not laugh, for she was in earnest; and, tapping on the +outspread hand with her pencil, said soberly,-- + +"Aren't you ashamed of a hand like that? It's as soft and white as a +woman's, and looks as if it never did anything but wear Jouvin's best +gloves, and pick flowers for ladies. You are not a dandy, thank Heaven! +so I'm glad to see there are no diamonds or big seal-rings on it, only +the little old one Jo gave you so long ago. Dear soul, I wish she was +here to help me!" + +"So do I!" + +The hand vanished as suddenly as it came, and there was energy enough in +the echo of her wish to suit even Amy. She glanced down at him with a +new thought in her mind; but he was lying with his hat half over his +face, as if for shade, and his mustache hid his mouth. She only saw his +chest rise and fall, with a long breath that might have been a sigh, and +the hand that wore the ring nestled down into the grass, as if to hide +something too precious or too tender to be spoken of. All in a minute +various hints and trifles assumed shape and significance in Amy's mind, +and told her what her sister never had confided to her. She remembered +that Laurie never spoke voluntarily of Jo; she recalled the shadow on +his face just now, the change in his character, and the wearing of the +little old ring, which was no ornament to a handsome hand. Girls are +quick to read such signs and feel their eloquence. Amy had fancied that +perhaps a love trouble was at the bottom of the alteration, and now she +was sure of it. Her keen eyes filled, and, when she spoke again, it was +in a voice that could be beautifully soft and kind when she chose to +make it so. + +"I know I have no right to talk so to you, Laurie; and if you weren't +the sweetest-tempered fellow in the world, you'd be very angry with me. +But we are all so fond and proud of you, I couldn't bear to think they +should be disappointed in you at home as I have been, though, perhaps, +they would understand the change better than I do." + +"I think they would," came from under the hat, in a grim tone, quite as +touching as a broken one. + +"They ought to have told me, and not let me go blundering and scolding, +when I should have been more kind and patient than ever. I never did +like that Miss Randal, and now I hate her!" said artful Amy, wishing to +be sure of her facts this time. + +"Hang Miss Randal!" and Laurie knocked the hat off his face with a look +that left no doubt of his sentiments toward that young lady. + +"I beg pardon; I thought--" and there she paused diplomatically. + +"No, you didn't; you knew perfectly well I never cared for any one but +Jo." Laurie said that in his old, impetuous tone, and turned his face +away as he spoke. + +"I did think so; but as they never said anything about it, and you came +away, I supposed I was mistaken. And Jo wouldn't be kind to you? Why, I +was sure she loved you dearly." + +"She _was_ kind, but not in the right way; and it's lucky for her she +didn't love me, if I'm the good-for-nothing fellow you think me. It's +her fault, though, and you may tell her so." + +The hard, bitter look came back again as he said that, and it troubled +Amy, for she did not know what balm to apply. + +"I was wrong, I didn't know. I'm very sorry I was so cross, but I can't +help wishing you'd bear it better, Teddy, dear." + +"Don't, that's her name for me!" and Laurie put up his hand with a quick +gesture to stop the words spoken in Jo's half-kind, half-reproachful +tone. "Wait till you've tried it yourself," he added, in a low voice, as +he pulled up the grass by the handful. + +"I'd take it manfully, and be respected if I couldn't be loved," said +Amy, with the decision of one who knew nothing about it. + +Now, Laurie flattered himself that he _had_ borne it remarkably well, +making no moan, asking no sympathy, and taking his trouble away to live +it down alone. Amy's lecture put the matter in a new light, and for the +first time it did look weak and selfish to lose heart at the first +failure, and shut himself up in moody indifference. He felt as if +suddenly shaken out of a pensive dream, and found it impossible to go to +sleep again. Presently he sat up, and asked slowly,-- + +"Do you think Jo would despise me as you do?" + +"Yes, if she saw you now. She hates lazy people. Why don't you do +something splendid, and _make_ her love you?" + +"I did my best, but it was no use." + +"Graduating well, you mean? That was no more than you ought to have +done, for your grandfather's sake. It would have been shameful to fail +after spending so much time and money, when every one knew you _could_ +do well." + +"I did fail, say what you will, for Jo wouldn't love me," began Laurie, +leaning his head on his hand in a despondent attitude. + +"No, you didn't, and you'll say so in the end, for it did you good, and +proved that you could do something if you tried. If you'd only set about +another task of some sort, you'd soon be your hearty, happy self again, +and forget your trouble." + +"That's impossible." + +"Try it and see. You needn't shrug your shoulders, and think, 'Much she +knows about such things.' I don't pretend to be wise, but I _am_ +observing, and I see a great deal more than you'd imagine. I'm +interested in other people's experiences and inconsistencies; and, +though I can't explain, I remember and use them for my own benefit. Love +Jo all your days, if you choose, but don't let it spoil you, for it's +wicked to throw away so many good gifts because you can't have the one +you want. There, I won't lecture any more, for I know you'll wake up and +be a man in spite of that hardhearted girl." + +Neither spoke for several minutes. Laurie sat turning the little ring on +his finger, and Amy put the last touches to the hasty sketch she had +been working at while she talked. Presently she put it on his knee, +merely saying,-- + +"How do you like that?" + +He looked and then he smiled, as he could not well help doing, for it +was capitally done,--the long, lazy figure on the grass, with listless +face, half-shut eyes, and one hand holding a cigar, from which came the +little wreath of smoke that encircled the dreamer's head. + +"How well you draw!" he said, with genuine surprise and pleasure at her +skill, adding, with a half-laugh,-- + +"Yes, that's me." + +"As you are: this is as you were;" and Amy laid another sketch beside +the one he held. + +It was not nearly so well done, but there was a life and spirit in it +which atoned for many faults, and it recalled the past so vividly that a +sudden change swept over the young man's face as he looked. Only a rough +sketch of Laurie taming a horse; hat and coat were off, and every line +of the active figure, resolute face, and commanding attitude, was full +of energy and meaning. The handsome brute, just subdued, stood arching +his neck under the tightly drawn rein, with one foot impatiently pawing +the ground, and ears pricked up as if listening for the voice that had +mastered him. In the ruffled mane, the rider's breezy hair and erect +attitude, there was a suggestion of suddenly arrested motion, of +strength, courage, and youthful buoyancy, that contrasted sharply with +the supine grace of the "_Dolce far niente_" sketch. Laurie said +nothing; but, as his eye went from one to the other, Amy saw him flush +up and fold his lips together as if he read and accepted the little +lesson she had given him. That satisfied her; and, without waiting for +him to speak, she said, in her sprightly way,-- + + [Illustration: A rough sketch of Laurie taming a horse] + +"Don't you remember the day you played Rarey with Puck, and we all +looked on? Meg and Beth were frightened, but Jo clapped and pranced, and +I sat on the fence and drew you. I found that sketch in my portfolio the +other day, touched it up, and kept it to show you." + +"Much obliged. You've improved immensely since then, and I congratulate +you. May I venture to suggest in 'a honeymoon Paradise' that five +o'clock is the dinner-hour at your hotel?" + +Laurie rose as he spoke, returned the pictures with a smile and a bow, +and looked at his watch, as if to remind her that even moral lectures +should have an end. He tried to resume his former easy, indifferent air, +but it _was_ an affectation now, for the rousing had been more +efficacious than he would confess. Amy felt the shade of coldness in his +manner, and said to herself,-- + +"Now I've offended him. Well, if it does him good, I'm glad; if it makes +him hate me, I'm sorry; but it's true, and I can't take back a word of +it." + +They laughed and chatted all the way home; and little Baptiste, up +behind, thought that monsieur and mademoiselle were in charming spirits. +But both felt ill at ease; the friendly frankness was disturbed, the +sunshine had a shadow over it, and despite their apparent gayety, there +was a secret discontent in the heart of each. + +"Shall we see you this evening, _mon frère_?" asked Amy as they parted +at her aunt's door. + +"Unfortunately I have an engagement. _Au revoir, mademoiselle_," and +Laurie bent as if to kiss her hand, in the foreign fashion, which became +him better than many men. Something in his face made Amy say quickly and +warmly,-- + +"No; be yourself with me, Laurie, and part in the good old way. I'd +rather have a hearty English hand-shake than all the sentimental +salutations in France." + +"Good-by, dear," and with these words, uttered in the tone she liked, +Laurie left her, after a hand-shake almost painful in its heartiness. + +Next morning, instead of the usual call, Amy received a note which made +her smile at the beginning and sigh at the end:-- + + "MY DEAR MENTOR,-- + + "Please make my adieux to your aunt, and exult within yourself, + for 'Lazy Laurence' has gone to his grandpa, like the best of + boys. A pleasant winter to you, and may the gods grant you a + blissful honeymoon at Valrosa! I think Fred would be benefited + by a rouser. Tell him so, with my congratulations. + + "Yours gratefully, TELEMACHUS." + +"Good boy! I'm glad he's gone," said Amy, with an approving smile; the +next minute her face fell as she glanced about the empty room, adding, +with an involuntary sigh,-- + +"Yes, I _am_ glad, but how I shall miss him!" + + + + + [Illustration: The Valley of the Shadow] + + XL. + + THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW. + + +When the first bitterness was over, the family accepted the inevitable, +and tried to bear it cheerfully, helping one another by the increased +affection which comes to bind households tenderly together in times of +trouble. They put away their grief, and each did his or her part toward +making that last year a happy one. + +The pleasantest room in the house was set apart for Beth, and in it was +gathered everything that she most loved,--flowers, pictures, her piano, +the little work-table, and the beloved pussies. Father's best books +found their way there, mother's easy-chair, Jo's desk, Amy's finest +sketches; and every day Meg brought her babies on a loving pilgrimage, +to make sunshine for Aunty Beth. John quietly set apart a little sum, +that he might enjoy the pleasure of keeping the invalid supplied with +the fruit she loved and longed for; old Hannah never wearied of +concocting dainty dishes to tempt a capricious appetite, dropping tears +as she worked; and from across the sea came little gifts and cheerful +letters, seeming to bring breaths of warmth and fragrance from lands +that know no winter. + +Here, cherished like a household saint in its shrine, sat Beth, tranquil +and busy as ever; for nothing could change the sweet, unselfish nature, +and even while preparing to leave life, she tried to make it happier for +those who should remain behind. The feeble fingers were never idle, and +one of her pleasures was to make little things for the school-children +daily passing to and fro,--to drop a pair of mittens from her window for +a pair of purple hands, a needle-book for some small mother of many +dolls, pen-wipers for young penmen toiling through forests of pot-hooks, +scrap-books for picture-loving eyes, and all manner of pleasant devices, +till the reluctant climbers up the ladder of learning found their way +strewn with flowers, as it were, and came to regard the gentle giver as +a sort of fairy godmother, who sat above there, and showered down gifts +miraculously suited to their tastes and needs. If Beth had wanted any +reward, she found it in the bright little faces always turned up to her +window, with nods and smiles, and the droll little letters which came to +her, full of blots and gratitude. + +The first few months were very happy ones, and Beth often used to look +round, and say "How beautiful this is!" as they all sat together in her +sunny room, the babies kicking and crowing on the floor, mother and +sisters working near, and father reading, in his pleasant voice, from +the wise old books which seemed rich in good and comfortable words, as +applicable now as when written centuries ago; a little chapel, where a +paternal priest taught his flock the hard lessons all must learn, trying +to show them that hope can comfort love, and faith make resignation +possible. Simple sermons, that went straight to the souls of those who +listened; for the father's heart was in the minister's religion, and the +frequent falter in the voice gave a double eloquence to the words he +spoke or read. + +It was well for all that this peaceful time was given them as +preparation for the sad hours to come; for, by and by, Beth said the +needle was "so heavy," and put it down forever; talking wearied her, +faces troubled her, pain claimed her for its own, and her tranquil +spirit was sorrowfully perturbed by the ills that vexed her feeble +flesh. Ah me! such heavy days, such long, long nights, such aching +hearts and imploring prayers, when those who loved her best were forced +to see the thin hands stretched out to them beseechingly, to hear the +bitter cry, "Help me, help me!" and to feel that there was no help. A +sad eclipse of the serene soul, a sharp struggle of the young life with +death; but both were mercifully brief, and then, the natural rebellion +over, the old peace returned more beautiful than ever. With the wreck of +her frail body, Beth's soul grew strong; and, though she said little, +those about her felt that she was ready, saw that the first pilgrim +called was likewise the fittest, and waited with her on the shore, +trying to see the Shining Ones coming to receive her when she crossed +the river. + +Jo never left her for an hour since Beth had said, "I feel stronger when +you are here." She slept on a couch in the room, waking often to renew +the fire, to feed, lift, or wait upon the patient creature who seldom +asked for anything, and "tried not to be a trouble." All day she haunted +the room, jealous of any other nurse, and prouder of being chosen then +than of any honor her life ever brought her. Precious and helpful hours +to Jo, for now her heart received the teaching that it needed; lessons +in patience were so sweetly taught her that she could not fail to learn +them; charity for all, the lovely spirit that can forgive and truly +forget unkindness, the loyalty to duty that makes the hardest easy, and +the sincere faith that fears nothing, but trusts undoubtingly. + +Often, when she woke, Jo found Beth reading in her well-worn little +book, heard her singing softly, to beguile the sleepless night, or saw +her lean her face upon her hands, while slow tears dropped through the +transparent fingers; and Jo would lie watching her, with thoughts too +deep for tears, feeling that Beth, in her simple, unselfish way, was +trying to wean herself from the dear old life, and fit herself for the +life to come, by sacred words of comfort, quiet prayers, and the music +she loved so well. + +Seeing this did more for Jo than the wisest sermons, the saintliest +hymns, the most fervent prayers that any voice could utter; for, with +eyes made clear by many tears, and a heart softened by the tenderest +sorrow, she recognized the beauty of her sister's life,--uneventful, +unambitious, yet full of the genuine virtues which "smell sweet, and +blossom in the dust," the self-forgetfulness that makes the humblest on +earth remembered soonest in heaven, the true success which is possible +to all. + +One night, when Beth looked among the books upon her table, to find +something to make her forget the mortal weariness that was almost as +hard to bear as pain, as she turned the leaves of her old favorite +Pilgrim's Progress, she found a little paper, scribbled over in Jo's +hand. The name caught her eye, and the blurred look of the lines made +her sure that tears had fallen on it. + +"Poor Jo! she's fast asleep, so I won't wake her to ask leave; she shows +me all her things, and I don't think she'll mind if I look at this," +thought Beth, with a glance at her sister, who lay on the rug, with the +tongs beside her, ready to wake up the minute the log fell apart. + + + "MY BETH. + + "Sitting patient in the shadow + Till the blessed light shall come, + A serene and saintly presence + Sanctifies our troubled home. + Earthly joys and hopes and sorrows + Break like ripples on the strand + Of the deep and solemn river + Where her willing feet now stand. + + "O my sister, passing from me, + Out of human care and strife, + Leave me, as a gift, those virtues + Which have beautified your life. + Dear, bequeath me that great patience + Which has power to sustain + A cheerful, uncomplaining spirit + In its prison-house of pain. + + "Give me, for I need it sorely, + Of that courage, wise and sweet, + Which has made the path of duty + Green beneath your willing feet. + Give me that unselfish nature, + That with charity divine + Can pardon wrong for love's dear sake-- + Meek heart, forgive me mine! + + "Thus our parting daily loseth + Something of its bitter pain, + And while learning this hard lesson, + My great loss becomes my gain. + For the touch of grief will render + My wild nature more serene, + Give to life new aspirations, + A new trust in the unseen. + + "Henceforth, safe across the river, + I shall see forevermore + A beloved, household spirit + Waiting for me on the shore. + Hope and faith, born of my sorrow, + Guardian angels shall become, + And the sister gone before me + By their hands shall lead me home." + +Blurred and blotted, faulty and feeble, as the lines were, they brought +a look of inexpressible comfort to Beth's face, for her one regret had +been that she had done so little; and this seemed to assure her that her +life had not been useless, that her death would not bring the despair +she feared. As she sat with the paper folded between her hands, the +charred log fell asunder. Jo started up, revived the blaze, and crept to +the bedside, hoping Beth slept. + +"Not asleep, but so happy, dear. See, I found this and read it; I knew +you wouldn't care. Have I been all that to you, Jo?" she asked, with +wistful, humble earnestness. + +"O Beth, so much, so much!" and Jo's head went down upon the pillow, +beside her sister's. + +"Then I don't feel as if I'd wasted my life. I'm not so good as you make +me, but I _have_ tried to do right; and now, when it's too late to +begin even to do better, it's such a comfort to know that some one loves +me so much, and feels as if I'd helped them." + +"More than any one in the world, Beth. I used to think I couldn't let +you go; but I'm learning to feel that I don't lose you; that you'll be +more to me than ever, and death can't part us, though it seems to." + +"I know it cannot, and I don't fear it any longer, for I'm sure I shall +be your Beth still, to love and help you more than ever. You must take +my place, Jo, and be everything to father and mother when I'm gone. They +will turn to you, don't fail them; and if it's hard to work alone, +remember that I don't forget you, and that you'll be happier in doing +that than writing splendid books or seeing all the world; for love is +the only thing that we can carry with us when we go, and it makes the +end so easy." + +"I'll try, Beth;" and then and there Jo renounced her old ambition, +pledged herself to a new and better one, acknowledging the poverty of +other desires, and feeling the blessed solace of a belief in the +immortality of love. + +So the spring days came and went, the sky grew clearer, the earth +greener, the flowers were up fair and early, and the birds came back in +time to say good-by to Beth, who, like a tired but trustful child, clung +to the hands that had led her all her life, as father and mother guided +her tenderly through the Valley of the Shadow, and gave her up to God. + +Seldom, except in books, do the dying utter memorable words, see +visions, or depart with beatified countenances; and those who have sped +many parting souls know that to most the end comes as naturally and +simply as sleep. As Beth had hoped, the "tide went out easily;" and in +the dark hour before the dawn, on the bosom where she had drawn her +first breath, she quietly drew her last, with no farewell but one loving +look, one little sigh. + +With tears and prayers and tender hands, mother and sisters made her +ready for the long sleep that pain would never mar again, seeing with +grateful eyes the beautiful serenity that soon replaced the pathetic +patience that had wrung their hearts so long, and feeling, with reverent +joy, that to their darling death was a benignant angel, not a phantom +full of dread. + +When morning came, for the first time in many months the fire was out, +Jo's place was empty, and the room was very still. But a bird sang +blithely on a budding bough, close by, the snow-drops blossomed freshly +at the window, and the spring sunshine streamed in like a benediction +over the placid face upon the pillow,--a face so full of painless peace +that those who loved it best smiled through their tears, and thanked God +that Beth was well at last. + + [Illustration: Tail-piece] + + + + + [Illustration: Sat staring up at the busts] + + XLI. + + LEARNING TO FORGET. + + +Amy's lecture did Laurie good, though, of course, he did not own it till +long afterward; men seldom do, for when women are the advisers, the +lords of creation don't take the advice till they have persuaded +themselves that it is just what they intended to do; then they act upon +it, and, if it succeeds, they give the weaker vessel half the credit of +it; if it fails, they generously give her the whole. Laurie went back to +his grandfather, and was so dutifully devoted for several weeks that the +old gentleman declared the climate of Nice had improved him wonderfully, +and he had better try it again. There was nothing the young gentleman +would have liked better, but elephants could not have dragged him back +after the scolding he had received; pride forbid, and whenever the +longing grew very strong, he fortified his resolution by repeating the +words that had made the deepest impression, "I despise you;" "Go and do +something splendid that will _make_ her love you." + +Laurie turned the matter over in his mind so often that he soon brought +himself to confess that he _had_ been selfish and lazy; but then when a +man has a great sorrow, he should be indulged in all sorts of vagaries +till he has lived it down. He felt that his blighted affections were +quite dead now; and, though he should never cease to be a faithful +mourner, there was no occasion to wear his weeds ostentatiously. Jo +_wouldn't_ love him, but he might _make_ her respect and admire him by +doing something which should prove that a girl's "No" had not spoilt his +life. He had always meant to do something, and Amy's advice was quite +unnecessary. He had only been waiting till the aforesaid blighted +affections were decently interred; that being done, he felt that he was +ready to "hide his stricken heart, and still toil on." + +As Goethe, when he had a joy or a grief, put it into a song, so Laurie +resolved to embalm his love-sorrow in music, and compose a Requiem which +should harrow up Jo's soul and melt the heart of every hearer. Therefore +the next time the old gentleman found him getting restless and moody, +and ordered him off, he went to Vienna, where he had musical friends, +and fell to work with the firm determination to distinguish himself. +But, whether the sorrow was too vast to be embodied in music, or music +too ethereal to uplift a mortal woe, he soon discovered that the Requiem +was beyond him, just at present. It was evident that his mind was not in +working order yet, and his ideas needed clarifying; for often in the +middle of a plaintive strain, he would find himself humming a dancing +tune that vividly recalled the Christmas ball at Nice, especially the +stout Frenchman, and put an effectual stop to tragic composition for the +time being. + +Then he tried an Opera, for nothing seemed impossible in the beginning; +but here, again, unforeseen difficulties beset him. He wanted Jo for his +heroine, and called upon his memory to supply him with tender +recollections and romantic visions of his love. But memory turned +traitor; and, as if possessed by the perverse spirit of the girl, would +only recall Jo's oddities, faults, and freaks, would only show her in +the most unsentimental aspects,--beating mats with her head tied up in +a bandanna, barricading herself with the sofa-pillow, or throwing cold +water over his passion _à la_ Gummidge,--and an irresistible laugh +spoilt the pensive picture he was endeavoring to paint. Jo wouldn't be +put into the Opera at any price, and he had to give her up with a "Bless +that girl, what a torment she is!" and a clutch at his hair, as became a +distracted composer. + +When he looked about him for another and a less intractable damsel to +immortalize in melody, memory produced one with the most obliging +readiness. This phantom wore many faces, but it always had golden hair, +was enveloped in a diaphanous cloud, and floated airily before his +mind's eye in a pleasing chaos of roses, peacocks, white ponies, and +blue ribbons. He did not give the complacent wraith any name, but he +took her for his heroine, and grew quite fond of her, as well he might; +for he gifted her with every gift and grace under the sun, and escorted +her, unscathed, through trials which would have annihilated any mortal +woman. + +Thanks to this inspiration, he got on swimmingly for a time, but +gradually the work lost its charm, and he forgot to compose, while he +sat musing, pen in hand, or roamed about the gay city to get new ideas +and refresh his mind, which seemed to be in a somewhat unsettled state +that winter. He did not do much, but he thought a great deal and was +conscious of a change of some sort going on in spite of himself. "It's +genius simmering, perhaps. I'll let it simmer, and see what comes of +it," he said, with a secret suspicion, all the while, that it wasn't +genius, but something far more common. Whatever it was, it simmered to +some purpose, for he grew more and more discontented with his desultory +life, began to long for some real and earnest work to go at, soul and +body, and finally came to the wise conclusion that every one who loved +music was not a composer. Returning from one of Mozart's grand operas, +splendidly performed at the Royal Theatre, he looked over his own, +played a few of the best parts, sat staring up at the busts of +Mendelssohn, Beethoven, and Bach, who stared benignly back again; then +suddenly he tore up his music-sheets, one by one, and, as the last +fluttered out of his hand, he said soberly to himself,-- + +"She is right! Talent isn't genius, and you can't make it so. That +music has taken the vanity out of me as Rome took it out of her, and I +won't be a humbug any longer. Now what shall I do?" + +That seemed a hard question to answer, and Laurie began to wish he had +to work for his daily bread. Now, if ever, occurred an eligible +opportunity for "going to the devil," as he once forcibly expressed it, +for he had plenty of money and nothing to do, and Satan is proverbially +fond of providing employment for full and idle hands. The poor fellow +had temptations enough from without and from within, but he withstood +them pretty well; for, much as he valued liberty, he valued good faith +and confidence more, so his promise to his grandfather, and his desire +to be able to look honestly into the eyes of the women who loved him, +and say "All's well," kept him safe and steady. + +Very likely some Mrs. Grundy will observe, "I don't believe it; boys +will be boys, young men must sow their wild oats, and women must not +expect miracles." I dare say _you_ don't, Mrs. Grundy, but it's true +nevertheless. Women work a good many miracles, and I have a persuasion +that they may perform even that of raising the standard of manhood by +refusing to echo such sayings. Let the boys be boys, the longer the +better, and let the young men sow their wild oats if they must; but +mothers, sisters, and friends may help to make the crop a small one, and +keep many tares from spoiling the harvest, by believing, and showing +that they believe, in the possibility of loyalty to the virtues which +make men manliest in good women's eyes. If it _is_ a feminine delusion, +leave us to enjoy it while we may, for without it half the beauty and +the romance of life is lost, and sorrowful forebodings would embitter +all our hopes of the brave, tender-hearted little lads, who still love +their mothers better than themselves, and are not ashamed to own it. + +Laurie thought that the task of forgetting his love for Jo would absorb +all his powers for years; but, to his great surprise, he discovered it +grew easier every day. He refused to believe it at first, got angry with +himself, and couldn't understand it; but these hearts of ours are +curious and contrary things, and time and nature work their will in +spite of us. Laurie's heart _wouldn't_ ache; the wound persisted in +healing with a rapidity that astonished him, and, instead of trying to +forget, he found himself trying to remember. He had not foreseen this +turn of affairs, and was not prepared for it. He was disgusted with +himself, surprised at his own fickleness, and full of a queer mixture of +disappointment and relief that he could recover from such a tremendous +blow so soon. He carefully stirred up the embers of his lost love, but +they refused to burst into a blaze: there was only a comfortable glow +that warmed and did him good without putting him into a fever, and he +was reluctantly obliged to confess that the boyish passion was slowly +subsiding into a more tranquil sentiment, very tender, a little sad and +resentful still, but that was sure to pass away in time, leaving a +brotherly affection which would last unbroken to the end. + +As the word "brotherly" passed through his mind in one of these +reveries, he smiled, and glanced up at the picture of Mozart that was +before him:-- + +"Well, he was a great man; and when he couldn't have one sister he took +the other, and was happy." + +Laurie did not utter the words, but he thought them; and the next +instant kissed the little old ring, saying to himself,-- + +"No, I won't! I haven't forgotten, I never can. I'll try again, and if +that fails, why, then--" + +Leaving his sentence unfinished, he seized pen and paper and wrote to +Jo, telling her that he could not settle to anything while there was the +least hope of her changing her mind. Couldn't she, wouldn't she, and let +him come home and be happy? While waiting for an answer he did nothing, +but he did it energetically, for he was in a fever of impatience. It +came at last, and settled his mind effectually on one point, for Jo +decidedly couldn't and wouldn't. She was wrapped up in Beth, and never +wished to hear the word "love" again. Then she begged him to be happy +with somebody else, but always to keep a little corner of his heart for +his loving sister Jo. In a postscript she desired him not to tell Amy +that Beth was worse; she was coming home in the spring, and there was no +need of saddening the remainder of her stay. That would be time enough, +please God, but Laurie must write to her often, and not let her feel +lonely, homesick, or anxious. + +"So I will, at once. Poor little girl; it will be a sad going home for +her, I'm afraid;" and Laurie opened his desk, as if writing to Amy had +been the proper conclusion of the sentence left unfinished some weeks +before. + +But he did not write the letter that day; for, as he rummaged out his +best paper, he came across something which changed his purpose. Tumbling +about in one part of the desk, among bills, passports, and business +documents of various kinds, were several of Jo's letters, and in another +compartment were three notes from Amy, carefully tied up with one of her +blue ribbons, and sweetly suggestive of the little dead roses put away +inside. With a half-repentant, half-amused expression, Laurie gathered +up all Jo's letters, smoothed, folded, and put them neatly into a small +drawer of the desk, stood a minute turning the ring thoughtfully on his +finger, then slowly drew it off, laid it with the letters, locked the +drawer, and went out to hear High Mass at Saint Stefan's, feeling as if +there had been a funeral; and, though not overwhelmed with affliction, +this seemed a more proper way to spend the rest of the day than in +writing letters to charming young ladies. + + [Illustration: Turning the ring thoughtfully upon his finger] + +The letter went very soon, however, and was promptly answered, for Amy +_was_ homesick, and confessed it in the most delightfully confiding +manner. The correspondence flourished famously, and letters flew to and +fro, with unfailing regularity, all through the early spring. Laurie +sold his busts, made allumettes of his opera, and went back to Paris, +hoping somebody would arrive before long. He wanted desperately to go to +Nice, but would not till he was asked; and Amy would not ask him, for +just then she was having little experiences of her own, which made her +rather wish to avoid the quizzical eyes of "our boy." + +Fred Vaughn had returned, and put the question to which she had once +decided to answer "Yes, thank you;" but now she said, "No, thank you," +kindly but steadily; for, when the time came, her courage failed her, +and she found that something more than money and position was needed to +satisfy the new longing that filled her heart so full of tender hopes +and fears. The words, "Fred is a good fellow, but not at all the man I +fancied you would ever like," and Laurie's face when he uttered them, +kept returning to her as pertinaciously as her own did when she said in +look, if not in words, "I shall marry for money." It troubled her to +remember that now, she wished she could take it back, it sounded so +unwomanly. She didn't want Laurie to think her a heartless, worldly +creature; she didn't care to be a queen of society now half so much as +she did to be a lovable woman; she was so glad he didn't hate her for +the dreadful things she said, but took them so beautifully, and was +kinder than ever. His letters were such a comfort, for the home letters +were very irregular, and were not half so satisfactory as his when they +did come. It was not only a pleasure, but a duty to answer them, for the +poor fellow was forlorn, and needed petting, since Jo persisted in being +stony-hearted. She ought to have made an effort, and tried to love him; +it couldn't be very hard, many people would be proud and glad to have +such a dear boy care for them; but Jo never would act like other girls, +so there was nothing to do but be very kind, and treat him like a +brother. + +If all brothers were treated as well as Laurie was at this period, they +would be a much happier race of beings than they are. Amy never lectured +now; she asked his opinion on all subjects; she was interested in +everything he did, made charming little presents for him, and sent him +two letters a week, full of lively gossip, sisterly confidences, and +captivating sketches of the lovely scenes about her. As few brothers are +complimented by having their letters carried about in their sisters' +pockets, read and reread diligently, cried over when short, kissed when +long, and treasured carefully, we will not hint that Amy did any of +these fond and foolish things. But she certainly did grow a little pale +and pensive that spring, lost much of her relish for society, and went +out sketching alone a good deal. She never had much to show when she +came home, but was studying nature, I dare say, while she sat for hours, +with her hands folded, on the terrace at Valrosa, or absently sketched +any fancy that occurred to her,--a stalwart knight carved on a tomb, a +young man asleep in the grass, with his hat over his eyes, or a +curly-haired girl in gorgeous array, promenading down a ball-room on the +arm of a tall gentleman, both faces being left a blur according to the +last fashion in art, which was safe, but not altogether satisfactory. + +Her aunt thought that she regretted her answer to Fred; and, finding +denials useless and explanations impossible, Amy left her to think what +she liked, taking care that Laurie should know that Fred had gone to +Egypt. That was all, but he understood it, and looked relieved, as he +said to himself, with a venerable air,-- + +"I was sure she would think better of it. Poor old fellow! I've been +through it all, and I can sympathize." + +With that he heaved a great sigh, and then, as if he had discharged his +duty to the past, put his feet up on the sofa, and enjoyed Amy's letter +luxuriously. + +While these changes were going on abroad, trouble had come at home; but +the letter telling that Beth was failing never reached Amy, and when the +next found her, the grass was green above her sister. The sad news met +her at Vevay, for the heat had driven them from Nice in May, and they +had travelled slowly to Switzerland, by way of Genoa and the Italian +lakes. She bore it very well, and quietly submitted to the family decree +that she should not shorten her visit, for, since it was too late to say +good-by to Beth, she had better stay, and let absence soften her sorrow. +But her heart was very heavy; she longed to be at home, and every day +looked wistfully across the lake, waiting for Laurie to come and comfort +her. + +He did come very soon; for the same mail brought letters to them both, +but he was in Germany, and it took some days to reach him. The moment he +read it, he packed his knapsack, bade adieu to his fellow-pedestrians, +and was off to keep his promise, with a heart full of joy and sorrow, +hope and suspense. + +He knew Vevay well; and as soon as the boat touched the little quay, he +hurried along the shore to La Tour, where the Carrols were living _en +pension_. The _garçon_ was in despair that the whole family had gone to +take a promenade on the lake; but no, the blond mademoiselle might be in +the chateau garden. If monsieur would give himself the pain of sitting +down, a flash of time should present her. But monsieur could not wait +even "a flash of time," and, in the middle of the speech, departed to +find mademoiselle himself. + +A pleasant old garden on the borders of the lovely lake, with chestnuts +rustling overhead, ivy climbing everywhere, and the black shadow of the +tower falling far across the sunny water. At one corner of the wide, low +wall was a seat, and here Amy often came to read or work, or console +herself with the beauty all about her. She was sitting here that day, +leaning her head on her hand, with a homesick heart and heavy eyes, +thinking of Beth, and wondering why Laurie did not come. She did not +hear him cross the court-yard beyond, nor see him pause in the archway +that led from the subterranean path into the garden. He stood a minute, +looking at her with new eyes, seeing what no one had ever seen +before,--the tender side of Amy's character. Everything about her mutely +suggested love and sorrow,--the blotted letters in her lap, the black +ribbon that tied up her hair, the womanly pain and patience in her face; +even the little ebony cross at her throat seemed pathetic to Laurie, for +he had given it to her, and she wore it as her only ornament. If he had +any doubts about the reception she would give him, they were set at +rest the minute she looked up and saw him; for, dropping everything, she +ran to him, exclaiming, in a tone of unmistakable love and longing,-- + +"O Laurie, Laurie, I knew you'd come to me!" + + [Illustration: O Laurie, Laurie, I knew you'd come] + +I think everything was said and settled then; for, as they stood +together quite silent for a moment, with the dark head bent down +protectingly over the light one, Amy felt that no one could comfort and +sustain her so well as Laurie, and Laurie decided that Amy was the only +woman in the world who could fill Jo's place, and make him happy. He did +not tell her so; but she was not disappointed, for both felt the truth, +were satisfied, and gladly left the rest to silence. + +In a minute Amy went back to her place; and, while she dried her tears, +Laurie gathered up the scattered papers, finding in the sight of sundry +well-worn letters and suggestive sketches good omens for the future. As +he sat down beside her, Amy felt shy again, and turned rosy red at the +recollection of her impulsive greeting. + +"I couldn't help it; I felt so lonely and sad, and was so very glad to +see you. It was such a surprise to look up and find you, just as I was +beginning to fear you wouldn't come," she said, trying in vain to speak +quite naturally. + +"I came the minute I heard. I wish I could say something to comfort you +for the loss of dear little Beth; but I can only feel, and--" He could +not get any further, for he, too, turned bashful all of a sudden, and +did not quite know what to say. He longed to lay Amy's head down on his +shoulder, and tell her to have a good cry, but he did not dare; so took +her hand instead, and gave it a sympathetic squeeze that was better than +words. + +"You needn't say anything; this comforts me," she said softly. "Beth is +well and happy, and I mustn't wish her back; but I dread the going home, +much as I long to see them all. We won't talk about it now, for it makes +me cry, and I want to enjoy you while you stay. You needn't go right +back, need you?" + +"Not if you want me, dear." + +"I do, so much. Aunt and Flo are very kind; but you seem like one of the +family, and it would be so comfortable to have you for a little while." + +Amy spoke and looked so like a homesick child, whose heart was full, +that Laurie forgot his bashfulness all at once, and gave her just what +she wanted,--the petting she was used to and the cheerful conversation +she needed. + +"Poor little soul, you look as if you'd grieved yourself half-sick! I'm +going to take care of you, so don't cry any more, but come and walk +about with me; the wind is too chilly for you to sit still," he said, in +the half-caressing, half-commanding way that Amy liked, as he tied on +her hat, drew her arm through his, and began to pace up and down the +sunny walk, under the new-leaved chestnuts. He felt more at ease upon +his legs; and Amy found it very pleasant to have a strong arm to lean +upon, a familiar face to smile at her, and a kind voice to talk +delightfully for her alone. + +The quaint old garden had sheltered many pairs of lovers, and seemed +expressly made for them, so sunny and secluded was it, with nothing but +the tower to overlook them, and the wide lake to carry away the echo of +their words, as it rippled by below. For an hour this new pair walked +and talked, or rested on the wall, enjoying the sweet influences which +gave such a charm to time and place; and when an unromantic dinner-bell +warned them away, Amy felt as if she left her burden of loneliness and +sorrow behind her in the chateau garden. + +The moment Mrs. Carrol saw the girl's altered face, she was illuminated +with a new idea, and exclaimed to herself, "Now I understand it +all,--the child has been pining for young Laurence. Bless my heart, I +never thought of such a thing!" + +With praiseworthy discretion, the good lady said nothing, and betrayed +no sign of enlightenment; but cordially urged Laurie to stay, and begged +Amy to enjoy his society, for it would do her more good than so much +solitude. Amy was a model of docility; and, as her aunt was a good deal +occupied with Flo, she was left to entertain her friend, and did it with +more than her usual success. + +At Nice, Laurie had lounged and Amy had scolded; at Vevay, Laurie was +never idle, but always walking, riding, boating, or studying, in the +most energetic manner, while Amy admired everything he did, and followed +his example as far and as fast as she could. He said the change was +owing to the climate, and she did not contradict him, being glad of a +like excuse for her own recovered health and spirits. + +The invigorating air did them both good, and much exercise worked +wholesome changes in minds as well as bodies. They seemed to get clearer +views of life and duty up there among the everlasting hills; the fresh +winds blew away desponding doubts, delusive fancies, and moody mists; +the warm spring sunshine brought out all sorts of aspiring ideas, tender +hopes, and happy thoughts; the lake seemed to wash away the troubles of +the past, and the grand old mountains to look benignly down upon them, +saying, "Little children, love one another." + +In spite of the new sorrow, it was a very happy time, so happy that +Laurie could not bear to disturb it by a word. It took him a little +while to recover from his surprise at the rapid cure of his first, and, +as he had firmly believed, his last and only love. He consoled himself +for the seeming disloyalty by the thought that Jo's sister was almost +the same as Jo's self, and the conviction that it would have been +impossible to love any other woman but Amy so soon and so well. His +first wooing had been of the tempestuous order, and he looked back upon +it as if through a long vista of years, with a feeling of compassion +blended with regret. He was not ashamed of it, but put it away as one of +the bitter-sweet experiences of his life, for which he could be grateful +when the pain was over. His second wooing he resolved should be as calm +and simple as possible; there was no need of having a scene, hardly any +need of telling Amy that he loved her; she knew it without words, and +had given him his answer long ago. It all came about so naturally that +no one could complain, and he knew that everybody would be pleased, even +Jo. But when our first little passion has been crushed, we are apt to be +wary and slow in making a second trial; so Laurie let the days pass, +enjoying every hour, and leaving to chance the utterance of the word +that would put an end to the first and sweetest part of his new romance. + +He had rather imagined that the _dénouement_ would take place in the +chateau garden by moonlight, and in the most graceful and decorous +manner; but it turned out exactly the reverse, for the matter was +settled on the lake, at noonday, in a few blunt words. They had been +floating about all the morning, from gloomy St. Gingolf to sunny +Montreux, with the Alps of Savoy on one side, Mont St. Bernard and the +Dent du Midi on the other, pretty Vevay in the valley, and Lausanne upon +the hill beyond, a cloudless blue sky overhead, and the bluer lake +below, dotted with the picturesque boats that look like white-winged +gulls. + +They had been talking of Bonnivard, as they glided past Chillon, and of +Rousseau, as they looked up at Clarens, where he wrote his "Héloise." +Neither had read it, but they knew it was a love-story, and each +privately wondered if it was half as interesting as their own. Amy had +been dabbling her hand in the water during the little pause that fell +between them, and, when she looked up, Laurie was leaning on his oars, +with an expression in his eyes that made her say hastily, merely for the +sake of saying something,-- + +"You must be tired; rest a little, and let me row; it will do me good; +for, since you came, I have been altogether lazy and luxurious." + +"I'm not tired; but you may take an oar, if you like. There's room +enough, though I have to sit nearly in the middle, else the boat won't +trim," returned Laurie, as if he rather liked the arrangement. + +Feeling that she had not mended matters much, Amy took the offered third +of a seat, shook her hair over her face, and accepted an oar. She rowed +as well as she did many other things; and, though she used both hands, +and Laurie but one, the oars kept time, and the boat went smoothly +through the water. + + [Illustration: How well we pull together] + +"How well we pull together, don't we?" said Amy, who objected to silence +just then. + +"So well that I wish we might always pull in the same boat. Will you, +Amy?" very tenderly. + +"Yes, Laurie," very low. + +Then they both stopped rowing, and unconsciously added a pretty little +_tableau_ of human love and happiness to the dissolving views reflected +in the lake. + + + + + XLII. + + ALL ALONE. + + +It was easy to promise self-abnegation when self was wrapped up in +another, and heart and soul were purified by a sweet example; but when +the helpful voice was silent, the daily lesson over, the beloved +presence gone, and nothing remained but loneliness and grief, then Jo +found her promise very hard to keep. How could she "comfort father and +mother," when her own heart ached with a ceaseless longing for her +sister; how could she "make the house cheerful," when all its light and +warmth and beauty seemed to have deserted it when Beth left the old home +for the new; and where in all the world could she "find some useful, +happy work to do," that would take the place of the loving service which +had been its own reward? She tried in a blind, hopeless way to do her +duty, secretly rebelling against it all the while, for it seemed unjust +that her few joys should be lessened, her burdens made heavier, and life +get harder and harder as she toiled along. Some people seemed to get all +sunshine, and some all shadow; it was not fair, for she tried more than +Amy to be good, but never got any reward, only disappointment, trouble, +and hard work. + +Poor Jo, these were dark days to her, for something like despair came +over her when she thought of spending all her life in that quiet house, +devoted to humdrum cares, a few small pleasures, and the duty that never +seemed to grow any easier. "I can't do it. I wasn't meant for a life +like this, and I know I shall break away and do something desperate if +somebody don't come and help me," she said to herself, when her first +efforts failed, and she fell into the moody, miserable state of mind +which often comes when strong wills have to yield to the inevitable. + +But some one did come and help her, though Jo did not recognize her good +angels at once, because they wore familiar shapes, and used the simple +spells best fitted to poor humanity. Often she started up at night, +thinking Beth called her; and when the sight of the little empty bed +made her cry with the bitter cry of an unsubmissive sorrow, "O Beth, +come back! come back!" she did not stretch out her yearning arms in +vain; for, as quick to hear her sobbing as she had been to hear her +sister's faintest whisper, her mother came to comfort her, not with +words only, but the patient tenderness that soothes by a touch, tears +that were mute reminders of a greater grief than Jo's, and broken +whispers, more eloquent than prayers, because hopeful resignation went +hand-in-hand with natural sorrow. Sacred moments, when heart talked to +heart in the silence of the night, turning affliction to a blessing, +which chastened grief and strengthened love. Feeling this, Jo's burden +seemed easier to bear, duty grew sweeter, and life looked more +endurable, seen from the safe shelter of her mother's arms. + +When aching heart was a little comforted, troubled mind likewise found +help; for one day she went to the study, and, leaning over the good gray +head lifted to welcome her with a tranquil smile, she said, very +humbly,-- + +"Father, talk to me as you did to Beth. I need it more than she did, for +I'm all wrong." + +"My dear, nothing can comfort me like this," he answered, with a falter +in his voice, and both arms round her, as if he, too, needed help, and +did not fear to ask it. + + [Illustration: Jo and her father] + +Then, sitting in Beth's little chair close beside him, Jo told her +troubles,--the resentful sorrow for her loss, the fruitless efforts that +discouraged her, the want of faith that made life look so dark, and all +the sad bewilderment which we call despair. She gave him entire +confidence, he gave her the help she needed, and both found consolation +in the act; for the time had come when they could talk together not only +as father and daughter, but as man and woman, able and glad to serve +each other with mutual sympathy as well as mutual love. Happy, +thoughtful times there in the old study which Jo called "the church of +one member," and from which she came with fresh courage, recovered +cheerfulness, and a more submissive spirit; for the parents who had +taught one child to meet death without fear, were trying now to teach +another to accept life without despondency or distrust, and to use its +beautiful opportunities with gratitude and power. + +Other helps had Jo,--humble, wholesome duties and delights that would +not be denied their part in serving her, and which she slowly learned to +see and value. Brooms and dishcloths never could be as distasteful as +they once had been, for Beth had presided over both; and something of +her housewifely spirit seemed to linger round the little mop and the old +brush, that was never thrown away. As she used them, Jo found herself +humming the songs Beth used to hum, imitating Beth's orderly ways, and +giving the little touches here and there that kept everything fresh and +cosey, which was the first step toward making home happy, though she +didn't know it, till Hannah said with an approving squeeze of the +hand,-- + +"You thoughtful creter, you're determined we sha'n't miss that dear lamb +ef you can help it. We don't say much, but we see it, and the Lord will +bless you for't, see ef He don't." + +As they sat sewing together, Jo discovered how much improved her sister +Meg was; how well she could talk, how much she knew about good, womanly +impulses, thoughts, and feelings, how happy she was in husband and +children, and how much they were all doing for each other. + +"Marriage is an excellent thing, after all. I wonder if I should blossom +out half as well as you have, if I tried it?" said Jo, as she +constructed a kite for Demi, in the topsy-turvy nursery. + +"It's just what you need to bring out the tender, womanly half of your +nature, Jo. You are like a chestnut-burr, prickly outside, but +silky-soft within, and a sweet kernel, if one can only get at it. Love +will make you show your heart some day, and then the rough burr will +fall off." + +"Frost opens chestnut-burrs, ma'am, and it takes a good shake to bring +them down. Boys go nutting, and I don't care to be bagged by them," +returned Jo, pasting away at the kite which no wind that blows would +ever carry up, for Daisy had tied herself on as a bob. + +Meg laughed, for she was glad to see a glimmer of Jo's old spirit, but +she felt it her duty to enforce her opinion by every argument in her +power; and the sisterly chats were not wasted, especially as two of +Meg's most effective arguments were the babies, whom Jo loved tenderly. +Grief is the best opener for some hearts, and Jo's was nearly ready for +the bag: a little more sunshine to ripen the nut, then, not a boy's +impatient shake, but a man's hand reached up to pick it gently from the +burr, and find the kernel sound and sweet. If she had suspected this, +she would have shut up tight, and been more prickly than ever; +fortunately she wasn't thinking about herself, so, when the time came, +down she dropped. + +Now, if she had been the heroine of a moral story-book, she ought at +this period of her life to have become quite saintly, renounced the +world, and gone about doing good in a mortified bonnet, with tracts in +her pocket. But, you see, Jo wasn't a heroine; she was only a struggling +human girl, like hundreds of others, and she just acted out her nature, +being sad, cross, listless, or energetic, as the mood suggested. It's +highly virtuous to say we'll be good, but we can't do it all at once, +and it takes a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull all together, +before some of us even get our feet set in the right way. Jo had got so +far, she was learning to do her duty, and to feel unhappy if she did +not; but to do it cheerfully--ah, that was another thing! She had often +said she wanted to do something splendid, no matter how hard; and now +she had her wish, for what could be more beautiful than to devote her +life to father and mother, trying to make home as happy to them as they +had to her? And, if difficulties were necessary to increase the splendor +of the effort, what could be harder for a restless, ambitious girl than +to give up her own hopes, plans, and desires, and cheerfully live for +others? + +Providence had taken her at her word; here was the task, not what she +had expected, but better, because self had no part in it: now, could she +do it? She decided that she would try; and, in her first attempt, she +found the helps I have suggested. Still another was given her, and she +took it, not as a reward, but as a comfort, as Christian took the +refreshment afforded by the little arbor where he rested, as he climbed +the hill called Difficulty. + +"Why don't you write? That always used to make you happy," said her +mother, once, when the desponding fit overshadowed Jo. + +"I've no heart to write, and if I had, nobody cares for my things." + +"We do; write something for us, and never mind the rest of the world. +Try it, dear; I'm sure it would do you good, and please us very much." + +"Don't believe I can;" but Jo got out her desk, and began to overhaul +her half-finished manuscripts. + +An hour afterward her mother peeped in, and there she was, scratching +away, with her black pinafore on, and an absorbed expression, which +caused Mrs. March to smile, and slip away, well pleased with the success +of her suggestion. Jo never knew how it happened, but something got into +that story that went straight to the hearts of those who read it; for, +when her family had laughed and cried over it, her father sent it, much +against her will, to one of the popular magazines, and, to her utter +surprise, it was not only paid for, but others requested. Letters from +several persons, whose praise was honor, followed the appearance of the +little story, newspapers copied it, and strangers as well as friends +admired it. For a small thing it was a great success; and Jo was more +astonished than when her novel was commended and condemned all at once. + +"I don't understand it. What _can_ there be in a simple little story +like that, to make people praise it so?" she said, quite bewildered. + +"There is truth in it, Jo, that's the secret; humor and pathos make it +alive, and you have found your style at last. You wrote with no thought +of fame or money, and put your heart into it, my daughter; you have had +the bitter, now comes the sweet. Do your best, and grow as happy as we +are in your success." + +"If there _is_ anything good or true in what I write, it isn't mine; I +owe it all to you and mother and to Beth," said Jo, more touched by her +father's words than by any amount of praise from the world. + +So, taught by love and sorrow, Jo wrote her little stories, and sent +them away to make friends for themselves and her, finding it a very +charitable world to such humble wanderers; for they were kindly +welcomed, and sent home comfortable tokens to their mother, like dutiful +children whom good fortune overtakes. + +When Amy and Laurie wrote of their engagement, Mrs. March feared that Jo +would find it difficult to rejoice over it, but her fears were soon set +at rest; for, though Jo looked grave at first, she took it very quietly, +and was full of hopes and plans for "the children" before she read the +letter twice. It was a sort of written duet, wherein each glorified the +other in lover-like fashion, very pleasant to read and satisfactory to +think of, for no one had any objection to make. + +"You like it, mother?" said Jo, as they laid down the closely written +sheets, and looked at one another. + +"Yes, I hoped it would be so, ever since Amy wrote that she had refused +Fred. I felt sure then that something better than what you call the +'mercenary spirit' had come over her, and a hint here and there in her +letters made me suspect that love and Laurie would win the day." + +"How sharp you are, Marmee, and how silent! You never said a word to +me." + +"Mothers have need of sharp eyes and discreet tongues when they have +girls to manage. I was half afraid to put the idea into your head, lest +you should write and congratulate them before the thing was settled." + +"I'm not the scatter-brain I was; you may trust me, I'm sober and +sensible enough for any one's _confidante_ now." + +"So you are, dear, and I should have made you mine, only I fancied it +might pain you to learn that your Teddy loved any one else." + +"Now, mother, did you really think I could be so silly and selfish, +after I'd refused his love, when it was freshest, if not best?" + +"I knew you were sincere then, Jo, but lately I have thought that if he +came back, and asked again, you might, perhaps, feel like giving another +answer. Forgive me, dear, I can't help seeing that you are very lonely, +and sometimes there is a hungry look in your eyes that goes to my heart; +so I fancied that your boy might fill the empty place if he tried now." + +"No, mother, it is better as it is, and I'm glad Amy has learned to love +him. But you are right in one thing: I _am_ lonely, and perhaps if Teddy +had tried again, I might have said 'Yes,' not because I love him any +more, but because I care more to be loved than when he went away." + +"I'm glad of that, Jo, for it shows that you are getting on. There are +plenty to love you, so try to be satisfied with father and mother, +sisters and brothers, friends and babies, till the best lover of all +comes to give you your reward." + +"Mothers are the _best_ lovers in the world; but I don't mind whispering +to Marmee that I'd like to try all kinds. It's very curious, but the +more I try to satisfy myself with all sorts of natural affections, the +more I seem to want. I'd no idea hearts could take in so many; mine is +so elastic, it never seems full now, and I used to be quite contented +with my family. I don't understand it." + +"I do;" and Mrs. March smiled her wise smile, as Jo turned back the +leaves to read what Amy said of Laurie. + +"It is so beautiful to be loved as Laurie loves me; he isn't +sentimental, doesn't say much about it, but I see and feel it in all he +says and does, and it makes me so happy and so humble that I don't seem +to be the same girl I was. I never knew how good and generous and tender +he was till now, for he lets me read his heart, and I find it full of +noble impulses and hopes and purposes, and am so proud to know it's +mine. He says he feels as if he 'could make a prosperous voyage now +with me aboard as mate, and lots of love for ballast.' I pray he may, +and try to be all he believes me, for I love my gallant captain with all +my heart and soul and might, and never will desert him, while God lets +us be together. O mother, I never knew how much like heaven this world +could be, when two people love and live for one another!" + +"And that's our cool, reserved, and worldly Amy! Truly, love does work +miracles. How very, very happy they must be!" And Jo laid the rustling +sheets together with a careful hand, as one might shut the covers of a +lovely romance, which holds the reader fast till the end comes, and he +finds himself alone in the work-a-day world again. + +By and by Jo roamed away upstairs, for it was rainy, and she could not +walk. A restless spirit possessed her, and the old feeling came again, +not bitter as it once was, but a sorrowfully patient wonder why one +sister should have all she asked, the other nothing. It was not true; +she knew that, and tried to put it away, but the natural craving for +affection was strong, and Amy's happiness woke the hungry longing for +some one to "love with heart and soul, and cling to while God let them +be together." + +Up in the garret, where Jo's unquiet wanderings ended, stood four little +wooden chests in a row, each marked with its owner's name, and each +filled with relics of the childhood and girlhood ended now for all. Jo +glanced into them, and when she came to her own, leaned her chin on the +edge, and stared absently at the chaotic collection, till a bundle of +old exercise-books caught her eye. She drew them out, turned them over, +and re-lived that pleasant winter at kind Mrs. Kirke's. She had smiled +at first, then she looked thoughtful, next sad, and when she came to a +little message written in the Professor's hand, her lips began to +tremble, the books slid out of her lap, and she sat looking at the +friendly words, as if they took a new meaning, and touched a tender spot +in her heart. + +"Wait for me, my friend. I may be a little late, but I shall surely +come." + +"Oh, if he only would! So kind, so good, so patient with me always; my +dear old Fritz, I didn't value him half enough when I had him, but now +how I should love to see him, for every one seems going away from me, +and I'm all alone." + +And holding the little paper fast, as if it were a promise yet to be +fulfilled, Jo laid her head down on a comfortable rag-bag, and cried, as +if in opposition to the rain pattering on the roof. + + [Illustration: Jo laid her head on a comfortable rag-bag and cried] + +Was it all self-pity, loneliness, or low spirits? or was it the waking +up of a sentiment which had bided its time as patiently as its inspirer? +Who shall say? + + + + + [Illustration: A substantial lifelike ghost leaning over her] + + XLIII. + + SURPRISES. + + +Jo was alone in the twilight, lying on the old sofa, looking at the +fire, and thinking. It was her favorite way of spending the hour of +dusk; no one disturbed her, and she used to lie there on Beth's little +red pillow, planning stories, dreaming dreams, or thinking tender +thoughts of the sister who never seemed far away. Her face looked tired, +grave, and rather sad; for to-morrow was her birthday, and she was +thinking how fast the years went by, how old she was getting, and how +little she seemed to have accomplished. Almost twenty-five, and nothing +to show for it. Jo was mistaken in that; there was a good deal to show, +and by and by she saw, and was grateful for it. + +"An old maid, that's what I'm to be. A literary spinster, with a pen for +a spouse, a family of stories for children, and twenty years hence a +morsel of fame, perhaps; when, like poor Johnson, I'm old, and can't +enjoy it, solitary, and can't share it, independent, and don't need it. +Well, I needn't be a sour saint nor a selfish sinner; and, I dare say, +old maids are very comfortable when they get used to it; but--" and +there Jo sighed, as if the prospect was not inviting. + +It seldom is, at first, and thirty seems the end of all things to +five-and-twenty; but it's not so bad as it looks, and one can get on +quite happily if one has something in one's self to fall back upon. At +twenty-five, girls begin to talk about being old maids, but secretly +resolve that they never will be; at thirty they say nothing about it, +but quietly accept the fact, and, if sensible, console themselves by +remembering that they have twenty more useful, happy years, in which +they may be learning to grow old gracefully. Don't laugh at the +spinsters, dear girls, for often very tender, tragical romances are +hidden away in the hearts that beat so quietly under the sober gowns, +and many silent sacrifices of youth, health, ambition, love itself, make +the faded faces beautiful in God's sight. Even the sad, sour sisters +should be kindly dealt with, because they have missed the sweetest part +of life, if for no other reason; and, looking at them with compassion, +not contempt, girls in their bloom should remember that they too may +miss the blossom time; that rosy cheeks don't last forever, that silver +threads will come in the bonnie brown hair, and that, by and by, +kindness and respect will be as sweet as love and admiration now. + +Gentlemen, which means boys, be courteous to the old maids, no matter +how poor and plain and prim, for the only chivalry worth having is that +which is the readiest to pay deference to the old, protect the feeble, +and serve womankind, regardless of rank, age, or color. Just recollect +the good aunts who have not only lectured and fussed, but nursed and +petted, too often without thanks; the scrapes they have helped you out +of, the "tips" they have given you from their small store, the stitches +the patient old fingers have set for you, the steps the willing old feet +have taken, and gratefully pay the dear old ladies the little attentions +that women love to receive as long as they live. The bright-eyed girls +are quick to see such traits, and will like you all the better for them; +and if death, almost the only power that can part mother and son, +should rob you of yours, you will be sure to find a tender welcome and +maternal cherishing from some Aunt Priscilla, who has kept the warmest +corner of her lonely old heart for the "the best nevvy in the world." + +Jo must have fallen asleep (as I dare say my reader has during this +little homily), for suddenly Laurie's ghost seemed to stand before +her,--a substantial, lifelike ghost,--leaning over her, with the very +look he used to wear when he felt a good deal and didn't like to show +it. But, like Jenny in the ballad,-- + + "She could not think it he," + +and lay staring up at him in startled silence, till he stooped and +kissed her. Then she knew him, and flew up, crying joyfully,-- + +"O my Teddy! O my Teddy!" + +"Dear Jo, you are glad to see me, then?" + +"Glad! My blessed boy, words can't express my gladness. Where's Amy?" + +"Your mother has got her down at Meg's. We stopped there by the way, and +there was no getting my wife out of their clutches." + +"Your what?" cried Jo, for Laurie uttered those two words with an +unconscious pride and satisfaction which betrayed him. + +"Oh, the dickens! now I've done it;" and he looked so guilty that Jo was +down upon him like a flash. + +"You've gone and got married!" + +"Yes, please, but I never will again;" and he went down upon his knees, +with a penitent clasping of hands, and a face full of mischief, mirth, +and triumph. + +"Actually married?" + +"Very much so, thank you." + +"Mercy on us! What dreadful thing will you do next?" and Jo fell into +her seat, with a gasp. + +"A characteristic, but not exactly complimentary, congratulation," +returned Laurie, still in an abject attitude, but beaming with +satisfaction. + +"What can you expect, when you take one's breath away, creeping in like +a burglar, and letting cats out of bags like that? Get up, you +ridiculous boy, and tell me all about it." + +"Not a word, unless you let me come in my old place, and promise not to +barricade." + +Jo laughed at that as she had not done for many a long day, and patted +the sofa invitingly, as she said, in a cordial tone,-- + +"The old pillow is up garret, and we don't need it now; so, come and +'fess, Teddy." + +"How good it sounds to hear you say 'Teddy'! No one ever calls me that +but you;" and Laurie sat down, with an air of great content. + +"What does Amy call you?" + +"My lord." + +"That's like her. Well, you look it;" and Jo's eyes plainly betrayed +that she found her boy comelier than ever. + +The pillow was gone, but there _was_ a barricade, nevertheless,--a +natural one, raised by time, absence, and change of heart. Both felt it, +and for a minute looked at one another as if that invisible barrier cast +a little shadow over them. It was gone directly, however, for Laurie +said, with a vain attempt at dignity,-- + +"Don't I look like a married man and the head of a family?" + +"Not a bit, and you never will. You've grown bigger and bonnier, but you +are the same scapegrace as ever." + +"Now, really, Jo, you ought to treat me with more respect," began +Laurie, who enjoyed it all immensely. + +"How can I, when the mere idea of you, married and settled, is so +irresistibly funny that I can't keep sober!" answered Jo, smiling all +over her face, so infectiously that they had another laugh, and then +settled down for a good talk, quite in the pleasant old fashion. + +"It's no use your going out in the cold to get Amy, for they are all +coming up presently. I couldn't wait; I wanted to be the one to tell you +the grand surprise, and have 'first skim,' as we used to say when we +squabbled about the cream." + +"Of course you did, and spoilt your story by beginning at the wrong end. +Now, start right, and tell me how it all happened; I'm pining to know." + +"Well, I did it to please Amy," began Laurie, with a twinkle that made +Jo exclaim,-- + +"Fib number one; Amy did it to please you. Go on, and tell the truth, if +you can, sir." + +"Now she's beginning to marm it; isn't it jolly to hear her?" said +Laurie to the fire, and the fire glowed and sparkled as if it quite +agreed. "It's all the same, you know, she and I being one. We planned to +come home with the Carrols, a month or more ago, but they suddenly +changed their minds, and decided to pass another winter in Paris. But +grandpa wanted to come home; he went to please me, and I couldn't let +him go alone, neither could I leave Amy; and Mrs. Carrol had got English +notions about chaperons and such nonsense, and wouldn't let Amy come +with us. So I just settled the difficulty by saying, 'Let's be married, +and then we can do as we like.'" + +"Of course you did; you always have things to suit you." + +"Not always;" and something in Laurie's voice made Jo say hastily,-- + +"How did you ever get aunt to agree?" + +"It was hard work; but, between us, we talked her over, for we had heaps +of good reasons on our side. There wasn't time to write and ask leave, +but you all liked it, had consented to it by and by, and it was only +'taking Time by the fetlock,' as my wife says." + +"Aren't we proud of those two words, and don't we like to say them?" +interrupted Jo, addressing the fire in her turn, and watching with +delight the happy light it seemed to kindle in the eyes that had been so +tragically gloomy when she saw them last. + +"A trifle, perhaps; she's such a captivating little woman I can't help +being proud of her. Well, then, uncle and aunt were there to play +propriety; we were so absorbed in one another we were of no mortal use +apart, and that charming arrangement would make everything easy all +round; so we did it." + +"When, where, how?" asked Jo, in a fever of feminine interest and +curiosity, for she could not realize it a particle. + +"Six weeks ago, at the American consul's, in Paris; a very quiet +wedding, of course, for even in our happiness we didn't forget dear +little Beth." + +Jo put her hand in his as he said that, and Laurie gently smoothed the +little red pillow, which he remembered well. + +"Why didn't you let us know afterward?" asked Jo, in a quieter tone, +when they had sat quite still a minute. + +"We wanted to surprise you; we thought we were coming directly home, at +first; but the dear old gentleman, as soon as we were married, found he +couldn't be ready under a month, at least, and sent us off to spend our +honeymoon wherever we liked. Amy had once called Valrosa a regular +honeymoon home, so we went there, and were as happy as people are but +once in their lives. My faith! wasn't it love among the roses!" + +Laurie seemed to forget Jo for a minute, and Jo was glad of it; for the +fact that he told her these things so freely and naturally assured her +that he had quite forgiven and forgotten. She tried to draw away her +hand; but, as if he guessed the thought that prompted the +half-involuntary impulse, Laurie held it fast, and said, with a manly +gravity she had never seen in him before,-- + +"Jo, dear, I want to say one thing, and then we'll put it by forever. As +I told you in my letter, when I wrote that Amy had been so kind to me, I +never shall stop loving you; but the love is altered, and I have learned +to see that it is better as it is. Amy and you change places in my +heart, that's all. I think it was meant to be so, and would have come +about naturally, if I had waited, as you tried to make me; but I never +could be patient, and so I got a heartache. I was a boy then, headstrong +and violent; and it took a hard lesson to show me my mistake. For it +_was_ one, Jo, as you said, and I found it out, after making a fool of +myself. Upon my word, I was so tumbled up in my mind, at one time, that +I didn't know which I loved best, you or Amy, and tried to love both +alike; but I couldn't, and when I saw her in Switzerland, everything +seemed to clear up all at once. You both got into your right places, and +I felt sure that it was well off with the old love before it was on with +the new; that I could honestly share my heart between sister Jo and wife +Amy, and love them both dearly. Will you believe it, and go back to the +happy old times when we first knew one another?" + +"I'll believe it, with all my heart; but, Teddy, we never can be boy and +girl again: the happy old times can't come back, and we mustn't expect +it. We are man and woman now, with sober work to do, for playtime is +over, and we must give up frolicking. I'm sure you feel this; I see the +change in you, and you'll find it in me. I shall miss my boy, but I +shall love the man as much, and admire him more, because he means to be +what I hoped he would. We can't be little playmates any longer, but we +will be brother and sister, to love and help one another all our lives, +won't we, Laurie?" + +He did not say a word, but took the hand she offered him, and laid his +face down on it for a minute, feeling that out of the grave of a boyish +passion, there had risen a beautiful, strong friendship to bless them +both. Presently Jo said cheerfully, for she didn't want the coming home +to be a sad one,-- + +"I can't make it true that you children are really married, and going to +set up housekeeping. Why, it seems only yesterday that I was buttoning +Amy's pinafore, and pulling your hair when you teased. Mercy me, how +time does fly!" + +"As one of the children is older than yourself, you needn't talk so like +a grandma. I flatter myself I'm a 'gentleman growed,' as Peggotty said +of David; and when you see Amy, you'll find her rather a precocious +infant," said Laurie, looking amused at her maternal air. + +"You may be a little older in years, but I'm ever so much older in +feeling, Teddy. Women always are; and this last year has been such a +hard one that I feel forty." + +"Poor Jo! we left you to bear it alone, while we went pleasuring. You +_are_ older; here's a line, and there's another; unless you smile, your +eyes look sad, and when I touched the cushion, just now, I found a tear +on it. You've had a great deal to bear, and had to bear it all alone. +What a selfish beast I've been!" and Laurie pulled his own hair, with a +remorseful look. + +But Jo only turned over the traitorous pillow, and answered, in a tone +which she tried to make quite cheerful,-- + +"No, I had father and mother to help me, the dear babies to comfort me, +and the thought that you and Amy were safe and happy, to make the +troubles here easier to bear. I _am_ lonely, sometimes, but I dare say +it's good for me, and--" + +"You never shall be again," broke in Laurie, putting his arm about her, +as if to fence out every human ill. "Amy and I can't get on without +you, so you must come and teach 'the children' to keep house, and go +halves in everything, just as we used to do, and let us pet you, and all +be blissfully happy and friendly together." + +"If I shouldn't be in the way, it would be very pleasant. I begin to +feel quite young already; for, somehow, all my troubles seemed to fly +away when you came. You always were a comfort, Teddy;" and Jo leaned her +head on his shoulder, just as she did years ago, when Beth lay ill, and +Laurie told her to hold on to him. + +He looked down at her, wondering if she remembered the time, but Jo was +smiling to herself, as if, in truth, her troubles _had_ all vanished at +his coming. + +"You are the same Jo still, dropping tears about one minute, and +laughing the next. You look a little wicked now; what is it, grandma?" + +"I was wondering how you and Amy get on together." + +"Like angels!" + +"Yes, of course, at first; but which rules?" + +"I don't mind telling you that she does, now; at least I let her think +so,--it pleases her, you know. By and by we shall take turns, for +marriage, they say, halves one's rights and doubles one's duties." + +"You'll go on as you begin, and Amy will rule you all the days of your +life." + +"Well, she does it so imperceptibly that I don't think I shall mind +much. She is the sort of woman who knows how to rule well; in fact, I +rather like it, for she winds one round her finger as softly and +prettily as a skein of silk, and makes you feel as if she was doing you +a favor all the while." + +"That ever I should live to see you a henpecked husband and enjoying +it!" cried Jo, with uplifted hands. + +It was good to see Laurie square his shoulders, and smile with masculine +scorn at that insinuation, as he replied, with his "high and mighty" +air,-- + +"Amy is too well-bred for that, and I am not the sort of man to submit +to it. My wife and I respect ourselves and one another too much ever to +tyrannize or quarrel." + +Jo liked that, and thought the new dignity very becoming, but the boy +seemed changing very fast into the man, and regret mingled with her +pleasure. + +"I am sure of that; Amy and you never did quarrel as we used to. She is +the sun and I the wind, in the fable, and the sun managed the man best, +you remember." + +"She can blow him up as well as shine on him," laughed Laurie. "Such a +lecture as I got at Nice! I give you my word it was a deal worse than +any of your scoldings,--a regular rouser. I'll tell you all about it +sometime,--_she_ never will, because, after telling me that she despised +and was ashamed of me, she lost her heart to the despicable party and +married the good-for-nothing." + +"What baseness! Well, if she abuses you, come to me, and I'll defend +you." + +"I look as if I needed it, don't I?" said Laurie, getting up and +striking an attitude which suddenly changed from the imposing to the +rapturous, as Amy's voice was heard calling,-- + +"Where is she? Where's my dear old Jo?" + +In trooped the whole family, and every one was hugged and kissed all +over again, and, after several vain attempts, the three wanderers were +set down to be looked at and exulted over. Mr. Laurence, hale and hearty +as ever, was quite as much improved as the others by his foreign tour, +for the crustiness seemed to be nearly gone, and the old-fashioned +courtliness had received a polish which made it kindlier than ever. It +was good to see him beam at "my children," as he called the young pair; +it was better still to see Amy pay him the daughterly duty and affection +which completely won his old heart; and best of all, to watch Laurie +revolve about the two, as if never tired of enjoying the pretty picture +they made. + +The minute she put her eyes upon Amy, Meg became conscious that her own +dress hadn't a Parisian air, that young Mrs. Moffat would be entirely +eclipsed by young Mrs. Laurence, and that "her ladyship" was altogether +a most elegant and graceful woman. Jo thought, as she watched the pair, +"How well they look together! I was right, and Laurie has found the +beautiful, accomplished girl who will become his home better than clumsy +old Jo, and be a pride, not a torment to him." Mrs. March and her +husband smiled and nodded at each other with happy faces, for they saw +that their youngest had done well, not only in worldly things, but the +better wealth of love, confidence, and happiness. + +For Amy's face was full of the soft brightness which betokens a peaceful +heart, her voice had a new tenderness in it, and the cool, prim carriage +was changed to a gentle dignity, both womanly and winning. No little +affectations marred it, and the cordial sweetness of her manner was more +charming than the new beauty or the old grace, for it stamped her at +once with the unmistakable sign of the true gentlewoman she had hoped to +become. + +"Love has done much for our little girl," said her mother softly. + +"She has had a good example before her all her life, my dear," Mr. March +whispered back, with a loving look at the worn face and gray head beside +him. + +Daisy found it impossible to keep her eyes off her "pitty aunty," but +attached herself like a lap-dog to the wonderful châtelaine full of +delightful charms. Demi paused to consider the new relationship before +he compromised himself by the rash acceptance of a bribe, which took the +tempting form of a family of wooden bears from Berne. A flank movement +produced an unconditional surrender, however, for Laurie knew where to +have him. + +"Young man, when I first had the honor of making your acquaintance you +hit me in the face: now I demand the satisfaction of a gentleman;" and +with that the tall uncle proceeded to toss and tousle the small nephew +in a way that damaged his philosophical dignity as much as it delighted +his boyish soul. + + [Illustration: The tall uncle proceeded to toss and tousle the small + nephew] + +"Blest if she ain't in silk from head to foot? Ain't it a relishin' +sight to see her settin' there as fine as a fiddle, and hear folks +calling little Amy, Mis. Laurence?" muttered old Hannah, who could not +resist frequent "peeks" through the slide as she set the table in a most +decidedly promiscuous manner. + +Mercy on us, how they did talk! first one, then the other, then all +burst out together, trying to tell the history of three years in half an +hour. It was fortunate that tea was at hand, to produce a lull and +provide refreshment, for they would have been hoarse and faint if they +had gone on much longer. Such a happy procession as filed away into the +little dining-room! Mr. March proudly escorted "Mrs. Laurence;" Mrs. +March as proudly leaned on the arm of "my son;" the old gentleman took +Jo, with a whispered "You must be my girl now," and a glance at the +empty corner by the fire, that made Jo whisper back, with trembling +lips, "I'll try to fill her place, sir." + +The twins pranced behind, feeling that the millennium was at hand, for +every one was so busy with the new-comers that they were left to revel +at their own sweet will, and you may be sure they made the most of the +opportunity. Didn't they steal sips of tea, stuff gingerbread _ab +libitum_, get a hot biscuit apiece, and, as a crowning trespass, didn't +they each whisk a captivating little tart into their tiny pockets, there +to stick and crumble treacherously, teaching them that both human nature +and pastry are frail? Burdened with the guilty consciousness of the +sequestered tarts, and fearing that Dodo's sharp eyes would pierce the +thin disguise of cambric and merino which hid their booty, the little +sinners attached themselves to "Dranpa," who hadn't his spectacles on. +Amy, who was handed about like refreshments, returned to the parlor on +Father Laurence's arm; the others paired off as before, and this +arrangement left Jo companionless. She did not mind it at the minute, +for she lingered to answer Hannah's eager inquiry,-- + +"Will Miss Amy ride in her coop (_coupé_), and use all them lovely +silver dishes that's stored away over yander?" + +"Shouldn't wonder if she drove six white horses, ate off gold plate, and +wore diamonds and point-lace every day. Teddy thinks nothing too good +for her," returned Jo with infinite satisfaction. + +"No more there is! Will you have hash or fish-balls for breakfast?" +asked Hannah, who wisely mingled poetry and prose. + +"I don't care;" and Jo shut the door, feeling that food was an +uncongenial topic just then. She stood a minute looking at the party +vanishing above, and, as Demi's short plaid legs toiled up the last +stair, a sudden sense of loneliness came over her so strongly that she +looked about her with dim eyes, as if to find something to lean upon, +for even Teddy had deserted her. If she had known what birthday gift was +coming every minute nearer and nearer, she would not have said to +herself, "I'll weep a little weep when I go to bed; it won't do to be +dismal now." Then she drew her hand over her eyes,--for one of her +boyish habits was never to know where her handkerchief was,--and had +just managed to call up a smile when there came a knock at the +porch-door. + +She opened it with hospitable haste, and started as if another ghost had +come to surprise her; for there stood a tall, bearded gentleman, beaming +on her from the darkness like a midnight sun. + +"O Mr. Bhaer, I _am_ so glad to see you!" cried Jo, with a clutch, as if +she feared the night would swallow him up before she could get him in. + + [Illustration: O Mr. Bhaer, I am so glad to see you] + +"And I to see Miss Marsch,--but no, you haf a party--" and the Professor +paused as the sound of voices and the tap of dancing feet came down to +them. + +"No, we haven't, only the family. My sister and friends have just come +home, and we are all very happy. Come in, and make one of us." + +Though a very social man, I think Mr. Bhaer would have gone decorously +away, and come again another day; but how could he, when Jo shut the +door behind him, and bereft him of his hat? Perhaps her face had +something to do with it, for she forgot to hide her joy at seeing him, +and showed it with a frankness that proved irresistible to the solitary +man, whose welcome far exceeded his boldest hopes. + +"If I shall not be Monsieur de Trop, I will so gladly see them all. You +haf been ill, my friend?" + +He put the question abruptly, for, as Jo hung up his coat, the light +fell on her face, and he saw a change in it. + +"Not ill, but tired and sorrowful. We have had trouble since I saw you +last." + +"Ah, yes, I know. My heart was sore for you when I heard that;" and he +shook hands again, with such a sympathetic face that Jo felt as if no +comfort could equal the look of the kind eyes, the grasp of the big, +warm hand. + +"Father, mother, this is my friend, Professor Bhaer," she said, with a +face and tone of such irrepressible pride and pleasure that she might as +well have blown a trumpet and opened the door with a flourish. + +If the stranger had had any doubts about his reception, they were set at +rest in a minute by the cordial welcome he received. Every one greeted +him kindly, for Jo's sake at first, but very soon they liked him for his +own. They could not help it, for he carried the talisman that opens all +hearts, and these simple people warmed to him at once, feeling even the +more friendly because he was poor; for poverty enriches those who live +above it, and is a sure passport to truly hospitable spirits. Mr. Bhaer +sat looking about him with the air of a traveller who knocks at a +strange door, and, when it opens, finds himself at home. The children +went to him like bees to a honey-pot; and, establishing themselves on +each knee, proceeded to captivate him by rifling his pockets, pulling +his beard, and investigating his watch, with juvenile audacity. The +women telegraphed their approval to one another, and Mr. March, feeling +that he had got a kindred spirit, opened his choicest stores for his +guest's benefit, while silent John listened and enjoyed the talk, but +said not a word, and Mr. Laurence found it impossible to go to sleep. + +If Jo had not been otherwise engaged, Laurie's behavior would have +amused her; for a faint twinge, not of jealousy, but something like +suspicion, caused that gentleman to stand aloof at first, and observe +the new-comer with brotherly circumspection. But it did not last long. +He got interested in spite of himself, and, before he knew it, was drawn +into the circle; for Mr. Bhaer talked well in this genial atmosphere, +and did himself justice. He seldom spoke to Laurie, but he looked at him +often, and a shadow would pass across his face, as if regretting his own +lost youth, as he watched the young man in his prime. Then his eye would +turn to Jo so wistfully that she would have surely answered the mute +inquiry if she had seen it; but Jo had her own eyes to take care of, +and, feeling that they could not be trusted, she prudently kept them on +the little sock she was knitting, like a model maiden aunt. + +A stealthy glance now and then refreshed her like sips of fresh water +after a dusty walk, for the sidelong peeps showed her several propitious +omens. Mr. Bhaer's face had lost the absent-minded expression, and +looked all alive with interest in the present moment, actually young and +handsome, she thought, forgetting to compare him with Laurie, as she +usually did strange men, to their great detriment. Then he seemed quite +inspired, though the burial customs of the ancients, to which the +conversation had strayed, might not be considered an exhilarating topic. +Jo quite glowed with triumph when Teddy got quenched in an argument, and +thought to herself, as she watched her father's absorbed face, "How he +would enjoy having such a man as my Professor to talk with every day!" +Lastly, Mr. Bhaer was dressed in a new suit of black, which made him +look more like a gentleman than ever. His bushy hair had been cut and +smoothly brushed, but didn't stay in order long, for, in exciting +moments, he rumpled it up in the droll way he used to do; and Jo liked +it rampantly erect better than flat, because she thought it gave his +fine forehead a Jove-like aspect. Poor Jo, how she did glorify that +plain man, as she sat knitting away so quietly, yet letting nothing +escape her, not even the fact that Mr. Bhaer actually had gold +sleeve-buttons in his immaculate wristbands! + +"Dear old fellow! He couldn't have got himself up with more care if he'd +been going a-wooing," said Jo to herself; and then a sudden thought, +born of the words, made her blush so dreadfully that she had to drop her +ball, and go down after it to hide her face. + +The manœuvre did not succeed as well as she expected, however; for, +though just in the act of setting fire to a funeral-pile, the Professor +dropped his torch, metaphorically speaking, and made a dive after the +little blue ball. Of course they bumped their heads smartly together, +saw stars, and both came up flushed and laughing, without the ball, to +resume their seats, wishing they had not left them. + +Nobody knew where the evening went to; for Hannah skilfully abstracted +the babies at an early hour, nodding like two rosy poppies, and Mr. +Laurence went home to rest. The others sat round the fire, talking +away, utterly regardless of the lapse of time, till Meg, whose maternal +mind was impressed with a firm conviction that Daisy had tumbled out of +bed, and Demi set his night-gown afire studying the structure of +matches, made a move to go. + +"We must have our sing, in the good old way, for we are all together +again once more," said Jo, feeling that a good shout would be a safe and +pleasant vent for the jubilant emotions of her soul. + +They were not _all_ there. But no one found the words thoughtless or +untrue; for Beth still seemed among them, a peaceful presence, +invisible, but dearer than ever, since death could not break the +household league that love made indissoluble. The little chair stood in +its old place; the tidy basket, with the bit of work she left unfinished +when the needle grew "so heavy," was still on its accustomed shelf; the +beloved instrument, seldom touched now, had not been moved; and above it +Beth's face, serene and smiling, as in the early days, looked down upon +them, seeming to say, "Be happy. I am here." + +"Play something, Amy. Let them hear how much you have improved," said +Laurie, with pardonable pride in his promising pupil. + +But Amy whispered, with full eyes, as she twirled the faded stool,-- + +"Not to-night, dear. I can't show off to-night." + +But she did show something better than brilliancy or skill; for she sung +Beth's songs with a tender music in her voice which the best master +could not have taught, and touched the listeners' hearts with a sweeter +power than any other inspiration could have given her. The room was very +still, when the clear voice failed suddenly at the last line of Beth's +favorite hymn. It was hard to say,-- + + "Earth hath no sorrow that heaven cannot heal;" + +and Amy leaned against her husband, who stood behind her, feeling that +her welcome home was not quite perfect without Beth's kiss. + +"Now, we must finish with Mignon's song; for Mr. Bhaer sings that," said +Jo, before the pause grew painful. And Mr. Bhaer cleared his throat with +a gratified "Hem!" as he stepped into the corner where Jo stood, +saying,-- + +"You will sing with me? We go excellently well together." + +A pleasing fiction, by the way; for Jo had no more idea of music than a +grasshopper. But she would have consented if he had proposed to sing a +whole opera, and warbled away, blissfully regardless of time and tune. +It didn't much matter; for Mr. Bhaer sang like a true German, heartily +and well; and Jo soon subsided into a subdued hum, that she might listen +to the mellow voice that seemed to sing for her alone. + + [Illustration: Mr. Bhaer sang heartily] + + "Know'st thou the land where the citron blooms," + +used to be the Professor's favorite line, for "das land" meant Germany +to him; but now he seemed to dwell, with peculiar warmth and melody, +upon the words,-- + + "There, oh there, might I with thee, + O my beloved, go!" + +and one listener was so thrilled by the tender invitation that she +longed to say she did know the land, and would joyfully depart thither +whenever he liked. + +The song was considered a great success, and the singer retired covered +with laurels. But a few minutes afterward, he forgot his manners +entirely, and stared at Amy putting on her bonnet; for she had been +introduced simply as "my sister," and no one had called her by her new +name since he came. He forgot himself still further when Laurie said, in +his most gracious manner, at parting,-- + +"My wife and I are very glad to meet you, sir. Please remember that +there is always a welcome waiting for you over the way." + +Then the Professor thanked him so heartily, and looked so suddenly +illuminated with satisfaction, that Laurie thought him the most +delightfully demonstrative old fellow he ever met. + +"I too shall go; but I shall gladly come again, if you will gif me +leave, dear madame, for a little business in the city will keep me here +some days." + +He spoke to Mrs. March, but he looked at Jo; and the mother's voice gave +as cordial an assent as did the daughter's eyes; for Mrs. March was not +so blind to her children's interest as Mrs. Moffat supposed. + +"I suspect that is a wise man," remarked Mr. March, with placid +satisfaction, from the hearth-rug, after the last guest had gone. + +"I know he is a good one," added Mrs. March, with decided approval, as +she wound up the clock. + +"I thought you'd like him," was all Jo said, as she slipped away to her +bed. + +She wondered what the business was that brought Mr. Bhaer to the city, +and finally decided that he had been appointed to some great honor, +somewhere, but had been too modest to mention the fact. If she had seen +his face when, safe in his own room, he looked at the picture of a +severe and rigid young lady, with a good deal of hair, who appeared to +be gazing darkly into futurity, it might have thrown some light upon the +subject, especially when he turned off the gas, and kissed the picture +in the dark. + + + + + [Illustration: Mrs. Laurence sitting in her mother's lap] + + XLIV. + + MY LORD AND LADY. + + +"Please, Madam Mother, could you lend me my wife for half an hour? The +luggage has come, and I've been making hay of Amy's Paris finery, trying +to find some things I want," said Laurie, coming in the next day to find +Mrs. Laurence sitting in her mother's lap, as if being made "the baby" +again. + +"Certainly. Go, dear; I forget that you have any home but this," and +Mrs. March pressed the white hand that wore the wedding-ring, as if +asking pardon for her maternal covetousness. + +"I shouldn't have come over if I could have helped it; but I can't get +on without my little woman any more than a--" + +"Weathercock can without wind," suggested Jo, as he paused for a simile; +Jo had grown quite her own saucy self again since Teddy came home. + +"Exactly; for Amy keeps me pointing due west most of the time, with only +an occasional whiffle round to the south, and I haven't had an easterly +spell since I was married; don't know anything about the north, but am +altogether salubrious and balmy, hey, my lady?" + +"Lovely weather so far; I don't know how long it will last, but I'm not +afraid of storms, for I'm learning how to sail my ship. Come home, dear, +and I'll find your bootjack; I suppose that's what you are rummaging +after among my things. Men are _so_ helpless, mother," said Amy, with a +matronly air, which delighted her husband. + +"What are you going to do with yourselves after you get settled?" asked +Jo, buttoning Amy's cloak as she used to button her pinafores. + +"We have our plans; we don't mean to say much about them yet, because we +are such very new brooms, but we don't intend to be idle. I'm going into +business with a devotion that shall delight grandfather, and prove to +him that I'm not spoilt. I need something of the sort to keep me steady. +I'm tired of dawdling, and mean to work like a man." + +"And Amy, what is she going to do?" asked Mrs. March, well pleased at +Laurie's decision, and the energy with which he spoke. + +"After doing the civil all round, and airing our best bonnet, we shall +astonish you by the elegant hospitalities of our mansion, the brilliant +society we shall draw about us, and the beneficial influence we shall +exert over the world at large. That's about it, isn't it, Madame +Récamier?" asked Laurie, with a quizzical look at Amy. + +"Time will show. Come away, Impertinence, and don't shock my family by +calling me names before their faces," answered Amy, resolving that there +should be a home with a good wife in it before she set up a _salon_ as a +queen of society. + +"How happy those children seem together!" observed Mr. March, finding it +difficult to become absorbed in his Aristotle after the young couple had +gone. + +"Yes, and I think it will last," added Mrs. March, with the restful +expression of a pilot who has brought a ship safely into port. + +"I know it will. Happy Amy!" and Jo sighed, then smiled brightly as +Professor Bhaer opened the gate with an impatient push. + +Later in the evening, when his mind had been set at rest about the +bootjack, Laurie said suddenly to his wife, who was flitting about, +arranging her new art treasures,-- + +"Mrs. Laurence." + +"My lord!" + +"That man intends to marry our Jo!" + +"I hope so; don't you, dear?" + +"Well, my love, I consider him a trump, in the fullest sense of that +expressive word, but I do wish he was a little younger and a good deal +richer." + +"Now, Laurie, don't be too fastidious and worldly-minded. If they love +one another it doesn't matter a particle how old they are nor how poor. +Women _never_ should marry for money--" Amy caught herself up short as +the words escaped her, and looked at her husband, who replied, with +malicious gravity,-- + +"Certainly not, though you do hear charming girls say that they intend +to do it sometimes. If my memory serves me, you once thought it your +duty to make a rich match; that accounts, perhaps, for your marrying a +good-for-nothing like me." + +"O my dearest boy, don't, don't say that! I forgot you were rich when I +said 'Yes.' I'd have married you if you hadn't a penny, and I sometimes +wish you _were_ poor that I might show how much I love you;" and Amy, +who was very dignified in public and very fond in private, gave +convincing proofs of the truth of her words. + +"You don't really think I am such a mercenary creature as I tried to be +once, do you? It would break my heart if you didn't believe that I'd +gladly pull in the same boat with you, even if you had to get your +living by rowing on the lake." + +"Am I an idiot and a brute? How could I think so, when you refused a +richer man for me, and won't let me give you half I want to now, when I +have the right? Girls do it every day, poor things, and are taught to +think it is their only salvation; but you had better lessons, and, +though I trembled for you at one time, I was not disappointed, for the +daughter was true to the mother's teaching. I told mamma so yesterday, +and she looked as glad and grateful as if I'd given her a check for a +million, to be spent in charity. You are not listening to my moral +remarks, Mrs. Laurence;" and Laurie paused, for Amy's eyes had an absent +look, though fixed upon his face. + +"Yes, I am, and admiring the dimple in your chin at the same time. I +don't wish to make you vain, but I must confess that I'm prouder of my +handsome husband than of all his money. Don't laugh, but your nose is +_such_ a comfort to me;" and Amy softly caressed the well-cut feature +with artistic satisfaction. + +Laurie had received many compliments in his life, but never one that +suited him better, as he plainly showed, though he did laugh at his +wife's peculiar taste, while she said slowly,-- + +"May I ask you a question, dear?" + +"Of course you may." + +"Shall you care if Jo does marry Mr. Bhaer?" + +"Oh, that's the trouble, is it? I thought there was something in the +dimple that didn't suit you. Not being a dog in the manger, but the +happiest fellow alive, I assure you I can dance at Jo's wedding with a +heart as light as my heels. Do you doubt it, my darling?" + +Amy looked up at him, and was satisfied; her last little jealous fear +vanished forever, and she thanked him, with a face full of love and +confidence. + +"I wish we could do something for that capital old Professor. Couldn't +we invent a rich relation, who shall obligingly die out there in +Germany, and leave him a tidy little fortune?" said Laurie, when they +began to pace up and down the long drawing-room, arm-in-arm, as they +were fond of doing, in memory of the chateau garden. + + [Illustration: They began to pace up and down] + +"Jo would find us out, and spoil it all; she is very proud of him, just +as he is, and said yesterday that she thought poverty was a beautiful +thing." + +"Bless her dear heart! she won't think so when she has a literary +husband, and a dozen little professors and professorins to support. We +won't interfere now, but watch our chance, and do them a good turn in +spite of themselves. I owe Jo for a part of my education, and she +believes in people's paying their honest debts, so I'll get round her in +that way." + +"How delightful it is to be able to help others, isn't it? That was +always one of my dreams, to have the power of giving freely; and, thanks +to you, the dream has come true." + +"Ah! we'll do quantities of good, won't we? There's one sort of poverty +that I particularly like to help. Out-and-out beggars get taken care of, +but poor gentlefolks fare badly, because they won't ask, and people +don't dare to offer charity; yet there are a thousand ways of helping +them, if one only knows how to do it so delicately that it does not +offend. I must say, I like to serve a decayed gentleman better than a +blarneying beggar; I suppose it's wrong, but I do, though it is +harder." + +"Because it takes a gentleman to do it," added the other member of the +domestic admiration society. + +"Thank you, I'm afraid I don't deserve that pretty compliment. But I was +going to say that while I was dawdling about abroad, I saw a good many +talented young fellows making all sorts of sacrifices, and enduring real +hardships, that they might realize their dreams. Splendid fellows, some +of them, working like heroes, poor and friendless, but so full of +courage, patience, and ambition, that I was ashamed of myself, and +longed to give them a right good lift. Those are people whom it's a +satisfaction to help, for if they've got genius, it's an honor to be +allowed to serve them, and not let it be lost or delayed for want of +fuel to keep the pot boiling; if they haven't, it's a pleasure to +comfort the poor souls, and keep them from despair when they find it +out." + +"Yes, indeed; and there's another class who can't ask, and who suffer in +silence. I know something of it, for I belonged to it before you made a +princess of me, as the king does the beggar-maid in the old story. +Ambitious girls have a hard time, Laurie, and often have to see youth, +health, and precious opportunities go by, just for want of a little help +at the right minute. People have been very kind to me; and whenever I +see girls struggling along, as we used to do, I want to put out my hand +and help them, as I was helped." + +"And so you shall, like an angel as you are!" cried Laurie, resolving, +with a glow of philanthropic zeal, to found and endow an institution for +the express benefit of young women with artistic tendencies. "Rich +people have no right to sit down and enjoy themselves, or let their +money accumulate for others to waste. It's not half so sensible to leave +legacies when one dies as it is to use the money wisely while alive, and +enjoy making one's fellow-creatures happy with it. We'll have a good +time ourselves, and add an extra relish to our own pleasure by giving +other people a generous taste. Will you be a little Dorcas, going about +emptying a big basket of comforts, and filling it up with good deeds?" + +"With all my heart, if you will be a brave St. Martin, stopping, as you +ride gallantly through the world, to share your cloak with the beggar." + +"It's a bargain, and we shall get the best of it!" + +So the young pair shook hands upon it, and then paced happily on again, +feeling that their pleasant home was more home-like because they hoped +to brighten other homes, believing that their own feet would walk more +uprightly along the flowery path before them, if they smoothed rough +ways for other feet, and feeling that their hearts were more closely +knit together by a love which could tenderly remember those less blest +than they. + + [Illustration: Tail-piece] + + + + + XLV. + + DAISY AND DEMI. + + +I cannot feel that I have done my duty as humble historian of the March +family, without devoting at least one chapter to the two most precious +and important members of it. Daisy and Demi had now arrived at years of +discretion; for in this fast age babies of three or four assert their +rights, and get them, too, which is more than many of their elders do. +If there ever were a pair of twins in danger of being utterly spoilt by +adoration, it was these prattling Brookes. Of course they were the most +remarkable children ever born, as will be shown when I mention that they +walked at eight months, talked fluently at twelve months, and at two +years they took their places at table, and behaved with a propriety +which charmed all beholders. At three, Daisy demanded a "needler," and +actually made a bag with four stitches in it; she likewise set up +housekeeping in the sideboard, and managed a microscopic cooking-stove +with a skill that brought tears of pride to Hannah's eyes, while Demi +learned his letters with his grandfather, who invented a new mode of +teaching the alphabet by forming the letters with his arms and legs, +thus uniting gymnastics for head and heels. The boy early developed a +mechanical genius which delighted his father and distracted his mother, +for he tried to imitate every machine he saw, and kept the nursery in a +chaotic condition, with his "sewin-sheen,"--a mysterious structure of +string, chairs, clothes-pins, and spools, for wheels to go "wound and +wound;" also a basket hung over the back of a big chair, in which he +vainly tried to hoist his too confiding sister, who, with feminine +devotion, allowed her little head to be bumped till rescued, when the +young inventor indignantly remarked, "Why, marmar, dat's my lellywaiter, +and me's trying to pull her up." + +Though utterly unlike in character, the twins got on remarkably well +together, and seldom quarrelled more than thrice a day. Of course, Demi +tyrannized over Daisy, and gallantly defended her from every other +aggressor; while Daisy made a galley-slave of herself, and adored her +brother as the one perfect being in the world. A rosy, chubby, sunshiny +little soul was Daisy, who found her way to everybody's heart, and +nestled there. One of the captivating children, who seem made to be +kissed and cuddled, adorned and adored like little goddesses, and +produced for general approval on all festive occasions. Her small +virtues were so sweet that she would have been quite angelic if a few +small naughtinesses had not kept her delightfully human. It was all fair +weather in her world, and every morning she scrambled up to the window +in her little night-gown to look out, and say, no matter whether it +rained or shone, "Oh, pitty day, oh, pitty day!" Every one was a friend, +and she offered kisses to a stranger so confidingly that the most +inveterate bachelor relented, and baby-lovers became faithful +worshippers. + + [Illustration: Me loves evvybody] + +"Me loves evvybody," she once said, opening her arms, with her spoon in +one hand, and her mug in the other, as if eager to embrace and nourish +the whole world. + +As she grew, her mother began to feel that the Dove-cote would be blest +by the presence of an inmate as serene and loving as that which had +helped to make the old house home, and to pray that she might be spared +a loss like that which had lately taught them how long they had +entertained an angel unawares. Her grandfather often called her "Beth," +and her grandmother watched over her with untiring devotion, as if +trying to atone for some past mistake, which no eye but her own could +see. + +Demi, like a true Yankee, was of an inquiring turn, wanting to know +everything, and often getting much disturbed because he could not get +satisfactory answers to his perpetual "What for?" + +He also possessed a philosophic bent, to the great delight of his +grandfather, who used to hold Socratic conversations with him, in which +the precocious pupil occasionally posed his teacher, to the undisguised +satisfaction of the womenfolk. + + [Illustration: What makes my legs go, dranpa?] + +"What makes my legs go, dranpa?" asked the young philosopher, surveying +those active portions of his frame with a meditative air, while resting +after a go-to-bed frolic one night. + +"It's your little mind, Demi," replied the sage, stroking the yellow +head respectfully. + +"What is a little mine?" + +"It is something which makes your body move, as the spring made the +wheels go in my watch when I showed it to you." + +"Open me; I want to see it go wound." + +"I can't do that any more than you could open the watch. God winds you +up, and you go till He stops you." + +"Does I?" and Demi's brown eyes grew big and bright as he took in the +new thought. "Is I wounded up like the watch?" + +"Yes; but I can't show you how; for it is done when we don't see." + +Demi felt of his back, as if expecting to find it like that of the +watch, and then gravely remarked,-- + +"I dess Dod does it when I's asleep." + +A careful explanation followed, to which he listened so attentively that +his anxious grandmother said,-- + +"My dear, do you think it wise to talk about such things to that baby? +He's getting great bumps over his eyes, and learning to ask the most +unanswerable questions." + +"If he is old enough to ask the questions he is old enough to receive +true answers. I am not putting the thoughts into his head, but helping +him unfold those already there. These children are wiser than we are, +and I have no doubt the boy understands every word I have said to him. +Now, Demi, tell me where you keep your mind?" + +If the boy had replied like Alcibiades, "By the gods, Socrates, I cannot +tell," his grandfather would not have been surprised; but when, after +standing a moment on one leg, like a meditative young stork, he +answered, in a tone of calm conviction, "In my little belly," the old +gentleman could only join in grandma's laugh, and dismiss the class in +metaphysics. + +There might have been cause for maternal anxiety, if Demi had not given +convincing proofs that he was a true boy, as well as a budding +philosopher; for, often, after a discussion which caused Hannah to +prophesy, with ominous nods, "That child ain't long for this world," he +would turn about and set her fears at rest by some of the pranks with +which dear, dirty, naughty little rascals distract and delight their +parents' souls. + +Meg made many moral rules, and tried to keep them; but what mother was +ever proof against the winning wiles, the ingenious evasions, or the +tranquil audacity of the miniature men and women who so early show +themselves accomplished Artful Dodgers? + +"No more raisins, Demi, they'll make you sick," says mamma to the young +person who offers his services in the kitchen with unfailing regularity +on plum-pudding day. + +"Me likes to be sick." + +"I don't want to have you, so run away and help Daisy make patty-cakes." + +He reluctantly departs, but his wrongs weigh upon his spirit; and, by +and by, when an opportunity comes to redress them, he outwits mamma by a +shrewd bargain. + +"Now you have been good children, and I'll play anything you like," says +Meg, as she leads her assistant cooks upstairs, when the pudding is +safely bouncing in the pot. + +"Truly, marmar?" asks Demi, with a brilliant idea in his well-powdered +head. + +"Yes, truly; anything you say," replies the short-sighted parent, +preparing herself to sing "The Three Little Kittens" half a dozen times +over, or to take her family to "Buy a penny bun," regardless of wind or +limb. But Demi corners her by the cool reply,-- + +"Then we'll go and eat up all the raisins." + +Aunt Dodo was chief playmate and _confidante_ of both children, and the +trio turned the little house topsy-turvy. Aunt Amy was as yet only a +name to them, Aunt Beth soon faded into a pleasantly vague memory, but +Aunt Dodo was a living reality, and they made the most of her, for which +compliment she was deeply grateful. But when Mr. Bhaer came, Jo +neglected her playfellows, and dismay and desolation fell upon their +little souls. Daisy, who was fond of going about peddling kisses, lost +her best customer and became bankrupt; Demi, with infantile penetration, +soon discovered that Dodo liked to play with "the bear-man" better than +she did with him; but, though hurt, he concealed his anguish, for he +hadn't the heart to insult a rival who kept a mine of chocolate-drops in +his waistcoat-pocket, and a watch that could be taken out of its case +and freely shaken by ardent admirers. + +Some persons might have considered these pleasing liberties as bribes; +but Demi didn't see it in that light, and continued to patronize the +"bear-man" with pensive affability, while Daisy bestowed her small +affections upon him at the third call, and considered his shoulder her +throne, his arm her refuge, his gifts treasures of surpassing worth. + +Gentlemen are sometimes seized with sudden fits of admiration for the +young relatives of ladies whom they honor with their regard; but this +counterfeit philoprogenitiveness sits uneasily upon them, and does not +deceive anybody a particle. Mr. Bhaer's devotion was sincere, however +likewise effective,--for honesty is the best policy in love as in law; +he was one of the men who are at home with children, and looked +particularly well when little faces made a pleasant contrast with his +manly one. His business, whatever it was, detained him from day to day, +but evening seldom failed to bring him out to see--well, he always asked +for Mr. March, so I suppose _he_ was the attraction. The excellent papa +labored under the delusion that he was, and revelled in long discussions +with the kindred spirit, till a chance remark of his more observing +grandson suddenly enlightened him. + +Mr. Bhaer came in one evening to pause on the threshold of the study, +astonished by the spectacle that met his eye. Prone upon the floor lay +Mr. March, with his respectable legs in the air, and beside him, +likewise prone, was Demi, trying to imitate the attitude with his own +short, scarlet-stockinged legs, both grovellers so seriously absorbed +that they were unconscious of spectators, till Mr. Bhaer laughed his +sonorous laugh, and Jo cried out, with a scandalized face,-- + +"Father, father, here's the Professor!" + +Down went the black legs and up came the gray head, as the preceptor +said, with undisturbed dignity,-- + +"Good evening, Mr. Bhaer. Excuse me for a moment; we are just finishing +our lesson. Now, Demi, make the letter and tell its name." + +"I knows him!" and, after a few convulsive efforts, the red legs took +the shape of a pair of compasses, and the intelligent pupil triumphantly +shouted, "It's a We, dranpa, it's a We!" + + [Illustration: Dranpa, it's a We] + +"He's a born Weller," laughed Jo, as her parent gathered himself up, and +her nephew tried to stand on his head, as the only mode of expressing +his satisfaction that school was over. + +"What have you been at to-day, bübchen?" asked Mr. Bhaer, picking up the +gymnast. + +"Me went to see little Mary." + +"And what did you there?" + +"I kissed her," began Demi, with artless frankness. + +"Prut! thou beginnest early. What did the little Mary say to that?" +asked Mr. Bhaer, continuing to confess the young sinner, who stood upon +his knee, exploring the waistcoat-pocket. + +"Oh, she liked it, and she kissed me, and I liked it. _Don't_ little +boys like little girls?" added Demi, with his mouth full, and an air of +bland satisfaction. + +"You precocious chick! Who put that into your head?" said Jo, enjoying +the innocent revelations as much as the Professor. + +"'Tisn't in mine head; it's in mine mouf," answered literal Demi, +putting out his tongue, with a chocolate-drop on it, thinking she +alluded to confectionery, not ideas. + +"Thou shouldst save some for the little friend: sweets to the sweet, +mannling;" and Mr. Bhaer offered Jo some, with a look that made her +wonder if chocolate was not the nectar drunk by the gods. Demi also saw +the smile, was impressed by it, and artlessly inquired,-- + +"Do great boys like great girls, too, 'Fessor?" + +Like young Washington, Mr. Bhaer "couldn't tell a lie;" so he gave the +somewhat vague reply that he believed they did sometimes, in a tone that +made Mr. March put down his clothes-brush, glance at Jo's retiring face, +and then sink into his chair, looking as if the "precocious chick" had +put an idea into _his_ head that was both sweet and sour. + +Why Dodo, when she caught him in the china-closet half an hour +afterward, nearly squeezed the breath out of his little body with a +tender embrace, instead of shaking him for being there, and why she +followed up this novel performance by the unexpected gift of a big slice +of bread and jelly, remained one of the problems over which Demi puzzled +his small wits, and was forced to leave unsolved forever. + + [Illustration: Tail-piece] + + + + + [Illustration: Mr. Bhaer and Jo were enjoying promenades] + + XLVI. + + UNDER THE UMBRELLA. + + +While Laurie and Amy were taking conjugal strolls over velvet carpets, +as they set their house in order, and planned a blissful future, Mr. +Bhaer and Jo were enjoying promenades of a different sort, along muddy +roads and sodden fields. + +"I always do take a walk toward evening, and I don't know why I should +give it up, just because I often happen to meet the Professor on his way +out," said Jo to herself, after two or three encounters; for, though +there were two paths to Meg's, whichever one she took she was sure to +meet him, either going or returning. He was always walking rapidly, and +never seemed to see her till quite close, when he would look as if his +short-sighted eyes had failed to recognize the approaching lady till +that moment. Then, if she was going to Meg's, he always had something +for the babies; if her face was turned homeward, he had merely strolled +down to see the river, and was just about returning, unless they were +tired of his frequent calls. + +Under the circumstances, what could Jo do but greet him civilly, and +invite him in? If she _was_ tired of his visits, she concealed her +weariness with perfect skill, and took care that there should be coffee +for supper, "as Friedrich--I mean Mr. Bhaer--doesn't like tea." + +By the second week, every one knew perfectly well what was going on, yet +every one tried to look as if they were stone-blind to the changes in +Jo's face. They never asked why she sang about her work, did up her hair +three times a day, and got so blooming with her evening exercise; and no +one seemed to have the slightest suspicion that Professor Bhaer, while +talking philosophy with the father, was giving the daughter lessons in +love. + +Jo couldn't even lose her heart in a decorous manner, but sternly tried +to quench her feelings; and, failing to do so, led a somewhat agitated +life. She was mortally afraid of being laughed at for surrendering, +after her many and vehement declarations of independence. Laurie was her +especial dread; but, thanks to the new manager, he behaved with +praiseworthy propriety, never called Mr. Bhaer "a capital old fellow" in +public, never alluded, in the remotest manner, to Jo's improved +appearance, or expressed the least surprise at seeing the Professor's +hat on the Marches' hall-table nearly every evening. But he exulted in +private and longed for the time to come when he could give Jo a piece of +plate, with a bear and a ragged staff on it as an appropriate +coat-of-arms. + +For a fortnight, the Professor came and went with lover-like regularity; +then he stayed away for three whole days, and made no sign,--a +proceeding which caused everybody to look sober, and Jo to become +pensive, at first, and then--alas for romance!--very cross. + +"Disgusted, I dare say, and gone home as suddenly as he came. It's +nothing to me, of course; but I _should_ think he would have come and +bid us good-by, like a gentleman," she said to herself, with a +despairing look at the gate, as she put on her things for the customary +walk, one dull afternoon. + +"You'd better take the little umbrella, dear; it looks like rain," said +her mother, observing that she had on her new bonnet, but not alluding +to the fact. + +"Yes, Marmee; do you want anything in town? I've got to run in and get +some paper," returned Jo, pulling out the bow under her chin before the +glass as an excuse for not looking at her mother. + +"Yes; I want some twilled silesia, a paper of number nine needles, and +two yards of narrow lavender ribbon. Have you got your thick boots on, +and something warm under your cloak?" + +"I believe so," answered Jo absently. + +"If you happen to meet Mr. Bhaer, bring him home to tea. I quite long to +see the dear man," added Mrs. March. + +Jo heard _that_, but made no answer, except to kiss her mother, and walk +rapidly away, thinking with a glow of gratitude, in spite of her +heartache,-- + +"How good she is to me! What _do_ girls do who haven't any mothers to +help them through their troubles?" + +The dry-goods stores were not down among the counting-houses, banks, and +wholesale warerooms, where gentlemen most do congregate; but Jo found +herself in that part of the city before she did a single errand, +loitering along as if waiting for some one, examining engineering +instruments in one window and samples of wool in another with most +unfeminine interest; tumbling over barrels, being half-smothered by +descending bales, and hustled unceremoniously by busy men who looked as +if they wondered "how the deuce she got there." A drop of rain on her +cheek recalled her thoughts from baffled hopes to ruined ribbons; for +the drops continued to fall, and, being a woman as well as a lover, she +felt that, though it was too late to save her heart, she might her +bonnet. Now she remembered the little umbrella, which she had forgotten +to take in her hurry to be off; but regret was unavailing, and nothing +could be done but borrow one or submit to a drenching. She looked up at +the lowering sky, down at the crimson bow already flecked with black, +forward along the muddy street, then one long, lingering look behind, at +a certain grimy warehouse, with "Hoffmann, Swartz, & Co." over the door, +and said to herself, with a sternly reproachful air,-- + +"It serves me right! What business had I to put on all my best things +and come philandering down here, hoping to see the Professor? Jo, I'm +ashamed of you! No, you shall _not_ go there to borrow an umbrella, or +find out where he is, from his friends. You shall trudge away, and do +your errands in the rain; and if you catch your death and ruin your +bonnet, it's no more than you deserve. Now then!" + +With that she rushed across the street so impetuously that she narrowly +escaped annihilation from a passing truck, and precipitated herself into +the arms of a stately old gentleman, who said, "I beg pardon, ma'am," +and looked mortally offended. Somewhat daunted, Jo righted herself, +spread her handkerchief over the devoted ribbons, and, putting +temptation behind her, hurried on, with increasing dampness about the +ankles, and much clashing of umbrellas overhead. The fact that a +somewhat dilapidated blue one remained stationary above the unprotected +bonnet, attracted her attention; and, looking up, she saw Mr. Bhaer +looking down. + + [Illustration: Looking up she saw Mr. Bhaer] + +"I feel to know the strong-minded lady who goes so bravely under many +horse-noses, and so fast through much mud. What do you down here, my +friend?" + +"I'm shopping." + +Mr. Bhaer smiled, as he glanced from the pickle-factory on one side, to +the wholesale hide and leather concern on the other; but he only said +politely,-- + +"You haf no umbrella. May I go also, and take for you the bundles?" + +"Yes, thank you." + +Jo's cheeks were as red as her ribbon, and she wondered what he thought +of her; but she didn't care, for in a minute she found herself walking +away arm-in-arm with her Professor, feeling as if the sun had suddenly +burst out with uncommon brilliancy, that the world was all right again, +and that one thoroughly happy woman was paddling through the wet that +day. + +"We thought you had gone," said Jo hastily, for she knew he was looking +at her. Her bonnet wasn't big enough to hide her face, and she feared he +might think the joy it betrayed unmaidenly. + +"Did you believe that I should go with no farewell to those who haf been +so heavenly kind to me?" he asked so reproachfully that she felt as if +she had insulted him by the suggestion, and answered heartily,-- + +"No, _I_ didn't; I knew you were busy about your own affairs, but we +rather missed you,--father and mother especially." + +"And you?" + +"I'm always glad to see you, sir." + +In her anxiety to keep her voice quite calm, Jo made it rather cool, and +the frosty little monosyllable at the end seemed to chill the Professor, +for his smile vanished, as he said gravely,-- + +"I thank you, and come one time more before I go." + +"You _are_ going, then?" + +"I haf no longer any business here; it is done." + +"Successfully, I hope?" said Jo, for the bitterness of disappointment +was in that short reply of his. + +"I ought to think so, for I haf a way opened to me by which I can make +my bread and gif my Jünglings much help." + +"Tell me, please! I like to know all about the--the boys," said Jo +eagerly. + +"That is so kind, I gladly tell you. My friends find for me a place in +a college, where I teach as at home, and earn enough to make the way +smooth for Franz and Emil. For this I should be grateful, should I not?" + +"Indeed you should. How splendid it will be to have you doing what you +like, and be able to see you often, and the boys!" cried Jo, clinging to +the lads as an excuse for the satisfaction she could not help betraying. + +"Ah! but we shall not meet often, I fear; this place is at the West." + +"So far away!" and Jo left her skirts to their fate, as if it didn't +matter now what became of her clothes or herself. + +Mr. Bhaer could read several languages, but he had not learned to read +women yet. He flattered himself that he knew Jo pretty well, and was, +therefore, much amazed by the contradictions of voice, face, and manner, +which she showed him in rapid succession that day, for she was in half a +dozen different moods in the course of half an hour. When she met him +she looked surprised, though it was impossible to help suspecting that +she had come for that express purpose. When he offered her his arm, she +took it with a look that filled him with delight; but when he asked if +she missed him, she gave such a chilly, formal reply that despair fell +upon him. On learning his good fortune she almost clapped her hands: was +the joy all for the boys? Then, on hearing his destination, she said, +"So far away!" in a tone of despair that lifted him on to a pinnacle of +hope; but the next minute she tumbled him down again by observing, like +one entirely absorbed in the matter,-- + +"Here's the place for my errands; will you come in? It won't take long." + +Jo rather prided herself upon her shopping capabilities, and +particularly wished to impress her escort with the neatness and despatch +with which she would accomplish the business. But, owing to the flutter +she was in, everything went amiss; she upset the tray of needles, forgot +the silesia was to be "twilled" till it was cut off, gave the wrong +change, and covered herself with confusion by asking for lavender ribbon +at the calico counter. Mr. Bhaer stood by, watching her blush and +blunder; and, as he watched, his own bewilderment seemed to subside, +for he was beginning to see that on some occasions women, like dreams, +go by contraries. + +When they came out, he put the parcel under his arm with a more cheerful +aspect, and splashed through the puddles as if he rather enjoyed it, on +the whole. + +"Should we not do a little what you call shopping for the babies, and +haf a farewell feast to-night if I go for my last call at your so +pleasant home?" he asked, stopping before a window full of fruit and +flowers. + +"What will we buy?" said Jo, ignoring the latter part of his speech, and +sniffing the mingled odors with an affectation of delight as they went +in. + +"May they haf oranges and figs?" asked Mr. Bhaer, with a paternal air. + +"They eat them when they can get them." + +"Do you care for nuts?" + +"Like a squirrel." + +"Hamburg grapes; yes, we shall surely drink to the Fatherland in those?" + +Jo frowned upon that piece of extravagance, and asked why he didn't buy +a frail of dates, a cask of raisins, and a bag of almonds, and done with +it? Whereat Mr. Bhaer confiscated her purse, produced his own, and +finished the marketing by buying several pounds of grapes, a pot of rosy +daisies, and a pretty jar of honey, to be regarded in the light of a +demijohn. Then, distorting his pockets with the knobby bundles, and +giving her the flowers to hold, he put up the old umbrella, and they +travelled on again. + +"Miss Marsch, I haf a great favor to ask of you," began the Professor, +after a moist promenade of half a block. + +"Yes, sir;" and Jo's heart began to beat so hard she was afraid he would +hear it. + +"I am bold to say it in spite of the rain, because so short a time +remains to me." + +"Yes, sir;" and Jo nearly crushed the small flower-pot with the sudden +squeeze she gave it. + +"I wish to get a little dress for my Tina, and I am too stupid to go +alone. Will you kindly gif me a word of taste and help?" + +"Yes, sir;" and Jo felt as calm and cool, all of a sudden, as if she had +stepped into a refrigerator. + +"Perhaps also a shawl for Tina's mother, she is so poor and sick, and +the husband is such a care. Yes, yes, a thick, warm shawl would be a +friendly thing to take the little mother." + +"I'll do it with pleasure, Mr. Bhaer. I'm going very fast and he's +getting dearer every minute," added Jo to herself; then, with a mental +shake, she entered into the business with an energy which was pleasant +to behold. + +Mr. Bhaer left it all to her, so she chose a pretty gown for Tina, and +then ordered out the shawls. The clerk, being a married man, +condescended to take an interest in the couple, who appeared to be +shopping for their family. + +"Your lady may prefer this; it's a superior article, a most desirable +color, quite chaste and genteel," he said, shaking out a comfortable +gray shawl, and throwing it over Jo's shoulders. + + [Illustration: Does this suit you, Mr. Bhaer?] + +"Does this suit you, Mr. Bhaer?" she asked, turning her back to him, +and feeling deeply grateful for the chance of hiding her face. + +"Excellently well; we will haf it," answered the Professor, smiling to +himself as he paid for it, while Jo continued to rummage the counters +like a confirmed bargain-hunter. + +"Now shall we go home?" he asked, as if the words were very pleasant to +him. + +"Yes; it's late, and I'm _so_ tired." Jo's voice was more pathetic than +she knew; for now the sun seemed to have gone in as suddenly as it came +out, the world grew muddy and miserable again, and for the first time +she discovered that her feet were cold, her head ached, and that her +heart was colder than the former, fuller of pain than the latter. Mr. +Bhaer was going away; he only cared for her as a friend; it was all a +mistake, and the sooner it was over the better. With this idea in her +head, she hailed an approaching omnibus with such a hasty gesture that +the daisies flew out of the pot and were badly damaged. + +"This is not our omniboos," said the Professor, waving the loaded +vehicle away, and stopping to pick up the poor little flowers. + +"I beg your pardon, I didn't see the name distinctly. Never mind, I can +walk. I'm used to plodding in the mud," returned Jo, winking hard, +because she would have died rather than openly wipe her eyes. + +Mr. Bhaer saw the drops on her cheeks, though she turned her head away; +the sight seemed to touch him very much, for, suddenly stooping down, he +asked in a tone that meant a great deal,-- + +"Heart's dearest, why do you cry?" + +Now, if Jo had not been new to this sort of thing she would have said +she wasn't crying, had a cold in her head, or told any other feminine +fib proper to the occasion; instead of which that undignified creature +answered, with an irrepressible sob,-- + +"Because you are going away." + +"Ach, mein Gott, that is _so_ good!" cried Mr. Bhaer, managing to clasp +his hands in spite of the umbrella and the bundles. "Jo, I haf nothing +but much love to gif you; I came to see if you could care for it, and I +waited to be sure that I was something more than a friend. Am I? Can +you make a little place in your heart for old Fritz?" he added, all in +one breath. + +"Oh, yes!" said Jo; and he was quite satisfied, for she folded both +hands over his arm, and looked up at him with an expression that plainly +showed how happy she would be to walk through life beside him, even +though she had no better shelter than the old umbrella, if he carried +it. + +It was certainly proposing under difficulties, for, even if he had +desired to do so, Mr. Bhaer could not go down upon his knees, on account +of the mud; neither could he offer Jo his hand, except figuratively, for +both were full; much less could he indulge in tender demonstrations in +the open street, though he was near it: so the only way in which he +could express his rapture was to look at her, with an expression which +glorified his face to such a degree that there actually seemed to be +little rainbows in the drops that sparkled on his beard. If he had not +loved Jo very much, I don't think he could have done it _then_, for she +looked far from lovely, with her skirts in a deplorable state, her +rubber boots splashed to the ankle, and her bonnet a ruin. Fortunately, +Mr. Bhaer considered her the most beautiful woman living, and she found +him more "Jove-like" than ever, though his hat-brim was quite limp with +the little rills trickling thence upon his shoulders (for he held the +umbrella all over Jo), and every finger of his gloves needed mending. + +Passers-by probably thought them a pair of harmless lunatics, for they +entirely forgot to hail a 'bus, and strolled leisurely along, oblivious +of deepening dusk and fog. Little they cared what anybody thought, for +they were enjoying the happy hour that seldom comes but once in any +life, the magical moment which bestows youth on the old, beauty on the +plain, wealth on the poor, and gives human hearts a foretaste of heaven. +The Professor looked as if he had conquered a kingdom, and the world had +nothing more to offer him in the way of bliss; while Jo trudged beside +him, feeling as if her place had always been there, and wondering how +she ever could have chosen any other lot. Of course, she was the first +to speak--intelligibly, I mean, for the emotional remarks which followed +her impetuous "Oh, yes!" were not of a coherent or reportable +character. + +"Friedrich, why didn't you--" + +"Ah, heaven, she gifs me the name that no one speaks since Minna died!" +cried the Professor, pausing in a puddle to regard her with grateful +delight. + +"I always call you so to myself--I forgot; but I won't, unless you like +it." + +"Like it? it is more sweet to me than I can tell. Say 'thou,' also, and +I shall say your language is almost as beautiful as mine." + +"Isn't 'thou' a little sentimental?" asked Jo, privately thinking it a +lovely monosyllable. + +"Sentimental? Yes. Thank Gott, we Germans believe in sentiment, and keep +ourselves young mit it. Your English 'you' is so cold, say 'thou,' +heart's dearest, it means so much to me," pleaded Mr. Bhaer, more like a +romantic student than a grave professor. + +"Well, then, why didn't thou tell me all this sooner?" asked Jo +bashfully. + +"Now I shall haf to show thee all my heart, and I so gladly will, +because thou must take care of it hereafter. See, then, my Jo,--ah, the +dear, funny little name!--I had a wish to tell something the day I said +good-by, in New York; but I thought the handsome friend was betrothed to +thee, and so I spoke not. Wouldst thou have said 'Yes,' then, if I _had_ +spoken?" + +"I don't know; I'm afraid not, for I didn't have any heart just then." + +"Prut! that I do not believe. It was asleep till the fairy prince came +through the wood, and waked it up. Ah, well, 'Die erste Liebe ist die +beste;' but that I should not expect." + +"Yes, the first love _is_ the best; so be contented, for I never had +another. Teddy was only a boy, and soon got over his little fancy," said +Jo, anxious to correct the Professor's mistake. + +"Good! then I shall rest happy, and be sure that thou givest me all. I +haf waited so long, I am grown selfish, as thou wilt find, Professorin." + +"I like that," cried Jo, delighted with her new name. "Now tell me what +brought you, at last, just when I most wanted you?" + +"This;" and Mr. Bhaer took a little worn paper out of his +waistcoat-pocket. + +Jo unfolded it, and looked much abashed, for it was one of her own +contributions to a paper that paid for poetry, which accounted for her +sending it an occasional attempt. + +"How could that bring you?" she asked, wondering what he meant. + +"I found it by chance; I knew it by the names and the initials, and in +it there was one little verse that seemed to call me. Read and find him; +I will see that you go not in the wet." + +Jo obeyed, and hastily skimmed through the lines which she had +christened-- + + "IN THE GARRET. + + "Four little chests all in a row, + Dim with dust, and worn by time, + All fashioned and filled, long ago, + By children now in their prime. + Four little keys hung side by side, + With faded ribbons, brave and gay + When fastened there, with childish pride, + Long ago, on a rainy day. + Four little names, one on each lid, + Carved out by a boyish hand, + And underneath there lieth hid + Histories of the happy band + Once playing here, and pausing oft + To hear the sweet refrain, + That came and went on the roof aloft, + In the falling summer rain. + + "'Meg' on the first lid, smooth and fair. + I look in with loving eyes, + For folded here, with well-known care, + A goodly gathering lies, + The record of a peaceful life,-- + Gifts to gentle child and girl, + A bridal gown, lines to a wife, + A tiny shoe, a baby curl. + No toys in this first chest remain, + For all are carried away, + In their old age, to join again + In another small Meg's play. + Ah, happy mother! well I know + You hear, like a sweet refrain, + Lullabies ever soft and low + In the falling summer rain. + + "'Jo' on the next lid, scratched and worn, + And within a motley store + Of headless dolls, of school-books torn, + Birds and beasts that speak no more; + Spoils brought home from the fairy ground + Only trod by youthful feet, + Dreams of a future never found, + Memories of a past still sweet; + Half-writ poems, stories wild, + April letters, warm and cold, + Diaries of a wilful child, + Hints of a woman early old; + A woman in a lonely home, + Hearing, like a sad refrain,-- + 'Be worthy love, and love will come,' + In the falling summer rain. + + "My Beth! the dust is always swept + From the lid that bears your name, + As if by loving eyes that wept, + By careful hands that often came. + Death canonized for us one saint, + Ever less human than divine, + And still we lay, with tender plaint, + Relics in this household shrine.-- + The silver bell, so seldom rung, + The little cap which last she wore, + The fair, dead Catherine that hung + By angels borne above her door; + The songs she sang, without lament, + In her prison-house of pain, + Forever are they sweetly blent + With the falling summer rain. + + "Upon the last lid's polished field-- + Legend now both fair and true-- + A gallant knight bears on his shield, + 'Amy,' in letters gold and blue. + Within lie snoods that bound her hair, + Slippers that have danced their last, + Faded flowers laid by with care, + Fans whose airy toils are past; + Gay valentines, all ardent flames, + Trifles that have borne their part + In girlish hopes and fears and shames,-- + The record of a maiden heart + Now learning fairer, truer spells, + Hearing, like a blithe refrain, + The silver sound of bridal bells + In the falling summer rain. + + "Four little chests all in a row, + Dim with dust, and worn by time, + Four women, taught by weal and woe + To love and labor in their prime. + Four sisters, parted for an hour, + None lost, one only gone before, + Made by love's immortal power, + Nearest and dearest evermore. + Oh, when these hidden stores of ours + Lie open to the Father's sight, + May they be rich in golden hours, + Deeds that show fairer for the light, + Lives whose brave music long shall ring, + Like a spirit-stirring strain, + Souls that shall gladly soar and sing + In the long sunshine after rain. + + "J. M." + +"It's very bad poetry, but I felt it when I wrote it, one day when I was +very lonely, and had a good cry on a rag-bag. I never thought it would +go where it could tell tales," said Jo, tearing up the verses the +Professor had treasured so long. + +"Let it go, it has done its duty, and I will haf a fresh one when I read +all the brown book in which she keeps her little secrets," said Mr. +Bhaer, with a smile, as he watched the fragments fly away on the wind. +"Yes," he added earnestly, "I read that, and I think to myself, 'She has +a sorrow, she is lonely, she would find comfort in true love. I haf a +heart full, full for her; shall I not go and say, 'If this is not too +poor a thing to gif for what I shall hope to receive, take it in Gott's +name?'" + +"And so you came to find that it was not too poor, but the one precious +thing I needed," whispered Jo. + +"I had no courage to think that at first, heavenly kind as was your +welcome to me. But soon I began to hope, and then I said, 'I will haf +her if I die for it,' and so I will!" cried Mr. Bhaer, with a defiant +nod, as if the walls of mist closing round them were barriers which he +was to surmount or valiantly knock down. + +Jo thought that was splendid, and resolved to be worthy of her knight, +though he did not come prancing on a charger in gorgeous array. + +"What made you stay away so long?" she asked presently, finding it so +pleasant to ask confidential questions and get delightful answers that +she could not keep silent. + +"It was not easy, but I could not find the heart to take you from that +so happy home until I could haf a prospect of one to give you, after +much time, perhaps, and hard work. How could I ask you to gif up so much +for a poor old fellow, who has no fortune but a little learning?" + +"I'm glad you _are_ poor; I couldn't bear a rich husband," said Jo +decidedly, adding, in a softer tone, "Don't fear poverty; I've known it +long enough to lose my dread, and be happy working for those I love; and +don't call yourself old,--forty is the prime of life. I couldn't help +loving you if you were seventy!" + +The Professor found that so touching that he would have been glad of his +handkerchief, if he could have got at it; as he couldn't, Jo wiped his +eyes for him, and said, laughing, as she took away a bundle or two,-- + +"I may be strong-minded, but no one can say I'm out of my sphere now, +for woman's special mission is supposed to be drying tears and bearing +burdens. I'm to carry my share, Friedrich, and help to earn the home. +Make up your mind to that, or I'll never go," she added resolutely, as +he tried to reclaim his load. + +"We shall see. Haf you patience to wait a long time, Jo? I must go away +and do my work alone. I must help my boys first, because, even for you, +I may not break my word to Minna. Can you forgif that, and be happy +while we hope and wait?" + +"Yes, I know I can; for we love one another, and that makes all the rest +easy to bear. I have my duty, also, and my work. I couldn't enjoy myself +if I neglected them even for you, so there's no need of hurry or +impatience. You can do your part out West, I can do mine here, and both +be happy hoping for the best, and leaving the future to be as God +wills." + +"Ah! thou gifest me such hope and courage, and I haf nothing to gif back +but a full heart and these empty hands," cried the Professor, quite +overcome. + + [Illustration: Under the umbrella] + +Jo never, never would learn to be proper; for when he said that as they +stood upon the steps, she just put both hands into his, whispering +tenderly, "Not empty now;" and, stooping down, kissed her Friedrich +under the umbrella. It was dreadful, but she would have done it if the +flock of draggle-tailed sparrows on the hedge had been human beings, for +she was very far gone indeed, and quite regardless of everything but her +own happiness. Though it came in such a very simple guise, that was the +crowning moment of both their lives, when, turning from the night and +storm and loneliness to the household light and warmth and peace waiting +to receive them, with a glad "Welcome home!" Jo led her lover in, and +shut the door. + + [Illustration: Tail-piece] + + + + + [Illustration: Harvest time] + + XLVII. + + HARVEST TIME. + + +For a year Jo and her Professor worked and waited, hoped and loved, met +occasionally, and wrote such voluminous letters that the rise in the +price of paper was accounted for, Laurie said. The second year began +rather soberly, for their prospects did not brighten, and Aunt March +died suddenly. But when their first sorrow was over,--for they loved the +old lady in spite of her sharp tongue,--they found they had cause for +rejoicing, for she had left Plumfield to Jo, which made all sorts of +joyful things possible. + +"It's a fine old place, and will bring a handsome sum; for of course you +intend to sell it," said Laurie, as they were all talking the matter +over, some weeks later. + +"No, I don't," was Jo's decided answer, as she petted the fat poodle, +whom she had adopted, out of respect to his former mistress. + +"You don't mean to live there?" + +"Yes, I do." + +"But, my dear girl, it's an immense house, and will take a power of +money to keep it in order. The garden and orchard alone need two or +three men, and farming isn't in Bhaer's line, I take it." + +"He'll try his hand at it there, if I propose it." + +"And you expect to live on the produce of the place? Well, that sounds +paradisiacal, but you'll find it desperate hard work." + +"The crop we are going to raise is a profitable one;" and Jo laughed. + +"Of what is this fine crop to consist, ma'am?" + +"Boys. I want to open a school for little lads,--a good, happy, homelike +school, with me to take care of them, and Fritz to teach them." + +"There's a truly Joian plan for you! Isn't that just like her?" cried +Laurie, appealing to the family, who looked as much surprised as he. + +"I like it," said Mrs. March decidedly. + +"So do I," added her husband, who welcomed the thought of a chance for +trying the Socratic method of education on modern youth. + +"It will be an immense care for Jo," said Meg, stroking the head of her +one all-absorbing son. + +"Jo can do it, and be happy in it. It's a splendid idea. Tell us all +about it," cried Mr. Laurence, who had been longing to lend the lovers a +hand, but knew that they would refuse his help. + +"I knew you'd stand by me, sir. Amy does too--I see it in her eyes, +though she prudently waits to turn it over in her mind before she +speaks. Now, my dear people," continued Jo earnestly, "just understand +that this isn't a new idea of mine, but a long-cherished plan. Before my +Fritz came, I used to think how, when I'd made my fortune, and no one +needed me at home, I'd hire a big house, and pick up some poor, forlorn +little lads, who hadn't any mothers, and take care of them, and make +life jolly for them before it was too late. I see so many going to ruin, +for want of help at the right minute; I love so to do anything for them; +I seem to feel their wants, and sympathize with their troubles, and, oh, +I should _so_ like to be a mother to them!" + +Mrs. March held out her hand to Jo, who took it, smiling, with tears in +her eyes, and went on in the old enthusiastic way, which they had not +seen for a long while. + +"I told my plan to Fritz once, and he said it was just what he would +like, and agreed to try it when we got rich. Bless his dear heart, he's +been doing it all his life,--helping poor boys, I mean, not getting +rich; that he'll never be; money doesn't stay in his pocket long enough +to lay up any. But now, thanks to my good old aunt, who loved me better +than I ever deserved, _I'm_ rich, at least I feel so, and we can live at +Plumfield perfectly well, if we have a flourishing school. It's just the +place for boys, the house is big, and the furniture strong and plain. +There's plenty of room for dozens inside, and splendid grounds outside. +They could help in the garden and orchard: such work is healthy, isn't +it, sir? Then Fritz can train and teach in his own way, and father will +help him. I can feed and nurse and pet and scold them; and mother will +be my stand-by. I've always longed for lots of boys, and never had +enough; now I can fill the house full, and revel in the little dears to +my heart's content. Think what luxury,--Plumfield my own, and a +wilderness of boys to enjoy it with me!" + +As Jo waved her hands, and gave a sigh of rapture, the family went off +into a gale of merriment, and Mr. Laurence laughed till they thought +he'd have an apoplectic fit. + +"I don't see anything funny," she said gravely, when she could be heard. +"Nothing could be more natural or proper than for my Professor to open a +school, and for me to prefer to reside on my own estate." + +"She is putting on airs already," said Laurie, who regarded the idea in +the light of a capital joke. "But may I inquire how you intend to +support the establishment? If all the pupils are little ragamuffins, I'm +afraid your crop won't be profitable in a worldly sense, Mrs. Bhaer." + +"Now don't be a wet-blanket, Teddy. Of course I shall have rich pupils, +also,--perhaps begin with such altogether; then, when I've got a start, +I can take a ragamuffin or two, just for a relish. Rich people's +children often need care and comfort, as well as poor. I've seen +unfortunate little creatures left to servants, or backward ones pushed +forward, when it's real cruelty. Some are naughty through mismanagement +or neglect, and some lose their mothers. Besides, the best have to get +through the hobbledehoy age, and that's the very time they need most +patience and kindness. People laugh at them, and hustle them about, try +to keep them out of sight, and expect them to turn, all at once, from +pretty children into fine young men. They don't complain much,--plucky +little souls,--but they feel it. I've been through something of it, and +I know all about it. I've a special interest in such young bears, and +like to show them that I see the warm, honest, well-meaning boys' +hearts, in spite of the clumsy arms and legs and the topsy-turvy heads. +I've had experience, too, for haven't I brought up one boy to be a pride +and honor to his family?" + +"I'll testify that you tried to do it," said Laurie, with a grateful +look. + +"And I've succeeded beyond my hopes; for here you are, a steady, +sensible business man, doing heaps of good with your money, and laying +up the blessings of the poor, instead of dollars. But you are not merely +a business man: you love good and beautiful things, enjoy them yourself, +and let others go halves, as you always did in the old times. I _am_ +proud of you, Teddy, for you get better every year, and every one feels +it, though you won't let them say so. Yes, and when I have my flock, +I'll just point to you, and say, 'There's your model, my lads.'" + +Poor Laurie didn't know where to look; for, man though he was, something +of the old bashfulness came over him as this burst of praise made all +faces turn approvingly upon him. + +"I say, Jo, that's rather too much," he began, just in his old boyish +way. "You have all done more for me than I can ever thank you for, +except by doing my best not to disappoint you. You have rather cast me +off lately, Jo, but I've had the best of help, nevertheless; so, if I've +got on at all, you may thank these two for it;" and he laid one hand +gently on his grandfather's white head, the other on Amy's golden one, +for the three were never far apart. + +"I do think that families are the most beautiful things in all the +world!" burst out Jo, who was in an unusually uplifted frame of mind +just then. "When I have one of my own, I hope it will be as happy as the +three I know and love the best. If John and my Fritz were only here, it +would be quite a little heaven on earth," she added more quietly. And +that night, when she went to her room, after a blissful evening of +family counsels, hopes, and plans, her heart was so full of happiness +that she could only calm it by kneeling beside the empty bed always near +her own, and thinking tender thoughts of Beth. + +It was a very astonishing year altogether, for things seemed to happen +in an unusually rapid and delightful manner. Almost before she knew +where she was, Jo found herself married and settled at Plumfield. Then a +family of six or seven boys sprung up like mushrooms, and flourished +surprisingly, poor boys as well as rich; for Mr. Laurence was +continually finding some touching case of destitution, and begging the +Bhaers to take pity on the child, and he would gladly pay a trifle for +its support. In this way the sly old gentleman got round proud Jo, and +furnished her with the style of boy in which she most delighted. + +Of course it was up-hill work at first, and Jo made queer mistakes; but +the wise Professor steered her safely into calmer waters, and the most +rampant ragamuffin was conquered in the end. How Jo did enjoy her +"wilderness of boys," and how poor, dear Aunt March would have lamented +had she been there to see the sacred precincts of prim, well-ordered +Plumfield overrun with Toms, Dicks, and Harrys! There was a sort of +poetic justice about it, after all, for the old lady had been the terror +of the boys for miles round; and now the exiles feasted freely on +forbidden plums, kicked up the gravel with profane boots unreproved, and +played cricket in the big field where the irritable "cow with a crumpled +horn" used to invite rash youths to come and be tossed. It became a sort +of boys' paradise, and Laurie suggested that it should be called the +"Bhaer-garten," as a compliment to its master and appropriate to its +inhabitants. + +It never was a fashionable school, and the Professor did not lay up a +fortune; but it _was_ just what Jo intended it to be,--"a happy, +homelike place for boys, who needed teaching, care, and kindness." +Every room in the big house was soon full; every little plot in the +garden soon had its owner; a regular menagerie appeared in barn and +shed, for pet animals were allowed; and, three times a day, Jo smiled at +her Fritz from the head of a long table lined on either side with rows +of happy young faces, which all turned to her with affectionate eyes, +confiding words, and grateful hearts, full of love for "Mother Bhaer." +She had boys enough now, and did not tire of them, though they were not +angels, by any means, and some of them caused both Professor and +Professorin much trouble and anxiety. But her faith in the good spot +which exists in the heart of the naughtiest, sauciest, most tantalizing +little ragamuffin gave her patience, skill, and, in time, success; for +no mortal boy could hold out long with Father Bhaer shining on him as +benevolently as the sun, and Mother Bhaer forgiving him seventy times +seven. Very precious to Jo was the friendship of the lads; their +penitent sniffs and whispers after wrong-doing; their droll or touching +little confidences; their pleasant enthusiasms, hopes, and plans; even +their misfortunes, for they only endeared them to her all the more. +There were slow boys and bashful boys; feeble boys and riotous boys; +boys that lisped and boys that stuttered; one or two lame ones; and a +merry little quadroon, who could not be taken in elsewhere, but who was +welcome to the "Bhaer-garten," though some people predicted that his +admission would ruin the school. + +Yes; Jo was a very happy woman there, in spite of hard work, much +anxiety, and a perpetual racket. She enjoyed it heartily, and found the +applause of her boys more satisfying than any praise of the world; for +now she told no stories except to her flock of enthusiastic believers +and admirers. As the years went on, two little lads of her own came to +increase her happiness,--Rob, named for grandpa, and Teddy, a +happy-go-lucky baby, who seemed to have inherited his papa's sunshiny +temper as well as his mother's lively spirit. How they ever grew up +alive in that whirlpool of boys was a mystery to their grandma and +aunts; but they flourished like dandelions in spring, and their rough +nurses loved and served them well. + +There were a great many holidays at Plumfield, and one of the most +delightful was the yearly apple-picking; for then the Marches, +Laurences, Brookes, and Bhaers turned out in full force, and made a day +of it. Five years after Jo's wedding, one of these fruitful festivals +occurred,--a mellow October day, when the air was full of an +exhilarating freshness which made the spirits rise, and the blood dance +healthily in the veins. The old orchard wore its holiday attire; +golden-rod and asters fringed the mossy walls; grasshoppers skipped +briskly in the sere grass, and crickets chirped like fairy pipers at a +feast; squirrels were busy with their small harvesting; birds twittered +their adieux from the alders in the lane; and every tree stood ready to +send down its shower of red or yellow apples at the first shake. +Everybody was there; everybody laughed and sang, climbed up and tumbled +down; everybody declared that there never had been such a perfect day or +such a jolly set to enjoy it; and every one gave themselves up to the +simple pleasures of the hour as freely as if there were no such things +as care or sorrow in the world. + +Mr. March strolled placidly about, quoting Tusser, Cowley, and Columella +to Mr. Laurence, while enjoying-- + + "The gentle apple's winey juice." + +The Professor charged up and down the green aisles like a stout Teutonic +knight, with a pole for a lance, leading on the boys, who made a hook +and ladder company of themselves, and performed wonders in the way of +ground and lofty tumbling. Laurie devoted himself to the little ones, +rode his small daughter in a bushel-basket, took Daisy up among the +birds' nests, and kept adventurous Rob from breaking his neck. Mrs. +March and Meg sat among the apple piles like a pair of Pomonas, sorting +the contributions that kept pouring in; while Amy, with a beautiful +motherly expression in her face, sketched the various groups, and +watched over one pale lad, who sat adoring her with his little crutch +beside him. + +Jo was in her element that day, and rushed about, with her gown pinned +up, her hat anywhere but on her head, and her baby tucked under her arm, +ready for any lively adventure which might turn up. Little Teddy bore a +charmed life, for nothing ever happened to him, and Jo never felt any +anxiety when he was whisked up into a tree by one lad, galloped off on +the back of another, or supplied with sour russets by his indulgent +papa, who labored under the Germanic delusion that babies could digest +anything, from pickled cabbage to buttons, nails, and their own small +shoes. She knew that little Ted would turn up again in time, safe and +rosy, dirty and serene, and she always received him back with a hearty +welcome, for Jo loved her babies tenderly. + + [Illustration: Teddy bore a charmed life] + +At four o'clock a lull took place, and baskets remained empty, while the +apple-pickers rested, and compared rents and bruises. Then Jo and Meg, +with a detachment of the bigger boys, set forth the supper on the grass, +for an out-of-door tea was always the crowning joy of the day. The land +literally flowed with milk and honey on such occasions, for the lads +were not required to sit at table, but allowed to partake of refreshment +as they liked,--freedom being the sauce best beloved by the boyish soul. +They availed themselves of the rare privilege to the fullest extent, for +some tried the pleasing experiment of drinking milk while standing on +their heads, others lent a charm to leap-frog by eating pie in the +pauses of the game, cookies were sown broadcast over the field, and +apple-turnovers roosted in the trees like a new style of bird. The +little girls had a private tea-party, and Ted roved among the edibles at +his own sweet will. + +When no one could eat any more, the Professor proposed the first regular +toast, which was always drunk at such times,--"Aunt March, God bless +her!" A toast heartily given by the good man, who never forgot how much +he owed her, and quietly drunk by the boys, who had been taught to +keep her memory green. + +"Now, grandma's sixtieth birthday! Long life to her, with three times +three!" + +That was given with a will, as you may well believe; and the cheering +once begun, it was hard to stop it. Everybody's health was proposed, +from Mr. Laurence, who was considered their special patron, to the +astonished guinea-pig, who had strayed from its proper sphere in search +of its young master. Demi, as the oldest grandchild, then presented the +queen of the day with various gifts, so numerous that they were +transported to the festive scene in a wheelbarrow. Funny presents, some +of them, but what would have been defects to other eyes were ornaments +to grandma's,--for the children's gifts were all their own. Every stitch +Daisy's patient little fingers had put into the handkerchiefs she hemmed +was better than embroidery to Mrs. March; Demi's shoe-box was a miracle +of mechanical skill, though the cover wouldn't shut; Rob's footstool had +a wiggle in its uneven legs, that she declared was very soothing; and no +page of the costly book Amy's child gave her was so fair as that on +which appeared, in tipsy capitals, the words,--"To dear Grandma, from +her little Beth." + +During this ceremony the boys had mysteriously disappeared; and, when +Mrs. March had tried to thank her children, and broken down, while Teddy +wiped her eyes on his pinafore, the Professor suddenly began to sing. +Then, from above him, voice after voice took up the words, and from tree +to tree echoed the music of the unseen choir, as the boys sung, with all +their hearts, the little song Jo had written, Laurie set to music, and +the Professor trained his lads to give with the best effect. This was +something altogether new, and it proved a grand success; for Mrs. March +couldn't get over her surprise, and insisted on shaking hands with every +one of the featherless birds, from tall Franz and Emil to the little +quadroon, who had the sweetest voice of all. + +After this, the boys dispersed for a final lark, leaving Mrs. March and +her daughters under the festival tree. + +[Illustration: "Leaving Mrs. March and her daughters under the festival + tree."--Page 583] + +"I don't think I ever ought to call myself 'Unlucky Jo' again, when my +greatest wish has been so beautifully gratified," said Mrs. Bhaer, +taking Teddy's little fist out of the milk-pitcher, in which he was +rapturously churning. + +"And yet your life is very different from the one you pictured so long +ago. Do you remember our castles in the air?" asked Amy, smiling as she +watched Laurie and John playing cricket with the boys. + +"Dear fellows! It does my heart good to see them forget business, and +frolic for a day," answered Jo, who now spoke in a maternal way of all +mankind. "Yes, I remember; but the life I wanted then seems selfish, +lonely, and cold to me now. I haven't given up the hope that I may write +a good book yet, but I can wait, and I'm sure it will be all the better +for such experiences and illustrations as these;" and Jo pointed from +the lively lads in the distance to her father, leaning on the +Professor's arm, as they walked to and fro in the sunshine, deep in one +of the conversations which both enjoyed so much, and then to her mother, +sitting enthroned among her daughters, with their children in her lap +and at her feet, as if all found help and happiness in the face which +never could grow old to them. + +"My castle was the most nearly realized of all. I asked for splendid +things, to be sure, but in my heart I knew I should be satisfied, if I +had a little home, and John, and some dear children like these. I've got +them all, thank God, and am the happiest woman in the world;" and Meg +laid her hand on her tall boy's head, with a face full of tender and +devout content. + +"My castle is very different from what I planned, but I would not alter +it, though, like Jo, I don't relinquish all my artistic hopes, or +confine myself to helping others fulfil their dreams of beauty. I've +begun to model a figure of baby, and Laurie says it is the best thing +I've ever done. I think so myself, and mean to do it in marble, so that, +whatever happens, I may at least keep the image of my little angel." + +As Amy spoke, a great tear dropped on the golden hair of the sleeping +child in her arms; for her one well-beloved daughter was a frail little +creature and the dread of losing her was the shadow over Amy's sunshine. +This cross was doing much for both father and mother, for one love and +sorrow bound them closely together. Amy's nature was growing sweeter, +deeper, and more tender; Laurie was growing more serious, strong, and +firm; and both were learning that beauty, youth, good fortune, even love +itself, cannot keep care and pain, loss and sorrow, from the most blest; +for-- + + "Into each life some rain must fall, + Some days must be dark and sad and dreary." + +"She is growing better, I am sure of it, my dear. Don't despond, but +hope and keep happy," said Mrs. March, as tender-hearted Daisy stooped +from her knee, to lay her rosy cheek against her little cousin's pale +one. + +"I never ought to, while I have you to cheer me up, Marmee, and Laurie +to take more than half of every burden," replied Amy warmly. "He never +lets me see his anxiety, but is so sweet and patient with me, so devoted +to Beth, and such a stay and comfort to me always, that I can't love him +enough. So, in spite of my one cross, I can say with Meg, 'Thank God, +I'm a happy woman.'" + +"There's no need for me to say it, for every one can see that I'm far +happier than I deserve," added Jo, glancing from her good husband to her +chubby children, tumbling on the grass beside her. "Fritz is getting +gray and stout; I'm growing as thin as a shadow, and am thirty; we never +shall be rich, and Plumfield may burn up any night, for that +incorrigible Tommy Bangs _will_ smoke sweet-fern cigars under the +bed-clothes, though he's set himself afire three times already. But in +spite of these unromantic facts, I have nothing to complain of, and +never was so jolly in my life. Excuse the remark, but living among boys, +I can't help using their expressions now and then." + +"Yes, Jo, I think your harvest will be a good one," began Mrs. March, +frightening away a big black cricket that was staring Teddy out of +countenance. + +"Not half so good as yours, mother. Here it is, and we never can thank +you enough for the patient sowing and reaping you have done," cried Jo, +with the loving impetuosity which she never could outgrow. + +"I hope there will be more wheat and fewer tares every year," said Amy +softly. + +"A large sheaf, but I know there's room in your heart for it, Marmee +dear," added Meg's tender voice. + +Touched to the heart, Mrs. March could only stretch out her arms, as if +to gather children and grandchildren to herself, and say, with face and +voice full of motherly love, gratitude, and humility,-- + +"O, my girls, however long you may live, I never can wish you a greater +happiness than this!" + + [Illustration: Tail-piece] + + [Illustration] + + + + + Louisa M. Alcott's Writings + + +THE LITTLE WOMEN SERIES. + + =Little Women=; or Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy. Illustrated. 16mo. + $1.50. + + =Little Men.= Life at Plumfield with Jo's Boys. Illustrated. + 16mo. $1.50. + + =Jo's Boys and How They Turned Out.= A Sequel to "Little Men." + Portrait of Author. 16mo. $1.50. + + =An Old-Fashioned Girl.= Illustrated. 16mo. $1.50. + + =Eight Cousins=; or, The Aunt-Hill. Illustrated. 16mo. $1.50. + + =Rose in Bloom.= A Sequel to "Eight Cousins." Illustrated. 16mo. + $1.50. + + =Under the Lilacs.= Illustrated. 16mo. $1.50. + + =Jack and Jill.= A Village Story. Illustrated. 16mo. $1.50. + +The above eight volumes, uniformly bound in cloth, gilt, in box, $12.00. + + +THE LITTLE WOMEN SERIES. _New Illustrated Edition._ + Printed from new plates with new cover designs, and illustrated with + 84 full-page plates from drawings especially made for this edition + by Reginald B. Birch, Alice Barber Stephens, Jessie Willcox Smith, + and Harriet Roosevelt Richards. 8 vols. Crown 8vo. Decorated cloth, + gilt, in box. $16.00. Separately, $2.00. + + +THE SPINNING-WHEEL SERIES + + =Spinning-Wheel Stories.= + =Silver Pitchers.= + =Proverb Stories.= + =A Garland for Girls.= + +4 vols. 16mo. Each, $1.25. In box, $5.00. + + + THE SPINNING-WHEEL SERIES. _New Illustrated Edition._ Uniform in + size with the Illustrated Edition of the Little Women Series. + With 36 full-page plates by well-known artists. 4 vols. Crown + 8vo. Decorated cloth. In box, $6.00. Separately, $1.50. + + +AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG + + =My Boys.= + =Shawl-Straps.= + =Cupid and Chow-Chow.= + =My Girls.= + =Jimmy's Cruise in the Pinafore.= + =An Old-Fashioned Thanksgiving.= + +6 vols. 16mo. Illustrated. Each, $1.00. In box, $6.00. + + +LULU'S LIBRARY + =Volume 1= + =Volume 2= + =Volume 3= + +3 vols. Each, $1.00. The set uniformly bound in cloth, gilt, in box, +$3.00. + + +NOVELS, ETC. + + =Hospital Sketches.= + =Work.= + =Comic Tragedies.= + =Moods.= + =A Modern Mephistopheles.= + =Life of Louisa May Alcott.= + +6 vols. 16mo. Each, $1.50. + + +LITTLE, BROWN, & COMPANY + +_Publishers_, 254 WASHINGTON STREET, BOSTON, MASS. + + + + + The Little Women Series + + By LOUISA M. ALCOTT + + +1. LITTLE WOMEN; or Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy + +Illustrated. 16mo. $1.50. + + A simple story of the home life of four girls. A portrayal of + child life, natural, wholesome, and inspiring. One of the best + and most popular children's books ever written. + +2. LITTLE MEN: Life at Plumfield with Jo's Boys + +Illustrated. 16mo. $1.50. + + Gives delightful pictures of boy life at old Plumfield, and is + brimful of activity, merriment, health, and happiness. + +3. JO'S BOYS, and How They Turned Out + +Illustrated. 16mo. $1.50. + + This sequel to "Little Men" takes up the story and carries Jo's + boys through the home struggles and adventures in the outside + world until they are fairly launched on the sea of manhood. + +4. AN OLD-FASHIONED GIRL + +Illustrated. 16mo. $1.50. + + The heroine of this book is shown as a possible improvement upon + the girl of the period, who seems sadly ignorant or ashamed of + the good old fashions which made women truly beautiful and + honored. + +5. EIGHT COUSINS; or, the Aunt-Hill + +Illustrated. 16mo. $1.50. + + The story of a pretty-faced and sunny-tempered little girl, + obliged by the death of her parents to live with her uncle and + her aunts, thereby coming in contact with seven cousins--all + boys. + +6. ROSE IN BLOOM + +Illustrated. 16mo. $1.50. + + This sequel to "Eight Cousins" carries on the story of Rose and + the cousins, and is full of vivacity, fresh and stirring + incident, and brilliant character painting. + +7. UNDER THE LILACS + +Illustrated. 16mo. $1.50. + + Ben and his dog Sancho run away from a circus and find a home + with Bob and Betty in the old house under the lilacs. Told in + Miss Alcott's best style. + +8. JACK AND JILL + +Illustrated. 16mo. $1.50. + + A vivid yet natural portrayal of home and school life in a New + England village, full of the sympathetic quality which lends + such a charm to Miss Alcott's writings. It is a lively and jolly + narrative. + +THE ABOVE EIGHT VOLUMES, UNIFORMLY BOUND, IN BOX, $12.00 + + _Uniform with "The Little Women Series."_ + +COMIC TRAGEDIES + + Written by "Jo" and "Meg," and acted by the "Little Women," with + a Foreword by "Meg." Portraits, etc. 16mo. $1.50. + +LOUISA MAY ALCOTT + + Her Life, Letters, and Journals. Edited by Ednah D. Cheney. With + photogravure portraits, etc. 16mo. $1.50. + + + + + Other Stories by LOUISA M. ALCOTT + + +SPINNING-WHEEL STORIES + + Four volumes of healthy and hearty short stories so told as to + fascinate the young people, while inculcating sturdy courage and + kindness to the weak in the boys, and in the girls those virtues + which fit them for filling a woman's place in the home. + + 1. SPINNING-WHEEL STORIES + With twelve initial illustrations. 16mo. $1.25. + + 2. SILVER PITCHERS: and Independence + 16mo. $1.25. + + 3. PROVERB STORIES + 16mo. $1.25. + + 4. A GARLAND FOR GIRLS + With illustrations. 16mo. $1.25. + The above four volumes, uniformly bound in cloth, gilt, in box, + $5.00. + + +AUNT JO'S SCRAP BAG + + Six books of jolly, readable stories told in Miss Alcott's best + style and sure to please young people. + + 1. MY BOYS + Illustrated. 16mo. $1.00. + + 2. SHAWL-STRAPS + Illustrated. Story of a voyage abroad. 16mo. $1.00 + + 3. CUPID AND CHOW-CHOW + Illustrated. 16mo. $1.00. + + 4. MY GIRLS + Illustrated. 16mo. $1.00. + + 5. JIMMY'S CRUISE IN THE PINAFORE, ETC. + Illustrated. 16mo. $1.00. + + 6. AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING + Illustrated. 16mo. $1.00. + +The above six volumes, uniformly bound in cloth, gilt, in box, $6.00. + + +LULU'S LIBRARY + + Delightful short stories, many of them founded on incidents from + Miss Alcott's life. Told so as to attract children, and all + showing the spirit of cheerful accomplishment in the face of + discouragements. + + Three volumes. Each, $1.00. The set, uniformly bound in cloth, + gilt, in box, $3.00. + + +MISS ALCOTT'S NOVELS + + HOSPITAL SKETCHES + and Camp and Fireside Stories. With illustrations. 16mo. $1.50. + + WORK + A Story of Experience. Illustrated by Sol Eytinge. 16mo. $1.50. + + MOODS + A Novel. 16mo. $1.50. + + A MODERN MEPHISTOPHELES + and a Whisper in the Dark. 16mo. $1.50. + + + + + Other Stories by LOUISA M. ALCOTT + + +A HOLE IN THE WALL. Illustrated. 12mo. 50 cents. + + An account of a poor boy's admiration for a beautiful garden to + which he is invited by a little girl friend. ("How They Camped + Out" in same volume.) + +MARJORIE'S THREE GIFTS. Illustrated. 12mo. 50 cents. + + A fairy tale told Marjorie comes true, and there enter into her + life three good fairies: Industry, Cheerfulness, and Love. + ("Roses and Forget-me-nots" in same volume.) + +MAY FLOWERS. Illustrated. 12mo. 50 cents. + + The experiences of six earnest young girls who try to make the + sad lives about them happier. Full of sensible hints as to + wisest methods of charity. + +A CHRISTMAS DREAM. Illustrated. 12mo. 50 cents. + + A rather spoiled child gets her first real enjoyment of + Christmas by making others happy. ("Baa! Baa!" in same volume.) + +THE CANDY COUNTRY. Illustrated. 12mo. 50 cents. + + A quaint little fable in which the young heroine visits + Candy-land and is finally contented to return to Bread-land. + ("How They Ran Away" in same volume.) + +LITTLE BUTTON ROSE. Illustrated. 12mo. 50 cents. + + A bright, vivacious child visits her maiden aunts. Her + influence on the somewhat narrow characters about her is + delightfully described. + +POPPIES AND WHEAT. Illustrated. 12mo. 50 cents. + + Two girls travel through Europe. The frivolous Ethel learns the + advantages of culture and simple dignity from her companion. + +MOUNTAIN-LAUREL AND MAIDENHAIR. Illustrated. 12mo. 50 cents. + + The story of a New Hampshire farmer's daughter who is fond of + writing verses. + +PANSIES AND WATER-LILIES. Illustrated. 12mo. 50 cents. + + "Pansies" is a story of a girls' discussion of books; + "Water-Lilies" is a romance by the sea-shore. + +THE DOLLS' JOURNEY. Illustrated. 12mo. 50 cents. + + A droll account of the travels of two dolls. ("Shadow-Children" + and "The Moss People" in same volume.) + +MORNING GLORIES AND QUEEN ASTOR. Illustrated. 12mo. 50 cents. + + Aunt Wee changes Daisy from a petulant to a cheerful girl by + interesting her in the wonderful world of nature which Daisy has + never before learned to appreciate justly. + +THE LITTLE MEN PLAY. +THE LITTLE WOMEN PLAY. + + Adapted from Miss Alcott's famous stories, "Little Men" and + "Little Women," by Elizabeth L. Gould. Illustrated. 12mo. Price + 50 cents each. + + Two forty-five minute plays of two acts each, for eight or ten + little people. They will prove a source of limitless delight. + + +LITTLE, BROWN, & COMPANY, Publishers + +254 Washington St., Boston, Mass. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE WOMEN; OR, MEG, JO, BETH, AND AMY *** + + Transcriber's Notes: + + +Project Gutenberg has two versions of Little Women by Louisa May Alcott. + Original Edition + Illustrated Edition + +Welcome to the Project Gutenberg Illustrated Edition of Little Women by +Louisa May Alcott, published by Little, Brown, and Company. Some +versions of the book, such as this one, use the full title of the book +from the title page, _Little Women; Or Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy_. + +We used the version of the book from Little, Brown, and Company: +copyright 1896, for this transcription. A scanned copy of this book is +available through the internet archive, courtesy of the New York Public +Library. + +A copy of the first version of the novel, published in 1869, was +consulted for emendations, the proper rendering of words hyphenated and +split between two lines for spacing, and other issues in transcribing +the novel. We are not trying to change this version of the novel back to +the 1869 novel, but correct the errors that were made in re-transcribing +and updating the text. + +Passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_. + +Passages in bold were indicated by =equal signs=. + +Small caps were replaced with ALL CAPS. + +Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of +the speakers. Those words were retained as-is. + +Errors in punctuations and hyphenation were not corrected unless +otherwise noted below. + +A note about spacing of illustrations: If there are four lines above the +illustration, then the illustration was at the top of a new chapter. If +there are four lines below the illustration, then the illustration was +at the end of a chapter. If there is two lines between a chapter heading +and the illustration, then the illustration was an inline illustration +(usually a drop-cap illustration). + +On page vii, in the Table of Contents, change page 7 to 1 for the +beginning of Chapter One. + +In the List of Illustrations, for the illustration on page 147, +"postmistress" was replaced with "post-mistress". + +In the List of Illustrations, for the illustration on page 235, +"tea-pot" was replaced with "teapot". + +On page 30, the punctuation after 'stained they are' may be a colon, but +on page 41 of the 1869 book, it is a semicolon. We used the semi-colon. + +On page 34, transcribe red-headed with the hyphen. See page 44 of the +1869 novel. + +On page 40, a period was added after "room where old Mr". See page 50 of +the 1869 novel. + +On page 41, the semicolon after "Laurie went on the box" was replaced +with a comma. See page 52 of the 1869 novel. + +On page 62, mantel-piece was transcribed with the hyphen. See Page 75 of +the 1869 novel. + +On page 63, checked the clause "and I've been trying to do it this ever +so long." It is written the same way on page 77 of the 1869 book. No +change was made. + +On page 64, add period after "red and shining with merriment." See page +79 of the 1869 book. + +On page 68, changed weet to sweet in 'the damp weet air.' See page 84 of +the 1869 novel. + +On page 79, add comma after I remain in the letter. See page 95 of the +1869 novel. + +On page 84, ferrule was an adjustment from the 1869 book, which only +used one r in spelling the word (see page 101). Webster's dictionary +spells ferrule with two rs. + +On page 109, a period was added after "and the old man quite dotes on +them". See page 130 of the 1869 novel. + +On page 109, a period was added after "asked another voice". See page +131 of the 1869 novel. + +On page 112, change colon to semicolon after "if you don't;"--see page +134 of the 1869 novel. + +On page 113, transcribe ear-rings with the hyphen. See page 135 of the +1869 novel. + +On Page 123, "One thing remember, my girls:" is written as it appears in +the 1896 novel. A comma instead of a colon was used after my girls in +the 1869 novel (see page 146). "One thing =to= remember," may work +better today, or even "Remember one thing," but we left this as Ms. +Alcott wrote it. + +On Page 124, the P. C. is the Pickwick Club from a novel by Charles +Dickens. Samuel Pickwick, Tracy Tupman, Augustus Snodgrass, and +Nathaniel Winkle were introdued by Charles Dickens in the first chapter +of The Pickwick Papers. Samuel Weller makes his first appearance in +Chapter Ten of that novel. + +On page 128, in the Pickwick Portfolio, there is no period after "it is +nearly school time" in N. Winkle's letter. This period was also missing +on page 151 of the 1869 novel. The missing period was intentional. + +On page 135, the ambiguous punctuation after "Oh, dear, no!" is an +exclamation point. See page 160 of the 1869 novel. + +On page 146, change buttonholes to button-holes. On page 173 of the 1869 +novel, this word was hyphenated and split between two lines for spacing. +There were seven other occurrences of button-hole or button-holes in the +novel. We therefore used the hyphen. + +On page 150, "Betty" was replaced with "Bethy". This error was also made +in the 1869 novel--see page 177. The character addressed is Beth. + +On page 158, a period was added after "still kneeling". See page 187 of +the 1869 novel. + +On page 160, "hard a lee" is spelled the same way in the 1869 novel (see +page 189) and this novel. We left this as is. + +On page 166, a comma was added after "Meg" in "Meg obediently +following". See page 195 of the 1869 book. + +On page 185, "receptable" was replaced with "receptacle". See page 217 +of the 1869 novel. + +On page 185, transcribe door-way with the hyphen. See page 217 of the +1869 novel. Also, change doorway to door-way a few lines down the same +page. See page 218 of the 1869 novel. + +On page 189, the comma after "published every day" was replaced with a +period. See page 225 of 1869 book. + +On page 198, the clause: "Beth, go and ask Mr. Laurence for a couple of +bottles of old wine:" was written as it appeared in the 1896 novel. The +clause ended in with a semi-colon in the 1869 book (see page 234). + +On page 200, change needlework to needle-work. See page 236 of the 1869 +novel. + +On page 209, "turnovers" was replaced with "turn-overs". See page 246 of +the 1869 novel. + +On page 214, the single quotation mark before "Head Nurse of Ward" was +replaced with a double quotation mark. See page 252 of the 1869 novel. + +On page 218, "Year's ago" was replaced with "Years ago". See page 257 of +the 1869 novel. + +On page 219, "ask him so help" was replaced with "ask him to help". See +page 257 of the 1869 novel. + +On page 219, add period after "give it to her." See page 258 of the 1869 +novel. + +On page 230, "two, A.M." is spelled the same way, with the comma, in +this book and in the 1869 novel (on page 272). The comma was retained. + +On page 244, "postscrips" was replaced with "postscripts". See page 287 +of the 1869 novel. + +On page 279, place exclamation point after won't in 'No, I won't!' See +page 329 in the 1869 novel. + +On page 286, "actingly" was replaced with "acting". See page 337 of the +1869 novel. + +On page 288, add comma after mankind in the clause "who felt at peace +with all mankind even his mischievous pupil." See page 339 of the 1869 +novel. + +On page 294, transcribe gray-headed with the hyphen. See page 5 of the +1869 novel. + +On page 295, add a comma after salary in the phrase "with an +honestly-earned salary." See page 7 of the 1869 book. + +Checked the clause "But once get used to these slight blemishes" on page +297. The sentence appears the same way on page 10 of the 1869 novel. + +Checked the clause "People who hire all these things done for them never +know what they lose" on page 298. The sentence has a comma after them, +but is otherwise written the same way on page 11 of the 1869 novel. + +On page 299, transcribe door-handles with the hyphen. See page 13 of the +1869 novel. + +On page 339, "shortcomings" was replaced with "short-comings". See page +62 of the 1869 novel. + +On page 345, "furbelows and notions" was written "furbelows and +quinny-dingles" in the 1869 novel. See page 59 of the 1869 novel. We +made no change, and only point this out because quinny-dingles is such a +memorable word that those intimate with the novel may notice the change. + +On page 353, change snowbank to snow-bank. See page 79 of the 1869 +novel. + +On page 363, a double quotation mark was added before "Cross-patch, draw +the latch". See page 91 of the 1869 book. + +On page 379, change period after Jo to a comma in the clause "as for Jo. +she would have gone up". See page 109 of the 1869 book. + +On page 380, a comma was added after "all lying down". See page 111 of +the 1869 book. + +On page 393, the punctuation after 'but so was everybody's' is difficult +to read. It could be a colon or semicolon. In the 1869 novel, the mark +is a semi-colon (see page 126). We used the semi-colon. + +On page 396, the second line of the verse beginning with "'Out upon +you," is indented. In the 1869 version, the capital B of "Bold-faced +jig!'" is lined-up under Out. We aligned the verse as the 1869 version +of the novel--see page 131. + +On page 404, add period after heaviness. See page 140 of the 1869 novel. + +On page 405, transcribe needle-work with the hyphen. See page 141 of the +1869 book. + +On Page 411, a letter is curiously addressed to Betsey, both here and on +page 148 of the 1869 book. + +On Page 413, removed double quotes around Yes in "Yes," they say to one +another, these so kind ladies. Instead, place a single quote in front of +Yes, because Bhaer is resuming his quote. The resumed quote concludes +with a single quote after me and mine. See page 151 of the 1869 novel. +The double quote before 'he is a stupid old fellow' is actually a +triple-nested quote, ending in make themselves. + +On page 417, transcribe Teddy-ism as Teddyism. See page 155 of the 1869 +novel. + +On page 451, a period was added after "I can't let you go". See page 196 +of the 1869 novel. + +On page 463, "Tarantula" was used as the name of a dance, but the author +might have meant "Tarantella," which is the name of an Italian dance +about tarantulas. + +On page 468, transcribe chess-board with the hyphen. See page 218 of the +1869 novel. + +On page 512, a period was added after "she said softly". If you see page +272 of the 1869 novel, you will also notice a comma in 'she said, +softly.' We added the period but not the comma. + +On page 514, the 1869 novel did not have a comma after oar in the +sentence: "I'm not tired; but you may take an oar, if you like. See page +525 of the 1869 novel. We did not remove the comma. + +On page 527, "the 'the best nevvy" was replaced with "the best nevvy". + +On page 527, change he to the in 'like Jenny and he ballad'. See page +291 of the 1869 novel. + +On page 531, David and Peggotty refer to two characters from the novel +"David Copperfield" by Charles Dickens. + +On page 534, change of to off in the clause: Daisy found it impossible +to keep her eyes of her "pitty aunty," ... see page 300 of the 1869 +novel. + +On page 541, "know'st thou the land where the citron blooms," was broken +into two stanzas in the book for spacing. We transcribed this as one +line. See page 308 in 1869 novel. + +On page 551, transcribe Dove-cote with the hyphen. See page 319 of the +1869 novel. + +On the first page of ads, a period was added after "THE LITTLE WOMEN +SERIES. New Illustrated Edition". + +On the second page of ads, in the blurb for the book Comic Tragedies, a +period as placed after "Portraits, etc". + +After the novel is a list of The Works of Louisa May Alcott. The list is +not complete: for example, there are no listings for her work as Flora +Fairfield or A. M. Barnard. Nevertheless, the pages are a fine +structured outline of Ms. Alcott's best work. + +Most of the novels and stories in these four pages are published by +Project Gutenberg. We included links to these titles for the reader's +convenience. A change had to be made for one item: We had to list each +of the three volumes of Lulu's Library to provide the links to that +book. These links will only work in the HTML document. + +The final page is a listing of eleven stories originally published in +other volumes, such as Jo's Scrap-Bag, Lulu's Library, and A Garland for +Girls. These works were subsequently published separately in small +volumes, generally less than 100 pages, in The Children's Friend Series. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE WOMEN; OR, MEG, JO, BETH, AND AMY *** + + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ +concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online +at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, +you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located +before using this eBook. + +Title: Optimism: An Essay + +Author: Helen Keller + +Release date: March 13, 2010 [eBook #31622] + +Language: English + +Credits: Produced by Mark C. Orton, Irma Spehar and the Online + Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This + file was produced from images generously made available + by The Internet Archive) + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OPTIMISM: AN ESSAY *** + + + + +Produced by Mark C. Orton, Irma Spehar and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive) + + + + + + + + Optimism + + + [Illustration] + + + Optimism + An Essay + By Helen Keller + Author of + "The Story of My Life" + + + [Illustration] + + + New York + T. Y. Crowell and Company + Mdcccciii + + Copyright, 1903, by Helen Keller + + Published November, 1903 + + D. B. Updike, The Merrymount Press, Boston + + + + +To My Teacher + + + + +Contents + + + Part i + Optimism Within 11 + + + Part ii + Optimism Without 25 + + + Part iii + The Practice of Optimism 53 + + + + +Part i. Optimism Within + +[Illustration] + + + + +Part i + +Optimism Within + + +Could we choose our environment, and were desire in human undertakings +synonymous with endowment, all men would, I suppose, be optimists. +Certainly most of us regard happiness as the proper end of all earthly +enterprise. The will to be happy animates alike the philosopher, the +prince and the chimney-sweep. No matter how dull, or how mean, or how +wise a man is, he feels that happiness is his indisputable right. + +It is curious to observe what different ideals of happiness people +cherish, and in what singular places they look for this well-spring of +their life. Many look for it in the hoarding of riches, some in the +pride of power, and others in the achievements of art and literature; +a few seek it in the exploration of their own minds, or in the search +for knowledge. + +Most people measure their happiness in terms of physical pleasure and +material possession. Could they win some visible goal which they have +set on the horizon, how happy they would be! Lacking this gift or that +circumstance, they would be miserable. If happiness is to be so +measured, I who cannot hear or see have every reason to sit in a +corner with folded hands and weep. If I am happy in spite of my +deprivations, if my happiness is so deep that it is a faith, so +thoughtful that it becomes a philosophy of life,--if, in short, I am +an optimist, my testimony to the creed of optimism is worth hearing. +As sinners stand up in meeting and testify to the goodness of God, so +one who is called afflicted may rise up in gladness of conviction and +testify to the goodness of life. + +Once I knew the depth where no hope was, and darkness lay on the face +of all things. Then love came and set my soul free. Once I knew only +darkness and stillness. Now I know hope and joy. Once I fretted and +beat myself against the wall that shut me in. Now I rejoice in the +consciousness that I can think, act and attain heaven. My life was +without past or future; death, the pessimist would say, "a +consummation devoutly to be wished." But a little word from the +fingers of another fell into my hand that clutched at emptiness, and +my heart leaped to the rapture of living. Night fled before the day +of thought, and love and joy and hope came up in a passion of +obedience to knowledge. Can anyone who has escaped such captivity, who +has felt the thrill and glory of freedom, be a pessimist? + +My early experience was thus a leap from bad to good. If I tried, I +could not check the momentum of my first leap out of the dark; to move +breast forward is a habit learned suddenly at that first moment of +release and rush into the light. With the first word I used +intelligently, I learned to live, to think, to hope. Darkness cannot +shut me in again. I have had a glimpse of the shore, and can now live +by the hope of reaching it. + +So my optimism is no mild and unreasoning satisfaction. A poet once +said I must be happy because I did not see the bare, cold present, but +lived in a beautiful dream. I do live in a beautiful dream; but that +dream is the actual, the present,--not cold, but warm; not bare, but +furnished with a thousand blessings. The very evil which the poet +supposed would be a cruel disillusionment is necessary to the fullest +knowledge of joy. Only by contact with evil could I have learned to +feel by contrast the beauty of truth and love and goodness. + +It is a mistake always to contemplate the good and ignore the evil, +because by making people neglectful it lets in disaster. There is a +dangerous optimism of ignorance and indifference. It is not enough to +say that the twentieth century is the best age in the history of +mankind, and to take refuge from the evils of the world in skyey +dreams of good. How many good men, prosperous and contented, looked +around and saw naught but good, while millions of their fellowmen were +bartered and sold like cattle! No doubt, there were comfortable +optimists who thought Wilberforce a meddlesome fanatic when he was +working with might and main to free the slaves. I distrust the rash +optimism in this country that cries, "Hurrah, we're all right! This is +the greatest nation on earth," when there are grievances that call +loudly for redress. That is false optimism. Optimism that does not +count the cost is like a house builded on sand. A man must understand +evil and be acquainted with sorrow before he can write himself an +optimist and expect others to believe that he has reason for the faith +that is in him. + +I know what evil is. Once or twice I have wrestled with it, and for a +time felt its chilling touch on my life; so I speak with knowledge +when I say that evil is of no consequence, except as a sort of mental +gymnastic. For the very reason that I have come in contact with it, I +am more truly an optimist. I can say with conviction that the struggle +which evil necessitates is one of the greatest blessings. It makes us +strong, patient, helpful men and women. It lets us into the soul of +things and teaches us that although the world is full of suffering, it +is full also of the overcoming of it. My optimism, then, does not rest +on the absence of evil, but on a glad belief in the preponderance of +good and a willing effort always to cooeperate with the good, that it +may prevail. I try to increase the power God has given me to see the +best in everything and every one, and make that Best a part of my +life. The world is sown with good; but unless I turn my glad thoughts +into practical living and till my own field, I cannot reap a kernel of +the good. + +Thus my optimism is grounded in two worlds, myself and what is about +me. I demand that the world be good, and lo, it obeys. I proclaim the +world good, and facts range themselves to prove my proclamation +overwhelmingly true. To what is good I open the doors of my being, and +jealously shut them against what is bad. Such is the force of this +beautiful and wilful conviction, it carries itself in the face of all +opposition. I am never discouraged by absence of good. I never can be +argued into hopelessness. Doubt and mistrust are the mere panic of +timid imagination, which the steadfast heart will conquer, and the +large mind transcend. + +As my college days draw to a close, I find myself looking forward with +beating heart and bright anticipations to what the future holds of +activity for me. My share in the work of the world may be limited; but +the fact that it is work makes it precious. Nay, the desire and will +to work is optimism itself. + +Two generations ago Carlyle flung forth his gospel of work. To the +dreamers of the Revolution, who built cloud-castles of happiness, and, +when the inevitable winds rent the castles asunder, turned +pessimists--to those ineffectual Endymions, Alastors and Werthers, +this Scots peasant, man of dreams in the hard, practical world, cried +aloud his creed of labor. "Be no longer a Chaos, but a World. Produce! +produce! Were it but the pitifullest infinitesimal fraction of a +product, produce it, in God's name! 'Tis the utmost thou hast in thee; +out with it, then. Up, up! whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it +with thy whole might. Work while it is called To-day; for the Night +cometh wherein no man may work." + +Some have said Carlyle was taking refuge from a hard world by bidding +men grind and toil, eyes to the earth, and so forget their misery. +This is not Carlyle's thought. "Fool!" he cries, "the Ideal is in +thyself; the Impediment is also in thyself. Work out the Ideal in the +poor, miserable Actual; live, think, believe, and be free!" It is +plain what he says, that work, production, brings life out of chaos, +makes the individual a world, an order; and order is optimism. + +I, too, can work, and because I love to labor with my head and my +hands, I am an optimist in spite of all. I used to think I should be +thwarted in my desire to do something useful. But I have found out +that though the ways in which I can make myself useful are few, yet +the work open to me is endless. The gladdest laborer in the vineyard +may be a cripple. Even should the others outstrip him, yet the +vineyard ripens in the sun each year, and the full clusters weigh +into his hand. Darwin could work only half an hour at a time; yet in +many diligent half-hours he laid anew the foundations of philosophy. I +long to accomplish a great and noble task; but it is my chief duty and +joy to accomplish humble tasks as though they were great and noble. It +is my service to think how I can best fulfil the demands that each day +makes upon me, and to rejoice that others can do what I cannot. Green, +the historian,[1] tells us that the world is moved along, not only by +the mighty shoves of its heroes, but also by the aggregate of the tiny +pushes of each honest worker; and that thought alone suffices to guide +me in this dark world and wide. I love the good that others do; for +their activity is an assurance that whether I can help or not, the +true and the good will stand sure. + + [1] Life and Letters of John Richard Green. Edited by Leslie Stephen. + +I trust, and nothing that happens disturbs my trust. I recognize the +beneficence of the power which we all worship as supreme--Order, Fate, +the Great Spirit, Nature, God. I recognize this power in the sun that +makes all things grow and keeps life afoot. I make a friend of this +indefinable force, and straightway I feel glad, brave and ready for +any lot Heaven may decree for me. This is my religion of optimism. + + + + +Part ii. Optimism Without + +[Illustration] + + + + +Part ii + +Optimism Without + + +Optimism, then, is a fact within my own heart. But as I look out upon +life, my heart meets no contradiction. The outward world justifies my +inward universe of good. All through the years I have spent in +college, my reading has been a continuous discovery of good. In +literature, philosophy, religion and history I find the mighty +witnesses to my faith. + +Philosophy is the history of a deaf-blind person writ large. From the +talks of Socrates up through Plato, Berkeley and Kant, philosophy +records the efforts of human intelligence to be free of the clogging +material world and fly forth into a universe of pure idea. A +deaf-blind person ought to find special meaning in Plato's Ideal +World. These things which you see and hear and touch are not the +reality of realities, but imperfect manifestations of the Idea, the +Principle, the Spiritual; the Idea is the truth, the rest is delusion. + +If this be so, my brethren who enjoy the fullest use of the senses are +not aware of any reality which may not equally well be in reach of my +mind. Philosophy gives to the mind the prerogative of seeing truth, +and bears us into a realm where I, who am blind, am not different from +you who see. When I learned from Berkeley that your eyes receive an +inverted image of things which your brain unconsciously corrects, I +began to suspect that the eye is not a very reliable instrument after +all, and I felt as one who had been restored to equality with others, +glad, not because the senses avail them so little, but because in +God's eternal world, mind and spirit avail so much. It seemed to me +that philosophy had been written for my special consolation, whereby I +get even with some modern philosophers who apparently think that I was +intended as an experimental case for their special instruction! But in +a little measure my small voice of individual experience does join in +the declaration of philosophy that the good is the only world, and +that world is a world of spirit. It is also a universe where order is +All, where an unbroken logic holds the parts together, where disorder +defines itself as non-existence, where evil, as St. Augustine held, is +delusion, and therefore is not. + +The meaning of philosophy to me is not only in its principles, but +also in the happy isolation of its great expounders. They were seldom +of the world, even when like Plato and Leibnitz they moved in its +courts and drawing-rooms. To the tumult of life they were deaf, and +they were blind to its distraction and perplexing diversities. Sitting +alone, but not in darkness, they learned to find everything in +themselves, and failing to find it even there, they still trusted in +meeting the truth face to face when they should leave the earth behind +and become partakers in the wisdom of God. The great mystics lived +alone, deaf and blind, but dwelling with God. + +I understand how it was possible for Spinoza to find deep and +sustained happiness when he was excommunicated, poor, despised and +suspected alike by Jew and Christian; not that the kind world of men +ever treated me so, but that his isolation from the universe of +sensuous joys is somewhat analogous to mine. He loved the good for its +own sake. Like many great spirits he accepted his place in the world, +and confided himself childlike to a higher power, believing that it +worked through his hands and predominated in his being. He trusted +implicitly, and that is what I do. Deep, solemn optimism, it seems to +me, should spring from this firm belief in the presence of God in the +individual; not a remote, unapproachable governor of the universe, but +a God who is very near every one of us, who is present not only in +earth, sea and sky, but also in every pure and noble impulse of our +hearts, "the source and centre of all minds, their only point of +rest." + +Thus from philosophy I learn that we see only shadows and know only +in part, and that all things change; but the mind, the unconquerable +mind, compasses all truth, embraces the universe as it is, converts +the shadows to realities and makes tumultuous changes seem but moments +in an eternal silence, or short lines in the infinite theme of +perfection, and the evil but "a halt on the way to good." Though with +my hand I grasp only a small part of the universe, with my spirit I +see the whole, and in my thought I can compass the beneficent laws by +which it is governed. The confidence and trust which these conceptions +inspire teach me to rest safe in my life as in a fate, and protect me +from spectral doubts and fears. Verily, blessed are ye that have not +seen, and yet have believed. + +All the world's great philosophers have been lovers of God and +believers in man's inner goodness. To know the history of philosophy +is to know that the highest thinkers of the ages, the seers of the +tribes and the nations, have been optimists. + +The growth of philosophy is the story of man's spiritual life. Outside +lies that great mass of events which we call History. As I look on +this mass, I see it take form and shape itself in the ways of God. The +history of man is an epic of progress. In the world within and the +world without I see a wonderful correspondence, a glorious symbolism +which reveals the human and the divine communing together, the lesson +of philosophy repeated in fact. In all the parts that compose the +history of mankind hides the spirit of good, and gives meaning to the +whole. + +Far back in the twilight of history I see the savage fleeing from the +forces of nature which he has not learned to control, and seeking to +propitiate supernatural beings which are but the creation of his +superstitious fear. With a shift of imagination I see the savage +emancipated, civilized. He no longer worships the grim deities of +ignorance. Through suffering he has learned to build a roof over his +head, to defend his life and his home, and over his state he has +erected a temple in which he worships the joyous gods of light and +song. From suffering he has learned justice; from the struggle with +his fellows he has learned the distinction between right and wrong +which makes him a moral being. He is gifted with the genius of Greece. + +But Greece was not perfect. Her poetical and religious ideals were far +above her practice; therefore she died, that her ideals might survive +to ennoble coming ages. + +Rome, too, left the world a rich inheritance. Through the +vicissitudes of history her laws and ordered government have stood a +majestic object-lesson for the ages. But when the stern, frugal +character of her people ceased to be the bone and sinew of her +civilization, Rome fell. + +Then came the new nations of the North and founded a more permanent +society. The base of Greek and Roman society was the slave, crushed +into the condition of the wretches who "labored, foredone, in the +field and at the workshop, like haltered horses, if blind, so much the +quieter." The base of the new society was the freeman who fought, +tilled, judged and grew from more to more. He wrought a state out of +tribal kinship and fostered an independence and self-reliance which no +oppression could destroy. The story of man's slow ascent from savagery +through barbarism and self-mastery to civilization is the embodiment +of the spirit of optimism. From the first hour of the new nations each +century has seen a better Europe, until the development of the world +demanded America. + +Tolstoi said the other day that America, once the hope of the world, +was in bondage to Mammon. Tolstoi and other Europeans have still much +to learn about this great, free country of ours before they understand +the unique civic struggle which America is undergoing. She is +confronted with the mighty task of assimilating all the foreigners +that are drawn together from every country, and welding them into one +people with one national spirit. We have the right to demand the +forbearance of critics until the United States has demonstrated +whether she can make one people out of all the nations of the earth. +London economists are alarmed at less than five hundred thousand +foreign-born in a population of six million, and discuss earnestly the +danger of too many aliens. But what is their problem in comparison +with that of New York, which counts nearly one million five hundred +thousand foreigners among its three and a half million citizens? Think +of it! Every third person in our American metropolis is an alien. By +these figures alone America's greatness can be measured. + +It is true, America has devoted herself largely to the solution of +material problems--breaking the fields, opening mines, irrigating +deserts, spanning the continent with railroads; but she is doing these +things in a new way, by educating her people, by placing at the +service of every man's need every resource of human skill. She is +transmuting her industrial wealth into the education of her workmen, +so that unskilled people shall have no place in American life, so that +all men shall bring mind and soul to the control of matter. Her +children are not drudges and slaves. The Constitution has declared it, +and the spirit of our institutions has confirmed it. The best the land +can teach them they shall know. They shall learn that there is no +upper class in their country, and no lower, and they shall understand +how it is that God and His world are for everybody. + +America might do all this, and still be selfish, still be a worshipper +of Mammon. But America is the home of charity as well as of commerce. +In the midst of roaring traffic, side by side with noisy factory and +sky-reaching warehouse, one sees the school, the library, the +hospital, the park-works of public benevolence which represent wealth +wrought into ideas that shall endure forever. Behold what America has +already done to alleviate suffering and restore the afflicted to +society--given sight to the fingers of the blind, language to the dumb +lip, and mind to the idiot clay, and tell me if indeed she worships +Mammon only. Who shall measure the sympathy, skill and intelligence +with which she ministers to all who come to her, and lessens the +ever-swelling tide of poverty, misery and degradation which every year +rolls against her gates from all the nations? + +When I reflect on all these facts, I cannot but think that, Tolstoi +and other theorists to the contrary, it is a splendid thing to be an +American. In America the optimist finds abundant reason for confidence +in the present and hope for the future, and this hope, this +confidence, may well extend over all the great nations of the earth. + +If we compare our own time with the past, we find in modern statistics +a solid foundation for a confident and buoyant world-optimism. Beneath +the doubt, the unrest, the materialism, which surround us still glows +and burns at the world's best life a steadfast faith. To hear the +pessimist, one would think civilization had bivouacked in the Middle +Ages, and had not had marching orders since. He does not realize that +the progress of evolution is not an uninterrupted march. + + "Now touching goal, now backward hurl'd, + Toils the indomitable world." + +I have recently read an address by one whose knowledge it would be +presumptuous to challenge.[2] In it I find abundant evidence of +progress. + + [2] Address by the Hon. Carroll D. Wright before the + Unitarian Conference, September, 1903. + +During the past fifty years crime has decreased. True, the records of +to-day contain a longer list of crime. But our statistics are more +complete and accurate than the statistics of times past. Besides, +there are many offences on the list which half a century ago would not +have been thought of as crimes. This shows that the public conscience +is more sensitive than it ever was. + +Our definition of crime has grown stricter, our punishment of it more +lenient and intelligent. The old feeling of revenge has largely +disappeared. It is no longer an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. +The criminal is treated as one who is diseased. He is confined not +merely for punishment, but because he is a menace to society. While he +is under restraint, he is treated with humane care and disciplined so +that his mind shall be cured of its disease, and he shall be restored +to society able to do his part of its work. + +Another sign of awakened and enlightened public conscience is the +effort to provide the working-class with better houses. Did it occur +to any one a hundred years ago to think whether the dwellings of the +poor were sanitary, convenient or sunny? Do not forget that in the +"good old times" cholera and typhus devastated whole counties, and +that pestilence walked abroad in the capitals of Europe. + +Not only have our laboring-classes better houses and better places to +work in; but employers recognize the right of the employed to seek +more than the bare wage of existence. In the darkness and turmoil of +our modern industrial strifes we discern but dimly the principles that +underlie the struggle. The recognition of the right of all men to +life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, a spirit of conciliation +such as Burke dreamed of, the willingness on the part of the strong +to make concessions to the weak, the realization that the rights of +the employer are bound up in the rights of the employed--in these the +optimist beholds the signs of our times. + +Another right which the State has recognized as belonging to each man +is the right to an education. In the enlightened parts of Europe and +in America every city, every town, every village, has its school; and +it is no longer a class who have access to knowledge, for to the +children of the poorest laborer the school-door stands open. From the +civilized nations universal education is driving the dull host of +illiteracy. + +Education broadens to include all men, and deepens to reach all +truths. Scholars are no longer confined to Greek, Latin and +mathematics, but they also study science; and science converts the +dreams of the poet, the theory of the mathematician and the fiction of +the economist into ships, hospitals and instruments that enable one +skilled hand to perform the work of a thousand. The student of to-day +is not asked if he has learned his grammar. Is he a mere +grammar-machine, a dry catalogue of scientific facts, or has he +acquired the qualities of manliness? His supreme lesson is to grapple +with great public questions, to keep his mind hospitable to new ideas +and new views of truth, to restore the finer ideals that are lost +sight of in the struggle for wealth and to promote justice between man +and man. He learns that there may be substitutes for human +labor--horse-power and machinery and books; but "there are no +substitutes for common sense, patience, integrity, courage." + +Who can doubt the vastness of the achievements of education when one +considers how different the condition of the blind and the deaf is +from what it was a century ago? They were then objects of +superstitious pity, and shared the lowest beggar's lot. Everybody +looked upon their case as hopeless, and this view plunged them deeper +in despair. The blind themselves laughed in the face of Hauey when he +offered to teach them to read. How pitiable is the cramped sense of +imprisonment in circumstances which teaches men to expect no good and +to treat any attempt to relieve them as the vagary of a disordered +mind! But now, behold the transformation; see how institutions and +industrial establishments for the blind have sprung up as if by magic; +see how many of the deaf have learned not only to read and write, but +to speak; and remember that the faith and patience of Dr. Howe have +borne fruit in the efforts that are being made everywhere to educate +the deaf-blind and equip them for the struggle. Do you wonder that I +am full of hope and lifted up? + +The highest result of education is tolerance. Long ago men fought and +died for their faith; but it took ages to teach them the other kind of +courage,--the courage to recognize the faiths of their brethren and +their rights of conscience. Tolerance is the first principle of +community; it is the spirit which conserves the best that all men +think. No loss by flood and lightning, no destruction of cities and +temples by the hostile forces of nature, has deprived man of so many +noble lives and impulses as those which his intolerance has destroyed. + +With wonder and sorrow I go back in thought to the ages of +intolerance and bigotry. I see Jesus received with scorn and nailed +on the cross. I see his followers hounded and tortured and burned. I +am present where the finer spirits that revolt from the superstition +of the Middle Ages are accused of impiety and stricken down. I behold +the children of Israel reviled and persecuted unto death by those who +pretend Christianity with the tongue; I see them driven from land to +land, hunted from refuge to refuge, summoned to the felon's place, +exposed to the whip, mocked as they utter amid the pain of martyrdom a +confession of the faith which they have kept with such splendid +constancy. The same bigotry that oppresses the Jews falls tiger-like +upon Christian nonconformists of purest lives and wipes out the +Albigenses and the peaceful Vaudois, "whose bones lie on the mountains +cold." I see the clouds part slowly, and I hear a cry of protest +against the bigot. The restraining hand of tolerance is laid upon the +inquisitor, and the humanist utters a message of peace to the +persecuted. Instead of the cry, "Burn the heretic!" men study the +human soul with sympathy, and there enters into their hearts a new +reverence for that which is unseen. + +The idea of brotherhood redawns upon the world with a broader +significance than the narrow association of members in a sect or +creed; and thinkers of great soul like Lessing challenge the world to +say which is more godlike, the hatred and tooth-and-nail grapple of +conflicting religions, or sweet accord and mutual helpfulness. Ancient +prejudice of man against his brother-man wavers and retreats before +the radiance of a more generous sentiment, which will not sacrifice +men to forms, or rob them of the comfort and strength they find in +their own beliefs. The heresy of one age becomes the orthodoxy of the +next. Mere tolerance has given place to a sentiment of brotherhood +between sincere men of all denominations. The optimist rejoices in the +affectionate sympathy between Catholic heart and Protestant heart +which finds a gratifying expression in the universal respect and warm +admiration for Leo XIII on the part of good men the world over. The +centenary celebrations of the births of Emerson and Channing are +beautiful examples of the tribute which men of all creeds pay to the +memory of a pure soul. + +Thus in my outlook upon our times I find that I am glad to be a +citizen of the world, and as I regard my country, I find that to be an +American is to be an optimist. I know the unhappy and unrighteous +story of what has been done in the Philippines beneath our flag; but I +believe that in the accidents of statecraft the best intelligence of +the people sometimes fails to express itself. I read in the history of +Julius Caesar that during the civil wars there were millions of +peaceful herdsmen and laborers who worked as long as they could, and +fled before the advance of the armies that were led by the few, then +waited until the danger was past, and returned to repair damages with +patient hands. So the people are patient and honest, while their +rulers stumble. I rejoice to see in the world and in this country a +new and better patriotism than that which seeks the life of an enemy. +It is a patriotism higher than that of the battle-field. It moves +thousands to lay down their lives in social service, and every life so +laid down brings us a step nearer the time when corn-fields shall no +more be fields of battle. So when I heard of the cruel fighting in the +Philippines, I did not despair, because I knew that the hearts of our +people were not in that fight, and that sometime the hand of the +destroyer must be stayed. + + + + +Part iii. The Practice of Optimism + +[Illustration] + + + + +Part iii + +The Practice of Optimism + + +The test of all beliefs is their practical effect in life. If it be +true that optimism compels the world forward, and pessimism retards +it, then it is dangerous to propagate a pessimistic philosophy. One +who believes that the pain in the world outweighs the joy, and +expresses that unhappy conviction, only adds to the pain. Schopenhauer +is an enemy to the race. Even if he earnestly believed that this is +the most wretched of possible worlds, he should not promulgate a +doctrine which robs men of the incentive to fight with circumstance. +If Life gave him ashes for bread, it was his fault. Life is a fair +field, and the right will prosper if we stand by our guns. + +Let pessimism once take hold of the mind, and life is all topsy-turvy, +all vanity and vexation of spirit. There is no cure for individual or +social disorder, except in forgetfulness and annihilation. "Let us +eat, drink and be merry," says the pessimist, "for to-morrow we die." +If I regarded my life from the point of view of the pessimist, I +should be undone. I should seek in vain for the light that does not +visit my eyes and the music that does not ring in my ears. I should +beg night and day and never be satisfied. I should sit apart in awful +solitude, a prey to fear and despair. But since I consider it a duty +to myself and to others to be happy, I escape a misery worse than any +physical deprivation. + +Who shall dare let his incapacity for hope or goodness cast a shadow +upon the courage of those who bear their burdens as if they were +privileges? The optimist cannot fall back, cannot falter; for he knows +his neighbor will be hindered by his failure to keep in line. He will +therefore hold his place fearlessly and remember the duty of silence. +Sufficient unto each heart is its own sorrow. He will take the iron +claws of circumstance in his hand and use them as tools to break away +the obstacles that block his path. He will work as if upon him alone +depended the establishment of heaven on earth. + +We have seen that the world's philosophers--the Sayers of the +Word--were optimists; so also are the men of action and +achievement--the Doers of the Word. Dr. Howe found his way to Laura +Bridgman's soul because he began with the belief that he could reach +it. English jurists had said that the deaf-blind were idiots in the +eyes of the law. Behold what the optimist does. He controverts a hard +legal axiom; he looks behind the dull impassive clay and sees a human +soul in bondage, and quietly, resolutely sets about its deliverance. +His efforts are victorious. He creates intelligence out of idiocy and +proves to the law that the deaf-blind man is a responsible being. + +When Hauey offered to teach the blind to read, he was met by pessimism +that laughed at his folly. Had he not believed that the soul of man is +mightier than the ignorance that fetters it, had he not been an +optimist, he would not have turned the fingers of the blind into new +instruments. No pessimist ever discovered the secrets of the stars, or +sailed to an uncharted land, or opened a new heaven to the human +spirit. St. Bernard was so deeply an optimist that he believed two +hundred and fifty enlightened men could illuminate the darkness which +overwhelmed the period of the Crusades; and the light of his faith +broke like a new day upon western Europe. John Bosco, the benefactor +of the poor and the friendless of Italian cities, was another +optimist, another prophet who, perceiving a Divine Idea while it was +yet afar, proclaimed it to his countrymen. Although they laughed at +his vision and called him a madman, yet he worked on patiently, and +with the labor of his hands he maintained a home for little street +waifs. In the fervor of enthusiasm he predicted the wonderful movement +which should result from his work. Even in the days before he had +money or patronage, he drew glowing pictures of the splendid system of +schools and hospitals which should spread from one end of Italy to +the other, and he lived to see the organization of the San Salvador +Society, which was the embodiment of his prophetic optimism. When Dr. +Seguin declared his opinion that the feeble-minded could be taught, +again people laughed, and in their complacent wisdom said he was no +better than an idiot himself. But the noble optimist persevered, and +by and by the reluctant pessimists saw that he whom they ridiculed had +become one of the world's philanthropists. Thus the optimist believes, +attempts, achieves. He stands always in the sunlight. Some day the +wonderful, the inexpressible, arrives and shines upon him, and he is +there to welcome it. His soul meets his own and beats a glad march to +every new discovery, every fresh victory over difficulties, every +addition to human knowledge and happiness. + +We have found that our great philosophers and our great men of action +are optimists. So, too, our most potent men of letters have been +optimists in their books and in their lives. No pessimist ever won an +audience commensurately wide with his genius, and many optimistic +writers have been read and admired out of all measure to their +talents, simply because they wrote of the sunlit side of life. +Dickens, Lamb, Goldsmith, Irving, all the well-beloved and gentle +humorists, were optimists. Swift, the pessimist, has never had as many +readers as his towering genius should command, and indeed, when he +comes down into our century and meets Thackeray, that generous +optimist can hardly do him justice. In spite of the latter-day +notoriety of the "Rubaiyat" of Omar Khayyam, we may set it down as a +rule that he who would be heard must be a believer, must have a +fundamental optimism in his philosophy. He may bluster and disagree +and lament as Carlyle and Ruskin do sometimes; but a basic confidence +in the good destiny of life and of the world must underlie his work. + +Shakespeare is the prince of optimists. His tragedies are a revelation +of moral order. In "Lear" and "Hamlet" there is a looking forward to +something better, some one is left at the end of the play to right +wrong, restore society and build the state anew. The later plays, "The +Tempest" and "Cymbeline," show a beautiful, placid optimism which +delights in reconciliations and reunions and which plans for the +triumph of external as well as internal good. + +If Browning were less difficult to read, he would surely be the +dominant poet in this century. I feel the ecstasy with which he +exclaims, "Oh, good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth this autumn +morning!" And how he sets my brain going when he says, because there +is imperfection, there must be perfection; completeness must come of +incompleteness; failure is an evidence of triumph for the fulness of +the days. Yes, discord is, that harmony may be; pain destroys, that +health may renew; perhaps I am deaf and blind that others likewise +afflicted may see and hear with a more perfect sense! From Browning I +learn that there is no lost good, and that makes it easier for me to +go at life, right or wrong, do the best I know, and fear not. My heart +responds proudly to his exhortation to pay gladly life's debt of pain, +darkness and cold. Lift up your burden, it is God's gift, bear it +nobly. + +The man of letters whose voice is to prevail must be an optimist, and +his voice often learns its message from his life. Stevenson's life has +become a tradition only ten years after his death; he has taken his +place among the heroes, the bravest man of letters since Johnson and +Lamb. I remember an hour when I was discouraged and ready to falter. +For days I had been pegging away at a task which refused to get itself +accomplished. In the midst of my perplexity I read an essay of +Stevenson which made me feel as if I had been "outing" in the +sunshine, instead of losing heart over a difficult task. I tried again +with new courage and succeeded almost before I knew it. I have failed +many times since; but I have never felt so disheartened as I did +before that sturdy preacher gave me my lesson in the "fashion of the +smiling face." + +Read Schopenhauer and Omar, and you will grow to find the world as +hollow as they find it. Read Green's history of England, and the world +is peopled with heroes. I never knew why Green's history thrilled me +with the vigor of romance until I read his biography. Then I learned +how his quick imagination transfigured the hard, bare facts of life +into new and living dreams. When he and his wife were too poor to have +a fire, he would sit before the unlit hearth and pretend that it was +ablaze. "Drill your thoughts," he said; "shut out the gloomy and call +in the bright. There is more wisdom in shutting one's eyes than your +copybook philosophers will allow." + +Every optimist moves along with progress and hastens it, while every +pessimist would keep the world at a standstill. The consequence of +pessimism in the life of a nation is the same as in the life of the +individual. Pessimism kills the instinct that urges men to struggle +against poverty, ignorance and crime, and dries up all the fountains +of joy in the world. In imagination I leave the country which lifts up +the manhood of the poor and I visit India, the underworld of +fatalism--where three hundred million human beings, scarcely men, +submerged in ignorance and misery, precipitate themselves still deeper +into the pit. Why are they thus? Because they have for thousands of +years been the victims of their philosophy, which teaches them that +men are as grass, and the grass fadeth, and there is no more greenness +upon the earth. They sit in the shadow and let the circumstances they +should master grip them, until they cease to be Men, and are made to +dance and salaam like puppets in a play. After a little hour death +comes and hurries them off to the grave, and other puppets with other +"pasteboard passions and desires" take their place, and the show goes +on for centuries. + +Go to India and see what sort of civilization is developed when a +nation lacks faith in progress and bows to the gods of darkness. Under +the influence of Brahminism genius and ambition have been suppressed. +There is no one to befriend the poor or to protect the fatherless and +the widow. The sick lie untended. The blind know not how to see, nor +the deaf to hear, and they are left by the roadside to die. In India +it is a sin to teach the blind and the deaf because their affliction +is regarded as a punishment for offences in a previous state of +existence. If I had been born in the midst of these fatalistic +doctrines, I should still be in darkness, my life a desert-land where +no caravan of thought might pass between my spirit and the world +beyond. + +The Hindoos believe in endurance, but not in resistance; therefore +they have been subdued by strangers. Their history is a repetition of +that of Babylon. A nation from afar came with speed swiftly, and none +stumbled, or slept, or slumbered, but they brought desolation upon the +land, and took the stay and the staff from the people, the whole stay +of bread, and the whole stay of water, the mighty man, and the man of +war, the judge, and the prophet, and the prudent, and the ancient, and +none delivered them. Woe, indeed, is the heritage of those who walk +sad-thoughted and downcast through this radiant, soul-delighting +earth, blind to its beauty and deaf to its music, and of those who +call evil good, and good evil, and put darkness for light, and light +for darkness. + +What care the weather-bronzed sons of the West, feeding the world +from the plains of Dakota, for the Omars and the Brahmins? They would +say to the Hindoos, "Blot out your philosophy, dead for a thousand +years, look with fresh eyes at Reality and Life, put away your +Brahmins and your crooked gods, and seek diligently for Vishnu the +Preserver." + +Optimism is the faith that leads to achievement; nothing can be done +without hope. When our forefathers laid the foundation of the American +commonwealths, what nerved them to their task but a vision of a free +community? Against the cold, inhospitable sky, across the wilderness +white with snow, where lurked the hidden savage, gleamed the bow of +promise, toward which they set their faces with the faith that levels +mountains, fills up valleys, bridges rivers and carries civilization +to the uttermost parts of the earth. Although the pioneers could not +build according to the Hebraic ideal they saw, yet they gave the +pattern of all that is most enduring in our country to-day. They +brought to the wilderness the thinking mind, the printed book, the +deep-rooted desire for self-government and the English common law that +judges alike the king and the subject, the law on which rests the +whole structure of our society. + +It is significant that the foundation of that law is optimistic. In +Latin countries the court proceeds with a pessimistic bias. The +prisoner is held guilty until he is proved innocent. In England and +the United States there is an optimistic presumption that the accused +is innocent until it is no longer possible to deny his guilt. Under +our system, it is said, many criminals are acquitted; but it is surely +better so than that many innocent persons should suffer. The +pessimist cries, "There is no enduring good in man! The tendency of +all things is through perpetual loss to chaos in the end. If there was +ever an idea of good in things evil, it was impotent, and the world +rushes on to ruin." But behold, the law of the two most sober-minded, +practical and law-abiding nations on earth assumes the good in man and +demands a proof of the bad. + +Optimism is the faith that leads to achievement. The prophets of the +world have been of good heart, or their standards would have stood +naked in the field without a defender. Tolstoi's strictures lose power +because they are pessimistic. If he had seen clearly the faults of +America, and still believed in her capacity to overcome them, our +people might have felt the stimulation of his censure. But the world +turns its back on a hopeless prophet and listens to Emerson who takes +into account the best qualities of the nation and attacks only the +vices which no one can defend or deny. It listens to the strong man, +Lincoln, who in times of doubt, trouble and need does not falter. He +sees success afar, and by strenuous hope, by hoping against hope, +inspires a nation. Through the night of despair he says, "All is +well," and thousands rest in his confidence. When such a man censures, +and points to a fault, the nation obeys, and his words sink into the +ears of men; but to the lamentations of the habitual Jeremiah the ear +grows dull. + +Our newspapers should remember this. The press is the pulpit of the +modern world, and on the preachers who fill it much depends. If the +protest of the press against unrighteous measures is to avail, then +for ninety-nine days the word of the preacher should be buoyant and of +good cheer, so that on the hundredth day the voice of censure may be +a hundred times strong. This was Lincoln's way. He knew the people; he +believed in them and rested his faith on the justice and wisdom of the +great majority. When in his rough and ready way he said, "You can't +fool all the people all the time," he expressed a great principle, the +doctrine of faith in human nature. + +The prophet is not without honor, save he be a pessimist. The ecstatic +prophecies of Isaiah did far more to restore the exiles of Israel to +their homes than the lamentations of Jeremiah did to deliver them from +the hands of evil-doers. + +Even on Christmas Day do men remember that Christ came as a prophet of +good? His joyous optimism is like water to feverish lips, and has for +its highest expression the eight beatitudes. It is because Christ is +an optimist that for ages he has dominated the Western world. For +nineteen centuries Christendom has gazed into his shining face and +felt that all things work together for good. St. Paul, too, taught the +faith which looks beyond the hardest things into the infinite horizon +of heaven, where all limitations are lost in the light of perfect +understanding. If you are born blind, search the treasures of +darkness. They are more precious than the gold of Ophir. They are love +and goodness and truth and hope, and their price is above rubies and +sapphires. + +Jesus utters and Paul proclaims a message of peace and a message of +reason, a belief in the Idea, not in things, in love, not in conquest. +The optimist is he who sees that men's actions are directed not by +squadrons and armies, but by moral power, that the conquests of +Alexander and Napoleon are less abiding than Newton's and Galileo's +and St. Augustine's silent mastery of the world. Ideas are mightier +than fire and sword. Noiselessly they propagate themselves from land +to land, and mankind goes out and reaps the rich harvest and thanks +God; but the achievements of the warrior are like his canvas city, +"to-day a camp, to-morrow all struck and vanished, a few pit-holes and +heaps of straw." This was the gospel of Jesus two thousand years ago. +Christmas Day is the festival of optimism. + +Although there are still great evils which have not been subdued, and +the optimist is not blind to them, yet he is full of hope. Despondency +has no place in his creed, for he believes in the imperishable +righteousness of God and the dignity of man. History records man's +triumphant ascent. Each halt in his progress has been but a pause +before a mighty leap forward. The time is not out of joint. If indeed +some of the temples we worshipped in have fallen, we have built new +ones on the sacred sites loftier and holier than those which have +crumbled. If we have lost some of the heroic physical qualities of our +ancestors, we have replaced them with a spiritual nobleness that turns +aside wrath and binds up the wounds of the vanquished. All the past +attainments of man are ours; and more, his day-dreams have become our +clear realities. Therein lies our hope and sure faith. + +As I stand in the sunshine of a sincere and earnest optimism, my +imagination "paints yet more glorious triumphs on the cloud-curtain of +the future." Out of the fierce struggle and turmoil of contending +systems and powers I see a brighter spiritual era slowly emerge--an +era in which there shall be no England, no France, no Germany, no +America, no this people or that, but one family, the human race; one +law, peace; one need, harmony; one means, labor; one taskmaster, God. + +If I should try to say anew the creed of the optimist, I should say +something like this: "I believe in God, I believe in man, I believe in +the power of the spirit. I believe it is a sacred duty to encourage +ourselves and others; to hold the tongue from any unhappy word against +God's world, because no man has any right to complain of a universe +which God made good, and which thousands of men have striven to keep +good. I believe we should so act that we may draw nearer and more near +the age when no man shall live at his ease while another suffers." +These are the articles of my faith, and there is yet another on which +all depends--to bear this faith above every tempest which overfloods +it, and to make it a principle in disaster and through affliction. +Optimism is the harmony between man's spirit and the spirit of God +pronouncing His works good. + + +The End + +[Illustration] + + + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OPTIMISM: AN ESSAY *** + + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online +at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, +you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located +before using this eBook. + +Title: The Essays of Arthur Schopenhauer; Studies in Pessimism + +Author: Arthur Schopenhauer + +Translator: T. Bailey Saunders + +Release date: January 1, 2004 [eBook #10732] + Most recently updated: October 28, 2024 + +Language: English + +Credits: E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Josephine Paolucci, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ESSAYS OF ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER; STUDIES IN PESSIMISM *** + +THE ESSAYS OF ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER: STUDIES IN PESSIMISM + +TRANSLATED BY + +T. BAILEY SAUNDERS, M.A. + + + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + ON THE SUFFERINGS OF THE WORLD + ON THE VANITY OF EXISTENCE + ON SUICIDE + IMMORTALITY: A DIALOGUE + PSYCHOLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS + ON EDUCATION + OF WOMEN + ON NOISE + A FEW PARABLES + + + + +NOTE. + +The Essays here presented form a further selection from Schopenhauer's +_Parerga_, brought together under a title which is not to be found +in the original, and does not claim to apply to every chapter in +the volume. The first essay is, in the main, a rendering of the +philosopher's remarks under the heading of _Nachträge zur Lehre vom +Leiden der Welt_, together with certain parts of another section +entitled _Nachträge zur Lehre von der Bejahung und Verneinung des +Willens zum Leben_. Such omissions as I have made are directed chiefly +by the desire to avoid repeating arguments already familiar to readers +of the other volumes in this series. The _Dialogue on Immortality_ +sums up views expressed at length in the philosopher's chief work, and +treated again in the _Parerga_. The _Psychological Observations_ in +this and the previous volume practically exhaust the chapter of the +original which bears this title. + +The essay on _Women_ must not be taken in jest. It expresses +Schopenhauer's serious convictions; and, as a penetrating observer +of the faults of humanity, he may be allowed a hearing on a question +which is just now receiving a good deal of attention among us. + +T.B.S. + + + + +ON THE SUFFERINGS OF THE WORLD. + + +Unless _suffering_ is the direct and immediate object of life, our +existence must entirely fail of its aim. It is absurd to look upon +the enormous amount of pain that abounds everywhere in the world, and +originates in needs and necessities inseparable from life itself, as +serving no purpose at all and the result of mere chance. Each separate +misfortune, as it comes, seems, no doubt, to be something exceptional; +but misfortune in general is the rule. + +I know of no greater absurdity than that propounded by most systems of +philosophy in declaring evil to be negative in its character. Evil is +just what is positive; it makes its own existence felt. Leibnitz is +particularly concerned to defend this absurdity; and he seeks to +strengthen his position by using a palpable and paltry sophism.[1] +It is the good which is negative; in other words, happiness and +satisfaction always imply some desire fulfilled, some state of pain +brought to an end. + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_, cf. _Thèod_, §153.--Leibnitz argued +that evil is a negative quality--_i.e_., the absence of good; and that +its active and seemingly positive character is an incidental and not +an essential part of its nature. Cold, he said, is only the absence of +the power of heat, and the active power of expansion in freezing water +is an incidental and not an essential part of the nature of cold. The +fact is, that the power of expansion in freezing water is really an +increase of repulsion amongst its molecules; and Schopenhauer is quite +right in calling the whole argument a sophism.] + +This explains the fact that we generally find pleasure to be not +nearly so pleasant as we expected, and pain very much more painful. + +The pleasure in this world, it has been said, outweighs the pain; or, +at any rate, there is an even balance between the two. If the reader +wishes to see shortly whether this statement is true, let him compare +the respective feelings of two animals, one of which is engaged in +eating the other. + +The best consolation in misfortune or affliction of any kind will +be the thought of other people who are in a still worse plight than +yourself; and this is a form of consolation open to every one. But +what an awful fate this means for mankind as a whole! + +We are like lambs in a field, disporting themselves under the eye of +the butcher, who chooses out first one and then another for his prey. +So it is that in our good days we are all unconscious of the evil Fate +may have presently in store for us--sickness, poverty, mutilation, +loss of sight or reason. + +No little part of the torment of existence lies in this, that Time is +continually pressing upon us, never letting us take breath, but always +coming after us, like a taskmaster with a whip. If at any moment Time +stays his hand, it is only when we are delivered over to the misery of +boredom. + +But misfortune has its uses; for, as our bodily frame would burst +asunder if the pressure of the atmosphere was removed, so, if the +lives of men were relieved of all need, hardship and adversity; if +everything they took in hand were successful, they would be so swollen +with arrogance that, though they might not burst, they would present +the spectacle of unbridled folly--nay, they would go mad. And I may +say, further, that a certain amount of care or pain or trouble is +necessary for every man at all times. A ship without ballast is +unstable and will not go straight. + +Certain it is that _work, worry, labor_ and _trouble_, form the lot of +almost all men their whole life long. But if all wishes were fulfilled +as soon as they arose, how would men occupy their lives? what would +they do with their time? If the world were a paradise of luxury and +ease, a land flowing with milk and honey, where every Jack obtained +his Jill at once and without any difficulty, men would either die of +boredom or hang themselves; or there would be wars, massacres, and +murders; so that in the end mankind would inflict more suffering on +itself than it has now to accept at the hands of Nature. + +In early youth, as we contemplate our coming life, we are like +children in a theatre before the curtain is raised, sitting there +in high spirits and eagerly waiting for the play to begin. It is a +blessing that we do not know what is really going to happen. Could we +foresee it, there are times when children might seem like innocent +prisoners, condemned, not to death, but to life, and as yet all +unconscious of what their sentence means. Nevertheless, every man +desires to reach old age; in other words, a state of life of which it +may be said: "It is bad to-day, and it will be worse to-morrow; and so +on till the worst of all." + +If you try to imagine, as nearly as you can, what an amount of misery, +pain and suffering of every kind the sun shines upon in its course, +you will admit that it would be much better if, on the earth as little +as on the moon, the sun were able to call forth the phenomena of life; +and if, here as there, the surface were still in a crystalline state. + +Again, you may look upon life as an unprofitable episode, disturbing +the blessed calm of non-existence. And, in any case, even though +things have gone with you tolerably well, the longer you live the more +clearly you will feel that, on the whole, life is _a disappointment, +nay, a cheat_. + +If two men who were friends in their youth meet again when they are +old, after being separated for a life-time, the chief feeling +they will have at the sight of each other will be one of complete +disappointment at life as a whole; because their thoughts will be +carried back to that earlier time when life seemed so fair as it +lay spread out before them in the rosy light of dawn, promised so +much--and then performed so little. This feeling will so completely +predominate over every other that they will not even consider it +necessary to give it words; but on either side it will be silently +assumed, and form the ground-work of all they have to talk about. + +He who lives to see two or three generations is like a man who sits +some time in the conjurer's booth at a fair, and witnesses the +performance twice or thrice in succession. The tricks were meant to +be seen only once; and when they are no longer a novelty and cease to +deceive, their effect is gone. + +While no man is much to be envied for his lot, there are countless +numbers whose fate is to be deplored. + +Life is a task to be done. It is a fine thing to say _defunctus est_; +it means that the man has done his task. + +If children were brought into the world by an act of pure reason +alone, would the human race continue to exist? Would not a man rather +have so much sympathy with the coming generation as to spare it the +burden of existence? or at any rate not take it upon himself to impose +that burden upon it in cold blood. + +I shall be told, I suppose, that my philosophy is comfortless--because +I speak the truth; and people prefer to be assured that everything the +Lord has made is good. Go to the priests, then, and leave philosophers +in peace! At any rate, do not ask us to accommodate our doctrines to +the lessons you have been taught. That is what those rascals of sham +philosophers will do for you. Ask them for any doctrine you please, +and you will get it. Your University professors are bound to preach +optimism; and it is an easy and agreeable task to upset their +theories. + +I have reminded the reader that every state of welfare, every feeling +of satisfaction, is negative in its character; that is to say, it +consists in freedom from pain, which is the positive element of +existence. It follows, therefore, that the happiness of any given life +is to be measured, not by its joys and pleasures, but by the extent to +which it has been free from suffering--from positive evil. If this +is the true standpoint, the lower animals appear to enjoy a happier +destiny than man. Let us examine the matter a little more closely. + +However varied the forms that human happiness and misery may take, +leading a man to seek the one and shun the other, the material basis +of it all is bodily pleasure or bodily pain. This basis is very +restricted: it is simply health, food, protection from wet and cold, +the satisfaction of the sexual instinct; or else the absence of these +things. Consequently, as far as real physical pleasure is concerned, +the man is not better off than the brute, except in so far as the +higher possibilities of his nervous system make him more sensitive to +every kind of pleasure, but also, it must be remembered, to every kind +of pain. But then compared with the brute, how much stronger are the +passions aroused in him! what an immeasurable difference there is in +the depth and vehemence of his emotions!--and yet, in the one case, +as in the other, all to produce the same result in the end: namely, +health, food, clothing, and so on. + +The chief source of all this passion is that thought for what is +absent and future, which, with man, exercises such a powerful +influence upon all he does. It is this that is the real origin of +his cares, his hopes, his fears--emotions which affect him much +more deeply than could ever be the case with those present joys +and sufferings to which the brute is confined. In his powers of +reflection, memory and foresight, man possesses, as it were, a machine +for condensing and storing up his pleasures and his sorrows. But the +brute has nothing of the kind; whenever it is in pain, it is as though +it were suffering for the first time, even though the same thing +should have previously happened to it times out of number. It has +no power of summing up its feelings. Hence its careless and placid +temper: how much it is to be envied! But in man reflection comes in, +with all the emotions to which it gives rise; and taking up the same +elements of pleasure and pain which are common to him and the brute, +it develops his susceptibility to happiness and misery to such a +degree that, at one moment the man is brought in an instant to a state +of delight that may even prove fatal, at another to the depths of +despair and suicide. + +If we carry our analysis a step farther, we shall find that, in order +to increase his pleasures, man has intentionally added to the number +and pressure of his needs, which in their original state were not much +more difficult to satisfy than those of the brute. Hence luxury in all +its forms; delicate food, the use of tobacco and opium, spirituous +liquors, fine clothes, and the thousand and one things than he +considers necessary to his existence. + +And above and beyond all this, there is a separate and peculiar source +of pleasure, and consequently of pain, which man has established for +himself, also as the result of using his powers of reflection; and +this occupies him out of all proportion to its value, nay, almost more +than all his other interests put together--I mean ambition and the +feeling of honor and shame; in plain words, what he thinks about the +opinion other people have of him. Taking a thousand forms, often very +strange ones, this becomes the goal of almost all the efforts he makes +that are not rooted in physical pleasure or pain. It is true that +besides the sources of pleasure which he has in common with the +brute, man has the pleasures of the mind as well. These admit of many +gradations, from the most innocent trifling or the merest talk up to +the highest intellectual achievements; but there is the accompanying +boredom to be set against them on the side of suffering. Boredom is +a form of suffering unknown to brutes, at any rate in their natural +state; it is only the very cleverest of them who show faint traces +of it when they are domesticated; whereas in the case of man it has +become a downright scourge. The crowd of miserable wretches whose one +aim in life is to fill their purses but never to put anything into +their heads, offers a singular instance of this torment of boredom. +Their wealth becomes a punishment by delivering them up to misery of +having nothing to do; for, to escape it, they will rush about in all +directions, traveling here, there and everywhere. No sooner do they +arrive in a place than they are anxious to know what amusements it +affords; just as though they were beggars asking where they could +receive a dole! Of a truth, need and boredom are the two poles +of human life. Finally, I may mention that as regards the sexual +relation, a man is committed to a peculiar arrangement which drives +him obstinately to choose one person. This feeling grows, now and +then, into a more or less passionate love,[1] which is the source of +little pleasure and much suffering. + +[Footnote 1: I have treated this subject at length in a special +chapter of the second volume of my chief work.] + +It is, however, a wonderful thing that the mere addition of thought +should serve to raise such a vast and lofty structure of human +happiness and misery; resting, too, on the same narrow basis of joy +and sorrow as man holds in common with the brute, and exposing him +to such violent emotions, to so many storms of passion, so much +convulsion of feeling, that what he has suffered stands written and +may be read in the lines on his face. And yet, when all is told, he +has been struggling ultimately for the very same things as the brute +has attained, and with an incomparably smaller expenditure of passion +and pain. + +But all this contributes to increase the measures of suffering in +human life out of all proportion to its pleasures; and the pains of +life are made much worse for man by the fact that death is something +very real to him. The brute flies from death instinctively without +really knowing what it is, and therefore without ever contemplating it +in the way natural to a man, who has this prospect always before his +eyes. So that even if only a few brutes die a natural death, and most +of them live only just long enough to transmit their species, and +then, if not earlier, become the prey of some other animal,--whilst +man, on the other hand, manages to make so-called natural death the +rule, to which, however, there are a good many exceptions,--the +advantage is on the side of the brute, for the reason stated above. +But the fact is that man attains the natural term of years just as +seldom as the brute; because the unnatural way in which he lives, and +the strain of work and emotion, lead to a degeneration of the race; +and so his goal is not often reached. + +The brute is much more content with mere existence than man; the plant +is wholly so; and man finds satisfaction in it just in proportion as +he is dull and obtuse. Accordingly, the life of the brute carries less +of sorrow with it, but also less of joy, when compared with the life +of man; and while this may be traced, on the one side, to freedom from +the torment of _care_ and _anxiety_, it is also due to the fact +that _hope_, in any real sense, is unknown to the brute. It is thus +deprived of any share in that which gives us the most and best of our +joys and pleasures, the mental anticipation of a happy future, and the +inspiriting play of phantasy, both of which we owe to our power of +imagination. If the brute is free from care, it is also, in this +sense, without hope; in either case, because its consciousness is +limited to the present moment, to what it can actually see before +it. The brute is an embodiment of present impulses, and hence what +elements of fear and hope exist in its nature--and they do not go very +far--arise only in relation to objects that lie before it and within +reach of those impulses: whereas a man's range of vision embraces the +whole of his life, and extends far into the past and future. + +Following upon this, there is one respect in which brutes show real +wisdom when compared with us--I mean, their quiet, placid enjoyment of +the present moment. The tranquillity of mind which this seems to give +them often puts us to shame for the many times we allow our thoughts +and our cares to make us restless and discontented. And, in fact, +those pleasures of hope and anticipation which I have been mentioning +are not to be had for nothing. The delight which a man has in hoping +for and looking forward to some special satisfaction is a part of the +real pleasure attaching to it enjoyed in advance. This is afterwards +deducted; for the more we look forward to anything, the less +satisfaction we find in it when it comes. But the brute's enjoyment +is not anticipated, and therefore, suffers no deduction; so that the +actual pleasure of the moment comes to it whole and unimpaired. In the +same way, too, evil presses upon the brute only with its own intrinsic +weight; whereas with us the fear of its coming often makes its burden +ten times more grievous. + +It is just this characteristic way in which the brute gives itself up +entirely to the present moment that contributes so much to the delight +we take in our domestic pets. They are the present moment personified, +and in some respects they make us feel the value of every hour that +is free from trouble and annoyance, which we, with our thoughts and +preoccupations, mostly disregard. But man, that selfish and heartless +creature, misuses this quality of the brute to be more content than we +are with mere existence, and often works it to such an extent that he +allows the brute absolutely nothing more than mere, bare life. The +bird which was made so that it might rove over half of the world, he +shuts up into the space of a cubic foot, there to die a slow death in +longing and crying for freedom; for in a cage it does not sing for +the pleasure of it. And when I see how man misuses the dog, his best +friend; how he ties up this intelligent animal with a chain, I feel +the deepest sympathy with the brute and burning indignation against +its master. + +We shall see later that by taking a very high standpoint it is +possible to justify the sufferings of mankind. But this justification +cannot apply to animals, whose sufferings, while in a great measure +brought about by men, are often considerable even apart from their +agency.[1] And so we are forced to ask, Why and for what purpose does +all this torment and agony exist? There is nothing here to give the +will pause; it is not free to deny itself and so obtain redemption. +There is only one consideration that may serve to explain the +sufferings of animals. It is this: that the will to live, which +underlies the whole world of phenomena, must, in their case satisfy +its cravings by feeding upon itself. This it does by forming a +gradation of phenomena, every one of which exists at the expense of +another. I have shown, however, that the capacity for suffering is +less in animals than in man. Any further explanation that may be given +of their fate will be in the nature of hypothesis, if not actually +mythical in its character; and I may leave the reader to speculate +upon the matter for himself. + +[Footnote 1: Cf. _Welt als Wille und Vorstellung_, vol. ii. p. 404.] + +_Brahma_ is said to have produced the world by a kind of fall or +mistake; and in order to atone for his folly, he is bound to remain +in it himself until he works out his redemption. As an account of the +origin of things, that is admirable! According to the doctrines +of _Buddhism_, the world came into being as the result of some +inexplicable disturbance in the heavenly calm of Nirvana, that blessed +state obtained by expiation, which had endured so long a time--the +change taking place by a kind of fatality. This explanation must be +understood as having at bottom some moral bearing; although it is +illustrated by an exactly parallel theory in the domain of physical +science, which places the origin of the sun in a primitive streak of +mist, formed one knows not how. Subsequently, by a series of moral +errors, the world became gradually worse and worse--true of the +physical orders as well--until it assumed the dismal aspect it wears +to-day. Excellent! The _Greeks_ looked upon the world and the gods as +the work of an inscrutable necessity. A passable explanation: we may +be content with it until we can get a better. Again, _Ormuzd_ and +_Ahriman_ are rival powers, continually at war. That is not bad. But +that a God like Jehovah should have created this world of misery and +woe, out of pure caprice, and because he enjoyed doing it, and should +then have clapped his hands in praise of his own work, and declared +everything to be very good--that will not do at all! In its +explanation of the origin of the world, Judaism is inferior to any +other form of religious doctrine professed by a civilized nation; +and it is quite in keeping with this that it is the only one which +presents no trace whatever of any belief in the immortality of the +soul.[1] + +[Footnote 1: See _Parerga_, vol. i. pp. 139 _et seq_.] + +Even though Leibnitz' contention, that this is the best of all +possible worlds, were correct, that would not justify God in having +created it. For he is the Creator not of the world only, but of +possibility itself; and, therefore, he ought to have so ordered +possibility as that it would admit of something better. + +There are two things which make it impossible to believe that this +world is the successful work of an all-wise, all-good, and, at the +same time, all-powerful Being; firstly, the misery which abounds in +it everywhere; and secondly, the obvious imperfection of its highest +product, man, who is a burlesque of what he should be. These things +cannot be reconciled with any such belief. On the contrary, they are +just the facts which support what I have been saying; they are our +authority for viewing the world as the outcome of our own misdeeds, +and therefore, as something that had better not have been. Whilst, +under the former hypothesis, they amount to a bitter accusation +against the Creator, and supply material for sarcasm; under the latter +they form an indictment against our own nature, our own will, and +teach us a lesson of humility. They lead us to see that, like the +children of a libertine, we come into the world with the burden of sin +upon us; and that it is only through having continually to atone for +this sin that our existence is so miserable, and that its end is +death. + +There is nothing more certain than the general truth that it is the +grievous _sin of the world_ which has produced the grievous _suffering +of the world_. I am not referring here to the physical connection +between these two things lying in the realm of experience; my meaning +is metaphysical. Accordingly, the sole thing that reconciles me to the +Old Testament is the story of the Fall. In my eyes, it is the only +metaphysical truth in that book, even though it appears in the form of +an allegory. There seems to me no better explanation of our existence +than that it is the result of some false step, some sin of which +we are paying the penalty. I cannot refrain from recommending the +thoughtful reader a popular, but at the same time, profound treatise +on this subject by Claudius[1] which exhibits the essentially +pessimistic spirit of Christianity. It is entitled: _Cursed is the +ground for thy sake_. + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_.--Matthias Claudius (1740-1815), a +popular poet, and friend of Klopstock, Herder and Leasing. He edited +the _Wandsbecker Bote_, in the fourth part of which appeared the +treatise mentioned above. He generally wrote under the pseudonym of +_Asmus_, and Schopenhauer often refers to him by this name.] + +Between the ethics of the Greeks and the ethics of the Hindoos, there +is a glaring contrast. In the one case (with the exception, it must be +confessed, of Plato), the object of ethics is to enable a man to lead +a happy life; in the other, it is to free and redeem him from life +altogether--as is directly stated in the very first words of the +_Sankhya Karika_. + +Allied with this is the contrast between the Greek and the Christian +idea of death. It is strikingly presented in a visible form on a fine +antique sarcophagus in the gallery of Florence, which exhibits, in +relief, the whole series of ceremonies attending a wedding in ancient +times, from the formal offer to the evening when Hymen's torch lights +the happy couple home. Compare with that the Christian coffin, +draped in mournful black and surmounted with a crucifix! How much +significance there is in these two ways of finding comfort in death. +They are opposed to each other, but each is right. The one points to +the _affirmation_ of the will to live, which remains sure of life for +all time, however rapidly its forms may change. The other, in the +symbol of suffering and death, points to the _denial_ of the will to +live, to redemption from this world, the domain of death and devil. +And in the question between the affirmation and the denial of the will +to live, Christianity is in the last resort right. + +The contrast which the New Testament presents when compared with the +Old, according to the ecclesiastical view of the matter, is just that +existing between my ethical system and the moral philosophy of Europe. +The Old Testament represents man as under the dominion of Law, in +which, however, there is no redemption. The New Testament declares +Law to have failed, frees man from its dominion,[1] and in its stead +preaches the kingdom of grace, to be won by faith, love of neighbor +and entire sacrifice of self. This is the path of redemption from the +evil of the world. The spirit of the New Testament is undoubtedly +asceticism, however your protestants and rationalists may twist it to +suit their purpose. Asceticism is the denial of the will to live; and +the transition from the Old Testament to the New, from the dominion +of Law to that of Faith, from justification by works to redemption +through the Mediator, from the domain of sin and death to eternal life +in Christ, means, when taken in its real sense, the transition from +the merely moral virtues to the denial of the will to live. My +philosophy shows the metaphysical foundation of justice and the love +of mankind, and points to the goal to which these virtues necessarily +lead, if they are practised in perfection. At the same time it is +candid in confessing that a man must turn his back upon the world, and +that the denial of the will to live is the way of redemption. It is +therefore really at one with the spirit of the New Testament, whilst +all other systems are couched in the spirit of the Old; that is +to say, theoretically as well as practically, their result is +Judaism--mere despotic theism. In this sense, then, my doctrine might +be called the only true Christian philosophy--however paradoxical a +statement this may seem to people who take superficial views instead +of penetrating to the heart of the matter. + +[Footnote 1: Cf. Romans vii; Galatians ii, iii.] + +If you want a safe compass to guide you through life, and to banish +all doubt as to the right way of looking at it, you cannot do better +than accustom yourself to regard this world as a penitentiary, a +sort of a penal colony, or [Greek: ergastaerion] as the earliest +philosopher called it.[1] Amongst the Christian Fathers, Origen, with +praiseworthy courage, took this view,[2] which is further justified by +certain objective theories of life. I refer, not to my own philosophy +alone, but to the wisdom of all ages, as expressed in Brahmanism and +Buddhism, and in the sayings of Greek philosophers like Empedocles and +Pythagoras; as also by Cicero, in his remark that the wise men of old +used to teach that we come into this world to pay the penalty of crime +committed in another state of existence--a doctrine which formed +part of the initiation into the mysteries.[3] And Vanini--whom his +contemporaries burned, finding that an easier task than to confute +him--puts the same thing in a very forcible way. _Man_, he says, _is +so full of every kind of misery that, were it not repugnant to the +Christian religion, I should venture to affirm that if evil spirits +exist at all, they have posed into human form and are now atoning for +their crimes_.[4] And true Christianity--using the word in its right +sense--also regards our existence as the consequence of sin and error. + +[Footnote 1: Cf. Clem. Alex. Strom. L. iii, c, 3, p. 399.] + +[Footnote 2: Augustine _de cìvitate Dei_., L. xi. c. 23.] + +[Footnote 3: Cf. _Fragmenta de philosophia_.] + +[Footnote: 4: _De admirandis naturae arcanis_; dial L. p. 35.] + +If you accustom yourself to this view of life you will regulate your +expectations accordingly, and cease to look upon all its disagreeable +incidents, great and small, its sufferings, its worries, its misery, +as anything unusual or irregular; nay, you will find that everything +is as it should be, in a world where each of us pays the penalty of +existence in his own peculiar way. Amongst the evils of a penal colony +is the society of those who form it; and if the reader is worthy of +better company, he will need no words from me to remind him of what he +has to put up with at present. If he has a soul above the common, or +if he is a man of genius, he will occasionally feel like some noble +prisoner of state, condemned to work in the galleys with common +criminals; and he will follow his example and try to isolate himself. + +In general, however, it should be said that this view of life will +enable us to contemplate the so-called imperfections of the great +majority of men, their moral and intellectual deficiencies and the +resulting base type of countenance, without any surprise, to say +nothing of indignation; for we shall never cease to reflect where we +are, and that the men about us are beings conceived and born in +sin, and living to atone for it. That is what Christianity means in +speaking of the sinful nature of man. + +_Pardon's the word to all_! [1] Whatever folly men commit, be +their shortcomings or their vices what they may, let us exercise +forbearance; remembering that when these faults appear in others, it +is our follies and vices that we behold. They are the shortcomings of +humanity, to which we belong; whose faults, one and all, we share; +yes, even those very faults at which we now wax so indignant, merely +because they have not yet appeared in ourselves. They are faults that +do not lie on the surface. But they exist down there in the depths of +our nature; and should anything call them forth, they will come and +show themselves, just as we now see them in others. One man, it +is true, may have faults that are absent in his fellow; and it is +undeniable that the sum total of bad qualities is in some cases very +large; for the difference of individuality between man and man passes +all measure. + +[Footnote 1: "Cymbeline," Act v. Sc. 5.] + +In fact, the conviction that the world and man is something that had +better not have been, is of a kind to fill us with indulgence towards +one another. Nay, from this point of view, we might well consider the +proper form of address to be, not _Monsieur, Sir, mein Herr_, but _my +fellow-sufferer, Socî malorum, compagnon de miseres_! This may perhaps +sound strange, but it is in keeping with the facts; it puts others in +a right light; and it reminds us of that which is after all the most +necessary thing in life--the tolerance, patience, regard, and love +of neighbor, of which everyone stands in need, and which, therefore, +every man owes to his fellow. + + + + +THE VANITY OF EXISTENCE. + + +This vanity finds expression in the whole way in which things exist; +in the infinite nature of Time and Space, as opposed to the finite +nature of the individual in both; in the ever-passing present moment +as the only mode of actual existence; in the interdependence and +relativity of all things; in continual Becoming without ever Being; in +constant wishing and never being satisfied; in the long battle +which forms the history of life, where every effort is checked by +difficulties, and stopped until they are overcome. Time is that in +which all things pass away; it is merely the form under which the will +to live--the thing-in-itself and therefore imperishable--has revealed +to it that its efforts are in vain; it is that agent by which at every +moment all things in our hands become as nothing, and lose any real +value they possess. + +That which _has been_ exists no more; it exists as little as that +which has _never_ been. But of everything that exists you must say, in +the next moment, that it has been. Hence something of great importance +now past is inferior to something of little importance now present, in +that the latter is a _reality_, and related to the former as something +to nothing. + +A man finds himself, to his great astonishment, suddenly existing, +after thousands and thousands of years of non-existence: he lives for +a little while; and then, again, comes an equally long period when he +must exist no more. The heart rebels against this, and feels that +it cannot be true. The crudest intellect cannot speculate on such a +subject without having a presentiment that Time is something ideal in +its nature. This ideality of Time and Space is the key to every true +system of metaphysics; because it provides for quite another order of +things than is to be met with in the domain of nature. This is why +Kant is so great. + +Of every event in our life we can say only for one moment that it +_is_; for ever after, that it _was_. Every evening we are poorer by a +day. It might, perhaps, make us mad to see how rapidly our short span +of time ebbs away; if it were not that in the furthest depths of our +being we are secretly conscious of our share in the exhaustible spring +of eternity, so that we can always hope to find life in it again. + +Consideration of the kind, touched on above, might, indeed, lead us to +embrace the belief that the greatest _wisdom_ is to make the enjoyment +of the present the supreme object of life; because that is the only +reality, all else being merely the play of thought. On the other hand, +such a course might just as well be called the greatest _folly_: for +that which in the next moment exists no more, and vanishes utterly, +like a dream, can never be worth a serious effort. + +The whole foundation on which our existence rests is the present--the +ever-fleeting present. It lies, then, in the very nature of our +existence to take the form of constant motion, and to offer no +possibility of our ever attaining the rest for which we are always +striving. We are like a man running downhill, who cannot keep on his +legs unless he runs on, and will inevitably fall if he stops; or, +again, like a pole balanced on the tip of one's finger; or like a +planet, which would fall into its sun the moment it ceased to hurry +forward on its way. Unrest is the mark of existence. + +In a world where all is unstable, and nought can endure, but is swept +onwards at once in the hurrying whirlpool of change; where a man, if +he is to keep erect at all, must always be advancing and moving, like +an acrobat on a rope--in such a world, happiness in inconceivable. +How can it dwell where, as Plato says, _continual Becoming and never +Being_ is the sole form of existence? In the first place, a man never +is happy, but spends his whole life in striving after something which +he thinks will make him so; he seldom attains his goal, and when he +does, it is only to be disappointed; he is mostly shipwrecked in the +end, and comes into harbor with masts and rigging gone. And then, it +is all one whether he has been happy or miserable; for his life was +never anything more than a present moment always vanishing; and now it +is over. + +At the same time it is a wonderful thing that, in the world of human +beings as in that of animals in general, this manifold restless motion +is produced and kept up by the agency of two simple impulses--hunger +and the sexual instinct; aided a little, perhaps, by the influence of +boredom, but by nothing else; and that, in the theatre of life, these +suffice to form the _primum mobile_ of how complicated a machinery, +setting in motion how strange and varied a scene! + +On looking a little closer, we find that inorganic matter presents +a constant conflict between chemical forces, which eventually works +dissolution; and on the other hand, that organic life is impossible +without continual change of matter, and cannot exist if it does not +receive perpetual help from without. This is the realm of _finality_; +and its opposite would be _an infinite existence_, exposed to no +attack from without, and needing nothing to support it; [Greek: haei +hosautos dn], the realm of eternal peace; [Greek: oute giguomenon oute +apollumenon], some timeless, changeless state, one and undiversified; +the negative knowledge of which forms the dominant note of the +Platonic philosophy. It is to some such state as this that the denial +of the will to live opens up the way. + +The scenes of our life are like pictures done in rough mosaic. Looked +at close, they produce no effect. There is nothing beautiful to +be found in them, unless you stand some distance off. So, to gain +anything we have longed for is only to discover how vain and empty +it is; and even though we are always living in expectation of better +things, at the same time we often repent and long to have the past +back again. We look upon the present as something to be put up with +while it lasts, and serving only as the way towards our goal. Hence +most people, if they glance back when they come to the end of life, +will find that all along they have been living _ad interim_: they will +be surprised to find that the very thing they disregarded and let +slip by unenjoyed, was just the life in the expectation of which they +passed all their time. Of how many a man may it not be said that hope +made a fool of him until he danced into the arms of death! + +Then again, how insatiable a creature is man! Every satisfaction he +attains lays the seeds of some new desire, so that there is no end to +the wishes of each individual will. And why is this? The real reason +is simply that, taken in itself, Will is the lord of all worlds: +everything belongs to it, and therefore no one single thing can ever +give it satisfaction, but only the whole, which is endless. For all +that, it must rouse our sympathy to think how very little the Will, +this lord of the world, really gets when it takes the form of an +individual; usually only just enough to keep the body together. This +is why man is so very miserable. + +Life presents itself chiefly as a task--the task, I mean, of +subsisting at all, _gagner sa vie_. If this is accomplished, life is a +burden, and then there comes the second task of doing something with +that which has been won--of warding off boredom, which, like a bird +of prey, hovers over us, ready to fall wherever it sees a life secure +from need. The first task is to win something; the second, to banish +the feeling that it has been won; otherwise it is a burden. + +Human life must be some kind of mistake. The truth of this will be +sufficiently obvious if we only remember that man is a compound of +needs and necessities hard to satisfy; and that even when they are +satisfied, all he obtains is a state of painlessness, where nothing +remains to him but abandonment to boredom. This is direct proof that +existence has no real value in itself; for what is boredom but the +feeling of the emptiness of life? If life--the craving for which +is the very essence of our being--were possessed of any positive +intrinsic value, there would be no such thing as boredom at all: mere +existence would satisfy us in itself, and we should want for nothing. +But as it is, we take no delight in existence except when we are +struggling for something; and then distance and difficulties to be +overcome make our goal look as though it would satisfy us--an illusion +which vanishes when we reach it; or else when we are occupied with +some purely intellectual interest--when in reality we have stepped +forth from life to look upon it from the outside, much after the +manner of spectators at a play. And even sensual pleasure itself means +nothing but a struggle and aspiration, ceasing the moment its aim is +attained. Whenever we are not occupied in one of these ways, but cast +upon existence itself, its vain and worthless nature is brought home +to us; and this is what we mean by boredom. The hankering after what +is strange and uncommon--an innate and ineradicable tendency of human +nature--shows how glad we are at any interruption of that natural +course of affairs which is so very tedious. + +That this most perfect manifestation of the will to live, the human +organism, with the cunning and complex working of its machinery, +must fall to dust and yield up itself and all its strivings to +extinction--this is the naïve way in which Nature, who is always so +true and sincere in what she says, proclaims the whole struggle of +this will as in its very essence barren and unprofitable. Were it of +any value in itself, anything unconditioned and absolute, it could not +thus end in mere nothing. + +If we turn from contemplating the world as a whole, and, in +particular, the generations of men as they live their little hour of +mock-existence and then are swept away in rapid succession; if we turn +from this, and look at life in its small details, as presented, say, +in a comedy, how ridiculous it all seems! It is like a drop of water +seen through a microscope, a single drop teeming with _infusoria_; or +a speck of cheese full of mites invisible to the naked eye. How we +laugh as they bustle about so eagerly, and struggle with one another +in so tiny a space! And whether here, or in the little span of human +life, this terrible activity produces a comic effect. + +It is only in the microscope that our life looks so big. It is an +indivisible point, drawn out and magnified by the powerful lenses of +Time and Space. + + + + +ON SUICIDE. + + +As far as I know, none but the votaries of monotheistic, that is to +say, Jewish religions, look upon suicide as a crime. This is all the +more striking, inasmuch as neither in the Old nor in the New Testament +is there to be found any prohibition or positive disapproval of it; +so that religious teachers are forced to base their condemnation of +suicide on philosophical grounds of their own invention. These are +so very bad that writers of this kind endeavor to make up for the +weakness of their arguments by the strong terms in which they express +their abhorrence of the practice; in other words, they declaim against +it. They tell us that suicide is the greatest piece of cowardice; that +only a madman could be guilty of it; and other insipidities of the +same kind; or else they make the nonsensical remark that suicide is +_wrong_; when it is quite obvious that there is nothing in the world +to which every man has a more unassailable title than to his own life +and person. + +Suicide, as I have said, is actually accounted a crime; and a crime +which, especially under the vulgar bigotry that prevails in England, +is followed by an ignominious burial and the seizure of the man's +property; and for that reason, in a case of suicide, the jury almost +always brings in a verdict of insanity. Now let the reader's own moral +feelings decide as to whether or not suicide is a criminal act. Think +of the impression that would be made upon you by the news that some +one you know had committed the crime, say, of murder or theft, or been +guilty of some act of cruelty or deception; and compare it with your +feelings when you hear that he has met a voluntary death. While in the +one case a lively sense of indignation and extreme resentment will be +aroused, and you will call loudly for punishment or revenge, in the +other you will be moved to grief and sympathy; and mingled with your +thoughts will be admiration for his courage, rather than the moral +disapproval which follows upon a wicked action. Who has not had +acquaintances, friends, relations, who of their own free will have +left this world; and are these to be thought of with horror as +criminals? Most emphatically, No! I am rather of opinion that the +clergy should be challenged to explain what right they have to go into +the pulpit, or take up their pens, and stamp as a crime an action +which many men whom we hold in affection and honor have committed; +and to refuse an honorable burial to those who relinquish this +world voluntarily. They have no Biblical authority to boast of, +as justifying their condemnation of suicide; nay, not even any +philosophical arguments that will hold water; and it must be +understood that it is arguments we want, and that we will not be put +off with mere phrases or words of abuse. If the criminal law forbids +suicide, that is not an argument valid in the Church; and besides, the +prohibition is ridiculous; for what penalty can frighten a man who is +not afraid of death itself? If the law punishes people for trying +to commit suicide, it is punishing the want of skill that makes the +attempt a failure. + +The ancients, moreover, were very far from regarding the matter in +that light. Pliny says: _Life is not so desirable a thing as to be +protracted at any cost. Whoever you are, you are sure to die, even +though your life has been full of abomination and crime. The chief +of all remedies for a troubled mind is the feeling that among the +blessings which Nature gives to man, there is none greater than an +opportune death; and the best of it is that every one can avail +himself of it.[1]_ And elsewhere the same writer declares: _Not even +to God are all things possible; for he could not compass his own +death, if he willed to die, and yet in all the miseries of our earthly +life, this is the best of his gifts to man.[2]_ Nay, in Massilia +and on the isle of Ceos, the man who could give valid reasons +for relinquishing his life, was handed the cup of hemlock by the +magistrate; and that, too, in public.[3] And in ancient times, how +many heroes and wise men died a voluntary death. Aristotle,[4] it is +true, declared suicide to be an offence against the State, although +not against the person; but in Stobaeus' exposition of the Peripatetic +philosophy there is the following remark: _The good man should flee +life when his misfortunes become too great; the bad man, also, when +he is too prosperous_. And similarly: _So he will marry and beget +children and take part in the affairs of the State, and, generally, +practice virtue and continue to live; and then, again, if need be, +and at any time necessity compels him, he will depart to his place of +refuge in the tomb.[5]_ And we find that the Stoics actually praised +suicide as a noble and heroic action, as hundreds of passages show; +above all in the works of Seneca, who expresses the strongest approval +of it. As is well known, the Hindoos look upon suicide as a religious +act, especially when it takes the form of self-immolation by widows; +but also when it consists in casting oneself under the wheels of the +chariot of the god at Juggernaut, or being eaten by crocodiles in the +Ganges, or being drowned in the holy tanks in the temples, and so on. +The same thing occurs on the stage--that mirror of life. For example, +in _L'Orphelin de la Chine_[6] a celebrated Chinese play, almost +all the noble characters end by suicide; without the slightest hint +anywhere, or any impression being produced on the spectator, that +they are committing a crime. And in our own theatre it is much the +same--Palmira, for instance, in _Mahomet_, or Mortimer in _Maria +Stuart_, Othello, Countess Terzky.[7] Is Hamlet's monologue the +meditation of a criminal? He merely declares that if we had any +certainty of being annihilated by it, death would be infinitely +preferable to the world as it is. But _there lies the rub_! + +[Footnote 1: Hist. Nat. Lib. xxviii., 1.] + +[Footnote 2: Loc. cit. Lib. ii. c. 7.] + +[Footnote 3: 3 Valerius Maximus; hist. Lib. ii., c. 6, § 7 et 8. +Heraclides Ponticus; fragmenta de rebus publicis, ix. Aeliani variae +historiae, iii., 37. Strabo; Lib. x., c. 5, 6.] + +[Footnote 4: _Eth. Nichom_., v. 15.] + +[Footnote 5: Stobaeus. _Ecl. Eth_.. ii., c. 7, pp. 286, 312] + +[Footnote 6: Traduit par St. Julien, 1834.] + +[Footnote 7: _Translator's Note_.--Palmira: a female slave in Goethe's +play of _Mahomet_. Mortimer: a would-be lover and rescuer of Mary in +Schiller's _Maria Stuart_. Countess Terzky: a leading character in +Schiller's _Wallenstein's Tod_.] + +The reasons advanced against suicide by the clergy of monotheistic, +that is to say, Jewish religions, and by those philosophers who adapt +themselves thereto, are weak sophisms which can easily be refuted.[1] +The most thorough-going refutation of them is given by Hume in his +_Essay on Suicide_. This did not appear until after his death, when +it was immediately suppressed, owing to the scandalous bigotry and +outrageous ecclesiastical tyranny that prevailed in England; and hence +only a very few copies of it were sold under cover of secrecy and at a +high price. This and another treatise by that great man have come to +us from Basle, and we may be thankful for the reprint.[2] It is a +great disgrace to the English nation that a purely philosophical +treatise, which, proceeding from one of the first thinkers and writers +in England, aimed at refuting the current arguments against suicide +by the light of cold reason, should be forced to sneak about in that +country, as though it were some rascally production, until at last it +found refuge on the Continent. At the same time it shows what a good +conscience the Church has in such matters. + +[Footnote 1: See my treatise on the _Foundation of Morals_, § 5.] + +[Footnote 2: _Essays on Suicide_ and the _Immortality of the Soul_, by +the late David Hume, Basle, 1799, sold by James Decker.] + +In my chief work I have explained the only valid reason existing +against suicide on the score of mortality. It is this: that suicide +thwarts the attainment of the highest moral aim by the fact that, for +a real release from this world of misery, it substitutes one that is +merely apparent. But from a _mistake_ to a _crime_ is a far cry; and +it is as a crime that the clergy of Christendom wish us to regard +suicide. + +The inmost kernel of Christianity is the truth that suffering--_the +Cross_--is the real end and object of life. Hence Christianity +condemns suicide as thwarting this end; whilst the ancient world, +taking a lower point of view, held it in approval, nay, in honor.[1] +But if that is to be accounted a valid reason against suicide, it +involves the recognition of asceticism; that is to say, it is valid +only from a much higher ethical standpoint than has ever been adopted +by moral philosophers in Europe. If we abandon that high standpoint, +there is no tenable reason left, on the score of morality, for +condemning suicide. The extraordinary energy and zeal with which the +clergy of monotheistic religions attack suicide is not supported +either by any passages in the Bible or by any considerations of +weight; so that it looks as though they must have some secret reason +for their contention. May it not be this--that the voluntary surrender +of life is a bad compliment for him who said that _all things were +very good_? If this is so, it offers another instance of the crass +optimism of these religions,--denouncing suicide to escape being +denounced by it. + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_.--Schopenhauer refers to _Die Welt +als Wille und Vorstellung_, vol. i., § 69, where the reader may find +the same argument stated at somewhat greater length. According to +Schopenhauer, moral freedom--the highest ethical aim--is to be +obtained only by a denial of the will to live. Far from being a +denial, suicide is an emphatic assertion of this will. For it is in +fleeing from the pleasures, not from the sufferings of life, that this +denial consists. When a man destroys his existence as an individual, +he is not by any means destroying his will to live. On the contrary, +he would like to live if he could do so with satisfaction to himself; +if he could assert his will against the power of circumstance; but +circumstance is too strong for him.] + +It will generally be found that, as soon as the terrors of life reach +the point at which they outweigh the terrors of death, a man will +put an end to his life. But the terrors of death offer considerable +resistance; they stand like a sentinel at the gate leading out of this +world. Perhaps there is no man alive who would not have already put an +end to his life, if this end had been of a purely negative character, +a sudden stoppage of existence. There is something positive about +it; it is the destruction of the body; and a man shrinks from that, +because his body is the manifestation of the will to live. + +However, the struggle with that sentinel is, as a rule, not so hard +as it may seem from a long way off, mainly in consequence of the +antagonism between the ills of the body and the ills of the mind. If +we are in great bodily pain, or the pain lasts a long time, we become +indifferent to other troubles; all we think about is to get well. In +the same way great mental suffering makes us insensible to bodily +pain; we despise it; nay, if it should outweigh the other, it +distracts our thoughts, and we welcome it as a pause in mental +suffering. It is this feeling that makes suicide easy; for the bodily +pain that accompanies it loses all significance in the eyes of one +who is tortured by an excess of mental suffering. This is especially +evident in the case of those who are driven to suicide by some purely +morbid and exaggerated ill-humor. No special effort to overcome their +feelings is necessary, nor do such people require to be worked up in +order to take the step; but as soon as the keeper into whose charge +they are given leaves them for a couple of minutes, they quickly bring +their life to an end. + +When, in some dreadful and ghastly dream, we reach the moment of +greatest horror, it awakes us; thereby banishing all the hideous +shapes that were born of the night. And life is a dream: when the +moment of greatest horror compels us to break it off, the same thing +happens. + +Suicide may also be regarded as an experiment--a question which man +puts to Nature, trying to force her to an answer. The question is +this: What change will death produce in a man's existence and in his +insight into the nature of things? It is a clumsy experiment to make; +for it involves the destruction of the very consciousness which puts +the question and awaits the answer. + + + + +IMMORTALITY:[1] A DIALOGUE. + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_.--The word +immortality--_Unsterblichkeit_--does not occur in the original; nor +would it, in its usual application, find a place in Schopenhauer's +vocabulary. The word he uses is _Unzerstörbarkeit--indestructibility_. +But I have preferred _immortality_, because that word is commonly +associated with the subject touched upon in this little debate. If any +critic doubts the wisdom of this preference, let me ask him to try +his hand at a short, concise, and, at the same time, popularly +intelligible rendering of the German original, which runs thus: _Zur +Lehre von der Unzerstörbarkeit unseres wahren Wesens durch den Tod: +Meine dialogische Schlussbelustigung_.] + + +THRASYMACHOS--PHILALETHES. + +_Thrasymachos_. Tell me now, in one word, what shall I be after my +death? And mind you be clear and precise. + +_Philalethes_. All and nothing! + +_Thrasymachos_. I thought so! I gave you a problem, and you solve it +by a contradiction. That's a very stale trick. + +_Philalethes_. Yes, but you raise transcendental questions, and you +expect me to answer them in language that is only made for immanent +knowledge. It's no wonder that a contradiction ensues. + +_Thrasymachos_. What do you mean by transcendental questions and +immanent knowledge? I've heard these expressions before, of course; +they are not new to me. The Professor was fond of using them, but only +as predicates of the Deity, and he never talked of anything else; +which was all quite right and proper. He argued thus: if the Deity was +in the world itself, he was immanent; if he was somewhere outside it, +he was transcendent. Nothing could be clearer and more obvious! You +knew where you were. But this Kantian rigmarole won't do any more: +it's antiquated and no longer applicable to modern ideas. Why, we've +had a whole row of eminent men in the metropolis of German learning-- + +_Philalethes_. (Aside.) German humbug, he means. + +_Thrasymachos_. The mighty Schleiermacher, for instance, and that +gigantic intellect, Hegel; and at this time of day we've abandoned +that nonsense. I should rather say we're so far beyond it that we +can't put up with it any more. What's the use of it then? What does it +all mean? + +_Philalethes_. Transcendental knowledge is knowledge which passes +beyond the bounds of possible experience, and strives to determine the +nature of things as they are in themselves. Immanent knowledge, on the +other hand, is knowledge which confines itself entirely with those +bounds; so that it cannot apply to anything but actual phenomena. As +far as you are an individual, death will be the end of you. But your +individuality is not your true and inmost being: it is only the +outward manifestation of it. It is not the _thing-in-itself_, but only +the phenomenon presented in the form of time; and therefore with a +beginning and an end. But your real being knows neither time, nor +beginning, nor end, nor yet the limits of any given individual. It is +everywhere present in every individual; and no individual can +exist apart from it. So when death comes, on the one hand you are +annihilated as an individual; on the other, you are and remain +everything. That is what I meant when I said that after your death +you would be all and nothing. It is difficult to find a more precise +answer to your question and at the same time be brief. The answer is +contradictory, I admit; but it is so simply because your life is in +time, and the immortal part of you in eternity. You may put the matter +thus: Your immortal part is something that does not last in time and +yet is indestructible; but there you have another contradiction! You +see what happens by trying to bring the transcendental within the +limits of immanent knowledge. It is in some sort doing violence to the +latter by misusing it for ends it was never meant to serve. + +_Thrasymachos_. Look here, I shan't give twopence for your immortality +unless I'm to remain an individual. + +_Philalethes_. Well, perhaps I may be able to satisfy you on this +point. Suppose I guarantee that after death you shall remain an +individual, but only on condition that you first spend three months of +complete unconsciousness. + +_Thrasymachos_. I shall have no objection to that. + +_Philalethes_. But remember, if people are completely unconscious, +they take no account of time. So, when you are dead, it's all the same +to you whether three months pass in the world of consciousness, or ten +thousand years. In the one case as in the other, it is simply a matter +of believing what is told you when you awake. So far, then, you can +afford to be indifferent whether it is three months or ten thousand +years that pass before you recover your individuality. + +_Thrasymachos_. Yes, if it comes to that, I suppose you're right. + +_Philalethes_. And if by chance, after those ten thousand years have +gone by, no one ever thinks of awakening you, I fancy it would be +no great misfortune. You would have become quite accustomed to +non-existence after so long a spell of it--following upon such a very +few years of life. At any rate you may be sure you would be perfectly +ignorant of the whole thing. Further, if you knew that the mysterious +power which keeps you in your present state of life had never once +ceased in those ten thousand years to bring forth other phenomena like +yourself, and to endow them with life, it would fully console you. + +_Thrasymachos_. Indeed! So you think you're quietly going to do me +out of my individuality with all this fine talk. But I'm up to your +tricks. I tell you I won't exist unless I can have my individuality. +I'm not going to be put off with 'mysterious powers,' and what you +call 'phenomena.' I can't do without my individuality, and I won't +give it up. + +_Philalethes_. You mean, I suppose, that your individuality is such a +delightful thing, so splendid, so perfect, and beyond compare--that +you can't imagine anything better. Aren't you ready to exchange your +present state for one which, if we can judge by what is told us, may +possibly be superior and more endurable? + +_Thrasymachos_. Don't you see that my individuality, be it what it +may, is my very self? To me it is the most important thing in the +world. + + _For God is God and I am I_. + +_I_ want to exist, _I, I_. That's the main thing. I don't care about +an existence which has to be proved to be mine, before I can believe +it. + +_Philalethes_. Think what you're doing! When you say _I, I, I_ want +to exist, it is not you alone that says this. Everything says it, +absolutely everything that has the faintest trace of consciousness. It +follows, then, that this desire of yours is just the part of you that +is _not individual_--the part that is common to all things without +distinction. It is the cry, not of the individual, but of existence +itself; it is the intrinsic element in everything that exists, nay, it +is the cause of anything existing at all. This desire craves for, and +so is satisfied with, nothing less than existence in general--not any +definite individual existence. No! that is not its aim. It seems to be +so only because this desire--this _Will_--attains consciousness only +in the individual, and therefore looks as though it were concerned +with nothing but the individual. There lies the illusion--an illusion, +it is true, in which the individual is held fast: but, if he reflects, +he can break the fetters and set himself free. It is only indirectly, +I say, that the individual has this violent craving for existence. It +is _the Will to Live_ which is the real and direct aspirant--alike and +identical in all things. Since, then, existence is the free work, nay, +the mere reflection of the will, where existence is, there, too, +must be will; and for the moment the will finds its satisfaction in +existence itself; so far, I mean, as that which never rests, but +presses forward eternally, can ever find any satisfaction at all. +The will is careless of the individual: the individual is not its +business; although, as I have said, this seems to be the case, because +the individual has no direct consciousness of will except in himself. +The effect of this is to make the individual careful to maintain his +own existence; and if this were not so, there would be no surety +for the preservation of the species. From all this it is clear that +individuality is not a form of perfection, but rather of limitation; +and so to be freed from it is not loss but gain. Trouble yourself no +more about the matter. Once thoroughly recognize what you are, what +your existence really is, namely, the universal will to live, and the +whole question will seem to you childish, and most ridiculous! + +_Thrasymachos_. You're childish yourself and most ridiculous, like +all philosophers! and if a man of my age lets himself in for a +quarter-of-an-hour's talk with such fools, it is only because it +amuses me and passes the time. I've more important business to attend +to, so Good-bye. + + + + +FURTHER PSYCHOLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS. + + +There is an unconscious propriety in the way in which, in all European +languages, the word _person_ is commonly used to denote a human +being. The real meaning of _persona_ is _a mask_, such as actors were +accustomed to wear on the ancient stage; and it is quite true that no +one shows himself as he is, but wears his mask and plays his part. +Indeed, the whole of our social arrangements may be likened to a +perpetual comedy; and this is why a man who is worth anything finds +society so insipid, while a blockhead is quite at home in it. + + * * * * * + +Reason deserves to be called a prophet; for in showing us the +consequence and effect of our actions in the present, does it not tell +us what the future will be? This is precisely why reason is such an +excellent power of restraint in moments when we are possessed by some +base passion, some fit of anger, some covetous desire, that will lead +us to do things whereof we must presently repent. + + * * * * * + +_Hatred_ comes from the heart; _contempt_ from the head; and neither +feeling is quite within our control. For we cannot alter our heart; +its basis is determined by motives; and our head deals with objective +facts, and applies to them rules which are immutable. Any given +individual is the union of a particular heart with a particular head. + +Hatred and contempt are diametrically opposed and mutually exclusive. +There are even not a few cases where hatred of a person is rooted in +nothing but forced esteem for his qualities. And besides, if a man +sets out to hate all the miserable creatures he meets, he will not +have much energy left for anything else; whereas he can despise them, +one and all, with the greatest ease. True, genuine contempt is just +the reverse of true, genuine pride; it keeps quite quiet and gives no +sign of its existence. For if a man shows that he despises you, he +signifies at least this much regard for you, that he wants to let +you know how little he appreciates you; and his wish is dictated by +hatred, which cannot exist with real contempt. On the contrary, if it +is genuine, it is simply the conviction that the object of it is a man +of no value at all. Contempt is not incompatible with indulgent and +kindly treatment, and for the sake of one's own peace and safety, this +should not be omitted; it will prevent irritation; and there is no +one who cannot do harm if he is roused to it. But if this pure, cold, +sincere contempt ever shows itself, it will be met with the most +truculent hatred; for the despised person is not in a position to +fight contempt with its own weapons. + + * * * * * + +Melancholy is a very different thing from bad humor, and of the two, +it is not nearly so far removed from a gay and happy temperament. +Melancholy attracts, while bad humor repels. + +Hypochondria is a species of torment which not only makes us +unreasonably cross with the things of the present; not only fills us +with groundless anxiety on the score of future misfortunes entirely +of our own manufacture; but also leads to unmerited self-reproach for +what we have done in the past. + +Hypochondria shows itself in a perpetual hunting after things that vex +and annoy, and then brooding over them. The cause of it is an inward +morbid discontent, often co-existing with a naturally restless +temperament. In their extreme form, this discontent and this unrest +lead to suicide. + + * * * * * + +Any incident, however trivial, that rouses disagreeable emotion, +leaves an after-effect in our mind, which for the time it lasts, +prevents our taking a clear objective view of the things about us, and +tinges all our thoughts: just as a small object held close to the eye +limits and distorts our field of vision. + + * * * * * + +What makes people _hard-hearted_ is this, that each man has, or +fancies he has, as much as he can bear in his own troubles. Hence, if +a man suddenly finds himself in an unusually happy position, it will +in most cases result in his being sympathetic and kind. But if he has +never been in any other than a happy position, or this becomes his +permanent state, the effect of it is often just the contrary: it so +far removes him from suffering that he is incapable of feeling any +more sympathy with it. So it is that the poor often show themselves +more ready to help than the rich. + + * * * * * + +At times it seems as though we both wanted and did not want the same +thing, and felt at once glad and sorry about it. For instance, if +on some fixed date we are going to be put to a decisive test about +anything in which it would be a great advantage to us to come off +victorious, we shall be anxious for it to take place at once, and at +the same time we shall tremble at the thought of its approach. And if, +in the meantime, we hear that, for once in a way, the date has been +postponed, we shall experience a feeling both of pleasure and of +annoyance; for the news is disappointing, but nevertheless it affords +us momentary relief. It is just the same thing if we are expecting +some important letter carrying a definite decision, and it fails to +arrive. + +In such cases there are really two different motives at work in us; +the stronger but more distant of the two being the desire to stand +the test and to have the decision given in our favor; and the weaker, +which touches us more nearly, the wish to be left for the present in +peace and quiet, and accordingly in further enjoyment of the advantage +which at any rate attaches to a state of hopeful uncertainty, compared +with the possibility that the issue may be unfavorable. + + * * * * * + +In my head there is a permanent opposition-party; and whenever I take +any step or come to any decision--though I may have given the matter +mature consideration--it afterwards attacks what I have done, without, +however, being each time necessarily in the right. This is, I suppose, +only a form of rectification on the part of the spirit of scrutiny; +but it often reproaches me when I do not deserve it. The same thing, +no doubt, happens to many others as well; for where is the man who +can help thinking that, after all, it were better not to have done +something that he did with great deliberation: + + _Quid tam dextro pede concipis ut te + Conatus non poeniteat votique peracti_? + + * * * * * + +Why is it that _common_ is an expression of contempt? and that +_uncommon, extraordinary, distinguished_, denote approbation? Why is +everything that is common contemptible? + +_Common_ in its original meaning denotes that which is peculiar to all +men, _i.e_., shared equally by the whole species, and therefore an +inherent part of its nature. Accordingly, if an individual possesses +no qualities beyond those which attach to mankind in general, he is +a _common man. Ordinary_ is a much milder word, and refers rather +to intellectual character; whereas _common_ has more of a moral +application. + +What value can a creature have that is not a whit different from +millions of its kind? Millions, do I say? nay, an infiniture of +creatures which, century after century, in never-ending flow, Nature +sends bubbling up from her inexhaustible springs; as generous with +them as the smith with the useless sparks that fly around his anvil. + +It is obviously quite right that a creature which has no qualities +except those of the species, should have to confine its claim to an +existence entirely within the limits of the species, and live a life +conditioned by those limits. + +In various passages of my works,[1] I have argued that whilst a lower +animal possesses nothing more than the generic character of its +species, man is the only being which can lay claim to possess an +individual character. But in most men this individual character comes +to very little in reality; and they may be almost all ranged under +certain classes: _ce sont des espèces_. Their thoughts and desires, +like their faces, are those of the species, or, at any rate, those +of the class to which they belong; and accordingly, they are of a +trivial, every-day, common character, and exist by the thousand. You +can usually tell beforehand what they are likely to do and say. They +have no special stamp or mark to distinguish them; they are like +manufactured goods, all of a piece. + +[Footnote 1: _Grundprobleme der Ethik_, p. 48; _Welt als Wille und +Vorstellung_, vol. i. p. 338.] + +If, then, their nature is merged in that of the species, how shall +their existence go beyond it? The curse of vulgarity puts men on a par +with the lower animals, by allowing them none but a generic nature, a +generic form of existence. Anything that is high or great or noble, +must then, as a mater of course, and by its very nature, stand alone +in a world where no better expression can be found to denote what is +base and contemptible than that which I have mentioned as in general +use, namely, _common_. + + * * * * * + +Will, as the _thing-in-itself_, is the foundation of all being; it +is part and parcel of every creature, and the permanent element in +everything. Will, then, is that which we possess in common with all +men, nay, with all animals, and even with lower forms of existence; +and in so far we are akin to everything--so far, that is, as +everything is filled to overflowing with will. On the other hand, that +which places one being over another, and sets differences between man +and man, is intellect and knowledge; therefore in every manifestation +of self we should, as far as possible, give play to the intellect +alone; for, as we have seen, the will is the _common_ part of us. +Every violent exhibition of will is common and vulgar; in other words, +it reduces us to the level of the species, and makes us a mere type +and example of it; in that it is just the character of the +species that we are showing. So every fit of anger is something +_common_--every unrestrained display of joy, or of hate, or fear--in +short, every form of emotion; in other words, every movement of the +will, if it's so strong as decidedly to outweigh the intellectual +element in consciousness, and to make the man appear as a being that +_wills_ rather than _knows_. + +In giving way to emotion of this violent kind, the greatest genius +puts himself on a level with the commonest son of earth. Contrarily, +if a man desires to be absolutely uncommon, in other words, great, he +should never allow his consciousness to be taken possession of +and dominated by the movement of his will, however much he may be +solicited thereto. For example, he must be able to observe that other +people are badly disposed towards him, without feeling any hatred +towards them himself; nay, there is no surer sign of a great mind than +that it refuses to notice annoying and insulting expressions, but +straightway ascribes them, as it ascribes countless other mistakes, to +the defective knowledge of the speaker, and so merely observes without +feeling them. This is the meaning of that remark of Gracian, that +nothing is more unworthy of a man than to let it be seen that he is +one--_el mayor desdoro de un hombre es dar muestras de que es hombre_. + +And even in the drama, which is the peculiar province of the passions +and emotions, it is easy for them to appear common and vulgar. And +this is specially observable in the works of the French tragic +writers, who set no other aim before themselves but the delineation +of the passions; and by indulging at one moment in a vaporous kind +of pathos which makes them ridiculous, at another in epigrammatic +witticisms, endeavor to conceal the vulgarity of their subject. I +remember seeing the celebrated Mademoiselle Rachel as Maria Stuart: +and when she burst out in fury against Elizabeth--though she did it +very well--I could not help thinking of a washerwoman. She played +the final parting in such a way as to deprive it of all true tragic +feeling, of which, indeed, the French have no notion at all. The same +part was incomparably better played by the Italian Ristori; and, in +fact, the Italian nature, though in many respects very different from +the German, shares its appreciation for what is deep, serious, and +true in Art; herein opposed to the French, which everywhere betrays +that it possesses none of this feeling whatever. + +The noble, in other words, the uncommon, element in the drama--nay, +what is sublime in it--is not reached until the intellect is set to +work, as opposed to the will; until it takes a free flight over all +those passionate movements of the will, and makes them subject of its +contemplation. Shakespeare, in particular, shows that this is his +general method, more especially in Hamlet. And only when intellect +rises to the point where the vanity of all effort is manifest, and the +will proceeds to an act of self-annulment, is the drama tragic in the +true sense of the word; it is then that it reaches its highest aim in +becoming really sublime. + + * * * * * + +Every man takes the limits of his own field of vision for the limits +of the world. This is an error of the intellect as inevitable as that +error of the eye which lets us fancy that on the horizon heaven and +earth meet. This explains many things, and among them the fact that +everyone measures us with his own standard--generally about as long as +a tailor's tape, and we have to put up with it: as also that no one +will allow us to be taller than himself--a supposition which is once +for all taken for granted. + + * * * * * + +There is no doubt that many a man owes his good fortune in life solely +to the circumstance that he has a pleasant way of smiling, and so wins +the heart in his favor. + +However, the heart would do better to be careful, and to remember what +Hamlet put down in his tablets--_that one may smile, and smile, and be +a villain_. + + * * * * * + +Everything that is really fundamental in a man, and therefore genuine +works, as such, unconsciously; in this respect like the power of +nature. That which has passed through the domain of consciousness is +thereby transformed into an idea or picture; and so if it comes to be +uttered, it is only an idea or picture which passes from one person to +another. + +Accordingly, any quality of mind or character that is genuine and +lasting, is originally unconscious; and it is only when unconsciously +brought into play that it makes a profound impression. If any like +quality is consciously exercised, it means that it has been worked up; +it becomes intentional, and therefore matter of affectation, in other +words, of deception. + +If a man does a thing unconsciously, it costs him no trouble; but if +he tries to do it by taking trouble, he fails. This applies to the +origin of those fundamental ideas which form the pith and marrow of +all genuine work. Only that which is innate is genuine and will hold +water; and every man who wants to achieve something, whether in +practical life, in literature, or in art, must _follow the rules +without knowing them_. + + * * * * * + +Men of very great capacity, will as a rule, find the company of very +stupid people preferable to that of the common run; for the same +reason that the tyrant and the mob, the grandfather and the +grandchildren, are natural allies. + + * * * * * + +That line of Ovid's, + + _Pronaque cum spectent animalia cetera terram_, + +can be applied in its true physical sense to the lower animals alone; +but in a metaphorical and spiritual sense it is, alas! true of nearly +all men as well. All their plans and projects are merged in the desire +of physical enjoyment, physical well-being. They may, indeed, have +personal interests, often embracing a very varied sphere; but still +these latter receive their importance entirely from the relation in +which they stand to the former. This is not only proved by their +manner of life and the things they say, but it even shows itself in +the way they look, the expression of their physiognomy, their gait and +gesticulations. Everything about them cries out; _in terram prona_! + +It is not to them, it is only to the nobler and more highly endowed +natures--men who really think and look about them in the world, and +form exceptional specimens of humanity--that the next lines are +applicable; + + _Os homini sublime dedit coelumque tueri + Jussit et erectos ad sidera tollere vultus_. + + * * * * * + +No one knows what capacities for doing and suffering he has in +himself, until something comes to rouse them to activity: just as in +a pond of still water, lying there like a mirror, there is no sign of +the roar and thunder with which it can leap from the precipice, and +yet remain what it is; or again, rise high in the air as a fountain. +When water is as cold as ice, you can have no idea of the latent +warmth contained in it. + + * * * * * + +Why is it that, in spite of all the mirrors in the world, no one +really knows what he looks like? + +A man may call to mind the face of his friend, but not his own. Here, +then, is an initial difficulty in the way of applying the maxim, _Know +thyself_. + +This is partly, no doubt, to be explained by the fact that it is +physically impossible for a man to see himself in the glass except +with face turned straight towards it and perfectly motionless; where +the expression of the eye, which counts for so much, and really gives +its whole character to the face, is to a great extent lost. But +co-existing with this physical impossibility, there seems to me to be +an ethical impossibility of an analogous nature, and producing the +same effect. A man cannot look upon his own reflection as though the +person presented there were _a stranger_ to him; and yet this is +necessary if he is to take _an objective view_. In the last resort, +an objective view means a deep-rooted feeling on the part of the +individual, as a moral being, that that which he is contemplating is +_not himself_[1]; and unless he can take this point of view, he will +not see things in a really true light, which is possible only if he is +alive to their actual defects, exactly as they are. Instead of that, +when a man sees himself in the glass, something out of his own +egotistic nature whispers to him to take care to remember that _it is +no stranger, but himself, that he is looking at_; and this operates as +a _noli me tang ere_, and prevents him taking an objective view. It +seems, indeed, as if, without the leaven of a grain of malice, such a +view were impossible. + +[Footnote 1: Cf. _Grundprobleme der Ethik_, p. 275.] + + * * * * * + +According as a man's mental energy is exerted or relaxed, will life +appear to him either so short, and petty, and fleeting, that nothing +can possibly happen over which it is worth his while to spend emotion; +that nothing really matters, whether it is pleasure or riches, or even +fame, and that in whatever way a man may have failed, he cannot +have lost much--or, on the other hand, life will seem so long, so +important, so all in all, so momentous and so full of difficulty that +we have to plunge into it with our whole soul if we are to obtain a +share of its goods, make sure of its prizes, and carry out our plans. +This latter is the immanent and common view of life; it is what +Gracian means when he speaks of the serious way of looking +at things--_tomar muy de veras el vivir_. The former is the +transcendental view, which is well expressed in Ovid's _non est +tanti_--it is not worth so much trouble; still better, however, by +Plato's remark that nothing in human affairs is worth any great +anxiety--[Greek: oute ti ton anthropinon axion esti megalaes +spoudaes.] This condition of mind is due to the intellect having got +the upper hand in the domain of consciousness, where, freed from +the mere service of the will, it looks upon the phenomena of life +objectively, and so cannot fail to gain a clear insight into its +vain and futile character. But in the other condition of mind, will +predominates; and the intellect exists only to light it on its way to +the attainment of its desires. + +A man is great or small according as he leans to the one or the other +of these views of life. + + * * * * * + +People of very brilliant ability think little of admitting their +errors and weaknesses, or of letting others see them. They look upon +them as something for which they have duly paid; and instead of +fancying that these weaknesses are a disgrace to them, they consider +they are doing them an honor. This is especially the case when +the errors are of the kind that hang together with their +qualities--_conditiones sine quibus non_--or, as George Sand said, +_les défauts de ses vertus_. + +Contrarily, there are people of good character and irreproachable +intellectual capacity, who, far from admitting the few little +weaknesses they have, conceal them with care, and show themselves very +sensitive to any suggestion of their existence; and this, just because +their whole merit consists in being free from error and infirmity. If +these people are found to have done anything wrong, their reputation +immediately suffers. + + * * * * * + +With people of only moderate ability, modesty is mere honesty; but +with those who possess great talent, it is hypocrisy. Hence, it is +just as becoming in the latter to make no secret of the respect they +bear themselves and no disguise of the fact that they are conscious of +unusual power, as it is in the former to be modest. Valerius +Maximus gives some very neat examples of this in his chapter on +self-confidence, _de fiducia sui_. + + * * * * * + +Not to go to the theatre is like making one's toilet without a mirror. +But it is still worse to take a decision without consulting a friend. +For a man may have the most excellent judgment in all other matters, +and yet go wrong in those which concern himself; because here the will +comes in and deranges the intellect at once. Therefore let a man take +counsel of a friend. A doctor can cure everyone but himself; if he +falls ill, he sends for a colleague. + + * * * * * + +In all that we do, we wish, more or less, to come to the end; we are +impatient to finish and glad to be done. But the last scene of all, +the general end, is something that, as a rule, we wish as far off as +may be. + + * * * * * + +Every parting gives a foretaste of death; every coming together again +a foretaste of the resurrection. This is why even people who were +indifferent to each other, rejoice so much if they come together again +after twenty or thirty years' separation. + + * * * * * + +Intellects differ from one another in a very real and fundamental way: +but no comparison can well be made by merely general observations. It +is necessary to come close, and to go into details; for the difference +that exists cannot be seen from afar; and it is not easy to judge by +outward appearances, as in the several cases of education, leisure and +occupation. But even judging by these alone, it must be admitted that +many a man has _a degree of existence_ at least ten times as high as +another--in other words, exists ten times as much. + +I am not speaking here of savages whose life is often only one degree +above that of the apes in their woods. Consider, for instance, a +porter in Naples or Venice (in the north of Europe solicitude for the +winter months makes people more thoughtful and therefore reflective); +look at the life he leads, from its beginning to its end:--driven by +poverty; living on his physical strength; meeting the needs of every +day, nay, of every hour, by hard work, great effort, constant tumult, +want in all its forms, no care for the morrow; his only comfort +rest after exhaustion; continuous quarreling; not a moment free for +reflection; such sensual delights as a mild climate and only just +sufficient food will permit of; and then, finally, as the metaphysical +element, the crass superstition of his church; the whole forming a +manner of life with only a low degree of consciousness, where a man +hustles, or rather is hustled, through his existence. This restless +and confused dream forms the life of how many millions! + +Such men _think_ only just so much as is necessary to carry out their +will for the moment. They never reflect upon their life as a connected +whole, let alone, then, upon existence in general; to a certain extent +they may be said to exist without really knowing it. The existence of +the mobsman or the slave who lives on in this unthinking way, stands +very much nearer than ours to that of the brute, which is confined +entirely to the present moment; but, for that very reason, it has also +less of pain in it than ours. Nay, since all pleasure is in its nature +negative, that is to say, consists in freedom from some form of misery +or need, the constant and rapid interchange between setting about +something and getting it done, which is the permanent accompaniment of +the work they do, and then again the augmented form which this +takes when they go from work to rest and the satisfaction of their +needs--all this gives them a constant source of enjoyment; and the +fact that it is much commoner to see happy faces amongst the poor than +amongst the rich, is a sure proof that it is used to good advantage. + +Passing from this kind of man, consider, next, the sober, sensible +merchant, who leads a life of speculation, thinks long over his plans +and carries them out with great care, founds a house, and provides for +his wife, his children and descendants; takes his share, too, in the +life of a community. It is obvious that a man like this has a much +higher degree of consciousness than the former, and so his existence +has a higher degree of reality. + +Then look at the man of learning, who investigates, it may be, the +history of the past. He will have reached the point at which a man +becomes conscious of existence as a whole, sees beyond the period of +his own life, beyond his own personal interests, thinking over the +whole course of the world's history. + +Then, finally, look at the poet or the philosopher, in whom reflection +has reached such a height, that, instead of being drawn on to +investigate any one particular phenomenon of existence, he stands in +amazement _before existence itself_, this great sphinx, and makes it +his problem. In him consciousness has reached the degree of clearness +at which it embraces the world itself: his intellect has completely +abandoned its function as the servant of his will, and now holds the +world before him; and the world calls upon him much more to examine +and consider it, than to play a part in it himself. If, then, the +degree of consciousness is the degree of reality, such a man will be +said to exist most of all, and there will be sense and significance in +so describing him. + +Between the two extremes here sketched, and the intervening stages, +everyone will be able to find the place at which he himself stands. + + * * * * * + +We know that man is in general superior to all other animals, and this +is also the case in his capacity for being trained. Mohammedans are +trained to pray with their faces turned towards Mecca, five times a +day; and they never fail to do it. Christians are trained to cross +themselves on certain occasions, to bow, and so on. Indeed, it may +be said that religion is the _chef d'oeuvre_ of the art of training, +because it trains people in the way they shall think: and, as is well +known, you cannot begin the process too early. There is no absurdity +so palpable but that it may be firmly planted in the human head if +you only begin to inculcate it before the age of five, by constantly +repeating it with an air of great solemnity. For as in the case of +animals, so in that of men, training is successful only when you begin +in early youth. + +Noblemen and gentlemen are trained to hold nothing sacred but their +word of honor--to maintain a zealous, rigid, and unshaken belief in +the ridiculous code of chivalry; and if they are called upon to do so, +to seal their belief by dying for it, and seriously to regard a king +as a being of a higher order. + +Again, our expressions of politeness, the compliments we make, in +particular, the respectful attentions we pay to ladies, are a matter +of training; as also our esteem for good birth, rank, titles, and so +on. Of the same character is the resentment we feel at any insult +directed against us; and the measure of this resentment may be exactly +determined by the nature of the insult. An Englishman, for instance, +thinks it a deadly insult to be told that he is no gentleman, or, +still worse, that he is a liar; a Frenchman has the same feeling if +you call him a coward, and a German if you say he is stupid. + +There are many persons who are trained to be strictly honorable in +regard to one particular matter, while they have little honor to boast +of in anything else. Many a man, for instance, will not steal your +money; but he will lay hands on everything of yours that he can enjoy +without having to pay for it. A man of business will often deceive you +without the slightest scruple, but he will absolutely refuse to commit +a theft. + +Imagination is strong in a man when that particular function of the +brain which enables him to observe is roused to activity without +any necessary excitement of the senses. Accordingly, we find that +imagination is active just in proportion as our senses are not excited +by external objects. A long period of solitude, whether in prison or +in a sick room; quiet, twilight, darkness--these are the things that +promote its activity; and under their influence it comes into play of +itself. On the other hand, when a great deal of material is presented +to our faculties of observation, as happens on a journey, or in +the hurly-burly of the world, or, again, in broad daylight, the +imagination is idle, and, even though call may be made upon it, +refuses to become active, as though it understood that that was not +its proper time. + +However, if the imagination is to yield any real product, it must have +received a great deal of material from the external world. This is +the only way in which its storehouse can be filled. The phantasy is +nourished much in the same way as the body, which is least capable +of any work and enjoys doing nothing just in the very moment when it +receives its food which it has to digest. And yet it is to this very +food that it owes the power which it afterwards puts forth at the +right time. + + * * * * * + +Opinion is like a pendulum and obeys the same law. If it goes past +the centre of gravity on one side, it must go a like distance on the +other; and it is only after a certain time that it finds the true +point at which it can remain at rest. + + * * * * * + +By a process of contradiction, distance in space makes things look +small, and therefore free from defect. This is why a landscape looks +so much better in a contracting mirror or in a _camera obscura_, than +it is in reality. The same effect is produced by distance in time. The +scenes and events of long ago, and the persons who took part in them, +wear a charming aspect to the eye of memory, which sees only the +outlines and takes no note of disagreeable details. The present enjoys +no such advantage, and so it always seems defective. + +And again, as regards space, small objects close to us look big, and +if they are very close, we may be able to see nothing else, but when +we go a little way off, they become minute and invisible. It is the +same again as regards time. The little incidents and accidents of +every day fill us with emotion, anxiety, annoyance, passion, as long +as they are close to us, when they appear so big, so important, so +serious; but as soon as they are borne down the restless stream of +time, they lose what significance they had; we think no more of them +and soon forget them altogether. They were big only because they were +near. + + * * * * * + +_Joy_ and _sorrow_ are not ideas of the mind, but affections of the +will, and so they do not lie in the domain of memory. We cannot recall +our joys and sorrows; by which I mean that we cannot renew them. We +can recall only the _ideas_ that accompanied them; and, in particular, +the things we were led to say; and these form a gauge of our feelings +at the time. Hence our memory of joys and sorrows is always imperfect, +and they become a matter of indifference to us as soon as they are +over. This explains the vanity of the attempt, which we sometimes +make, to revive the pleasures and the pains of the past. Pleasure and +pain are essentially an affair of the will; and the will, as such, is +not possessed of memory, which is a function of the intellect; and +this in its turn gives out and takes in nothing but thoughts and +ideas, which are not here in question. + +It is a curious fact that in bad days we can very vividly recall the +good time that is now no more; but that in good days, we have only a +very cold and imperfect memory of the bad. + + * * * * * + +We have a much better memory of actual objects or pictures than +for mere ideas. Hence a good imagination makes it easier to learn +languages; for by its aid, the new word is at once united with the +actual object to which it refers; whereas, if there is no imagination, +it is simply put on a parallel with the equivalent word in the mother +tongue. + +Mnemonics should not only mean the art of keeping something indirectly +in the memory by the use of some direct pun or witticism; it should, +rather, be applied to a systematic theory of memory, and explain its +several attributes by reference both to its real nature, and to the +relation in which these attributes stand to one another. + + * * * * * + +There are moments in life when our senses obtain a higher and rarer +degree of clearness, apart from any particular occasion for it in the +nature of our surroundings; and explicable, rather, on physiological +grounds alone, as the result of some enhanced state of susceptibility, +working from within outwards. Such moments remain indelibly impressed +upon the memory, and preserve themselves in their individuality +entire. We can assign no reason for it, nor explain why this among so +many thousand moments like it should be specially remembered. It seems +as much a matter of chance as when single specimens of a whole race of +animals now extinct are discovered in the layers of a rock; or when, +on opening a book, we light upon an insect accidentally crushed within +the leaves. Memories of this kind are always sweet and pleasant. + + * * * * * + +It occasionally happens that, for no particular reason, long-forgotten +scenes suddenly start up in the memory. This may in many cases be due +to the action of some hardly perceptible odor, which accompanied those +scenes and now recurs exactly same as before. For it is well known +that the sense of smell is specially effective in awakening memories, +and that in general it does not require much to rouse a train of +ideas. And I may say, in passing, that the sense of sight is connected +with the understanding,[1] the sense of hearing with the reason,[2] +and, as we see in the present case, the sense of smell with the +memory. Touch and Taste are more material and dependent upon contact. +They have no ideal side. + +[Footnote 1:_Wierfache Wurzel_ § 21.] + +[Footnote 2: _Parerga_ vol. ii, § 311.] + + * * * * * + +It must also be reckoned among the peculiar attributes of memory +that a slight state of intoxication often so greatly enhances the +recollection of past times and scenes, that all the circumstances +connected with them come back much more clearly than would be possible +in a state of sobriety; but that, on the other hand, the recollection +of what one said or did while the intoxication lasted, is more than +usually imperfect; nay, that if one has been absolutely tipsy, it is +gone altogether. We may say, then, that whilst intoxication enhances +the memory for what is past, it allows it to remember little of the +present. + + * * * * * + +Men need some kind of external activity, because they are inactive +within. Contrarily, if they are active within, they do not care to be +dragged out of themselves; it disturbs and impedes their thoughts in a +way that is often most ruinous to them. + + * * * * * + +I am not surprised that some people are bored when they find +themselves alone; for they cannot laugh if they are quite by +themselves. The very idea of it seems folly to them. + +Are we, then, to look upon laughter as merely O signal for others--a +mere sign, like a word? What makes it impossible for people to laugh +when they are alone is nothing but want of imagination, dullness of +mind generally--[Greek: anaisthaesia kai bradutaes psuchaes], as +Theophrastus has it.[1] The lower animals never laugh, either alone +or in company. Myson, the misanthropist, was once surprised by one of +these people as he was laughing to himself. _Why do you laugh_? he +asked; _there is no one with you. That is just why I am laughing_, +said Myson. + +[Footnote 1: _Characters_, c. 27.] + + * * * * * + +Natural _gesticulation_, such as commonly accompanies any lively talk, +is a language of its own, more widespread, even, than the language of +words--so far, I mean, as it is independent of words and alike in all +nations. It is true that nations make use of it in proportion as they +are vivacious, and that in particular cases, amongst the Italians, for +instance, it is supplemented by certain peculiar gestures which are +merely conventional, and therefore possessed of nothing more than a +local value. + +In the universal use made of it, gesticulation has some analogy with +logic and grammar, in that it has to do with the form, rather +than with the matter of conversation; but on the other hand it is +distinguishable from them by the fact that it has more of a moral than +of an intellectual bearing; in other words, it reflects the movements +of the will. As an accompaniment of conversation it is like the bass +of a melody; and if, as in music, it keeps true to the progress of the +treble, it serves to heighten the effect. + +In a conversation, the gesture depends upon the form in which the +subject-matter is conveyed; and it is interesting to observe that, +whatever that subject-matter may be, with a recurrence of the form, +the very same gesture is repeated. So if I happen to see--from my +window, say--two persons carrying on a lively conversation, without +my being able to catch a word, I can, nevertheless, understand the +general nature of it perfectly well; I mean, the kind of thing that is +being said and the form it takes. There is no mistake about it. The +speaker is arguing about something, advancing his reasons, then +limiting their application, then driving them home and drawing the +conclusion in triumph; or he is recounting his experiences, proving, +perhaps, beyond the shadow of a doubt, how much he has been injured, +but bringing the clearest and most damning evidence to show that +his opponents were foolish and obstinate people who would not be +convinced; or else he is telling of the splendid plan he laid, and how +he carried it to a successful issue, or perhaps failed because +the luck was against him; or, it may be, he is saying that he was +completely at a loss to know what to do, or that he was quick in +seeing some traps set for him, and that by insisting on his rights or +by applying a little force, he succeeded in frustrating and punishing +his enemies; and so on in hundreds of cases of a similar kind. + +Strictly speaking, however, what I get from gesticulation alone is +an abstract notion of the essential drift of what is being said, and +that, too, whether I judge from a moral or an intellectual point of +view. It is the quintessence, the true substance of the conversation, +and this remains identical, no matter what may have given rise to the +conversation, or what it may be about; the relation between the two +being that of a general idea or class-name to the individuals which it +covers. + +As I have said, the most interesting and amusing part of the matter is +the complete identity and solidarity of the gestures used to denote +the same set of circumstances, even though by people of very different +temperament; so that the gestures become exactly like words of +a language, alike for every one, and subject only to such small +modifications as depend upon variety of accent and education. And yet +there can be no doubt but that these standing gestures, which every +one uses, are the result of no convention or collusion. They are +original and innate--a true language of nature; consolidated, it may +be, by imitation and the influence of custom. + +It is well known that it is part of an actor's duty to make a careful +study of gesture; and the same thing is true, to a somewhat smaller +degree, of a public speaker. This study must consist chiefly in +watching others and imitating their movements, for there are no +abstract rules fairly applicable to the matter, with the exception +of some very general leading principles, such as--to take an +example--that the gesture must not follow the word, but rather +come immediately before it, by way of announcing its approach and +attracting the hearer's attention. + +Englishmen entertain a peculiar contempt for gesticulation, and look +upon it as something vulgar and undignified. This seems to me a silly +prejudice on their part, and the outcome of their general prudery. For +here we have a language which nature has given to every one, and which +every one understands; and to do away with and forbid it for no better +reason than that it is opposed to that much-lauded thing, gentlemanly +feeling, is a very questionable proceeding. + + + + +ON EDUCATION. + + +The human intellect is said to be so constituted that _general ideas_ +arise by abstraction from _particular observations_, and therefore +come after them in point of time. If this is what actually occurs, as +happens in the case of a man who has to depend solely upon his own +experience for what he learns--who has no teacher and no book,--such +a man knows quite well which of his particular observations belong to +and are represented by each of his general ideas. He has a perfect +acquaintance with both sides of his experience, and accordingly, he +treats everything that comes in his way from a right standpoint. This +might be called the _natural_ method of education. + +Contrarily, the _artificial_ method is to hear what other people say, +to learn and to read, and so to get your head crammed full of general +ideas before you have any sort of extended acquaintance with the world +as it is, and as you may see it for yourself. You will be told that +the particular observations which go to make these general ideas will +come to you later on in the course of experience; but until that time +arrives, you apply your general ideas wrongly, you judge men and +things from a wrong standpoint, you see them in a wrong light, and +treat them in a wrong way. So it is that education perverts the mind. + +This explains why it so frequently happens that, after a long course +of learning and reading, we enter upon the world in our youth, partly +with an artless ignorance of things, partly with wrong notions about +them; so that our demeanor savors at one moment of a nervous anxiety, +at another of a mistaken confidence. The reason of this is simply that +our head is full of general ideas which we are now trying to turn to +some use, but which we hardly ever apply rightly. This is the result +of acting in direct opposition to the natural development of the mind +by obtaining general ideas first, and particular observations last: +it is putting the cart before the horse. Instead of developing the +child's own faculties of discernment, and teaching it to judge and +think for itself, the teacher uses all his energies to stuff its head +full of the ready-made thoughts of other people. The mistaken views +of life, which spring from a false application of general ideas, have +afterwards to be corrected by long years of experience; and it is +seldom that they are wholly corrected. This is why so few men of +learning are possessed of common-sense, such as is often to be met +with in people who have had no instruction at all. + +_To acquire a knowledge of the world_ might be defined as the aim +of all education; and it follows from what I have said that special +stress should be laid upon beginning to acquire this knowledge _at +the right end_. As I have shown, this means, in the main, that the +particular observation of a thing shall precede the general idea of +it; further, that narrow and circumscribed ideas shall come before +ideas of a wide range. It means, therefore, that the whole system of +education shall follow in the steps that must have been taken by the +ideas themselves in the course of their formation. But whenever any of +these steps are skipped or left out, the instruction is defective, and +the ideas obtained are false; and finally, a distorted view of the +world arises, peculiar to the individual himself--a view such as +almost everyone entertains for some time, and most men for as long as +they live. No one can look into his own mind without seeing that it +was only after reaching a very mature age, and in some cases when he +least expected it, that he came to a right understanding or a clear +view of many matters in his life, that, after all, were not very +difficult or complicated. Up till then, they were points in his +knowledge of the world which were still obscure, due to his having +skipped some particular lesson in those early days of his education, +whatever it may have been like--whether artificial and conventional, +or of that natural kind which is based upon individual experience. + +It follows that an attempt should be made to find out the strictly +natural course of knowledge, so that education may proceed +methodically by keeping to it; and that children may become acquainted +with the ways of the world, without getting wrong ideas into their +heads, which very often cannot be got out again. If this plan were +adopted, special care would have to be taken to prevent children +from using words without clearly understanding their meaning and +application. The fatal tendency to be satisfied with words instead of +trying to understand things--to learn phrases by heart, so that +they may prove a refuge in time of need, exists, as a rule, even in +children; and the tendency lasts on into manhood, making the knowledge +of many learned persons to consist in mere verbiage. + +However, the main endeavor must always be to let particular +observations precede general ideas, and not _vice versa_, as is +usually and unfortunately the case; as though a child should come +feet foremost into the world, or a verse be begun by writing down the +rhyme! The ordinary method is to imprint ideas and opinions, in the +strict sense of the word, _prejudices_, on the mind of the child, +before it has had any but a very few particular observations. It is +thus that he afterwards comes to view the world and gather experience +through the medium of those ready-made ideas, rather than to let his +ideas be formed for him out of his own experience of life, as they +ought to be. + +A man sees a great many things when he looks at the world for himself, +and he sees them from many sides; but this method of learning is not +nearly so short or so quick as the method which employs abstract +ideas and makes hasty generalizations about everything. Experience, +therefore, will be a long time in correcting preconceived ideas, or +perhaps never bring its task to an end; for wherever a man finds that +the aspect of things seems to contradict the general ideas he has +formed, he will begin by rejecting the evidence it offers as partial +and one-sided; nay, he will shut his eyes to it altogether and deny +that it stands in any contradiction at all with his preconceived +notions, in order that he may thus preserve them uninjured. So it is +that many a man carries about a burden of wrong notions all his life +long--crotchets, whims, fancies, prejudices, which at last become +fixed ideas. The fact is that he has never tried to form his +fundamental ideas for himself out of his own experience of life, his +own way of looking at the world, because he has taken over his ideas +ready-made from other people; and this it is that makes him--as it +makes how many others!--so shallow and superficial. + +Instead of that method of instruction, care should be taken to educate +children on the natural lines. No idea should ever be established in a +child's mind otherwise than by what the child can see for itself, or +at any rate it should be verified by the same means; and the result of +this would be that the child's ideas, if few, would be well-grounded +and accurate. It would learn how to measure things by its own standard +rather than by another's; and so it would escape a thousand strange +fancies and prejudices, and not need to have them eradicated by the +lessons it will subsequently be taught in the school of life. The +child would, in this way, have its mind once for all habituated +to clear views and thorough-going knowledge; it would use its own +judgment and take an unbiased estimate of things. + +And, in general, children should not form their notions of what life +is like from the copy before they have learned it from the original, +to whatever aspect of it their attention may be directed. Instead, +therefore, of hastening to place _books_, and books alone, in their +hands, let them be made acquainted, step by step, with _things_--with +the actual circumstances of human life. And above all let care be +taken to bring them to a clear and objective view of the world as it +is, to educate them always to derive their ideas directly from real +life, and to shape them in conformity with it--not to fetch them from +other sources, such as books, fairy tales, or what people say--then +to apply them ready-made to real life. For this will mean that their +heads are full of wrong notions, and that they will either see things +in a false light or try in vain to _remodel the world_ to suit their +views, and so enter upon false paths; and that, too, whether they are +only constructing theories of life or engaged in the actual business +of it. It is incredible how much harm is done when the seeds of wrong +notions are laid in the mind in those early years, later on to bear a +crop of prejudice; for the subsequent lessons, which are learned from +real life in the world have to be devoted mainly to their extirpation. +_To unlearn the evil_ was the answer, according to Diogenes +Laertius,[1] Antisthenes gave, when he was asked what branch of +knowledge was most necessary; and we can see what he meant. + +[Footnote 1: vi. 7.] + +No child under the age of fifteen should receive instruction in +subjects which may possibly be the vehicle of serious error, such as +philosophy, religion, or any other branch of knowledge where it is +necessary to take large views; because wrong notions imbibed early can +seldom be rooted out, and of all the intellectual faculties, judgment +is the last to arrive at maturity. The child should give its attention +either to subjects where no error is possible at all, such as +mathematics, or to those in which there is no particular danger in +making a mistake, such as languages, natural science, history and so +on. And in general, the branches of knowledge which are to be studied +at any period of life should be such as the mind is equal to at that +period and can perfectly understand. Childhood and youth form the time +for collecting materials, for getting a special and thorough knowledge +of the individual and particular things. In those years it is too +early to form views on a large scale; and ultimate explanations must +be put off to a later date. The faculty of judgment, which cannot come +into play without mature experience, should be left to itself; and +care should be taken not to anticipate its action by inculcating +prejudice, which will paralyze it for ever. + +On the other hand, the memory should be specially taxed in youth, +since it is then that it is strongest and most tenacious. But in +choosing the things that should be committed to memory the utmost care +and forethought must be exercised; as lessons well learnt in youth are +never forgotten. This precious soil must therefore be cultivated so as +to bear as much fruit as possible. If you think how deeply rooted in +your memory are those persons whom you knew in the first twelve years +of your life, how indelible the impression made upon you by the events +of those years, how clear your recollection of most of the things that +happened to you then, most of what was told or taught you, it will +seem a natural thing to take the susceptibility and tenacity of the +mind at that period as the ground-work of education. This may be done +by a strict observance of method, and a systematic regulation of the +impressions which the mind is to receive. + +But the years of youth allotted to a man are short, and memory is, in +general, bound within narrow limits; still more so, the memory of any +one individual. Since this is the case, it is all-important to fill +the memory with what is essential and material in any branch of +knowledge, to the exclusion of everything else. The decision as to +what is essential and material should rest with the masterminds in +every department of thought; their choice should be made after the +most mature deliberation, and the outcome of it fixed and determined. +Such a choice would have to proceed by sifting the things which it +is necessary and important for a man to know in general, and then, +necessary and important for him to know in any particular business +or calling. Knowledge of the first kind would have to be classified, +after an encyclopaedic fashion, in graduated courses, adapted to the +degree of general culture which a man may be expected to have in the +circumstances in which he is placed; beginning with a course limited +to the necessary requirements of primary education, and extending +upwards to the subjects treated of in all the branches of +philosophical thought. The regulation of the second kind of knowledge +would be left to those who had shown genuine mastery in the several +departments into which it is divided; and the whole system would +provide an elaborate rule or canon for intellectual education, which +would, of course, have to be revised every ten years. Some such +arrangement as this would employ the youthful power of the memory to +best advantage, and supply excellent working material to the faculty +of judgment, when it made its appearance later on. + +A man's knowledge may be said to be mature, in other words, it has +reached the most complete state of perfection to which he, as an +individual, is capable of bringing it, when an exact correspondence is +established between the whole of his abstract ideas and the things he +has actually perceived for himself. This will mean that each of +his abstract ideas rests, directly or indirectly, upon a basis of +observation, which alone endows it with any real value; and also +that he is able to place every observation he makes under the right +abstract idea which belongs to it. Maturity is the work of experience +alone; and therefore it requires time. The knowledge we derive from +our own observation is usually distinct from that which we acquire +through the medium of abstract ideas; the one coming to us in the +natural way, the other by what people tell us, and the course of +instruction we receive, whether it is good or bad. The result is, that +in youth there is generally very little agreement or correspondence +between our abstract ideas, which are merely phrases in the mind, and +that real knowledge which we have obtained by our own observation. It +is only later on that a gradual approach takes place between these two +kinds of knowledge, accompanied by a mutual correction of error; and +knowledge is not mature until this coalition is accomplished. This +maturity or perfection of knowledge is something quite independent of +another kind of perfection, which may be of a high or a low order--the +perfection, I mean, to which a man may bring his own individual +faculties; which is measured, not by any correspondence between the +two kinds of knowledge, but by the degree of intensity which each kind +attains. + +For the practical man the most needful thing is to acquire an accurate +and profound knowledge of _the ways of the world_. But this, though +the most needful, is also the most wearisome of all studies, as a man +may reach a great age without coming to the end of his task; whereas, +in the domain of the sciences, he masters the more important facts +when he is still young. In acquiring that knowledge of the world, it +is while he is a novice, namely, in boyhood and in youth, that the +first and hardest lessons are put before him; but it often happens +that even in later years there is still a great deal to be learned. + +The study is difficult enough in itself; but the difficulty is doubled +by _novels_, which represent a state of things in life and the world, +such as, in fact, does not exist. Youth is credulous, and accepts +these views of life, which then become part and parcel of the mind; so +that, instead of a merely negative condition of ignorance, you have +positive error--a whole tissue of false notions to start with; and at +a later date these actually spoil the schooling of experience, and put +a wrong construction on the lessons it teaches. If, before this, +the youth had no light at all to guide him, he is now misled by a +will-o'-the-wisp; still more often is this the case with a girl. +They have both had a false view of things foisted on them by reading +novels; and expectations have been aroused which can never be +fulfilled. This generally exercises a baneful influence on their whole +life. In this respect those whose youth has allowed them no time or +opportunity for reading novels--those who work with their hands and +the like--are in a position of decided advantage. There are a few +novels to which this reproach cannot be addressed--nay, which have an +effect the contrary of bad. First and foremost, to give an example, +_Gil Blas_, and the other works of Le Sage (or rather their Spanish +originals); further, _The Vicar of Wakefield_, and, to some extent Sir +Walter Scott's novels. _Don Quixote_ may be regarded as a satirical +exhibition of the error to which I am referring. + + + + +OF WOMEN. + + +Schiller's poem in honor of women, _Würde der Frauen_, is the +result of much careful thought, and it appeals to the reader by its +antithetic style and its use of contrast; but as an expression of the +true praise which should be accorded to them, it is, I think, inferior +to these few words of Jouy's: _Without women, the beginning of our +life would be helpless; the middle, devoid of pleasure; and the end, +of consolation_. The same thing is more feelingly expressed by Byron +in _Sardanapalus_: + + _The very first + Of human life must spring from woman's breast, + Your first small words are taught you from her lips, + Your first tears quench'd by her, and your last sighs + Too often breathed out in a woman's hearing, + When men have shrunk from the ignoble care + Of watching the last hour of him who led them_. + + (Act I Scene 2.) + +These two passages indicate the right standpoint for the appreciation +of women. + +You need only look at the way in which she is formed, to see that +woman is not meant to undergo great labor, whether of the mind or of +the body. She pays the debt of life not by what she does, but by what +she suffers; by the pains of child-bearing and care for the child, +and by submission to her husband, to whom she should be a patient and +cheering companion. The keenest sorrows and joys are not for her, nor +is she called upon to display a great deal of strength. The current +of her life should be more gentle, peaceful and trivial than man's, +without being essentially happier or unhappier. + +Women are directly fitted for acting as the nurses and teachers of +our early childhood by the fact that they are themselves childish, +frivolous and short-sighted; in a word, they are big children all +their life long--a kind of intermediate stage between the child and +the full-grown man, who is man in the strict sense of the word. See +how a girl will fondle a child for days together, dance with it and +sing to it; and then think what a man, with the best will in the +world, could do if he were put in her place. + +With young girls Nature seems to have had in view what, in the +language of the drama, is called _a striking effect_; as for a few +years she dowers them with a wealth of beauty and is lavish in her +gift of charm, at the expense of all the rest of their life; so that +during those years they may capture the fantasy of some man to such a +degree that he is hurried away into undertaking the honorable care of +them, in some form or other, as long as they live--a step for which +there would not appear to be any sufficient warranty if reason only +directed his thoughts. Accordingly, Nature has equipped woman, as she +does all her creatures, with the weapons and implements requisite +for the safeguarding of her existence, and for just as long as it is +necessary for her to have them. Here, as elsewhere, Nature proceeds +with her usual economy; for just as the female ant, after fecundation, +loses her wings, which are then superfluous, nay, actually a danger +to the business of breeding; so, after giving birth to one or two +children, a woman generally loses her beauty; probably, indeed, for +similar reasons. + +And so we find that young girls, in their hearts, look upon domestic +affairs or work of any kind as of secondary importance, if not +actually as a mere jest. The only business that really claims their +earnest attention is love, making conquests, and everything connected +with this--dress, dancing, and so on. + +The nobler and more perfect a thing is, the later and slower it is +in arriving at maturity. A man reaches the maturity of his reasoning +powers and mental faculties hardly before the age of twenty-eight; a +woman at eighteen. And then, too, in the case of woman, it is only +reason of a sort--very niggard in its dimensions. That is why women +remain children their whole life long; never seeing anything but +what is quite close to them, cleaving to the present moment, taking +appearance for reality, and preferring trifles to matters of the first +importance. For it is by virtue of his reasoning faculty that man does +not live in the present only, like the brute, but looks about him and +considers the past and the future; and this is the origin of prudence, +as well as of that care and anxiety which so many people exhibit. Both +the advantages and the disadvantages which this involves, are shared +in by the woman to a smaller extent because of her weaker power +of reasoning. She may, in fact, be described as intellectually +short-sighted, because, while she has an intuitive understanding of +what lies quite close to her, her field of vision is narrow and does +not reach to what is remote; so that things which are absent, or past, +or to come, have much less effect upon women than upon men. This is +the reason why women are more often inclined to be extravagant, and +sometimes carry their inclination to a length that borders upon +madness. In their hearts, women think that it is men's business +to earn money and theirs to spend it--- if possible during their +husband's life, but, at any rate, after his death. The very fact +that their husband hands them over his earnings for purposes of +housekeeping, strengthens them in this belief. + +However many disadvantages all this may involve, there is at least +this to be said in its favor; that the woman lives more in the present +than the man, and that, if the present is at all tolerable, she enjoys +it more eagerly. This is the source of that cheerfulness which +is peculiar to women, fitting her to amuse man in his hours of +recreation, and, in case of need, to console him when he is borne down +by the weight of his cares. + +It is by no means a bad plan to consult women in matters of +difficulty, as the Germans used to do in ancient times; for their way +of looking at things is quite different from ours, chiefly in the +fact that they like to take the shortest way to their goal, and, in +general, manage to fix their eyes upon what lies before them; while +we, as a rule, see far beyond it, just because it is in front of our +noses. In cases like this, we need to be brought back to the right +standpoint, so as to recover the near and simple view. + +Then, again, women are decidedly more sober in their judgment than +we are, so that they do not see more in things than is really there; +whilst, if our passions are aroused, we are apt to see things in an +exaggerated way, or imagine what does not exist. + +The weakness of their reasoning faculty also explains why it is that +women show more sympathy for the unfortunate than men do, and so treat +them with more kindness and interest; and why it is that, on the +contrary, they are inferior to men in point of justice, and less +honorable and conscientious. For it is just because their reasoning +power is weak that present circumstances have such a hold over them, +and those concrete things, which lie directly before their eyes, +exercise a power which is seldom counteracted to any extent by +abstract principles of thought, by fixed rules of conduct, firm +resolutions, or, in general, by consideration for the past and the +future, or regard for what is absent and remote. Accordingly, they +possess the first and main elements that go to make a virtuous +character, but they are deficient in those secondary qualities which +are often a necessary instrument in the formation of it.[1] + +[Footnote 1: In this respect they may be compared to an animal +organism which contains a liver but no gall-bladder. Here let me refer +to what I have said in my treatise on _The Foundation of Morals_, § +17.] + +Hence, it will be found that the fundamental fault of the female +character is that it has _no sense of justice_. This is mainly due to +the fact, already mentioned, that women are defective in the powers of +reasoning and deliberation; but it is also traceable to the position +which Nature has assigned to them as the weaker sex. They are +dependent, not upon strength, but upon craft; and hence their +instinctive capacity for cunning, and their ineradicable tendency to +say what is not true. For as lions are provided with claws and teeth, +and elephants and boars with tusks, bulls with horns, and cuttle fish +with its clouds of inky fluid, so Nature has equipped woman, for her +defence and protection, with the arts of dissimulation; and all the +power which Nature has conferred upon man in the shape of physical +strength and reason, has been bestowed upon women in this form. Hence, +dissimulation is innate in woman, and almost as much a quality of the +stupid as of the clever. It is as natural for them to make use of it +on every occasion as it is for those animals to employ their means of +defence when they are attacked; they have a feeling that in doing so +they are only within their rights. Therefore a woman who is perfectly +truthful and not given to dissimulation is perhaps an impossibility, +and for this very reason they are so quick at seeing through +dissimulation in others that it is not a wise thing to attempt it with +them. But this fundamental defect which I have stated, with all +that it entails, gives rise to falsity, faithlessness, treachery, +ingratitude, and so on. Perjury in a court of justice is more +often committed by women than by men. It may, indeed, be generally +questioned whether women ought to be sworn in at all. From time to +time one finds repeated cases everywhere of ladies, who want for +nothing, taking things from shop-counters when no one is looking, and +making off with them. + +Nature has appointed that the propagation of the species shall be the +business of men who are young, strong and handsome; so that the race +may not degenerate. This is the firm will and purpose of Nature in +regard to the species, and it finds its expression in the passions of +women. There is no law that is older or more powerful than this. Woe, +then, to the man who sets up claims and interests that will conflict +with it; whatever he may say and do, they will be unmercifully crushed +at the first serious encounter. For the innate rule that governs +women's conduct, though it is secret and unformulated, nay, +unconscious in its working, is this: _We are justified in deceiving +those who think they have acquired rights over the species by paying +little attention to the individual, that is, to us. The constitution +and, therefore, the welfare of the species have been placed in our +hands and committed to our care, through the control we obtain over +the next generation, which proceeds from us; let us discharge our +duties conscientiously_. But women have no abstract knowledge of this +leading principle; they are conscious of it only as a concrete fact; +and they have no other method of giving expression to it than the +way in which they act when the opportunity arrives. And then their +conscience does not trouble them so much as we fancy; for in the +darkest recesses of their heart, they are aware that in committing a +breach of their duty towards the individual, they have all the +better fulfilled their duty towards the species, which is infinitely +greater.[1] + +[Footnote 1: A more detailed discussion of the matter in question may +be found in my chief work, _Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung_, vol. +ii, ch. 44.] + +And since women exist in the main solely for the propagation of the +species, and are not destined for anything else, they live, as a rule, +more for the species than for the individual, and in their hearts +take the affairs of the species more seriously than those of the +individual. This gives their whole life and being a certain levity; +the general bent of their character is in a direction fundamentally +different from that of man; and it is this to which produces that +discord in married life which is so frequent, and almost the normal +state. + +The natural feeling between men is mere indifference, but +between women it is actual enmity. The reason of this is that +trade-jealousy--_odium figulinum_--which, in the case of men does not +go beyond the confines of their own particular pursuit; but, with +women, embraces the whole sex; since they have only one kind of +business. Even when they meet in the street, women look at one another +like Guelphs and Ghibellines. And it is a patent fact that when two +women make first acquaintance with each other, they behave with more +constraint and dissimulation than two men would show in a like case; +and hence it is that an exchange of compliments between two women is a +much more ridiculous proceeding than between two men. Further, whilst +a man will, as a general rule, always preserve a certain amount of +consideration and humanity in speaking to others, even to those who +are in a very inferior position, it is intolerable to see how proudly +and disdainfully a fine lady will generally behave towards one who is +in a lower social rank (I do not mean a woman who is in her service), +whenever she speaks to her. The reason of this may be that, with +women, differences of rank are much more precarious than with us; +because, while a hundred considerations carry weight in our case, +in theirs there is only one, namely, with which man they have found +favor; as also that they stand in much nearer relations with one +another than men do, in consequence of the one-sided nature of their +calling. This makes them endeavor to lay stress upon differences of +rank. + +It is only the man whose intellect is clouded by his sexual impulses +that could give the name of _the fair sex_ to that under-sized, +narrow-shouldered, broad-hipped, and short-legged race; for the whole +beauty of the sex is bound up with this impulse. Instead of calling +them beautiful, there would be more warrant for describing women as +the un-aesthetic sex. Neither for music, nor for poetry, nor for fine +art, have they really and truly any sense or susceptibility; it is a +mere mockery if they make a pretence of it in order to assist their +endeavor to please. Hence, as a result of this, they are incapable of +taking a _purely objective interest_ in anything; and the reason of it +seems to me to be as follows. A man tries to acquire _direct_ mastery +over things, either by understanding them, or by forcing them to do +his will. But a woman is always and everywhere reduced to obtaining +this mastery _indirectly_, namely, through a man; and whatever direct +mastery she may have is entirely confined to him. And so it lies in +woman's nature to look upon everything only as a means for conquering +man; and if she takes an interest in anything else, it is simulated--a +mere roundabout way of gaining her ends by coquetry, and feigning what +she does not feel. Hence, even Rousseau declared: _Women have, in +general, no love for any art; they have no proper knowledge of any; +and they have no genius_.[1] + +[Footnote 1: Lettre à d'Alembert, Note xx.] + +No one who sees at all below the surface can have failed to remark the +same thing. You need only observe the kind of attention women bestow +upon a concert, an opera, or a play--the childish simplicity, for +example, with which they keep on chattering during the finest passages +in the greatest masterpieces. If it is true that the Greeks excluded +women from their theatres they were quite right in what they did; +at any rate you would have been able to hear what was said upon the +stage. In our day, besides, or in lieu of saying, _Let a woman keep +silence in the church_, it would be much to the point to say _Let a +woman keep silence in the theatre_. This might, perhaps, be put up in +big letters on the curtain. + +And you cannot expect anything else of women if you consider that the +most distinguished intellects among the whole sex have never managed +to produce a single achievement in the fine arts that is really great, +genuine, and original; or given to the world any work of permanent +value in any sphere. This is most strikingly shown in regard to +painting, where mastery of technique is at least as much within their +power as within ours--and hence they are diligent in cultivating it; +but still, they have not a single great painting to boast of, just +because they are deficient in that objectivity of mind which is so +directly indispensable in painting. They never get beyond a subjective +point of view. It is quite in keeping with this that ordinary women +have no real susceptibility for art at all; for Nature proceeds in +strict sequence--_non facit saltum_. And Huarte[1] in his _Examen de +ingenios para las scienzias_--a book which has been famous for +three hundred years--denies women the possession of all the higher +faculties. The case is not altered by particular and partial +exceptions; taken as a whole, women are, and remain, thorough-going +Philistines, and quite incurable. Hence, with that absurd arrangement +which allows them to share the rank and title of their husbands they +are a constant stimulus to his ignoble ambitions. And, further, it is +just because they are Philistines that modern society, where they +take the lead and set the tone, is in such a bad way. Napoleon's +saying--that _women have no rank_--should be adopted as the right +standpoint in determining their position in society; and as regards +their other qualities Chamfort[2] makes the very true remark: _They +are made to trade with our own weaknesses and our follies, but not +with our reason. The sympathies that exist between them and men are +skin-deep only, and do not touch the mind or the feelings or the +character_. They form the _sexus sequior_--the second sex, inferior in +every respect to the first; their infirmities should be treated +with consideration; but to show them great reverence is extremely +ridiculous, and lowers us in their eyes. When Nature made two +divisions of the human race, she did not draw the line exactly through +the middle. These divisions are polar and opposed to each other, it is +true; but the difference between them is not qualitative merely, it is +also quantitative. + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_.--- Juan Huarte (1520?-1590) +practised as a physician at Madrid. The work cited by Schopenhauer is +known, and has been translated into many languages.] + +[Footnote 2: _Translator's Note_.--See _Counsels and Maxims_, p. 12, +Note.] + +This is just the view which the ancients took of woman, and the view +which people in the East take now; and their judgment as to her proper +position is much more correct than ours, with our old French notions +of gallantry and our preposterous system of reverence--that highest +product of Teutonico-Christian stupidity. These notions have served +only to make women more arrogant and overbearing; so that one is +occasionally reminded of the holy apes in Benares, who in the +consciousness of their sanctity and inviolable position, think they +can do exactly as they please. + +But in the West, the woman, and especially the _lady_, finds herself +in a false position; for woman, rightly called by the ancients, +_sexus sequior_, is by no means fit to be the object of our honor and +veneration, or to hold her head higher than man and be on equal terms +with him. The consequences of this false position are sufficiently +obvious. Accordingly, it would be a very desirable thing if this +Number-Two of the human race were in Europe also relegated to her +natural place, and an end put to that lady nuisance, which not only +moves all Asia to laughter, but would have been ridiculed by Greece +and Rome as well. It is impossible to calculate the good effects which +such a change would bring about in our social, civil and political +arrangements. There would be no necessity for the Salic law: it would +be a superfluous truism. In Europe the _lady_, strictly so-called, is +a being who should not exist at all; she should be either a housewife +or a girl who hopes to become one; and she should be brought up, not +to be arrogant, but to be thrifty and submissive. It is just because +there are such people as _ladies_ in Europe that the women of the +lower classes, that is to say, the great majority of the sex, are much +more unhappy than they are in the East. And even Lord Byron says: +_Thought of the state of women under the ancient Greeks--convenient +enough. Present state, a remnant of the barbarism of the chivalric +and the feudal ages--artificial and unnatural. They ought to mind +home--and be well fed and clothed--but not mixed in society. Well +educated, too, in religion--but to read neither poetry nor politics-- +nothing but books of piety and cookery. Music--drawing--dancing--also +a little gardening and ploughing now and then. I have seen them +mending the roads in Epirus with good success. Why not, as well as +hay-making and milking_? + +The laws of marriage prevailing in Europe consider the woman as the +equivalent of the man--start, that is to say, from a wrong position. +In our part of the world where monogamy is the rule, to marry means to +halve one's rights and double one's duties. Now, when the laws gave +women equal rights with man, they ought to have also endowed her with +a masculine intellect. But the fact is, that just in proportion as +the honors and privileges which the laws accord to women, exceed the +amount which nature gives, is there a diminution in the number +of women who really participate in these privileges; and all the +remainder are deprived of their natural rights by just so much as is +given to the others over and above their share. For the institution of +monogamy, and the laws of marriage which it entails, bestow upon +the woman an unnatural position of privilege, by considering her +throughout as the full equivalent of the man, which is by no means +the case; and seeing this, men who are shrewd and prudent very often +scruple to make so great a sacrifice and to acquiesce in so unfair an +arrangement. + +Consequently, whilst among polygamous nations every woman is provided +for, where monogamy prevails the number of married women is limited; +and there remains over a large number of women without stay or +support, who, in the upper classes, vegetate as useless old maids, and +in the lower succumb to hard work for which they are not suited; or +else become _filles de joie_, whose life is as destitute of joy as it +is of honor. But under the circumstances they become a necessity; and +their position is openly recognized as serving the special end of +warding off temptation from those women favored by fate, who have +found, or may hope to find, husbands. In London alone there are 80,000 +prostitutes. What are they but the women, who, under the institution +of monogamy have come off worse? Theirs is a dreadful fate: they are +human sacrifices offered up on the altar of monogamy. The women whose +wretched position is here described are the inevitable set-off to the +European lady with her arrogance and pretension. Polygamy is therefore +a real benefit to the female sex if it is taken as a whole. And, from +another point of view, there is no true reason why a man whose wife +suffers from chronic illness, or remains barren, or has gradually +become too old for him, should not take a second. The motives which +induce so many people to become converts to Mormonism[1] appear to +be just those which militate against the unnatural institution of +monogamy. + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_.--The Mormons have recently given up +polygamy, and received the American franchise in its stead.] + +Moreover, the bestowal of unnatural rights upon women has imposed upon +them unnatural duties, and, nevertheless, a breach of these duties +makes them unhappy. Let me explain. A man may often think that his +social or financial position will suffer if he marries, unless he +makes some brilliant alliance. His desire will then be to win a woman +of his own choice under conditions other than those of marriage, such +as will secure her position and that of the children. However fair, +reasonable, fit and proper these conditions may be, and the woman +consents by foregoing that undue amount of privilege which marriage +alone can bestow, she to some extent loses her honor, because marriage +is the basis of civic society; and she will lead an unhappy life, +since human nature is so constituted that we pay an attention to the +opinion of other people which is out of all proportion to its value. +On the other hand, if she does not consent, she runs the risk either +of having to be given in marriage to a man whom she does not like, or +of being landed high and dry as an old maid; for the period during +which she has a chance of being settled for life is very short. And +in view of this aspect of the institution of monogamy, Thomasius' +profoundly learned treatise, _de Concubinatu_, is well worth reading; +for it shows that, amongst all nations and in all ages, down to the +Lutheran Reformation, concubinage was permitted; nay, that it was an +institution which was to a certain extent actually recognized by law, +and attended with no dishonor. It was only the Lutheran Reformation +that degraded it from this position. It was seen to be a further +justification for the marriage of the clergy; and then, after that, +the Catholic Church did not dare to remain behind-hand in the matter. + +There is no use arguing about polygamy; it must be taken as _de facto_ +existing everywhere, and the only question is as to how it shall be +regulated. Where are there, then, any real monogamists? We all live, +at any rate, for a time, and most of us, always, in polygamy. And so, +since every man needs many women, there is nothing fairer than to +allow him, nay, to make it incumbent upon him, to provide for many +women. This will reduce woman to her true and natural position as +a subordinate being; and the _lady_--that monster of European +civilization and Teutonico-Christian stupidity--will disappear from +the world, leaving only _women_, but no more _unhappy women_, of whom +Europe is now full. + +In India, no woman is ever independent, but in accordance with the law +of Mamu,[1] she stands under the control of her father, her husband, +her brother or her son. It is, to be sure, a revolting thing that a +widow should immolate herself upon her husband's funeral pyre; but it +is also revolting that she should spend her husband's money with her +paramours--the money for which he toiled his whole life long, in the +consoling belief that he was providing for his children. Happy are +those who have kept the middle course--_medium tenuere beati_. + +[Footnote 1: Ch. V., v. 148.] + +The first love of a mother for her child is, with the lower animals as +with men, of a purely _instinctive_ character, and so it ceases when +the child is no longer in a physically helpless condition. After that, +the first love should give way to one that is based on habit and +reason; but this often fails to make its appearance, especially where +the mother did not love the father. The love of a father for his child +is of a different order, and more likely to last; because it has its +foundation in the fact that in the child he recognizes his own inner +self; that is to say, his love for it is metaphysical in its origin. + +In almost all nations, whether of the ancient or the modern world, +even amongst the Hottentots,[1] property is inherited by the male +descendants alone; it is only in Europe that a departure has taken +place; but not amongst the nobility, however. That the property which +has cost men long years of toil and effort, and been won with so much +difficulty, should afterwards come into the hands of women, who then, +in their lack of reason, squander it in a short time, or otherwise +fool it away, is a grievance and a wrong as serious as it is common, +which should be prevented by limiting the right of women to inherit. +In my opinion, the best arrangement would be that by which women, +whether widows or daughters, should never receive anything beyond the +interest for life on property secured by mortgage, and in no case the +property itself, or the capital, except where all male descendants +fail. The people who make money are men, not women; and it follows +from this that women are neither justified in having unconditional +possession of it, nor fit persons to be entrusted with its +administration. When wealth, in any true sense of the word, that is to +say, funds, houses or land, is to go to them as an inheritance they +should never be allowed the free disposition of it. In their case a +guardian should always be appointed; and hence they should never be +given the free control of their own children, wherever it can be +avoided. The vanity of women, even though it should not prove to be +greater than that of men, has this much danger in it, that it takes an +entirely material direction. They are vain, I mean, of their personal +beauty, and then of finery, show and magnificence. That is just why +they are so much in their element in society. It is this, too, which +makes them so inclined to be extravagant, all the more as their +reasoning power is low. Accordingly we find an ancient writer +describing woman as in general of an extravagant nature--[Greek: Gynae +to synolon esti dapanaeron Physei][2] But with men vanity often takes +the direction of non-material advantages, such as intellect, learning, +courage. + +[Footnote 1: Leroy, _Lettres philosophiques sur l'intelligence et la +perfectibilité des animaux, avec quelques lettres sur l'homme_, p. +298, Paris, 1802.] + +[Footnote 2: Brunck's _Gnomici poetae graeci_, v. 115.] + +In the _Politics_[1] Aristotle explains the great disadvantage which +accrued to the Spartans from the fact that they conceded too much to +their women, by giving them the right of inheritance and dower, and a +great amount of independence; and he shows how much this contributed +to Sparta's fall. May it not be the case in France that the influence +of women, which went on increasing steadily from the time of Louis +XIII., was to blame for that gradual corruption of the Court and the +Government, which brought about the Revolution of 1789, of which all +subsequent disturbances have been the fruit? However that may be, the +false position which women occupy, demonstrated as it is, in the most +glaring way, by the institution of the _lady_, is a fundamental defect +in our social scheme, and this defect, proceeding from the very heart +of it, must spread its baneful influence in all directions. + +[Footnote 1: Bk. I, ch. 9.] + + * * * * * + +That woman is by nature meant to obey may be seen by the fact that +every woman who is placed in the unnatural position of complete +independence, immediately attaches herself to some man, by whom she +allows herself to be guided and ruled. It is because she needs a lord +and master. If she is young, it will be a lover; if she is old, a +priest. + + + + +ON NOISE. + + +Kant wrote a treatise on _The Vital Powers_. I should prefer to write +a dirge for them. The superabundant display of vitality, which takes +the form of knocking, hammering, and tumbling things about, has proved +a daily torment to me all my life long. There are people, it is +true--nay, a great many people--who smile at such things, because they +are not sensitive to noise; but they are just the very people who are +also not sensitive to argument, or thought, or poetry, or art, in a +word, to any kind of intellectual influence. The reason of it is that +the tissue of their brains is of a very rough and coarse quality. On +the other hand, noise is a torture to intellectual people. In the +biographies of almost all great writers, or wherever else their +personal utterances are recorded, I find complaints about it; in the +case of Kant, for instance, Goethe, Lichtenberg, Jean Paul; and if it +should happen that any writer has omitted to express himself on the +matter, it is only for want of an opportunity. + +This aversion to noise I should explain as follows: If you cut up a +large diamond into little bits, it will entirely lose the value it +had as a whole; and an army divided up into small bodies of soldiers, +loses all its strength. So a great intellect sinks to the level of +an ordinary one, as soon as it is interrupted and disturbed, its +attention distracted and drawn off from the matter in hand; for its +superiority depends upon its power of concentration--of bringing all +its strength to bear upon one theme, in the same way as a concave +mirror collects into one point all the rays of light that strike upon +it. Noisy interruption is a hindrance to this concentration. That is +why distinguished minds have always shown such an extreme dislike +to disturbance in any form, as something that breaks in upon and +distracts their thoughts. Above all have they been averse to that +violent interruption that comes from noise. Ordinary people are +not much put out by anything of the sort. The most sensible and +intelligent of all nations in Europe lays down the rule, _Never +Interrupt_! as the eleventh commandment. Noise is the most impertinent +of all forms of interruption. It is not only an interruption, but +also a disruption of thought. Of course, where there is nothing to +interrupt, noise will not be so particularly painful. Occasionally it +happens that some slight but constant noise continues to bother and +distract me for a time before I become distinctly conscious of it. All +I feel is a steady increase in the labor of thinking--just as though I +were trying to walk with a weight on my foot. At last I find out what +it is. Let me now, however, pass from genus to species. The most +inexcusable and disgraceful of all noises is the cracking of whips--a +truly infernal thing when it is done in the narrow resounding streets +of a town. I denounce it as making a peaceful life impossible; it puts +an end to all quiet thought. That this cracking of whips should be +allowed at all seems to me to show in the clearest way how senseless +and thoughtless is the nature of mankind. No one with anything like an +idea in his head can avoid a feeling of actual pain at this sudden, +sharp crack, which paralyzes the brain, rends the thread of +reflection, and murders thought. Every time this noise is made, it +must disturb a hundred people who are applying their minds to business +of some sort, no matter how trivial it may be; while on the thinker +its effect is woeful and disastrous, cutting his thoughts asunder, +much as the executioner's axe severs the head from the body. No sound, +be it ever so shrill, cuts so sharply into the brain as this cursed +cracking of whips; you feel the sting of the lash right inside your +head; and it affects the brain in the same way as touch affects a +sensitive plant, and for the same length of time. + +With all due respect for the most holy doctrine of utility, I really +cannot see why a fellow who is taking away a wagon-load of gravel or +dung should thereby obtain the right to kill in the bud the thoughts +which may happen to be springing up in ten thousand heads--the number +he will disturb one after another in half an hour's drive through the +town. Hammering, the barking of dogs, and the crying of children are +horrible to hear; but your only genuine assassin of thought is the +crack of a whip; it exists for the purpose of destroying every +pleasant moment of quiet thought that any one may now and then enjoy. +If the driver had no other way of urging on his horse than by making +this most abominable of all noises, it would be excusable; but quite +the contrary is the case. This cursed cracking of whips is not only +unnecessary, but even useless. Its aim is to produce an effect upon +the intelligence of the horse; but through the constant abuse of it, +the animal becomes habituated to the sound, which falls upon blunted +feelings and produces no effect at all. The horse does not go any +faster for it. You have a remarkable example of this in the ceaseless +cracking of his whip on the part of a cab-driver, while he is +proceeding at a slow pace on the lookout for a fare. If he were to +give his horse the slightest touch with the whip, it would have much +more effect. Supposing, however, that it were absolutely necessary to +crack the whip in order to keep the horse constantly in mind of its +presence, it would be enough to make the hundredth part of the noise. +For it is a well-known fact that, in regard to sight and hearing, +animals are sensitive to even the faintest indications; they are alive +to things that we can scarcely perceive. The most surprising instances +of this are furnished by trained dogs and canary birds. + +It is obvious, therefore, that here we have to do with an act of pure +wantonness; nay, with an impudent defiance offered to those members of +the community who work with their heads by those who work with their +hands. That such infamy should be tolerated in a town is a piece of +barbarity and iniquity, all the more as it could easily be remedied by +a police-notice to the effect that every lash shall have a knot at the +end of it. There can be no harm in drawing the attention of the mob to +the fact that the classes above them work with their heads, for any +kind of headwork is mortal anguish to the man in the street. A fellow +who rides through the narrow alleys of a populous town with unemployed +post-horses or cart-horses, and keeps on cracking a whip several yards +long with all his might, deserves there and then to stand down and +receive five really good blows with a stick. + +All the philanthropists in the world, and all the legislators, meeting +to advocate and decree the total abolition of corporal punishment, +will never persuade me to the contrary! There is something even more +disgraceful than what I have just mentioned. Often enough you may see +a carter walking along the street, quite alone, without any horses, +and still cracking away incessantly; so accustomed has the wretch +become to it in consequence of the unwarrantable toleration of this +practice. A man's body and the needs of his body are now everywhere +treated with a tender indulgence. Is the thinking mind then, to be +the only thing that is never to obtain the slightest measure of +consideration or protection, to say nothing of respect? Carters, +porters, messengers--these are the beasts of burden amongst mankind; +by all means let them be treated justly, fairly, indulgently, and with +forethought; but they must not be permitted to stand in the way of +the higher endeavors of humanity by wantonly making a noise. How many +great and splendid thoughts, I should like to know, have been lost to +the world by the crack of a whip? If I had the upper hand, I should +soon produce in the heads of these people an indissoluble association +of ideas between cracking a whip and getting a whipping. + +Let us hope that the more intelligent and refined among the nations +will make a beginning in this matter, and then that the Germans may +take example by it and follow suit.[1] Meanwhile, I may quote what +Thomas Hood says of them[2]: _For a musical nation, they are the most +noisy I ever met with_. That they are so is due to the fact, not that +they are more fond of making a noise than other people--they would +deny it if you asked them--but that their senses are obtuse; +consequently, when they hear a noise, it does not affect them much. It +does not disturb them in reading or thinking, simply because they do +not think; they only smoke, which is their substitute for thought. The +general toleration of unnecessary noise--the slamming of doors, for +instance, a very unmannerly and ill-bred thing--is direct evidence +that the prevailing habit of mind is dullness and lack of thought. In +Germany it seems as though care were taken that no one should ever +think for mere noise--to mention one form of it, the way in which +drumming goes on for no purpose at all. + +[Footnote 1: According to a notice issued by the Society for the +Protection of Animals in Munich, the superfluous whipping and the +cracking of whips were, in December, 1858, positively forbidden in +Nuremberg.] + +[Footnote 2: In _Up the Rhine_.] + +Finally, as regards the literature of the subject treated of in this +chapter, I have only one work to recommend, but it is a good one. I +refer to a poetical epistle in _terzo rimo_ by the famous painter +Bronzino, entitled _De' Romori: a Messer Luca Martini_. It gives a +detailed description of the torture to which people are put by the +various noises of a small Italian town. Written in a tragicomic style, +it is very amusing. The epistle may be found in _Opere burlesche del +Berni, Aretino ed altri_, Vol. II., p. 258; apparently published in +Utrecht in 1771. + + + + +A FEW PARABLES. + + +In a field of ripening corn I came to a place which had been trampled +down by some ruthless foot; and as I glanced amongst the countless +stalks, every one of them alike, standing there so erect and bearing +the full weight of the ear, I saw a multitude of different flowers, +red and blue and violet. How pretty they looked as they grew there so +naturally with their little foliage! But, thought I, they are quite +useless; they bear no fruit; they are mere weeds, suffered to remain +only because there is no getting rid of them. And yet, but for these +flowers, there would be nothing to charm the eye in that wilderness +of stalks. They are emblematic of poetry and art, which, in civic +life--so severe, but still useful and not without its fruit--play the +same part as flowers in the corn. + + * * * * * + +There are some really beautifully landscapes in the world, but the +human figures in them are poor, and you had not better look at them. + + * * * * * + +The fly should be used as the symbol of impertinence and audacity; for +whilst all other animals shun man more than anything else, and run +away even before he comes near them, the fly lights upon his very +nose. + + * * * * * + +Two Chinamen traveling in Europe went to the theatre for the first +time. One of them did nothing but study the machinery, and he +succeeded in finding out how it was worked. The other tried to get at +the meaning of the piece in spite of his ignorance of the language. +Here you have the Astronomer and the Philosopher. + + * * * * * + +Wisdom which is only theoretical and never put into practice, is like +a double rose; its color and perfume are delightful, but it withers +away and leaves no seed. + +No rose without a thorn. Yes, but many a thorn without a rose. + + * * * * * + +A wide-spreading apple-tree stood in full bloom, and behind it a +straight fir raised its dark and tapering head. _Look at the thousands +of gay blossoms which cover me everywhere_, said the apple-tree; _what +have you to show in comparison? Dark-green needles! That is true_, +replied the fir, _but when winter comes, you will be bared of your +glory; and I shall be as I am now_. + + * * * * * + +Once, as I was botanizing under an oak, I found amongst a number +of other plants of similar height one that was dark in color, with +tightly closed leaves and a stalk that was very straight and stiff. +When I touched it, it said to me in firm tones: _Let me alone; I am +not for your collection, like these plants to which Nature has given +only a single year of life. I am a little oak_. + +So it is with a man whose influence is to last for hundreds of years. +As a child, as a youth, often even as a full-grown man, nay, his whole +life long, he goes about among his fellows, looking like them and +seemingly as unimportant. But let him alone; he will not die. Time +will come and bring those who know how to value him. + + * * * * * + +The man who goes up in a balloon does not feel as though he were +ascending; he only sees the earth sinking deeper under him. + +There is a mystery which only those will understand who feel the truth +of it. + + * * * * * + +Your estimation of a man's size will be affected by the distance at +which you stand from him, but in two entirely opposite ways according +as it is his physical or his mental stature that you are considering. +The one will seem smaller, the farther off you move; the other, +greater. + + * * * * * + +Nature covers all her works with a varnish of beauty, like the tender +bloom that is breathed, as it were, on the surface of a peach or a +plum. Painters and poets lay themselves out to take off this varnish, +to store it up, and give it us to be enjoyed at our leisure. We drink +deep of this beauty long before we enter upon life itself; and when +afterwards we come to see the works of Nature for ourselves, the +varnish is gone: the artists have used it up and we have enjoyed it in +advance. Thus it is that the world so often appears harsh and devoid +of charm, nay, actually repulsive. It were better to leave us to +discover the varnish for ourselves. This would mean that we should +not enjoy it all at once and in large quantities; we should have no +finished pictures, no perfect poems; but we should look at all things +in that genial and pleasing light in which even now a child of Nature +sometimes sees them--some one who has not anticipated his aesthetic +pleasures by the help of art, or taken the charms of life too early. + + * * * * * + +The Cathedral in Mayence is so shut in by the houses that are built +round about it, that there is no one spot from which you can see it +as a whole. This is symbolic of everything great or beautiful in the +world. It ought to exist for its own sake alone, but before very long +it is misused to serve alien ends. People come from all directions +wanting to find in it support and maintenance for themselves; they +stand in the way and spoil its effect. To be sure, there is nothing +surprising in this, for in a world of need and imperfection everything +is seized upon which can be used to satisfy want. Nothing is exempt +from this service, no, not even those very things which arise only +when need and want are for a moment lost sight of--the beautiful and +the true, sought for their own sakes. + +This is especially illustrated and corroborated in the case of +institutions--whether great or small, wealthy or poor, founded, no +matter in what century or in what land, to maintain and advance human +knowledge, and generally to afford help to those intellectual efforts +which ennoble the race. Wherever these institutions may be, it is not +long before people sneak up to them under the pretence of wishing to +further those special ends, while they are really led on by the desire +to secure the emoluments which have been left for their furtherance, +and thus to satisfy certain coarse and brutal instincts of their own. +Thus it is that we come to have so many charlatans in every branch +of knowledge. The charlatan takes very different shapes according +to circumstances; but at bottom he is a man who cares nothing about +knowledge for its own sake, and only strives to gain the semblance +of it that he may use it for his own personal ends, which are always +selfish and material. + + * * * * * + +Every hero is a Samson. The strong man succumbs to the intrigues of +the weak and the many; and if in the end he loses all patience he +crushes both them and himself. Or he is like Gulliver at Lilliput, +overwhelmed by an enormous number of little men. + + * * * * * + +A mother gave her children Aesop's fables to read, in the hope of +educating and improving their minds; but they very soon brought the +book back, and the eldest, wise beyond his years, delivered himself as +follows: _This is no book for us; it's much too childish and stupid. +You can't make us believe that foxes and wolves and ravens are able to +talk; we've got beyond stories of that kind_! + +In these young hopefuls you have the enlightened Rationalists of the +future. + + * * * * * + +A number of porcupines huddled together for warmth on a cold day in +winter; but, as they began to prick one another with their quills, +they were obliged to disperse. However the cold drove them together +again, when just the same thing happened. At last, after many turns of +huddling and dispersing, they discovered that they would be best off +by remaining at a little distance from one another. In the same way +the need of society drives the human porcupines together, only to be +mutually repelled by the many prickly and disagreeable qualities of +their nature. The moderate distance which they at last discover to be +the only tolerable condition of intercourse, is the code of politeness +and fine manners; and those who transgress it are roughly told--in +the English phrase--_to keep their distance_. By this arrangement the +mutual need of warmth is only very moderately satisfied; but then +people do not get pricked. A man who has some heat in himself prefers +to remain outside, where he will neither prick other people nor get +pricked himself. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ESSAYS OF ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER; STUDIES IN PESSIMISM *** + + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ +concept and trademark. 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If you are not located in the United States, +you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located +before using this eBook. + +Title: The Great Gatsby + +Author: F. Scott Fitzgerald + +Release date: January 17, 2021 [eBook #64317] + Most recently updated: January 26, 2025 + +Language: English + +Credits: Produced by Alex Cabal for the Standard Ebooks project, based on a transcription produced for Project Gutenberg Australia. + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT GATSBY *** + + + + + The Great Gatsby + by + F. Scott Fitzgerald + + + Table of Contents + +I +II +III +IV +V +VI +VII +VIII +IX + + + Once again + to + Zelda + + + Then wear the gold hat, if that will move her; + If you can bounce high, bounce for her too, + Till she cry “Lover, gold-hatted, high-bouncing lover, + I must have you!” + + Thomas Parke d’Invilliers + + + I + +In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice +that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since. + +“Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone,” he told me, “just +remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages +that you’ve had.” + +He didn’t say any more, but we’ve always been unusually communicative +in a reserved way, and I understood that he meant a great deal more +than that. In consequence, I’m inclined to reserve all judgements, a +habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me +the victim of not a few veteran bores. The abnormal mind is quick to +detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal +person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of +being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, +unknown men. Most of the confidences were unsought—frequently I have +feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile levity when I realized by +some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quivering on +the horizon; for the intimate revelations of young men, or at least +the terms in which they express them, are usually plagiaristic and +marred by obvious suppressions. Reserving judgements is a matter of +infinite hope. I am still a little afraid of missing something if I +forget that, as my father snobbishly suggested, and I snobbishly +repeat, a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out +unequally at birth. + +And, after boasting this way of my tolerance, I come to the admission +that it has a limit. Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the +wet marshes, but after a certain point I don’t care what it’s founded +on. When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted +the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; I +wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the +human heart. Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was +exempt from my reaction—Gatsby, who represented everything for which I +have an unaffected scorn. If personality is an unbroken series of +successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some +heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related +to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten +thousand miles away. This responsiveness had nothing to do with that +flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of the +“creative temperament”—it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a +romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and +which it is not likely I shall ever find again. No—Gatsby turned out +all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust +floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily closed out my +interest in the abortive sorrows and short-winded elations of men. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +My family have been prominent, well-to-do people in this Middle +Western city for three generations. The Carraways are something of a +clan, and we have a tradition that we’re descended from the Dukes of +Buccleuch, but the actual founder of my line was my grandfather’s +brother, who came here in fifty-one, sent a substitute to the Civil +War, and started the wholesale hardware business that my father +carries on today. + +I never saw this great-uncle, but I’m supposed to look like him—with +special reference to the rather hard-boiled painting that hangs in +father’s office. I graduated from New Haven in 1915, just a quarter of +a century after my father, and a little later I participated in that +delayed Teutonic migration known as the Great War. I enjoyed the +counter-raid so thoroughly that I came back restless. Instead of being +the warm centre of the world, the Middle West now seemed like the +ragged edge of the universe—so I decided to go East and learn the bond +business. Everybody I knew was in the bond business, so I supposed it +could support one more single man. All my aunts and uncles talked it +over as if they were choosing a prep school for me, and finally said, +“Why—ye-es,” with very grave, hesitant faces. Father agreed to finance +me for a year, and after various delays I came East, permanently, I +thought, in the spring of twenty-two. + +The practical thing was to find rooms in the city, but it was a warm +season, and I had just left a country of wide lawns and friendly +trees, so when a young man at the office suggested that we take a +house together in a commuting town, it sounded like a great idea. He +found the house, a weather-beaten cardboard bungalow at eighty a +month, but at the last minute the firm ordered him to Washington, and +I went out to the country alone. I had a dog—at least I had him for a +few days until he ran away—and an old Dodge and a Finnish woman, who +made my bed and cooked breakfast and muttered Finnish wisdom to +herself over the electric stove. + +It was lonely for a day or so until one morning some man, more +recently arrived than I, stopped me on the road. + +“How do you get to West Egg village?” he asked helplessly. + +I told him. And as I walked on I was lonely no longer. I was a guide, +a pathfinder, an original settler. He had casually conferred on me the +freedom of the neighbourhood. + +And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the +trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar +conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer. + +There was so much to read, for one thing, and so much fine health to +be pulled down out of the young breath-giving air. I bought a dozen +volumes on banking and credit and investment securities, and they +stood on my shelf in red and gold like new money from the mint, +promising to unfold the shining secrets that only Midas and Morgan and +Maecenas knew. And I had the high intention of reading many other +books besides. I was rather literary in college—one year I wrote a +series of very solemn and obvious editorials for the Yale News—and now +I was going to bring back all such things into my life and become +again that most limited of all specialists, the “well-rounded man.” +This isn’t just an epigram—life is much more successfully looked at +from a single window, after all. + +It was a matter of chance that I should have rented a house in one of +the strangest communities in North America. It was on that slender +riotous island which extends itself due east of New York—and where +there are, among other natural curiosities, two unusual formations of +land. Twenty miles from the city a pair of enormous eggs, identical in +contour and separated only by a courtesy bay, jut out into the most +domesticated body of salt water in the Western hemisphere, the great +wet barnyard of Long Island Sound. They are not perfect ovals—like the +egg in the Columbus story, they are both crushed flat at the contact +end—but their physical resemblance must be a source of perpetual +wonder to the gulls that fly overhead. To the wingless a more +interesting phenomenon is their dissimilarity in every particular +except shape and size. + +I lived at West Egg, the—well, the less fashionable of the two, though +this is a most superficial tag to express the bizarre and not a little +sinister contrast between them. My house was at the very tip of the +egg, only fifty yards from the Sound, and squeezed between two huge +places that rented for twelve or fifteen thousand a season. The one on +my right was a colossal affair by any standard—it was a factual +imitation of some Hôtel de Ville in Normandy, with a tower on one +side, spanking new under a thin beard of raw ivy, and a marble +swimming pool, and more than forty acres of lawn and garden. It was +Gatsby’s mansion. Or, rather, as I didn’t know Mr. Gatsby, it was a +mansion inhabited by a gentleman of that name. My own house was an +eyesore, but it was a small eyesore, and it had been overlooked, so I +had a view of the water, a partial view of my neighbour’s lawn, and +the consoling proximity of millionaires—all for eighty dollars a +month. + +Across the courtesy bay the white palaces of fashionable East Egg +glittered along the water, and the history of the summer really begins +on the evening I drove over there to have dinner with the Tom +Buchanans. Daisy was my second cousin once removed, and I’d known Tom +in college. And just after the war I spent two days with them in +Chicago. + +Her husband, among various physical accomplishments, had been one of +the most powerful ends that ever played football at New Haven—a +national figure in a way, one of those men who reach such an acute +limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savours of +anticlimax. His family were enormously wealthy—even in college his +freedom with money was a matter for reproach—but now he’d left Chicago +and come East in a fashion that rather took your breath away: for +instance, he’d brought down a string of polo ponies from Lake +Forest. It was hard to realize that a man in my own generation was +wealthy enough to do that. + +Why they came East I don’t know. They had spent a year in France for +no particular reason, and then drifted here and there unrestfully +wherever people played polo and were rich together. This was a +permanent move, said Daisy over the telephone, but I didn’t believe +it—I had no sight into Daisy’s heart, but I felt that Tom would drift +on forever seeking, a little wistfully, for the dramatic turbulence of +some irrecoverable football game. + +And so it happened that on a warm windy evening I drove over to East +Egg to see two old friends whom I scarcely knew at all. Their house +was even more elaborate than I expected, a cheerful red-and-white +Georgian Colonial mansion, overlooking the bay. The lawn started at +the beach and ran towards the front door for a quarter of a mile, +jumping over sundials and brick walks and burning gardens—finally when +it reached the house drifting up the side in bright vines as though +from the momentum of its run. The front was broken by a line of French +windows, glowing now with reflected gold and wide open to the warm +windy afternoon, and Tom Buchanan in riding clothes was standing with +his legs apart on the front porch. + +He had changed since his New Haven years. Now he was a sturdy +straw-haired man of thirty, with a rather hard mouth and a +supercilious manner. Two shining arrogant eyes had established +dominance over his face and gave him the appearance of always leaning +aggressively forward. Not even the effeminate swank of his riding +clothes could hide the enormous power of that body—he seemed to fill +those glistening boots until he strained the top lacing, and you could +see a great pack of muscle shifting when his shoulder moved under his +thin coat. It was a body capable of enormous leverage—a cruel body. + +His speaking voice, a gruff husky tenor, added to the impression of +fractiousness he conveyed. There was a touch of paternal contempt in +it, even toward people he liked—and there were men at New Haven who +had hated his guts. + +“Now, don’t think my opinion on these matters is final,” he seemed to +say, “just because I’m stronger and more of a man than you are.” We +were in the same senior society, and while we were never intimate I +always had the impression that he approved of me and wanted me to like +him with some harsh, defiant wistfulness of his own. + +We talked for a few minutes on the sunny porch. + +“I’ve got a nice place here,” he said, his eyes flashing about +restlessly. + +Turning me around by one arm, he moved a broad flat hand along the +front vista, including in its sweep a sunken Italian garden, a half +acre of deep, pungent roses, and a snub-nosed motorboat that bumped +the tide offshore. + +“It belonged to Demaine, the oil man.” He turned me around again, +politely and abruptly. “We’ll go inside.” + +We walked through a high hallway into a bright rosy-coloured space, +fragilely bound into the house by French windows at either end. The +windows were ajar and gleaming white against the fresh grass outside +that seemed to grow a little way into the house. A breeze blew through +the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale +flags, twisting them up toward the frosted wedding-cake of the +ceiling, and then rippled over the wine-coloured rug, making a shadow +on it as wind does on the sea. + +The only completely stationary object in the room was an enormous +couch on which two young women were buoyed up as though upon an +anchored balloon. They were both in white, and their dresses were +rippling and fluttering as if they had just been blown back in after a +short flight around the house. I must have stood for a few moments +listening to the whip and snap of the curtains and the groan of a +picture on the wall. Then there was a boom as Tom Buchanan shut the +rear windows and the caught wind died out about the room, and the +curtains and the rugs and the two young women ballooned slowly to the +floor. + +The younger of the two was a stranger to me. She was extended full +length at her end of the divan, completely motionless, and with her +chin raised a little, as if she were balancing something on it which +was quite likely to fall. If she saw me out of the corner of her eyes +she gave no hint of it—indeed, I was almost surprised into murmuring +an apology for having disturbed her by coming in. + +The other girl, Daisy, made an attempt to rise—she leaned slightly +forward with a conscientious expression—then she laughed, an absurd, +charming little laugh, and I laughed too and came forward into the +room. + +“I’m p-paralysed with happiness.” + +She laughed again, as if she said something very witty, and held my +hand for a moment, looking up into my face, promising that there was +no one in the world she so much wanted to see. That was a way she +had. She hinted in a murmur that the surname of the balancing girl was +Baker. (I’ve heard it said that Daisy’s murmur was only to make people +lean toward her; an irrelevant criticism that made it no less +charming.) + +At any rate, Miss Baker’s lips fluttered, she nodded at me almost +imperceptibly, and then quickly tipped her head back again—the object +she was balancing had obviously tottered a little and given her +something of a fright. Again a sort of apology arose to my lips. +Almost any exhibition of complete self-sufficiency draws a stunned +tribute from me. + +I looked back at my cousin, who began to ask me questions in her low, +thrilling voice. It was the kind of voice that the ear follows up and +down, as if each speech is an arrangement of notes that will never be +played again. Her face was sad and lovely with bright things in it, +bright eyes and a bright passionate mouth, but there was an excitement +in her voice that men who had cared for her found difficult to forget: +a singing compulsion, a whispered “Listen,” a promise that she had +done gay, exciting things just a while since and that there were gay, +exciting things hovering in the next hour. + +I told her how I had stopped off in Chicago for a day on my way East, +and how a dozen people had sent their love through me. + +“Do they miss me?” she cried ecstatically. + +“The whole town is desolate. All the cars have the left rear wheel +painted black as a mourning wreath, and there’s a persistent wail all +night along the north shore.” + +“How gorgeous! Let’s go back, Tom. Tomorrow!” Then she added +irrelevantly: “You ought to see the baby.” + +“I’d like to.” + +“She’s asleep. She’s three years old. Haven’t you ever seen her?” + +“Never.” + +“Well, you ought to see her. She’s—” + +Tom Buchanan, who had been hovering restlessly about the room, stopped +and rested his hand on my shoulder. + +“What you doing, Nick?” + +“I’m a bond man.” + +“Who with?” + +I told him. + +“Never heard of them,” he remarked decisively. + +This annoyed me. + +“You will,” I answered shortly. “You will if you stay in the East.” + +“Oh, I’ll stay in the East, don’t you worry,” he said, glancing at +Daisy and then back at me, as if he were alert for something +more. “I’d be a God damned fool to live anywhere else.” + +At this point Miss Baker said: “Absolutely!” with such suddenness that +I started—it was the first word she had uttered since I came into the +room. Evidently it surprised her as much as it did me, for she yawned +and with a series of rapid, deft movements stood up into the room. + +“I’m stiff,” she complained, “I’ve been lying on that sofa for as long +as I can remember.” + +“Don’t look at me,” Daisy retorted, “I’ve been trying to get you to +New York all afternoon.” + +“No, thanks,” said Miss Baker to the four cocktails just in from the +pantry. “I’m absolutely in training.” + +Her host looked at her incredulously. + +“You are!” He took down his drink as if it were a drop in the bottom +of a glass. “How you ever get anything done is beyond me.” + +I looked at Miss Baker, wondering what it was she “got done.” I +enjoyed looking at her. She was a slender, small-breasted girl, with +an erect carriage, which she accentuated by throwing her body backward +at the shoulders like a young cadet. Her grey sun-strained eyes looked +back at me with polite reciprocal curiosity out of a wan, charming, +discontented face. It occurred to me now that I had seen her, or a +picture of her, somewhere before. + +“You live in West Egg,” she remarked contemptuously. “I know somebody +there.” + +“I don’t know a single—” + +“You must know Gatsby.” + +“Gatsby?” demanded Daisy. “What Gatsby?” + +Before I could reply that he was my neighbour dinner was announced; +wedging his tense arm imperatively under mine, Tom Buchanan compelled +me from the room as though he were moving a checker to another square. + +Slenderly, languidly, their hands set lightly on their hips, the two +young women preceded us out on to a rosy-coloured porch, open toward +the sunset, where four candles flickered on the table in the +diminished wind. + +“Why candles?” objected Daisy, frowning. She snapped them out with her +fingers. “In two weeks it’ll be the longest day in the year.” She +looked at us all radiantly. “Do you always watch for the longest day +of the year and then miss it? I always watch for the longest day in +the year and then miss it.” + +“We ought to plan something,” yawned Miss Baker, sitting down at the +table as if she were getting into bed. + +“All right,” said Daisy. “What’ll we plan?” She turned to me +helplessly: “What do people plan?” + +Before I could answer her eyes fastened with an awed expression on her +little finger. + +“Look!” she complained; “I hurt it.” + +We all looked—the knuckle was black and blue. + +“You did it, Tom,” she said accusingly. “I know you didn’t mean to, +but you did do it. That’s what I get for marrying a brute of a man, a +great, big, hulking physical specimen of a—” + +“I hate that word ‘hulking,’ ” objected Tom crossly, “even in +kidding.” + +“Hulking,” insisted Daisy. + +Sometimes she and Miss Baker talked at once, unobtrusively and with a +bantering inconsequence that was never quite chatter, that was as cool +as their white dresses and their impersonal eyes in the absence of all +desire. They were here, and they accepted Tom and me, making only a +polite pleasant effort to entertain or to be entertained. They knew +that presently dinner would be over and a little later the evening too +would be over and casually put away. It was sharply different from the +West, where an evening was hurried from phase to phase towards its +close, in a continually disappointed anticipation or else in sheer +nervous dread of the moment itself. + +“You make me feel uncivilized, Daisy,” I confessed on my second glass +of corky but rather impressive claret. “Can’t you talk about crops or +something?” + +I meant nothing in particular by this remark, but it was taken up in +an unexpected way. + +“Civilization’s going to pieces,” broke out Tom violently. “I’ve +gotten to be a terrible pessimist about things. Have you read The Rise +of the Coloured Empires by this man Goddard?” + +“Why, no,” I answered, rather surprised by his tone. + +“Well, it’s a fine book, and everybody ought to read it. The idea is +if we don’t look out the white race will be—will be utterly +submerged. It’s all scientific stuff; it’s been proved.” + +“Tom’s getting very profound,” said Daisy, with an expression of +unthoughtful sadness. “He reads deep books with long words in +them. What was that word we—” + +“Well, these books are all scientific,” insisted Tom, glancing at her +impatiently. “This fellow has worked out the whole thing. It’s up to +us, who are the dominant race, to watch out or these other races will +have control of things.” + +“We’ve got to beat them down,” whispered Daisy, winking ferociously +toward the fervent sun. + +“You ought to live in California—” began Miss Baker, but Tom +interrupted her by shifting heavily in his chair. + +“This idea is that we’re Nordics. I am, and you are, and you are, +and—” After an infinitesimal hesitation he included Daisy with a +slight nod, and she winked at me again. “—And we’ve produced all the +things that go to make civilization—oh, science and art, and all +that. Do you see?” + +There was something pathetic in his concentration, as if his +complacency, more acute than of old, was not enough to him any more. +When, almost immediately, the telephone rang inside and the butler +left the porch Daisy seized upon the momentary interruption and leaned +towards me. + +“I’ll tell you a family secret,” she whispered enthusiastically. +“It’s about the butler’s nose. Do you want to hear about the butler’s +nose?” + +“That’s why I came over tonight.” + +“Well, he wasn’t always a butler; he used to be the silver polisher +for some people in New York that had a silver service for two hundred +people. He had to polish it from morning till night, until finally it +began to affect his nose—” + +“Things went from bad to worse,” suggested Miss Baker. + +“Yes. Things went from bad to worse, until finally he had to give up +his position.” + +For a moment the last sunshine fell with romantic affection upon her +glowing face; her voice compelled me forward breathlessly as I +listened—then the glow faded, each light deserting her with lingering +regret, like children leaving a pleasant street at dusk. + +The butler came back and murmured something close to Tom’s ear, +whereupon Tom frowned, pushed back his chair, and without a word went +inside. As if his absence quickened something within her, Daisy leaned +forward again, her voice glowing and singing. + +“I love to see you at my table, Nick. You remind me of a—of a rose, an +absolute rose. Doesn’t he?” She turned to Miss Baker for confirmation: +“An absolute rose?” + +This was untrue. I am not even faintly like a rose. She was only +extemporizing, but a stirring warmth flowed from her, as if her heart +was trying to come out to you concealed in one of those breathless, +thrilling words. Then suddenly she threw her napkin on the table and +excused herself and went into the house. + +Miss Baker and I exchanged a short glance consciously devoid of +meaning. I was about to speak when she sat up alertly and said “Sh!” +in a warning voice. A subdued impassioned murmur was audible in the +room beyond, and Miss Baker leaned forward unashamed, trying to +hear. The murmur trembled on the verge of coherence, sank down, +mounted excitedly, and then ceased altogether. + +“This Mr. Gatsby you spoke of is my neighbour—” I began. + +“Don’t talk. I want to hear what happens.” + +“Is something happening?” I inquired innocently. + +“You mean to say you don’t know?” said Miss Baker, honestly surprised. +“I thought everybody knew.” + +“I don’t.” + +“Why—” she said hesitantly. “Tom’s got some woman in New York.” + +“Got some woman?” I repeated blankly. + +Miss Baker nodded. + +“She might have the decency not to telephone him at dinner time. +Don’t you think?” + +Almost before I had grasped her meaning there was the flutter of a +dress and the crunch of leather boots, and Tom and Daisy were back at +the table. + +“It couldn’t be helped!” cried Daisy with tense gaiety. + +She sat down, glanced searchingly at Miss Baker and then at me, and +continued: “I looked outdoors for a minute, and it’s very romantic +outdoors. There’s a bird on the lawn that I think must be a +nightingale come over on the Cunard or White Star Line. He’s singing +away—” Her voice sang: “It’s romantic, isn’t it, Tom?” + +“Very romantic,” he said, and then miserably to me: “If it’s light +enough after dinner, I want to take you down to the stables.” + +The telephone rang inside, startlingly, and as Daisy shook her head +decisively at Tom the subject of the stables, in fact all subjects, +vanished into air. Among the broken fragments of the last five minutes +at table I remember the candles being lit again, pointlessly, and I +was conscious of wanting to look squarely at everyone, and yet to +avoid all eyes. I couldn’t guess what Daisy and Tom were thinking, but +I doubt if even Miss Baker, who seemed to have mastered a certain +hardy scepticism, was able utterly to put this fifth guest’s shrill +metallic urgency out of mind. To a certain temperament the situation +might have seemed intriguing—my own instinct was to telephone +immediately for the police. + +The horses, needless to say, were not mentioned again. Tom and Miss +Baker, with several feet of twilight between them, strolled back into +the library, as if to a vigil beside a perfectly tangible body, while, +trying to look pleasantly interested and a little deaf, I followed +Daisy around a chain of connecting verandas to the porch in front. In +its deep gloom we sat down side by side on a wicker settee. + +Daisy took her face in her hands as if feeling its lovely shape, and +her eyes moved gradually out into the velvet dusk. I saw that +turbulent emotions possessed her, so I asked what I thought would be +some sedative questions about her little girl. + +“We don’t know each other very well, Nick,” she said suddenly. “Even +if we are cousins. You didn’t come to my wedding.” + +“I wasn’t back from the war.” + +“That’s true.” She hesitated. “Well, I’ve had a very bad time, Nick, +and I’m pretty cynical about everything.” + +Evidently she had reason to be. I waited but she didn’t say any more, +and after a moment I returned rather feebly to the subject of her +daughter. + +“I suppose she talks, and—eats, and everything.” + +“Oh, yes.” She looked at me absently. “Listen, Nick; let me tell you +what I said when she was born. Would you like to hear?” + +“Very much.” + +“It’ll show you how I’ve gotten to feel about—things. Well, she was +less than an hour old and Tom was God knows where. I woke up out of +the ether with an utterly abandoned feeling, and asked the nurse right +away if it was a boy or a girl. She told me it was a girl, and so I +turned my head away and wept. ‘All right,’ I said, ‘I’m glad it’s a +girl. And I hope she’ll be a fool—that’s the best thing a girl can be +in this world, a beautiful little fool.’ + +“You see I think everything’s terrible anyhow,” she went on in a +convinced way. “Everybody thinks so—the most advanced people. And I +know. I’ve been everywhere and seen everything and done everything.” +Her eyes flashed around her in a defiant way, rather like Tom’s, and +she laughed with thrilling scorn. “Sophisticated—God, I’m +sophisticated!” + +The instant her voice broke off, ceasing to compel my attention, my +belief, I felt the basic insincerity of what she had said. It made me +uneasy, as though the whole evening had been a trick of some sort to +exact a contributory emotion from me. I waited, and sure enough, in a +moment she looked at me with an absolute smirk on her lovely face, as +if she had asserted her membership in a rather distinguished secret +society to which she and Tom belonged. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Inside, the crimson room bloomed with light. Tom and Miss Baker sat at +either end of the long couch and she read aloud to him from the +Saturday Evening Post—the words, murmurous and uninflected, running +together in a soothing tune. The lamplight, bright on his boots and +dull on the autumn-leaf yellow of her hair, glinted along the paper as +she turned a page with a flutter of slender muscles in her arms. + +When we came in she held us silent for a moment with a lifted hand. + +“To be continued,” she said, tossing the magazine on the table, “in +our very next issue.” + +Her body asserted itself with a restless movement of her knee, and she +stood up. + +“Ten o’clock,” she remarked, apparently finding the time on the +ceiling. “Time for this good girl to go to bed.” + +“Jordan’s going to play in the tournament tomorrow,” explained Daisy, +“over at Westchester.” + +“Oh—you’re Jordan Baker.” + +I knew now why her face was familiar—its pleasing contemptuous +expression had looked out at me from many rotogravure pictures of the +sporting life at Asheville and Hot Springs and Palm Beach. I had heard +some story of her too, a critical, unpleasant story, but what it was I +had forgotten long ago. + +“Good night,” she said softly. “Wake me at eight, won’t you.” + +“If you’ll get up.” + +“I will. Good night, Mr. Carraway. See you anon.” + +“Of course you will,” confirmed Daisy. “In fact I think I’ll arrange a +marriage. Come over often, Nick, and I’ll sort of—oh—fling you +together. You know—lock you up accidentally in linen closets and push +you out to sea in a boat, and all that sort of thing—” + +“Good night,” called Miss Baker from the stairs. “I haven’t heard a +word.” + +“She’s a nice girl,” said Tom after a moment. “They oughtn’t to let +her run around the country this way.” + +“Who oughtn’t to?” inquired Daisy coldly. + +“Her family.” + +“Her family is one aunt about a thousand years old. Besides, Nick’s +going to look after her, aren’t you, Nick? She’s going to spend lots +of weekends out here this summer. I think the home influence will be +very good for her.” + +Daisy and Tom looked at each other for a moment in silence. + +“Is she from New York?” I asked quickly. + +“From Louisville. Our white girlhood was passed together there. Our +beautiful white—” + +“Did you give Nick a little heart to heart talk on the veranda?” +demanded Tom suddenly. + +“Did I?” She looked at me. “I can’t seem to remember, but I think we +talked about the Nordic race. Yes, I’m sure we did. It sort of crept +up on us and first thing you know—” + +“Don’t believe everything you hear, Nick,” he advised me. + +I said lightly that I had heard nothing at all, and a few minutes +later I got up to go home. They came to the door with me and stood +side by side in a cheerful square of light. As I started my motor +Daisy peremptorily called: “Wait! + +“I forgot to ask you something, and it’s important. We heard you were +engaged to a girl out West.” + +“That’s right,” corroborated Tom kindly. “We heard that you were +engaged.” + +“It’s a libel. I’m too poor.” + +“But we heard it,” insisted Daisy, surprising me by opening up again +in a flower-like way. “We heard it from three people, so it must be +true.” + +Of course I knew what they were referring to, but I wasn’t even +vaguely engaged. The fact that gossip had published the banns was one +of the reasons I had come East. You can’t stop going with an old +friend on account of rumours, and on the other hand I had no intention +of being rumoured into marriage. + +Their interest rather touched me and made them less remotely +rich—nevertheless, I was confused and a little disgusted as I drove +away. It seemed to me that the thing for Daisy to do was to rush out +of the house, child in arms—but apparently there were no such +intentions in her head. As for Tom, the fact that he “had some woman +in New York” was really less surprising than that he had been +depressed by a book. Something was making him nibble at the edge of +stale ideas as if his sturdy physical egotism no longer nourished his +peremptory heart. + +Already it was deep summer on roadhouse roofs and in front of wayside +garages, where new red petrol-pumps sat out in pools of light, and +when I reached my estate at West Egg I ran the car under its shed and +sat for a while on an abandoned grass roller in the yard. The wind had +blown off, leaving a loud, bright night, with wings beating in the +trees and a persistent organ sound as the full bellows of the earth +blew the frogs full of life. The silhouette of a moving cat wavered +across the moonlight, and, turning my head to watch it, I saw that I +was not alone—fifty feet away a figure had emerged from the shadow of +my neighbour’s mansion and was standing with his hands in his pockets +regarding the silver pepper of the stars. Something in his leisurely +movements and the secure position of his feet upon the lawn suggested +that it was Mr. Gatsby himself, come out to determine what share was +his of our local heavens. + +I decided to call to him. Miss Baker had mentioned him at dinner, and +that would do for an introduction. But I didn’t call to him, for he +gave a sudden intimation that he was content to be alone—he stretched +out his arms toward the dark water in a curious way, and, far as I was +from him, I could have sworn he was trembling. Involuntarily I glanced +seaward—and distinguished nothing except a single green light, minute +and far away, that might have been the end of a dock. When I looked +once more for Gatsby he had vanished, and I was alone again in the +unquiet darkness. + + + II + +About halfway between West Egg and New York the motor road hastily +joins the railroad and runs beside it for a quarter of a mile, so as +to shrink away from a certain desolate area of land. This is a valley +of ashes—a fantastic farm where ashes grow like wheat into ridges and +hills and grotesque gardens; where ashes take the forms of houses and +chimneys and rising smoke and, finally, with a transcendent effort, of +ash-grey men, who move dimly and already crumbling through the powdery +air. Occasionally a line of grey cars crawls along an invisible track, +gives out a ghastly creak, and comes to rest, and immediately the +ash-grey men swarm up with leaden spades and stir up an impenetrable +cloud, which screens their obscure operations from your sight. + +But above the grey land and the spasms of bleak dust which drift +endlessly over it, you perceive, after a moment, the eyes of Doctor T. +J. Eckleburg. The eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg are blue and +gigantic—their retinas are one yard high. They look out of no face, +but, instead, from a pair of enormous yellow spectacles which pass +over a nonexistent nose. Evidently some wild wag of an oculist set +them there to fatten his practice in the borough of Queens, and then +sank down himself into eternal blindness, or forgot them and moved +away. But his eyes, dimmed a little by many paintless days, under sun +and rain, brood on over the solemn dumping ground. + +The valley of ashes is bounded on one side by a small foul river, and, +when the drawbridge is up to let barges through, the passengers on +waiting trains can stare at the dismal scene for as long as half an +hour. There is always a halt there of at least a minute, and it was +because of this that I first met Tom Buchanan’s mistress. + +The fact that he had one was insisted upon wherever he was known. His +acquaintances resented the fact that he turned up in popular cafés +with her and, leaving her at a table, sauntered about, chatting with +whomsoever he knew. Though I was curious to see her, I had no desire +to meet her—but I did. I went up to New York with Tom on the train one +afternoon, and when we stopped by the ash-heaps he jumped to his feet +and, taking hold of my elbow, literally forced me from the car. + +“We’re getting off,” he insisted. “I want you to meet my girl.” + +I think he’d tanked up a good deal at luncheon, and his determination +to have my company bordered on violence. The supercilious assumption +was that on Sunday afternoon I had nothing better to do. + +I followed him over a low whitewashed railroad fence, and we walked +back a hundred yards along the road under Doctor Eckleburg’s +persistent stare. The only building in sight was a small block of +yellow brick sitting on the edge of the waste land, a sort of compact +Main Street ministering to it, and contiguous to absolutely nothing. +One of the three shops it contained was for rent and another was an +all-night restaurant, approached by a trail of ashes; the third was a +garage—Repairs. George B. Wilson. Cars bought and sold.—and I followed +Tom inside. + +The interior was unprosperous and bare; the only car visible was the +dust-covered wreck of a Ford which crouched in a dim corner. It had +occurred to me that this shadow of a garage must be a blind, and that +sumptuous and romantic apartments were concealed overhead, when the +proprietor himself appeared in the door of an office, wiping his hands +on a piece of waste. He was a blond, spiritless man, anaemic, and +faintly handsome. When he saw us a damp gleam of hope sprang into his +light blue eyes. + +“Hello, Wilson, old man,” said Tom, slapping him jovially on the +shoulder. “How’s business?” + +“I can’t complain,” answered Wilson unconvincingly. “When are you +going to sell me that car?” + +“Next week; I’ve got my man working on it now.” + +“Works pretty slow, don’t he?” + +“No, he doesn’t,” said Tom coldly. “And if you feel that way about it, +maybe I’d better sell it somewhere else after all.” + +“I don’t mean that,” explained Wilson quickly. “I just meant—” + +His voice faded off and Tom glanced impatiently around the garage. +Then I heard footsteps on a stairs, and in a moment the thickish +figure of a woman blocked out the light from the office door. She was +in the middle thirties, and faintly stout, but she carried her flesh +sensuously as some women can. Her face, above a spotted dress of dark +blue crêpe-de-chine, contained no facet or gleam of beauty, but there +was an immediately perceptible vitality about her as if the nerves of +her body were continually smouldering. She smiled slowly and, walking +through her husband as if he were a ghost, shook hands with Tom, +looking him flush in the eye. Then she wet her lips, and without +turning around spoke to her husband in a soft, coarse voice: + +“Get some chairs, why don’t you, so somebody can sit down.” + +“Oh, sure,” agreed Wilson hurriedly, and went toward the little +office, mingling immediately with the cement colour of the walls. A +white ashen dust veiled his dark suit and his pale hair as it veiled +everything in the vicinity—except his wife, who moved close to Tom. + +“I want to see you,” said Tom intently. “Get on the next train.” + +“All right.” + +“I’ll meet you by the newsstand on the lower level.” + +She nodded and moved away from him just as George Wilson emerged with +two chairs from his office door. + +We waited for her down the road and out of sight. It was a few days +before the Fourth of July, and a grey, scrawny Italian child was +setting torpedoes in a row along the railroad track. + +“Terrible place, isn’t it,” said Tom, exchanging a frown with Doctor +Eckleburg. + +“Awful.” + +“It does her good to get away.” + +“Doesn’t her husband object?” + +“Wilson? He thinks she goes to see her sister in New York. He’s so +dumb he doesn’t know he’s alive.” + +So Tom Buchanan and his girl and I went up together to New York—or not +quite together, for Mrs. Wilson sat discreetly in another car. Tom +deferred that much to the sensibilities of those East Eggers who might +be on the train. + +She had changed her dress to a brown figured muslin, which stretched +tight over her rather wide hips as Tom helped her to the platform in +New York. At the newsstand she bought a copy of Town Tattle and a +moving-picture magazine, and in the station drugstore some cold cream +and a small flask of perfume. Upstairs, in the solemn echoing drive +she let four taxicabs drive away before she selected a new one, +lavender-coloured with grey upholstery, and in this we slid out from +the mass of the station into the glowing sunshine. But immediately she +turned sharply from the window and, leaning forward, tapped on the +front glass. + +“I want to get one of those dogs,” she said earnestly. “I want to get +one for the apartment. They’re nice to have—a dog.” + +We backed up to a grey old man who bore an absurd resemblance to John +D. Rockefeller. In a basket swung from his neck cowered a dozen very +recent puppies of an indeterminate breed. + +“What kind are they?” asked Mrs. Wilson eagerly, as he came to the +taxi-window. + +“All kinds. What kind do you want, lady?” + +“I’d like to get one of those police dogs; I don’t suppose you got +that kind?” + +The man peered doubtfully into the basket, plunged in his hand and +drew one up, wriggling, by the back of the neck. + +“That’s no police dog,” said Tom. + +“No, it’s not exactly a police dog,” said the man with disappointment +in his voice. “It’s more of an Airedale.” He passed his hand over the +brown washrag of a back. “Look at that coat. Some coat. That’s a dog +that’ll never bother you with catching cold.” + +“I think it’s cute,” said Mrs. Wilson enthusiastically. “How much is +it?” + +“That dog?” He looked at it admiringly. “That dog will cost you ten +dollars.” + +The Airedale—undoubtedly there was an Airedale concerned in it +somewhere, though its feet were startlingly white—changed hands and +settled down into Mrs. Wilson’s lap, where she fondled the +weatherproof coat with rapture. + +“Is it a boy or a girl?” she asked delicately. + +“That dog? That dog’s a boy.” + +“It’s a bitch,” said Tom decisively. “Here’s your money. Go and buy +ten more dogs with it.” + +We drove over to Fifth Avenue, warm and soft, almost pastoral, on the +summer Sunday afternoon. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see a great +flock of white sheep turn the corner. + +“Hold on,” I said, “I have to leave you here.” + +“No you don’t,” interposed Tom quickly. “Myrtle’ll be hurt if you +don’t come up to the apartment. Won’t you, Myrtle?” + +“Come on,” she urged. “I’ll telephone my sister Catherine. She’s said +to be very beautiful by people who ought to know.” + +“Well, I’d like to, but—” + +We went on, cutting back again over the Park toward the West Hundreds. +At 158th Street the cab stopped at one slice in a long white cake of +apartment-houses. Throwing a regal homecoming glance around the +neighbourhood, Mrs. Wilson gathered up her dog and her other +purchases, and went haughtily in. + +“I’m going to have the McKees come up,” she announced as we rose in +the elevator. “And, of course, I got to call up my sister, too.” + +The apartment was on the top floor—a small living-room, a small +dining-room, a small bedroom, and a bath. The living-room was crowded +to the doors with a set of tapestried furniture entirely too large for +it, so that to move about was to stumble continually over scenes of +ladies swinging in the gardens of Versailles. The only picture was an +over-enlarged photograph, apparently a hen sitting on a blurred rock. +Looked at from a distance, however, the hen resolved itself into a +bonnet, and the countenance of a stout old lady beamed down into the +room. Several old copies of Town Tattle lay on the table together with +a copy of Simon Called Peter, and some of the small scandal magazines +of Broadway. Mrs. Wilson was first concerned with the dog. A reluctant +elevator boy went for a box full of straw and some milk, to which he +added on his own initiative a tin of large, hard dog biscuits—one of +which decomposed apathetically in the saucer of milk all +afternoon. Meanwhile Tom brought out a bottle of whisky from a locked +bureau door. + +I have been drunk just twice in my life, and the second time was that +afternoon; so everything that happened has a dim, hazy cast over it, +although until after eight o’clock the apartment was full of cheerful +sun. Sitting on Tom’s lap Mrs. Wilson called up several people on the +telephone; then there were no cigarettes, and I went out to buy some +at the drugstore on the corner. When I came back they had both +disappeared, so I sat down discreetly in the living-room and read a +chapter of Simon Called Peter—either it was terrible stuff or the +whisky distorted things, because it didn’t make any sense to me. + +Just as Tom and Myrtle (after the first drink Mrs. Wilson and I called +each other by our first names) reappeared, company commenced to arrive +at the apartment door. + +The sister, Catherine, was a slender, worldly girl of about thirty, +with a solid, sticky bob of red hair, and a complexion powdered milky +white. Her eyebrows had been plucked and then drawn on again at a more +rakish angle, but the efforts of nature toward the restoration of the +old alignment gave a blurred air to her face. When she moved about +there was an incessant clicking as innumerable pottery bracelets +jingled up and down upon her arms. She came in with such a proprietary +haste, and looked around so possessively at the furniture that I +wondered if she lived here. But when I asked her she laughed +immoderately, repeated my question aloud, and told me she lived with a +girl friend at a hotel. + +Mr. McKee was a pale, feminine man from the flat below. He had just +shaved, for there was a white spot of lather on his cheekbone, and he +was most respectful in his greeting to everyone in the room. He +informed me that he was in the “artistic game,” and I gathered later +that he was a photographer and had made the dim enlargement of +Mrs. Wilson’s mother which hovered like an ectoplasm on the wall. His +wife was shrill, languid, handsome, and horrible. She told me with +pride that her husband had photographed her a hundred and twenty-seven +times since they had been married. + +Mrs. Wilson had changed her costume some time before, and was now +attired in an elaborate afternoon dress of cream-coloured chiffon, +which gave out a continual rustle as she swept about the room. With +the influence of the dress her personality had also undergone a +change. The intense vitality that had been so remarkable in the garage +was converted into impressive hauteur. Her laughter, her gestures, her +assertions became more violently affected moment by moment, and as she +expanded the room grew smaller around her, until she seemed to be +revolving on a noisy, creaking pivot through the smoky air. + +“My dear,” she told her sister in a high, mincing shout, “most of +these fellas will cheat you every time. All they think of is money. I +had a woman up here last week to look at my feet, and when she gave me +the bill you’d of thought she had my appendicitis out.” + +“What was the name of the woman?” asked Mrs. McKee. + +“Mrs. Eberhardt. She goes around looking at people’s feet in their own +homes.” + +“I like your dress,” remarked Mrs. McKee, “I think it’s adorable.” + +Mrs. Wilson rejected the compliment by raising her eyebrow in disdain. + +“It’s just a crazy old thing,” she said. “I just slip it on sometimes +when I don’t care what I look like.” + +“But it looks wonderful on you, if you know what I mean,” pursued Mrs. +McKee. “If Chester could only get you in that pose I think he could +make something of it.” + +We all looked in silence at Mrs. Wilson, who removed a strand of hair +from over her eyes and looked back at us with a brilliant smile. Mr. +McKee regarded her intently with his head on one side, and then moved +his hand back and forth slowly in front of his face. + +“I should change the light,” he said after a moment. “I’d like to +bring out the modelling of the features. And I’d try to get hold of +all the back hair.” + +“I wouldn’t think of changing the light,” cried Mrs. McKee. “I think +it’s—” + +Her husband said “Sh!” and we all looked at the subject again, +whereupon Tom Buchanan yawned audibly and got to his feet. + +“You McKees have something to drink,” he said. “Get some more ice and +mineral water, Myrtle, before everybody goes to sleep.” + +“I told that boy about the ice.” Myrtle raised her eyebrows in despair +at the shiftlessness of the lower orders. “These people! You have to +keep after them all the time.” + +She looked at me and laughed pointlessly. Then she flounced over to +the dog, kissed it with ecstasy, and swept into the kitchen, implying +that a dozen chefs awaited her orders there. + +“I’ve done some nice things out on Long Island,” asserted Mr. McKee. + +Tom looked at him blankly. + +“Two of them we have framed downstairs.” + +“Two what?” demanded Tom. + +“Two studies. One of them I call Montauk Point—The Gulls, and the +other I call Montauk Point—The Sea.” + +The sister Catherine sat down beside me on the couch. + +“Do you live down on Long Island, too?” she inquired. + +“I live at West Egg.” + +“Really? I was down there at a party about a month ago. At a man named +Gatsby’s. Do you know him?” + +“I live next door to him.” + +“Well, they say he’s a nephew or a cousin of Kaiser Wilhelm’s. That’s +where all his money comes from.” + +“Really?” + +She nodded. + +“I’m scared of him. I’d hate to have him get anything on me.” + +This absorbing information about my neighbour was interrupted by Mrs. +McKee’s pointing suddenly at Catherine: + +“Chester, I think you could do something with her,” she broke out, but +Mr. McKee only nodded in a bored way, and turned his attention to Tom. + +“I’d like to do more work on Long Island, if I could get the entry. +All I ask is that they should give me a start.” + +“Ask Myrtle,” said Tom, breaking into a short shout of laughter as +Mrs. Wilson entered with a tray. “She’ll give you a letter of +introduction, won’t you, Myrtle?” + +“Do what?” she asked, startled. + +“You’ll give McKee a letter of introduction to your husband, so he can +do some studies of him.” His lips moved silently for a moment as he +invented, “ ‘George B. Wilson at the Gasoline Pump,’ or something like +that.” + +Catherine leaned close to me and whispered in my ear: + +“Neither of them can stand the person they’re married to.” + +“Can’t they?” + +“Can’t stand them.” She looked at Myrtle and then at Tom. “What I say +is, why go on living with them if they can’t stand them? If I was them +I’d get a divorce and get married to each other right away.” + +“Doesn’t she like Wilson either?” + +The answer to this was unexpected. It came from Myrtle, who had +overheard the question, and it was violent and obscene. + +“You see,” cried Catherine triumphantly. She lowered her voice again. +“It’s really his wife that’s keeping them apart. She’s a Catholic, and +they don’t believe in divorce.” + +Daisy was not a Catholic, and I was a little shocked at the +elaborateness of the lie. + +“When they do get married,” continued Catherine, “they’re going West +to live for a while until it blows over.” + +“It’d be more discreet to go to Europe.” + +“Oh, do you like Europe?” she exclaimed surprisingly. “I just got back +from Monte Carlo.” + +“Really.” + +“Just last year. I went over there with another girl.” + +“Stay long?” + +“No, we just went to Monte Carlo and back. We went by way of +Marseilles. We had over twelve hundred dollars when we started, but we +got gyped out of it all in two days in the private rooms. We had an +awful time getting back, I can tell you. God, how I hated that town!” + +The late afternoon sky bloomed in the window for a moment like the +blue honey of the Mediterranean—then the shrill voice of Mrs. McKee +called me back into the room. + +“I almost made a mistake, too,” she declared vigorously. “I almost +married a little kike who’d been after me for years. I knew he was +below me. Everybody kept saying to me: ‘Lucille, that man’s way below +you!’ But if I hadn’t met Chester, he’d of got me sure.” + +“Yes, but listen,” said Myrtle Wilson, nodding her head up and down, +“at least you didn’t marry him.” + +“I know I didn’t.” + +“Well, I married him,” said Myrtle, ambiguously. “And that’s the +difference between your case and mine.” + +“Why did you, Myrtle?” demanded Catherine. “Nobody forced you to.” + +Myrtle considered. + +“I married him because I thought he was a gentleman,” she said +finally. “I thought he knew something about breeding, but he wasn’t +fit to lick my shoe.” + +“You were crazy about him for a while,” said Catherine. + +“Crazy about him!” cried Myrtle incredulously. “Who said I was crazy +about him? I never was any more crazy about him than I was about that +man there.” + +She pointed suddenly at me, and everyone looked at me accusingly. I +tried to show by my expression that I expected no affection. + +“The only crazy I was was when I married him. I knew right away I made +a mistake. He borrowed somebody’s best suit to get married in, and +never even told me about it, and the man came after it one day when he +was out: ‘Oh, is that your suit?’ I said. ‘This is the first I ever +heard about it.’ But I gave it to him and then I lay down and cried to +beat the band all afternoon.” + +“She really ought to get away from him,” resumed Catherine to me. +“They’ve been living over that garage for eleven years. And Tom’s the +first sweetie she ever had.” + +The bottle of whisky—a second one—was now in constant demand by all +present, excepting Catherine, who “felt just as good on nothing at +all.” Tom rang for the janitor and sent him for some celebrated +sandwiches, which were a complete supper in themselves. I wanted to +get out and walk eastward toward the park through the soft twilight, +but each time I tried to go I became entangled in some wild, strident +argument which pulled me back, as if with ropes, into my chair. Yet +high over the city our line of yellow windows must have contributed +their share of human secrecy to the casual watcher in the darkening +streets, and I saw him too, looking up and wondering. I was within and +without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible +variety of life. + +Myrtle pulled her chair close to mine, and suddenly her warm breath +poured over me the story of her first meeting with Tom. + +“It was on the two little seats facing each other that are always the +last ones left on the train. I was going up to New York to see my +sister and spend the night. He had on a dress suit and patent leather +shoes, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off him, but every time he looked +at me I had to pretend to be looking at the advertisement over his +head. When we came into the station he was next to me, and his white +shirtfront pressed against my arm, and so I told him I’d have to call +a policeman, but he knew I lied. I was so excited that when I got into +a taxi with him I didn’t hardly know I wasn’t getting into a subway +train. All I kept thinking about, over and over, was ‘You can’t live +forever; you can’t live forever.’ ” + +She turned to Mrs. McKee and the room rang full of her artificial +laughter. + +“My dear,” she cried, “I’m going to give you this dress as soon as I’m +through with it. I’ve got to get another one tomorrow. I’m going to +make a list of all the things I’ve got to get. A massage and a wave, +and a collar for the dog, and one of those cute little ashtrays where +you touch a spring, and a wreath with a black silk bow for mother’s +grave that’ll last all summer. I got to write down a list so I won’t +forget all the things I got to do.” + +It was nine o’clock—almost immediately afterward I looked at my watch +and found it was ten. Mr. McKee was asleep on a chair with his fists +clenched in his lap, like a photograph of a man of action. Taking out +my handkerchief I wiped from his cheek the spot of dried lather that +had worried me all the afternoon. + +The little dog was sitting on the table looking with blind eyes +through the smoke, and from time to time groaning faintly. People +disappeared, reappeared, made plans to go somewhere, and then lost +each other, searched for each other, found each other a few feet +away. Some time toward midnight Tom Buchanan and Mrs. Wilson stood +face to face discussing, in impassioned voices, whether Mrs. Wilson +had any right to mention Daisy’s name. + +“Daisy! Daisy! Daisy!” shouted Mrs. Wilson. “I’ll say it whenever I +want to! Daisy! Dai—” + +Making a short deft movement, Tom Buchanan broke her nose with his +open hand. + +Then there were bloody towels upon the bathroom floor, and women’s +voices scolding, and high over the confusion a long broken wail of +pain. Mr. McKee awoke from his doze and started in a daze toward the +door. When he had gone halfway he turned around and stared at the +scene—his wife and Catherine scolding and consoling as they stumbled +here and there among the crowded furniture with articles of aid, and +the despairing figure on the couch, bleeding fluently, and trying to +spread a copy of Town Tattle over the tapestry scenes of +Versailles. Then Mr. McKee turned and continued on out the door. +Taking my hat from the chandelier, I followed. + +“Come to lunch some day,” he suggested, as we groaned down in the +elevator. + +“Where?” + +“Anywhere.” + +“Keep your hands off the lever,” snapped the elevator boy. + +“I beg your pardon,” said Mr. McKee with dignity, “I didn’t know I was +touching it.” + +“All right,” I agreed, “I’ll be glad to.” + +… I was standing beside his bed and he was sitting up between the +sheets, clad in his underwear, with a great portfolio in his hands. + +“Beauty and the Beast … Loneliness … Old Grocery Horse … Brook’n +Bridge …” + +Then I was lying half asleep in the cold lower level of the +Pennsylvania Station, staring at the morning Tribune, and waiting for +the four o’clock train. + + + III + +There was music from my neighbour’s house through the summer nights. +In his blue gardens men and girls came and went like moths among the +whisperings and the champagne and the stars. At high tide in the +afternoon I watched his guests diving from the tower of his raft, or +taking the sun on the hot sand of his beach while his two motorboats +slit the waters of the Sound, drawing aquaplanes over cataracts of +foam. On weekends his Rolls-Royce became an omnibus, bearing parties +to and from the city between nine in the morning and long past +midnight, while his station wagon scampered like a brisk yellow bug to +meet all trains. And on Mondays eight servants, including an extra +gardener, toiled all day with mops and scrubbing-brushes and hammers +and garden-shears, repairing the ravages of the night before. + +Every Friday five crates of oranges and lemons arrived from a +fruiterer in New York—every Monday these same oranges and lemons left +his back door in a pyramid of pulpless halves. There was a machine in +the kitchen which could extract the juice of two hundred oranges in +half an hour if a little button was pressed two hundred times by a +butler’s thumb. + +At least once a fortnight a corps of caterers came down with several +hundred feet of canvas and enough coloured lights to make a Christmas +tree of Gatsby’s enormous garden. On buffet tables, garnished with +glistening hors-d’oeuvre, spiced baked hams crowded against salads of +harlequin designs and pastry pigs and turkeys bewitched to a dark +gold. In the main hall a bar with a real brass rail was set up, and +stocked with gins and liquors and with cordials so long forgotten that +most of his female guests were too young to know one from another. + +By seven o’clock the orchestra has arrived, no thin five-piece affair, +but a whole pitful of oboes and trombones and saxophones and viols and +cornets and piccolos, and low and high drums. The last swimmers have +come in from the beach now and are dressing upstairs; the cars from +New York are parked five deep in the drive, and already the halls and +salons and verandas are gaudy with primary colours, and hair bobbed in +strange new ways, and shawls beyond the dreams of Castile. The bar is +in full swing, and floating rounds of cocktails permeate the garden +outside, until the air is alive with chatter and laughter, and casual +innuendo and introductions forgotten on the spot, and enthusiastic +meetings between women who never knew each other’s names. + +The lights grow brighter as the earth lurches away from the sun, and +now the orchestra is playing yellow cocktail music, and the opera of +voices pitches a key higher. Laughter is easier minute by minute, +spilled with prodigality, tipped out at a cheerful word. The groups +change more swiftly, swell with new arrivals, dissolve and form in the +same breath; already there are wanderers, confident girls who weave +here and there among the stouter and more stable, become for a sharp, +joyous moment the centre of a group, and then, excited with triumph, +glide on through the sea-change of faces and voices and colour under +the constantly changing light. + +Suddenly one of these gypsies, in trembling opal, seizes a cocktail +out of the air, dumps it down for courage and, moving her hands like +Frisco, dances out alone on the canvas platform. A momentary hush; the +orchestra leader varies his rhythm obligingly for her, and there is a +burst of chatter as the erroneous news goes around that she is Gilda +Gray’s understudy from the Follies. The party has begun. + +I believe that on the first night I went to Gatsby’s house I was one +of the few guests who had actually been invited. People were not +invited—they went there. They got into automobiles which bore them out +to Long Island, and somehow they ended up at Gatsby’s door. Once there +they were introduced by somebody who knew Gatsby, and after that they +conducted themselves according to the rules of behaviour associated +with an amusement park. Sometimes they came and went without having +met Gatsby at all, came for the party with a simplicity of heart that +was its own ticket of admission. + +I had been actually invited. A chauffeur in a uniform of robin’s-egg +blue crossed my lawn early that Saturday morning with a surprisingly +formal note from his employer: the honour would be entirely Gatsby’s, +it said, if I would attend his “little party” that night. He had seen +me several times, and had intended to call on me long before, but a +peculiar combination of circumstances had prevented it—signed Jay +Gatsby, in a majestic hand. + +Dressed up in white flannels I went over to his lawn a little after +seven, and wandered around rather ill at ease among swirls and eddies +of people I didn’t know—though here and there was a face I had noticed +on the commuting train. I was immediately struck by the number of +young Englishmen dotted about; all well dressed, all looking a little +hungry, and all talking in low, earnest voices to solid and prosperous +Americans. I was sure that they were selling something: bonds or +insurance or automobiles. They were at least agonizingly aware of the +easy money in the vicinity and convinced that it was theirs for a few +words in the right key. + +As soon as I arrived I made an attempt to find my host, but the two or +three people of whom I asked his whereabouts stared at me in such an +amazed way, and denied so vehemently any knowledge of his movements, +that I slunk off in the direction of the cocktail table—the only place +in the garden where a single man could linger without looking +purposeless and alone. + +I was on my way to get roaring drunk from sheer embarrassment when +Jordan Baker came out of the house and stood at the head of the marble +steps, leaning a little backward and looking with contemptuous +interest down into the garden. + +Welcome or not, I found it necessary to attach myself to someone +before I should begin to address cordial remarks to the passersby. + +“Hello!” I roared, advancing toward her. My voice seemed unnaturally +loud across the garden. + +“I thought you might be here,” she responded absently as I came up. +“I remembered you lived next door to—” + +She held my hand impersonally, as a promise that she’d take care of me +in a minute, and gave ear to two girls in twin yellow dresses, who +stopped at the foot of the steps. + +“Hello!” they cried together. “Sorry you didn’t win.” + +That was for the golf tournament. She had lost in the finals the week +before. + +“You don’t know who we are,” said one of the girls in yellow, “but we +met you here about a month ago.” + +“You’ve dyed your hair since then,” remarked Jordan, and I started, +but the girls had moved casually on and her remark was addressed to +the premature moon, produced like the supper, no doubt, out of a +caterer’s basket. With Jordan’s slender golden arm resting in mine, we +descended the steps and sauntered about the garden. A tray of +cocktails floated at us through the twilight, and we sat down at a +table with the two girls in yellow and three men, each one introduced +to us as Mr. Mumble. + +“Do you come to these parties often?” inquired Jordan of the girl +beside her. + +“The last one was the one I met you at,” answered the girl, in an +alert confident voice. She turned to her companion: “Wasn’t it for +you, Lucille?” + +It was for Lucille, too. + +“I like to come,” Lucille said. “I never care what I do, so I always +have a good time. When I was here last I tore my gown on a chair, and +he asked me my name and address—inside of a week I got a package from +Croirier’s with a new evening gown in it.” + +“Did you keep it?” asked Jordan. + +“Sure I did. I was going to wear it tonight, but it was too big in the +bust and had to be altered. It was gas blue with lavender beads. Two +hundred and sixty-five dollars.” + +“There’s something funny about a fellow that’ll do a thing like that,” +said the other girl eagerly. “He doesn’t want any trouble with +anybody.” + +“Who doesn’t?” I inquired. + +“Gatsby. Somebody told me—” + +The two girls and Jordan leaned together confidentially. + +“Somebody told me they thought he killed a man once.” + +A thrill passed over all of us. The three Mr. Mumbles bent forward and +listened eagerly. + +“I don’t think it’s so much that,” argued Lucille sceptically; “It’s +more that he was a German spy during the war.” + +One of the men nodded in confirmation. + +“I heard that from a man who knew all about him, grew up with him in +Germany,” he assured us positively. + +“Oh, no,” said the first girl, “it couldn’t be that, because he was in +the American army during the war.” As our credulity switched back to +her she leaned forward with enthusiasm. “You look at him sometimes +when he thinks nobody’s looking at him. I’ll bet he killed a man.” + +She narrowed her eyes and shivered. Lucille shivered. We all turned +and looked around for Gatsby. It was testimony to the romantic +speculation he inspired that there were whispers about him from those +who had found little that it was necessary to whisper about in this +world. + +The first supper—there would be another one after midnight—was now +being served, and Jordan invited me to join her own party, who were +spread around a table on the other side of the garden. There were +three married couples and Jordan’s escort, a persistent undergraduate +given to violent innuendo, and obviously under the impression that +sooner or later Jordan was going to yield him up her person to a +greater or lesser degree. Instead of rambling, this party had +preserved a dignified homogeneity, and assumed to itself the function +of representing the staid nobility of the countryside—East Egg +condescending to West Egg and carefully on guard against its +spectroscopic gaiety. + +“Let’s get out,” whispered Jordan, after a somehow wasteful and +inappropriate half-hour; “this is much too polite for me.” + +We got up, and she explained that we were going to find the host: I +had never met him, she said, and it was making me uneasy. The +undergraduate nodded in a cynical, melancholy way. + +The bar, where we glanced first, was crowded, but Gatsby was not +there. She couldn’t find him from the top of the steps, and he wasn’t +on the veranda. On a chance we tried an important-looking door, and +walked into a high Gothic library, panelled with carved English oak, +and probably transported complete from some ruin overseas. + +A stout, middle-aged man, with enormous owl-eyed spectacles, was +sitting somewhat drunk on the edge of a great table, staring with +unsteady concentration at the shelves of books. As we entered he +wheeled excitedly around and examined Jordan from head to foot. + +“What do you think?” he demanded impetuously. + +“About what?” + +He waved his hand toward the bookshelves. + +“About that. As a matter of fact you needn’t bother to ascertain. I +ascertained. They’re real.” + +“The books?” + +He nodded. + +“Absolutely real—have pages and everything. I thought they’d be a nice +durable cardboard. Matter of fact, they’re absolutely real. Pages +and—Here! Lemme show you.” + +Taking our scepticism for granted, he rushed to the bookcases and +returned with Volume One of the Stoddard Lectures. + +“See!” he cried triumphantly. “It’s a bona-fide piece of printed +matter. It fooled me. This fella’s a regular Belasco. It’s a +triumph. What thoroughness! What realism! Knew when to stop, +too—didn’t cut the pages. But what do you want? What do you expect?” + +He snatched the book from me and replaced it hastily on its shelf, +muttering that if one brick was removed the whole library was liable +to collapse. + +“Who brought you?” he demanded. “Or did you just come? I was brought. +Most people were brought.” + +Jordan looked at him alertly, cheerfully, without answering. + +“I was brought by a woman named Roosevelt,” he continued. “Mrs. Claud +Roosevelt. Do you know her? I met her somewhere last night. I’ve been +drunk for about a week now, and I thought it might sober me up to sit +in a library.” + +“Has it?” + +“A little bit, I think. I can’t tell yet. I’ve only been here an hour. +Did I tell you about the books? They’re real. They’re—” + +“You told us.” + +We shook hands with him gravely and went back outdoors. + +There was dancing now on the canvas in the garden; old men pushing +young girls backward in eternal graceless circles, superior couples +holding each other tortuously, fashionably, and keeping in the +corners—and a great number of single girls dancing individually or +relieving the orchestra for a moment of the burden of the banjo or the +traps. By midnight the hilarity had increased. A celebrated tenor had +sung in Italian, and a notorious contralto had sung in jazz, and +between the numbers people were doing “stunts” all over the garden, +while happy, vacuous bursts of laughter rose toward the summer sky. A +pair of stage twins, who turned out to be the girls in yellow, did a +baby act in costume, and champagne was served in glasses bigger than +finger-bowls. The moon had risen higher, and floating in the Sound was +a triangle of silver scales, trembling a little to the stiff, tinny +drip of the banjoes on the lawn. + +I was still with Jordan Baker. We were sitting at a table with a man +of about my age and a rowdy little girl, who gave way upon the +slightest provocation to uncontrollable laughter. I was enjoying +myself now. I had taken two finger-bowls of champagne, and the scene +had changed before my eyes into something significant, elemental, and +profound. + +At a lull in the entertainment the man looked at me and smiled. + +“Your face is familiar,” he said politely. “Weren’t you in the First +Division during the war?” + +“Why yes. I was in the Twenty-eighth Infantry.” + +“I was in the Sixteenth until June nineteen-eighteen. I knew I’d seen +you somewhere before.” + +We talked for a moment about some wet, grey little villages in France. +Evidently he lived in this vicinity, for he told me that he had just +bought a hydroplane, and was going to try it out in the morning. + +“Want to go with me, old sport? Just near the shore along the Sound.” + +“What time?” + +“Any time that suits you best.” + +It was on the tip of my tongue to ask his name when Jordan looked +around and smiled. + +“Having a gay time now?” she inquired. + +“Much better.” I turned again to my new acquaintance. “This is an +unusual party for me. I haven’t even seen the host. I live over +there—” I waved my hand at the invisible hedge in the distance, “and +this man Gatsby sent over his chauffeur with an invitation.” + +For a moment he looked at me as if he failed to understand. + +“I’m Gatsby,” he said suddenly. + +“What!” I exclaimed. “Oh, I beg your pardon.” + +“I thought you knew, old sport. I’m afraid I’m not a very good host.” + +He smiled understandingly—much more than understandingly. It was one +of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that +you may come across four or five times in life. It faced—or seemed to +face—the whole eternal world for an instant, and then concentrated on +you with an irresistible prejudice in your favour. It understood you +just so far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you +would like to believe in yourself, and assured you that it had +precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to +convey. Precisely at that point it vanished—and I was looking at an +elegant young roughneck, a year or two over thirty, whose elaborate +formality of speech just missed being absurd. Some time before he +introduced himself I’d got a strong impression that he was picking his +words with care. + +Almost at the moment when Mr. Gatsby identified himself a butler +hurried toward him with the information that Chicago was calling him +on the wire. He excused himself with a small bow that included each of +us in turn. + +“If you want anything just ask for it, old sport,” he urged me. +“Excuse me. I will rejoin you later.” + +When he was gone I turned immediately to Jordan—constrained to assure +her of my surprise. I had expected that Mr. Gatsby would be a florid +and corpulent person in his middle years. + +“Who is he?” I demanded. “Do you know?” + +“He’s just a man named Gatsby.” + +“Where is he from, I mean? And what does he do?” + +“Now you’re started on the subject,” she answered with a wan smile. +“Well, he told me once he was an Oxford man.” + +A dim background started to take shape behind him, but at her next +remark it faded away. + +“However, I don’t believe it.” + +“Why not?” + +“I don’t know,” she insisted, “I just don’t think he went there.” + +Something in her tone reminded me of the other girl’s “I think he +killed a man,” and had the effect of stimulating my curiosity. I would +have accepted without question the information that Gatsby sprang from +the swamps of Louisiana or from the lower East Side of New York. That +was comprehensible. But young men didn’t—at least in my provincial +inexperience I believed they didn’t—drift coolly out of nowhere and +buy a palace on Long Island Sound. + +“Anyhow, he gives large parties,” said Jordan, changing the subject +with an urban distaste for the concrete. “And I like large parties. +They’re so intimate. At small parties there isn’t any privacy.” + +There was the boom of a bass drum, and the voice of the orchestra +leader rang out suddenly above the echolalia of the garden. + +“Ladies and gentlemen,” he cried. “At the request of Mr. Gatsby we are +going to play for you Mr. Vladmir Tostoff’s latest work, which +attracted so much attention at Carnegie Hall last May. If you read the +papers you know there was a big sensation.” He smiled with jovial +condescension, and added: “Some sensation!” Whereupon everybody +laughed. + +“The piece is known,” he concluded lustily, “as ‘Vladmir Tostoff’s +Jazz History of the World!’ ” + +The nature of Mr. Tostoff’s composition eluded me, because just as it +began my eyes fell on Gatsby, standing alone on the marble steps and +looking from one group to another with approving eyes. His tanned skin +was drawn attractively tight on his face and his short hair looked as +though it were trimmed every day. I could see nothing sinister about +him. I wondered if the fact that he was not drinking helped to set him +off from his guests, for it seemed to me that he grew more correct as +the fraternal hilarity increased. When the “Jazz History of the World” +was over, girls were putting their heads on men’s shoulders in a +puppyish, convivial way, girls were swooning backward playfully into +men’s arms, even into groups, knowing that someone would arrest their +falls—but no one swooned backward on Gatsby, and no French bob touched +Gatsby’s shoulder, and no singing quartets were formed with Gatsby’s +head for one link. + +“I beg your pardon.” + +Gatsby’s butler was suddenly standing beside us. + +“Miss Baker?” he inquired. “I beg your pardon, but Mr. Gatsby would +like to speak to you alone.” + +“With me?” she exclaimed in surprise. + +“Yes, madame.” + +She got up slowly, raising her eyebrows at me in astonishment, and +followed the butler toward the house. I noticed that she wore her +evening-dress, all her dresses, like sports clothes—there was a +jauntiness about her movements as if she had first learned to walk +upon golf courses on clean, crisp mornings. + +I was alone and it was almost two. For some time confused and +intriguing sounds had issued from a long, many-windowed room which +overhung the terrace. Eluding Jordan’s undergraduate, who was now +engaged in an obstetrical conversation with two chorus girls, and who +implored me to join him, I went inside. + +The large room was full of people. One of the girls in yellow was +playing the piano, and beside her stood a tall, red-haired young lady +from a famous chorus, engaged in song. She had drunk a quantity of +champagne, and during the course of her song she had decided, ineptly, +that everything was very, very sad—she was not only singing, she was +weeping too. Whenever there was a pause in the song she filled it with +gasping, broken sobs, and then took up the lyric again in a quavering +soprano. The tears coursed down her cheeks—not freely, however, for +when they came into contact with her heavily beaded eyelashes they +assumed an inky colour, and pursued the rest of their way in slow +black rivulets. A humorous suggestion was made that she sing the notes +on her face, whereupon she threw up her hands, sank into a chair, and +went off into a deep vinous sleep. + +“She had a fight with a man who says he’s her husband,” explained a +girl at my elbow. + +I looked around. Most of the remaining women were now having fights +with men said to be their husbands. Even Jordan’s party, the quartet +from East Egg, were rent asunder by dissension. One of the men was +talking with curious intensity to a young actress, and his wife, after +attempting to laugh at the situation in a dignified and indifferent +way, broke down entirely and resorted to flank attacks—at intervals +she appeared suddenly at his side like an angry diamond, and hissed: +“You promised!” into his ear. + +The reluctance to go home was not confined to wayward men. The hall +was at present occupied by two deplorably sober men and their highly +indignant wives. The wives were sympathizing with each other in +slightly raised voices. + +“Whenever he sees I’m having a good time he wants to go home.” + +“Never heard anything so selfish in my life.” + +“We’re always the first ones to leave.” + +“So are we.” + +“Well, we’re almost the last tonight,” said one of the men sheepishly. +“The orchestra left half an hour ago.” + +In spite of the wives’ agreement that such malevolence was beyond +credibility, the dispute ended in a short struggle, and both wives +were lifted, kicking, into the night. + +As I waited for my hat in the hall the door of the library opened and +Jordan Baker and Gatsby came out together. He was saying some last +word to her, but the eagerness in his manner tightened abruptly into +formality as several people approached him to say goodbye. + +Jordan’s party were calling impatiently to her from the porch, but she +lingered for a moment to shake hands. + +“I’ve just heard the most amazing thing,” she whispered. “How long +were we in there?” + +“Why, about an hour.” + +“It was … simply amazing,” she repeated abstractedly. “But I swore I +wouldn’t tell it and here I am tantalizing you.” She yawned gracefully +in my face. “Please come and see me … Phone book … Under the name of +Mrs. Sigourney Howard … My aunt …” She was hurrying off as she +talked—her brown hand waved a jaunty salute as she melted into her +party at the door. + +Rather ashamed that on my first appearance I had stayed so late, I +joined the last of Gatsby’s guests, who were clustered around him. I +wanted to explain that I’d hunted for him early in the evening and to +apologize for not having known him in the garden. + +“Don’t mention it,” he enjoined me eagerly. “Don’t give it another +thought, old sport.” The familiar expression held no more familiarity +than the hand which reassuringly brushed my shoulder. “And don’t +forget we’re going up in the hydroplane tomorrow morning, at nine +o’clock.” + +Then the butler, behind his shoulder: + +“Philadelphia wants you on the phone, sir.” + +“All right, in a minute. Tell them I’ll be right there … Good night.” + +“Good night.” + +“Good night.” He smiled—and suddenly there seemed to be a pleasant +significance in having been among the last to go, as if he had desired +it all the time. “Good night, old sport … Good night.” + +But as I walked down the steps I saw that the evening was not quite +over. Fifty feet from the door a dozen headlights illuminated a +bizarre and tumultuous scene. In the ditch beside the road, right side +up, but violently shorn of one wheel, rested a new coupé which had +left Gatsby’s drive not two minutes before. The sharp jut of a wall +accounted for the detachment of the wheel, which was now getting +considerable attention from half a dozen curious chauffeurs. However, +as they had left their cars blocking the road, a harsh, discordant din +from those in the rear had been audible for some time, and added to +the already violent confusion of the scene. + +A man in a long duster had dismounted from the wreck and now stood in +the middle of the road, looking from the car to the tyre and from the +tyre to the observers in a pleasant, puzzled way. + +“See!” he explained. “It went in the ditch.” + +The fact was infinitely astonishing to him, and I recognized first the +unusual quality of wonder, and then the man—it was the late patron of +Gatsby’s library. + +“How’d it happen?” + +He shrugged his shoulders. + +“I know nothing whatever about mechanics,” he said decisively. + +“But how did it happen? Did you run into the wall?” + +“Don’t ask me,” said Owl Eyes, washing his hands of the whole +matter. “I know very little about driving—next to nothing. It +happened, and that’s all I know.” + +“Well, if you’re a poor driver you oughtn’t to try driving at night.” + +“But I wasn’t even trying,” he explained indignantly, “I wasn’t even +trying.” + +An awed hush fell upon the bystanders. + +“Do you want to commit suicide?” + +“You’re lucky it was just a wheel! A bad driver and not even trying!” + +“You don’t understand,” explained the criminal. “I wasn’t driving. +There’s another man in the car.” + +The shock that followed this declaration found voice in a sustained +“Ah-h-h!” as the door of the coupé swung slowly open. The crowd—it was +now a crowd—stepped back involuntarily, and when the door had opened +wide there was a ghostly pause. Then, very gradually, part by part, a +pale, dangling individual stepped out of the wreck, pawing tentatively +at the ground with a large uncertain dancing shoe. + +Blinded by the glare of the headlights and confused by the incessant +groaning of the horns, the apparition stood swaying for a moment +before he perceived the man in the duster. + +“Wha’s matter?” he inquired calmly. “Did we run outa gas?” + +“Look!” + +Half a dozen fingers pointed at the amputated wheel—he stared at it +for a moment, and then looked upward as though he suspected that it +had dropped from the sky. + +“It came off,” someone explained. + +He nodded. + +“At first I din’ notice we’d stopped.” + +A pause. Then, taking a long breath and straightening his shoulders, +he remarked in a determined voice: + +“Wonder’ff tell me where there’s a gas’line station?” + +At least a dozen men, some of them a little better off than he was, +explained to him that wheel and car were no longer joined by any +physical bond. + +“Back out,” he suggested after a moment. “Put her in reverse.” + +“But the wheel’s off!” + +He hesitated. + +“No harm in trying,” he said. + +The caterwauling horns had reached a crescendo and I turned away and +cut across the lawn toward home. I glanced back once. A wafer of a +moon was shining over Gatsby’s house, making the night fine as before, +and surviving the laughter and the sound of his still glowing garden. +A sudden emptiness seemed to flow now from the windows and the great +doors, endowing with complete isolation the figure of the host, who +stood on the porch, his hand up in a formal gesture of farewell. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Reading over what I have written so far, I see I have given the +impression that the events of three nights several weeks apart were +all that absorbed me. On the contrary, they were merely casual events +in a crowded summer, and, until much later, they absorbed me +infinitely less than my personal affairs. + +Most of the time I worked. In the early morning the sun threw my +shadow westward as I hurried down the white chasms of lower New York +to the Probity Trust. I knew the other clerks and young bond-salesmen +by their first names, and lunched with them in dark, crowded +restaurants on little pig sausages and mashed potatoes and coffee. I +even had a short affair with a girl who lived in Jersey City and +worked in the accounting department, but her brother began throwing +mean looks in my direction, so when she went on her vacation in July I +let it blow quietly away. + +I took dinner usually at the Yale Club—for some reason it was the +gloomiest event of my day—and then I went upstairs to the library and +studied investments and securities for a conscientious hour. There +were generally a few rioters around, but they never came into the +library, so it was a good place to work. After that, if the night was +mellow, I strolled down Madison Avenue past the old Murray Hill Hotel, +and over 33rd Street to the Pennsylvania Station. + +I began to like New York, the racy, adventurous feel of it at night, +and the satisfaction that the constant flicker of men and women and +machines gives to the restless eye. I liked to walk up Fifth Avenue +and pick out romantic women from the crowd and imagine that in a few +minutes I was going to enter into their lives, and no one would ever +know or disapprove. Sometimes, in my mind, I followed them to their +apartments on the corners of hidden streets, and they turned and +smiled back at me before they faded through a door into warm +darkness. At the enchanted metropolitan twilight I felt a haunting +loneliness sometimes, and felt it in others—poor young clerks who +loitered in front of windows waiting until it was time for a solitary +restaurant dinner—young clerks in the dusk, wasting the most poignant +moments of night and life. + +Again at eight o’clock, when the dark lanes of the Forties were lined +five deep with throbbing taxicabs, bound for the theatre district, I +felt a sinking in my heart. Forms leaned together in the taxis as they +waited, and voices sang, and there was laughter from unheard jokes, +and lighted cigarettes made unintelligible circles inside. Imagining +that I, too, was hurrying towards gaiety and sharing their intimate +excitement, I wished them well. + +For a while I lost sight of Jordan Baker, and then in midsummer I +found her again. At first I was flattered to go places with her, +because she was a golf champion, and everyone knew her name. Then it +was something more. I wasn’t actually in love, but I felt a sort of +tender curiosity. The bored haughty face that she turned to the world +concealed something—most affectations conceal something eventually, +even though they don’t in the beginning—and one day I found what it +was. When we were on a house-party together up in Warwick, she left a +borrowed car out in the rain with the top down, and then lied about +it—and suddenly I remembered the story about her that had eluded me +that night at Daisy’s. At her first big golf tournament there was a +row that nearly reached the newspapers—a suggestion that she had moved +her ball from a bad lie in the semifinal round. The thing approached +the proportions of a scandal—then died away. A caddy retracted his +statement, and the only other witness admitted that he might have been +mistaken. The incident and the name had remained together in my mind. + +Jordan Baker instinctively avoided clever, shrewd men, and now I saw +that this was because she felt safer on a plane where any divergence +from a code would be thought impossible. She was incurably dishonest. +She wasn’t able to endure being at a disadvantage and, given this +unwillingness, I suppose she had begun dealing in subterfuges when she +was very young in order to keep that cool, insolent smile turned to +the world and yet satisfy the demands of her hard, jaunty body. + +It made no difference to me. Dishonesty in a woman is a thing you +never blame deeply—I was casually sorry, and then I forgot. It was on +that same house-party that we had a curious conversation about driving +a car. It started because she passed so close to some workmen that our +fender flicked a button on one man’s coat. + +“You’re a rotten driver,” I protested. “Either you ought to be more +careful, or you oughtn’t to drive at all.” + +“I am careful.” + +“No, you’re not.” + +“Well, other people are,” she said lightly. + +“What’s that got to do with it?” + +“They’ll keep out of my way,” she insisted. “It takes two to make an +accident.” + +“Suppose you met somebody just as careless as yourself.” + +“I hope I never will,” she answered. “I hate careless people. That’s +why I like you.” + +Her grey, sun-strained eyes stared straight ahead, but she had +deliberately shifted our relations, and for a moment I thought I loved +her. But I am slow-thinking and full of interior rules that act as +brakes on my desires, and I knew that first I had to get myself +definitely out of that tangle back home. I’d been writing letters once +a week and signing them: “Love, Nick,” and all I could think of was +how, when that certain girl played tennis, a faint moustache of +perspiration appeared on her upper lip. Nevertheless there was a vague +understanding that had to be tactfully broken off before I was free. + +Everyone suspects himself of at least one of the cardinal virtues, and +this is mine: I am one of the few honest people that I have ever +known. + + + IV + +On Sunday morning while church bells rang in the villages alongshore, +the world and its mistress returned to Gatsby’s house and twinkled +hilariously on his lawn. + +“He’s a bootlegger,” said the young ladies, moving somewhere between +his cocktails and his flowers. “One time he killed a man who had found +out that he was nephew to Von Hindenburg and second cousin to the +devil. Reach me a rose, honey, and pour me a last drop into that there +crystal glass.” + +Once I wrote down on the empty spaces of a timetable the names of +those who came to Gatsby’s house that summer. It is an old timetable +now, disintegrating at its folds, and headed “This schedule in effect +July 5th, 1922.” But I can still read the grey names, and they will +give you a better impression than my generalities of those who +accepted Gatsby’s hospitality and paid him the subtle tribute of +knowing nothing whatever about him. + +From East Egg, then, came the Chester Beckers and the Leeches, and a +man named Bunsen, whom I knew at Yale, and Doctor Webster Civet, who +was drowned last summer up in Maine. And the Hornbeams and the Willie +Voltaires, and a whole clan named Blackbuck, who always gathered in a +corner and flipped up their noses like goats at whosoever came +near. And the Ismays and the Chrysties (or rather Hubert Auerbach and +Mr. Chrystie’s wife), and Edgar Beaver, whose hair, they say, turned +cotton-white one winter afternoon for no good reason at all. + +Clarence Endive was from East Egg, as I remember. He came only once, +in white knickerbockers, and had a fight with a bum named Etty in the +garden. From farther out on the Island came the Cheadles and the O. +R. P. Schraeders, and the Stonewall Jackson Abrams of Georgia, and the +Fishguards and the Ripley Snells. Snell was there three days before he +went to the penitentiary, so drunk out on the gravel drive that +Mrs. Ulysses Swett’s automobile ran over his right hand. The Dancies +came, too, and S. B. Whitebait, who was well over sixty, and Maurice +A. Flink, and the Hammerheads, and Beluga the tobacco importer, and +Beluga’s girls. + +From West Egg came the Poles and the Mulreadys and Cecil Roebuck and +Cecil Schoen and Gulick the State senator and Newton Orchid, who +controlled Films Par Excellence, and Eckhaust and Clyde Cohen and Don +S. Schwartz (the son) and Arthur McCarty, all connected with the +movies in one way or another. And the Catlips and the Bembergs and G. +Earl Muldoon, brother to that Muldoon who afterward strangled his +wife. Da Fontano the promoter came there, and Ed Legros and James B. +(“Rot-Gut”) Ferret and the De Jongs and Ernest Lilly—they came to +gamble, and when Ferret wandered into the garden it meant he was +cleaned out and Associated Traction would have to fluctuate profitably +next day. + +A man named Klipspringer was there so often that he became known as +“the boarder”—I doubt if he had any other home. Of theatrical people +there were Gus Waize and Horace O’Donavan and Lester Myer and George +Duckweed and Francis Bull. Also from New York were the Chromes and the +Backhyssons and the Dennickers and Russel Betty and the Corrigans and +the Kellehers and the Dewars and the Scullys and S. W. Belcher and the +Smirkes and the young Quinns, divorced now, and Henry L. Palmetto, who +killed himself by jumping in front of a subway train in Times Square. + +Benny McClenahan arrived always with four girls. They were never quite +the same ones in physical person, but they were so identical one with +another that it inevitably seemed they had been there before. I have +forgotten their names—Jaqueline, I think, or else Consuela, or Gloria +or Judy or June, and their last names were either the melodious names +of flowers and months or the sterner ones of the great American +capitalists whose cousins, if pressed, they would confess themselves +to be. + +In addition to all these I can remember that Faustina O’Brien came +there at least once and the Baedeker girls and young Brewer, who had +his nose shot off in the war, and Mr. Albrucksburger and Miss Haag, +his fiancée, and Ardita Fitz-Peters and Mr. P. Jewett, once head of +the American Legion, and Miss Claudia Hip, with a man reputed to be +her chauffeur, and a prince of something, whom we called Duke, and +whose name, if I ever knew it, I have forgotten. + +All these people came to Gatsby’s house in the summer. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +At nine o’clock, one morning late in July, Gatsby’s gorgeous car +lurched up the rocky drive to my door and gave out a burst of melody +from its three-noted horn. + +It was the first time he had called on me, though I had gone to two of +his parties, mounted in his hydroplane, and, at his urgent invitation, +made frequent use of his beach. + +“Good morning, old sport. You’re having lunch with me today and I +thought we’d ride up together.” + +He was balancing himself on the dashboard of his car with that +resourcefulness of movement that is so peculiarly American—that comes, +I suppose, with the absence of lifting work in youth and, even more, +with the formless grace of our nervous, sporadic games. This quality +was continually breaking through his punctilious manner in the shape +of restlessness. He was never quite still; there was always a tapping +foot somewhere or the impatient opening and closing of a hand. + +He saw me looking with admiration at his car. + +“It’s pretty, isn’t it, old sport?” He jumped off to give me a better +view. “Haven’t you ever seen it before?” + +I’d seen it. Everybody had seen it. It was a rich cream colour, bright +with nickel, swollen here and there in its monstrous length with +triumphant hatboxes and supper-boxes and toolboxes, and terraced with +a labyrinth of windshields that mirrored a dozen suns. Sitting down +behind many layers of glass in a sort of green leather conservatory, +we started to town. + +I had talked with him perhaps half a dozen times in the past month and +found, to my disappointment, that he had little to say. So my first +impression, that he was a person of some undefined consequence, had +gradually faded and he had become simply the proprietor of an +elaborate roadhouse next door. + +And then came that disconcerting ride. We hadn’t reached West Egg +village before Gatsby began leaving his elegant sentences unfinished +and slapping himself indecisively on the knee of his caramel-coloured +suit. + +“Look here, old sport,” he broke out surprisingly, “what’s your +opinion of me, anyhow?” + +A little overwhelmed, I began the generalized evasions which that +question deserves. + +“Well, I’m going to tell you something about my life,” he interrupted. +“I don’t want you to get a wrong idea of me from all these stories you +hear.” + +So he was aware of the bizarre accusations that flavoured conversation +in his halls. + +“I’ll tell you God’s truth.” His right hand suddenly ordered divine +retribution to stand by. “I am the son of some wealthy people in the +Middle West—all dead now. I was brought up in America but educated at +Oxford, because all my ancestors have been educated there for many +years. It is a family tradition.” + +He looked at me sideways—and I knew why Jordan Baker had believed he +was lying. He hurried the phrase “educated at Oxford,” or swallowed +it, or choked on it, as though it had bothered him before. And with +this doubt, his whole statement fell to pieces, and I wondered if +there wasn’t something a little sinister about him, after all. + +“What part of the Middle West?” I inquired casually. + +“San Francisco.” + +“I see.” + +“My family all died and I came into a good deal of money.” + +His voice was solemn, as if the memory of that sudden extinction of a +clan still haunted him. For a moment I suspected that he was pulling +my leg, but a glance at him convinced me otherwise. + +“After that I lived like a young rajah in all the capitals of +Europe—Paris, Venice, Rome—collecting jewels, chiefly rubies, hunting +big game, painting a little, things for myself only, and trying to +forget something very sad that had happened to me long ago.” + +With an effort I managed to restrain my incredulous laughter. The very +phrases were worn so threadbare that they evoked no image except that +of a turbaned “character” leaking sawdust at every pore as he pursued +a tiger through the Bois de Boulogne. + +“Then came the war, old sport. It was a great relief, and I tried very +hard to die, but I seemed to bear an enchanted life. I accepted a +commission as first lieutenant when it began. In the Argonne Forest I +took the remains of my machine-gun battalion so far forward that there +was a half mile gap on either side of us where the infantry couldn’t +advance. We stayed there two days and two nights, a hundred and thirty +men with sixteen Lewis guns, and when the infantry came up at last +they found the insignia of three German divisions among the piles of +dead. I was promoted to be a major, and every Allied government gave +me a decoration—even Montenegro, little Montenegro down on the +Adriatic Sea!” + +Little Montenegro! He lifted up the words and nodded at them—with his +smile. The smile comprehended Montenegro’s troubled history and +sympathized with the brave struggles of the Montenegrin people. It +appreciated fully the chain of national circumstances which had +elicited this tribute from Montenegro’s warm little heart. My +incredulity was submerged in fascination now; it was like skimming +hastily through a dozen magazines. + +He reached in his pocket, and a piece of metal, slung on a ribbon, +fell into my palm. + +“That’s the one from Montenegro.” + +To my astonishment, the thing had an authentic look. “Orderi di +Danilo,” ran the circular legend, “Montenegro, Nicolas Rex.” + +“Turn it.” + +“Major Jay Gatsby,” I read, “For Valour Extraordinary.” + +“Here’s another thing I always carry. A souvenir of Oxford days. It +was taken in Trinity Quad—the man on my left is now the Earl of +Doncaster.” + +It was a photograph of half a dozen young men in blazers loafing in an +archway through which were visible a host of spires. There was Gatsby, +looking a little, not much, younger—with a cricket bat in his hand. + +Then it was all true. I saw the skins of tigers flaming in his palace +on the Grand Canal; I saw him opening a chest of rubies to ease, with +their crimson-lighted depths, the gnawings of his broken heart. + +“I’m going to make a big request of you today,” he said, pocketing his +souvenirs with satisfaction, “so I thought you ought to know something +about me. I didn’t want you to think I was just some nobody. You see, +I usually find myself among strangers because I drift here and there +trying to forget the sad things that happened to me.” He hesitated. +“You’ll hear about it this afternoon.” + +“At lunch?” + +“No, this afternoon. I happened to find out that you’re taking Miss +Baker to tea.” + +“Do you mean you’re in love with Miss Baker?” + +“No, old sport, I’m not. But Miss Baker has kindly consented to speak +to you about this matter.” + +I hadn’t the faintest idea what “this matter” was, but I was more +annoyed than interested. I hadn’t asked Jordan to tea in order to +discuss Mr. Jay Gatsby. I was sure the request would be something +utterly fantastic, and for a moment I was sorry I’d ever set foot upon +his overpopulated lawn. + +He wouldn’t say another word. His correctness grew on him as we neared +the city. We passed Port Roosevelt, where there was a glimpse of +red-belted oceangoing ships, and sped along a cobbled slum lined with +the dark, undeserted saloons of the faded-gilt nineteen-hundreds. +Then the valley of ashes opened out on both sides of us, and I had a +glimpse of Mrs. Wilson straining at the garage pump with panting +vitality as we went by. + +With fenders spread like wings we scattered light through half +Astoria—only half, for as we twisted among the pillars of the elevated +I heard the familiar “jug-jug-spat!” of a motorcycle, and a frantic +policeman rode alongside. + +“All right, old sport,” called Gatsby. We slowed down. Taking a white +card from his wallet, he waved it before the man’s eyes. + +“Right you are,” agreed the policeman, tipping his cap. “Know you next +time, Mr. Gatsby. Excuse me!” + +“What was that?” I inquired. “The picture of Oxford?” + +“I was able to do the commissioner a favour once, and he sends me a +Christmas card every year.” + +Over the great bridge, with the sunlight through the girders making a +constant flicker upon the moving cars, with the city rising up across +the river in white heaps and sugar lumps all built with a wish out of +nonolfactory money. The city seen from the Queensboro Bridge is always +the city seen for the first time, in its first wild promise of all the +mystery and the beauty in the world. + +A dead man passed us in a hearse heaped with blooms, followed by two +carriages with drawn blinds, and by more cheerful carriages for +friends. The friends looked out at us with the tragic eyes and short +upper lips of southeastern Europe, and I was glad that the sight of +Gatsby’s splendid car was included in their sombre holiday. As we +crossed Blackwell’s Island a limousine passed us, driven by a white +chauffeur, in which sat three modish negroes, two bucks and a girl. I +laughed aloud as the yolks of their eyeballs rolled toward us in +haughty rivalry. + +“Anything can happen now that we’ve slid over this bridge,” I thought; +“anything at all …” + +Even Gatsby could happen, without any particular wonder. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Roaring noon. In a well-fanned Forty-second Street cellar I met Gatsby +for lunch. Blinking away the brightness of the street outside, my eyes +picked him out obscurely in the anteroom, talking to another man. + +“Mr. Carraway, this is my friend Mr. Wolfshiem.” + +A small, flat-nosed Jew raised his large head and regarded me with two +fine growths of hair which luxuriated in either nostril. After a +moment I discovered his tiny eyes in the half-darkness. + +“—So I took one look at him,” said Mr. Wolfshiem, shaking my hand +earnestly, “and what do you think I did?” + +“What?” I inquired politely. + +But evidently he was not addressing me, for he dropped my hand and +covered Gatsby with his expressive nose. + +“I handed the money to Katspaugh and I said: ‘All right, Katspaugh, +don’t pay him a penny till he shuts his mouth.’ He shut it then and +there.” + +Gatsby took an arm of each of us and moved forward into the +restaurant, whereupon Mr. Wolfshiem swallowed a new sentence he was +starting and lapsed into a somnambulatory abstraction. + +“Highballs?” asked the head waiter. + +“This is a nice restaurant here,” said Mr. Wolfshiem, looking at the +presbyterian nymphs on the ceiling. “But I like across the street +better!” + +“Yes, highballs,” agreed Gatsby, and then to Mr. Wolfshiem: “It’s too +hot over there.” + +“Hot and small—yes,” said Mr. Wolfshiem, “but full of memories.” + +“What place is that?” I asked. + +“The old Metropole.” + +“The old Metropole,” brooded Mr. Wolfshiem gloomily. “Filled with +faces dead and gone. Filled with friends gone now forever. I can’t +forget so long as I live the night they shot Rosy Rosenthal there. It +was six of us at the table, and Rosy had eat and drunk a lot all +evening. When it was almost morning the waiter came up to him with a +funny look and says somebody wants to speak to him outside. ‘All +right,’ says Rosy, and begins to get up, and I pulled him down in his +chair. + +“ ‘Let the bastards come in here if they want you, Rosy, but don’t +you, so help me, move outside this room.’ + +“It was four o’clock in the morning then, and if we’d of raised the +blinds we’d of seen daylight.” + +“Did he go?” I asked innocently. + +“Sure he went.” Mr. Wolfshiem’s nose flashed at me indignantly. “He +turned around in the door and says: ‘Don’t let that waiter take away +my coffee!’ Then he went out on the sidewalk, and they shot him three +times in his full belly and drove away.” + +“Four of them were electrocuted,” I said, remembering. + +“Five, with Becker.” His nostrils turned to me in an interested way. +“I understand you’re looking for a business gonnegtion.” + +The juxtaposition of these two remarks was startling. Gatsby answered +for me: + +“Oh, no,” he exclaimed, “this isn’t the man.” + +“No?” Mr. Wolfshiem seemed disappointed. + +“This is just a friend. I told you we’d talk about that some other +time.” + +“I beg your pardon,” said Mr. Wolfshiem, “I had a wrong man.” + +A succulent hash arrived, and Mr. Wolfshiem, forgetting the more +sentimental atmosphere of the old Metropole, began to eat with +ferocious delicacy. His eyes, meanwhile, roved very slowly all around +the room—he completed the arc by turning to inspect the people +directly behind. I think that, except for my presence, he would have +taken one short glance beneath our own table. + +“Look here, old sport,” said Gatsby, leaning toward me, “I’m afraid I +made you a little angry this morning in the car.” + +There was the smile again, but this time I held out against it. + +“I don’t like mysteries,” I answered, “and I don’t understand why you +won’t come out frankly and tell me what you want. Why has it all got +to come through Miss Baker?” + +“Oh, it’s nothing underhand,” he assured me. “Miss Baker’s a great +sportswoman, you know, and she’d never do anything that wasn’t all +right.” + +Suddenly he looked at his watch, jumped up, and hurried from the room, +leaving me with Mr. Wolfshiem at the table. + +“He has to telephone,” said Mr. Wolfshiem, following him with his +eyes. “Fine fellow, isn’t he? Handsome to look at and a perfect +gentleman.” + +“Yes.” + +“He’s an Oggsford man.” + +“Oh!” + +“He went to Oggsford College in England. You know Oggsford College?” + +“I’ve heard of it.” + +“It’s one of the most famous colleges in the world.” + +“Have you known Gatsby for a long time?” I inquired. + +“Several years,” he answered in a gratified way. “I made the pleasure +of his acquaintance just after the war. But I knew I had discovered a +man of fine breeding after I talked with him an hour. I said to +myself: ‘There’s the kind of man you’d like to take home and introduce +to your mother and sister.’ ” He paused. “I see you’re looking at my +cuff buttons.” + +I hadn’t been looking at them, but I did now. They were composed of +oddly familiar pieces of ivory. + +“Finest specimens of human molars,” he informed me. + +“Well!” I inspected them. “That’s a very interesting idea.” + +“Yeah.” He flipped his sleeves up under his coat. “Yeah, Gatsby’s very +careful about women. He would never so much as look at a friend’s +wife.” + +When the subject of this instinctive trust returned to the table and +sat down Mr. Wolfshiem drank his coffee with a jerk and got to his +feet. + +“I have enjoyed my lunch,” he said, “and I’m going to run off from you +two young men before I outstay my welcome.” + +“Don’t hurry Meyer,” said Gatsby, without enthusiasm. Mr. Wolfshiem +raised his hand in a sort of benediction. + +“You’re very polite, but I belong to another generation,” he announced +solemnly. “You sit here and discuss your sports and your young ladies +and your—” He supplied an imaginary noun with another wave of his +hand. “As for me, I am fifty years old, and I won’t impose myself on +you any longer.” + +As he shook hands and turned away his tragic nose was trembling. I +wondered if I had said anything to offend him. + +“He becomes very sentimental sometimes,” explained Gatsby. “This is +one of his sentimental days. He’s quite a character around New York—a +denizen of Broadway.” + +“Who is he, anyhow, an actor?” + +“No.” + +“A dentist?” + +“Meyer Wolfshiem? No, he’s a gambler.” Gatsby hesitated, then added, +coolly: “He’s the man who fixed the World’s Series back in 1919.” + +“Fixed the World’s Series?” I repeated. + +The idea staggered me. I remembered, of course, that the World’s +Series had been fixed in 1919, but if I had thought of it at all I +would have thought of it as a thing that merely happened, the end of +some inevitable chain. It never occurred to me that one man could +start to play with the faith of fifty million people—with the +single-mindedness of a burglar blowing a safe. + +“How did he happen to do that?” I asked after a minute. + +“He just saw the opportunity.” + +“Why isn’t he in jail?” + +“They can’t get him, old sport. He’s a smart man.” + +I insisted on paying the check. As the waiter brought my change I +caught sight of Tom Buchanan across the crowded room. + +“Come along with me for a minute,” I said; “I’ve got to say hello to +someone.” + +When he saw us Tom jumped up and took half a dozen steps in our +direction. + +“Where’ve you been?” he demanded eagerly. “Daisy’s furious because you +haven’t called up.” + +“This is Mr. Gatsby, Mr. Buchanan.” + +They shook hands briefly, and a strained, unfamiliar look of +embarrassment came over Gatsby’s face. + +“How’ve you been, anyhow?” demanded Tom of me. “How’d you happen to +come up this far to eat?” + +“I’ve been having lunch with Mr. Gatsby.” + +I turned toward Mr. Gatsby, but he was no longer there. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +One October day in nineteen-seventeen— + +(said Jordan Baker that afternoon, sitting up very straight on a +straight chair in the tea-garden at the Plaza Hotel) + +—I was walking along from one place to another, half on the sidewalks +and half on the lawns. I was happier on the lawns because I had on +shoes from England with rubber knobs on the soles that bit into the +soft ground. I had on a new plaid skirt also that blew a little in the +wind, and whenever this happened the red, white, and blue banners in +front of all the houses stretched out stiff and said tut-tut-tut-tut, +in a disapproving way. + +The largest of the banners and the largest of the lawns belonged to +Daisy Fay’s house. She was just eighteen, two years older than me, and +by far the most popular of all the young girls in Louisville. She +dressed in white, and had a little white roadster, and all day long +the telephone rang in her house and excited young officers from Camp +Taylor demanded the privilege of monopolizing her that +night. “Anyways, for an hour!” + +When I came opposite her house that morning her white roadster was +beside the kerb, and she was sitting in it with a lieutenant I had +never seen before. They were so engrossed in each other that she +didn’t see me until I was five feet away. + +“Hello, Jordan,” she called unexpectedly. “Please come here.” + +I was flattered that she wanted to speak to me, because of all the +older girls I admired her most. She asked me if I was going to the Red +Cross to make bandages. I was. Well, then, would I tell them that she +couldn’t come that day? The officer looked at Daisy while she was +speaking, in a way that every young girl wants to be looked at +sometime, and because it seemed romantic to me I have remembered the +incident ever since. His name was Jay Gatsby, and I didn’t lay eyes on +him again for over four years—even after I’d met him on Long Island I +didn’t realize it was the same man. + +That was nineteen-seventeen. By the next year I had a few beaux +myself, and I began to play in tournaments, so I didn’t see Daisy very +often. She went with a slightly older crowd—when she went with anyone +at all. Wild rumours were circulating about her—how her mother had +found her packing her bag one winter night to go to New York and say +goodbye to a soldier who was going overseas. She was effectually +prevented, but she wasn’t on speaking terms with her family for +several weeks. After that she didn’t play around with the soldiers any +more, but only with a few flat-footed, shortsighted young men in town, +who couldn’t get into the army at all. + +By the next autumn she was gay again, gay as ever. She had a début +after the armistice, and in February she was presumably engaged to a +man from New Orleans. In June she married Tom Buchanan of Chicago, +with more pomp and circumstance than Louisville ever knew before. He +came down with a hundred people in four private cars, and hired a +whole floor of the Muhlbach Hotel, and the day before the wedding he +gave her a string of pearls valued at three hundred and fifty thousand +dollars. + +I was a bridesmaid. I came into her room half an hour before the +bridal dinner, and found her lying on her bed as lovely as the June +night in her flowered dress—and as drunk as a monkey. She had a bottle +of Sauterne in one hand and a letter in the other. + +“ ’Gratulate me,” she muttered. “Never had a drink before, but oh how +I do enjoy it.” + +“What’s the matter, Daisy?” + +I was scared, I can tell you; I’d never seen a girl like that before. + +“Here, dearies.” She groped around in a wastebasket she had with her +on the bed and pulled out the string of pearls. “Take ’em downstairs +and give ’em back to whoever they belong to. Tell ’em all Daisy’s +change’ her mine. Say: ‘Daisy’s change’ her mine!’ ” + +She began to cry—she cried and cried. I rushed out and found her +mother’s maid, and we locked the door and got her into a cold bath. +She wouldn’t let go of the letter. She took it into the tub with her +and squeezed it up in a wet ball, and only let me leave it in the +soap-dish when she saw that it was coming to pieces like snow. + +But she didn’t say another word. We gave her spirits of ammonia and +put ice on her forehead and hooked her back into her dress, and half +an hour later, when we walked out of the room, the pearls were around +her neck and the incident was over. Next day at five o’clock she +married Tom Buchanan without so much as a shiver, and started off on a +three months’ trip to the South Seas. + +I saw them in Santa Barbara when they came back, and I thought I’d +never seen a girl so mad about her husband. If he left the room for a +minute she’d look around uneasily, and say: “Where’s Tom gone?” and +wear the most abstracted expression until she saw him coming in the +door. She used to sit on the sand with his head in her lap by the +hour, rubbing her fingers over his eyes and looking at him with +unfathomable delight. It was touching to see them together—it made you +laugh in a hushed, fascinated way. That was in August. A week after I +left Santa Barbara Tom ran into a wagon on the Ventura road one night, +and ripped a front wheel off his car. The girl who was with him got +into the papers, too, because her arm was broken—she was one of the +chambermaids in the Santa Barbara Hotel. + +The next April Daisy had her little girl, and they went to France for +a year. I saw them one spring in Cannes, and later in Deauville, and +then they came back to Chicago to settle down. Daisy was popular in +Chicago, as you know. They moved with a fast crowd, all of them young +and rich and wild, but she came out with an absolutely perfect +reputation. Perhaps because she doesn’t drink. It’s a great advantage +not to drink among hard-drinking people. You can hold your tongue and, +moreover, you can time any little irregularity of your own so that +everybody else is so blind that they don’t see or care. Perhaps Daisy +never went in for amour at all—and yet there’s something in that voice +of hers … + +Well, about six weeks ago, she heard the name Gatsby for the first +time in years. It was when I asked you—do you remember?—if you knew +Gatsby in West Egg. After you had gone home she came into my room and +woke me up, and said: “What Gatsby?” and when I described him—I was +half asleep—she said in the strangest voice that it must be the man +she used to know. It wasn’t until then that I connected this Gatsby +with the officer in her white car. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +When Jordan Baker had finished telling all this we had left the Plaza +for half an hour and were driving in a victoria through Central Park. +The sun had gone down behind the tall apartments of the movie stars in +the West Fifties, and the clear voices of children, already gathered +like crickets on the grass, rose through the hot twilight: + + “I’m the Sheik of Araby. Your love belongs to me. At night when + you’re asleep Into your tent I’ll creep—” + +“It was a strange coincidence,” I said. + +“But it wasn’t a coincidence at all.” + +“Why not?” + +“Gatsby bought that house so that Daisy would be just across the bay.” + +Then it had not been merely the stars to which he had aspired on that +June night. He came alive to me, delivered suddenly from the womb of +his purposeless splendour. + +“He wants to know,” continued Jordan, “if you’ll invite Daisy to your +house some afternoon and then let him come over.” + +The modesty of the demand shook me. He had waited five years and +bought a mansion where he dispensed starlight to casual moths—so that +he could “come over” some afternoon to a stranger’s garden. + +“Did I have to know all this before he could ask such a little thing?” + +“He’s afraid, he’s waited so long. He thought you might be +offended. You see, he’s regular tough underneath it all.” + +Something worried me. + +“Why didn’t he ask you to arrange a meeting?” + +“He wants her to see his house,” she explained. “And your house is +right next door.” + +“Oh!” + +“I think he half expected her to wander into one of his parties, some +night,” went on Jordan, “but she never did. Then he began asking +people casually if they knew her, and I was the first one he found. It +was that night he sent for me at his dance, and you should have heard +the elaborate way he worked up to it. Of course, I immediately +suggested a luncheon in New York—and I thought he’d go mad: + +“ ‘I don’t want to do anything out of the way!’ he kept saying. ‘I +want to see her right next door.’ + +“When I said you were a particular friend of Tom’s, he started to +abandon the whole idea. He doesn’t know very much about Tom, though he +says he’s read a Chicago paper for years just on the chance of +catching a glimpse of Daisy’s name.” + +It was dark now, and as we dipped under a little bridge I put my arm +around Jordan’s golden shoulder and drew her toward me and asked her +to dinner. Suddenly I wasn’t thinking of Daisy and Gatsby any more, +but of this clean, hard, limited person, who dealt in universal +scepticism, and who leaned back jauntily just within the circle of my +arm. A phrase began to beat in my ears with a sort of heady +excitement: “There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy, and +the tired.” + +“And Daisy ought to have something in her life,” murmured Jordan to +me. + +“Does she want to see Gatsby?” + +“She’s not to know about it. Gatsby doesn’t want her to know. You’re +just supposed to invite her to tea.” + +We passed a barrier of dark trees, and then the façade of Fifty-Ninth +Street, a block of delicate pale light, beamed down into the park. +Unlike Gatsby and Tom Buchanan, I had no girl whose disembodied face +floated along the dark cornices and blinding signs, and so I drew up +the girl beside me, tightening my arms. Her wan, scornful mouth +smiled, and so I drew her up again closer, this time to my face. + + + V + +When I came home to West Egg that night I was afraid for a moment that +my house was on fire. Two o’clock and the whole corner of the +peninsula was blazing with light, which fell unreal on the shrubbery +and made thin elongating glints upon the roadside wires. Turning a +corner, I saw that it was Gatsby’s house, lit from tower to cellar. + +At first I thought it was another party, a wild rout that had resolved +itself into “hide-and-go-seek” or “sardines-in-the-box” with all the +house thrown open to the game. But there wasn’t a sound. Only wind in +the trees, which blew the wires and made the lights go off and on +again as if the house had winked into the darkness. As my taxi groaned +away I saw Gatsby walking toward me across his lawn. + +“Your place looks like the World’s Fair,” I said. + +“Does it?” He turned his eyes toward it absently. “I have been +glancing into some of the rooms. Let’s go to Coney Island, old +sport. In my car.” + +“It’s too late.” + +“Well, suppose we take a plunge in the swimming pool? I haven’t made +use of it all summer.” + +“I’ve got to go to bed.” + +“All right.” + +He waited, looking at me with suppressed eagerness. + +“I talked with Miss Baker,” I said after a moment. “I’m going to call +up Daisy tomorrow and invite her over here to tea.” + +“Oh, that’s all right,” he said carelessly. “I don’t want to put you +to any trouble.” + +“What day would suit you?” + +“What day would suit you?” he corrected me quickly. “I don’t want to +put you to any trouble, you see.” + +“How about the day after tomorrow?” + +He considered for a moment. Then, with reluctance: “I want to get the +grass cut,” he said. + +We both looked down at the grass—there was a sharp line where my +ragged lawn ended and the darker, well-kept expanse of his began. I +suspected that he meant my grass. + +“There’s another little thing,” he said uncertainly, and hesitated. + +“Would you rather put it off for a few days?” I asked. + +“Oh, it isn’t about that. At least—” He fumbled with a series of +beginnings. “Why, I thought—why, look here, old sport, you don’t make +much money, do you?” + +“Not very much.” + +This seemed to reassure him and he continued more confidently. + +“I thought you didn’t, if you’ll pardon my—you see, I carry on a +little business on the side, a sort of side line, you understand. And +I thought that if you don’t make very much—You’re selling bonds, +aren’t you, old sport?” + +“Trying to.” + +“Well, this would interest you. It wouldn’t take up much of your time +and you might pick up a nice bit of money. It happens to be a rather +confidential sort of thing.” + +I realize now that under different circumstances that conversation +might have been one of the crises of my life. But, because the offer +was obviously and tactlessly for a service to be rendered, I had no +choice except to cut him off there. + +“I’ve got my hands full,” I said. “I’m much obliged but I couldn’t +take on any more work.” + +“You wouldn’t have to do any business with Wolfshiem.” Evidently he +thought that I was shying away from the “gonnegtion” mentioned at +lunch, but I assured him he was wrong. He waited a moment longer, +hoping I’d begin a conversation, but I was too absorbed to be +responsive, so he went unwillingly home. + +The evening had made me lightheaded and happy; I think I walked into a +deep sleep as I entered my front door. So I don’t know whether or not +Gatsby went to Coney Island, or for how many hours he “glanced into +rooms” while his house blazed gaudily on. I called up Daisy from the +office next morning, and invited her to come to tea. + +“Don’t bring Tom,” I warned her. + +“What?” + +“Don’t bring Tom.” + +“Who is ‘Tom’?” she asked innocently. + +The day agreed upon was pouring rain. At eleven o’clock a man in a +raincoat, dragging a lawn-mower, tapped at my front door and said that +Mr. Gatsby had sent him over to cut my grass. This reminded me that I +had forgotten to tell my Finn to come back, so I drove into West Egg +Village to search for her among soggy whitewashed alleys and to buy +some cups and lemons and flowers. + +The flowers were unnecessary, for at two o’clock a greenhouse arrived +from Gatsby’s, with innumerable receptacles to contain it. An hour +later the front door opened nervously, and Gatsby in a white flannel +suit, silver shirt, and gold-coloured tie, hurried in. He was pale, +and there were dark signs of sleeplessness beneath his eyes. + +“Is everything all right?” he asked immediately. + +“The grass looks fine, if that’s what you mean.” + +“What grass?” he inquired blankly. “Oh, the grass in the yard.” He +looked out the window at it, but, judging from his expression, I don’t +believe he saw a thing. + +“Looks very good,” he remarked vaguely. “One of the papers said they +thought the rain would stop about four. I think it was The +Journal. Have you got everything you need in the shape of—of tea?” + +I took him into the pantry, where he looked a little reproachfully at +the Finn. Together we scrutinized the twelve lemon cakes from the +delicatessen shop. + +“Will they do?” I asked. + +“Of course, of course! They’re fine!” and he added hollowly, “… old +sport.” + +The rain cooled about half-past three to a damp mist, through which +occasional thin drops swam like dew. Gatsby looked with vacant eyes +through a copy of Clay’s Economics, starting at the Finnish tread that +shook the kitchen floor, and peering towards the bleared windows from +time to time as if a series of invisible but alarming happenings were +taking place outside. Finally he got up and informed me, in an +uncertain voice, that he was going home. + +“Why’s that?” + +“Nobody’s coming to tea. It’s too late!” He looked at his watch as if +there was some pressing demand on his time elsewhere. “I can’t wait +all day.” + +“Don’t be silly; it’s just two minutes to four.” + +He sat down miserably, as if I had pushed him, and simultaneously +there was the sound of a motor turning into my lane. We both jumped +up, and, a little harrowed myself, I went out into the yard. + +Under the dripping bare lilac-trees a large open car was coming up the +drive. It stopped. Daisy’s face, tipped sideways beneath a +three-cornered lavender hat, looked out at me with a bright ecstatic +smile. + +“Is this absolutely where you live, my dearest one?” + +The exhilarating ripple of her voice was a wild tonic in the rain. I +had to follow the sound of it for a moment, up and down, with my ear +alone, before any words came through. A damp streak of hair lay like a +dash of blue paint across her cheek, and her hand was wet with +glistening drops as I took it to help her from the car. + +“Are you in love with me,” she said low in my ear, “or why did I have +to come alone?” + +“That’s the secret of Castle Rackrent. Tell your chauffeur to go far +away and spend an hour.” + +“Come back in an hour, Ferdie.” Then in a grave murmur: “His name is +Ferdie.” + +“Does the gasoline affect his nose?” + +“I don’t think so,” she said innocently. “Why?” + +We went in. To my overwhelming surprise the living-room was deserted. + +“Well, that’s funny,” I exclaimed. + +“What’s funny?” + +She turned her head as there was a light dignified knocking at the +front door. I went out and opened it. Gatsby, pale as death, with his +hands plunged like weights in his coat pockets, was standing in a +puddle of water glaring tragically into my eyes. + +With his hands still in his coat pockets he stalked by me into the +hall, turned sharply as if he were on a wire, and disappeared into the +living-room. It wasn’t a bit funny. Aware of the loud beating of my +own heart I pulled the door to against the increasing rain. + +For half a minute there wasn’t a sound. Then from the living-room I +heard a sort of choking murmur and part of a laugh, followed by +Daisy’s voice on a clear artificial note: + +“I certainly am awfully glad to see you again.” + +A pause; it endured horribly. I had nothing to do in the hall, so I +went into the room. + +Gatsby, his hands still in his pockets, was reclining against the +mantelpiece in a strained counterfeit of perfect ease, even of +boredom. His head leaned back so far that it rested against the face +of a defunct mantelpiece clock, and from this position his distraught +eyes stared down at Daisy, who was sitting, frightened but graceful, +on the edge of a stiff chair. + +“We’ve met before,” muttered Gatsby. His eyes glanced momentarily at +me, and his lips parted with an abortive attempt at a laugh. Luckily +the clock took this moment to tilt dangerously at the pressure of his +head, whereupon he turned and caught it with trembling fingers, and +set it back in place. Then he sat down, rigidly, his elbow on the arm +of the sofa and his chin in his hand. + +“I’m sorry about the clock,” he said. + +My own face had now assumed a deep tropical burn. I couldn’t muster up +a single commonplace out of the thousand in my head. + +“It’s an old clock,” I told them idiotically. + +I think we all believed for a moment that it had smashed in pieces on +the floor. + +“We haven’t met for many years,” said Daisy, her voice as +matter-of-fact as it could ever be. + +“Five years next November.” + +The automatic quality of Gatsby’s answer set us all back at least +another minute. I had them both on their feet with the desperate +suggestion that they help me make tea in the kitchen when the demoniac +Finn brought it in on a tray. + +Amid the welcome confusion of cups and cakes a certain physical +decency established itself. Gatsby got himself into a shadow and, +while Daisy and I talked, looked conscientiously from one to the other +of us with tense, unhappy eyes. However, as calmness wasn’t an end in +itself, I made an excuse at the first possible moment, and got to my +feet. + +“Where are you going?” demanded Gatsby in immediate alarm. + +“I’ll be back.” + +“I’ve got to speak to you about something before you go.” + +He followed me wildly into the kitchen, closed the door, and +whispered: “Oh, God!” in a miserable way. + +“What’s the matter?” + +“This is a terrible mistake,” he said, shaking his head from side to +side, “a terrible, terrible mistake.” + +“You’re just embarrassed, that’s all,” and luckily I added: “Daisy’s +embarrassed too.” + +“She’s embarrassed?” he repeated incredulously. + +“Just as much as you are.” + +“Don’t talk so loud.” + +“You’re acting like a little boy,” I broke out impatiently. “Not only +that, but you’re rude. Daisy’s sitting in there all alone.” + +He raised his hand to stop my words, looked at me with unforgettable +reproach, and, opening the door cautiously, went back into the other +room. + +I walked out the back way—just as Gatsby had when he had made his +nervous circuit of the house half an hour before—and ran for a huge +black knotted tree, whose massed leaves made a fabric against the +rain. Once more it was pouring, and my irregular lawn, well-shaved by +Gatsby’s gardener, abounded in small muddy swamps and prehistoric +marshes. There was nothing to look at from under the tree except +Gatsby’s enormous house, so I stared at it, like Kant at his church +steeple, for half an hour. A brewer had built it early in the “period” +craze, a decade before, and there was a story that he’d agreed to pay +five years’ taxes on all the neighbouring cottages if the owners would +have their roofs thatched with straw. Perhaps their refusal took the +heart out of his plan to Found a Family—he went into an immediate +decline. His children sold his house with the black wreath still on +the door. Americans, while willing, even eager, to be serfs, have +always been obstinate about being peasantry. + +After half an hour, the sun shone again, and the grocer’s automobile +rounded Gatsby’s drive with the raw material for his servants’ +dinner—I felt sure he wouldn’t eat a spoonful. A maid began opening +the upper windows of his house, appeared momentarily in each, and, +leaning from the large central bay, spat meditatively into the +garden. It was time I went back. While the rain continued it had +seemed like the murmur of their voices, rising and swelling a little +now and then with gusts of emotion. But in the new silence I felt that +silence had fallen within the house too. + +I went in—after making every possible noise in the kitchen, short of +pushing over the stove—but I don’t believe they heard a sound. They +were sitting at either end of the couch, looking at each other as if +some question had been asked, or was in the air, and every vestige of +embarrassment was gone. Daisy’s face was smeared with tears, and when +I came in she jumped up and began wiping at it with her handkerchief +before a mirror. But there was a change in Gatsby that was simply +confounding. He literally glowed; without a word or a gesture of +exultation a new well-being radiated from him and filled the little +room. + +“Oh, hello, old sport,” he said, as if he hadn’t seen me for years. I +thought for a moment he was going to shake hands. + +“It’s stopped raining.” + +“Has it?” When he realized what I was talking about, that there were +twinkle-bells of sunshine in the room, he smiled like a weather man, +like an ecstatic patron of recurrent light, and repeated the news to +Daisy. “What do you think of that? It’s stopped raining.” + +“I’m glad, Jay.” Her throat, full of aching, grieving beauty, told +only of her unexpected joy. + +“I want you and Daisy to come over to my house,” he said, “I’d like to +show her around.” + +“You’re sure you want me to come?” + +“Absolutely, old sport.” + +Daisy went upstairs to wash her face—too late I thought with +humiliation of my towels—while Gatsby and I waited on the lawn. + +“My house looks well, doesn’t it?” he demanded. “See how the whole +front of it catches the light.” + +I agreed that it was splendid. + +“Yes.” His eyes went over it, every arched door and square tower. “It +took me just three years to earn the money that bought it.” + +“I thought you inherited your money.” + +“I did, old sport,” he said automatically, “but I lost most of it in +the big panic—the panic of the war.” + +I think he hardly knew what he was saying, for when I asked him what +business he was in he answered: “That’s my affair,” before he realized +that it wasn’t an appropriate reply. + +“Oh, I’ve been in several things,” he corrected himself. “I was in the +drug business and then I was in the oil business. But I’m not in +either one now.” He looked at me with more attention. “Do you mean +you’ve been thinking over what I proposed the other night?” + +Before I could answer, Daisy came out of the house and two rows of +brass buttons on her dress gleamed in the sunlight. + +“That huge place there?” she cried pointing. + +“Do you like it?” + +“I love it, but I don’t see how you live there all alone.” + +“I keep it always full of interesting people, night and day. People +who do interesting things. Celebrated people.” + +Instead of taking the shortcut along the Sound we went down to the +road and entered by the big postern. With enchanting murmurs Daisy +admired this aspect or that of the feudal silhouette against the sky, +admired the gardens, the sparkling odour of jonquils and the frothy +odour of hawthorn and plum blossoms and the pale gold odour of +kiss-me-at-the-gate. It was strange to reach the marble steps and find +no stir of bright dresses in and out the door, and hear no sound but +bird voices in the trees. + +And inside, as we wandered through Marie Antoinette music-rooms and +Restoration Salons, I felt that there were guests concealed behind +every couch and table, under orders to be breathlessly silent until we +had passed through. As Gatsby closed the door of “the Merton College +Library” I could have sworn I heard the owl-eyed man break into +ghostly laughter. + +We went upstairs, through period bedrooms swathed in rose and lavender +silk and vivid with new flowers, through dressing-rooms and poolrooms, +and bathrooms with sunken baths—intruding into one chamber where a +dishevelled man in pyjamas was doing liver exercises on the floor. It +was Mr. Klipspringer, the “boarder.” I had seen him wandering hungrily +about the beach that morning. Finally we came to Gatsby’s own +apartment, a bedroom and a bath, and an Adam’s study, where we sat +down and drank a glass of some Chartreuse he took from a cupboard in +the wall. + +He hadn’t once ceased looking at Daisy, and I think he revalued +everything in his house according to the measure of response it drew +from her well-loved eyes. Sometimes too, he stared around at his +possessions in a dazed way, as though in her actual and astounding +presence none of it was any longer real. Once he nearly toppled down a +flight of stairs. + +His bedroom was the simplest room of all—except where the dresser was +garnished with a toilet set of pure dull gold. Daisy took the brush +with delight, and smoothed her hair, whereupon Gatsby sat down and +shaded his eyes and began to laugh. + +“It’s the funniest thing, old sport,” he said hilariously. “I +can’t—When I try to—” + +He had passed visibly through two states and was entering upon a +third. After his embarrassment and his unreasoning joy he was consumed +with wonder at her presence. He had been full of the idea so long, +dreamed it right through to the end, waited with his teeth set, so to +speak, at an inconceivable pitch of intensity. Now, in the reaction, +he was running down like an over-wound clock. + +Recovering himself in a minute he opened for us two hulking patent +cabinets which held his massed suits and dressing-gowns and ties, and +his shirts, piled like bricks in stacks a dozen high. + +“I’ve got a man in England who buys me clothes. He sends over a +selection of things at the beginning of each season, spring and fall.” + +He took out a pile of shirts and began throwing them, one by one, +before us, shirts of sheer linen and thick silk and fine flannel, +which lost their folds as they fell and covered the table in +many-coloured disarray. While we admired he brought more and the soft +rich heap mounted higher—shirts with stripes and scrolls and plaids in +coral and apple-green and lavender and faint orange, with monograms of +indian blue. Suddenly, with a strained sound, Daisy bent her head into +the shirts and began to cry stormily. + +“They’re such beautiful shirts,” she sobbed, her voice muffled in the +thick folds. “It makes me sad because I’ve never seen such—such +beautiful shirts before.” + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +After the house, we were to see the grounds and the swimming pool, and +the hydroplane, and the midsummer flowers—but outside Gatsby’s window +it began to rain again, so we stood in a row looking at the corrugated +surface of the Sound. + +“If it wasn’t for the mist we could see your home across the bay,” +said Gatsby. “You always have a green light that burns all night at +the end of your dock.” + +Daisy put her arm through his abruptly, but he seemed absorbed in what +he had just said. Possibly it had occurred to him that the colossal +significance of that light had now vanished forever. Compared to the +great distance that had separated him from Daisy it had seemed very +near to her, almost touching her. It had seemed as close as a star to +the moon. Now it was again a green light on a dock. His count of +enchanted objects had diminished by one. + +I began to walk about the room, examining various indefinite objects +in the half darkness. A large photograph of an elderly man in yachting +costume attracted me, hung on the wall over his desk. + +“Who’s this?” + +“That? That’s Mr. Dan Cody, old sport.” + +The name sounded faintly familiar. + +“He’s dead now. He used to be my best friend years ago.” + +There was a small picture of Gatsby, also in yachting costume, on the +bureau—Gatsby with his head thrown back defiantly—taken apparently +when he was about eighteen. + +“I adore it,” exclaimed Daisy. “The pompadour! You never told me you +had a pompadour—or a yacht.” + +“Look at this,” said Gatsby quickly. “Here’s a lot of clippings—about +you.” + +They stood side by side examining it. I was going to ask to see the +rubies when the phone rang, and Gatsby took up the receiver. + +“Yes … Well, I can’t talk now … I can’t talk now, old sport … I said a +small town … He must know what a small town is … Well, he’s no use to +us if Detroit is his idea of a small town …” + +He rang off. + +“Come here quick!” cried Daisy at the window. + +The rain was still falling, but the darkness had parted in the west, +and there was a pink and golden billow of foamy clouds above the sea. + +“Look at that,” she whispered, and then after a moment: “I’d like to +just get one of those pink clouds and put you in it and push you +around.” + +I tried to go then, but they wouldn’t hear of it; perhaps my presence +made them feel more satisfactorily alone. + +“I know what we’ll do,” said Gatsby, “we’ll have Klipspringer play the +piano.” + +He went out of the room calling “Ewing!” and returned in a few minutes +accompanied by an embarrassed, slightly worn young man, with +shell-rimmed glasses and scanty blond hair. He was now decently +clothed in a “sport shirt,” open at the neck, sneakers, and duck +trousers of a nebulous hue. + +“Did we interrupt your exercise?” inquired Daisy politely. + +“I was asleep,” cried Mr. Klipspringer, in a spasm of embarrassment. +“That is, I’d been asleep. Then I got up …” + +“Klipspringer plays the piano,” said Gatsby, cutting him off. “Don’t +you, Ewing, old sport?” + +“I don’t play well. I don’t—hardly play at all. I’m all out of prac—” + +“We’ll go downstairs,” interrupted Gatsby. He flipped a switch. The +grey windows disappeared as the house glowed full of light. + +In the music-room Gatsby turned on a solitary lamp beside the piano. +He lit Daisy’s cigarette from a trembling match, and sat down with her +on a couch far across the room, where there was no light save what the +gleaming floor bounced in from the hall. + +When Klipspringer had played “The Love Nest” he turned around on the +bench and searched unhappily for Gatsby in the gloom. + +“I’m all out of practice, you see. I told you I couldn’t play. I’m all +out of prac—” + +“Don’t talk so much, old sport,” commanded Gatsby. “Play!” + + “In the morning, In the evening, Ain’t we got fun—” + +Outside the wind was loud and there was a faint flow of thunder along +the Sound. All the lights were going on in West Egg now; the electric +trains, men-carrying, were plunging home through the rain from New +York. It was the hour of a profound human change, and excitement was +generating on the air. + + “One thing’s sure and nothing’s surer The rich get richer and the + poor get—children. In the meantime, In between time—” + +As I went over to say goodbye I saw that the expression of +bewilderment had come back into Gatsby’s face, as though a faint doubt +had occurred to him as to the quality of his present happiness. Almost +five years! There must have been moments even that afternoon when +Daisy tumbled short of his dreams—not through her own fault, but +because of the colossal vitality of his illusion. It had gone beyond +her, beyond everything. He had thrown himself into it with a creative +passion, adding to it all the time, decking it out with every bright +feather that drifted his way. No amount of fire or freshness can +challenge what a man can store up in his ghostly heart. + +As I watched him he adjusted himself a little, visibly. His hand took +hold of hers, and as she said something low in his ear he turned +toward her with a rush of emotion. I think that voice held him most, +with its fluctuating, feverish warmth, because it couldn’t be +over-dreamed—that voice was a deathless song. + +They had forgotten me, but Daisy glanced up and held out her hand; +Gatsby didn’t know me now at all. I looked once more at them and they +looked back at me, remotely, possessed by intense life. Then I went +out of the room and down the marble steps into the rain, leaving them +there together. + + + VI + +About this time an ambitious young reporter from New York arrived one +morning at Gatsby’s door and asked him if he had anything to say. + +“Anything to say about what?” inquired Gatsby politely. + +“Why—any statement to give out.” + +It transpired after a confused five minutes that the man had heard +Gatsby’s name around his office in a connection which he either +wouldn’t reveal or didn’t fully understand. This was his day off and +with laudable initiative he had hurried out “to see.” + +It was a random shot, and yet the reporter’s instinct was right. +Gatsby’s notoriety, spread about by the hundreds who had accepted his +hospitality and so become authorities upon his past, had increased all +summer until he fell just short of being news. Contemporary legends +such as the “underground pipeline to Canada” attached themselves to +him, and there was one persistent story that he didn’t live in a house +at all, but in a boat that looked like a house and was moved secretly +up and down the Long Island shore. Just why these inventions were a +source of satisfaction to James Gatz of North Dakota, isn’t easy to +say. + +James Gatz—that was really, or at least legally, his name. He had +changed it at the age of seventeen and at the specific moment that +witnessed the beginning of his career—when he saw Dan Cody’s yacht +drop anchor over the most insidious flat on Lake Superior. It was +James Gatz who had been loafing along the beach that afternoon in a +torn green jersey and a pair of canvas pants, but it was already Jay +Gatsby who borrowed a rowboat, pulled out to the Tuolomee, and +informed Cody that a wind might catch him and break him up in half an +hour. + +I suppose he’d had the name ready for a long time, even then. His +parents were shiftless and unsuccessful farm people—his imagination +had never really accepted them as his parents at all. The truth was +that Jay Gatsby of West Egg, Long Island, sprang from his Platonic +conception of himself. He was a son of God—a phrase which, if it means +anything, means just that—and he must be about His Father’s business, +the service of a vast, vulgar, and meretricious beauty. So he invented +just the sort of Jay Gatsby that a seventeen-year-old boy would be +likely to invent, and to this conception he was faithful to the end. + +For over a year he had been beating his way along the south shore of +Lake Superior as a clam-digger and a salmon-fisher or in any other +capacity that brought him food and bed. His brown, hardening body +lived naturally through the half-fierce, half-lazy work of the bracing +days. He knew women early, and since they spoiled him he became +contemptuous of them, of young virgins because they were ignorant, of +the others because they were hysterical about things which in his +overwhelming self-absorption he took for granted. + +But his heart was in a constant, turbulent riot. The most grotesque +and fantastic conceits haunted him in his bed at night. A universe of +ineffable gaudiness spun itself out in his brain while the clock +ticked on the washstand and the moon soaked with wet light his tangled +clothes upon the floor. Each night he added to the pattern of his +fancies until drowsiness closed down upon some vivid scene with an +oblivious embrace. For a while these reveries provided an outlet for +his imagination; they were a satisfactory hint of the unreality of +reality, a promise that the rock of the world was founded securely on +a fairy’s wing. + +An instinct toward his future glory had led him, some months before, +to the small Lutheran College of St. Olaf’s in southern Minnesota. He +stayed there two weeks, dismayed at its ferocious indifference to the +drums of his destiny, to destiny itself, and despising the janitor’s +work with which he was to pay his way through. Then he drifted back to +Lake Superior, and he was still searching for something to do on the +day that Dan Cody’s yacht dropped anchor in the shallows alongshore. + +Cody was fifty years old then, a product of the Nevada silver fields, +of the Yukon, of every rush for metal since seventy-five. The +transactions in Montana copper that made him many times a millionaire +found him physically robust but on the verge of soft-mindedness, and, +suspecting this, an infinite number of women tried to separate him +from his money. The none too savoury ramifications by which Ella Kaye, +the newspaper woman, played Madame de Maintenon to his weakness and +sent him to sea in a yacht, were common property of the turgid +journalism in 1902. He had been coasting along all too hospitable +shores for five years when he turned up as James Gatz’s destiny in +Little Girl Bay. + +To young Gatz, resting on his oars and looking up at the railed deck, +that yacht represented all the beauty and glamour in the world. I +suppose he smiled at Cody—he had probably discovered that people liked +him when he smiled. At any rate Cody asked him a few questions (one of +them elicited the brand new name) and found that he was quick and +extravagantly ambitious. A few days later he took him to Duluth and +bought him a blue coat, six pairs of white duck trousers, and a +yachting cap. And when the Tuolomee left for the West Indies and the +Barbary Coast, Gatsby left too. + +He was employed in a vague personal capacity—while he remained with +Cody he was in turn steward, mate, skipper, secretary, and even +jailor, for Dan Cody sober knew what lavish doings Dan Cody drunk +might soon be about, and he provided for such contingencies by +reposing more and more trust in Gatsby. The arrangement lasted five +years, during which the boat went three times around the Continent. +It might have lasted indefinitely except for the fact that Ella Kaye +came on board one night in Boston and a week later Dan Cody +inhospitably died. + +I remember the portrait of him up in Gatsby’s bedroom, a grey, florid +man with a hard, empty face—the pioneer debauchee, who during one +phase of American life brought back to the Eastern seaboard the savage +violence of the frontier brothel and saloon. It was indirectly due to +Cody that Gatsby drank so little. Sometimes in the course of gay +parties women used to rub champagne into his hair; for himself he +formed the habit of letting liquor alone. + +And it was from Cody that he inherited money—a legacy of twenty-five +thousand dollars. He didn’t get it. He never understood the legal +device that was used against him, but what remained of the millions +went intact to Ella Kaye. He was left with his singularly appropriate +education; the vague contour of Jay Gatsby had filled out to the +substantiality of a man. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +He told me all this very much later, but I’ve put it down here with +the idea of exploding those first wild rumours about his antecedents, +which weren’t even faintly true. Moreover he told it to me at a time +of confusion, when I had reached the point of believing everything and +nothing about him. So I take advantage of this short halt, while +Gatsby, so to speak, caught his breath, to clear this set of +misconceptions away. + +It was a halt, too, in my association with his affairs. For several +weeks I didn’t see him or hear his voice on the phone—mostly I was in +New York, trotting around with Jordan and trying to ingratiate myself +with her senile aunt—but finally I went over to his house one Sunday +afternoon. I hadn’t been there two minutes when somebody brought Tom +Buchanan in for a drink. I was startled, naturally, but the really +surprising thing was that it hadn’t happened before. + +They were a party of three on horseback—Tom and a man named Sloane and +a pretty woman in a brown riding-habit, who had been there previously. + +“I’m delighted to see you,” said Gatsby, standing on his porch. “I’m +delighted that you dropped in.” + +As though they cared! + +“Sit right down. Have a cigarette or a cigar.” He walked around the +room quickly, ringing bells. “I’ll have something to drink for you in +just a minute.” + +He was profoundly affected by the fact that Tom was there. But he +would be uneasy anyhow until he had given them something, realizing in +a vague way that that was all they came for. Mr. Sloane wanted +nothing. A lemonade? No, thanks. A little champagne? Nothing at all, +thanks … I’m sorry— + +“Did you have a nice ride?” + +“Very good roads around here.” + +“I suppose the automobiles—” + +“Yeah.” + +Moved by an irresistible impulse, Gatsby turned to Tom, who had +accepted the introduction as a stranger. + +“I believe we’ve met somewhere before, Mr. Buchanan.” + +“Oh, yes,” said Tom, gruffly polite, but obviously not remembering. +“So we did. I remember very well.” + +“About two weeks ago.” + +“That’s right. You were with Nick here.” + +“I know your wife,” continued Gatsby, almost aggressively. + +“That so?” + +Tom turned to me. + +“You live near here, Nick?” + +“Next door.” + +“That so?” + +Mr. Sloane didn’t enter into the conversation, but lounged back +haughtily in his chair; the woman said nothing either—until +unexpectedly, after two highballs, she became cordial. + +“We’ll all come over to your next party, Mr. Gatsby,” she suggested. +“What do you say?” + +“Certainly; I’d be delighted to have you.” + +“Be ver’ nice,” said Mr. Sloane, without gratitude. “Well—think ought +to be starting home.” + +“Please don’t hurry,” Gatsby urged them. He had control of himself +now, and he wanted to see more of Tom. “Why don’t you—why don’t you +stay for supper? I wouldn’t be surprised if some other people dropped +in from New York.” + +“You come to supper with me,” said the lady enthusiastically. “Both of +you.” + +This included me. Mr. Sloane got to his feet. + +“Come along,” he said—but to her only. + +“I mean it,” she insisted. “I’d love to have you. Lots of room.” + +Gatsby looked at me questioningly. He wanted to go and he didn’t see +that Mr. Sloane had determined he shouldn’t. + +“I’m afraid I won’t be able to,” I said. + +“Well, you come,” she urged, concentrating on Gatsby. + +Mr. Sloane murmured something close to her ear. + +“We won’t be late if we start now,” she insisted aloud. + +“I haven’t got a horse,” said Gatsby. “I used to ride in the army, but +I’ve never bought a horse. I’ll have to follow you in my car. Excuse +me for just a minute.” + +The rest of us walked out on the porch, where Sloane and the lady +began an impassioned conversation aside. + +“My God, I believe the man’s coming,” said Tom. “Doesn’t he know she +doesn’t want him?” + +“She says she does want him.” + +“She has a big dinner party and he won’t know a soul there.” He +frowned. “I wonder where in the devil he met Daisy. By God, I may be +old-fashioned in my ideas, but women run around too much these days to +suit me. They meet all kinds of crazy fish.” + +Suddenly Mr. Sloane and the lady walked down the steps and mounted +their horses. + +“Come on,” said Mr. Sloane to Tom, “we’re late. We’ve got to go.” And +then to me: “Tell him we couldn’t wait, will you?” + +Tom and I shook hands, the rest of us exchanged a cool nod, and they +trotted quickly down the drive, disappearing under the August foliage +just as Gatsby, with hat and light overcoat in hand, came out the +front door. + +Tom was evidently perturbed at Daisy’s running around alone, for on +the following Saturday night he came with her to Gatsby’s +party. Perhaps his presence gave the evening its peculiar quality of +oppressiveness—it stands out in my memory from Gatsby’s other parties +that summer. There were the same people, or at least the same sort of +people, the same profusion of champagne, the same many-coloured, +many-keyed commotion, but I felt an unpleasantness in the air, a +pervading harshness that hadn’t been there before. Or perhaps I had +merely grown used to it, grown to accept West Egg as a world complete +in itself, with its own standards and its own great figures, second to +nothing because it had no consciousness of being so, and now I was +looking at it again, through Daisy’s eyes. It is invariably saddening +to look through new eyes at things upon which you have expended your +own powers of adjustment. + +They arrived at twilight, and, as we strolled out among the sparkling +hundreds, Daisy’s voice was playing murmurous tricks in her throat. + +“These things excite me so,” she whispered. “If you want to kiss me +any time during the evening, Nick, just let me know and I’ll be glad +to arrange it for you. Just mention my name. Or present a green card. +I’m giving out green—” + +“Look around,” suggested Gatsby. + +“I’m looking around. I’m having a marvellous—” + +“You must see the faces of many people you’ve heard about.” + +Tom’s arrogant eyes roamed the crowd. + +“We don’t go around very much,” he said; “in fact, I was just thinking +I don’t know a soul here.” + +“Perhaps you know that lady.” Gatsby indicated a gorgeous, scarcely +human orchid of a woman who sat in state under a white-plum tree. Tom +and Daisy stared, with that peculiarly unreal feeling that accompanies +the recognition of a hitherto ghostly celebrity of the movies. + +“She’s lovely,” said Daisy. + +“The man bending over her is her director.” + +He took them ceremoniously from group to group: + +“Mrs. Buchanan … and Mr. Buchanan—” After an instant’s hesitation he +added: “the polo player.” + +“Oh no,” objected Tom quickly, “not me.” + +But evidently the sound of it pleased Gatsby for Tom remained “the +polo player” for the rest of the evening. + +“I’ve never met so many celebrities,” Daisy exclaimed. “I liked that +man—what was his name?—with the sort of blue nose.” + +Gatsby identified him, adding that he was a small producer. + +“Well, I liked him anyhow.” + +“I’d a little rather not be the polo player,” said Tom pleasantly, +“I’d rather look at all these famous people in—in oblivion.” + +Daisy and Gatsby danced. I remember being surprised by his graceful, +conservative foxtrot—I had never seen him dance before. Then they +sauntered over to my house and sat on the steps for half an hour, +while at her request I remained watchfully in the garden. “In case +there’s a fire or a flood,” she explained, “or any act of God.” + +Tom appeared from his oblivion as we were sitting down to supper +together. “Do you mind if I eat with some people over here?” he +said. “A fellow’s getting off some funny stuff.” + +“Go ahead,” answered Daisy genially, “and if you want to take down any +addresses here’s my little gold pencil.” … She looked around after a +moment and told me the girl was “common but pretty,” and I knew that +except for the half-hour she’d been alone with Gatsby she wasn’t +having a good time. + +We were at a particularly tipsy table. That was my fault—Gatsby had +been called to the phone, and I’d enjoyed these same people only two +weeks before. But what had amused me then turned septic on the air +now. + +“How do you feel, Miss Baedeker?” + +The girl addressed was trying, unsuccessfully, to slump against my +shoulder. At this inquiry she sat up and opened her eyes. + +“Wha’?” + +A massive and lethargic woman, who had been urging Daisy to play golf +with her at the local club tomorrow, spoke in Miss Baedeker’s defence: + +“Oh, she’s all right now. When she’s had five or six cocktails she +always starts screaming like that. I tell her she ought to leave it +alone.” + +“I do leave it alone,” affirmed the accused hollowly. + +“We heard you yelling, so I said to Doc Civet here: ‘There’s somebody +that needs your help, Doc.’ ” + +“She’s much obliged, I’m sure,” said another friend, without +gratitude, “but you got her dress all wet when you stuck her head in +the pool.” + +“Anything I hate is to get my head stuck in a pool,” mumbled Miss +Baedeker. “They almost drowned me once over in New Jersey.” + +“Then you ought to leave it alone,” countered Doctor Civet. + +“Speak for yourself!” cried Miss Baedeker violently. “Your hand +shakes. I wouldn’t let you operate on me!” + +It was like that. Almost the last thing I remember was standing with +Daisy and watching the moving-picture director and his Star. They were +still under the white-plum tree and their faces were touching except +for a pale, thin ray of moonlight between. It occurred to me that he +had been very slowly bending toward her all evening to attain this +proximity, and even while I watched I saw him stoop one ultimate +degree and kiss at her cheek. + +“I like her,” said Daisy, “I think she’s lovely.” + +But the rest offended her—and inarguably because it wasn’t a gesture +but an emotion. She was appalled by West Egg, this unprecedented +“place” that Broadway had begotten upon a Long Island fishing +village—appalled by its raw vigour that chafed under the old +euphemisms and by the too obtrusive fate that herded its inhabitants +along a shortcut from nothing to nothing. She saw something awful in +the very simplicity she failed to understand. + +I sat on the front steps with them while they waited for their car. +It was dark here in front; only the bright door sent ten square feet +of light volleying out into the soft black morning. Sometimes a shadow +moved against a dressing-room blind above, gave way to another shadow, +an indefinite procession of shadows, who rouged and powdered in an +invisible glass. + +“Who is this Gatsby anyhow?” demanded Tom suddenly. “Some big +bootlegger?” + +“Where’d you hear that?” I inquired. + +“I didn’t hear it. I imagined it. A lot of these newly rich people are +just big bootleggers, you know.” + +“Not Gatsby,” I said shortly. + +He was silent for a moment. The pebbles of the drive crunched under +his feet. + +“Well, he certainly must have strained himself to get this menagerie +together.” + +A breeze stirred the grey haze of Daisy’s fur collar. + +“At least they are more interesting than the people we know,” she said +with an effort. + +“You didn’t look so interested.” + +“Well, I was.” + +Tom laughed and turned to me. + +“Did you notice Daisy’s face when that girl asked her to put her under +a cold shower?” + +Daisy began to sing with the music in a husky, rhythmic whisper, +bringing out a meaning in each word that it had never had before and +would never have again. When the melody rose her voice broke up +sweetly, following it, in a way contralto voices have, and each change +tipped out a little of her warm human magic upon the air. + +“Lots of people come who haven’t been invited,” she said +suddenly. “That girl hadn’t been invited. They simply force their way +in and he’s too polite to object.” + +“I’d like to know who he is and what he does,” insisted Tom. “And I +think I’ll make a point of finding out.” + +“I can tell you right now,” she answered. “He owned some drugstores, a +lot of drugstores. He built them up himself.” + +The dilatory limousine came rolling up the drive. + +“Good night, Nick,” said Daisy. + +Her glance left me and sought the lighted top of the steps, where +“Three O’Clock in the Morning,” a neat, sad little waltz of that year, +was drifting out the open door. After all, in the very casualness of +Gatsby’s party there were romantic possibilities totally absent from +her world. What was it up there in the song that seemed to be calling +her back inside? What would happen now in the dim, incalculable hours? +Perhaps some unbelievable guest would arrive, a person infinitely rare +and to be marvelled at, some authentically radiant young girl who with +one fresh glance at Gatsby, one moment of magical encounter, would +blot out those five years of unwavering devotion. + +I stayed late that night. Gatsby asked me to wait until he was free, +and I lingered in the garden until the inevitable swimming party had +run up, chilled and exalted, from the black beach, until the lights +were extinguished in the guestrooms overhead. When he came down the +steps at last the tanned skin was drawn unusually tight on his face, +and his eyes were bright and tired. + +“She didn’t like it,” he said immediately. + +“Of course she did.” + +“She didn’t like it,” he insisted. “She didn’t have a good time.” + +He was silent, and I guessed at his unutterable depression. + +“I feel far away from her,” he said. “It’s hard to make her +understand.” + +“You mean about the dance?” + +“The dance?” He dismissed all the dances he had given with a snap of +his fingers. “Old sport, the dance is unimportant.” + +He wanted nothing less of Daisy than that she should go to Tom and +say: “I never loved you.” After she had obliterated four years with +that sentence they could decide upon the more practical measures to be +taken. One of them was that, after she was free, they were to go back +to Louisville and be married from her house—just as if it were five +years ago. + +“And she doesn’t understand,” he said. “She used to be able to +understand. We’d sit for hours—” + +He broke off and began to walk up and down a desolate path of fruit +rinds and discarded favours and crushed flowers. + +“I wouldn’t ask too much of her,” I ventured. “You can’t repeat the +past.” + +“Can’t repeat the past?” he cried incredulously. “Why of course you +can!” + +He looked around him wildly, as if the past were lurking here in the +shadow of his house, just out of reach of his hand. + +“I’m going to fix everything just the way it was before,” he said, +nodding determinedly. “She’ll see.” + +He talked a lot about the past, and I gathered that he wanted to +recover something, some idea of himself perhaps, that had gone into +loving Daisy. His life had been confused and disordered since then, +but if he could once return to a certain starting place and go over it +all slowly, he could find out what that thing was … + +… One autumn night, five years before, they had been walking down the +street when the leaves were falling, and they came to a place where +there were no trees and the sidewalk was white with moonlight. They +stopped here and turned toward each other. Now it was a cool night +with that mysterious excitement in it which comes at the two changes +of the year. The quiet lights in the houses were humming out into the +darkness and there was a stir and bustle among the stars. Out of the +corner of his eye Gatsby saw that the blocks of the sidewalks really +formed a ladder and mounted to a secret place above the trees—he could +climb to it, if he climbed alone, and once there he could suck on the +pap of life, gulp down the incomparable milk of wonder. + +His heart beat faster as Daisy’s white face came up to his own. He +knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable +visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like +the mind of God. So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the +tuning-fork that had been struck upon a star. Then he kissed her. At +his lips’ touch she blossomed for him like a flower and the +incarnation was complete. + +Through all he said, even through his appalling sentimentality, I was +reminded of something—an elusive rhythm, a fragment of lost words, +that I had heard somewhere a long time ago. For a moment a phrase +tried to take shape in my mouth and my lips parted like a dumb man’s, +as though there was more struggling upon them than a wisp of startled +air. But they made no sound, and what I had almost remembered was +uncommunicable forever. + + + VII + +It was when curiosity about Gatsby was at its highest that the lights +in his house failed to go on one Saturday night—and, as obscurely as +it had begun, his career as Trimalchio was over. Only gradually did I +become aware that the automobiles which turned expectantly into his +drive stayed for just a minute and then drove sulkily away. Wondering +if he were sick I went over to find out—an unfamiliar butler with a +villainous face squinted at me suspiciously from the door. + +“Is Mr. Gatsby sick?” + +“Nope.” After a pause he added “sir” in a dilatory, grudging way. + +“I hadn’t seen him around, and I was rather worried. Tell him Mr. +Carraway came over.” + +“Who?” he demanded rudely. + +“Carraway.” + +“Carraway. All right, I’ll tell him.” + +Abruptly he slammed the door. + +My Finn informed me that Gatsby had dismissed every servant in his +house a week ago and replaced them with half a dozen others, who never +went into West Egg village to be bribed by the tradesmen, but ordered +moderate supplies over the telephone. The grocery boy reported that +the kitchen looked like a pigsty, and the general opinion in the +village was that the new people weren’t servants at all. + +Next day Gatsby called me on the phone. + +“Going away?” I inquired. + +“No, old sport.” + +“I hear you fired all your servants.” + +“I wanted somebody who wouldn’t gossip. Daisy comes over quite +often—in the afternoons.” + +So the whole caravansary had fallen in like a card house at the +disapproval in her eyes. + +“They’re some people Wolfshiem wanted to do something for. They’re all +brothers and sisters. They used to run a small hotel.” + +“I see.” + +He was calling up at Daisy’s request—would I come to lunch at her +house tomorrow? Miss Baker would be there. Half an hour later Daisy +herself telephoned and seemed relieved to find that I was +coming. Something was up. And yet I couldn’t believe that they would +choose this occasion for a scene—especially for the rather harrowing +scene that Gatsby had outlined in the garden. + +The next day was broiling, almost the last, certainly the warmest, of +the summer. As my train emerged from the tunnel into sunlight, only +the hot whistles of the National Biscuit Company broke the simmering +hush at noon. The straw seats of the car hovered on the edge of +combustion; the woman next to me perspired delicately for a while into +her white shirtwaist, and then, as her newspaper dampened under her +fingers, lapsed despairingly into deep heat with a desolate cry. Her +pocketbook slapped to the floor. + +“Oh, my!” she gasped. + +I picked it up with a weary bend and handed it back to her, holding it +at arm’s length and by the extreme tip of the corners to indicate that +I had no designs upon it—but everyone near by, including the woman, +suspected me just the same. + +“Hot!” said the conductor to familiar faces. “Some weather! … Hot! … +Hot! … Hot! … Is it hot enough for you? Is it hot? Is it … ?” + +My commutation ticket came back to me with a dark stain from his hand. +That anyone should care in this heat whose flushed lips he kissed, +whose head made damp the pyjama pocket over his heart! + +… Through the hall of the Buchanans’ house blew a faint wind, carrying +the sound of the telephone bell out to Gatsby and me as we waited at +the door. + +“The master’s body?” roared the butler into the mouthpiece. “I’m +sorry, madame, but we can’t furnish it—it’s far too hot to touch this +noon!” + +What he really said was: “Yes … Yes … I’ll see.” + +He set down the receiver and came toward us, glistening slightly, to +take our stiff straw hats. + +“Madame expects you in the salon!” he cried, needlessly indicating the +direction. In this heat every extra gesture was an affront to the +common store of life. + +The room, shadowed well with awnings, was dark and cool. Daisy and +Jordan lay upon an enormous couch, like silver idols weighing down +their own white dresses against the singing breeze of the fans. + +“We can’t move,” they said together. + +Jordan’s fingers, powdered white over their tan, rested for a moment +in mine. + +“And Mr. Thomas Buchanan, the athlete?” I inquired. + +Simultaneously I heard his voice, gruff, muffled, husky, at the hall +telephone. + +Gatsby stood in the centre of the crimson carpet and gazed around with +fascinated eyes. Daisy watched him and laughed, her sweet, exciting +laugh; a tiny gust of powder rose from her bosom into the air. + +“The rumour is,” whispered Jordan, “that that’s Tom’s girl on the +telephone.” + +We were silent. The voice in the hall rose high with annoyance: “Very +well, then, I won’t sell you the car at all … I’m under no obligations +to you at all … and as for your bothering me about it at lunch time, I +won’t stand that at all!” + +“Holding down the receiver,” said Daisy cynically. + +“No, he’s not,” I assured her. “It’s a bona-fide deal. I happen to +know about it.” + +Tom flung open the door, blocked out its space for a moment with his +thick body, and hurried into the room. + +“Mr. Gatsby!” He put out his broad, flat hand with well-concealed +dislike. “I’m glad to see you, sir … Nick …” + +“Make us a cold drink,” cried Daisy. + +As he left the room again she got up and went over to Gatsby and +pulled his face down, kissing him on the mouth. + +“You know I love you,” she murmured. + +“You forget there’s a lady present,” said Jordan. + +Daisy looked around doubtfully. + +“You kiss Nick too.” + +“What a low, vulgar girl!” + +“I don’t care!” cried Daisy, and began to clog on the brick fireplace. +Then she remembered the heat and sat down guiltily on the couch just +as a freshly laundered nurse leading a little girl came into the room. + +“Bles-sed pre-cious,” she crooned, holding out her arms. “Come to your +own mother that loves you.” + +The child, relinquished by the nurse, rushed across the room and +rooted shyly into her mother’s dress. + +“The bles-sed pre-cious! Did mother get powder on your old yellowy +hair? Stand up now, and say—How-de-do.” + +Gatsby and I in turn leaned down and took the small reluctant hand. +Afterward he kept looking at the child with surprise. I don’t think he +had ever really believed in its existence before. + +“I got dressed before luncheon,” said the child, turning eagerly to +Daisy. + +“That’s because your mother wanted to show you off.” Her face bent +into the single wrinkle of the small white neck. “You dream, you. You +absolute little dream.” + +“Yes,” admitted the child calmly. “Aunt Jordan’s got on a white dress +too.” + +“How do you like mother’s friends?” Daisy turned her around so that +she faced Gatsby. “Do you think they’re pretty?” + +“Where’s Daddy?” + +“She doesn’t look like her father,” explained Daisy. “She looks like +me. She’s got my hair and shape of the face.” + +Daisy sat back upon the couch. The nurse took a step forward and held +out her hand. + +“Come, Pammy.” + +“Goodbye, sweetheart!” + +With a reluctant backward glance the well-disciplined child held to +her nurse’s hand and was pulled out the door, just as Tom came back, +preceding four gin rickeys that clicked full of ice. + +Gatsby took up his drink. + +“They certainly look cool,” he said, with visible tension. + +We drank in long, greedy swallows. + +“I read somewhere that the sun’s getting hotter every year,” said Tom +genially. “It seems that pretty soon the earth’s going to fall into +the sun—or wait a minute—it’s just the opposite—the sun’s getting +colder every year. + +“Come outside,” he suggested to Gatsby, “I’d like you to have a look +at the place.” + +I went with them out to the veranda. On the green Sound, stagnant in +the heat, one small sail crawled slowly toward the fresher sea. +Gatsby’s eyes followed it momentarily; he raised his hand and pointed +across the bay. + +“I’m right across from you.” + +“So you are.” + +Our eyes lifted over the rose-beds and the hot lawn and the weedy +refuse of the dog-days alongshore. Slowly the white wings of the boat +moved against the blue cool limit of the sky. Ahead lay the scalloped +ocean and the abounding blessed isles. + +“There’s sport for you,” said Tom, nodding. “I’d like to be out there +with him for about an hour.” + +We had luncheon in the dining-room, darkened too against the heat, and +drank down nervous gaiety with the cold ale. + +“What’ll we do with ourselves this afternoon?” cried Daisy, “and the +day after that, and the next thirty years?” + +“Don’t be morbid,” Jordan said. “Life starts all over again when it +gets crisp in the fall.” + +“But it’s so hot,” insisted Daisy, on the verge of tears, “and +everything’s so confused. Let’s all go to town!” + +Her voice struggled on through the heat, beating against it, moulding +its senselessness into forms. + +“I’ve heard of making a garage out of a stable,” Tom was saying to +Gatsby, “but I’m the first man who ever made a stable out of a +garage.” + +“Who wants to go to town?” demanded Daisy insistently. Gatsby’s eyes +floated toward her. “Ah,” she cried, “you look so cool.” + +Their eyes met, and they stared together at each other, alone in +space. With an effort she glanced down at the table. + +“You always look so cool,” she repeated. + +She had told him that she loved him, and Tom Buchanan saw. He was +astounded. His mouth opened a little, and he looked at Gatsby, and +then back at Daisy as if he had just recognized her as someone he knew +a long time ago. + +“You resemble the advertisement of the man,” she went on innocently. +“You know the advertisement of the man—” + +“All right,” broke in Tom quickly, “I’m perfectly willing to go to +town. Come on—we’re all going to town.” + +He got up, his eyes still flashing between Gatsby and his wife. No one +moved. + +“Come on!” His temper cracked a little. “What’s the matter, anyhow? +If we’re going to town, let’s start.” + +His hand, trembling with his effort at self-control, bore to his lips +the last of his glass of ale. Daisy’s voice got us to our feet and out +on to the blazing gravel drive. + +“Are we just going to go?” she objected. “Like this? Aren’t we going +to let anyone smoke a cigarette first?” + +“Everybody smoked all through lunch.” + +“Oh, let’s have fun,” she begged him. “It’s too hot to fuss.” + +He didn’t answer. + +“Have it your own way,” she said. “Come on, Jordan.” + +They went upstairs to get ready while we three men stood there +shuffling the hot pebbles with our feet. A silver curve of the moon +hovered already in the western sky. Gatsby started to speak, changed +his mind, but not before Tom wheeled and faced him expectantly. + +“Have you got your stables here?” asked Gatsby with an effort. + +“About a quarter of a mile down the road.” + +“Oh.” + +A pause. + +“I don’t see the idea of going to town,” broke out Tom savagely. +“Women get these notions in their heads—” + +“Shall we take anything to drink?” called Daisy from an upper window. + +“I’ll get some whisky,” answered Tom. He went inside. + +Gatsby turned to me rigidly: + +“I can’t say anything in his house, old sport.” + +“She’s got an indiscreet voice,” I remarked. “It’s full of—” I +hesitated. + +“Her voice is full of money,” he said suddenly. + +That was it. I’d never understood before. It was full of money—that +was the inexhaustible charm that rose and fell in it, the jingle of +it, the cymbals’ song of it … High in a white palace the king’s +daughter, the golden girl … + +Tom came out of the house wrapping a quart bottle in a towel, followed +by Daisy and Jordan wearing small tight hats of metallic cloth and +carrying light capes over their arms. + +“Shall we all go in my car?” suggested Gatsby. He felt the hot, green +leather of the seat. “I ought to have left it in the shade.” + +“Is it standard shift?” demanded Tom. + +“Yes.” + +“Well, you take my coupé and let me drive your car to town.” + +The suggestion was distasteful to Gatsby. + +“I don’t think there’s much gas,” he objected. + +“Plenty of gas,” said Tom boisterously. He looked at the gauge. “And +if it runs out I can stop at a drugstore. You can buy anything at a +drugstore nowadays.” + +A pause followed this apparently pointless remark. Daisy looked at Tom +frowning, and an indefinable expression, at once definitely unfamiliar +and vaguely recognizable, as if I had only heard it described in +words, passed over Gatsby’s face. + +“Come on, Daisy,” said Tom, pressing her with his hand toward Gatsby’s +car. “I’ll take you in this circus wagon.” + +He opened the door, but she moved out from the circle of his arm. + +“You take Nick and Jordan. We’ll follow you in the coupé.” + +She walked close to Gatsby, touching his coat with her hand. Jordan +and Tom and I got into the front seat of Gatsby’s car, Tom pushed the +unfamiliar gears tentatively, and we shot off into the oppressive +heat, leaving them out of sight behind. + +“Did you see that?” demanded Tom. + +“See what?” + +He looked at me keenly, realizing that Jordan and I must have known +all along. + +“You think I’m pretty dumb, don’t you?” he suggested. “Perhaps I am, +but I have a—almost a second sight, sometimes, that tells me what to +do. Maybe you don’t believe that, but science—” + +He paused. The immediate contingency overtook him, pulled him back +from the edge of theoretical abyss. + +“I’ve made a small investigation of this fellow,” he continued. “I +could have gone deeper if I’d known—” + +“Do you mean you’ve been to a medium?” inquired Jordan humorously. + +“What?” Confused, he stared at us as we laughed. “A medium?” + +“About Gatsby.” + +“About Gatsby! No, I haven’t. I said I’d been making a small +investigation of his past.” + +“And you found he was an Oxford man,” said Jordan helpfully. + +“An Oxford man!” He was incredulous. “Like hell he is! He wears a pink +suit.” + +“Nevertheless he’s an Oxford man.” + +“Oxford, New Mexico,” snorted Tom contemptuously, “or something like +that.” + +“Listen, Tom. If you’re such a snob, why did you invite him to lunch?” +demanded Jordan crossly. + +“Daisy invited him; she knew him before we were married—God knows +where!” + +We were all irritable now with the fading ale, and aware of it we +drove for a while in silence. Then as Doctor T. J. Eckleburg’s faded +eyes came into sight down the road, I remembered Gatsby’s caution +about gasoline. + +“We’ve got enough to get us to town,” said Tom. + +“But there’s a garage right here,” objected Jordan. “I don’t want to +get stalled in this baking heat.” + +Tom threw on both brakes impatiently, and we slid to an abrupt dusty +stop under Wilson’s sign. After a moment the proprietor emerged from +the interior of his establishment and gazed hollow-eyed at the car. + +“Let’s have some gas!” cried Tom roughly. “What do you think we +stopped for—to admire the view?” + +“I’m sick,” said Wilson without moving. “Been sick all day.” + +“What’s the matter?” + +“I’m all run down.” + +“Well, shall I help myself?” Tom demanded. “You sounded well enough on +the phone.” + +With an effort Wilson left the shade and support of the doorway and, +breathing hard, unscrewed the cap of the tank. In the sunlight his +face was green. + +“I didn’t mean to interrupt your lunch,” he said. “But I need money +pretty bad, and I was wondering what you were going to do with your +old car.” + +“How do you like this one?” inquired Tom. “I bought it last week.” + +“It’s a nice yellow one,” said Wilson, as he strained at the handle. + +“Like to buy it?” + +“Big chance,” Wilson smiled faintly. “No, but I could make some money +on the other.” + +“What do you want money for, all of a sudden?” + +“I’ve been here too long. I want to get away. My wife and I want to go +West.” + +“Your wife does,” exclaimed Tom, startled. + +“She’s been talking about it for ten years.” He rested for a moment +against the pump, shading his eyes. “And now she’s going whether she +wants to or not. I’m going to get her away.” + +The coupé flashed by us with a flurry of dust and the flash of a +waving hand. + +“What do I owe you?” demanded Tom harshly. + +“I just got wised up to something funny the last two days,” remarked +Wilson. “That’s why I want to get away. That’s why I been bothering +you about the car.” + +“What do I owe you?” + +“Dollar twenty.” + +The relentless beating heat was beginning to confuse me and I had a +bad moment there before I realized that so far his suspicions hadn’t +alighted on Tom. He had discovered that Myrtle had some sort of life +apart from him in another world, and the shock had made him physically +sick. I stared at him and then at Tom, who had made a parallel +discovery less than an hour before—and it occurred to me that there +was no difference between men, in intelligence or race, so profound as +the difference between the sick and the well. Wilson was so sick that +he looked guilty, unforgivably guilty—as if he had just got some poor +girl with child. + +“I’ll let you have that car,” said Tom. “I’ll send it over tomorrow +afternoon.” + +That locality was always vaguely disquieting, even in the broad glare +of afternoon, and now I turned my head as though I had been warned of +something behind. Over the ash-heaps the giant eyes of Doctor T. J. +Eckleburg kept their vigil, but I perceived, after a moment, that +other eyes were regarding us with peculiar intensity from less than +twenty feet away. + +In one of the windows over the garage the curtains had been moved +aside a little, and Myrtle Wilson was peering down at the car. So +engrossed was she that she had no consciousness of being observed, and +one emotion after another crept into her face like objects into a +slowly developing picture. Her expression was curiously familiar—it +was an expression I had often seen on women’s faces, but on Myrtle +Wilson’s face it seemed purposeless and inexplicable until I realized +that her eyes, wide with jealous terror, were fixed not on Tom, but on +Jordan Baker, whom she took to be his wife. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +There is no confusion like the confusion of a simple mind, and as we +drove away Tom was feeling the hot whips of panic. His wife and his +mistress, until an hour ago secure and inviolate, were slipping +precipitately from his control. Instinct made him step on the +accelerator with the double purpose of overtaking Daisy and leaving +Wilson behind, and we sped along toward Astoria at fifty miles an +hour, until, among the spidery girders of the elevated, we came in +sight of the easygoing blue coupé. + +“Those big movies around Fiftieth Street are cool,” suggested +Jordan. “I love New York on summer afternoons when everyone’s away. +There’s something very sensuous about it—overripe, as if all sorts of +funny fruits were going to fall into your hands.” + +The word “sensuous” had the effect of further disquieting Tom, but +before he could invent a protest the coupé came to a stop, and Daisy +signalled us to draw up alongside. + +“Where are we going?” she cried. + +“How about the movies?” + +“It’s so hot,” she complained. “You go. We’ll ride around and meet you +after.” With an effort her wit rose faintly. “We’ll meet you on some +corner. I’ll be the man smoking two cigarettes.” + +“We can’t argue about it here,” Tom said impatiently, as a truck gave +out a cursing whistle behind us. “You follow me to the south side of +Central Park, in front of the Plaza.” + +Several times he turned his head and looked back for their car, and if +the traffic delayed them he slowed up until they came into sight. I +think he was afraid they would dart down a side-street and out of his +life forever. + +But they didn’t. And we all took the less explicable step of engaging +the parlour of a suite in the Plaza Hotel. + +The prolonged and tumultuous argument that ended by herding us into +that room eludes me, though I have a sharp physical memory that, in +the course of it, my underwear kept climbing like a damp snake around +my legs and intermittent beads of sweat raced cool across my back. +The notion originated with Daisy’s suggestion that we hire five +bathrooms and take cold baths, and then assumed more tangible form as +“a place to have a mint julep.” Each of us said over and over that it +was a “crazy idea”—we all talked at once to a baffled clerk and +thought, or pretended to think, that we were being very funny … + +The room was large and stifling, and, though it was already four +o’clock, opening the windows admitted only a gust of hot shrubbery +from the Park. Daisy went to the mirror and stood with her back to us, +fixing her hair. + +“It’s a swell suite,” whispered Jordan respectfully, and everyone +laughed. + +“Open another window,” commanded Daisy, without turning around. + +“There aren’t any more.” + +“Well, we’d better telephone for an axe—” + +“The thing to do is to forget about the heat,” said Tom impatiently. +“You make it ten times worse by crabbing about it.” + +He unrolled the bottle of whisky from the towel and put it on the +table. + +“Why not let her alone, old sport?” remarked Gatsby. “You’re the one +that wanted to come to town.” + +There was a moment of silence. The telephone book slipped from its +nail and splashed to the floor, whereupon Jordan whispered, “Excuse +me”—but this time no one laughed. + +“I’ll pick it up,” I offered. + +“I’ve got it.” Gatsby examined the parted string, muttered “Hum!” in +an interested way, and tossed the book on a chair. + +“That’s a great expression of yours, isn’t it?” said Tom sharply. + +“What is?” + +“All this ‘old sport’ business. Where’d you pick that up?” + +“Now see here, Tom,” said Daisy, turning around from the mirror, “if +you’re going to make personal remarks I won’t stay here a minute. +Call up and order some ice for the mint julep.” + +As Tom took up the receiver the compressed heat exploded into sound +and we were listening to the portentous chords of Mendelssohn’s +Wedding March from the ballroom below. + +“Imagine marrying anybody in this heat!” cried Jordan dismally. + +“Still—I was married in the middle of June,” Daisy remembered. +“Louisville in June! Somebody fainted. Who was it fainted, Tom?” + +“Biloxi,” he answered shortly. + +“A man named Biloxi. ‘Blocks’ Biloxi, and he made boxes—that’s a +fact—and he was from Biloxi, Tennessee.” + +“They carried him into my house,” appended Jordan, “because we lived +just two doors from the church. And he stayed three weeks, until Daddy +told him he had to get out. The day after he left Daddy died.” After +a moment she added as if she might have sounded irreverent, “There +wasn’t any connection.” + +“I used to know a Bill Biloxi from Memphis,” I remarked. + +“That was his cousin. I knew his whole family history before he +left. He gave me an aluminium putter that I use today.” + +The music had died down as the ceremony began and now a long cheer +floated in at the window, followed by intermittent cries of +“Yea—ea—ea!” and finally by a burst of jazz as the dancing began. + +“We’re getting old,” said Daisy. “If we were young we’d rise and +dance.” + +“Remember Biloxi,” Jordan warned her. “Where’d you know him, Tom?” + +“Biloxi?” He concentrated with an effort. “I didn’t know him. He was a +friend of Daisy’s.” + +“He was not,” she denied. “I’d never seen him before. He came down in +the private car.” + +“Well, he said he knew you. He said he was raised in Louisville. Asa +Bird brought him around at the last minute and asked if we had room +for him.” + +Jordan smiled. + +“He was probably bumming his way home. He told me he was president of +your class at Yale.” + +Tom and I looked at each other blankly. + +“Biloxi?” + +“First place, we didn’t have any president—” + +Gatsby’s foot beat a short, restless tattoo and Tom eyed him suddenly. + +“By the way, Mr. Gatsby, I understand you’re an Oxford man.” + +“Not exactly.” + +“Oh, yes, I understand you went to Oxford.” + +“Yes—I went there.” + +A pause. Then Tom’s voice, incredulous and insulting: + +“You must have gone there about the time Biloxi went to New Haven.” + +Another pause. A waiter knocked and came in with crushed mint and ice +but the silence was unbroken by his “thank you” and the soft closing +of the door. This tremendous detail was to be cleared up at last. + +“I told you I went there,” said Gatsby. + +“I heard you, but I’d like to know when.” + +“It was in nineteen-nineteen, I only stayed five months. That’s why I +can’t really call myself an Oxford man.” + +Tom glanced around to see if we mirrored his unbelief. But we were all +looking at Gatsby. + +“It was an opportunity they gave to some of the officers after the +armistice,” he continued. “We could go to any of the universities in +England or France.” + +I wanted to get up and slap him on the back. I had one of those +renewals of complete faith in him that I’d experienced before. + +Daisy rose, smiling faintly, and went to the table. + +“Open the whisky, Tom,” she ordered, “and I’ll make you a mint julep. +Then you won’t seem so stupid to yourself … Look at the mint!” + +“Wait a minute,” snapped Tom, “I want to ask Mr. Gatsby one more +question.” + +“Go on,” Gatsby said politely. + +“What kind of a row are you trying to cause in my house anyhow?” + +They were out in the open at last and Gatsby was content. + +“He isn’t causing a row,” Daisy looked desperately from one to the +other. “You’re causing a row. Please have a little self-control.” + +“Self-control!” repeated Tom incredulously. “I suppose the latest +thing is to sit back and let Mr. Nobody from Nowhere make love to your +wife. Well, if that’s the idea you can count me out … Nowadays people +begin by sneering at family life and family institutions, and next +they’ll throw everything overboard and have intermarriage between +black and white.” + +Flushed with his impassioned gibberish, he saw himself standing alone +on the last barrier of civilization. + +“We’re all white here,” murmured Jordan. + +“I know I’m not very popular. I don’t give big parties. I suppose +you’ve got to make your house into a pigsty in order to have any +friends—in the modern world.” + +Angry as I was, as we all were, I was tempted to laugh whenever he +opened his mouth. The transition from libertine to prig was so +complete. + +“I’ve got something to tell you, old sport—” began Gatsby. But Daisy +guessed at his intention. + +“Please don’t!” she interrupted helplessly. “Please let’s all go +home. Why don’t we all go home?” + +“That’s a good idea,” I got up. “Come on, Tom. Nobody wants a drink.” + +“I want to know what Mr. Gatsby has to tell me.” + +“Your wife doesn’t love you,” said Gatsby. “She’s never loved you. +She loves me.” + +“You must be crazy!” exclaimed Tom automatically. + +Gatsby sprang to his feet, vivid with excitement. + +“She never loved you, do you hear?” he cried. “She only married you +because I was poor and she was tired of waiting for me. It was a +terrible mistake, but in her heart she never loved anyone except me!” + +At this point Jordan and I tried to go, but Tom and Gatsby insisted +with competitive firmness that we remain—as though neither of them had +anything to conceal and it would be a privilege to partake vicariously +of their emotions. + +“Sit down, Daisy,” Tom’s voice groped unsuccessfully for the paternal +note. “What’s been going on? I want to hear all about it.” + +“I told you what’s been going on,” said Gatsby. “Going on for five +years—and you didn’t know.” + +Tom turned to Daisy sharply. + +“You’ve been seeing this fellow for five years?” + +“Not seeing,” said Gatsby. “No, we couldn’t meet. But both of us loved +each other all that time, old sport, and you didn’t know. I used to +laugh sometimes”—but there was no laughter in his eyes—“to think that +you didn’t know.” + +“Oh—that’s all.” Tom tapped his thick fingers together like a +clergyman and leaned back in his chair. + +“You’re crazy!” he exploded. “I can’t speak about what happened five +years ago, because I didn’t know Daisy then—and I’ll be damned if I +see how you got within a mile of her unless you brought the groceries +to the back door. But all the rest of that’s a God damned lie. Daisy +loved me when she married me and she loves me now.” + +“No,” said Gatsby, shaking his head. + +“She does, though. The trouble is that sometimes she gets foolish +ideas in her head and doesn’t know what she’s doing.” He nodded +sagely. “And what’s more, I love Daisy too. Once in a while I go off +on a spree and make a fool of myself, but I always come back, and in +my heart I love her all the time.” + +“You’re revolting,” said Daisy. She turned to me, and her voice, +dropping an octave lower, filled the room with thrilling scorn: “Do +you know why we left Chicago? I’m surprised that they didn’t treat you +to the story of that little spree.” + +Gatsby walked over and stood beside her. + +“Daisy, that’s all over now,” he said earnestly. “It doesn’t matter +any more. Just tell him the truth—that you never loved him—and it’s +all wiped out forever.” + +She looked at him blindly. “Why—how could I love him—possibly?” + +“You never loved him.” + +She hesitated. Her eyes fell on Jordan and me with a sort of appeal, +as though she realized at last what she was doing—and as though she +had never, all along, intended doing anything at all. But it was done +now. It was too late. + +“I never loved him,” she said, with perceptible reluctance. + +“Not at Kapiolani?” demanded Tom suddenly. + +“No.” + +From the ballroom beneath, muffled and suffocating chords were +drifting up on hot waves of air. + +“Not that day I carried you down from the Punch Bowl to keep your +shoes dry?” There was a husky tenderness in his tone … “Daisy?” + +“Please don’t.” Her voice was cold, but the rancour was gone from it. +She looked at Gatsby. “There, Jay,” she said—but her hand as she tried +to light a cigarette was trembling. Suddenly she threw the cigarette +and the burning match on the carpet. + +“Oh, you want too much!” she cried to Gatsby. “I love you now—isn’t +that enough? I can’t help what’s past.” She began to sob +helplessly. “I did love him once—but I loved you too.” + +Gatsby’s eyes opened and closed. + +“You loved me too?” he repeated. + +“Even that’s a lie,” said Tom savagely. “She didn’t know you were +alive. Why—there’s things between Daisy and me that you’ll never know, +things that neither of us can ever forget.” + +The words seemed to bite physically into Gatsby. + +“I want to speak to Daisy alone,” he insisted. “She’s all excited +now—” + +“Even alone I can’t say I never loved Tom,” she admitted in a pitiful +voice. “It wouldn’t be true.” + +“Of course it wouldn’t,” agreed Tom. + +She turned to her husband. + +“As if it mattered to you,” she said. + +“Of course it matters. I’m going to take better care of you from now +on.” + +“You don’t understand,” said Gatsby, with a touch of panic. “You’re +not going to take care of her any more.” + +“I’m not?” Tom opened his eyes wide and laughed. He could afford to +control himself now. “Why’s that?” + +“Daisy’s leaving you.” + +“Nonsense.” + +“I am, though,” she said with a visible effort. + +“She’s not leaving me!” Tom’s words suddenly leaned down over Gatsby. +“Certainly not for a common swindler who’d have to steal the ring he +put on her finger.” + +“I won’t stand this!” cried Daisy. “Oh, please let’s get out.” + +“Who are you, anyhow?” broke out Tom. “You’re one of that bunch that +hangs around with Meyer Wolfshiem—that much I happen to know. I’ve +made a little investigation into your affairs—and I’ll carry it +further tomorrow.” + +“You can suit yourself about that, old sport,” said Gatsby steadily. + +“I found out what your ‘drugstores’ were.” He turned to us and spoke +rapidly. “He and this Wolfshiem bought up a lot of side-street +drugstores here and in Chicago and sold grain alcohol over the +counter. That’s one of his little stunts. I picked him for a +bootlegger the first time I saw him, and I wasn’t far wrong.” + +“What about it?” said Gatsby politely. “I guess your friend Walter +Chase wasn’t too proud to come in on it.” + +“And you left him in the lurch, didn’t you? You let him go to jail for +a month over in New Jersey. God! You ought to hear Walter on the +subject of you.” + +“He came to us dead broke. He was very glad to pick up some money, old +sport.” + +“Don’t you call me ‘old sport’!” cried Tom. Gatsby said +nothing. “Walter could have you up on the betting laws too, but +Wolfshiem scared him into shutting his mouth.” + +That unfamiliar yet recognizable look was back again in Gatsby’s face. + +“That drugstore business was just small change,” continued Tom slowly, +“but you’ve got something on now that Walter’s afraid to tell me +about.” + +I glanced at Daisy, who was staring terrified between Gatsby and her +husband, and at Jordan, who had begun to balance an invisible but +absorbing object on the tip of her chin. Then I turned back to +Gatsby—and was startled at his expression. He looked—and this is said +in all contempt for the babbled slander of his garden—as if he had +“killed a man.” For a moment the set of his face could be described in +just that fantastic way. + +It passed, and he began to talk excitedly to Daisy, denying +everything, defending his name against accusations that had not been +made. But with every word she was drawing further and further into +herself, so he gave that up, and only the dead dream fought on as the +afternoon slipped away, trying to touch what was no longer tangible, +struggling unhappily, undespairingly, toward that lost voice across +the room. + +The voice begged again to go. + +“Please, Tom! I can’t stand this any more.” + +Her frightened eyes told that whatever intentions, whatever courage +she had had, were definitely gone. + +“You two start on home, Daisy,” said Tom. “In Mr. Gatsby’s car.” + +She looked at Tom, alarmed now, but he insisted with magnanimous +scorn. + +“Go on. He won’t annoy you. I think he realizes that his presumptuous +little flirtation is over.” + +They were gone, without a word, snapped out, made accidental, +isolated, like ghosts, even from our pity. + +After a moment Tom got up and began wrapping the unopened bottle of +whisky in the towel. + +“Want any of this stuff? Jordan? … Nick?” + +I didn’t answer. + +“Nick?” He asked again. + +“What?” + +“Want any?” + +“No … I just remembered that today’s my birthday.” + +I was thirty. Before me stretched the portentous, menacing road of a +new decade. + +It was seven o’clock when we got into the coupé with him and started +for Long Island. Tom talked incessantly, exulting and laughing, but +his voice was as remote from Jordan and me as the foreign clamour on +the sidewalk or the tumult of the elevated overhead. Human sympathy +has its limits, and we were content to let all their tragic arguments +fade with the city lights behind. Thirty—the promise of a decade of +loneliness, a thinning list of single men to know, a thinning +briefcase of enthusiasm, thinning hair. But there was Jordan beside +me, who, unlike Daisy, was too wise ever to carry well-forgotten +dreams from age to age. As we passed over the dark bridge her wan face +fell lazily against my coat’s shoulder and the formidable stroke of +thirty died away with the reassuring pressure of her hand. + +So we drove on toward death through the cooling twilight. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +The young Greek, Michaelis, who ran the coffee joint beside the +ash-heaps was the principal witness at the inquest. He had slept +through the heat until after five, when he strolled over to the +garage, and found George Wilson sick in his office—really sick, pale +as his own pale hair and shaking all over. Michaelis advised him to go +to bed, but Wilson refused, saying that he’d miss a lot of business if +he did. While his neighbour was trying to persuade him a violent +racket broke out overhead. + +“I’ve got my wife locked in up there,” explained Wilson calmly. +“She’s going to stay there till the day after tomorrow, and then we’re +going to move away.” + +Michaelis was astonished; they had been neighbours for four years, and +Wilson had never seemed faintly capable of such a statement. +Generally he was one of these worn-out men: when he wasn’t working, he +sat on a chair in the doorway and stared at the people and the cars +that passed along the road. When anyone spoke to him he invariably +laughed in an agreeable, colourless way. He was his wife’s man and not +his own. + +So naturally Michaelis tried to find out what had happened, but Wilson +wouldn’t say a word—instead he began to throw curious, suspicious +glances at his visitor and ask him what he’d been doing at certain +times on certain days. Just as the latter was getting uneasy, some +workmen came past the door bound for his restaurant, and Michaelis +took the opportunity to get away, intending to come back later. But he +didn’t. He supposed he forgot to, that’s all. When he came outside +again, a little after seven, he was reminded of the conversation +because he heard Mrs. Wilson’s voice, loud and scolding, downstairs in +the garage. + +“Beat me!” he heard her cry. “Throw me down and beat me, you dirty +little coward!” + +A moment later she rushed out into the dusk, waving her hands and +shouting—before he could move from his door the business was over. + +The “death car” as the newspapers called it, didn’t stop; it came out +of the gathering darkness, wavered tragically for a moment, and then +disappeared around the next bend. Mavro Michaelis wasn’t even sure of +its colour—he told the first policeman that it was light green. The +other car, the one going toward New York, came to rest a hundred yards +beyond, and its driver hurried back to where Myrtle Wilson, her life +violently extinguished, knelt in the road and mingled her thick dark +blood with the dust. + +Michaelis and this man reached her first, but when they had torn open +her shirtwaist, still damp with perspiration, they saw that her left +breast was swinging loose like a flap, and there was no need to listen +for the heart beneath. The mouth was wide open and ripped a little at +the corners, as though she had choked a little in giving up the +tremendous vitality she had stored so long. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +We saw the three or four automobiles and the crowd when we were still +some distance away. + +“Wreck!” said Tom. “That’s good. Wilson’ll have a little business at +last.” + +He slowed down, but still without any intention of stopping, until, as +we came nearer, the hushed, intent faces of the people at the garage +door made him automatically put on the brakes. + +“We’ll take a look,” he said doubtfully, “just a look.” + +I became aware now of a hollow, wailing sound which issued incessantly +from the garage, a sound which as we got out of the coupé and walked +toward the door resolved itself into the words “Oh, my God!” uttered +over and over in a gasping moan. + +“There’s some bad trouble here,” said Tom excitedly. + +He reached up on tiptoes and peered over a circle of heads into the +garage, which was lit only by a yellow light in a swinging metal +basket overhead. Then he made a harsh sound in his throat, and with a +violent thrusting movement of his powerful arms pushed his way +through. + +The circle closed up again with a running murmur of expostulation; it +was a minute before I could see anything at all. Then new arrivals +deranged the line, and Jordan and I were pushed suddenly inside. + +Myrtle Wilson’s body, wrapped in a blanket, and then in another +blanket, as though she suffered from a chill in the hot night, lay on +a worktable by the wall, and Tom, with his back to us, was bending +over it, motionless. Next to him stood a motorcycle policeman taking +down names with much sweat and correction in a little book. At first I +couldn’t find the source of the high, groaning words that echoed +clamorously through the bare garage—then I saw Wilson standing on the +raised threshold of his office, swaying back and forth and holding to +the doorposts with both hands. Some man was talking to him in a low +voice and attempting, from time to time, to lay a hand on his +shoulder, but Wilson neither heard nor saw. His eyes would drop slowly +from the swinging light to the laden table by the wall, and then jerk +back to the light again, and he gave out incessantly his high, +horrible call: + +“Oh, my Ga-od! Oh, my Ga-od! Oh, Ga-od! Oh, my Ga-od!” + +Presently Tom lifted his head with a jerk and, after staring around +the garage with glazed eyes, addressed a mumbled incoherent remark to +the policeman. + +“M-a-v—” the policeman was saying, “—o—” + +“No, r—” corrected the man, “M-a-v-r-o—” + +“Listen to me!” muttered Tom fiercely. + +“r—” said the policeman, “o—” + +“g—” + +“g—” He looked up as Tom’s broad hand fell sharply on his shoulder. +“What you want, fella?” + +“What happened?—that’s what I want to know.” + +“Auto hit her. Ins’antly killed.” + +“Instantly killed,” repeated Tom, staring. + +“She ran out ina road. Son-of-a-bitch didn’t even stopus car.” + +“There was two cars,” said Michaelis, “one comin’, one goin’, see?” + +“Going where?” asked the policeman keenly. + +“One goin’ each way. Well, she”—his hand rose toward the blankets but +stopped halfway and fell to his side—“she ran out there an’ the one +comin’ from N’York knock right into her, goin’ thirty or forty miles +an hour.” + +“What’s the name of this place here?” demanded the officer. + +“Hasn’t got any name.” + +A pale well-dressed negro stepped near. + +“It was a yellow car,” he said, “big yellow car. New.” + +“See the accident?” asked the policeman. + +“No, but the car passed me down the road, going faster’n forty. Going +fifty, sixty.” + +“Come here and let’s have your name. Look out now. I want to get his +name.” + +Some words of this conversation must have reached Wilson, swaying in +the office door, for suddenly a new theme found voice among his +grasping cries: + +“You don’t have to tell me what kind of car it was! I know what kind +of car it was!” + +Watching Tom, I saw the wad of muscle back of his shoulder tighten +under his coat. He walked quickly over to Wilson and, standing in +front of him, seized him firmly by the upper arms. + +“You’ve got to pull yourself together,” he said with soothing +gruffness. + +Wilson’s eyes fell upon Tom; he started up on his tiptoes and then +would have collapsed to his knees had not Tom held him upright. + +“Listen,” said Tom, shaking him a little. “I just got here a minute +ago, from New York. I was bringing you that coupé we’ve been talking +about. That yellow car I was driving this afternoon wasn’t mine—do you +hear? I haven’t seen it all afternoon.” + +Only the negro and I were near enough to hear what he said, but the +policeman caught something in the tone and looked over with truculent +eyes. + +“What’s all that?” he demanded. + +“I’m a friend of his.” Tom turned his head but kept his hands firm on +Wilson’s body. “He says he knows the car that did it … It was a yellow +car.” + +Some dim impulse moved the policeman to look suspiciously at Tom. + +“And what colour’s your car?” + +“It’s a blue car, a coupé.” + +“We’ve come straight from New York,” I said. + +Someone who had been driving a little behind us confirmed this, and +the policeman turned away. + +“Now, if you’ll let me have that name again correct—” + +Picking up Wilson like a doll, Tom carried him into the office, set +him down in a chair, and came back. + +“If somebody’ll come here and sit with him,” he snapped +authoritatively. He watched while the two men standing closest glanced +at each other and went unwillingly into the room. Then Tom shut the +door on them and came down the single step, his eyes avoiding the +table. As he passed close to me he whispered: “Let’s get out.” + +Self-consciously, with his authoritative arms breaking the way, we +pushed through the still gathering crowd, passing a hurried doctor, +case in hand, who had been sent for in wild hope half an hour ago. + +Tom drove slowly until we were beyond the bend—then his foot came down +hard, and the coupé raced along through the night. In a little while I +heard a low husky sob, and saw that the tears were overflowing down +his face. + +“The God damned coward!” he whimpered. “He didn’t even stop his car.” + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +The Buchanans’ house floated suddenly toward us through the dark +rustling trees. Tom stopped beside the porch and looked up at the +second floor, where two windows bloomed with light among the vines. + +“Daisy’s home,” he said. As we got out of the car he glanced at me and +frowned slightly. + +“I ought to have dropped you in West Egg, Nick. There’s nothing we can +do tonight.” + +A change had come over him, and he spoke gravely, and with decision. +As we walked across the moonlight gravel to the porch he disposed of +the situation in a few brisk phrases. + +“I’ll telephone for a taxi to take you home, and while you’re waiting +you and Jordan better go in the kitchen and have them get you some +supper—if you want any.” He opened the door. “Come in.” + +“No, thanks. But I’d be glad if you’d order me the taxi. I’ll wait +outside.” + +Jordan put her hand on my arm. + +“Won’t you come in, Nick?” + +“No, thanks.” + +I was feeling a little sick and I wanted to be alone. But Jordan +lingered for a moment more. + +“It’s only half-past nine,” she said. + +I’d be damned if I’d go in; I’d had enough of all of them for one day, +and suddenly that included Jordan too. She must have seen something of +this in my expression, for she turned abruptly away and ran up the +porch steps into the house. I sat down for a few minutes with my head +in my hands, until I heard the phone taken up inside and the butler’s +voice calling a taxi. Then I walked slowly down the drive away from +the house, intending to wait by the gate. + +I hadn’t gone twenty yards when I heard my name and Gatsby stepped +from between two bushes into the path. I must have felt pretty weird +by that time, because I could think of nothing except the luminosity +of his pink suit under the moon. + +“What are you doing?” I inquired. + +“Just standing here, old sport.” + +Somehow, that seemed a despicable occupation. For all I knew he was +going to rob the house in a moment; I wouldn’t have been surprised to +see sinister faces, the faces of “Wolfshiem’s people,” behind him in +the dark shrubbery. + +“Did you see any trouble on the road?” he asked after a minute. + +“Yes.” + +He hesitated. + +“Was she killed?” + +“Yes.” + +“I thought so; I told Daisy I thought so. It’s better that the shock +should all come at once. She stood it pretty well.” + +He spoke as if Daisy’s reaction was the only thing that mattered. + +“I got to West Egg by a side road,” he went on, “and left the car in +my garage. I don’t think anybody saw us, but of course I can’t be +sure.” + +I disliked him so much by this time that I didn’t find it necessary to +tell him he was wrong. + +“Who was the woman?” he inquired. + +“Her name was Wilson. Her husband owns the garage. How the devil did +it happen?” + +“Well, I tried to swing the wheel—” He broke off, and suddenly I +guessed at the truth. + +“Was Daisy driving?” + +“Yes,” he said after a moment, “but of course I’ll say I was. You see, +when we left New York she was very nervous and she thought it would +steady her to drive—and this woman rushed out at us just as we were +passing a car coming the other way. It all happened in a minute, but +it seemed to me that she wanted to speak to us, thought we were +somebody she knew. Well, first Daisy turned away from the woman toward +the other car, and then she lost her nerve and turned back. The second +my hand reached the wheel I felt the shock—it must have killed her +instantly.” + +“It ripped her open—” + +“Don’t tell me, old sport.” He winced. “Anyhow—Daisy stepped on it. I +tried to make her stop, but she couldn’t, so I pulled on the emergency +brake. Then she fell over into my lap and I drove on. + +“She’ll be all right tomorrow,” he said presently. “I’m just going to +wait here and see if he tries to bother her about that unpleasantness +this afternoon. She’s locked herself into her room, and if he tries +any brutality she’s going to turn the light out and on again.” + +“He won’t touch her,” I said. “He’s not thinking about her.” + +“I don’t trust him, old sport.” + +“How long are you going to wait?” + +“All night, if necessary. Anyhow, till they all go to bed.” + +A new point of view occurred to me. Suppose Tom found out that Daisy +had been driving. He might think he saw a connection in it—he might +think anything. I looked at the house; there were two or three bright +windows downstairs and the pink glow from Daisy’s room on the ground +floor. + +“You wait here,” I said. “I’ll see if there’s any sign of a +commotion.” + +I walked back along the border of the lawn, traversed the gravel +softly, and tiptoed up the veranda steps. The drawing-room curtains +were open, and I saw that the room was empty. Crossing the porch where +we had dined that June night three months before, I came to a small +rectangle of light which I guessed was the pantry window. The blind +was drawn, but I found a rift at the sill. + +Daisy and Tom were sitting opposite each other at the kitchen table, +with a plate of cold fried chicken between them, and two bottles of +ale. He was talking intently across the table at her, and in his +earnestness his hand had fallen upon and covered her own. Once in a +while she looked up at him and nodded in agreement. + +They weren’t happy, and neither of them had touched the chicken or the +ale—and yet they weren’t unhappy either. There was an unmistakable air +of natural intimacy about the picture, and anybody would have said +that they were conspiring together. + +As I tiptoed from the porch I heard my taxi feeling its way along the +dark road toward the house. Gatsby was waiting where I had left him in +the drive. + +“Is it all quiet up there?” he asked anxiously. + +“Yes, it’s all quiet.” I hesitated. “You’d better come home and get +some sleep.” + +He shook his head. + +“I want to wait here till Daisy goes to bed. Good night, old sport.” + +He put his hands in his coat pockets and turned back eagerly to his +scrutiny of the house, as though my presence marred the sacredness of +the vigil. So I walked away and left him standing there in the +moonlight—watching over nothing. + + + VIII + +I couldn’t sleep all night; a foghorn was groaning incessantly on the +Sound, and I tossed half-sick between grotesque reality and savage, +frightening dreams. Toward dawn I heard a taxi go up Gatsby’s drive, +and immediately I jumped out of bed and began to dress—I felt that I +had something to tell him, something to warn him about, and morning +would be too late. + +Crossing his lawn, I saw that his front door was still open and he was +leaning against a table in the hall, heavy with dejection or sleep. + +“Nothing happened,” he said wanly. “I waited, and about four o’clock +she came to the window and stood there for a minute and then turned +out the light.” + +His house had never seemed so enormous to me as it did that night when +we hunted through the great rooms for cigarettes. We pushed aside +curtains that were like pavilions, and felt over innumerable feet of +dark wall for electric light switches—once I tumbled with a sort of +splash upon the keys of a ghostly piano. There was an inexplicable +amount of dust everywhere, and the rooms were musty, as though they +hadn’t been aired for many days. I found the humidor on an unfamiliar +table, with two stale, dry cigarettes inside. Throwing open the French +windows of the drawing-room, we sat smoking out into the darkness. + +“You ought to go away,” I said. “It’s pretty certain they’ll trace +your car.” + +“Go away now, old sport?” + +“Go to Atlantic City for a week, or up to Montreal.” + +He wouldn’t consider it. He couldn’t possibly leave Daisy until he +knew what she was going to do. He was clutching at some last hope and +I couldn’t bear to shake him free. + +It was this night that he told me the strange story of his youth with +Dan Cody—told it to me because “Jay Gatsby” had broken up like glass +against Tom’s hard malice, and the long secret extravaganza was played +out. I think that he would have acknowledged anything now, without +reserve, but he wanted to talk about Daisy. + +She was the first “nice” girl he had ever known. In various unrevealed +capacities he had come in contact with such people, but always with +indiscernible barbed wire between. He found her excitingly +desirable. He went to her house, at first with other officers from +Camp Taylor, then alone. It amazed him—he had never been in such a +beautiful house before. But what gave it an air of breathless +intensity, was that Daisy lived there—it was as casual a thing to her +as his tent out at camp was to him. There was a ripe mystery about it, +a hint of bedrooms upstairs more beautiful and cool than other +bedrooms, of gay and radiant activities taking place through its +corridors, and of romances that were not musty and laid away already +in lavender but fresh and breathing and redolent of this year’s +shining motorcars and of dances whose flowers were scarcely +withered. It excited him, too, that many men had already loved +Daisy—it increased her value in his eyes. He felt their presence all +about the house, pervading the air with the shades and echoes of still +vibrant emotions. + +But he knew that he was in Daisy’s house by a colossal +accident. However glorious might be his future as Jay Gatsby, he was +at present a penniless young man without a past, and at any moment the +invisible cloak of his uniform might slip from his shoulders. So he +made the most of his time. He took what he could get, ravenously and +unscrupulously—eventually he took Daisy one still October night, took +her because he had no real right to touch her hand. + +He might have despised himself, for he had certainly taken her under +false pretences. I don’t mean that he had traded on his phantom +millions, but he had deliberately given Daisy a sense of security; he +let her believe that he was a person from much the same strata as +herself—that he was fully able to take care of her. As a matter of +fact, he had no such facilities—he had no comfortable family standing +behind him, and he was liable at the whim of an impersonal government +to be blown anywhere about the world. + +But he didn’t despise himself and it didn’t turn out as he had +imagined. He had intended, probably, to take what he could and go—but +now he found that he had committed himself to the following of a +grail. He knew that Daisy was extraordinary, but he didn’t realize +just how extraordinary a “nice” girl could be. She vanished into her +rich house, into her rich, full life, leaving Gatsby—nothing. He felt +married to her, that was all. + +When they met again, two days later, it was Gatsby who was breathless, +who was, somehow, betrayed. Her porch was bright with the bought +luxury of star-shine; the wicker of the settee squeaked fashionably as +she turned toward him and he kissed her curious and lovely mouth. She +had caught a cold, and it made her voice huskier and more charming +than ever, and Gatsby was overwhelmingly aware of the youth and +mystery that wealth imprisons and preserves, of the freshness of many +clothes, and of Daisy, gleaming like silver, safe and proud above the +hot struggles of the poor. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +“I can’t describe to you how surprised I was to find out I loved her, +old sport. I even hoped for a while that she’d throw me over, but she +didn’t, because she was in love with me too. She thought I knew a lot +because I knew different things from her … Well, there I was, way off +my ambitions, getting deeper in love every minute, and all of a sudden +I didn’t care. What was the use of doing great things if I could have +a better time telling her what I was going to do?” + +On the last afternoon before he went abroad, he sat with Daisy in his +arms for a long, silent time. It was a cold fall day, with fire in the +room and her cheeks flushed. Now and then she moved and he changed his +arm a little, and once he kissed her dark shining hair. The afternoon +had made them tranquil for a while, as if to give them a deep memory +for the long parting the next day promised. They had never been closer +in their month of love, nor communicated more profoundly one with +another, than when she brushed silent lips against his coat’s shoulder +or when he touched the end of her fingers, gently, as though she were +asleep. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +He did extraordinarily well in the war. He was a captain before he +went to the front, and following the Argonne battles he got his +majority and the command of the divisional machine-guns. After the +armistice he tried frantically to get home, but some complication or +misunderstanding sent him to Oxford instead. He was worried now—there +was a quality of nervous despair in Daisy’s letters. She didn’t see +why he couldn’t come. She was feeling the pressure of the world +outside, and she wanted to see him and feel his presence beside her +and be reassured that she was doing the right thing after all. + +For Daisy was young and her artificial world was redolent of orchids +and pleasant, cheerful snobbery and orchestras which set the rhythm of +the year, summing up the sadness and suggestiveness of life in new +tunes. All night the saxophones wailed the hopeless comment of the +“Beale Street Blues” while a hundred pairs of golden and silver +slippers shuffled the shining dust. At the grey tea hour there were +always rooms that throbbed incessantly with this low, sweet fever, +while fresh faces drifted here and there like rose petals blown by the +sad horns around the floor. + +Through this twilight universe Daisy began to move again with the +season; suddenly she was again keeping half a dozen dates a day with +half a dozen men, and drowsing asleep at dawn with the beads and +chiffon of an evening-dress tangled among dying orchids on the floor +beside her bed. And all the time something within her was crying for a +decision. She wanted her life shaped now, immediately—and the decision +must be made by some force—of love, of money, of unquestionable +practicality—that was close at hand. + +That force took shape in the middle of spring with the arrival of Tom +Buchanan. There was a wholesome bulkiness about his person and his +position, and Daisy was flattered. Doubtless there was a certain +struggle and a certain relief. The letter reached Gatsby while he was +still at Oxford. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +It was dawn now on Long Island and we went about opening the rest of +the windows downstairs, filling the house with grey-turning, +gold-turning light. The shadow of a tree fell abruptly across the dew +and ghostly birds began to sing among the blue leaves. There was a +slow, pleasant movement in the air, scarcely a wind, promising a cool, +lovely day. + +“I don’t think she ever loved him.” Gatsby turned around from a window +and looked at me challengingly. “You must remember, old sport, she was +very excited this afternoon. He told her those things in a way that +frightened her—that made it look as if I was some kind of cheap +sharper. And the result was she hardly knew what she was saying.” + +He sat down gloomily. + +“Of course she might have loved him just for a minute, when they were +first married—and loved me more even then, do you see?” + +Suddenly he came out with a curious remark. + +“In any case,” he said, “it was just personal.” + +What could you make of that, except to suspect some intensity in his +conception of the affair that couldn’t be measured? + +He came back from France when Tom and Daisy were still on their +wedding trip, and made a miserable but irresistible journey to +Louisville on the last of his army pay. He stayed there a week, +walking the streets where their footsteps had clicked together through +the November night and revisiting the out-of-the-way places to which +they had driven in her white car. Just as Daisy’s house had always +seemed to him more mysterious and gay than other houses, so his idea +of the city itself, even though she was gone from it, was pervaded +with a melancholy beauty. + +He left feeling that if he had searched harder, he might have found +her—that he was leaving her behind. The day-coach—he was penniless +now—was hot. He went out to the open vestibule and sat down on a +folding-chair, and the station slid away and the backs of unfamiliar +buildings moved by. Then out into the spring fields, where a yellow +trolley raced them for a minute with people in it who might once have +seen the pale magic of her face along the casual street. + +The track curved and now it was going away from the sun, which, as it +sank lower, seemed to spread itself in benediction over the vanishing +city where she had drawn her breath. He stretched out his hand +desperately as if to snatch only a wisp of air, to save a fragment of +the spot that she had made lovely for him. But it was all going by too +fast now for his blurred eyes and he knew that he had lost that part +of it, the freshest and the best, forever. + +It was nine o’clock when we finished breakfast and went out on the +porch. The night had made a sharp difference in the weather and there +was an autumn flavour in the air. The gardener, the last one of +Gatsby’s former servants, came to the foot of the steps. + +“I’m going to drain the pool today, Mr. Gatsby. Leaves’ll start +falling pretty soon, and then there’s always trouble with the pipes.” + +“Don’t do it today,” Gatsby answered. He turned to me apologetically. +“You know, old sport, I’ve never used that pool all summer?” + +I looked at my watch and stood up. + +“Twelve minutes to my train.” + +I didn’t want to go to the city. I wasn’t worth a decent stroke of +work, but it was more than that—I didn’t want to leave Gatsby. I +missed that train, and then another, before I could get myself away. + +“I’ll call you up,” I said finally. + +“Do, old sport.” + +“I’ll call you about noon.” + +We walked slowly down the steps. + +“I suppose Daisy’ll call too.” He looked at me anxiously, as if he +hoped I’d corroborate this. + +“I suppose so.” + +“Well, goodbye.” + +We shook hands and I started away. Just before I reached the hedge I +remembered something and turned around. + +“They’re a rotten crowd,” I shouted across the lawn. “You’re worth the +whole damn bunch put together.” + +I’ve always been glad I said that. It was the only compliment I ever +gave him, because I disapproved of him from beginning to end. First he +nodded politely, and then his face broke into that radiant and +understanding smile, as if we’d been in ecstatic cahoots on that fact +all the time. His gorgeous pink rag of a suit made a bright spot of +colour against the white steps, and I thought of the night when I +first came to his ancestral home, three months before. The lawn and +drive had been crowded with the faces of those who guessed at his +corruption—and he had stood on those steps, concealing his +incorruptible dream, as he waved them goodbye. + +I thanked him for his hospitality. We were always thanking him for +that—I and the others. + +“Goodbye,” I called. “I enjoyed breakfast, Gatsby.” + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Up in the city, I tried for a while to list the quotations on an +interminable amount of stock, then I fell asleep in my swivel-chair. +Just before noon the phone woke me, and I started up with sweat +breaking out on my forehead. It was Jordan Baker; she often called me +up at this hour because the uncertainty of her own movements between +hotels and clubs and private houses made her hard to find in any other +way. Usually her voice came over the wire as something fresh and cool, +as if a divot from a green golf-links had come sailing in at the +office window, but this morning it seemed harsh and dry. + +“I’ve left Daisy’s house,” she said. “I’m at Hempstead, and I’m going +down to Southampton this afternoon.” + +Probably it had been tactful to leave Daisy’s house, but the act +annoyed me, and her next remark made me rigid. + +“You weren’t so nice to me last night.” + +“How could it have mattered then?” + +Silence for a moment. Then: + +“However—I want to see you.” + +“I want to see you, too.” + +“Suppose I don’t go to Southampton, and come into town this +afternoon?” + +“No—I don’t think this afternoon.” + +“Very well.” + +“It’s impossible this afternoon. Various—” + +We talked like that for a while, and then abruptly we weren’t talking +any longer. I don’t know which of us hung up with a sharp click, but I +know I didn’t care. I couldn’t have talked to her across a tea-table +that day if I never talked to her again in this world. + +I called Gatsby’s house a few minutes later, but the line was busy. I +tried four times; finally an exasperated central told me the wire was +being kept open for long distance from Detroit. Taking out my +timetable, I drew a small circle around the three-fifty train. Then I +leaned back in my chair and tried to think. It was just noon. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +When I passed the ash-heaps on the train that morning I had crossed +deliberately to the other side of the car. I supposed there’d be a +curious crowd around there all day with little boys searching for dark +spots in the dust, and some garrulous man telling over and over what +had happened, until it became less and less real even to him and he +could tell it no longer, and Myrtle Wilson’s tragic achievement was +forgotten. Now I want to go back a little and tell what happened at +the garage after we left there the night before. + +They had difficulty in locating the sister, Catherine. She must have +broken her rule against drinking that night, for when she arrived she +was stupid with liquor and unable to understand that the ambulance had +already gone to Flushing. When they convinced her of this, she +immediately fainted, as if that was the intolerable part of the +affair. Someone, kind or curious, took her in his car and drove her in +the wake of her sister’s body. + +Until long after midnight a changing crowd lapped up against the front +of the garage, while George Wilson rocked himself back and forth on +the couch inside. For a while the door of the office was open, and +everyone who came into the garage glanced irresistibly through it. +Finally someone said it was a shame, and closed the door. Michaelis +and several other men were with him; first, four or five men, later +two or three men. Still later Michaelis had to ask the last stranger +to wait there fifteen minutes longer, while he went back to his own +place and made a pot of coffee. After that, he stayed there alone with +Wilson until dawn. + +About three o’clock the quality of Wilson’s incoherent muttering +changed—he grew quieter and began to talk about the yellow car. He +announced that he had a way of finding out whom the yellow car +belonged to, and then he blurted out that a couple of months ago his +wife had come from the city with her face bruised and her nose +swollen. + +But when he heard himself say this, he flinched and began to cry “Oh, +my God!” again in his groaning voice. Michaelis made a clumsy attempt +to distract him. + +“How long have you been married, George? Come on there, try and sit +still a minute, and answer my question. How long have you been +married?” + +“Twelve years.” + +“Ever had any children? Come on, George, sit still—I asked you a +question. Did you ever have any children?” + +The hard brown beetles kept thudding against the dull light, and +whenever Michaelis heard a car go tearing along the road outside it +sounded to him like the car that hadn’t stopped a few hours before. +He didn’t like to go into the garage, because the work bench was +stained where the body had been lying, so he moved uncomfortably +around the office—he knew every object in it before morning—and from +time to time sat down beside Wilson trying to keep him more quiet. + +“Have you got a church you go to sometimes, George? Maybe even if you +haven’t been there for a long time? Maybe I could call up the church +and get a priest to come over and he could talk to you, see?” + +“Don’t belong to any.” + +“You ought to have a church, George, for times like this. You must +have gone to church once. Didn’t you get married in a church? Listen, +George, listen to me. Didn’t you get married in a church?” + +“That was a long time ago.” + +The effort of answering broke the rhythm of his rocking—for a moment +he was silent. Then the same half-knowing, half-bewildered look came +back into his faded eyes. + +“Look in the drawer there,” he said, pointing at the desk. + +“Which drawer?” + +“That drawer—that one.” + +Michaelis opened the drawer nearest his hand. There was nothing in it +but a small, expensive dog-leash, made of leather and braided +silver. It was apparently new. + +“This?” he inquired, holding it up. + +Wilson stared and nodded. + +“I found it yesterday afternoon. She tried to tell me about it, but I +knew it was something funny.” + +“You mean your wife bought it?” + +“She had it wrapped in tissue paper on her bureau.” + +Michaelis didn’t see anything odd in that, and he gave Wilson a dozen +reasons why his wife might have bought the dog-leash. But conceivably +Wilson had heard some of these same explanations before, from Myrtle, +because he began saying “Oh, my God!” again in a whisper—his comforter +left several explanations in the air. + +“Then he killed her,” said Wilson. His mouth dropped open suddenly. + +“Who did?” + +“I have a way of finding out.” + +“You’re morbid, George,” said his friend. “This has been a strain to +you and you don’t know what you’re saying. You’d better try and sit +quiet till morning.” + +“He murdered her.” + +“It was an accident, George.” + +Wilson shook his head. His eyes narrowed and his mouth widened +slightly with the ghost of a superior “Hm!” + +“I know,” he said definitely. “I’m one of these trusting fellas and I +don’t think any harm to nobody, but when I get to know a thing I know +it. It was the man in that car. She ran out to speak to him and he +wouldn’t stop.” + +Michaelis had seen this too, but it hadn’t occurred to him that there +was any special significance in it. He believed that Mrs. Wilson had +been running away from her husband, rather than trying to stop any +particular car. + +“How could she of been like that?” + +“She’s a deep one,” said Wilson, as if that answered the question. +“Ah-h-h—” + +He began to rock again, and Michaelis stood twisting the leash in his +hand. + +“Maybe you got some friend that I could telephone for, George?” + +This was a forlorn hope—he was almost sure that Wilson had no friend: +there was not enough of him for his wife. He was glad a little later +when he noticed a change in the room, a blue quickening by the window, +and realized that dawn wasn’t far off. About five o’clock it was blue +enough outside to snap off the light. + +Wilson’s glazed eyes turned out to the ash-heaps, where small grey +clouds took on fantastic shapes and scurried here and there in the +faint dawn wind. + +“I spoke to her,” he muttered, after a long silence. “I told her she +might fool me but she couldn’t fool God. I took her to the +window”—with an effort he got up and walked to the rear window and +leaned with his face pressed against it—“and I said ‘God knows what +you’ve been doing, everything you’ve been doing. You may fool me, but +you can’t fool God!’ ” + +Standing behind him, Michaelis saw with a shock that he was looking at +the eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg, which had just emerged, pale and +enormous, from the dissolving night. + +“God sees everything,” repeated Wilson. + +“That’s an advertisement,” Michaelis assured him. Something made him +turn away from the window and look back into the room. But Wilson +stood there a long time, his face close to the window pane, nodding +into the twilight. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +By six o’clock Michaelis was worn out, and grateful for the sound of a +car stopping outside. It was one of the watchers of the night before +who had promised to come back, so he cooked breakfast for three, which +he and the other man ate together. Wilson was quieter now, and +Michaelis went home to sleep; when he awoke four hours later and +hurried back to the garage, Wilson was gone. + +His movements—he was on foot all the time—were afterward traced to +Port Roosevelt and then to Gad’s Hill, where he bought a sandwich that +he didn’t eat, and a cup of coffee. He must have been tired and +walking slowly, for he didn’t reach Gad’s Hill until noon. Thus far +there was no difficulty in accounting for his time—there were boys who +had seen a man “acting sort of crazy,” and motorists at whom he stared +oddly from the side of the road. Then for three hours he disappeared +from view. The police, on the strength of what he said to Michaelis, +that he “had a way of finding out,” supposed that he spent that time +going from garage to garage thereabout, inquiring for a yellow car. On +the other hand, no garage man who had seen him ever came forward, and +perhaps he had an easier, surer way of finding out what he wanted to +know. By half-past two he was in West Egg, where he asked someone the +way to Gatsby’s house. So by that time he knew Gatsby’s name. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +At two o’clock Gatsby put on his bathing-suit and left word with the +butler that if anyone phoned word was to be brought to him at the +pool. He stopped at the garage for a pneumatic mattress that had +amused his guests during the summer, and the chauffeur helped him to +pump it up. Then he gave instructions that the open car wasn’t to be +taken out under any circumstances—and this was strange, because the +front right fender needed repair. + +Gatsby shouldered the mattress and started for the pool. Once he +stopped and shifted it a little, and the chauffeur asked him if he +needed help, but he shook his head and in a moment disappeared among +the yellowing trees. + +No telephone message arrived, but the butler went without his sleep +and waited for it until four o’clock—until long after there was anyone +to give it to if it came. I have an idea that Gatsby himself didn’t +believe it would come, and perhaps he no longer cared. If that was +true he must have felt that he had lost the old warm world, paid a +high price for living too long with a single dream. He must have +looked up at an unfamiliar sky through frightening leaves and shivered +as he found what a grotesque thing a rose is and how raw the sunlight +was upon the scarcely created grass. A new world, material without +being real, where poor ghosts, breathing dreams like air, drifted +fortuitously about … like that ashen, fantastic figure gliding toward +him through the amorphous trees. + +The chauffeur—he was one of Wolfshiem’s protégés—heard the +shots—afterwards he could only say that he hadn’t thought anything +much about them. I drove from the station directly to Gatsby’s house +and my rushing anxiously up the front steps was the first thing that +alarmed anyone. But they knew then, I firmly believe. With scarcely a +word said, four of us, the chauffeur, butler, gardener, and I hurried +down to the pool. + +There was a faint, barely perceptible movement of the water as the +fresh flow from one end urged its way toward the drain at the other. +With little ripples that were hardly the shadows of waves, the laden +mattress moved irregularly down the pool. A small gust of wind that +scarcely corrugated the surface was enough to disturb its accidental +course with its accidental burden. The touch of a cluster of leaves +revolved it slowly, tracing, like the leg of transit, a thin red +circle in the water. + +It was after we started with Gatsby toward the house that the gardener +saw Wilson’s body a little way off in the grass, and the holocaust was +complete. + + + IX + +After two years I remember the rest of that day, and that night and +the next day, only as an endless drill of police and photographers and +newspaper men in and out of Gatsby’s front door. A rope stretched +across the main gate and a policeman by it kept out the curious, but +little boys soon discovered that they could enter through my yard, and +there were always a few of them clustered open-mouthed about the +pool. Someone with a positive manner, perhaps a detective, used the +expression “madman” as he bent over Wilson’s body that afternoon, and +the adventitious authority of his voice set the key for the newspaper +reports next morning. + +Most of those reports were a nightmare—grotesque, circumstantial, +eager, and untrue. When Michaelis’s testimony at the inquest brought +to light Wilson’s suspicions of his wife I thought the whole tale +would shortly be served up in racy pasquinade—but Catherine, who might +have said anything, didn’t say a word. She showed a surprising amount +of character about it too—looked at the coroner with determined eyes +under that corrected brow of hers, and swore that her sister had never +seen Gatsby, that her sister was completely happy with her husband, +that her sister had been into no mischief whatever. She convinced +herself of it, and cried into her handkerchief, as if the very +suggestion was more than she could endure. So Wilson was reduced to a +man “deranged by grief” in order that the case might remain in its +simplest form. And it rested there. + +But all this part of it seemed remote and unessential. I found myself +on Gatsby’s side, and alone. From the moment I telephoned news of the +catastrophe to West Egg village, every surmise about him, and every +practical question, was referred to me. At first I was surprised and +confused; then, as he lay in his house and didn’t move or breathe or +speak, hour upon hour, it grew upon me that I was responsible, because +no one else was interested—interested, I mean, with that intense +personal interest to which everyone has some vague right at the end. + +I called up Daisy half an hour after we found him, called her +instinctively and without hesitation. But she and Tom had gone away +early that afternoon, and taken baggage with them. + +“Left no address?” + +“No.” + +“Say when they’d be back?” + +“No.” + +“Any idea where they are? How I could reach them?” + +“I don’t know. Can’t say.” + +I wanted to get somebody for him. I wanted to go into the room where +he lay and reassure him: “I’ll get somebody for you, Gatsby. Don’t +worry. Just trust me and I’ll get somebody for you—” + +Meyer Wolfshiem’s name wasn’t in the phone book. The butler gave me +his office address on Broadway, and I called Information, but by the +time I had the number it was long after five, and no one answered the +phone. + +“Will you ring again?” + +“I’ve rung three times.” + +“It’s very important.” + +“Sorry. I’m afraid no one’s there.” + +I went back to the drawing-room and thought for an instant that they +were chance visitors, all these official people who suddenly filled +it. But, though they drew back the sheet and looked at Gatsby with +shocked eyes, his protest continued in my brain: + +“Look here, old sport, you’ve got to get somebody for me. You’ve got +to try hard. I can’t go through this alone.” + +Someone started to ask me questions, but I broke away and going +upstairs looked hastily through the unlocked parts of his desk—he’d +never told me definitely that his parents were dead. But there was +nothing—only the picture of Dan Cody, a token of forgotten violence, +staring down from the wall. + +Next morning I sent the butler to New York with a letter to Wolfshiem, +which asked for information and urged him to come out on the next +train. That request seemed superfluous when I wrote it. I was sure +he’d start when he saw the newspapers, just as I was sure there’d be a +wire from Daisy before noon—but neither a wire nor Mr. Wolfshiem +arrived; no one arrived except more police and photographers and +newspaper men. When the butler brought back Wolfshiem’s answer I began +to have a feeling of defiance, of scornful solidarity between Gatsby +and me against them all. + + Dear Mr. Carraway. This has been one of the most terrible shocks of + my life to me I hardly can believe it that it is true at all. Such a + mad act as that man did should make us all think. I cannot come down + now as I am tied up in some very important business and cannot get + mixed up in this thing now. If there is anything I can do a little + later let me know in a letter by Edgar. I hardly know where I am when + I hear about a thing like this and am completely knocked down and + out. + + Yours truly + + Meyer Wolfshiem + +and then hasty addenda beneath: + + Let me know about the funeral etc do not know his family at all. + +When the phone rang that afternoon and Long Distance said Chicago was +calling I thought this would be Daisy at last. But the connection came +through as a man’s voice, very thin and far away. + +“This is Slagle speaking …” + +“Yes?” The name was unfamiliar. + +“Hell of a note, isn’t it? Get my wire?” + +“There haven’t been any wires.” + +“Young Parke’s in trouble,” he said rapidly. “They picked him up when +he handed the bonds over the counter. They got a circular from New +York giving ’em the numbers just five minutes before. What d’you know +about that, hey? You never can tell in these hick towns—” + +“Hello!” I interrupted breathlessly. “Look here—this isn’t Mr. +Gatsby. Mr. Gatsby’s dead.” + +There was a long silence on the other end of the wire, followed by an +exclamation … then a quick squawk as the connection was broken. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +I think it was on the third day that a telegram signed Henry C. Gatz +arrived from a town in Minnesota. It said only that the sender was +leaving immediately and to postpone the funeral until he came. + +It was Gatsby’s father, a solemn old man, very helpless and dismayed, +bundled up in a long cheap ulster against the warm September day. His +eyes leaked continuously with excitement, and when I took the bag and +umbrella from his hands he began to pull so incessantly at his sparse +grey beard that I had difficulty in getting off his coat. He was on +the point of collapse, so I took him into the music-room and made him +sit down while I sent for something to eat. But he wouldn’t eat, and +the glass of milk spilled from his trembling hand. + +“I saw it in the Chicago newspaper,” he said. “It was all in the +Chicago newspaper. I started right away.” + +“I didn’t know how to reach you.” + +His eyes, seeing nothing, moved ceaselessly about the room. + +“It was a madman,” he said. “He must have been mad.” + +“Wouldn’t you like some coffee?” I urged him. + +“I don’t want anything. I’m all right now, Mr.—” + +“Carraway.” + +“Well, I’m all right now. Where have they got Jimmy?” + +I took him into the drawing-room, where his son lay, and left him +there. Some little boys had come up on the steps and were looking into +the hall; when I told them who had arrived, they went reluctantly +away. + +After a little while Mr. Gatz opened the door and came out, his mouth +ajar, his face flushed slightly, his eyes leaking isolated and +unpunctual tears. He had reached an age where death no longer has the +quality of ghastly surprise, and when he looked around him now for the +first time and saw the height and splendour of the hall and the great +rooms opening out from it into other rooms, his grief began to be +mixed with an awed pride. I helped him to a bedroom upstairs; while he +took off his coat and vest I told him that all arrangements had been +deferred until he came. + +“I didn’t know what you’d want, Mr. Gatsby—” + +“Gatz is my name.” + +“—Mr. Gatz. I thought you might want to take the body West.” + +He shook his head. + +“Jimmy always liked it better down East. He rose up to his position in +the East. Were you a friend of my boy’s, Mr.—?” + +“We were close friends.” + +“He had a big future before him, you know. He was only a young man, +but he had a lot of brain power here.” + +He touched his head impressively, and I nodded. + +“If he’d of lived, he’d of been a great man. A man like James J. +Hill. He’d of helped build up the country.” + +“That’s true,” I said, uncomfortably. + +He fumbled at the embroidered coverlet, trying to take it from the +bed, and lay down stiffly—was instantly asleep. + +That night an obviously frightened person called up, and demanded to +know who I was before he would give his name. + +“This is Mr. Carraway,” I said. + +“Oh!” He sounded relieved. “This is Klipspringer.” + +I was relieved too, for that seemed to promise another friend at +Gatsby’s grave. I didn’t want it to be in the papers and draw a +sightseeing crowd, so I’d been calling up a few people myself. They +were hard to find. + +“The funeral’s tomorrow,” I said. “Three o’clock, here at the house. +I wish you’d tell anybody who’d be interested.” + +“Oh, I will,” he broke out hastily. “Of course I’m not likely to see +anybody, but if I do.” + +His tone made me suspicious. + +“Of course you’ll be there yourself.” + +“Well, I’ll certainly try. What I called up about is—” + +“Wait a minute,” I interrupted. “How about saying you’ll come?” + +“Well, the fact is—the truth of the matter is that I’m staying with +some people up here in Greenwich, and they rather expect me to be with +them tomorrow. In fact, there’s a sort of picnic or something. Of +course I’ll do my best to get away.” + +I ejaculated an unrestrained “Huh!” and he must have heard me, for he +went on nervously: + +“What I called up about was a pair of shoes I left there. I wonder if +it’d be too much trouble to have the butler send them on. You see, +they’re tennis shoes, and I’m sort of helpless without them. My +address is care of B. F.—” + +I didn’t hear the rest of the name, because I hung up the receiver. + +After that I felt a certain shame for Gatsby—one gentleman to whom I +telephoned implied that he had got what he deserved. However, that was +my fault, for he was one of those who used to sneer most bitterly at +Gatsby on the courage of Gatsby’s liquor, and I should have known +better than to call him. + +The morning of the funeral I went up to New York to see Meyer +Wolfshiem; I couldn’t seem to reach him any other way. The door that I +pushed open, on the advice of an elevator boy, was marked “The +Swastika Holding Company,” and at first there didn’t seem to be anyone +inside. But when I’d shouted “hello” several times in vain, an +argument broke out behind a partition, and presently a lovely Jewess +appeared at an interior door and scrutinized me with black hostile +eyes. + +“Nobody’s in,” she said. “Mr. Wolfshiem’s gone to Chicago.” + +The first part of this was obviously untrue, for someone had begun to +whistle “The Rosary,” tunelessly, inside. + +“Please say that Mr. Carraway wants to see him.” + +“I can’t get him back from Chicago, can I?” + +At this moment a voice, unmistakably Wolfshiem’s, called “Stella!” +from the other side of the door. + +“Leave your name on the desk,” she said quickly. “I’ll give it to him +when he gets back.” + +“But I know he’s there.” + +She took a step toward me and began to slide her hands indignantly up +and down her hips. + +“You young men think you can force your way in here any time,” she +scolded. “We’re getting sickantired of it. When I say he’s in Chicago, +he’s in Chicago.” + +I mentioned Gatsby. + +“Oh-h!” She looked at me over again. “Will you just—What was your +name?” + +She vanished. In a moment Meyer Wolfshiem stood solemnly in the +doorway, holding out both hands. He drew me into his office, remarking +in a reverent voice that it was a sad time for all of us, and offered +me a cigar. + +“My memory goes back to when first I met him,” he said. “A young major +just out of the army and covered over with medals he got in the war. +He was so hard up he had to keep on wearing his uniform because he +couldn’t buy some regular clothes. First time I saw him was when he +came into Winebrenner’s poolroom at Forty-third Street and asked for a +job. He hadn’t eat anything for a couple of days. ‘Come on have some +lunch with me,’ I said. He ate more than four dollars’ worth of food +in half an hour.” + +“Did you start him in business?” I inquired. + +“Start him! I made him.” + +“Oh.” + +“I raised him up out of nothing, right out of the gutter. I saw right +away he was a fine-appearing, gentlemanly young man, and when he told +me he was at Oggsford I knew I could use him good. I got him to join +the American Legion and he used to stand high there. Right off he did +some work for a client of mine up to Albany. We were so thick like +that in everything”—he held up two bulbous fingers—“always together.” + +I wondered if this partnership had included the World’s Series +transaction in 1919. + +“Now he’s dead,” I said after a moment. “You were his closest friend, +so I know you’ll want to come to his funeral this afternoon.” + +“I’d like to come.” + +“Well, come then.” + +The hair in his nostrils quivered slightly, and as he shook his head +his eyes filled with tears. + +“I can’t do it—I can’t get mixed up in it,” he said. + +“There’s nothing to get mixed up in. It’s all over now.” + +“When a man gets killed I never like to get mixed up in it in any +way. I keep out. When I was a young man it was different—if a friend +of mine died, no matter how, I stuck with them to the end. You may +think that’s sentimental, but I mean it—to the bitter end.” + +I saw that for some reason of his own he was determined not to come, +so I stood up. + +“Are you a college man?” he inquired suddenly. + +For a moment I thought he was going to suggest a “gonnegtion,” but he +only nodded and shook my hand. + +“Let us learn to show our friendship for a man when he is alive and +not after he is dead,” he suggested. “After that my own rule is to let +everything alone.” + +When I left his office the sky had turned dark and I got back to West +Egg in a drizzle. After changing my clothes I went next door and found +Mr. Gatz walking up and down excitedly in the hall. His pride in his +son and in his son’s possessions was continually increasing and now he +had something to show me. + +“Jimmy sent me this picture.” He took out his wallet with trembling +fingers. “Look there.” + +It was a photograph of the house, cracked in the corners and dirty +with many hands. He pointed out every detail to me eagerly. “Look +there!” and then sought admiration from my eyes. He had shown it so +often that I think it was more real to him now than the house itself. + +“Jimmy sent it to me. I think it’s a very pretty picture. It shows up +well.” + +“Very well. Had you seen him lately?” + +“He come out to see me two years ago and bought me the house I live in +now. Of course we was broke up when he run off from home, but I see +now there was a reason for it. He knew he had a big future in front of +him. And ever since he made a success he was very generous with me.” + +He seemed reluctant to put away the picture, held it for another +minute, lingeringly, before my eyes. Then he returned the wallet and +pulled from his pocket a ragged old copy of a book called Hopalong +Cassidy. + +“Look here, this is a book he had when he was a boy. It just shows +you.” + +He opened it at the back cover and turned it around for me to see. On +the last flyleaf was printed the word schedule, and the date September +12, 1906. And underneath: + + Rise from bed 6:00 a.m. + Dumbell exercise and wall-scaling 6:15-6:30 ” + Study electricity, etc. 7:15-8:15 ” + Work 8:30-4:30 p.m. + Baseball and sports 4:30-5:00 ” + Practise elocution, poise and how to attain it 5:00-6:00 ” + Study needed inventions 7:00-9:00 ” + + General Resolves + + * No wasting time at Shafters or [a name, indecipherable] + + * No more smokeing or chewing. + + * Bath every other day + + * Read one improving book or magazine per week + + * Save $5.00 [crossed out] $3.00 per week + + * Be better to parents + +“I came across this book by accident,” said the old man. “It just +shows you, don’t it?” + +“It just shows you.” + +“Jimmy was bound to get ahead. He always had some resolves like this +or something. Do you notice what he’s got about improving his mind? He +was always great for that. He told me I et like a hog once, and I beat +him for it.” + +He was reluctant to close the book, reading each item aloud and then +looking eagerly at me. I think he rather expected me to copy down the +list for my own use. + +A little before three the Lutheran minister arrived from Flushing, and +I began to look involuntarily out the windows for other cars. So did +Gatsby’s father. And as the time passed and the servants came in and +stood waiting in the hall, his eyes began to blink anxiously, and he +spoke of the rain in a worried, uncertain way. The minister glanced +several times at his watch, so I took him aside and asked him to wait +for half an hour. But it wasn’t any use. Nobody came. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +About five o’clock our procession of three cars reached the cemetery +and stopped in a thick drizzle beside the gate—first a motor hearse, +horribly black and wet, then Mr. Gatz and the minister and me in the +limousine, and a little later four or five servants and the postman +from West Egg, in Gatsby’s station wagon, all wet to the skin. As we +started through the gate into the cemetery I heard a car stop and then +the sound of someone splashing after us over the soggy ground. I +looked around. It was the man with owl-eyed glasses whom I had found +marvelling over Gatsby’s books in the library one night three months +before. + +I’d never seen him since then. I don’t know how he knew about the +funeral, or even his name. The rain poured down his thick glasses, and +he took them off and wiped them to see the protecting canvas unrolled +from Gatsby’s grave. + +I tried to think about Gatsby then for a moment, but he was already +too far away, and I could only remember, without resentment, that +Daisy hadn’t sent a message or a flower. Dimly I heard someone murmur +“Blessed are the dead that the rain falls on,” and then the owl-eyed +man said “Amen to that,” in a brave voice. + +We straggled down quickly through the rain to the cars. Owl-eyes spoke +to me by the gate. + +“I couldn’t get to the house,” he remarked. + +“Neither could anybody else.” + +“Go on!” He started. “Why, my God! they used to go there by the +hundreds.” + +He took off his glasses and wiped them again, outside and in. + +“The poor son-of-a-bitch,” he said. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +One of my most vivid memories is of coming back West from prep school +and later from college at Christmas time. Those who went farther than +Chicago would gather in the old dim Union Station at six o’clock of a +December evening, with a few Chicago friends, already caught up into +their own holiday gaieties, to bid them a hasty goodbye. I remember +the fur coats of the girls returning from Miss This-or-That’s and the +chatter of frozen breath and the hands waving overhead as we caught +sight of old acquaintances, and the matchings of invitations: “Are you +going to the Ordways’? the Herseys’? the Schultzes’?” and the long +green tickets clasped tight in our gloved hands. And last the murky +yellow cars of the Chicago, Milwaukee and St. Paul railroad looking +cheerful as Christmas itself on the tracks beside the gate. + +When we pulled out into the winter night and the real snow, our snow, +began to stretch out beside us and twinkle against the windows, and +the dim lights of small Wisconsin stations moved by, a sharp wild +brace came suddenly into the air. We drew in deep breaths of it as we +walked back from dinner through the cold vestibules, unutterably aware +of our identity with this country for one strange hour, before we +melted indistinguishably into it again. + +That’s my Middle West—not the wheat or the prairies or the lost Swede +towns, but the thrilling returning trains of my youth, and the street +lamps and sleigh bells in the frosty dark and the shadows of holly +wreaths thrown by lighted windows on the snow. I am part of that, a +little solemn with the feel of those long winters, a little complacent +from growing up in the Carraway house in a city where dwellings are +still called through decades by a family’s name. I see now that this +has been a story of the West, after all—Tom and Gatsby, Daisy and +Jordan and I, were all Westerners, and perhaps we possessed some +deficiency in common which made us subtly unadaptable to Eastern life. + +Even when the East excited me most, even when I was most keenly aware +of its superiority to the bored, sprawling, swollen towns beyond the +Ohio, with their interminable inquisitions which spared only the +children and the very old—even then it had always for me a quality of +distortion. West Egg, especially, still figures in my more fantastic +dreams. I see it as a night scene by El Greco: a hundred houses, at +once conventional and grotesque, crouching under a sullen, overhanging +sky and a lustreless moon. In the foreground four solemn men in dress +suits are walking along the sidewalk with a stretcher on which lies a +drunken woman in a white evening dress. Her hand, which dangles over +the side, sparkles cold with jewels. Gravely the men turn in at a +house—the wrong house. But no one knows the woman’s name, and no one +cares. + +After Gatsby’s death the East was haunted for me like that, distorted +beyond my eyes’ power of correction. So when the blue smoke of brittle +leaves was in the air and the wind blew the wet laundry stiff on the +line I decided to come back home. + +There was one thing to be done before I left, an awkward, unpleasant +thing that perhaps had better have been let alone. But I wanted to +leave things in order and not just trust that obliging and indifferent +sea to sweep my refuse away. I saw Jordan Baker and talked over and +around what had happened to us together, and what had happened +afterward to me, and she lay perfectly still, listening, in a big +chair. + +She was dressed to play golf, and I remember thinking she looked like +a good illustration, her chin raised a little jauntily, her hair the +colour of an autumn leaf, her face the same brown tint as the +fingerless glove on her knee. When I had finished she told me without +comment that she was engaged to another man. I doubted that, though +there were several she could have married at a nod of her head, but I +pretended to be surprised. For just a minute I wondered if I wasn’t +making a mistake, then I thought it all over again quickly and got up +to say goodbye. + +“Nevertheless you did throw me over,” said Jordan suddenly. “You threw +me over on the telephone. I don’t give a damn about you now, but it +was a new experience for me, and I felt a little dizzy for a while.” + +We shook hands. + +“Oh, and do you remember”—she added—“a conversation we had once about +driving a car?” + +“Why—not exactly.” + +“You said a bad driver was only safe until she met another bad driver? +Well, I met another bad driver, didn’t I? I mean it was careless of me +to make such a wrong guess. I thought you were rather an honest, +straightforward person. I thought it was your secret pride.” + +“I’m thirty,” I said. “I’m five years too old to lie to myself and +call it honour.” + +She didn’t answer. Angry, and half in love with her, and tremendously +sorry, I turned away. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +One afternoon late in October I saw Tom Buchanan. He was walking ahead +of me along Fifth Avenue in his alert, aggressive way, his hands out a +little from his body as if to fight off interference, his head moving +sharply here and there, adapting itself to his restless eyes. Just as +I slowed up to avoid overtaking him he stopped and began frowning into +the windows of a jewellery store. Suddenly he saw me and walked back, +holding out his hand. + +“What’s the matter, Nick? Do you object to shaking hands with me?” + +“Yes. You know what I think of you.” + +“You’re crazy, Nick,” he said quickly. “Crazy as hell. I don’t know +what’s the matter with you.” + +“Tom,” I inquired, “what did you say to Wilson that afternoon?” + +He stared at me without a word, and I knew I had guessed right about +those missing hours. I started to turn away, but he took a step after +me and grabbed my arm. + +“I told him the truth,” he said. “He came to the door while we were +getting ready to leave, and when I sent down word that we weren’t in +he tried to force his way upstairs. He was crazy enough to kill me if +I hadn’t told him who owned the car. His hand was on a revolver in his +pocket every minute he was in the house—” He broke off defiantly. +“What if I did tell him? That fellow had it coming to him. He threw +dust into your eyes just like he did in Daisy’s, but he was a tough +one. He ran over Myrtle like you’d run over a dog and never even +stopped his car.” + +There was nothing I could say, except the one unutterable fact that it +wasn’t true. + +“And if you think I didn’t have my share of suffering—look here, when +I went to give up that flat and saw that damn box of dog biscuits +sitting there on the sideboard, I sat down and cried like a baby. By +God it was awful—” + +I couldn’t forgive him or like him, but I saw that what he had done +was, to him, entirely justified. It was all very careless and +confused. They were careless people, Tom and Daisy—they smashed up +things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their +vast carelessness, or whatever it was that kept them together, and let +other people clean up the mess they had made … + +I shook hands with him; it seemed silly not to, for I felt suddenly as +though I were talking to a child. Then he went into the jewellery +store to buy a pearl necklace—or perhaps only a pair of cuff +buttons—rid of my provincial squeamishness forever. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Gatsby’s house was still empty when I left—the grass on his lawn had +grown as long as mine. One of the taxi drivers in the village never +took a fare past the entrance gate without stopping for a minute and +pointing inside; perhaps it was he who drove Daisy and Gatsby over to +East Egg the night of the accident, and perhaps he had made a story +about it all his own. I didn’t want to hear it and I avoided him when +I got off the train. + +I spent my Saturday nights in New York because those gleaming, +dazzling parties of his were with me so vividly that I could still +hear the music and the laughter, faint and incessant, from his garden, +and the cars going up and down his drive. One night I did hear a +material car there, and saw its lights stop at his front steps. But I +didn’t investigate. Probably it was some final guest who had been away +at the ends of the earth and didn’t know that the party was over. + +On the last night, with my trunk packed and my car sold to the grocer, +I went over and looked at that huge incoherent failure of a house once +more. On the white steps an obscene word, scrawled by some boy with a +piece of brick, stood out clearly in the moonlight, and I erased it, +drawing my shoe raspingly along the stone. Then I wandered down to the +beach and sprawled out on the sand. + +Most of the big shore places were closed now and there were hardly any +lights except the shadowy, moving glow of a ferryboat across the +Sound. And as the moon rose higher the inessential houses began to +melt away until gradually I became aware of the old island here that +flowered once for Dutch sailors’ eyes—a fresh, green breast of the new +world. Its vanished trees, the trees that had made way for Gatsby’s +house, had once pandered in whispers to the last and greatest of all +human dreams; for a transitory enchanted moment man must have held his +breath in the presence of this continent, compelled into an aesthetic +contemplation he neither understood nor desired, face to face for the +last time in history with something commensurate to his capacity for +wonder. + +And as I sat there brooding on the old, unknown world, I thought of +Gatsby’s wonder when he first picked out the green light at the end of +Daisy’s dock. He had come a long way to this blue lawn, and his dream +must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He +did not know that it was already behind him, somewhere back in that +vast obscurity beyond the city, where the dark fields of the republic +rolled on under the night. + +Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgiastic future that year by +year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no +matter—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms further … And +one fine morning— + +So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into +the past. + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT GATSBY *** + + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ +concept and trademark. 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If you are not located in the United States, +you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located +before using this eBook. + +Title: The iron heel + +Author: Jack London + +Release date: May 3, 2006 [eBook #1164] + Most recently updated: October 29, 2024 + +Language: English + +Credits: Donald Lainson and David Widger + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IRON HEEL *** + +[Illustration] + + + + +The Iron Heel + +by Jack London + + +Contents + + FOREWORD + I. MY EAGLE + II. CHALLENGES + III. JACKSON’S ARM + IV. SLAVES OF THE MACHINE + V. THE PHILOMATHS + VI. ADUMBRATIONS + VII. THE BISHOP’S VISION + VIII. THE MACHINE BREAKERS + IX. THE MATHEMATICS OF A DREAM + X. THE VORTEX + XI. THE GREAT ADVENTURE + XII. THE BISHOP + XIII. THE GENERAL STRIKE + XIV. THE BEGINNING OF THE END + XV. LAST DAYS + XVI. THE END + XVII. THE SCARLET LIVERY + XVIII. IN THE SHADOW OF SONOMA + XIX. TRANSFORMATION + XX. A LOST OLIGARCH + XXI. THE ROARING ABYSMAL BEAST + XXII. THE CHICAGO COMMUNE + XXIII. THE PEOPLE OF THE ABYSS + XXIV. NIGHTMARE + XXV. THE TERRORISTS + + + + +“At first, this Earth, a stage so gloomed with woe + You almost sicken at the shifting of the scenes. +And yet be patient. Our Playwright may show + In some fifth act what this Wild Drama means.” + + + + +THE IRON HEEL + + + + +FOREWORD + + +It cannot be said that the Everhard Manuscript is an important +historical document. To the historian it bristles with errors—not +errors of fact, but errors of interpretation. Looking back across the +seven centuries that have lapsed since Avis Everhard completed her +manuscript, events, and the bearings of events, that were confused and +veiled to her, are clear to us. She lacked perspective. She was too +close to the events she writes about. Nay, she was merged in the events +she has described. + +Nevertheless, as a personal document, the Everhard Manuscript is of +inestimable value. But here again enter error of perspective, and +vitiation due to the bias of love. Yet we smile, indeed, and forgive +Avis Everhard for the heroic lines upon which she modelled her husband. +We know to-day that he was not so colossal, and that he loomed among +the events of his times less largely than the Manuscript would lead us +to believe. + +We know that Ernest Everhard was an exceptionally strong man, but not +so exceptional as his wife thought him to be. He was, after all, but +one of a large number of heroes who, throughout the world, devoted +their lives to the Revolution; though it must be conceded that he did +unusual work, especially in his elaboration and interpretation of +working-class philosophy. “Proletarian science” and “proletarian +philosophy” were his phrases for it, and therein he shows the +provincialism of his mind—a defect, however, that was due to the times +and that none in that day could escape. + +But to return to the Manuscript. Especially valuable is it in +communicating to us the _feel_ of those terrible times. Nowhere do we +find more vividly portrayed the psychology of the persons that lived in +that turbulent period embraced between the years 1912 and 1932—their +mistakes and ignorance, their doubts and fears and misapprehensions, +their ethical delusions, their violent passions, their inconceivable +sordidness and selfishness. These are the things that are so hard for +us of this enlightened age to understand. History tells us that these +things were, and biology and psychology tell us why they were; but +history and biology and psychology do not make these things alive. We +accept them as facts, but we are left without sympathetic comprehension +of them. + +This sympathy comes to us, however, as we peruse the Everhard +Manuscript. We enter into the minds of the actors in that long-ago +world-drama, and for the time being their mental processes are our +mental processes. Not alone do we understand Avis Everhard’s love for +her hero-husband, but we feel, as he felt, in those first days, the +vague and terrible loom of the Oligarchy. The Iron Heel (well named) we +feel descending upon and crushing mankind. + +And in passing we note that that historic phrase, the Iron Heel, +originated in Ernest Everhard’s mind. This, we may say, is the one moot +question that this new-found document clears up. Previous to this, the +earliest-known use of the phrase occurred in the pamphlet, “Ye Slaves,” +written by George Milford and published in December, 1912. This George +Milford was an obscure agitator about whom nothing is known, save the +one additional bit of information gained from the Manuscript, which +mentions that he was shot in the Chicago Commune. Evidently he had +heard Ernest Everhard make use of the phrase in some public speech, +most probably when he was running for Congress in the fall of 1912. +From the Manuscript we learn that Everhard used the phrase at a private +dinner in the spring of 1912. This is, without discussion, the +earliest-known occasion on which the Oligarchy was so designated. + +The rise of the Oligarchy will always remain a cause of secret wonder +to the historian and the philosopher. Other great historical events +have their place in social evolution. They were inevitable. Their +coming could have been predicted with the same certitude that +astronomers to-day predict the outcome of the movements of stars. +Without these other great historical events, social evolution could not +have proceeded. Primitive communism, chattel slavery, serf slavery, and +wage slavery were necessary stepping-stones in the evolution of +society. But it were ridiculous to assert that the Iron Heel was a +necessary stepping-stone. Rather, to-day, is it adjudged a step aside, +or a step backward, to the social tyrannies that made the early world a +hell, but that were as necessary as the Iron Heel was unnecessary. + +Black as Feudalism was, yet the coming of it was inevitable. What else +than Feudalism could have followed upon the breakdown of that great +centralized governmental machine known as the Roman Empire? Not so, +however, with the Iron Heel. In the orderly procedure of social +evolution there was no place for it. It was not necessary, and it was +not inevitable. It must always remain the great curiosity of history—a +whim, a fantasy, an apparition, a thing unexpected and undreamed; and +it should serve as a warning to those rash political theorists of +to-day who speak with certitude of social processes. + +Capitalism was adjudged by the sociologists of the time to be the +culmination of bourgeois rule, the ripened fruit of the bourgeois +revolution. And we of to-day can but applaud that judgment. Following +upon Capitalism, it was held, even by such intellectual and +antagonistic giants as Herbert Spencer, that Socialism would come. Out +of the decay of self-seeking capitalism, it was held, would arise that +flower of the ages, the Brotherhood of Man. Instead of which, appalling +alike to us who look back and to those that lived at the time, +capitalism, rotten-ripe, sent forth that monstrous offshoot, the +Oligarchy. + +Too late did the socialist movement of the early twentieth century +divine the coming of the Oligarchy. Even as it was divined, the +Oligarchy was there—a fact established in blood, a stupendous and awful +reality. Nor even then, as the Everhard Manuscript well shows, was any +permanence attributed to the Iron Heel. Its overthrow was a matter of a +few short years, was the judgment of the revolutionists. It is true, +they realized that the Peasant Revolt was unplanned, and that the First +Revolt was premature; but they little realized that the Second Revolt, +planned and mature, was doomed to equal futility and more terrible +punishment. + +It is apparent that Avis Everhard completed the Manuscript during the +last days of preparation for the Second Revolt; hence the fact that +there is no mention of the disastrous outcome of the Second Revolt. It +is quite clear that she intended the Manuscript for immediate +publication, as soon as the Iron Heel was overthrown, so that her +husband, so recently dead, should receive full credit for all that he +had ventured and accomplished. Then came the frightful crushing of the +Second Revolt, and it is probable that in the moment of danger, ere she +fled or was captured by the Mercenaries, she hid the Manuscript in the +hollow oak at Wake Robin Lodge. + +Of Avis Everhard there is no further record. Undoubtedly she was +executed by the Mercenaries; and, as is well known, no record of such +executions was kept by the Iron Heel. But little did she realize, even +then, as she hid the Manuscript and prepared to flee, how terrible had +been the breakdown of the Second Revolt. Little did she realize that +the tortuous and distorted evolution of the next three centuries would +compel a Third Revolt and a Fourth Revolt, and many Revolts, all +drowned in seas of blood, ere the world-movement of labor should come +into its own. And little did she dream that for seven long centuries +the tribute of her love to Ernest Everhard would repose undisturbed in +the heart of the ancient oak of Wake Robin Lodge. + +ANTHONY MEREDITH + +ARDIS, + +November 27, 419 B.O.M. + + + + + THE IRON HEEL + + + + +CHAPTER I. +MY EAGLE + + +The soft summer wind stirs the redwoods, and Wild-Water ripples sweet +cadences over its mossy stones. There are butterflies in the sunshine, +and from everywhere arises the drowsy hum of bees. It is so quiet and +peaceful, and I sit here, and ponder, and am restless. It is the quiet +that makes me restless. It seems unreal. All the world is quiet, but it +is the quiet before the storm. I strain my ears, and all my senses, for +some betrayal of that impending storm. Oh, that it may not be +premature! That it may not be premature![1] + + [1] The Second Revolt was largely the work of Ernest Everhard, though + he coöperated, of course, with the European leaders. The capture and + secret execution of Everhard was the great event of the spring of 1932 + A.D. Yet so thoroughly had he prepared for the revolt, that his + fellow-conspirators were able, with little confusion or delay, to + carry out his plans. It was after Everhard’s execution that his wife + went to Wake Robin Lodge, a small bungalow in the Sonoma Hills of + California. + +Small wonder that I am restless. I think, and think, and I cannot cease +from thinking. I have been in the thick of life so long that I am +oppressed by the peace and quiet, and I cannot forbear from dwelling +upon that mad maelstrom of death and destruction so soon to burst +forth. In my ears are the cries of the stricken; and I can see, as I +have seen in the past,[2] all the marring and mangling of the sweet, +beautiful flesh, and the souls torn with violence from proud bodies and +hurled to God. Thus do we poor humans attain our ends, striving through +carnage and destruction to bring lasting peace and happiness upon the +earth. + + [2] Without doubt she here refers to the Chicago Commune. + +And then I am lonely. When I do not think of what is to come, I think +of what has been and is no more—my Eagle, beating with tireless wings +the void, soaring toward what was ever his sun, the flaming ideal of +human freedom. I cannot sit idly by and wait the great event that is +his making, though he is not here to see. He devoted all the years of +his manhood to it, and for it he gave his life. It is his handiwork. He +made it.[3] + + [3] With all respect to Avis Everhard, it must be pointed out that + Everhard was but one of many able leaders who planned the Second + Revolt. And we to-day, looking back across the centuries, can safely + say that even had he lived, the Second Revolt would not have been less + calamitous in its outcome than it was. + +And so it is, in this anxious time of waiting, that I shall write of my +husband. There is much light that I alone of all persons living can +throw upon his character, and so noble a character cannot be blazoned +forth too brightly. His was a great soul, and, when my love grows +unselfish, my chiefest regret is that he is not here to witness +to-morrow’s dawn. We cannot fail. He has built too stoutly and too +surely for that. Woe to the Iron Heel! Soon shall it be thrust back +from off prostrate humanity. When the word goes forth, the labor hosts +of all the world shall rise. There has been nothing like it in the +history of the world. The solidarity of labor is assured, and for the +first time will there be an international revolution wide as the world +is wide.[4] + + [4] The Second Revolt was truly international. It was a colossal + plan—too colossal to be wrought by the genius of one man alone. Labor, + in all the oligarchies of the world, was prepared to rise at the + signal. Germany, Italy, France, and all Australasia were labor + countries—socialist states. They were ready to lend aid to the + revolution. Gallantly they did; and it was for this reason, when the + Second Revolt was crushed, that they, too, were crushed by the united + oligarchies of the world, their socialist governments being replaced + by oligarchical governments. + +You see, I am full of what is impending. I have lived it day and night +utterly and for so long that it is ever present in my mind. For that +matter, I cannot think of my husband without thinking of it. He was the +soul of it, and how can I possibly separate the two in thought? + +As I have said, there is much light that I alone can throw upon his +character. It is well known that he toiled hard for liberty and +suffered sore. How hard he toiled and how greatly he suffered, I well +know; for I have been with him during these twenty anxious years and I +know his patience, his untiring effort, his infinite devotion to the +Cause for which, only two months gone, he laid down his life. + +I shall try to write simply and to tell here how Ernest Everhard +entered my life—how I first met him, how he grew until I became a part +of him, and the tremendous changes he wrought in my life. In this way +may you look at him through my eyes and learn him as I learned him—in +all save the things too secret and sweet for me to tell. + +It was in February, 1912, that I first met him, when, as a guest of my +father’s[5] at dinner, he came to our house in Berkeley. I cannot say +that my very first impression of him was favorable. He was one of many +at dinner, and in the drawing-room where we gathered and waited for all +to arrive, he made a rather incongruous appearance. It was “preacher’s +night,” as my father privately called it, and Ernest was certainly out +of place in the midst of the churchmen. + + [5] John Cunningham, Avis Everhard’s father, was a professor at the + State University at Berkeley, California. His chosen field was + physics, and in addition he did much original research and was greatly + distinguished as a scientist. His chief contribution to science was + his studies of the electron and his monumental work on the + “Identification of Matter and Energy,” wherein he established, beyond + cavil and for all time, that the ultimate unit of matter and the + ultimate unit of force were identical. This idea had been earlier + advanced, but not demonstrated, by Sir Oliver Lodge and other students + in the new field of radio-activity. + +In the first place, his clothes did not fit him. He wore a ready-made +suit of dark cloth that was ill adjusted to his body. In fact, no +ready-made suit of clothes ever could fit his body. And on this night, +as always, the cloth bulged with his muscles, while the coat between +the shoulders, what of the heavy shoulder-development, was a maze of +wrinkles. His neck was the neck of a prize-fighter,[6] thick and +strong. So this was the social philosopher and ex-horseshoer my father +had discovered, was my thought. And he certainly looked it with those +bulging muscles and that bull-throat. Immediately I classified him—a +sort of prodigy, I thought, a Blind Tom[7] of the working class. + + [6] In that day it was the custom of men to compete for purses of + money. They fought with their hands. When one was beaten into + insensibility or killed, the survivor took the money. + + [7] This obscure reference applies to a blind negro musician who took + the world by storm in the latter half of the nineteenth century of the + Christian Era. + +And then, when he shook hands with me! His handshake was firm and +strong, but he looked at me boldly with his black eyes—too boldly, I +thought. You see, I was a creature of environment, and at that time had +strong class instincts. Such boldness on the part of a man of my own +class would have been almost unforgivable. I know that I could not +avoid dropping my eyes, and I was quite relieved when I passed him on +and turned to greet Bishop Morehouse—a favorite of mine, a sweet and +serious man of middle age, Christ-like in appearance and goodness, and +a scholar as well. + +But this boldness that I took to be presumption was a vital clew to the +nature of Ernest Everhard. He was simple, direct, afraid of nothing, +and he refused to waste time on conventional mannerisms. “You pleased +me,” he explained long afterward; “and why should I not fill my eyes +with that which pleases me?” I have said that he was afraid of nothing. +He was a natural aristocrat—and this in spite of the fact that he was +in the camp of the non-aristocrats. He was a superman, a blond beast +such as Nietzsche[8] has described, and in addition he was aflame with +democracy. + + [8] Friederich Nietzsche, the mad philosopher of the nineteenth + century of the Christian Era, who caught wild glimpses of truth, but + who, before he was done, reasoned himself around the great circle of + human thought and off into madness. + +In the interest of meeting the other guests, and what of my unfavorable +impression, I forgot all about the working-class philosopher, though +once or twice at table I noticed him—especially the twinkle in his eye +as he listened to the talk first of one minister and then of another. +He has humor, I thought, and I almost forgave him his clothes. But the +time went by, and the dinner went by, and he never opened his mouth to +speak, while the ministers talked interminably about the working class +and its relation to the church, and what the church had done and was +doing for it. I noticed that my father was annoyed because Ernest did +not talk. Once father took advantage of a lull and asked him to say +something; but Ernest shrugged his shoulders and with an “I have +nothing to say” went on eating salted almonds. + +But father was not to be denied. After a while he said: + +“We have with us a member of the working class. I am sure that he can +present things from a new point of view that will be interesting and +refreshing. I refer to Mr. Everhard.” + +The others betrayed a well-mannered interest, and urged Ernest for a +statement of his views. Their attitude toward him was so broadly +tolerant and kindly that it was really patronizing. And I saw that +Ernest noted it and was amused. He looked slowly about him, and I saw +the glint of laughter in his eyes. + +“I am not versed in the courtesies of ecclesiastical controversy,” he +began, and then hesitated with modesty and indecision. + +“Go on,” they urged, and Dr. Hammerfield said: “We do not mind the +truth that is in any man. If it is sincere,” he amended. + +“Then you separate sincerity from truth?” Ernest laughed quickly. + +Dr. Hammerfield gasped, and managed to answer, “The best of us may be +mistaken, young man, the best of us.” + +Ernest’s manner changed on the instant. He became another man. + +“All right, then,” he answered; “and let me begin by saying that you +are all mistaken. You know nothing, and worse than nothing, about the +working class. Your sociology is as vicious and worthless as is your +method of thinking.” + +It was not so much what he said as how he said it. I roused at the +first sound of his voice. It was as bold as his eyes. It was a +clarion-call that thrilled me. And the whole table was aroused, shaken +alive from monotony and drowsiness. + +“What is so dreadfully vicious and worthless in our method of thinking, +young man?” Dr. Hammerfield demanded, and already there was something +unpleasant in his voice and manner of utterance. + +“You are metaphysicians. You can prove anything by metaphysics; and +having done so, every metaphysician can prove every other metaphysician +wrong—to his own satisfaction. You are anarchists in the realm of +thought. And you are mad cosmos-makers. Each of you dwells in a cosmos +of his own making, created out of his own fancies and desires. You do +not know the real world in which you live, and your thinking has no +place in the real world except in so far as it is phenomena of mental +aberration. + +“Do you know what I was reminded of as I sat at table and listened to +you talk and talk? You reminded me for all the world of the scholastics +of the Middle Ages who gravely and learnedly debated the absorbing +question of how many angels could dance on the point of a needle. Why, +my dear sirs, you are as remote from the intellectual life of the +twentieth century as an Indian medicine-man making incantation in the +primeval forest ten thousand years ago.” + +As Ernest talked he seemed in a fine passion; his face glowed, his eyes +snapped and flashed, and his chin and jaw were eloquent with +aggressiveness. But it was only a way he had. It always aroused people. +His smashing, sledge-hammer manner of attack invariably made them +forget themselves. And they were forgetting themselves now. Bishop +Morehouse was leaning forward and listening intently. Exasperation and +anger were flushing the face of Dr. Hammerfield. And others were +exasperated, too, and some were smiling in an amused and superior way. +As for myself, I found it most enjoyable. I glanced at father, and I +was afraid he was going to giggle at the effect of this human bombshell +he had been guilty of launching amongst us. + +“Your terms are rather vague,” Dr. Hammerfield interrupted. “Just +precisely what do you mean when you call us metaphysicians?” + +“I call you metaphysicians because you reason metaphysically,” Ernest +went on. “Your method of reasoning is the opposite to that of science. +There is no validity to your conclusions. You can prove everything and +nothing, and no two of you can agree upon anything. Each of you goes +into his own consciousness to explain himself and the universe. As well +may you lift yourselves by your own bootstraps as to explain +consciousness by consciousness.” + +“I do not understand,” Bishop Morehouse said. “It seems to me that all +things of the mind are metaphysical. That most exact and convincing of +all sciences, mathematics, is sheerly metaphysical. Each and every +thought-process of the scientific reasoner is metaphysical. Surely you +will agree with me?” + +“As you say, you do not understand,” Ernest replied. “The metaphysician +reasons deductively out of his own subjectivity. The scientist reasons +inductively from the facts of experience. The metaphysician reasons +from theory to facts, the scientist reasons from facts to theory. The +metaphysician explains the universe by himself, the scientist explains +himself by the universe.” + +“Thank God we are not scientists,” Dr. Hammerfield murmured +complacently. + +“What are you then?” Ernest demanded. + +“Philosophers.” + +“There you go,” Ernest laughed. “You have left the real and solid earth +and are up in the air with a word for a flying machine. Pray come down +to earth and tell me precisely what you do mean by philosophy.” + +“Philosophy is—” (Dr. Hammerfield paused and cleared his +throat)—“something that cannot be defined comprehensively except to +such minds and temperaments as are philosophical. The narrow scientist +with his nose in a test-tube cannot understand philosophy.” + +Ernest ignored the thrust. It was always his way to turn the point back +upon an opponent, and he did it now, with a beaming brotherliness of +face and utterance. + +“Then you will undoubtedly understand the definition I shall now make +of philosophy. But before I make it, I shall challenge you to point out +error in it or to remain a silent metaphysician. Philosophy is merely +the widest science of all. Its reasoning method is the same as that of +any particular science and of all particular sciences. And by that same +method of reasoning, the inductive method, philosophy fuses all +particular sciences into one great science. As Spencer says, the data +of any particular science are partially unified knowledge. Philosophy +unifies the knowledge that is contributed by all the sciences. +Philosophy is the science of science, the master science, if you +please. How do you like my definition?” + +“Very creditable, very creditable,” Dr. Hammerfield muttered lamely. + +But Ernest was merciless. + +“Remember,” he warned, “my definition is fatal to metaphysics. If you +do not now point out a flaw in my definition, you are disqualified +later on from advancing metaphysical arguments. You must go through +life seeking that flaw and remaining metaphysically silent until you +have found it.” + +Ernest waited. The silence was painful. Dr. Hammerfield was pained. He +was also puzzled. Ernest’s sledge-hammer attack disconcerted him. He +was not used to the simple and direct method of controversy. He looked +appealingly around the table, but no one answered for him. I caught +father grinning into his napkin. + +“There is another way of disqualifying the metaphysicians,” Ernest +said, when he had rendered Dr. Hammerfield’s discomfiture complete. +“Judge them by their works. What have they done for mankind beyond the +spinning of airy fancies and the mistaking of their own shadows for +gods? They have added to the gayety of mankind, I grant; but what +tangible good have they wrought for mankind? They philosophized, if you +will pardon my misuse of the word, about the heart as the seat of the +emotions, while the scientists were formulating the circulation of the +blood. They declaimed about famine and pestilence as being scourges of +God, while the scientists were building granaries and draining cities. +They builded gods in their own shapes and out of their own desires, +while the scientists were building roads and bridges. They were +describing the earth as the centre of the universe, while the +scientists were discovering America and probing space for the stars and +the laws of the stars. In short, the metaphysicians have done nothing, +absolutely nothing, for mankind. Step by step, before the advance of +science, they have been driven back. As fast as the ascertained facts +of science have overthrown their subjective explanations of things, +they have made new subjective explanations of things, including +explanations of the latest ascertained facts. And this, I doubt not, +they will go on doing to the end of time. Gentlemen, a metaphysician is +a medicine man. The difference between you and the Eskimo who makes a +fur-clad blubber-eating god is merely a difference of several thousand +years of ascertained facts. That is all.” + +“Yet the thought of Aristotle ruled Europe for twelve centuries,” Dr. +Ballingford announced pompously. “And Aristotle was a metaphysician.” + +Dr. Ballingford glanced around the table and was rewarded by nods and +smiles of approval. + +“Your illustration is most unfortunate,” Ernest replied. “You refer to +a very dark period in human history. In fact, we call that period the +Dark Ages. A period wherein science was raped by the metaphysicians, +wherein physics became a search for the Philosopher’s Stone, wherein +chemistry became alchemy, and astronomy became astrology. Sorry the +domination of Aristotle’s thought!” + +Dr. Ballingford looked pained, then he brightened up and said: + +“Granted this horrible picture you have drawn, yet you must confess +that metaphysics was inherently potent in so far as it drew humanity +out of this dark period and on into the illumination of the succeeding +centuries.” + +“Metaphysics had nothing to do with it,” Ernest retorted. + +“What?” Dr. Hammerfield cried. “It was not the thinking and the +speculation that led to the voyages of discovery?” + +“Ah, my dear sir,” Ernest smiled, “I thought you were disqualified. You +have not yet picked out the flaw in my definition of philosophy. You +are now on an unsubstantial basis. But it is the way of the +metaphysicians, and I forgive you. No, I repeat, metaphysics had +nothing to do with it. Bread and butter, silks and jewels, dollars and +cents, and, incidentally, the closing up of the overland trade-routes +to India, were the things that caused the voyages of discovery. With +the fall of Constantinople, in 1453, the Turks blocked the way of the +caravans to India. The traders of Europe had to find another route. +Here was the original cause for the voyages of discovery. Columbus +sailed to find a new route to the Indies. It is so stated in all the +history books. Incidentally, new facts were learned about the nature, +size, and form of the earth, and the Ptolemaic system went glimmering.” + +Dr. Hammerfield snorted. + +“You do not agree with me?” Ernest queried. “Then wherein am I wrong?” + +“I can only reaffirm my position,” Dr. Hammerfield retorted tartly. “It +is too long a story to enter into now.” + +“No story is too long for the scientist,” Ernest said sweetly. “That is +why the scientist gets to places. That is why he got to America.” + +I shall not describe the whole evening, though it is a joy to me to +recall every moment, every detail, of those first hours of my coming to +know Ernest Everhard. + +Battle royal raged, and the ministers grew red-faced and excited, +especially at the moments when Ernest called them romantic +philosophers, shadow-projectors, and similar things. And always he +checked them back to facts. “The fact, man, the irrefragable fact!” he +would proclaim triumphantly, when he had brought one of them a cropper. +He bristled with facts. He tripped them up with facts, ambuscaded them +with facts, bombarded them with broadsides of facts. + +“You seem to worship at the shrine of fact,” Dr. Hammerfield taunted +him. + +“There is no God but Fact, and Mr. Everhard is its prophet,” Dr. +Ballingford paraphrased. + +Ernest smilingly acquiesced. + +“I’m like the man from Texas,” he said. And, on being solicited, he +explained. “You see, the man from Missouri always says, ‘You’ve got to +show me.’ But the man from Texas says, ‘You’ve got to put it in my +hand.’ From which it is apparent that he is no metaphysician.” + +Another time, when Ernest had just said that the metaphysical +philosophers could never stand the test of truth, Dr. Hammerfield +suddenly demanded: + +“What is the test of truth, young man? Will you kindly explain what has +so long puzzled wiser heads than yours?” + +“Certainly,” Ernest answered. His cocksureness irritated them. “The +wise heads have puzzled so sorely over truth because they went up into +the air after it. Had they remained on the solid earth, they would have +found it easily enough—ay, they would have found that they themselves +were precisely testing truth with every practical act and thought of +their lives.” + +“The test, the test,” Dr. Hammerfield repeated impatiently. “Never mind +the preamble. Give us that which we have sought so long—the test of +truth. Give it us, and we will be as gods.” + +There was an impolite and sneering scepticism in his words and manner +that secretly pleased most of them at the table, though it seemed to +bother Bishop Morehouse. + +“Dr. Jordan[9] has stated it very clearly,” Ernest said. “His test of +truth is: ‘Will it work? Will you trust your life to it?’” + + [9] A noted educator of the late nineteenth and early twentieth + centuries of the Christian Era. He was president of the Stanford + University, a private benefaction of the times. + +“Pish!” Dr. Hammerfield sneered. “You have not taken Bishop +Berkeley[10] into account. He has never been answered.” + + [10] An idealistic monist who long puzzled the philosophers of that + time with his denial of the existence of matter, but whose clever + argument was finally demolished when the new empiric facts of science + were philosophically generalized. + +“The noblest metaphysician of them all,” Ernest laughed. “But your +example is unfortunate. As Berkeley himself attested, his metaphysics +didn’t work.” + +Dr. Hammerfield was angry, righteously angry. It was as though he had +caught Ernest in a theft or a lie. + +“Young man,” he trumpeted, “that statement is on a par with all you +have uttered to-night. It is a base and unwarranted assumption.” + +“I am quite crushed,” Ernest murmured meekly. “Only I don’t know what +hit me. You’ll have to put it in my hand, Doctor.” + +“I will, I will,” Dr. Hammerfield spluttered. “How do you know? You do +not know that Bishop Berkeley attested that his metaphysics did not +work. You have no proof. Young man, they have always worked.” + +“I take it as proof that Berkeley’s metaphysics did not work, because—” +Ernest paused calmly for a moment. “Because Berkeley made an invariable +practice of going through doors instead of walls. Because he trusted +his life to solid bread and butter and roast beef. Because he shaved +himself with a razor that worked when it removed the hair from his +face.” + +“But those are actual things!” Dr. Hammerfield cried. “Metaphysics is +of the mind.” + +“And they work—in the mind?” Ernest queried softly. + +The other nodded. + +“And even a multitude of angels can dance on the point of a needle—in +the mind,” Ernest went on reflectively. “And a blubber-eating, fur-clad +god can exist and work—in the mind; and there are no proofs to the +contrary—in the mind. I suppose, Doctor, you live in the mind?” + +“My mind to me a kingdom is,” was the answer. + +“That’s another way of saying that you live up in the air. But you come +back to earth at meal-time, I am sure, or when an earthquake happens +along. Or, tell me, Doctor, do you have no apprehension in an +earthquake that that incorporeal body of yours will be hit by an +immaterial brick?” + +Instantly, and quite unconsciously, Dr. Hammerfield’s hand shot up to +his head, where a scar disappeared under the hair. It happened that +Ernest had blundered on an apposite illustration. Dr. Hammerfield had +been nearly killed in the Great Earthquake[11] by a falling chimney. +Everybody broke out into roars of laughter. + + [11] The Great Earthquake of 1906 A.D. that destroyed San Francisco. + +“Well?” Ernest asked, when the merriment had subsided. “Proofs to the +contrary?” + +And in the silence he asked again, “Well?” Then he added, “Still well, +but not so well, that argument of yours.” + +But Dr. Hammerfield was temporarily crushed, and the battle raged on in +new directions. On point after point, Ernest challenged the ministers. +When they affirmed that they knew the working class, he told them +fundamental truths about the working class that they did not know, and +challenged them for disproofs. He gave them facts, always facts, +checked their excursions into the air, and brought them back to the +solid earth and its facts. + +How the scene comes back to me! I can hear him now, with that war-note +in his voice, flaying them with his facts, each fact a lash that stung +and stung again. And he was merciless. He took no quarter,[12] and gave +none. I can never forget the flaying he gave them at the end: + + [12] This figure arises from the customs of the times. When, among men + fighting to the death in their wild-animal way, a beaten man threw + down his weapons, it was at the option of the victor to slay him or + spare him. + +“You have repeatedly confessed to-night, by direct avowal or ignorant +statement, that you do not know the working class. But you are not to +be blamed for this. How can you know anything about the working class? +You do not live in the same locality with the working class. You herd +with the capitalist class in another locality. And why not? It is the +capitalist class that pays you, that feeds you, that puts the very +clothes on your backs that you are wearing to-night. And in return you +preach to your employers the brands of metaphysics that are especially +acceptable to them; and the especially acceptable brands are acceptable +because they do not menace the established order of society.” + +Here there was a stir of dissent around the table. + +“Oh, I am not challenging your sincerity,” Ernest continued. “You are +sincere. You preach what you believe. There lies your strength and your +value—to the capitalist class. But should you change your belief to +something that menaces the established order, your preaching would be +unacceptable to your employers, and you would be discharged. Every +little while some one or another of you is so discharged.[13] Am I not +right?” + + [13] During this period there were many ministers cast out of the + church for preaching unacceptable doctrine. Especially were they cast + out when their preaching became tainted with socialism. + +This time there was no dissent. They sat dumbly acquiescent, with the +exception of Dr. Hammerfield, who said: + +“It is when their thinking is wrong that they are asked to resign.” + +“Which is another way of saying when their thinking is unacceptable,” +Ernest answered, and then went on. “So I say to you, go ahead and +preach and earn your pay, but for goodness’ sake leave the working +class alone. You belong in the enemy’s camp. You have nothing in common +with the working class. Your hands are soft with the work others have +performed for you. Your stomachs are round with the plenitude of +eating.” (Here Dr. Ballingford winced, and every eye glanced at his +prodigious girth. It was said he had not seen his own feet in years.) +“And your minds are filled with doctrines that are buttresses of the +established order. You are as much mercenaries (sincere mercenaries, I +grant) as were the men of the Swiss Guard.[14] Be true to your salt and +your hire; guard, with your preaching, the interests of your employers; +but do not come down to the working class and serve as false leaders. +You cannot honestly be in the two camps at once. The working class has +done without you. Believe me, the working class will continue to do +without you. And, furthermore, the working class can do better without +you than with you.” + + [14] The hired foreign palace guards of Louis XVI, a king of France + that was beheaded by his people. + + + + +CHAPTER II. +CHALLENGES + + +After the guests had gone, father threw himself into a chair and gave +vent to roars of Gargantuan laughter. Not since the death of my mother +had I known him to laugh so heartily. + +“I’ll wager Dr. Hammerfield was never up against anything like it in +his life,” he laughed. “‘The courtesies of ecclesiastical controversy!’ +Did you notice how he began like a lamb—Everhard, I mean, and how +quickly he became a roaring lion? He has a splendidly disciplined mind. +He would have made a good scientist if his energies had been directed +that way.” + +I need scarcely say that I was deeply interested in Ernest Everhard. It +was not alone what he had said and how he had said it, but it was the +man himself. I had never met a man like him. I suppose that was why, in +spite of my twenty-four years, I had not married. I liked him; I had to +confess it to myself. And my like for him was founded on things beyond +intellect and argument. Regardless of his bulging muscles and +prize-fighter’s throat, he impressed me as an ingenuous boy. I felt +that under the guise of an intellectual swashbuckler was a delicate and +sensitive spirit. I sensed this, in ways I knew not, save that they +were my woman’s intuitions. + +There was something in that clarion-call of his that went to my heart. +It still rang in my ears, and I felt that I should like to hear it +again—and to see again that glint of laughter in his eyes that belied +the impassioned seriousness of his face. And there were further reaches +of vague and indeterminate feelings that stirred in me. I almost loved +him then, though I am confident, had I never seen him again, that the +vague feelings would have passed away and that I should easily have +forgotten him. + +But I was not destined never to see him again. My father’s new-born +interest in sociology and the dinner parties he gave would not permit. +Father was not a sociologist. His marriage with my mother had been very +happy, and in the researches of his own science, physics, he had been +very happy. But when mother died, his own work could not fill the +emptiness. At first, in a mild way, he had dabbled in philosophy; then, +becoming interested, he had drifted on into economics and sociology. He +had a strong sense of justice, and he soon became fired with a passion +to redress wrong. It was with gratitude that I hailed these signs of a +new interest in life, though I little dreamed what the outcome would +be. With the enthusiasm of a boy he plunged excitedly into these new +pursuits, regardless of whither they led him. + +He had been used always to the laboratory, and so it was that he turned +the dining room into a sociological laboratory. Here came to dinner all +sorts and conditions of men,—scientists, politicians, bankers, +merchants, professors, labor leaders, socialists, and anarchists. He +stirred them to discussion, and analyzed their thoughts of life and +society. + +He had met Ernest shortly prior to the “preacher’s night.” And after +the guests were gone, I learned how he had met him, passing down a +street at night and stopping to listen to a man on a soap-box who was +addressing a crowd of workingmen. The man on the box was Ernest. Not +that he was a mere soap-box orator. He stood high in the councils of +the socialist party, was one of the leaders, and was the acknowledged +leader in the philosophy of socialism. But he had a certain clear way +of stating the abstruse in simple language, was a born expositor and +teacher, and was not above the soap-box as a means of interpreting +economics to the workingmen. + +My father stopped to listen, became interested, effected a meeting, +and, after quite an acquaintance, invited him to the ministers’ dinner. +It was after the dinner that father told me what little he knew about +him. He had been born in the working class, though he was a descendant +of the old line of Everhards that for over two hundred years had lived +in America.[1] At ten years of age he had gone to work in the mills, +and later he served his apprenticeship and became a horseshoer. He was +self-educated, had taught himself German and French, and at that time +was earning a meagre living by translating scientific and philosophical +works for a struggling socialist publishing house in Chicago. Also, his +earnings were added to by the royalties from the small sales of his own +economic and philosophic works. + + [1] The distinction between being native born and foreign born was + sharp and invidious in those days. + +This much I learned of him before I went to bed, and I lay long awake, +listening in memory to the sound of his voice. I grew frightened at my +thoughts. He was so unlike the men of my own class, so alien and so +strong. His masterfulness delighted me and terrified me, for my fancies +wantonly roved until I found myself considering him as a lover, as a +husband. I had always heard that the strength of men was an +irresistible attraction to women; but he was too strong. “No! no!” I +cried out. “It is impossible, absurd!” And on the morrow I awoke to +find in myself a longing to see him again. I wanted to see him +mastering men in discussion, the war-note in his voice; to see him, in +all his certitude and strength, shattering their complacency, shaking +them out of their ruts of thinking. What if he did swashbuckle? To use +his own phrase, “it worked,” it produced effects. And, besides, his +swashbuckling was a fine thing to see. It stirred one like the onset of +battle. + +Several days passed during which I read Ernest’s books, borrowed from +my father. His written word was as his spoken word, clear and +convincing. It was its absolute simplicity that convinced even while +one continued to doubt. He had the gift of lucidity. He was the perfect +expositor. Yet, in spite of his style, there was much that I did not +like. He laid too great stress on what he called the class struggle, +the antagonism between labor and capital, the conflict of interest. + +Father reported with glee Dr. Hammerfield’s judgment of Ernest, which +was to the effect that he was “an insolent young puppy, made bumptious +by a little and very inadequate learning.” Also, Dr. Hammerfield +declined to meet Ernest again. + +But Bishop Morehouse turned out to have become interested in Ernest, +and was anxious for another meeting. “A strong young man,” he said; +“and very much alive, very much alive. But he is too sure, too sure.” + +Ernest came one afternoon with father. The Bishop had already arrived, +and we were having tea on the veranda. Ernest’s continued presence in +Berkeley, by the way, was accounted for by the fact that he was taking +special courses in biology at the university, and also that he was hard +at work on a new book entitled “Philosophy and Revolution.”[2] + + [2] This book continued to be secretly printed throughout the three + centuries of the Iron Heel. There are several copies of various + editions in the National Library of Ardis. + +The veranda seemed suddenly to have become small when Ernest arrived. +Not that he was so very large—he stood only five feet nine inches; but +that he seemed to radiate an atmosphere of largeness. As he stopped to +meet me, he betrayed a certain slight awkwardness that was strangely at +variance with his bold-looking eyes and his firm, sure hand that +clasped for a moment in greeting. And in that moment his eyes were just +as steady and sure. There seemed a question in them this time, and as +before he looked at me over long. + +“I have been reading your ‘Working-class Philosophy,’” I said, and his +eyes lighted in a pleased way. + +“Of course,” he answered, “you took into consideration the audience to +which it was addressed.” + +“I did, and it is because I did that I have a quarrel with you,” I +challenged. + +“I, too, have a quarrel with you, Mr. Everhard,” Bishop Morehouse said. + +Ernest shrugged his shoulders whimsically and accepted a cup of tea. + +The Bishop bowed and gave me precedence. + +“You foment class hatred,” I said. “I consider it wrong and criminal to +appeal to all that is narrow and brutal in the working class. Class +hatred is anti-social, and, it seems to me, anti-socialistic.” + +“Not guilty,” he answered. “Class hatred is neither in the text nor in +the spirit of anything I have ever written.” + +“Oh!” I cried reproachfully, and reached for his book and opened it. + +He sipped his tea and smiled at me while I ran over the pages. + +“Page one hundred and thirty-two,” I read aloud: “‘The class struggle, +therefore, presents itself in the present stage of social development +between the wage-paying and the wage-paid classes.’” + +I looked at him triumphantly. + +“No mention there of class hatred,” he smiled back. + +“But,” I answered, “you say ‘class struggle.’” + +“A different thing from class hatred,” he replied. “And, believe me, we +foment no hatred. We say that the class struggle is a law of social +development. We are not responsible for it. We do not make the class +struggle. We merely explain it, as Newton explained gravitation. We +explain the nature of the conflict of interest that produces the class +struggle.” + +“But there should be no conflict of interest!” I cried. + +“I agree with you heartily,” he answered. “That is what we socialists +are trying to bring about,—the abolition of the conflict of interest. +Pardon me. Let me read an extract.” He took his book and turned back +several pages. “Page one hundred and twenty-six: ‘The cycle of class +struggles which began with the dissolution of rude, tribal communism +and the rise of private property will end with the passing of private +property in the means of social existence.’” + +“But I disagree with you,” the Bishop interposed, his pale, ascetic +face betraying by a faint glow the intensity of his feelings. “Your +premise is wrong. There is no such thing as a conflict of interest +between labor and capital—or, rather, there ought not to be.” + +“Thank you,” Ernest said gravely. “By that last statement you have +given me back my premise.” + +“But why should there be a conflict?” the Bishop demanded warmly. + +Ernest shrugged his shoulders. “Because we are so made, I guess.” + +“But we are not so made!” cried the other. + +“Are you discussing the ideal man?” Ernest asked, “—unselfish and +godlike, and so few in numbers as to be practically non-existent, or +are you discussing the common and ordinary average man?” + +“The common and ordinary man,” was the answer. + +“Who is weak and fallible, prone to error?” + +Bishop Morehouse nodded. + +“And petty and selfish?” + +Again he nodded. + +“Watch out!” Ernest warned. “I said ‘selfish.’” + +“The average man IS selfish,” the Bishop affirmed valiantly. + +“Wants all he can get?” + +“Wants all he can get—true but deplorable.” + +“Then I’ve got you.” Ernest’s jaw snapped like a trap. “Let me show +you. Here is a man who works on the street railways.” + +“He couldn’t work if it weren’t for capital,” the Bishop interrupted. + +“True, and you will grant that capital would perish if there were no +labor to earn the dividends.” + +The Bishop was silent. + +“Won’t you?” Ernest insisted. + +The Bishop nodded. + +“Then our statements cancel each other,” Ernest said in a +matter-of-fact tone, “and we are where we were. Now to begin again. The +workingmen on the street railway furnish the labor. The stockholders +furnish the capital. By the joint effort of the workingmen and the +capital, money is earned.[3] They divide between them this money that +is earned. Capital’s share is called ‘dividends.’ Labor’s share is +called ‘wages.’” + + [3] In those days, groups of predatory individuals controlled all the + means of transportation, and for the use of same levied toll upon the + public. + +“Very good,” the Bishop interposed. “And there is no reason that the +division should not be amicable.” + +“You have already forgotten what we had agreed upon,” Ernest replied. +“We agreed that the average man is selfish. He is the man that is. You +have gone up in the air and are arranging a division between the kind +of men that ought to be but are not. But to return to the earth, the +workingman, being selfish, wants all he can get in the division. The +capitalist, being selfish, wants all he can get in the division. When +there is only so much of the same thing, and when two men want all they +can get of the same thing, there is a conflict of interest between +labor and capital. And it is an irreconcilable conflict. As long as +workingmen and capitalists exist, they will continue to quarrel over +the division. If you were in San Francisco this afternoon, you’d have +to walk. There isn’t a street car running.” + +“Another strike?”[4] the Bishop queried with alarm. + + [4] These quarrels were very common in those irrational and anarchic + times. Sometimes the laborers refused to work. Sometimes the + capitalists refused to let the laborers work. In the violence and + turbulence of such disagreements much property was destroyed and many + lives lost. All this is inconceivable to us—as inconceivable as + another custom of that time, namely, the habit the men of the lower + classes had of breaking the furniture when they quarrelled with their + wives. + +“Yes, they’re quarrelling over the division of the earnings of the +street railways.” + +Bishop Morehouse became excited. + +“It is wrong!” he cried. “It is so short-sighted on the part of the +workingmen. How can they hope to keep our sympathy—” + +“When we are compelled to walk,” Ernest said slyly. + +But Bishop Morehouse ignored him and went on: + +“Their outlook is too narrow. Men should be men, not brutes. There will +be violence and murder now, and sorrowing widows and orphans. Capital +and labor should be friends. They should work hand in hand and to their +mutual benefit.” + +“Ah, now you are up in the air again,” Ernest remarked dryly. “Come +back to earth. Remember, we agreed that the average man is selfish.” + +“But he ought not to be!” the Bishop cried. + +“And there I agree with you,” was Ernest’s rejoinder. “He ought not to +be selfish, but he will continue to be selfish as long as he lives in a +social system that is based on pig-ethics.” + +The Bishop was aghast, and my father chuckled. + +“Yes, pig-ethics,” Ernest went on remorselessly. “That is the meaning +of the capitalist system. And that is what your church is standing for, +what you are preaching for every time you get up in the pulpit. +Pig-ethics! There is no other name for it.” + +Bishop Morehouse turned appealingly to my father, but he laughed and +nodded his head. + +“I’m afraid Mr. Everhard is right,” he said. “_Laissez-faire_, the +let-alone policy of each for himself and devil take the hindmost. As +Mr. Everhard said the other night, the function you churchmen perform +is to maintain the established order of society, and society is +established on that foundation.” + +“But that is not the teaching of Christ!” cried the Bishop. + +“The Church is not teaching Christ these days,” Ernest put in quickly. +“That is why the workingmen will have nothing to do with the Church. +The Church condones the frightful brutality and savagery with which the +capitalist class treats the working class.” + +“The Church does not condone it,” the Bishop objected. + +“The Church does not protest against it,” Ernest replied. “And in so +far as the Church does not protest, it condones, for remember the +Church is supported by the capitalist class.” + +“I had not looked at it in that light,” the Bishop said naively. “You +must be wrong. I know that there is much that is sad and wicked in this +world. I know that the Church has lost the—what you call the +proletariat.”[5] + + [5] _Proletariat:_ Derived originally from the Latin _proletarii_, the + name given in the census of Servius Tullius to those who were of value + to the state only as the rearers of offspring (_proles_); in other + words, they were of no importance either for wealth, or position, or + exceptional ability. + +“You never had the proletariat,” Ernest cried. “The proletariat has +grown up outside the Church and without the Church.” + +“I do not follow you,” the Bishop said faintly. + +“Then let me explain. With the introduction of machinery and the +factory system in the latter part of the eighteenth century, the great +mass of the working people was separated from the land. The old system +of labor was broken down. The working people were driven from their +villages and herded in factory towns. The mothers and children were put +to work at the new machines. Family life ceased. The conditions were +frightful. It is a tale of blood.” + +“I know, I know,” Bishop Morehouse interrupted with an agonized +expression on his face. “It was terrible. But it occurred a century and +a half ago.” + +“And there, a century and a half ago, originated the modern +proletariat,” Ernest continued. “And the Church ignored it. While a +slaughter-house was made of the nation by the capitalist, the Church +was dumb. It did not protest, as to-day it does not protest. As Austin +Lewis[6] says, speaking of that time, those to whom the command ‘Feed +my lambs’ had been given, saw those lambs sold into slavery and worked +to death without a protest.[7] The Church was dumb, then, and before I +go on I want you either flatly to agree with me or flatly to disagree +with me. Was the Church dumb then?” + + [6] Candidate for Governor of California on the Socialist ticket in + the fall election of 1906 Christian Era. An Englishman by birth, a + writer of many books on political economy and philosophy, and one of + the Socialist leaders of the times. + + [7] There is no more horrible page in history than the treatment of + the child and women slaves in the English factories in the latter half + of the eighteenth century of the Christian Era. In such industrial + hells arose some of the proudest fortunes of that day. + +Bishop Morehouse hesitated. Like Dr. Hammerfield, he was unused to this +fierce “infighting,” as Ernest called it. + +“The history of the eighteenth century is written,” Ernest prompted. +“If the Church was not dumb, it will be found not dumb in the books.” + +“I am afraid the Church was dumb,” the Bishop confessed. + +“And the Church is dumb to-day.” + +“There I disagree,” said the Bishop. + +Ernest paused, looked at him searchingly, and accepted the challenge. + +“All right,” he said. “Let us see. In Chicago there are women who toil +all the week for ninety cents. Has the Church protested?” + +“This is news to me,” was the answer. “Ninety cents per week! It is +horrible!” + +“Has the Church protested?” Ernest insisted. + +“The Church does not know.” The Bishop was struggling hard. + +“Yet the command to the Church was, ‘Feed my lambs,’” Ernest sneered. +And then, the next moment, “Pardon my sneer, Bishop. But can you wonder +that we lose patience with you? When have you protested to your +capitalistic congregations at the working of children in the Southern +cotton mills?[8] Children, six and seven years of age, working every +night at twelve-hour shifts? They never see the blessed sunshine. They +die like flies. The dividends are paid out of their blood. And out of +the dividends magnificent churches are builded in New England, wherein +your kind preaches pleasant platitudes to the sleek, full-bellied +recipients of those dividends.” + + [8] Everhard might have drawn a better illustration from the Southern + Church’s outspoken defence of chattel slavery prior to what is known + as the “War of the Rebellion.” Several such illustrations, culled from + the documents of the times, are here appended. In 1835 A.D., the + General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church resolved that: “_slavery + is recognized in both the Old and the New Testaments, and is not + condemned by the authority of God._” The Charleston Baptist + Association issued the following, in an address, in 1835 A.D.: “_The + right of masters to dispose of the time of their slaves has been + distinctly recognized by the Creator of all things, who is surely at + liberty to vest the right of property over any object whomsoever He + pleases._” The Rev. E. D. Simon, Doctor of Divinity and professor in + the Randolph-Macon Methodist College of Virginia, wrote: “_Extracts + from Holy Writ unequivocally assert the right of property in slaves, + together with the usual incidents to that right. The right to buy and + sell is clearly stated. Upon the whole, then, whether we consult the + Jewish policy instituted by God himself, or the uniform opinion and + practice of mankind in all ages, or the injunctions of the New + Testament and the moral law, we are brought to the conclusion that + slavery is not immoral. Having established the point that the first + African slaves were legally brought into bondage, the right to detain + their children in bondage follows as an indispensable consequence. + Thus we see that the slavery that exists in America was founded in + right._” + It is not at all remarkable that this same note should have been + struck by the Church a generation or so later in relation to the + defence of capitalistic property. In the great museum at Asgard + there is a book entitled “Essays in Application,” written by Henry + van Dyke. The book was published in 1905 of the Christian Era. From + what we can make out, Van Dyke must have been a churchman. The book + is a good example of what Everhard would have called bourgeois + thinking. Note the similarity between the utterance of the + Charleston Baptist Association quoted above, and the following + utterance of Van Dyke seventy years later: “_The Bible teaches that + God owns the world. He distributes to every man according to His + own good pleasure, conformably to general laws._” + +“I did not know,” the Bishop murmured faintly. His face was pale, and +he seemed suffering from nausea. + +“Then you have not protested?” + +The Bishop shook his head. + +“Then the Church is dumb to-day, as it was in the eighteenth century?” + +The Bishop was silent, and for once Ernest forbore to press the point. + +“And do not forget, whenever a churchman does protest, that he is +discharged.” + +“I hardly think that is fair,” was the objection. + +“Will you protest?” Ernest demanded. + +“Show me evils, such as you mention, in our own community, and I will +protest.” + +“I’ll show you,” Ernest said quietly. “I am at your disposal. I will +take you on a journey through hell.” + +“And I shall protest.” The Bishop straightened himself in his chair, +and over his gentle face spread the harshness of the warrior. “The +Church shall not be dumb!” + +“You will be discharged,” was the warning. + +“I shall prove the contrary,” was the retort. “I shall prove, if what +you say is so, that the Church has erred through ignorance. And, +furthermore, I hold that whatever is horrible in industrial society is +due to the ignorance of the capitalist class. It will mend all that is +wrong as soon as it receives the message. And this message it shall be +the duty of the Church to deliver.” + +Ernest laughed. He laughed brutally, and I was driven to the Bishop’s +defence. + +“Remember,” I said, “you see but one side of the shield. There is much +good in us, though you give us credit for no good at all. Bishop +Morehouse is right. The industrial wrong, terrible as you say it is, is +due to ignorance. The divisions of society have become too widely +separated.” + +“The wild Indian is not so brutal and savage as the capitalist class,” +he answered; and in that moment I hated him. + +“You do not know us,” I answered. “We are not brutal and savage.” + +“Prove it,” he challenged. + +“How can I prove it . . . to you?” I was growing angry. + +He shook his head. “I do not ask you to prove it to me. I ask you to +prove it to yourself.” + +“I know,” I said. + +“You know nothing,” was his rude reply. + +“There, there, children,” father said soothingly. + +“I don’t care—” I began indignantly, but Ernest interrupted. + +“I understand you have money, or your father has, which is the same +thing—money invested in the Sierra Mills.” + +“What has that to do with it?” I cried. + +“Nothing much,” he began slowly, “except that the gown you wear is +stained with blood. The food you eat is a bloody stew. The blood of +little children and of strong men is dripping from your very +roof-beams. I can close my eyes, now, and hear it drip, drop, drip, +drop, all about me.” + +And suiting the action to the words, he closed his eyes and leaned back +in his chair. I burst into tears of mortification and hurt vanity. I +had never been so brutally treated in my life. Both the Bishop and my +father were embarrassed and perturbed. They tried to lead the +conversation away into easier channels; but Ernest opened his eyes, +looked at me, and waved them aside. His mouth was stern, and his eyes +too; and in the latter there was no glint of laughter. What he was +about to say, what terrible castigation he was going to give me, I +never knew; for at that moment a man, passing along the sidewalk, +stopped and glanced in at us. He was a large man, poorly dressed, and +on his back was a great load of rattan and bamboo stands, chairs, and +screens. He looked at the house as if debating whether or not he should +come in and try to sell some of his wares. + +“That man’s name is Jackson,” Ernest said. + +“With that strong body of his he should be at work, and not +peddling,”[9] I answered curtly. + + [9] In that day there were many thousands of these poor merchants + called _pedlers_. They carried their whole stock in trade from door to + door. It was a most wasteful expenditure of energy. Distribution was + as confused and irrational as the whole general system of society. + +“Notice the sleeve of his left arm,” Ernest said gently. + +I looked, and saw that the sleeve was empty. + +“It was some of the blood from that arm that I heard dripping from your +roof-beams,” Ernest said with continued gentleness. “He lost his arm in +the Sierra Mills, and like a broken-down horse you turned him out on +the highway to die. When I say ‘you,’ I mean the superintendent and the +officials that you and the other stockholders pay to manage the mills +for you. It was an accident. It was caused by his trying to save the +company a few dollars. The toothed drum of the picker caught his arm. +He might have let the small flint that he saw in the teeth go through. +It would have smashed out a double row of spikes. But he reached for +the flint, and his arm was picked and clawed to shreds from the finger +tips to the shoulder. It was at night. The mills were working overtime. +They paid a fat dividend that quarter. Jackson had been working many +hours, and his muscles had lost their resiliency and snap. They made +his movements a bit slow. That was why the machine caught him. He had a +wife and three children.” + +“And what did the company do for him?” I asked. + +“Nothing. Oh, yes, they did do something. They successfully fought the +damage suit he brought when he came out of hospital. The company +employs very efficient lawyers, you know.” + +“You have not told the whole story,” I said with conviction. “Or else +you do not know the whole story. Maybe the man was insolent.” + +“Insolent! Ha! ha!” His laughter was Mephistophelian. “Great God! +Insolent! And with his arm chewed off! Nevertheless he was a meek and +lowly servant, and there is no record of his having been insolent.” + +“But the courts,” I urged. “The case would not have been decided +against him had there been no more to the affair than you have +mentioned.” + +“Colonel Ingram is leading counsel for the company. He is a shrewd +lawyer.” Ernest looked at me intently for a moment, then went on. “I’ll +tell you what you do, Miss Cunningham. You investigate Jackson’s case.” + +“I had already determined to,” I said coldly. + +“All right,” he beamed good-naturedly, “and I’ll tell you where to find +him. But I tremble for you when I think of all you are to prove by +Jackson’s arm.” + +And so it came about that both the Bishop and I accepted Ernest’s +challenges. They went away together, leaving me smarting with a sense +of injustice that had been done me and my class. The man was a beast. I +hated him, then, and consoled myself with the thought that his behavior +was what was to be expected from a man of the working class. + + + + +CHAPTER III. +JACKSON’S ARM + + +Little did I dream the fateful part Jackson’s arm was to play in my +life. Jackson himself did not impress me when I hunted him out. I found +him in a crazy, ramshackle[1] house down near the bay on the edge of +the marsh. Pools of stagnant water stood around the house, their +surfaces covered with a green and putrid-looking scum, while the stench +that arose from them was intolerable. + + [1] An adjective descriptive of ruined and dilapidated houses in which + great numbers of the working people found shelter in those days. They + invariably paid rent, and, considering the value of such houses, + enormous rent, to the landlords. + +I found Jackson the meek and lowly man he had been described. He was +making some sort of rattan-work, and he toiled on stolidly while I +talked with him. But in spite of his meekness and lowliness, I fancied +I caught the first note of a nascent bitterness in him when he said: + +“They might a-given me a job as watchman,[2] anyway.” + + [2] In those days thievery was incredibly prevalent. Everybody stole + property from everybody else. The lords of society stole legally or + else legalized their stealing, while the poorer classes stole + illegally. Nothing was safe unless guarded. Enormous numbers of men + were employed as watchmen to protect property. The houses of the + well-to-do were a combination of safe deposit vault and fortress. The + appropriation of the personal belongings of others by our own children + of to-day is looked upon as a rudimentary survival of the + theft-characteristic that in those early times was universal. + +I got little out of him. He struck me as stupid, and yet the deftness +with which he worked with his one hand seemed to belie his stupidity. +This suggested an idea to me. + +“How did you happen to get your arm caught in the machine?” I asked. + +He looked at me in a slow and pondering way, and shook his head. “I +don’t know. It just happened.” + +“Carelessness?” I prompted. + +“No,” he answered, “I ain’t for callin’ it that. I was workin’ +overtime, an’ I guess I was tired out some. I worked seventeen years in +them mills, an’ I’ve took notice that most of the accidents happens +just before whistle-blow.[3] I’m willin’ to bet that more accidents +happens in the hour before whistle-blow than in all the rest of the +day. A man ain’t so quick after workin’ steady for hours. I’ve seen too +many of ’em cut up an’ gouged an’ chawed not to know.” + + [3] The laborers were called to work and dismissed by savage, + screaming, nerve-racking steam-whistles. + +“Many of them?” I queried. + +“Hundreds an’ hundreds, an’ children, too.” + +With the exception of the terrible details, Jackson’s story of his +accident was the same as that I had already heard. When I asked him if +he had broken some rule of working the machinery, he shook his head. + +“I chucked off the belt with my right hand,” he said, “an’ made a reach +for the flint with my left. I didn’t stop to see if the belt was off. I +thought my right hand had done it—only it didn’t. I reached quick, and +the belt wasn’t all the way off. And then my arm was chewed off.” + +“It must have been painful,” I said sympathetically. + +“The crunchin’ of the bones wasn’t nice,” was his answer. + +His mind was rather hazy concerning the damage suit. Only one thing was +clear to him, and that was that he had not got any damages. He had a +feeling that the testimony of the foremen and the superintendent had +brought about the adverse decision of the court. Their testimony, as he +put it, “wasn’t what it ought to have ben.” And to them I resolved to +go. + +One thing was plain, Jackson’s situation was wretched. His wife was in +ill health, and he was unable to earn, by his rattan-work and peddling, +sufficient food for the family. He was back in his rent, and the oldest +boy, a lad of eleven, had started to work in the mills. + +“They might a-given me that watchman’s job,” were his last words as I +went away. + +By the time I had seen the lawyer who had handled Jackson’s case, and +the two foremen and the superintendent at the mills who had testified, +I began to feel that there was something after all in Ernest’s +contention. + +He was a weak and inefficient-looking man, the lawyer, and at sight of +him I did not wonder that Jackson’s case had been lost. My first +thought was that it had served Jackson right for getting such a lawyer. +But the next moment two of Ernest’s statements came flashing into my +consciousness: “The company employs very efficient lawyers” and +“Colonel Ingram is a shrewd lawyer.” I did some rapid thinking. It +dawned upon me that of course the company could afford finer legal +talent than could a workingman like Jackson. But this was merely a +minor detail. There was some very good reason, I was sure, why +Jackson’s case had gone against him. + +“Why did you lose the case?” I asked. + +The lawyer was perplexed and worried for a moment, and I found it in my +heart to pity the wretched little creature. Then he began to whine. I +do believe his whine was congenital. He was a man beaten at birth. He +whined about the testimony. The witnesses had given only the evidence +that helped the other side. Not one word could he get out of them that +would have helped Jackson. They knew which side their bread was +buttered on. Jackson was a fool. He had been brow-beaten and confused +by Colonel Ingram. Colonel Ingram was brilliant at cross-examination. +He had made Jackson answer damaging questions. + +“How could his answers be damaging if he had the right on his side?” I +demanded. + +“What’s right got to do with it?” he demanded back. “You see all those +books.” He moved his hand over the array of volumes on the walls of his +tiny office. “All my reading and studying of them has taught me that +law is one thing and right is another thing. Ask any lawyer. You go to +Sunday-school to learn what is right. But you go to those books to +learn . . . law.” + +“Do you mean to tell me that Jackson had the right on his side and yet +was beaten?” I queried tentatively. “Do you mean to tell me that there +is no justice in Judge Caldwell’s court?” + +The little lawyer glared at me a moment, and then the belligerence +faded out of his face. + +“I hadn’t a fair chance,” he began whining again. “They made a fool out +of Jackson and out of me, too. What chance had I? Colonel Ingram is a +great lawyer. If he wasn’t great, would he have charge of the law +business of the Sierra Mills, of the Erston Land Syndicate, of the +Berkeley Consolidated, of the Oakland, San Leandro, and Pleasanton +Electric? He’s a corporation lawyer, and corporation lawyers are not +paid for being fools.[4] What do you think the Sierra Mills alone give +him twenty thousand dollars a year for? Because he’s worth twenty +thousand dollars a year to them, that’s what for. I’m not worth that +much. If I was, I wouldn’t be on the outside, starving and taking cases +like Jackson’s. What do you think I’d have got if I’d won Jackson’s +case?” + + [4] The function of the corporation lawyer was to serve, by corrupt + methods, the money-grabbing propensities of the corporations. It is on + record that Theodore Roosevelt, at that time President of the United + States, said in 1905 A.D., in his address at Harvard Commencement: + “_We all know that, as things actually are, many of the most + influential and most highly remunerated members of the Bar in every + centre of wealth, make it their special task to work out bold and + ingenious schemes by which their wealthy clients, individual or + corporate, can evade the laws which were made to regulate, in the + interests of the public, the uses of great wealth._” + +“You’d have robbed him, most probably,” I answered. + +“Of course I would,” he cried angrily. “I’ve got to live, haven’t +I?”[5] + + [5] A typical illustration of the internecine strife that permeated + all society. Men preyed upon one another like ravening wolves. The big + wolves ate the little wolves, and in the social pack Jackson was one + of the least of the little wolves. + +“He has a wife and children,” I chided. + +“So have I a wife and children,” he retorted. “And there’s not a soul +in this world except myself that cares whether they starve or not.” + +His face suddenly softened, and he opened his watch and showed me a +small photograph of a woman and two little girls pasted inside the +case. + +“There they are. Look at them. We’ve had a hard time, a hard time. I +had hoped to send them away to the country if I’d won Jackson’s case. +They’re not healthy here, but I can’t afford to send them away.” + +When I started to leave, he dropped back into his whine. + +“I hadn’t the ghost of a chance. Colonel Ingram and Judge Caldwell are +pretty friendly. I’m not saying that if I’d got the right kind of +testimony out of their witnesses on cross-examination, that friendship +would have decided the case. And yet I must say that Judge Caldwell did +a whole lot to prevent my getting that very testimony. Why, Judge +Caldwell and Colonel Ingram belong to the same lodge and the same club. +They live in the same neighborhood—one I can’t afford. And their wives +are always in and out of each other’s houses. They’re always having +whist parties and such things back and forth.” + +“And yet you think Jackson had the right of it?” I asked, pausing for +the moment on the threshold. + +“I don’t think; I know it,” was his answer. “And at first I thought he +had some show, too. But I didn’t tell my wife. I didn’t want to +disappoint her. She had her heart set on a trip to the country hard +enough as it was.” + +“Why did you not call attention to the fact that Jackson was trying to +save the machinery from being injured?” I asked Peter Donnelly, one of +the foremen who had testified at the trial. + +He pondered a long time before replying. Then he cast an anxious look +about him and said: + +“Because I’ve a good wife an’ three of the sweetest children ye ever +laid eyes on, that’s why.” + +“I do not understand,” I said. + +“In other words, because it wouldn’t a-ben healthy,” he answered. + +“You mean—” I began. + +But he interrupted passionately. + +“I mean what I said. It’s long years I’ve worked in the mills. I began +as a little lad on the spindles. I worked up ever since. It’s by hard +work I got to my present exalted position. I’m a foreman, if you +please. An’ I doubt me if there’s a man in the mills that’d put out a +hand to drag me from drownin’. I used to belong to the union. But I’ve +stayed by the company through two strikes. They called me ‘scab.’ +There’s not a man among ’em to-day to take a drink with me if I asked +him. D’ye see the scars on me head where I was struck with flying +bricks? There ain’t a child at the spindles but what would curse me +name. Me only friend is the company. It’s not me duty, but me bread an’ +butter an’ the life of me children to stand by the mills. That’s why.” + +“Was Jackson to blame?” I asked. + +“He should a-got the damages. He was a good worker an’ never made +trouble.” + +“Then you were not at liberty to tell the whole truth, as you had sworn +to do?” + +He shook his head. + +“The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?” I said +solemnly. + +Again his face became impassioned, and he lifted it, not to me, but to +heaven. + +“I’d let me soul an’ body burn in everlastin’ hell for them children of +mine,” was his answer. + +Henry Dallas, the superintendent, was a vulpine-faced creature who +regarded me insolently and refused to talk. Not a word could I get from +him concerning the trial and his testimony. But with the other foreman +I had better luck. James Smith was a hard-faced man, and my heart sank +as I encountered him. He, too, gave me the impression that he was not a +free agent, and as we talked I began to see that he was mentally +superior to the average of his kind. He agreed with Peter Donnelly that +Jackson should have got damages, and he went farther and called the +action heartless and cold-blooded that had turned the worker adrift +after he had been made helpless by the accident. Also, he explained +that there were many accidents in the mills, and that the company’s +policy was to fight to the bitter end all consequent damage suits. + +“It means hundreds of thousands a year to the stockholders,” he said; +and as he spoke I remembered the last dividend that had been paid my +father, and the pretty gown for me and the books for him that had been +bought out of that dividend. I remembered Ernest’s charge that my gown +was stained with blood, and my flesh began to crawl underneath my +garments. + +“When you testified at the trial, you didn’t point out that Jackson +received his accident through trying to save the machinery from +damage?” I said. + +“No, I did not,” was the answer, and his mouth set bitterly. “I +testified to the effect that Jackson injured himself by neglect and +carelessness, and that the company was not in any way to blame or +liable.” + +“Was it carelessness?” I asked. + +“Call it that, or anything you want to call it. The fact is, a man gets +tired after he’s been working for hours.” + +I was becoming interested in the man. He certainly was of a superior +kind. + +“You are better educated than most workingmen,” I said. + +“I went through high school,” he replied. “I worked my way through +doing janitor-work. I wanted to go through the university. But my +father died, and I came to work in the mills. + +“I wanted to become a naturalist,” he explained shyly, as though +confessing a weakness. “I love animals. But I came to work in the +mills. When I was promoted to foreman I got married, then the family +came, and . . . well, I wasn’t my own boss any more.” + +“What do you mean by that?” I asked. + +“I was explaining why I testified at the trial the way I did—why I +followed instructions.” + +“Whose instructions?” + +“Colonel Ingram. He outlined the evidence I was to give.” + +“And it lost Jackson’s case for him.” + +He nodded, and the blood began to rise darkly in his face. + +“And Jackson had a wife and two children dependent on him.” + +“I know,” he said quietly, though his face was growing darker. + +“Tell me,” I went on, “was it easy to make yourself over from what you +were, say in high school, to the man you must have become to do such a +thing at the trial?” + +The suddenness of his outburst startled and frightened me. He ripped[6] +out a savage oath, and clenched his fist as though about to strike me. + + [6] It is interesting to note the virilities of language that were + common speech in that day, as indicative of the life, ‘red of claw and + fang,’ that was then lived. Reference is here made, of course, not to + the oath of Smith, but to the verb _ripped_ used by Avis Everhard. + +“I beg your pardon,” he said the next moment. “No, it was not easy. And +now I guess you can go away. You’ve got all you wanted out of me. But +let me tell you this before you go. It won’t do you any good to repeat +anything I’ve said. I’ll deny it, and there are no witnesses. I’ll deny +every word of it; and if I have to, I’ll do it under oath on the +witness stand.” + +After my interview with Smith I went to my father’s office in the +Chemistry Building and there encountered Ernest. It was quite +unexpected, but he met me with his bold eyes and firm hand-clasp, and +with that curious blend of his awkwardness and ease. It was as though +our last stormy meeting was forgotten; but I was not in the mood to +have it forgotten. + +“I have been looking up Jackson’s case,” I said abruptly. + +He was all interested attention, and waited for me to go on, though I +could see in his eyes the certitude that my convictions had been +shaken. + +“He seems to have been badly treated,” I confessed. “I—I—think some of +his blood is dripping from our roof-beams.” + +“Of course,” he answered. “If Jackson and all his fellows were treated +mercifully, the dividends would not be so large.” + +“I shall never be able to take pleasure in pretty gowns again,” I +added. + +I felt humble and contrite, and was aware of a sweet feeling that +Ernest was a sort of father confessor. Then, as ever after, his +strength appealed to me. It seemed to radiate a promise of peace and +protection. + +“Nor will you be able to take pleasure in sackcloth,” he said gravely. +“There are the jute mills, you know, and the same thing goes on there. +It goes on everywhere. Our boasted civilization is based upon blood, +soaked in blood, and neither you nor I nor any of us can escape the +scarlet stain. The men you talked with—who were they?” + +I told him all that had taken place. + +“And not one of them was a free agent,” he said. “They were all tied to +the merciless industrial machine. And the pathos of it and the tragedy +is that they are tied by their heartstrings. Their children—always the +young life that it is their instinct to protect. This instinct is +stronger than any ethic they possess. My father! He lied, he stole, he +did all sorts of dishonorable things to put bread into my mouth and +into the mouths of my brothers and sisters. He was a slave to the +industrial machine, and it stamped his life out, worked him to death.” + +“But you,” I interjected. “You are surely a free agent.” + +“Not wholly,” he replied. “I am not tied by my heartstrings. I am often +thankful that I have no children, and I dearly love children. Yet if I +married I should not dare to have any.” + +“That surely is bad doctrine,” I cried. + +“I know it is,” he said sadly. “But it is expedient doctrine. I am a +revolutionist, and it is a perilous vocation.” + +I laughed incredulously. + +“If I tried to enter your father’s house at night to steal his +dividends from the Sierra Mills, what would he do?” + +“He sleeps with a revolver on the stand by the bed,” I answered. “He +would most probably shoot you.” + +“And if I and a few others should lead a million and a half of men[7] +into the houses of all the well-to-do, there would be a great deal of +shooting, wouldn’t there?” + + [7] This reference is to the socialist vote cast in the United States + in 1910. The rise of this vote clearly indicates the swift growth of + the party of revolution. Its voting strength in the United States in + 1888 was 2068; in 1902, 127,713; in 1904, 435,040; in 1908, 1,108,427; + and in 1910, 1,688,211. + +“Yes, but you are not doing that,” I objected. + +“It is precisely what I am doing. And we intend to take, not the mere +wealth in the houses, but all the sources of that wealth, all the +mines, and railroads, and factories, and banks, and stores. That is the +revolution. It is truly perilous. There will be more shooting, I am +afraid, than even I dream of. But as I was saying, no one to-day is a +free agent. We are all caught up in the wheels and cogs of the +industrial machine. You found that you were, and that the men you +talked with were. Talk with more of them. Go and see Colonel Ingram. +Look up the reporters that kept Jackson’s case out of the papers, and +the editors that run the papers. You will find them all slaves of the +machine.” + +A little later in our conversation I asked him a simple little question +about the liability of workingmen to accidents, and received a +statistical lecture in return. + +“It is all in the books,” he said. “The figures have been gathered, and +it has been proved conclusively that accidents rarely occur in the +first hours of the morning work, but that they increase rapidly in the +succeeding hours as the workers grow tired and slower in both their +muscular and mental processes. + +“Why, do you know that your father has three times as many chances for +safety of life and limb than has a working-man? He has. The +insurance[8] companies know. They will charge him four dollars and +twenty cents a year on a thousand-dollar accident policy, and for the +same policy they will charge a laborer fifteen dollars.” + + [8] In the terrible wolf-struggle of those centuries, no man was + permanently safe, no matter how much wealth he amassed. Out of fear + for the welfare of their families, men devised the scheme of + insurance. To us, in this intelligent age, such a device is laughably + absurd and primitive. But in that age insurance was a very serious + matter. The amusing part of it is that the funds of the insurance + companies were frequently plundered and wasted by the very officials + who were intrusted with the management of them. + +“And you?” I asked; and in the moment of asking I was aware of a +solicitude that was something more than slight. + +“Oh, as a revolutionist, I have about eight chances to the workingman’s +one of being injured or killed,” he answered carelessly. “The insurance +companies charge the highly trained chemists that handle explosives +eight times what they charge the workingmen. I don’t think they’d +insure me at all. Why did you ask?” + +My eyes fluttered, and I could feel the blood warm in my face. It was +not that he had caught me in my solicitude, but that I had caught +myself, and in his presence. + +Just then my father came in and began making preparations to depart +with me. Ernest returned some books he had borrowed, and went away +first. But just as he was going, he turned and said: + +“Oh, by the way, while you are ruining your own peace of mind and I am +ruining the Bishop’s, you’d better look up Mrs. Wickson and Mrs. +Pertonwaithe. Their husbands, you know, are the two principal +stockholders in the Mills. Like all the rest of humanity, those two +women are tied to the machine, but they are so tied that they sit on +top of it.” + + + + +CHAPTER IV. +SLAVES OF THE MACHINE + + +The more I thought of Jackson’s arm, the more shaken I was. I was +confronted by the concrete. For the first time I was seeing life. My +university life, and study and culture, had not been real. I had +learned nothing but theories of life and society that looked all very +well on the printed page, but now I had seen life itself. Jackson’s arm +was a fact of life. “The fact, man, the irrefragable fact!” of Ernest’s +was ringing in my consciousness. + +It seemed monstrous, impossible, that our whole society was based upon +blood. And yet there was Jackson. I could not get away from him. +Constantly my thought swung back to him as the compass to the Pole. He +had been monstrously treated. His blood had not been paid for in order +that a larger dividend might be paid. And I knew a score of happy +complacent families that had received those dividends and by that much +had profited by Jackson’s blood. If one man could be so monstrously +treated and society move on its way unheeding, might not many men be so +monstrously treated? I remembered Ernest’s women of Chicago who toiled +for ninety cents a week, and the child slaves of the Southern cotton +mills he had described. And I could see their wan white hands, from +which the blood had been pressed, at work upon the cloth out of which +had been made my gown. And then I thought of the Sierra Mills and the +dividends that had been paid, and I saw the blood of Jackson upon my +gown as well. Jackson I could not escape. Always my meditations led me +back to him. + +Down in the depths of me I had a feeling that I stood on the edge of a +precipice. It was as though I were about to see a new and awful +revelation of life. And not I alone. My whole world was turning over. +There was my father. I could see the effect Ernest was beginning to +have on him. And then there was the Bishop. When I had last seen him he +had looked a sick man. He was at high nervous tension, and in his eyes +there was unspeakable horror. From the little I learned I knew that +Ernest had been keeping his promise of taking him through hell. But +what scenes of hell the Bishop’s eyes had seen, I knew not, for he +seemed too stunned to speak about them. + +Once, the feeling strong upon me that my little world and all the world +was turning over, I thought of Ernest as the cause of it; and also I +thought, “We were so happy and peaceful before he came!” And the next +moment I was aware that the thought was a treason against truth, and +Ernest rose before me transfigured, the apostle of truth, with shining +brows and the fearlessness of one of God’s own angels, battling for the +truth and the right, and battling for the succor of the poor and lonely +and oppressed. And then there arose before me another figure, the +Christ! He, too, had taken the part of the lowly and oppressed, and +against all the established power of priest and pharisee. And I +remembered his end upon the cross, and my heart contracted with a pang +as I thought of Ernest. Was he, too, destined for a cross?—he, with his +clarion call and war-noted voice, and all the fine man’s vigor of him! + +And in that moment I knew that I loved him, and that I was melting with +desire to comfort him. I thought of his life. A sordid, harsh, and +meagre life it must have been. And I thought of his father, who had +lied and stolen for him and been worked to death. And he himself had +gone into the mills when he was ten! All my heart seemed bursting with +desire to fold my arms around him, and to rest his head on my +breast—his head that must be weary with so many thoughts; and to give +him rest—just rest—and easement and forgetfulness for a tender space. + +I met Colonel Ingram at a church reception. Him I knew well and had +known well for many years. I trapped him behind large palms and rubber +plants, though he did not know he was trapped. He met me with the +conventional gayety and gallantry. He was ever a graceful man, +diplomatic, tactful, and considerate. And as for appearance, he was the +most distinguished-looking man in our society. Beside him even the +venerable head of the university looked tawdry and small. + +And yet I found Colonel Ingram situated the same as the unlettered +mechanics. He was not a free agent. He, too, was bound upon the wheel. +I shall never forget the change in him when I mentioned Jackson’s case. +His smiling good nature vanished like a ghost. A sudden, frightful +expression distorted his well-bred face. I felt the same alarm that I +had felt when James Smith broke out. But Colonel Ingram did not curse. +That was the slight difference that was left between the workingman and +him. He was famed as a wit, but he had no wit now. And, unconsciously, +this way and that he glanced for avenues of escape. But he was trapped +amid the palms and rubber trees. + +Oh, he was sick of the sound of Jackson’s name. Why had I brought the +matter up? He did not relish my joke. It was poor taste on my part, and +very inconsiderate. Did I not know that in his profession personal +feelings did not count? He left his personal feelings at home when he +went down to the office. At the office he had only professional +feelings. + +“Should Jackson have received damages?” I asked. + +“Certainly,” he answered. “That is, personally, I have a feeling that +he should. But that has nothing to do with the legal aspects of the +case.” + +He was getting his scattered wits slightly in hand. + +“Tell me, has right anything to do with the law?” I asked. + +“You have used the wrong initial consonant,” he smiled in answer. + +“Might?” I queried; and he nodded his head. “And yet we are supposed to +get justice by means of the law?” + +“That is the paradox of it,” he countered. “We do get justice.” + +“You are speaking professionally now, are you not?” I asked. + +Colonel Ingram blushed, actually blushed, and again he looked anxiously +about him for a way of escape. But I blocked his path and did not offer +to move. + +“Tell me,” I said, “when one surrenders his personal feelings to his +professional feelings, may not the action be defined as a sort of +spiritual mayhem?” + +I did not get an answer. Colonel Ingram had ingloriously bolted, +overturning a palm in his flight. + +Next I tried the newspapers. I wrote a quiet, restrained, dispassionate +account of Jackson’s case. I made no charges against the men with whom +I had talked, nor, for that matter, did I even mention them. I gave the +actual facts of the case, the long years Jackson had worked in the +mills, his effort to save the machinery from damage and the consequent +accident, and his own present wretched and starving condition. The +three local newspapers rejected my communication, likewise did the two +weeklies. + +I got hold of Percy Layton. He was a graduate of the university, had +gone in for journalism, and was then serving his apprenticeship as +reporter on the most influential of the three newspapers. He smiled +when I asked him the reason the newspapers suppressed all mention of +Jackson or his case. + +“Editorial policy,” he said. “We have nothing to do with that. It’s up +to the editors.” + +“But why is it policy?” I asked. + +“We’re all solid with the corporations,” he answered. “If you paid +advertising rates, you couldn’t get any such matter into the papers. A +man who tried to smuggle it in would lose his job. You couldn’t get it +in if you paid ten times the regular advertising rates.” + +“How about your own policy?” I questioned. “It would seem your function +is to twist truth at the command of your employers, who, in turn, obey +the behests of the corporations.” + +“I haven’t anything to do with that.” He looked uncomfortable for the +moment, then brightened as he saw his way out. “I, myself, do not write +untruthful things. I keep square all right with my own conscience. Of +course, there’s lots that’s repugnant in the course of the day’s work. +But then, you see, that’s all part of the day’s work,” he wound up +boyishly. + +“Yet you expect to sit at an editor’s desk some day and conduct a +policy.” + +“I’ll be case-hardened by that time,” was his reply. + +“Since you are not yet case-hardened, tell me what you think right now +about the general editorial policy.” + +“I don’t think,” he answered quickly. “One can’t kick over the ropes if +he’s going to succeed in journalism. I’ve learned that much, at any +rate.” + +And he nodded his young head sagely. + +“But the right?” I persisted. + +“You don’t understand the game. Of course it’s all right, because it +comes out all right, don’t you see?” + +“Delightfully vague,” I murmured; but my heart was aching for the youth +of him, and I felt that I must either scream or burst into tears. + +I was beginning to see through the appearances of the society in which +I had always lived, and to find the frightful realities that were +beneath. There seemed a tacit conspiracy against Jackson, and I was +aware of a thrill of sympathy for the whining lawyer who had +ingloriously fought his case. But this tacit conspiracy grew large. Not +alone was it aimed against Jackson. It was aimed against every +workingman who was maimed in the mills. And if against every man in the +mills, why not against every man in all the other mills and factories? +In fact, was it not true of all the industries? + +And if this was so, then society was a lie. I shrank back from my own +conclusions. It was too terrible and awful to be true. But there was +Jackson, and Jackson’s arm, and the blood that stained my gown and +dripped from my own roof-beams. And there were many Jacksons—hundreds +of them in the mills alone, as Jackson himself had said. Jackson I +could not escape. + +I saw Mr. Wickson and Mr. Pertonwaithe, the two men who held most of +the stock in the Sierra Mills. But I could not shake them as I had +shaken the mechanics in their employ. I discovered that they had an +ethic superior to that of the rest of society. It was what I may call +the aristocratic ethic or the master ethic.[1] They talked in large +ways of policy, and they identified policy and right. And to me they +talked in fatherly ways, patronizing my youth and inexperience. They +were the most hopeless of all I had encountered in my quest. They +believed absolutely that their conduct was right. There was no question +about it, no discussion. They were convinced that they were the +saviours of society, and that it was they who made happiness for the +many. And they drew pathetic pictures of what would be the sufferings +of the working class were it not for the employment that they, and they +alone, by their wisdom, provided for it. + + [1] Before Avis Everhard was born, John Stuart Mill, in his essay, _On + Liberty_, wrote: “Wherever there is an ascendant class, a large + portion of the morality emanates from its class interests and its + class feelings of superiority.” + +Fresh from these two masters, I met Ernest and related my experience. +He looked at me with a pleased expression, and said: + +“Really, this is fine. You are beginning to dig truth for yourself. It +is your own empirical generalization, and it is correct. No man in the +industrial machine is a free-will agent, except the large capitalist, +and he isn’t, if you’ll pardon the Irishism.[2] You see, the masters +are quite sure that they are right in what they are doing. That is the +crowning absurdity of the whole situation. They are so tied by their +human nature that they can’t do a thing unless they think it is right. +They must have a sanction for their acts. + + [2] Verbal contradictions, called _bulls_, were long an amiable + weakness of the ancient Irish. + +“When they want to do a thing, in business of course, they must wait +till there arises in their brains, somehow, a religious, or ethical, or +scientific, or philosophic, concept that the thing is right. And then +they go ahead and do it, unwitting that one of the weaknesses of the +human mind is that the wish is parent to the thought. No matter what +they want to do, the sanction always comes. They are superficial +casuists. They are Jesuitical. They even see their way to doing wrong +that right may come of it. One of the pleasant and axiomatic fictions +they have created is that they are superior to the rest of mankind in +wisdom and efficiency. Therefrom comes their sanction to manage the +bread and butter of the rest of mankind. They have even resurrected the +theory of the divine right of kings—commercial kings in their case.[3] + + [3] The newspapers, in 1902 of that era, credited the president of the + Anthracite Coal Trust, George F. Baer, with the enunciation of the + following principle: “_The rights and interests of the laboring man + will be protected by the Christian men to whom God in His infinite + wisdom has given the property interests of the country._” + +“The weakness in their position lies in that they are merely business +men. They are not philosophers. They are not biologists nor +sociologists. If they were, of course all would be well. A business man +who was also a biologist and a sociologist would know, approximately, +the right thing to do for humanity. But, outside the realm of business, +these men are stupid. They know only business. They do not know mankind +nor society, and yet they set themselves up as arbiters of the fates of +the hungry millions and all the other millions thrown in. History, some +day, will have an excruciating laugh at their expense.” + +I was not surprised when I had my talk out with Mrs. Wickson and Mrs. +Pertonwaithe. They were society women.[4] Their homes were palaces. +They had many homes scattered over the country, in the mountains, on +lakes, and by the sea. They were tended by armies of servants, and +their social activities were bewildering. They patronized the +university and the churches, and the pastors especially bowed at their +knees in meek subservience.[5] They were powers, these two women, what +of the money that was theirs. The power of subsidization of thought was +theirs to a remarkable degree, as I was soon to learn under Ernest’s +tuition. + + [4] _Society_ is here used in a restricted sense, a common usage of + the times to denote the gilded drones that did no labor, but only + glutted themselves at the honey-vats of the workers. Neither the + business men nor the laborers had time or opportunity for _society_. + _Society_ was the creation of the idle rich who toiled not and who in + this way played. + + [5] “Bring on your tainted money,” was the expressed sentiment of the + Church during this period. + +They aped their husbands, and talked in the same large ways about +policy, and the duties and responsibilities of the rich. They were +swayed by the same ethic that dominated their husbands—the ethic of +their class; and they uttered glib phrases that their own ears did not +understand. + +Also, they grew irritated when I told them of the deplorable condition +of Jackson’s family, and when I wondered that they had made no +voluntary provision for the man. I was told that they thanked no one +for instructing them in their social duties. When I asked them flatly +to assist Jackson, they as flatly refused. The astounding thing about +it was that they refused in almost identically the same language, and +this in face of the fact that I interviewed them separately and that +one did not know that I had seen or was going to see the other. Their +common reply was that they were glad of the opportunity to make it +perfectly plain that no premium would ever be put on carelessness by +them; nor would they, by paying for accident, tempt the poor to hurt +themselves in the machinery.[6] + + [6] In the files of the _Outlook_, a critical weekly of the period, in + the number dated August 18, 1906, is related the circumstance of a + workingman losing his arm, the details of which are quite similar to + those of Jackson’s case as related by Avis Everhard. + +And they were sincere, these two women. They were drunk with conviction +of the superiority of their class and of themselves. They had a +sanction, in their own class-ethic, for every act they performed. As I +drove away from Mrs. Pertonwaithe’s great house, I looked back at it, +and I remembered Ernest’s expression that they were bound to the +machine, but that they were so bound that they sat on top of it. + + + + +CHAPTER V. +THE PHILOMATHS + + +Ernest was often at the house. Nor was it my father, merely, nor the +controversial dinners, that drew him there. Even at that time I +flattered myself that I played some part in causing his visits, and it +was not long before I learned the correctness of my surmise. For never +was there such a lover as Ernest Everhard. His gaze and his hand-clasp +grew firmer and steadier, if that were possible; and the question that +had grown from the first in his eyes, grew only the more imperative. + +My impression of him, the first time I saw him, had been unfavorable. +Then I had found myself attracted toward him. Next came my repulsion, +when he so savagely attacked my class and me. After that, as I saw that +he had not maligned my class, and that the harsh and bitter things he +said about it were justified, I had drawn closer to him again. He +became my oracle. For me he tore the sham from the face of society and +gave me glimpses of reality that were as unpleasant as they were +undeniably true. + +As I have said, there was never such a lover as he. No girl could live +in a university town till she was twenty-four and not have love +experiences. I had been made love to by beardless sophomores and gray +professors, and by the athletes and the football giants. But not one of +them made love to me as Ernest did. His arms were around me before I +knew. His lips were on mine before I could protest or resist. Before +his earnestness conventional maiden dignity was ridiculous. He swept me +off my feet by the splendid invincible rush of him. He did not propose. +He put his arms around me and kissed me and took it for granted that we +should be married. There was no discussion about it. The only +discussion—and that arose afterward—was when we should be married. + +It was unprecedented. It was unreal. Yet, in accordance with Ernest’s +test of truth, it worked. I trusted my life to it. And fortunate was +the trust. Yet during those first days of our love, fear of the future +came often to me when I thought of the violence and impetuosity of his +love-making. Yet such fears were groundless. No woman was ever blessed +with a gentler, tenderer husband. This gentleness and violence on his +part was a curious blend similar to the one in his carriage of +awkwardness and ease. That slight awkwardness! He never got over it, +and it was delicious. His behavior in our drawing-room reminded me of a +careful bull in a china shop.[1] + + [1] In those days it was still the custom to fill the living rooms + with bric-a-brac. They had not discovered simplicity of living. Such + rooms were museums, entailing endless labor to keep clean. The + dust-demon was the lord of the household. There were a myriad devices + for catching dust, and only a few devices for getting rid of it. + +It was at this time that vanished my last doubt of the completeness of +my love for him (a subconscious doubt, at most). It was at the +Philomath Club—a wonderful night of battle, wherein Ernest bearded the +masters in their lair. Now the Philomath Club was the most select on +the Pacific Coast. It was the creation of Miss Brentwood, an enormously +wealthy old maid; and it was her husband, and family, and toy. Its +members were the wealthiest in the community, and the strongest-minded +of the wealthy, with, of course, a sprinkling of scholars to give it +intellectual tone. + +The Philomath had no club house. It was not that kind of a club. Once a +month its members gathered at some one of their private houses to +listen to a lecture. The lecturers were usually, though not always, +hired. If a chemist in New York made a new discovery in say radium, all +his expenses across the continent were paid, and as well he received a +princely fee for his time. The same with a returning explorer from the +polar regions, or the latest literary or artistic success. No visitors +were allowed, while it was the Philomath’s policy to permit none of its +discussions to get into the papers. Thus great statesmen—and there had +been such occasions—were able fully to speak their minds. + +I spread before me a wrinkled letter, written to me by Ernest twenty +years ago, and from it I copy the following: + +“Your father is a member of the Philomath, so you are able to come. +Therefore come next Tuesday night. I promise you that you will have the +time of your life. In your recent encounters, you failed to shake the +masters. If you come, I’ll shake them for you. I’ll make them snarl +like wolves. You merely questioned their morality. When their morality +is questioned, they grow only the more complacent and superior. But I +shall menace their money-bags. That will shake them to the roots of +their primitive natures. If you can come, you will see the cave-man, in +evening dress, snarling and snapping over a bone. I promise you a great +caterwauling and an illuminating insight into the nature of the beast. + +“They’ve invited me in order to tear me to pieces. This is the idea of +Miss Brentwood. She clumsily hinted as much when she invited me. She’s +given them that kind of fun before. They delight in getting +trustful-souled gentle reformers before them. Miss Brentwood thinks I +am as mild as a kitten and as good-natured and stolid as the family +cow. I’ll not deny that I helped to give her that impression. She was +very tentative at first, until she divined my harmlessness. I am to +receive a handsome fee—two hundred and fifty dollars—as befits the man +who, though a radical, once ran for governor. Also, I am to wear +evening dress. This is compulsory. I never was so apparelled in my +life. I suppose I’ll have to hire one somewhere. But I’d do more than +that to get a chance at the Philomaths.” + +Of all places, the Club gathered that night at the Pertonwaithe house. +Extra chairs had been brought into the great drawing-room, and in all +there must have been two hundred Philomaths that sat down to hear +Ernest. They were truly lords of society. I amused myself with running +over in my mind the sum of the fortunes represented, and it ran well +into the hundreds of millions. And the possessors were not of the idle +rich. They were men of affairs who took most active parts in industrial +and political life. + +We were all seated when Miss Brentwood brought Ernest in. They moved at +once to the head of the room, from where he was to speak. He was in +evening dress, and, what of his broad shoulders and kingly head, he +looked magnificent. And then there was that faint and unmistakable +touch of awkwardness in his movements. I almost think I could have +loved him for that alone. And as I looked at him I was aware of a great +joy. I felt again the pulse of his palm on mine, the touch of his lips; +and such pride was mine that I felt I must rise up and cry out to the +assembled company: “He is mine! He has held me in his arms, and I, mere +I, have filled that mind of his to the exclusion of all his +multitudinous and kingly thoughts!” + +At the head of the room, Miss Brentwood introduced him to Colonel Van +Gilbert, and I knew that the latter was to preside. Colonel Van Gilbert +was a great corporation lawyer. In addition, he was immensely wealthy. +The smallest fee he would deign to notice was a hundred thousand +dollars. He was a master of law. The law was a puppet with which he +played. He moulded it like clay, twisted and distorted it like a +Chinese puzzle into any design he chose. In appearance and rhetoric he +was old-fashioned, but in imagination and knowledge and resource he was +as young as the latest statute. His first prominence had come when he +broke the Shardwell will.[2] His fee for this one act was five hundred +thousand dollars. From then on he had risen like a rocket. He was often +called the greatest lawyer in the country—corporation lawyer, of +course; and no classification of the three greatest lawyers in the +United States could have excluded him. + + [2] This breaking of wills was a peculiar feature of the period. With + the accumulation of vast fortunes, the problem of disposing of these + fortunes after death was a vexing one to the accumulators. Will-making + and will-breaking became complementary trades, like armor-making and + gun-making. The shrewdest will-making lawyers were called in to make + wills that could not be broken. But these wills were always broken, + and very often by the very lawyers that had drawn them up. + Nevertheless the delusion persisted in the wealthy class that an + absolutely unbreakable will could be cast; and so, through the + generations, clients and lawyers pursued the illusion. It was a + pursuit like unto that of the Universal Solvent of the mediæval + alchemists. + +He arose and began, in a few well-chosen phrases that carried an +undertone of faint irony, to introduce Ernest. Colonel Van Gilbert was +subtly facetious in his introduction of the social reformer and member +of the working class, and the audience smiled. It made me angry, and I +glanced at Ernest. The sight of him made me doubly angry. He did not +seem to resent the delicate slurs. Worse than that, he did not seem to +be aware of them. There he sat, gentle, and stolid, and somnolent. He +really looked stupid. And for a moment the thought rose in my mind, +What if he were overawed by this imposing array of power and brains? +Then I smiled. He couldn’t fool me. But he fooled the others, just as +he had fooled Miss Brentwood. She occupied a chair right up to the +front, and several times she turned her head toward one or another of +her _confrères_ and smiled her appreciation of the remarks. + +Colonel Van Gilbert done, Ernest arose and began to speak. He began in +a low voice, haltingly and modestly, and with an air of evident +embarrassment. He spoke of his birth in the working class, and of the +sordidness and wretchedness of his environment, where flesh and spirit +were alike starved and tormented. He described his ambitions and +ideals, and his conception of the paradise wherein lived the people of +the upper classes. As he said: + +“Up above me, I knew, were unselfishnesses of the spirit, clean and +noble thinking, keen intellectual living. I knew all this because I +read ‘Seaside Library’[3] novels, in which, with the exception of the +villains and adventuresses, all men and women thought beautiful +thoughts, spoke a beautiful tongue, and performed glorious deeds. In +short, as I accepted the rising of the sun, I accepted that up above me +was all that was fine and noble and gracious, all that gave decency and +dignity to life, all that made life worth living and that remunerated +one for his travail and misery.” + + [3] A curious and amazing literature that served to make the working + class utterly misapprehend the nature of the leisure class. + +He went on and traced his life in the mills, the learning of the +horseshoeing trade, and his meeting with the socialists. Among them, he +said, he had found keen intellects and brilliant wits, ministers of the +Gospel who had been broken because their Christianity was too wide for +any congregation of mammon-worshippers, and professors who had been +broken on the wheel of university subservience to the ruling class. The +socialists were revolutionists, he said, struggling to overthrow the +irrational society of the present and out of the material to build the +rational society of the future. Much more he said that would take too +long to write, but I shall never forget how he described the life among +the revolutionists. All halting utterance vanished. His voice grew +strong and confident, and it glowed as he glowed, and as the thoughts +glowed that poured out from him. He said: + +“Amongst the revolutionists I found, also, warm faith in the human, +ardent idealism, sweetnesses of unselfishness, renunciation, and +martyrdom—all the splendid, stinging things of the spirit. Here life +was clean, noble, and alive. I was in touch with great souls who +exalted flesh and spirit over dollars and cents, and to whom the thin +wail of the starved slum child meant more than all the pomp and +circumstance of commercial expansion and world empire. All about me +were nobleness of purpose and heroism of effort, and my days and nights +were sunshine and starshine, all fire and dew, with before my eyes, +ever burning and blazing, the Holy Grail, Christ’s own Grail, the warm +human, long-suffering and maltreated but to be rescued and saved at the +last.” + +As before I had seen him transfigured, so now he stood transfigured +before me. His brows were bright with the divine that was in him, and +brighter yet shone his eyes from the midst of the radiance that seemed +to envelop him as a mantle. But the others did not see this radiance, +and I assumed that it was due to the tears of joy and love that dimmed +my vision. At any rate, Mr. Wickson, who sat behind me, was unaffected, +for I heard him sneer aloud, “Utopian.”[4] + + [4] The people of that age were phrase slaves. The abjectness of their + servitude is incomprehensible to us. There was a magic in words + greater than the conjurer’s art. So befuddled and chaotic were their + minds that the utterance of a single word could negative the + generalizations of a lifetime of serious research and thought. Such a + word was the adjective _Utopian_. The mere utterance of it could damn + any scheme, no matter how sanely conceived, of economic amelioration + or regeneration. Vast populations grew frenzied over such phrases as + “an honest dollar” and “a full dinner pail.” The coinage of such + phrases was considered strokes of genius. + +Ernest went on to his rise in society, till at last he came in touch +with members of the upper classes, and rubbed shoulders with the men +who sat in the high places. Then came his disillusionment, and this +disillusionment he described in terms that did not flatter his +audience. He was surprised at the commonness of the clay. Life proved +not to be fine and gracious. He was appalled by the selfishness he +encountered, and what had surprised him even more than that was the +absence of intellectual life. Fresh from his revolutionists, he was +shocked by the intellectual stupidity of the master class. And then, in +spite of their magnificent churches and well-paid preachers, he had +found the masters, men and women, grossly material. It was true that +they prattled sweet little ideals and dear little moralities, but in +spite of their prattle the dominant key of the life they lived was +materialistic. And they were without real morality—for instance, that +which Christ had preached but which was no longer preached. + +“I met men,” he said, “who invoked the name of the Prince of Peace in +their diatribes against war, and who put rifles in the hands of +Pinkertons[5] with which to shoot down strikers in their own factories. +I met men incoherent with indignation at the brutality of +prize-fighting, and who, at the same time, were parties to the +adulteration of food that killed each year more babes than even +red-handed Herod had killed. + + [5] Originally, they were private detectives; but they quickly became + hired fighting men of the capitalists, and ultimately developed into + the Mercenaries of the Oligarchy. + +“This delicate, aristocratic-featured gentleman was a dummy director +and a tool of corporations that secretly robbed widows and orphans. +This gentleman, who collected fine editions and was a patron of +literature, paid blackmail to a heavy-jowled, black-browed boss of a +municipal machine. This editor, who published patent medicine +advertisements, called me a scoundrelly demagogue because I dared him +to print in his paper the truth about patent medicines.[6] This man, +talking soberly and earnestly about the beauties of idealism and the +goodness of God, had just betrayed his comrades in a business deal. +This man, a pillar of the church and heavy contributor to foreign +missions, worked his shop girls ten hours a day on a starvation wage +and thereby directly encouraged prostitution. This man, who endowed +chairs in universities and erected magnificent chapels, perjured +himself in courts of law over dollars and cents. This railroad magnate +broke his word as a citizen, as a gentleman, and as a Christian, when +he granted a secret rebate, and he granted many secret rebates. This +senator was the tool and the slave, the little puppet, of a brutal +uneducated machine boss;[7] so was this governor and this supreme court +judge; and all three rode on railroad passes; and, also, this sleek +capitalist owned the machine, the machine boss, and the railroads that +issued the passes. + + [6] _Patent medicines_ were patent lies, but, like the charms and + indulgences of the Middle Ages, they deceived the people. The only + difference lay in that the patent medicines were more harmful and more + costly. + + [7] Even as late as 1912, A.D., the great mass of the people still + persisted in the belief that they ruled the country by virtue of their + ballots. In reality, the country was ruled by what were called + _political machines_. At first the machine bosses charged the master + capitalists extortionate tolls for legislation; but in a short time + the master capitalists found it cheaper to own the political machines + themselves and to hire the machine bosses. + +“And so it was, instead of in paradise, that I found myself in the arid +desert of commercialism. I found nothing but stupidity, except for +business. I found none clean, noble, and alive, though I found many who +were alive—with rottenness. What I did find was monstrous selfishness +and heartlessness, and a gross, gluttonous, practised, and practical +materialism.” + +Much more Ernest told them of themselves and of his disillusionment. +Intellectually they had bored him; morally and spiritually they had +sickened him; so that he was glad to go back to his revolutionists, who +were clean, noble, and alive, and all that the capitalists were not. + +“And now,” he said, “let me tell you about that revolution.” + +But first I must say that his terrible diatribe had not touched them. I +looked about me at their faces and saw that they remained complacently +superior to what he had charged. And I remembered what he had told me: +that no indictment of their morality could shake them. However, I could +see that the boldness of his language had affected Miss Brentwood. She +was looking worried and apprehensive. + +Ernest began by describing the army of revolution, and as he gave the +figures of its strength (the votes cast in the various countries), the +assemblage began to grow restless. Concern showed in their faces, and I +noticed a tightening of lips. At last the gage of battle had been +thrown down. He described the international organization of the +socialists that united the million and a half in the United States with +the twenty-three millions and a half in the rest of the world. + +“Such an army of revolution,” he said, “twenty-five millions strong, is +a thing to make rulers and ruling classes pause and consider. The cry +of this army is: ‘No quarter! We want all that you possess. We will be +content with nothing less than all that you possess. We want in our +hands the reins of power and the destiny of mankind. Here are our +hands. They are strong hands. We are going to take your governments, +your palaces, and all your purpled ease away from you, and in that day +you shall work for your bread even as the peasant in the field or the +starved and runty clerk in your metropolises. Here are our hands. They +are strong hands!’” + +And as he spoke he extended from his splendid shoulders his two great +arms, and the horseshoer’s hands were clutching the air like eagle’s +talons. He was the spirit of regnant labor as he stood there, his hands +outreaching to rend and crush his audience. I was aware of a faintly +perceptible shrinking on the part of the listeners before this figure +of revolution, concrete, potential, and menacing. That is, the women +shrank, and fear was in their faces. Not so with the men. They were of +the active rich, and not the idle, and they were fighters. A low, +throaty rumble arose, lingered on the air a moment, and ceased. It was +the forerunner of the snarl, and I was to hear it many times that +night—the token of the brute in man, the earnest of his primitive +passions. And they were unconscious that they had made this sound. It +was the growl of the pack, mouthed by the pack, and mouthed in all +unconsciousness. And in that moment, as I saw the harshness form in +their faces and saw the fight-light flashing in their eyes, I realized +that not easily would they let their lordship of the world be wrested +from them. + +Ernest proceeded with his attack. He accounted for the existence of the +million and a half of revolutionists in the United States by charging +the capitalist class with having mismanaged society. He sketched the +economic condition of the cave-man and of the savage peoples of to-day, +pointing out that they possessed neither tools nor machines, and +possessed only a natural efficiency of one in producing power. Then he +traced the development of machinery and social organization so that +to-day the producing power of civilized man was a thousand times +greater than that of the savage. + +“Five men,” he said, “can produce bread for a thousand. One man can +produce cotton cloth for two hundred and fifty people, woollens for +three hundred, and boots and shoes for a thousand. One would conclude +from this that under a capable management of society modern civilized +man would be a great deal better off than the cave-man. But is he? Let +us see. In the United States to-day there are fifteen million[8] people +living in poverty; and by poverty is meant that condition in life in +which, through lack of food and adequate shelter, the mere standard of +working efficiency cannot be maintained. In the United States to-day, +in spite of all your so-called labor legislation, there are three +millions of child laborers.[9] In twelve years their numbers have been +doubled. And in passing I will ask you managers of society why you did +not make public the census figures of 1910? And I will answer for you, +that you were afraid. The figures of misery would have precipitated the +revolution that even now is gathering. + + [8] Robert Hunter, in 1906, in a book entitled “Poverty,” pointed out + that at that time there were ten millions in the United States living + in poverty. + + [9] In the United States Census of 1900 (the last census the figures + of which were made public), the number of child laborers was placed at + 1,752,187. + +“But to return to my indictment. If modern man’s producing power is a +thousand times greater than that of the cave-man, why then, in the +United States to-day, are there fifteen million people who are not +properly sheltered and properly fed? Why then, in the United States +to-day, are there three million child laborers? It is a true +indictment. The capitalist class has mismanaged. In face of the facts +that modern man lives more wretchedly than the cave-man, and that his +producing power is a thousand times greater than that of the cave-man, +no other conclusion is possible than that the capitalist class has +mismanaged, that you have mismanaged, my masters, that you have +criminally and selfishly mismanaged. And on this count you cannot +answer me here to-night, face to face, any more than can your whole +class answer the million and a half of revolutionists in the United +States. You cannot answer. I challenge you to answer. And furthermore, +I dare to say to you now that when I have finished you will not answer. +On that point you will be tongue-tied, though you will talk wordily +enough about other things. + +“You have failed in your management. You have made a shambles of +civilization. You have been blind and greedy. You have risen up (as you +to-day rise up), shamelessly, in our legislative halls, and declared +that profits were impossible without the toil of children and babes. +Don’t take my word for it. It is all in the records against you. You +have lulled your conscience to sleep with prattle of sweet ideals and +dear moralities. You are fat with power and possession, drunken with +success; and you have no more hope against us than have the drones, +clustered about the honey-vats, when the worker-bees spring upon them +to end their rotund existence. You have failed in your management of +society, and your management is to be taken away from you. A million +and a half of the men of the working class say that they are going to +get the rest of the working class to join with them and take the +management away from you. This is the revolution, my masters. Stop it +if you can.” + +For an appreciable lapse of time Ernest’s voice continued to ring +through the great room. Then arose the throaty rumble I had heard +before, and a dozen men were on their feet clamoring for recognition +from Colonel Van Gilbert. I noticed Miss Brentwood’s shoulders moving +convulsively, and for the moment I was angry, for I thought that she +was laughing at Ernest. And then I discovered that it was not laughter, +but hysteria. She was appalled by what she had done in bringing this +firebrand before her blessed Philomath Club. + +Colonel Van Gilbert did not notice the dozen men, with passion-wrought +faces, who strove to get permission from him to speak. His own face was +passion-wrought. He sprang to his feet, waving his arms, and for a +moment could utter only incoherent sounds. Then speech poured from him. +But it was not the speech of a one-hundred-thousand-dollar lawyer, nor +was the rhetoric old-fashioned. + +“Fallacy upon fallacy!” he cried. “Never in all my life have I heard so +many fallacies uttered in one short hour. And besides, young man, I +must tell you that you have said nothing new. I learned all that at +college before you were born. Jean Jacques Rousseau enunciated your +socialistic theory nearly two centuries ago. A return to the soil, +forsooth! Reversion! Our biology teaches the absurdity of it. It has +been truly said that a little learning is a dangerous thing, and you +have exemplified it to-night with your madcap theories. Fallacy upon +fallacy! I was never so nauseated in my life with overplus of fallacy. +That for your immature generalizations and childish reasonings!” + +He snapped his fingers contemptuously and proceeded to sit down. There +were lip-exclamations of approval on the part of the women, and hoarser +notes of confirmation came from the men. As for the dozen men who were +clamoring for the floor, half of them began speaking at once. The +confusion and babel was indescribable. Never had Mrs. Pertonwaithe’s +spacious walls beheld such a spectacle. These, then, were the cool +captains of industry and lords of society, these snarling, growling +savages in evening clothes. Truly Ernest had shaken them when he +stretched out his hands for their moneybags, his hands that had +appeared in their eyes as the hands of the fifteen hundred thousand +revolutionists. + +But Ernest never lost his head in a situation. Before Colonel Van +Gilbert had succeeded in sitting down, Ernest was on his feet and had +sprung forward. + +“One at a time!” he roared at them. + +The sound arose from his great lungs and dominated the human tempest. +By sheer compulsion of personality he commanded silence. + +“One at a time,” he repeated softly. “Let me answer Colonel Van +Gilbert. After that the rest of you can come at me—but one at a time, +remember. No mass-plays here. This is not a football field. + +“As for you,” he went on, turning toward Colonel Van Gilbert, “you have +replied to nothing I have said. You have merely made a few excited and +dogmatic assertions about my mental caliber. That may serve you in your +business, but you can’t talk to me like that. I am not a workingman, +cap in hand, asking you to increase my wages or to protect me from the +machine at which I work. You cannot be dogmatic with truth when you +deal with me. Save that for dealing with your wage-slaves. They will +not dare reply to you because you hold their bread and butter, their +lives, in your hands. + +“As for this return to nature that you say you learned at college +before I was born, permit me to point out that on the face of it you +cannot have learned anything since. Socialism has no more to do with +the state of nature than has differential calculus with a Bible class. +I have called your class stupid when outside the realm of business. +You, sir, have brilliantly exemplified my statement.” + +This terrible castigation of her hundred-thousand-dollar lawyer was too +much for Miss Brentwood’s nerves. Her hysteria became violent, and she +was helped, weeping and laughing, out of the room. It was just as well, +for there was worse to follow. + +“Don’t take my word for it,” Ernest continued, when the interruption +had been led away. “Your own authorities with one unanimous voice will +prove you stupid. Your own hired purveyors of knowledge will tell you +that you are wrong. Go to your meekest little assistant instructor of +sociology and ask him what is the difference between Rousseau’s theory +of the return to nature and the theory of socialism; ask your greatest +orthodox bourgeois political economists and sociologists; question +through the pages of every text-book written on the subject and stored +on the shelves of your subsidized libraries; and from one and all the +answer will be that there is nothing congruous between the return to +nature and socialism. On the other hand, the unanimous affirmative +answer will be that the return to nature and socialism are +diametrically opposed to each other. As I say, don’t take my word for +it. The record of your stupidity is there in the books, your own books +that you never read. And so far as your stupidity is concerned, you are +but the exemplar of your class. + +“You know law and business, Colonel Van Gilbert. You know how to serve +corporations and increase dividends by twisting the law. Very good. +Stick to it. You are quite a figure. You are a very good lawyer, but +you are a poor historian, you know nothing of sociology, and your +biology is contemporaneous with Pliny.” + +Here Colonel Van Gilbert writhed in his chair. There was perfect quiet +in the room. Everybody sat fascinated—paralyzed, I may say. Such +fearful treatment of the great Colonel Van Gilbert was unheard of, +undreamed of, impossible to believe—the great Colonel Van Gilbert +before whom judges trembled when he arose in court. But Ernest never +gave quarter to an enemy. + +“This is, of course, no reflection on you,” Ernest said. “Every man to +his trade. Only you stick to your trade, and I’ll stick to mine. You +have specialized. When it comes to a knowledge of the law, of how best +to evade the law or make new law for the benefit of thieving +corporations, I am down in the dirt at your feet. But when it comes to +sociology—my trade—you are down in the dirt at my feet. Remember that. +Remember, also, that your law is the stuff of a day, and that you are +not versatile in the stuff of more than a day. Therefore your dogmatic +assertions and rash generalizations on things historical and +sociological are not worth the breath you waste on them.” + +Ernest paused for a moment and regarded him thoughtfully, noting his +face dark and twisted with anger, his panting chest, his writhing body, +and his slim white hands nervously clenching and unclenching. + +“But it seems you have breath to use, and I’ll give you a chance to use +it. I indicted your class. Show me that my indictment is wrong. I +pointed out to you the wretchedness of modern man—three million child +slaves in the United States, without whose labor profits would not be +possible, and fifteen million under-fed, ill-clothed, and worse-housed +people. I pointed out that modern man’s producing power through social +organization and the use of machinery was a thousand times greater than +that of the cave-man. And I stated that from these two facts no other +conclusion was possible than that the capitalist class had mismanaged. +This was my indictment, and I specifically and at length challenged you +to answer it. Nay, I did more. I prophesied that you would not answer. +It remains for your breath to smash my prophecy. You called my speech +fallacy. Show the fallacy, Colonel Van Gilbert. Answer the indictment +that I and my fifteen hundred thousand comrades have brought against +your class and you.” + +Colonel Van Gilbert quite forgot that he was presiding, and that in +courtesy he should permit the other clamorers to speak. He was on his +feet, flinging his arms, his rhetoric, and his control to the winds, +alternately abusing Ernest for his youth and demagoguery, and savagely +attacking the working class, elaborating its inefficiency and +worthlessness. + +“For a lawyer, you are the hardest man to keep to a point I ever saw,” +Ernest began his answer to the tirade. “My youth has nothing to do with +what I have enunciated. Nor has the worthlessness of the working class. +I charged the capitalist class with having mismanaged society. You have +not answered. You have made no attempt to answer. Why? Is it because +you have no answer? You are the champion of this whole audience. Every +one here, except me, is hanging on your lips for that answer. They are +hanging on your lips for that answer because they have no answer +themselves. As for me, as I said before, I know that you not only +cannot answer, but that you will not attempt an answer.” + +“This is intolerable!” Colonel Van Gilbert cried out. “This is insult!” + +“That you should not answer is intolerable,” Ernest replied gravely. +“No man can be intellectually insulted. Insult, in its very nature, is +emotional. Recover yourself. Give me an intellectual answer to my +intellectual charge that the capitalist class has mismanaged society.” + +Colonel Van Gilbert remained silent, a sullen, superior expression on +his face, such as will appear on the face of a man who will not bandy +words with a ruffian. + +“Do not be downcast,” Ernest said. “Take consolation in the fact that +no member of your class has ever yet answered that charge.” He turned +to the other men who were anxious to speak. “And now it’s your chance. +Fire away, and do not forget that I here challenge you to give the +answer that Colonel Van Gilbert has failed to give.” + +It would be impossible for me to write all that was said in the +discussion. I never realized before how many words could be spoken in +three short hours. At any rate, it was glorious. The more his opponents +grew excited, the more Ernest deliberately excited them. He had an +encyclopaedic command of the field of knowledge, and by a word or a +phrase, by delicate rapier thrusts, he punctured them. He named the +points of their illogic. This was a false syllogism, that conclusion +had no connection with the premise, while that next premise was an +impostor because it had cunningly hidden in it the conclusion that was +being attempted to be proved. This was an error, that was an +assumption, and the next was an assertion contrary to ascertained truth +as printed in all the text-books. + +And so it went. Sometimes he exchanged the rapier for the club and went +smashing amongst their thoughts right and left. And always he demanded +facts and refused to discuss theories. And his facts made for them a +Waterloo. When they attacked the working class, he always retorted, +“The pot calling the kettle black; that is no answer to the charge that +your own face is dirty.” And to one and all he said: “Why have you not +answered the charge that your class has mismanaged? You have talked +about other things and things concerning other things, but you have not +answered. Is it because you have no answer?” + +It was at the end of the discussion that Mr. Wickson spoke. He was the +only one that was cool, and Ernest treated him with a respect he had +not accorded the others. + +“No answer is necessary,” Mr. Wickson said with slow deliberation. “I +have followed the whole discussion with amazement and disgust. I am +disgusted with you gentlemen, members of my class. You have behaved +like foolish little schoolboys, what with intruding ethics and the +thunder of the common politician into such a discussion. You have been +outgeneralled and outclassed. You have been very wordy, and all you +have done is buzz. You have buzzed like gnats about a bear. Gentlemen, +there stands the bear” (he pointed at Ernest), “and your buzzing has +only tickled his ears. + +“Believe me, the situation is serious. That bear reached out his paws +tonight to crush us. He has said there are a million and a half of +revolutionists in the United States. That is a fact. He has said that +it is their intention to take away from us our governments, our +palaces, and all our purpled ease. That, also, is a fact. A change, a +great change, is coming in society; but, haply, it may not be the +change the bear anticipates. The bear has said that he will crush us. +What if we crush the bear?” + +The throat-rumble arose in the great room, and man nodded to man with +indorsement and certitude. Their faces were set hard. They were +fighters, that was certain. + +“But not by buzzing will we crush the bear,” Mr. Wickson went on coldly +and dispassionately. “We will hunt the bear. We will not reply to the +bear in words. Our reply shall be couched in terms of lead. We are in +power. Nobody will deny it. By virtue of that power we shall remain in +power.” + +He turned suddenly upon Ernest. The moment was dramatic. + +“This, then, is our answer. We have no words to waste on you. When you +reach out your vaunted strong hands for our palaces and purpled ease, +we will show you what strength is. In roar of shell and shrapnel and in +whine of machine-guns will our answer be couched.[10] We will grind you +revolutionists down under our heel, and we shall walk upon your faces. +The world is ours, we are its lords, and ours it shall remain. As for +the host of labor, it has been in the dirt since history began, and I +read history aright. And in the dirt it shall remain so long as I and +mine and those that come after us have the power. There is the word. It +is the king of words—Power. Not God, not Mammon, but Power. Pour it +over your tongue till it tingles with it. Power.” + + [10] To show the tenor of thought, the following definition is quoted + from “The Cynic’s Word Book” (1906 A.D.), written by one Ambrose + Bierce, an avowed and confirmed misanthrope of the period: “Grapeshot, + _n. An argument which the future is preparing in answer to the demands + of American Socialism._” + +“I am answered,” Ernest said quietly. “It is the only answer that could +be given. Power. It is what we of the working class preach. We know, +and well we know by bitter experience, that no appeal for the right, +for justice, for humanity, can ever touch you. Your hearts are hard as +your heels with which you tread upon the faces of the poor. So we have +preached power. By the power of our ballots on election day will we +take your government away from you—” + +“What if you do get a majority, a sweeping majority, on election day?” +Mr. Wickson broke in to demand. “Suppose we refuse to turn the +government over to you after you have captured it at the ballot-box?” + +“That, also, have we considered,” Ernest replied. “And we shall give +you an answer in terms of lead. Power you have proclaimed the king of +words. Very good. Power it shall be. And in the day that we sweep to +victory at the ballot-box, and you refuse to turn over to us the +government we have constitutionally and peacefully captured, and you +demand what we are going to do about it—in that day, I say, we shall +answer you; and in roar of shell and shrapnel and in whine of +machine-guns shall our answer be couched. + +“You cannot escape us. It is true that you have read history aright. It +is true that labor has from the beginning of history been in the dirt. +And it is equally true that so long as you and yours and those that +come after you have power, that labor shall remain in the dirt. I agree +with you. I agree with all that you have said. Power will be the +arbiter, as it always has been the arbiter. It is a struggle of +classes. Just as your class dragged down the old feudal nobility, so +shall it be dragged down by my class, the working class. If you will +read your biology and your sociology as clearly as you do your history, +you will see that this end I have described is inevitable. It does not +matter whether it is in one year, ten, or a thousand—your class shall +be dragged down. And it shall be done by power. We of the labor hosts +have conned that word over till our minds are all a-tingle with it. +Power. It is a kingly word.” + +And so ended the night with the Philomaths. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. +ADUMBRATIONS + + +It was about this time that the warnings of coming events began to fall +about us thick and fast. Ernest had already questioned father’s policy +of having socialists and labor leaders at his house, and of openly +attending socialist meetings; and father had only laughed at him for +his pains. As for myself, I was learning much from this contact with +the working-class leaders and thinkers. I was seeing the other side of +the shield. I was delighted with the unselfishness and high idealism I +encountered, though I was appalled by the vast philosophic and +scientific literature of socialism that was opened up to me. I was +learning fast, but I learned not fast enough to realize then the peril +of our position. + +There were warnings, but I did not heed them. For instance, Mrs. +Pertonwaithe and Mrs. Wickson exercised tremendous social power in the +university town, and from them emanated the sentiment that I was a +too-forward and self-assertive young woman with a mischievous penchant +for officiousness and interference in other persons’ affairs. This I +thought no more than natural, considering the part I had played in +investigating the case of Jackson’s arm. But the effect of such a +sentiment, enunciated by two such powerful social arbiters, I +underestimated. + +True, I noticed a certain aloofness on the part of my general friends, +but this I ascribed to the disapproval that was prevalent in my circles +of my intended marriage with Ernest. It was not till some time +afterward that Ernest pointed out to me clearly that this general +attitude of my class was something more than spontaneous, that behind +it were the hidden springs of an organized conduct. “You have given +shelter to an enemy of your class,” he said. “And not alone shelter, +for you have given your love, yourself. This is treason to your class. +Think not that you will escape being penalized.” + +But it was before this that father returned one afternoon. Ernest was +with me, and we could see that father was angry—philosophically angry. +He was rarely really angry; but a certain measure of controlled anger +he allowed himself. He called it a tonic. And we could see that he was +tonic-angry when he entered the room. + +“What do you think?” he demanded. “I had luncheon with Wilcox.” + +Wilcox was the superannuated president of the university, whose +withered mind was stored with generalizations that were young in 1870, +and which he had since failed to revise. + +“I was invited,” father announced. “I was sent for.” + +He paused, and we waited. + +“Oh, it was done very nicely, I’ll allow; but I was reprimanded. I! And +by that old fossil!” + +“I’ll wager I know what you were reprimanded for,” Ernest said. + +“Not in three guesses,” father laughed. + +“One guess will do,” Ernest retorted. “And it won’t be a guess. It will +be a deduction. You were reprimanded for your private life.” + +“The very thing!” father cried. “How did you guess?” + +“I knew it was coming. I warned you before about it.” + +“Yes, you did,” father meditated. “But I couldn’t believe it. At any +rate, it is only so much more clinching evidence for my book.” + +“It is nothing to what will come,” Ernest went on, “if you persist in +your policy of having these socialists and radicals of all sorts at +your house, myself included.” + +“Just what old Wilcox said. And of all unwarranted things! He said it +was in poor taste, utterly profitless, anyway, and not in harmony with +university traditions and policy. He said much more of the same vague +sort, and I couldn’t pin him down to anything specific. I made it +pretty awkward for him, and he could only go on repeating himself and +telling me how much he honored me, and all the world honored me, as a +scientist. It wasn’t an agreeable task for him. I could see he didn’t +like it.” + +“He was not a free agent,” Ernest said. “The leg-bar[1] is not always +worn graciously.” + + [1] _Leg-bar_—the African slaves were so manacled; also criminals. It + was not until the coming of the Brotherhood of Man that the leg-bar + passed out of use. + +“Yes. I got that much out of him. He said the university needed ever so +much more money this year than the state was willing to furnish; and +that it must come from wealthy personages who could not but be offended +by the swerving of the university from its high ideal of the +passionless pursuit of passionless intelligence. When I tried to pin +him down to what my home life had to do with swerving the university +from its high ideal, he offered me a two years’ vacation, on full pay, +in Europe, for recreation and research. Of course I couldn’t accept it +under the circumstances.” + +“It would have been far better if you had,” Ernest said gravely. + +“It was a bribe,” father protested; and Ernest nodded. + +“Also, the beggar said that there was talk, tea-table gossip and so +forth, about my daughter being seen in public with so notorious a +character as you, and that it was not in keeping with university tone +and dignity. Not that he personally objected—oh, no; but that there was +talk and that I would understand.” + +Ernest considered this announcement for a moment, and then said, and +his face was very grave, withal there was a sombre wrath in it: + +“There is more behind this than a mere university ideal. Somebody has +put pressure on President Wilcox.” + +“Do you think so?” father asked, and his face showed that he was +interested rather than frightened. + +“I wish I could convey to you the conception that is dimly forming in +my own mind,” Ernest said. “Never in the history of the world was +society in so terrific flux as it is right now. The swift changes in +our industrial system are causing equally swift changes in our +religious, political, and social structures. An unseen and fearful +revolution is taking place in the fibre and structure of society. One +can only dimly feel these things. But they are in the air, now, to-day. +One can feel the loom of them—things vast, vague, and terrible. My mind +recoils from contemplation of what they may crystallize into. You heard +Wickson talk the other night. Behind what he said were the same +nameless, formless things that I feel. He spoke out of a superconscious +apprehension of them.” + +“You mean . . . ?” father began, then paused. + +“I mean that there is a shadow of something colossal and menacing that +even now is beginning to fall across the land. Call it the shadow of an +oligarchy, if you will; it is the nearest I dare approximate it. What +its nature may be I refuse to imagine.[2] But what I wanted to say was +this: You are in a perilous position—a peril that my own fear enhances +because I am not able even to measure it. Take my advice and accept the +vacation.” + + [2] Though, like Everhard, they did not dream of the nature of it, + there were men, even before his time, who caught glimpses of the + shadow. John C. Calhoun said: “_A power has risen up in the government + greater than the people themselves, consisting of many and various and + powerful interests, combined into one mass, and held together by the + cohesive power of the vast surplus in the banks_.” And that great + humanist, Abraham Lincoln, said, just before his assassination: “_I + see in the near future a crisis approaching that unnerves me and + causes me to tremble for the safety of my country. . . . Corporations + have been enthroned, an era of corruption in high places will follow, + and the money-power of the country will endeavor to prolong its reign + by working upon the prejudices of the people until the wealth is + aggregated in a few hands and the Republic is destroyed._” + +“But it would be cowardly,” was the protest. + +“Not at all. You are an old man. You have done your work in the world, +and a great work. Leave the present battle to youth and strength. We +young fellows have our work yet to do. Avis will stand by my side in +what is to come. She will be your representative in the battle-front.” + +“But they can’t hurt me,” father objected. “Thank God I am independent. +Oh, I assure you, I know the frightful persecution they can wage on a +professor who is economically dependent on his university. But I am +independent. I have not been a professor for the sake of my salary. I +can get along very comfortably on my own income, and the salary is all +they can take away from me.” + +“But you do not realize,” Ernest answered. “If all that I fear be so, +your private income, your principal itself, can be taken from you just +as easily as your salary.” + +Father was silent for a few minutes. He was thinking deeply, and I +could see the lines of decision forming in his face. At last he spoke. + +“I shall not take the vacation.” He paused again. “I shall go on with +my book.[3] You may be wrong, but whether you are wrong or right, I +shall stand by my guns.” + + [3] This book, “Economics and Education,” was published in that year. + Three copies of it are extant; two at Ardis, and one at Asgard. It + dealt, in elaborate detail, with one factor in the persistence of the + established, namely, the capitalistic bias of the universities and + common schools. It was a logical and crushing indictment of the whole + system of education that developed in the minds of the students only + such ideas as were favorable to the capitalistic regime, to the + exclusion of all ideas that were inimical and subversive. The book + created a furor, and was promptly suppressed by the Oligarchy. + +“All right,” Ernest said. “You are travelling the same path that Bishop +Morehouse is, and toward a similar smash-up. You’ll both be +proletarians before you’re done with it.” + +The conversation turned upon the Bishop, and we got Ernest to explain +what he had been doing with him. + +“He is soul-sick from the journey through hell I have given him. I took +him through the homes of a few of our factory workers. I showed him the +human wrecks cast aside by the industrial machine, and he listened to +their life stories. I took him through the slums of San Francisco, and +in drunkenness, prostitution, and criminality he learned a deeper cause +than innate depravity. He is very sick, and, worse than that, he has +got out of hand. He is too ethical. He has been too severely touched. +And, as usual, he is unpractical. He is up in the air with all kinds of +ethical delusions and plans for mission work among the cultured. He +feels it is his bounden duty to resurrect the ancient spirit of the +Church and to deliver its message to the masters. He is overwrought. +Sooner or later he is going to break out, and then there’s going to be +a smash-up. What form it will take I can’t even guess. He is a pure, +exalted soul, but he is so unpractical. He’s beyond me. I can’t keep +his feet on the earth. And through the air he is rushing on to his +Gethsemane. And after this his crucifixion. Such high souls are made +for crucifixion.” + +“And you?” I asked; and beneath my smile was the seriousness of the +anxiety of love. + +“Not I,” he laughed back. “I may be executed, or assassinated, but I +shall never be crucified. I am planted too solidly and stolidly upon +the earth.” + +“But why should you bring about the crucifixion of the Bishop?” I +asked. “You will not deny that you are the cause of it.” + +“Why should I leave one comfortable soul in comfort when there are +millions in travail and misery?” he demanded back. + +“Then why did you advise father to accept the vacation?” + +“Because I am not a pure, exalted soul,” was the answer. “Because I am +solid and stolid and selfish. Because I love you and, like Ruth of old, +thy people are my people. As for the Bishop, he has no daughter. +Besides, no matter how small the good, nevertheless his little +inadequate wail will be productive of some good in the revolution, and +every little bit counts.” + +I could not agree with Ernest. I knew well the noble nature of Bishop +Morehouse, and I could not conceive that his voice raised for +righteousness would be no more than a little inadequate wail. But I did +not yet have the harsh facts of life at my fingers’ ends as Ernest had. +He saw clearly the futility of the Bishop’s great soul, as coming +events were soon to show as clearly to me. + +It was shortly after this day that Ernest told me, as a good story, the +offer he had received from the government, namely, an appointment as +United States Commissioner of Labor. I was overjoyed. The salary was +comparatively large, and would make safe our marriage. And then it +surely was congenial work for Ernest, and, furthermore, my jealous +pride in him made me hail the proffered appointment as a recognition of +his abilities. + +Then I noticed the twinkle in his eyes. He was laughing at me. + +“You are not going to . . . to decline?” I quavered. + +“It is a bribe,” he said. “Behind it is the fine hand of Wickson, and +behind him the hands of greater men than he. It is an old trick, old as +the class struggle is old—stealing the captains from the army of labor. +Poor betrayed labor! If you but knew how many of its leaders have been +bought out in similar ways in the past. It is cheaper, so much cheaper, +to buy a general than to fight him and his whole army. There was—but +I’ll not call any names. I’m bitter enough over it as it is. Dear +heart, I am a captain of labor. I could not sell out. If for no other +reason, the memory of my poor old father and the way he was worked to +death would prevent.” + +The tears were in his eyes, this great, strong hero of mine. He never +could forgive the way his father had been malformed—the sordid lies and +the petty thefts he had been compelled to, in order to put food in his +children’s mouths. + +“My father was a good man,” Ernest once said to me. “The soul of him +was good, and yet it was twisted, and maimed, and blunted by the +savagery of his life. He was made into a broken-down beast by his +masters, the arch-beasts. He should be alive to-day, like your father. +He had a strong constitution. But he was caught in the machine and +worked to death—for profit. Think of it. For profit—his life blood +transmuted into a wine-supper, or a jewelled gewgaw, or some similar +sense-orgy of the parasitic and idle rich, his masters, the +arch-beasts.” + + + + +CHAPTER VII. +THE BISHOP’S VISION + + +“The Bishop is out of hand,” Ernest wrote me. “He is clear up in the +air. Tonight he is going to begin putting to rights this very miserable +world of ours. He is going to deliver his message. He has told me so, +and I cannot dissuade him. To-night he is chairman of the I.P.H.,[1] +and he will embody his message in his introductory remarks. + + [1] There is no clew to the name of the organization for which these + initials stand. + +“May I bring you to hear him? Of course, he is foredoomed to futility. +It will break your heart—it will break his; but for you it will be an +excellent object lesson. You know, dear heart, how proud I am because +you love me. And because of that I want you to know my fullest value, I +want to redeem, in your eyes, some small measure of my unworthiness. +And so it is that my pride desires that you shall know my thinking is +correct and right. My views are harsh; the futility of so noble a soul +as the Bishop will show you the compulsion for such harshness. So come +to-night. Sad though this night’s happening will be, I feel that it +will but draw you more closely to me.” + +The I.P.H. held its convention that night in San Francisco.[2] This +convention had been called to consider public immorality and the remedy +for it. Bishop Morehouse presided. He was very nervous as he sat on the +platform, and I could see the high tension he was under. By his side +were Bishop Dickinson; H. H. Jones, the head of the ethical department +in the University of California; Mrs. W. W. Hurd, the great charity +organizer; Philip Ward, the equally great philanthropist; and several +lesser luminaries in the field of morality and charity. Bishop +Morehouse arose and abruptly began: + + [2] It took but a few minutes to cross by ferry from Berkeley to San + Francisco. These, and the other bay cities, practically composed one + community. + +“I was in my brougham, driving through the streets. It was night-time. +Now and then I looked through the carriage windows, and suddenly my +eyes seemed to be opened, and I saw things as they really are. At first +I covered my eyes with my hands to shut out the awful sight, and then, +in the darkness, the question came to me: What is to be done? What is +to be done? A little later the question came to me in another way: What +would the Master do? And with the question a great light seemed to fill +the place, and I saw my duty sun-clear, as Saul saw his on the way to +Damascus. + +“I stopped the carriage, got out, and, after a few minutes’ +conversation, persuaded two of the public women to get into the +brougham with me. If Jesus was right, then these two unfortunates were +my sisters, and the only hope of their purification was in my affection +and tenderness. + +“I live in one of the loveliest localities of San Francisco. The house +in which I live cost a hundred thousand dollars, and its furnishings, +books, and works of art cost as much more. The house is a mansion. No, +it is a palace, wherein there are many servants. I never knew what +palaces were good for. I had thought they were to live in. But now I +know. I took the two women of the street to my palace, and they are +going to stay with me. I hope to fill every room in my palace with such +sisters as they.” + +The audience had been growing more and more restless and unsettled, and +the faces of those that sat on the platform had been betraying greater +and greater dismay and consternation. And at this point Bishop +Dickinson arose, and with an expression of disgust on his face, fled +from the platform and the hall. But Bishop Morehouse, oblivious to all, +his eyes filled with his vision, continued: + +“Oh, sisters and brothers, in this act of mine I find the solution of +all my difficulties. I didn’t know what broughams were made for, but +now I know. They are made to carry the weak, the sick, and the aged; +they are made to show honor to those who have lost the sense even of +shame. + +“I did not know what palaces were made for, but now I have found a use +for them. The palaces of the Church should be hospitals and nurseries +for those who have fallen by the wayside and are perishing.” + +He made a long pause, plainly overcome by the thought that was in him, +and nervous how best to express it. + +“I am not fit, dear brethren, to tell you anything about morality. I +have lived in shame and hypocrisies too long to be able to help others; +but my action with those women, sisters of mine, shows me that the +better way is easy to find. To those who believe in Jesus and his +gospel there can be no other relation between man and man than the +relation of affection. Love alone is stronger than sin—stronger than +death. I therefore say to the rich among you that it is their duty to +do what I have done and am doing. Let each one of you who is prosperous +take into his house some thief and treat him as his brother, some +unfortunate and treat her as his sister, and San Francisco will need no +police force and no magistrates; the prisons will be turned into +hospitals, and the criminal will disappear with his crime. + +“We must give ourselves and not our money alone. We must do as Christ +did; that is the message of the Church today. We have wandered far from +the Master’s teaching. We are consumed in our own flesh-pots. We have +put mammon in the place of Christ. I have here a poem that tells the +whole story. I should like to read it to you. It was written by an +erring soul who yet saw clearly.[3] It must not be mistaken for an +attack upon the Catholic Church. It is an attack upon all churches, +upon the pomp and splendor of all churches that have wandered from the +Master’s path and hedged themselves in from his lambs. Here it is: + +“The silver trumpets rang across the Dome; + The people knelt upon the ground with awe; + And borne upon the necks of men I saw, +Like some great God, the Holy Lord of Rome. + +“Priest-like, he wore a robe more white than foam, + And, king-like, swathed himself in royal red, + Three crowns of gold rose high upon his head; +In splendor and in light the Pope passed home. + +“My heart stole back across wide wastes of years + To One who wandered by a lonely sea; +And sought in vain for any place of rest: +‘Foxes have holes, and every bird its nest, + I, only I, must wander wearily, +And bruise my feet, and drink wine salt with tears.’” + + [3] Oscar Wilde, one of the lords of language of the nineteenth + century of the Christian Era. + +The audience was agitated, but unresponsive. Yet Bishop Morehouse was +not aware of it. He held steadily on his way. + +“And so I say to the rich among you, and to all the rich, that bitterly +you oppress the Master’s lambs. You have hardened your hearts. You have +closed your ears to the voices that are crying in the land—the voices +of pain and sorrow that you will not hear but that some day will be +heard. And so I say—” + +But at this point H. H. Jones and Philip Ward, who had already risen +from their chairs, led the Bishop off the platform, while the audience +sat breathless and shocked. + +Ernest laughed harshly and savagely when he had gained the street. His +laughter jarred upon me. My heart seemed ready to burst with suppressed +tears. + +“He has delivered his message,” Ernest cried. “The manhood and the +deep-hidden, tender nature of their Bishop burst out, and his Christian +audience, that loved him, concluded that he was crazy! Did you see them +leading him so solicitously from the platform? There must have been +laughter in hell at the spectacle.” + +“Nevertheless, it will make a great impression, what the Bishop did and +said to-night,” I said. + +“Think so?” Ernest queried mockingly. + +“It will make a sensation,” I asserted. “Didn’t you see the reporters +scribbling like mad while he was speaking?” + +“Not a line of which will appear in to-morrow’s papers.” + +“I can’t believe it,” I cried. + +“Just wait and see,” was the answer. “Not a line, not a thought that he +uttered. The daily press? The daily suppressage!” + +“But the reporters,” I objected. “I saw them.” + +“Not a word that he uttered will see print. You have forgotten the +editors. They draw their salaries for the policy they maintain. Their +policy is to print nothing that is a vital menace to the established. +The Bishop’s utterance was a violent assault upon the established +morality. It was heresy. They led him from the platform to prevent him +from uttering more heresy. The newspapers will purge his heresy in the +oblivion of silence. The press of the United States? It is a parasitic +growth that battens on the capitalist class. Its function is to serve +the established by moulding public opinion, and right well it serves +it. + +“Let me prophesy. To-morrow’s papers will merely mention that the +Bishop is in poor health, that he has been working too hard, and that +he broke down last night. The next mention, some days hence, will be to +the effect that he is suffering from nervous prostration and has been +given a vacation by his grateful flock. After that, one of two things +will happen: either the Bishop will see the error of his way and return +from his vacation a well man in whose eyes there are no more visions, +or else he will persist in his madness, and then you may expect to see +in the papers, couched pathetically and tenderly, the announcement of +his insanity. After that he will be left to gibber his visions to +padded walls.” + +“Now there you go too far!” I cried out. + +“In the eyes of society it will truly be insanity,” he replied. “What +honest man, who is not insane, would take lost women and thieves into +his house to dwell with him sisterly and brotherly? True, Christ died +between two thieves, but that is another story. Insanity? The mental +processes of the man with whom one disagrees, are always wrong. +Therefore the mind of the man is wrong. Where is the line between wrong +mind and insane mind? It is inconceivable that any sane man can +radically disagree with one’s most sane conclusions. + +“There is a good example of it in this evening’s paper. Mary McKenna +lives south of Market Street. She is a poor but honest woman. She is +also patriotic. But she has erroneous ideas concerning the American +flag and the protection it is supposed to symbolize. And here’s what +happened to her. Her husband had an accident and was laid up in +hospital three months. In spite of taking in washing, she got behind in +her rent. Yesterday they evicted her. But first, she hoisted an +American flag, and from under its folds she announced that by virtue of +its protection they could not turn her out on to the cold street. What +was done? She was arrested and arraigned for insanity. To-day she was +examined by the regular insanity experts. She was found insane. She was +consigned to the Napa Asylum.” + +“But that is far-fetched,” I objected. “Suppose I should disagree with +everybody about the literary style of a book. They wouldn’t send me to +an asylum for that.” + +“Very true,” he replied. “But such divergence of opinion would +constitute no menace to society. Therein lies the difference. The +divergence of opinion on the parts of Mary McKenna and the Bishop do +menace society. What if all the poor people should refuse to pay rent +and shelter themselves under the American flag? Landlordism would go +crumbling. The Bishop’s views are just as perilous to society. Ergo, to +the asylum with him.” + +But still I refused to believe. + +“Wait and see,” Ernest said, and I waited. + +Next morning I sent out for all the papers. So far Ernest was right. +Not a word that Bishop Morehouse had uttered was in print. Mention was +made in one or two of the papers that he had been overcome by his +feelings. Yet the platitudes of the speakers that followed him were +reported at length. + +Several days later the brief announcement was made that he had gone +away on a vacation to recover from the effects of overwork. So far so +good, but there had been no hint of insanity, nor even of nervous +collapse. Little did I dream the terrible road the Bishop was destined +to travel—the Gethsemane and crucifixion that Ernest had pondered +about. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. +THE MACHINE BREAKERS + + +It was just before Ernest ran for Congress, on the socialist ticket, +that father gave what he privately called his “Profit and Loss” dinner. +Ernest called it the dinner of the Machine Breakers. In point of fact, +it was merely a dinner for business men—small business men, of course. +I doubt if one of them was interested in any business the total +capitalization of which exceeded a couple of hundred thousand dollars. +They were truly representative middle-class business men. + +There was Owen, of Silverberg, Owen & Company—a large grocery firm with +several branch stores. We bought our groceries from them. There were +both partners of the big drug firm of Kowalt & Washburn, and Mr. +Asmunsen, the owner of a large granite quarry in Contra Costa County. +And there were many similar men, owners or part-owners in small +factories, small businesses and small industries—small capitalists, in +short. + +They were shrewd-faced, interesting men, and they talked with +simplicity and clearness. Their unanimous complaint was against the +corporations and trusts. Their creed was, “Bust the Trusts.” All +oppression originated in the trusts, and one and all told the same tale +of woe. They advocated government ownership of such trusts as the +railroads and telegraphs, and excessive income taxes, graduated with +ferocity, to destroy large accumulations. Likewise they advocated, as a +cure for local ills, municipal ownership of such public utilities as +water, gas, telephones, and street railways. + +Especially interesting was Mr. Asmunsen’s narrative of his tribulations +as a quarry owner. He confessed that he never made any profits out of +his quarry, and this, in spite of the enormous volume of business that +had been caused by the destruction of San Francisco by the big +earthquake. For six years the rebuilding of San Francisco had been +going on, and his business had quadrupled and octupled, and yet he was +no better off. + +“The railroad knows my business just a little bit better than I do,” he +said. “It knows my operating expenses to a cent, and it knows the terms +of my contracts. How it knows these things I can only guess. It must +have spies in my employ, and it must have access to the parties to all +my contracts. For look you, when I place a big contract, the terms of +which favor me a goodly profit, the freight rate from my quarry to +market is promptly raised. No explanation is made. The railroad gets my +profit. Under such circumstances I have never succeeded in getting the +railroad to reconsider its raise. On the other hand, when there have +been accidents, increased expenses of operating, or contracts with less +profitable terms, I have always succeeded in getting the railroad to +lower its rate. What is the result? Large or small, the railroad always +gets my profits.” + +“What remains to you over and above,” Ernest interrupted to ask, “would +roughly be the equivalent of your salary as a manager did the railroad +own the quarry.” + +“The very thing,” Mr. Asmunsen replied. “Only a short time ago I had my +books gone through for the past ten years. I discovered that for those +ten years my gain was just equivalent to a manager’s salary. The +railroad might just as well have owned my quarry and hired me to run +it.” + +“But with this difference,” Ernest laughed; “the railroad would have +had to assume all the risk which you so obligingly assumed for it.” + +“Very true,” Mr. Asmunsen answered sadly. + +Having let them have their say, Ernest began asking questions right and +left. He began with Mr. Owen. + +“You started a branch store here in Berkeley about six months ago?” + +“Yes,” Mr. Owen answered. + +“And since then I’ve noticed that three little corner groceries have +gone out of business. Was your branch store the cause of it?” + +Mr. Owen affirmed with a complacent smile. “They had no chance against +us.” + +“Why not?” + +“We had greater capital. With a large business there is always less +waste and greater efficiency.” + +“And your branch store absorbed the profits of the three small ones. I +see. But tell me, what became of the owners of the three stores?” + +“One is driving a delivery wagon for us. I don’t know what happened to +the other two.” + +Ernest turned abruptly on Mr. Kowalt. + +“You sell a great deal at cut-rates.[1] What have become of the owners +of the small drug stores that you forced to the wall?” + + [1] A lowering of selling price to cost, and even to less than cost. + Thus, a large company could sell at a loss for a longer period than a + small company, and so drive the small company out of business. A + common device of competition. + +“One of them, Mr. Haasfurther, has charge now of our prescription +department,” was the answer. + +“And you absorbed the profits they had been making?” + +“Surely. That is what we are in business for.” + +“And you?” Ernest said suddenly to Mr. Asmunsen. “You are disgusted +because the railroad has absorbed your profits?” + +Mr. Asmunsen nodded. + +“What you want is to make profits yourself?” + +Again Mr. Asmunsen nodded. + +“Out of others?” + +There was no answer. + +“Out of others?” Ernest insisted. + +“That is the way profits are made,” Mr. Asmunsen replied curtly. + +“Then the business game is to make profits out of others, and to +prevent others from making profits out of you. That’s it, isn’t it?” + +Ernest had to repeat his question before Mr. Asmunsen gave an answer, +and then he said: + +“Yes, that’s it, except that we do not object to the others making +profits so long as they are not extortionate.” + +“By extortionate you mean large; yet you do not object to making large +profits yourself? . . . Surely not?” + +And Mr. Asmunsen amiably confessed to the weakness. There was one other +man who was quizzed by Ernest at this juncture, a Mr. Calvin, who had +once been a great dairy-owner. + +“Some time ago you were fighting the Milk Trust,” Ernest said to him; +“and now you are in Grange politics.[2] How did it happen?” + + [2] Many efforts were made during this period to organize the + perishing farmer class into a political party, the aim of which was to + destroy the trusts and corporations by drastic legislation. All such + attempts ended in failure. + +“Oh, I haven’t quit the fight,” Mr. Calvin answered, and he looked +belligerent enough. “I’m fighting the Trust on the only field where it +is possible to fight—the political field. Let me show you. A few years +ago we dairymen had everything our own way.” + +“But you competed among yourselves?” Ernest interrupted. + +“Yes, that was what kept the profits down. We did try to organize, but +independent dairymen always broke through us. Then came the Milk +Trust.” + +“Financed by surplus capital from Standard Oil,”[3] Ernest said. + + [3] The first successful great trust—almost a generation in advance of + the rest. + +“Yes,” Mr. Calvin acknowledged. “But we did not know it at the time. +Its agents approached us with a club. “Come in and be fat,” was their +proposition, “or stay out and starve.” Most of us came in. Those that +didn’t, starved. Oh, it paid us . . . at first. Milk was raised a cent +a quart. One-quarter of this cent came to us. Three-quarters of it went +to the Trust. Then milk was raised another cent, only we didn’t get any +of that cent. Our complaints were useless. The Trust was in control. We +discovered that we were pawns. Finally, the additional quarter of a +cent was denied us. Then the Trust began to squeeze us out. What could +we do? We were squeezed out. There were no dairymen, only a Milk +Trust.” + +“But with milk two cents higher, I should think you could have +competed,” Ernest suggested slyly. + +“So we thought. We tried it.” Mr. Calvin paused a moment. “It broke us. +The Trust could put milk upon the market more cheaply than we. It could +sell still at a slight profit when we were selling at actual loss. I +dropped fifty thousand dollars in that venture. Most of us went +bankrupt.[4] The dairymen were wiped out of existence.” + + [4] Bankruptcy—a peculiar institution that enabled an individual, who + had failed in competitive industry, to forego paying his debts. The + effect was to ameliorate the too savage conditions of the + fang-and-claw social struggle. + +“So the Trust took your profits away from you,” Ernest said, “and +you’ve gone into politics in order to legislate the Trust out of +existence and get the profits back?” + +Mr. Calvin’s face lighted up. “That is precisely what I say in my +speeches to the farmers. That’s our whole idea in a nutshell.” + +“And yet the Trust produces milk more cheaply than could the +independent dairymen?” Ernest queried. + +“Why shouldn’t it, with the splendid organization and new machinery its +large capital makes possible?” + +“There is no discussion,” Ernest answered. “It certainly should, and, +furthermore, it does.” + +Mr. Calvin here launched out into a political speech in exposition of +his views. He was warmly followed by a number of the others, and the +cry of all was to destroy the trusts. + +“Poor simple folk,” Ernest said to me in an undertone. “They see +clearly as far as they see, but they see only to the ends of their +noses.” + +A little later he got the floor again, and in his characteristic way +controlled it for the rest of the evening. + +“I have listened carefully to all of you,” he began, “and I see plainly +that you play the business game in the orthodox fashion. Life sums +itself up to you in profits. You have a firm and abiding belief that +you were created for the sole purpose of making profits. Only there is +a hitch. In the midst of your own profit-making along comes the trust +and takes your profits away from you. This is a dilemma that interferes +somehow with the aim of creation, and the only way out, as it seems to +you, is to destroy that which takes from you your profits. + +“I have listened carefully, and there is only one name that will +epitomize you. I shall call you that name. You are machine-breakers. Do +you know what a machine-breaker is? Let me tell you. In the eighteenth +century, in England, men and women wove cloth on hand-looms in their +own cottages. It was a slow, clumsy, and costly way of weaving cloth, +this cottage system of manufacture. Along came the steam-engine and +labor-saving machinery. A thousand looms assembled in a large factory, +and driven by a central engine wove cloth vastly more cheaply than +could the cottage weavers on their hand-looms. Here in the factory was +combination, and before it competition faded away. The men and women +who had worked the hand-looms for themselves now went into the +factories and worked the machine-looms, not for themselves, but for the +capitalist owners. Furthermore, little children went to work on the +machine-looms, at lower wages, and displaced the men. This made hard +times for the men. Their standard of living fell. They starved. And +they said it was all the fault of the machines. Therefore, they +proceeded to break the machines. They did not succeed, and they were +very stupid. + +“Yet you have not learned their lesson. Here are you, a century and a +half later, trying to break machines. By your own confession the trust +machines do the work more efficiently and more cheaply than you can. +That is why you cannot compete with them. And yet you would break those +machines. You are even more stupid than the stupid workmen of England. +And while you maunder about restoring competition, the trusts go on +destroying you. + +“One and all you tell the same story,—the passing away of competition +and the coming on of combination. You, Mr. Owen, destroyed competition +here in Berkeley when your branch store drove the three small groceries +out of business. Your combination was more effective. Yet you feel the +pressure of other combinations on you, the trust combinations, and you +cry out. It is because you are not a trust. If you were a grocery trust +for the whole United States, you would be singing another song. And the +song would be, ‘Blessed are the trusts.’ And yet again, not only is +your small combination not a trust, but you are aware yourself of its +lack of strength. You are beginning to divine your own end. You feel +yourself and your branch stores a pawn in the game. You see the +powerful interests rising and growing more powerful day by day; you +feel their mailed hands descending upon your profits and taking a pinch +here and a pinch there—the railroad trust, the oil trust, the steel +trust, the coal trust; and you know that in the end they will destroy +you, take away from you the last per cent of your little profits. + +“You, sir, are a poor gamester. When you squeezed out the three small +groceries here in Berkeley by virtue of your superior combination, you +swelled out your chest, talked about efficiency and enterprise, and +sent your wife to Europe on the profits you had gained by eating up the +three small groceries. It is dog eat dog, and you ate them up. But, on +the other hand, you are being eaten up in turn by the bigger dogs, +wherefore you squeal. And what I say to you is true of all of you at +this table. You are all squealing. You are all playing the losing game, +and you are all squealing about it. + +“But when you squeal you don’t state the situation flatly, as I have +stated it. You don’t say that you like to squeeze profits out of +others, and that you are making all the row because others are +squeezing your profits out of you. No, you are too cunning for that. +You say something else. You make small-capitalist political speeches +such as Mr. Calvin made. What did he say? Here are a few of his phrases +I caught: ‘Our original principles are all right,’ ‘What this country +requires is a return to fundamental American methods—free opportunity +for all,’ ‘The spirit of liberty in which this nation was born,’ ‘Let +us return to the principles of our forefathers.’ + +“When he says ‘free opportunity for all,’ he means free opportunity to +squeeze profits, which freedom of opportunity is now denied him by the +great trusts. And the absurd thing about it is that you have repeated +these phrases so often that you believe them. You want opportunity to +plunder your fellow-men in your own small way, but you hypnotize +yourselves into thinking you want freedom. You are piggish and +acquisitive, but the magic of your phrases leads you to believe that +you are patriotic. Your desire for profits, which is sheer selfishness, +you metamorphose into altruistic solicitude for suffering humanity. +Come on now, right here amongst ourselves, and be honest for once. Look +the matter in the face and state it in direct terms.” + +There were flushed and angry faces at the table, and withal a measure +of awe. They were a little frightened at this smooth-faced young +fellow, and the swing and smash of his words, and his dreadful trait of +calling a spade a spade. Mr. Calvin promptly replied. + +“And why not?” he demanded. “Why can we not return to the ways of our +fathers when this republic was founded? You have spoken much truth, Mr. +Everhard, unpalatable though it has been. But here amongst ourselves +let us speak out. Let us throw off all disguise and accept the truth as +Mr. Everhard has flatly stated it. It is true that we smaller +capitalists are after profits, and that the trusts are taking our +profits away from us. It is true that we want to destroy the trusts in +order that our profits may remain to us. And why can we not do it? Why +not? I say, why not?” + +“Ah, now we come to the gist of the matter,” Ernest said with a pleased +expression. “I’ll try to tell you why not, though the telling will be +rather hard. You see, you fellows have studied business, in a small +way, but you have not studied social evolution at all. You are in the +midst of a transition stage now in economic evolution, but you do not +understand it, and that’s what causes all the confusion. Why cannot you +return? Because you can’t. You can no more make water run up hill than +can you cause the tide of economic evolution to flow back in its +channel along the way it came. Joshua made the sun stand still upon +Gibeon, but you would outdo Joshua. You would make the sun go backward +in the sky. You would have time retrace its steps from noon to morning. + +“In the face of labor-saving machinery, of organized production, of the +increased efficiency of combination, you would set the economic sun +back a whole generation or so to the time when there were no great +capitalists, no great machinery, no railroads—a time when a host of +little capitalists warred with each other in economic anarchy, and when +production was primitive, wasteful, unorganized, and costly. Believe +me, Joshua’s task was easier, and he had Jehovah to help him. But God +has forsaken you small capitalists. The sun of the small capitalists is +setting. It will never rise again. Nor is it in your power even to make +it stand still. You are perishing, and you are doomed to perish utterly +from the face of society. + +“This is the fiat of evolution. It is the word of God. Combination is +stronger than competition. Primitive man was a puny creature hiding in +the crevices of the rocks. He combined and made war upon his +carnivorous enemies. They were competitive beasts. Primitive man was a +combinative beast, and because of it he rose to primacy over all the +animals. And man has been achieving greater and greater combinations +ever since. It is combination _versus_ competition, a thousand +centuries long struggle, in which competition has always been worsted. +Whoso enlists on the side of competition perishes.” + +“But the trusts themselves arose out of competition,” Mr. Calvin +interrupted. + +“Very true,” Ernest answered. “And the trusts themselves destroyed +competition. That, by your own word, is why you are no longer in the +dairy business.” + +The first laughter of the evening went around the table, and even Mr. +Calvin joined in the laugh against himself. + +“And now, while we are on the trusts,” Ernest went on, “let us settle a +few things. I shall make certain statements, and if you disagree with +them, speak up. Silence will mean agreement. Is it not true that a +machine-loom will weave more cloth and weave more cheaply than a +hand-loom?” He paused, but nobody spoke up. “Is it not then highly +irrational to break the machine-loom and go back to the clumsy and more +costly hand-loom method of weaving?” Heads nodded in acquiescence. “Is +it not true that that known as a trust produces more efficiently and +cheaply than can a thousand competing small concerns?” Still no one +objected. “Then is it not irrational to destroy that cheap and +efficient combination?” + +No one answered for a long time. Then Mr. Kowalt spoke. + +“What are we to do, then?” he demanded. “To destroy the trusts is the +only way we can see to escape their domination.” + +Ernest was all fire and aliveness on the instant. + +“I’ll show you another way!” he cried. “Let us not destroy those +wonderful machines that produce efficiently and cheaply. Let us control +them. Let us profit by their efficiency and cheapness. Let us run them +for ourselves. Let us oust the present owners of the wonderful +machines, and let us own the wonderful machines ourselves. That, +gentlemen, is socialism, a greater combination than the trusts, a +greater economic and social combination than any that has as yet +appeared on the planet. It is in line with evolution. We meet +combination with greater combination. It is the winning side. Come on +over with us socialists and play on the winning side.” + +Here arose dissent. There was a shaking of heads, and mutterings arose. + +“All right, then, you prefer to be anachronisms,” Ernest laughed. “You +prefer to play atavistic rôles. You are doomed to perish as all +atavisms perish. Have you ever asked what will happen to you when +greater combinations than even the present trusts arise? Have you ever +considered where you will stand when the great trusts themselves +combine into the combination of combinations—into the social, economic, +and political trust?” + +He turned abruptly and irrelevantly upon Mr. Calvin. + +“Tell me,” Ernest said, “if this is not true. You are compelled to form +a new political party because the old parties are in the hands of the +trusts. The chief obstacle to your Grange propaganda is the trusts. +Behind every obstacle you encounter, every blow that smites you, every +defeat that you receive, is the hand of the trusts. Is this not so? +Tell me.” + +Mr. Calvin sat in uncomfortable silence. + +“Go ahead,” Ernest encouraged. + +“It is true,” Mr. Calvin confessed. “We captured the state legislature +of Oregon and put through splendid protective legislation, and it was +vetoed by the governor, who was a creature of the trusts. We elected a +governor of Colorado, and the legislature refused to permit him to take +office. Twice we have passed a national income tax, and each time the +supreme court smashed it as unconstitutional. The courts are in the +hands of the trusts. We, the people, do not pay our judges +sufficiently. But there will come a time—” + +“When the combination of the trusts will control all legislation, when +the combination of the trusts will itself be the government,” Ernest +interrupted. + +“Never! never!” were the cries that arose. Everybody was excited and +belligerent. + +“Tell me,” Ernest demanded, “what will you do when such a time comes?” + +“We will rise in our strength!” Mr. Asmunsen cried, and many voices +backed his decision. + +“That will be civil war,” Ernest warned them. + +“So be it, civil war,” was Mr. Asmunsen’s answer, with the cries of all +the men at the table behind him. “We have not forgotten the deeds of +our forefathers. For our liberties we are ready to fight and die.” + +Ernest smiled. + +“Do not forget,” he said, “that we had tacitly agreed that liberty in +your case, gentlemen, means liberty to squeeze profits out of others.” + +The table was angry, now, fighting angry; but Ernest controlled the +tumult and made himself heard. + +“One more question. When you rise in your strength, remember, the +reason for your rising will be that the government is in the hands of +the trusts. Therefore, against your strength the government will turn +the regular army, the navy, the militia, the police—in short, the whole +organized war machinery of the United States. Where will your strength +be then?” + +Dismay sat on their faces, and before they could recover, Ernest struck +again. + +“Do you remember, not so long ago, when our regular army was only fifty +thousand? Year by year it has been increased until to-day it is three +hundred thousand.” + +Again he struck. + +“Nor is that all. While you diligently pursued that favorite phantom of +yours, called profits, and moralized about that favorite fetich of +yours, called competition, even greater and more direful things have +been accomplished by combination. There is the militia.” + +“It is our strength!” cried Mr. Kowalt. “With it we would repel the +invasion of the regular army.” + +“You would go into the militia yourself,” was Ernest’s retort, “and be +sent to Maine, or Florida, or the Philippines, or anywhere else, to +drown in blood your own comrades civil-warring for their liberties. +While from Kansas, or Wisconsin, or any other state, your own comrades +would go into the militia and come here to California to drown in blood +your own civil-warring.” + +Now they were really shocked, and they sat wordless, until Mr. Owen +murmured: + +“We would not go into the militia. That would settle it. We would not +be so foolish.” + +Ernest laughed outright. + +“You do not understand the combination that has been effected. You +could not help yourself. You would be drafted into the militia.” + +“There is such a thing as civil law,” Mr. Owen insisted. + +“Not when the government suspends civil law. In that day when you speak +of rising in your strength, your strength would be turned against +yourself. Into the militia you would go, willy-nilly. Habeas corpus, I +heard some one mutter just now. Instead of habeas corpus you would get +post mortems. If you refused to go into the militia, or to obey after +you were in, you would be tried by drumhead court martial and shot down +like dogs. It is the law.” + +“It is not the law!” Mr. Calvin asserted positively. “There is no such +law. Young man, you have dreamed all this. Why, you spoke of sending +the militia to the Philippines. That is unconstitutional. The +Constitution especially states that the militia cannot be sent out of +the country.” + +“What’s the Constitution got to do with it?” Ernest demanded. “The +courts interpret the Constitution, and the courts, as Mr. Asmunsen +agreed, are the creatures of the trusts. Besides, it is as I have said, +the law. It has been the law for years, for nine years, gentlemen.” + +“That we can be drafted into the militia?” Mr. Calvin asked +incredulously. “That they can shoot us by drumhead court martial if we +refuse?” + +“Yes,” Ernest answered, “precisely that.” + +“How is it that we have never heard of this law?” my father asked, and +I could see that it was likewise new to him. + +“For two reasons,” Ernest said. “First, there has been no need to +enforce it. If there had, you’d have heard of it soon enough. And +secondly, the law was rushed through Congress and the Senate secretly, +with practically no discussion. Of course, the newspapers made no +mention of it. But we socialists knew about it. We published it in our +papers. But you never read our papers.” + +“I still insist you are dreaming,” Mr. Calvin said stubbornly. “The +country would never have permitted it.” + +“But the country did permit it,” Ernest replied. “And as for my +dreaming—” he put his hand in his pocket and drew out a small +pamphlet—“tell me if this looks like dream-stuff.” + +He opened it and began to read: + +“‘Section One, be it enacted, and so forth and so forth, that the +militia shall consist of every able-bodied male citizen of the +respective states, territories, and District of Columbia, who is more +than eighteen and less than forty-five years of age.’ + +“‘Section Seven, that any officer or enlisted man’—remember Section +One, gentlemen, you are all enlisted men—‘that any enlisted man of the +militia who shall refuse or neglect to present himself to such +mustering officer upon being called forth as herein prescribed, shall +be subject to trial by court martial, and shall be punished as such +court martial shall direct.’ + +“‘Section Eight, that courts martial, for the trial of officers or men +of the militia, shall be composed of militia officers only.’ + +“‘Section Nine, that the militia, when called into the actual service +of the United States, shall be subject to the same rules and articles +of war as the regular troops of the United States.’ + +“There you are gentlemen, American citizens, and fellow-militiamen. +Nine years ago we socialists thought that law was aimed against labor. +But it would seem that it was aimed against you, too. Congressman +Wiley, in the brief discussion that was permitted, said that the bill +‘provided for a reserve force to take the mob by the throat’—you’re the +mob, gentlemen—‘and protect at all hazards life, liberty, and +property.’ And in the time to come, when you rise in your strength, +remember that you will be rising against the property of the trusts, +and the liberty of the trusts, according to the law, to squeeze you. +Your teeth are pulled, gentlemen. Your claws are trimmed. In the day +you rise in your strength, toothless and clawless, you will be as +harmless as any army of clams.” + +“I don’t believe it!” Kowalt cried. “There is no such law. It is a +canard got up by you socialists.” + +“This bill was introduced in the House of Representatives on July 30, +1902,” was the reply. “It was introduced by Representative Dick of +Ohio. It was rushed through. It was passed unanimously by the Senate on +January 14, 1903. And just seven days afterward was approved by the +President of the United States.”[5] + + [5] Everhard was right in the essential particulars, though his date + of the introduction of the bill is in error. The bill was introduced + on June 30, and not on July 30. The _Congressional Record_ is here in + Ardis, and a reference to it shows mention of the bill on the + following dates: June 30, December 9, 15, 16, and 17, 1902, and + January 7 and 14, 1903. The ignorance evidenced by the business men at + the dinner was nothing unusual. Very few people knew of the existence + of this law. E. Untermann, a revolutionist, in July, 1903, published a + pamphlet at Girard, Kansas, on the “Militia Bill.” This pamphlet had a + small circulation among workingmen; but already had the segregation of + classes proceeded so far, that the members of the middle class never + heard of the pamphlet at all, and so remained in ignorance of the law. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. +THE MATHEMATICS OF A DREAM + + +In the midst of the consternation his revelation had produced, Ernest +began again to speak. + +“You have said, a dozen of you to-night, that socialism is impossible. +You have asserted the impossible, now let me demonstrate the +inevitable. Not only is it inevitable that you small capitalists shall +pass away, but it is inevitable that the large capitalists, and the +trusts also, shall pass away. Remember, the tide of evolution never +flows backward. It flows on and on, and it flows from competition to +combination, and from little combination to large combination, and from +large combination to colossal combination, and it flows on to +socialism, which is the most colossal combination of all. + +“You tell me that I dream. Very good. I’ll give you the mathematics of +my dream; and here, in advance, I challenge you to show that my +mathematics are wrong. I shall develop the inevitability of the +breakdown of the capitalist system, and I shall demonstrate +mathematically why it must break down. Here goes, and bear with me if +at first I seem irrelevant. + +“Let us, first of all, investigate a particular industrial process, and +whenever I state something with which you disagree, please interrupt +me. Here is a shoe factory. This factory takes leather and makes it +into shoes. Here is one hundred dollars’ worth of leather. It goes +through the factory and comes out in the form of shoes, worth, let us +say, two hundred dollars. What has happened? One hundred dollars has +been added to the value of the leather. How was it added? Let us see. + +“Capital and labor added this value of one hundred dollars. Capital +furnished the factory, the machines, and paid all the expenses. Labor +furnished labor. By the joint effort of capital and labor one hundred +dollars of value was added. Are you all agreed so far?” + +Heads nodded around the table in affirmation. + +“Labor and capital having produced this one hundred dollars, now +proceed to divide it. The statistics of this division are fractional; +so let us, for the sake of convenience, make them roughly approximate. +Capital takes fifty dollars as its share, and labor gets in wages fifty +dollars as its share. We will not enter into the squabbling over the +division.[1] No matter how much squabbling takes place, in one +percentage or another the division is arranged. And take notice here, +that what is true of this particular industrial process is true of all +industrial processes. Am I right?” + + [1] Everhard here clearly develops the cause of all the labor troubles + of that time. In the division of the joint-product, capital wanted all + it could get, and labor wanted all it could get. This quarrel over the + division was irreconcilable. So long as the system of capitalistic + production existed, labor and capital continued to quarrel over the + division of the joint-product. It is a ludicrous spectacle to us, but + we must not forget that we have seven centuries’ advantage over those + that lived in that time. + +Again the whole table agreed with Ernest. + +“Now, suppose labor, having received its fifty dollars, wanted to buy +back shoes. It could only buy back fifty dollars’ worth. That’s clear, +isn’t it? + +“And now we shift from this particular process to the sum total of all +industrial processes in the United States, which includes the leather +itself, raw material, transportation, selling, everything. We will say, +for the sake of round figures, that the total production of wealth in +the United States in one year is four billion dollars. Then labor has +received in wages, during the same period, two billion dollars. Four +billion dollars has been produced. How much of this can labor buy back? +Two billions. There is no discussion of this, I am sure. For that +matter, my percentages are mild. Because of a thousand capitalistic +devices, labor cannot buy back even half of the total product. + +“But to return. We will say labor buys back two billions. Then it +stands to reason that labor can consume only two billions. There are +still two billions to be accounted for, which labor cannot buy back and +consume.” + +“Labor does not consume its two billions, even,” Mr. Kowalt spoke up. +“If it did, it would not have any deposits in the savings banks.” + +“Labor’s deposits in the savings banks are only a sort of reserve fund +that is consumed as fast as it accumulates. These deposits are saved +for old age, for sickness and accident, and for funeral expenses. The +savings bank deposit is simply a piece of the loaf put back on the +shelf to be eaten next day. No, labor consumes all of the total product +that its wages will buy back. + +“Two billions are left to capital. After it has paid its expenses, does +it consume the remainder? Does capital consume all of its two +billions?” + +Ernest stopped and put the question point blank to a number of the men. +They shook their heads. + +“I don’t know,” one of them frankly said. + +“Of course you do,” Ernest went on. “Stop and think a moment. If +capital consumed its share, the sum total of capital could not +increase. It would remain constant. If you will look at the economic +history of the United States, you will see that the sum total of +capital has continually increased. Therefore capital does not consume +its share. Do you remember when England owned so much of our railroad +bonds? As the years went by, we bought back those bonds. What does that +mean? That part of capital’s unconsumed share bought back the bonds. +What is the meaning of the fact that to-day the capitalists of the +United States own hundreds and hundreds of millions of dollars of +Mexican bonds, Russian bonds, Italian bonds, Grecian bonds? The meaning +is that those hundreds and hundreds of millions were part of capital’s +share which capital did not consume. Furthermore, from the very +beginning of the capitalist system, capital has never consumed all of +its share. + +“And now we come to the point. Four billion dollars of wealth is +produced in one year in the United States. Labor buys back and consumes +two billions. Capital does not consume the remaining two billions. +There is a large balance left over unconsumed. What is done with this +balance? What can be done with it? Labor cannot consume any of it, for +labor has already spent all its wages. Capital will not consume this +balance, because, already, according to its nature, it has consumed all +it can. And still remains the balance. What can be done with it? What +is done with it?” + +“It is sold abroad,” Mr. Kowalt volunteered. + +“The very thing,” Ernest agreed. “Because of this balance arises our +need for a foreign market. This is sold abroad. It has to be sold +abroad. There is no other way of getting rid of it. And that unconsumed +surplus, sold abroad, becomes what we call our favorable balance of +trade. Are we all agreed so far?” + +“Surely it is a waste of time to elaborate these A B C’s of commerce,” +Mr. Calvin said tartly. “We all understand them.” + +“And it is by these A B C’s I have so carefully elaborated that I shall +confound you,” Ernest retorted. “There’s the beauty of it. And I’m +going to confound you with them right now. Here goes. + +“The United States is a capitalist country that has developed its +resources. According to its capitalist system of industry, it has an +unconsumed surplus that must be got rid of, and that must be got rid of +abroad.[2] What is true of the United States is true of every other +capitalist country with developed resources. Every one of such +countries has an unconsumed surplus. Don’t forget that they have +already traded with one another, and that these surpluses yet remain. +Labor in all these countries has spent its wages, and cannot buy any of +the surpluses. Capital in all these countries has already consumed all +it is able according to its nature. And still remain the surpluses. +They cannot dispose of these surpluses to one another. How are they +going to get rid of them?” + + [2] Theodore Roosevelt, President of the United States a few years + prior to this time, made the following public declaration: “_A more + liberal and extensive reciprocity in the purchase and sale of + commodities is necessary, so that the overproduction of the United + States can be satisfactorily disposed of to foreign countries._” Of + course, this overproduction he mentions was the profits of the + capitalist system over and beyond the consuming power of the + capitalists. It was at this time that Senator Mark Hanna said: “_The + production of wealth in the United States is one-third larger annually + than its consumption._” Also a fellow-Senator, Chauncey Depew, said: + “_The American people produce annually two billions more wealth than + they consume._” + +“Sell them to countries with undeveloped resources,” Mr. Kowalt +suggested. + +“The very thing. You see, my argument is so clear and simple that in +your own minds you carry it on for me. And now for the next step. +Suppose the United States disposes of its surplus to a country with +undeveloped resources like, say, Brazil. Remember this surplus is over +and above trade, which articles of trade have been consumed. What, +then, does the United States get in return from Brazil?” + +“Gold,” said Mr. Kowalt. + +“But there is only so much gold, and not much of it, in the world,” +Ernest objected. + +“Gold in the form of securities and bonds and so forth,” Mr. Kowalt +amended. + +“Now you’ve struck it,” Ernest said. “From Brazil the United States, in +return for her surplus, gets bonds and securities. And what does that +mean? It means that the United States is coming to own railroads in +Brazil, factories, mines, and lands in Brazil. And what is the meaning +of that in turn?” + +Mr. Kowalt pondered and shook his head. + +“I’ll tell you,” Ernest continued. “It means that the resources of +Brazil are being developed. And now, the next point. When Brazil, under +the capitalist system, has developed her resources, she will herself +have an unconsumed surplus. Can she get rid of this surplus to the +United States? No, because the United States has herself a surplus. Can +the United States do what she previously did—get rid of her surplus to +Brazil? No, for Brazil now has a surplus, too. + +“What happens? The United States and Brazil must both seek out other +countries with undeveloped resources, in order to unload the surpluses +on them. But by the very process of unloading the surpluses, the +resources of those countries are in turn developed. Soon they have +surpluses, and are seeking other countries on which to unload. Now, +gentlemen, follow me. The planet is only so large. There are only so +many countries in the world. What will happen when every country in the +world, down to the smallest and last, with a surplus in its hands, +stands confronting every other country with surpluses in their hands?” + +He paused and regarded his listeners. The bepuzzlement in their faces +was delicious. Also, there was awe in their faces. Out of abstractions +Ernest had conjured a vision and made them see it. They were seeing it +then, as they sat there, and they were frightened by it. + +“We started with A B C, Mr. Calvin,” Ernest said slyly. “I have now +given you the rest of the alphabet. It is very simple. That is the +beauty of it. You surely have the answer forthcoming. What, then, when +every country in the world has an unconsumed surplus? Where will your +capitalist system be then?” + +But Mr. Calvin shook a troubled head. He was obviously questing back +through Ernest’s reasoning in search of an error. + +“Let me briefly go over the ground with you again,” Ernest said. “We +began with a particular industrial process, the shoe factory. We found +that the division of the joint product that took place there was +similar to the division that took place in the sum total of all +industrial processes. We found that labor could buy back with its wages +only so much of the product, and that capital did not consume all of +the remainder of the product. We found that when labor had consumed to +the full extent of its wages, and when capital had consumed all it +wanted, there was still left an unconsumed surplus. We agreed that this +surplus could only be disposed of abroad. We agreed, also, that the +effect of unloading this surplus on another country would be to develop +the resources of that country, and that in a short time that country +would have an unconsumed surplus. We extended this process to all the +countries on the planet, till every country was producing every year, +and every day, an unconsumed surplus, which it could dispose of to no +other country. And now I ask you again, what are we going to do with +those surpluses?” + +Still no one answered. + +“Mr. Calvin?” Ernest queried. + +“It beats me,” Mr. Calvin confessed. + +“I never dreamed of such a thing,” Mr. Asmunsen said. “And yet it does +seem clear as print.” + +It was the first time I had ever heard Karl Marx’s[3] doctrine of +surplus value elaborated, and Ernest had done it so simply that I, too, +sat puzzled and dumbfounded. + + [3] Karl Marx—the great intellectual hero of Socialism. A German Jew + of the nineteenth century. A contemporary of John Stuart Mill. It + seems incredible to us that whole generations should have elapsed + after the enunciation of Marx’s economic discoveries, in which time he + was sneered at by the world’s accepted thinkers and scholars. Because + of his discoveries he was banished from his native country, and he + died an exile in England. + +“I’ll tell you a way to get rid of the surplus,” Ernest said. “Throw it +into the sea. Throw every year hundreds of millions of dollars’ worth +of shoes and wheat and clothing and all the commodities of commerce +into the sea. Won’t that fix it?” + +“It will certainly fix it,” Mr. Calvin answered. “But it is absurd for +you to talk that way.” + +Ernest was upon him like a flash. + +“Is it a bit more absurd than what you advocate, you machine-breaker, +returning to the antediluvian ways of your forefathers? What do you +propose in order to get rid of the surplus? You would escape the +problem of the surplus by not producing any surplus. And how do you +propose to avoid producing a surplus? By returning to a primitive +method of production, so confused and disorderly and irrational, so +wasteful and costly, that it will be impossible to produce a surplus.” + +Mr. Calvin swallowed. The point had been driven home. He swallowed +again and cleared his throat. + +“You are right,” he said. “I stand convicted. It is absurd. But we’ve +got to do something. It is a case of life and death for us of the +middle class. We refuse to perish. We elect to be absurd and to return +to the truly crude and wasteful methods of our forefathers. We will put +back industry to its pre-trust stage. We will break the machines. And +what are you going to do about it?” + +“But you can’t break the machines,” Ernest replied. “You cannot make +the tide of evolution flow backward. Opposed to you are two great +forces, each of which is more powerful than you of the middle class. +The large capitalists, the trusts, in short, will not let you turn +back. They don’t want the machines destroyed. And greater than the +trusts, and more powerful, is labor. It will not let you destroy the +machines. The ownership of the world, along with the machines, lies +between the trusts and labor. That is the battle alignment. Neither +side wants the destruction of the machines. But each side wants to +possess the machines. In this battle the middle class has no place. The +middle class is a pygmy between two giants. Don’t you see, you poor +perishing middle class, you are caught between the upper and nether +millstones, and even now has the grinding begun. + +“I have demonstrated to you mathematically the inevitable breakdown of +the capitalist system. When every country stands with an unconsumed and +unsalable surplus on its hands, the capitalist system will break down +under the terrific structure of profits that it itself has reared. And +in that day there won’t be any destruction of the machines. The +struggle then will be for the ownership of the machines. If labor wins, +your way will be easy. The United States, and the whole world for that +matter, will enter upon a new and tremendous era. Instead of being +crushed by the machines, life will be made fairer, and happier, and +nobler by them. You of the destroyed middle class, along with +labor—there will be nothing but labor then; so you, and all the rest of +labor, will participate in the equitable distribution of the products +of the wonderful machines. And we, all of us, will make new and more +wonderful machines. And there won’t be any unconsumed surplus, because +there won’t be any profits.” + +“But suppose the trusts win in this battle over the ownership of the +machines and the world?” Mr. Kowalt asked. + +“Then,” Ernest answered, “you, and labor, and all of us, will be +crushed under the iron heel of a despotism as relentless and terrible +as any despotism that has blackened the pages of the history of man. +That will be a good name for that despotism, the Iron Heel.”[4] + + [4] The earliest known use of that name to designate the Oligarchy. + +There was a long pause, and every man at the table meditated in ways +unwonted and profound. + +“But this socialism of yours is a dream,” Mr. Calvin said; and +repeated, “a dream.” + +“I’ll show you something that isn’t a dream, then,” Ernest answered. +“And that something I shall call the Oligarchy. You call it the +Plutocracy. We both mean the same thing, the large capitalists or the +trusts. Let us see where the power lies today. And in order to do so, +let us apportion society into its class divisions. + +“There are three big classes in society. First comes the Plutocracy, +which is composed of wealthy bankers, railway magnates, corporation +directors, and trust magnates. Second, is the middle class, your class, +gentlemen, which is composed of farmers, merchants, small +manufacturers, and professional men. And third and last comes my class, +the proletariat, which is composed of the wage-workers.[5] + + [5] This division of society made by Everhard is in accordance with + that made by Lucien Sanial, one of the statistical authorities of that + time. His calculation of the membership of these divisions by + occupation, from the United States Census of 1900, is as follows: + Plutocratic class, 250,251; Middle class, 8,429,845; and Proletariat + class, 20,393,137. + +“You cannot but grant that the ownership of wealth constitutes +essential power in the United States to-day. How is this wealth owned +by these three classes? Here are the figures. The Plutocracy owns +sixty-seven billions of wealth. Of the total number of persons engaged +in occupations in the United States, only nine-tenths of one per cent +are from the Plutocracy, yet the Plutocracy owns seventy per cent of +the total wealth. The middle class owns twenty-four billions. +Twenty-nine per cent of those in occupations are from the middle class, +and they own twenty-five per cent of the total wealth. Remains the +proletariat. It owns four billions. Of all persons in occupations, +seventy per cent come from the proletariat; and the proletariat owns +four per cent of the total wealth. Where does the power lie, +gentlemen?” + +“From your own figures, we of the middle class are more powerful than +labor,” Mr. Asmunsen remarked. + +“Calling us weak does not make you stronger in the face of the strength +of the Plutocracy,” Ernest retorted. “And furthermore, I’m not done +with you. There is a greater strength than wealth, and it is greater +because it cannot be taken away. Our strength, the strength of the +proletariat, is in our muscles, in our hands to cast ballots, in our +fingers to pull triggers. This strength we cannot be stripped of. It is +the primitive strength, it is the strength that is to life germane, it +is the strength that is stronger than wealth, and that wealth cannot +take away. + +“But your strength is detachable. It can be taken away from you. Even +now the Plutocracy is taking it away from you. In the end it will take +it all away from you. And then you will cease to be the middle class. +You will descend to us. You will become proletarians. And the beauty of +it is that you will then add to our strength. We will hail you +brothers, and we will fight shoulder to shoulder in the cause of +humanity. + +“You see, labor has nothing concrete of which to be despoiled. Its +share of the wealth of the country consists of clothes and household +furniture, with here and there, in very rare cases, an unencumbered +home. But you have the concrete wealth, twenty-four billions of it, and +the Plutocracy will take it away from you. Of course, there is the +large likelihood that the proletariat will take it away first. Don’t +you see your position, gentlemen? The middle class is a wobbly little +lamb between a lion and a tiger. If one doesn’t get you, the other +will. And if the Plutocracy gets you first, why it’s only a matter of +time when the Proletariat gets the Plutocracy. + +“Even your present wealth is not a true measure of your power. The +strength of your wealth at this moment is only an empty shell. That is +why you are crying out your feeble little battle-cry, ‘Return to the +ways of our fathers.’ You are aware of your impotency. You know that +your strength is an empty shell. And I’ll show you the emptiness of it. + +“What power have the farmers? Over fifty per cent are thralls by virtue +of the fact that they are merely tenants or are mortgaged. And all of +them are thralls by virtue of the fact that the trusts already own or +control (which is the same thing only better)—own and control all the +means of marketing the crops, such as cold storage, railroads, +elevators, and steamship lines. And, furthermore, the trusts control +the markets. In all this the farmers are without power. As regards +their political and governmental power, I’ll take that up later, along +with the political and governmental power of the whole middle class. + +“Day by day the trusts squeeze out the farmers as they squeezed out Mr. +Calvin and the rest of the dairymen. And day by day are the merchants +squeezed out in the same way. Do you remember how, in six months, the +Tobacco Trust squeezed out over four hundred cigar stores in New York +City alone? Where are the old-time owners of the coal fields? You know +today, without my telling you, that the Railroad Trust owns or controls +the entire anthracite and bituminous coal fields. Doesn’t the Standard +Oil Trust[6] own a score of the ocean lines? And does it not also +control copper, to say nothing of running a smelter trust as a little +side enterprise? There are ten thousand cities in the United States +to-night lighted by the companies owned or controlled by Standard Oil, +and in as many cities all the electric transportation,—urban, suburban, +and interurban,—is in the hands of Standard Oil. The small capitalists +who were in these thousands of enterprises are gone. You know that. +It’s the same way that you are going. + + [6] Standard Oil and Rockefeller—see footnote [10] + +“The small manufacturer is like the farmer; and small manufacturers and +farmers to-day are reduced, to all intents and purposes, to feudal +tenure. For that matter, the professional men and the artists are at +this present moment villeins in everything but name, while the +politicians are henchmen. Why do you, Mr. Calvin, work all your nights +and days to organize the farmers, along with the rest of the middle +class, into a new political party? Because the politicians of the old +parties will have nothing to do with your atavistic ideas; and with +your atavistic ideas, they will have nothing to do because they are +what I said they are, henchmen, retainers of the Plutocracy. + +“I spoke of the professional men and the artists as villeins. What else +are they? One and all, the professors, the preachers, and the editors, +hold their jobs by serving the Plutocracy, and their service consists +of propagating only such ideas as are either harmless to or +commendatory of the Plutocracy. Whenever they propagate ideas that +menace the Plutocracy, they lose their jobs, in which case, if they +have not provided for the rainy day, they descend into the proletariat +and either perish or become working-class agitators. And don’t forget +that it is the press, the pulpit, and the university that mould public +opinion, set the thought-pace of the nation. As for the artists, they +merely pander to the little less than ignoble tastes of the Plutocracy. + +“But after all, wealth in itself is not the real power; it is the means +to power, and power is governmental. Who controls the government +to-day? The proletariat with its twenty millions engaged in +occupations? Even you laugh at the idea. Does the middle class, with +its eight million occupied members? No more than the proletariat. Who, +then, controls the government? The Plutocracy, with its paltry quarter +of a million of occupied members. But this quarter of a million does +not control the government, though it renders yeoman service. It is the +brain of the Plutocracy that controls the government, and this brain +consists of seven[7] small and powerful groups of men. And do not +forget that these groups are working to-day practically in unison. + + [7] Even as late as 1907, it was considered that eleven groups + dominated the country, but this number was reduced by the amalgamation + of the five railroad groups into a supreme combination of all the + railroads. These five groups so amalgamated, along with their + financial and political allies, were (1) James J. Hill with his + control of the Northwest; (2) the Pennsylvania railway group, Schiff + financial manager, with big banking firms of Philadelphia and New + York; (3) Harriman, with Frick for counsel and Odell as political + lieutenant, controlling the central continental, Southwestern and + Southern Pacific Coast lines of transportation; (4) the Gould family + railway interests; and (5) Moore, Reid, and Leeds, known as the “Rock + Island crowd.” These strong oligarchs arose out of the conflict of + competition and travelled the inevitable road toward combination. + +“Let me point out the power of but one of them, the railroad group. It +employs forty thousand lawyers to defeat the people in the courts. It +issues countless thousands of free passes to judges, bankers, editors, +ministers, university men, members of state legislatures, and of +Congress. It maintains luxurious lobbies[8] at every state capital, and +at the national capital; and in all the cities and towns of the land it +employs an immense army of pettifoggers and small politicians whose +business is to attend primaries, pack conventions, get on juries, bribe +judges, and in every way to work for its interests.[9] + + [8] _Lobby_—a peculiar institution for bribing, bulldozing, and + corrupting the legislators who were supposed to represent the people’s + interests. + + [9] A decade before this speech of Everhard’s, the New York Board of + Trade issued a report from which the following is quoted: “_The + railroads control absolutely the legislatures of a majority of the + states of the Union; they make and unmake United States Senators, + congressmen, and governors, and are practically dictators of the + governmental policy of the United States._” + +“Gentlemen, I have merely sketched the power of one of the seven groups +that constitute the brain of the Plutocracy.[10] Your twenty-four +billions of wealth does not give you twenty-five cents’ worth of +governmental power. It is an empty shell, and soon even the empty shell +will be taken away from you. The Plutocracy has all power in its hands +to-day. It to-day makes the laws, for it owns the Senate, Congress, the +courts, and the state legislatures. And not only that. Behind law must +be force to execute the law. To-day the Plutocracy makes the law, and +to enforce the law it has at its beck and call the police, the army, +the navy, and, lastly, the militia, which is you, and me, and all of +us.” + + [10] Rockefeller began as a member of the proletariat, and through + thrift and cunning succeeded in developing the first perfect trust, + namely that known as Standard Oil. We cannot forbear giving the + following remarkable page from the history of the times, to show how + the need for reinvestment of the Standard Oil surplus crushed out + small capitalists and hastened the breakdown of the capitalist system. + David Graham Phillips was a radical writer of the period, and the + quotation, by him, is taken from a copy of the _Saturday Evening + Post_, dated October 4, 1902 A.D. This is the only copy of this + publication that has come down to us, and yet, from its appearance and + content, we cannot but conclude that it was one of the popular + periodicals with a large circulation. The quotation here follows: + “_About ten years ago Rockefeller’s income was given as thirty + millions by an excellent authority. He had reached the limit of + profitable investment of profits in the oil industry. Here, then, + were these enormous sums in cash pouring in—more than $2,000,000 a + month for John Davison Rockefeller alone. The problem of + reinvestment became more serious. It became a nightmare. The oil + income was swelling, swelling, and the number of sound investments + limited, even more limited than it is now. It was through no + special eagerness for more gains that the Rockefellers began to + branch out from oil into other things. They were forced, swept on + by this inrolling tide of wealth which their monopoly magnet + irresistibly attracted. They developed a staff of investment + seekers and investigators. It is said that the chief of this staff + has a salary of $125,000 a year. + “The first conspicuous excursion and incursion of the Rockefellers + was into the railway field. By 1895 they controlled one-fifth of + the railway mileage of the country. What do they own or, through + dominant ownership, control to-day? They are powerful in all the + great railways of New York, north, east, and west, except one, + where their share is only a few millions. They are in most of the + great railways radiating from Chicago. They dominate in several of + the systems that extend to the Pacific. It is their votes that make + Mr. Morgan so potent, though, it may be added, they need his brains + more than he needs their votes— at present, and the combination of + the two constitutes in large measure the ‘community of interest.’ + “But railways could not alone absorb rapidly enough those mighty + floods of gold. Presently John D. Rockefeller’s $2,500,000 a month + had increased to four, to five, to six millions a month, to + $75,000,000 a year. Illuminating oil was becoming all profit. The + reinvestments of income were adding their mite of many annual + millions. + “The Rockefellers went into gas and electricity when those + industries had developed to the safe investment stage. And now a + large part of the American people must begin to enrich the + Rockefellers as soon as the sun goes down, no matter what form of + illuminant they use. They went into farm mortgages. It is said that + when prosperity a few years ago enabled the farmers to rid + themselves of their mortgages, John D. Rockefeller was moved almost + to tears; eight millions which he had thought taken care of for + years to come at a good interest were suddenly dumped upon his + doorstep and there set up a-squawking for a new home. This + unexpected addition to his worriments in finding places for the + progeny of his petroleum and their progeny and their progeny’s + progeny was too much for the equanimity of a man without a + digestion. . . . + “The Rockefellers went into mines—iron and coal and copper and + lead; into other industrial companies; into street railways, into + national, state, and municipal bonds; into steamships and + steamboats and telegraphy; into real estate, into skyscrapers and + residences and hotels and business blocks; into life insurance, + into banking. There was soon literally no field of industry where + their millions were not at work. . . . + “The Rockefeller bank—the National City Bank—is by itself far and + away the biggest bank in the United States. It is exceeded in the + world only by the Bank of England and the Bank of France. The + deposits average more than one hundred millions a day; and it + dominates the call loan market on Wall Street and the stock market. + But it is not alone; it is the head of the Rockefeller chain of + banks, which includes fourteen banks and trust companies in New + York City, and banks of great strength and influence in every large + money center in the country. + “John D. Rockefeller owns Standard Oil stock worth between four and + five hundred millions at the market quotations. He has a hundred + millions in the steel trust, almost as much in a single western + railway system, half as much in a second, and so on and on and on + until the mind wearies of the cataloguing. His income last year was + about $100,000,000— it is doubtful if the incomes of all the + Rothschilds together make a greater sum. And it is going up by + leaps and bounds._” + +Little discussion took place after this, and the dinner soon broke up. +All were quiet and subdued, and leave-taking was done with low voices. +It seemed almost that they were scared by the vision of the times they +had seen. + +“The situation is, indeed, serious,” Mr. Calvin said to Ernest. “I have +little quarrel with the way you have depicted it. Only I disagree with +you about the doom of the middle class. We shall survive, and we shall +overthrow the trusts.” + +“And return to the ways of your fathers,” Ernest finished for him. + +“Even so,” Mr. Calvin answered gravely. “I know it’s a sort of +machine-breaking, and that it is absurd. But then life seems absurd +to-day, what of the machinations of the Plutocracy. And at any rate, +our sort of machine-breaking is at least practical and possible, which +your dream is not. Your socialistic dream is . . . well, a dream. We +cannot follow you.” + +“I only wish you fellows knew a little something about evolution and +sociology,” Ernest said wistfully, as they shook hands. “We would be +saved so much trouble if you did.” + + + + +CHAPTER X. +THE VORTEX + + +Following like thunder claps upon the Business Men’s dinner, occurred +event after event of terrifying moment; and I, little I, who had lived +so placidly all my days in the quiet university town, found myself and +my personal affairs drawn into the vortex of the great world-affairs. +Whether it was my love for Ernest, or the clear sight he had given me +of the society in which I lived, that made me a revolutionist, I know +not; but a revolutionist I became, and I was plunged into a whirl of +happenings that would have been inconceivable three short months +before. + +The crisis in my own fortunes came simultaneously with great crises in +society. First of all, father was discharged from the university. Oh, +he was not technically discharged. His resignation was demanded, that +was all. This, in itself, did not amount to much. Father, in fact, was +delighted. He was especially delighted because his discharge had been +precipitated by the publication of his book, “Economics and Education.” +It clinched his argument, he contended. What better evidence could be +advanced to prove that education was dominated by the capitalist class? + +But this proof never got anywhere. Nobody knew he had been forced to +resign from the university. He was so eminent a scientist that such an +announcement, coupled with the reason for his enforced resignation, +would have created somewhat of a furor all over the world. The +newspapers showered him with praise and honor, and commended him for +having given up the drudgery of the lecture room in order to devote his +whole time to scientific research. + +At first father laughed. Then he became angry—tonic angry. Then came +the suppression of his book. This suppression was performed secretly, +so secretly that at first we could not comprehend. The publication of +the book had immediately caused a bit of excitement in the country. +Father had been politely abused in the capitalist press, the tone of +the abuse being to the effect that it was a pity so great a scientist +should leave his field and invade the realm of sociology, about which +he knew nothing and wherein he had promptly become lost. This lasted +for a week, while father chuckled and said the book had touched a sore +spot on capitalism. And then, abruptly, the newspapers and the critical +magazines ceased saying anything about the book at all. Also, and with +equal suddenness, the book disappeared from the market. Not a copy was +obtainable from any bookseller. Father wrote to the publishers and was +informed that the plates had been accidentally injured. An +unsatisfactory correspondence followed. Driven finally to an +unequivocal stand, the publishers stated that they could not see their +way to putting the book into type again, but that they were willing to +relinquish their rights in it. + +“And you won’t find another publishing house in the country to touch +it,” Ernest said. “And if I were you, I’d hunt cover right now. You’ve +merely got a foretaste of the Iron Heel.” + +But father was nothing if not a scientist. He never believed in jumping +to conclusions. A laboratory experiment was no experiment if it were +not carried through in all its details. So he patiently went the round +of the publishing houses. They gave a multitude of excuses, but not one +house would consider the book. + +When father became convinced that the book had actually been +suppressed, he tried to get the fact into the newspapers; but his +communications were ignored. At a political meeting of the socialists, +where many reporters were present, father saw his chance. He arose and +related the history of the suppression of the book. He laughed next day +when he read the newspapers, and then he grew angry to a degree that +eliminated all tonic qualities. The papers made no mention of the book, +but they misreported him beautifully. They twisted his words and +phrases away from the context, and turned his subdued and controlled +remarks into a howling anarchistic speech. It was done artfully. One +instance, in particular, I remember. He had used the phrase “social +revolution.” The reporter merely dropped out “social.” This was sent +out all over the country in an Associated Press despatch, and from all +over the country arose a cry of alarm. Father was branded as a nihilist +and an anarchist, and in one cartoon that was copied widely he was +portrayed waving a red flag at the head of a mob of long-haired, +wild-eyed men who bore in their hands torches, knives, and dynamite +bombs. + +He was assailed terribly in the press, in long and abusive editorials, +for his anarchy, and hints were made of mental breakdown on his part. +This behavior, on the part of the capitalist press, was nothing new, +Ernest told us. It was the custom, he said, to send reporters to all +the socialist meetings for the express purpose of misreporting and +distorting what was said, in order to frighten the middle class away +from any possible affiliation with the proletariat. And repeatedly +Ernest warned father to cease fighting and to take to cover. + +The socialist press of the country took up the fight, however, and +throughout the reading portion of the working class it was known that +the book had been suppressed. But this knowledge stopped with the +working class. Next, the “Appeal to Reason,” a big socialist publishing +house, arranged with father to bring out the book. Father was jubilant, +but Ernest was alarmed. + +“I tell you we are on the verge of the unknown,” he insisted. “Big +things are happening secretly all around us. We can feel them. We do +not know what they are, but they are there. The whole fabric of society +is a-tremble with them. Don’t ask me. I don’t know myself. But out of +this flux of society something is about to crystallize. It is +crystallizing now. The suppression of the book is a precipitation. How +many books have been suppressed? We haven’t the least idea. We are in +the dark. We have no way of learning. Watch out next for the +suppression of the socialist press and socialist publishing houses. I’m +afraid it’s coming. We are going to be throttled.” + +Ernest had his hand on the pulse of events even more closely than the +rest of the socialists, and within two days the first blow was struck. +The _Appeal to Reason_ was a weekly, and its regular circulation +amongst the proletariat was seven hundred and fifty thousand. Also, it +very frequently got out special editions of from two to five millions. +These great editions were paid for and distributed by the small army of +voluntary workers who had marshalled around the _Appeal_. The first +blow was aimed at these special editions, and it was a crushing one. By +an arbitrary ruling of the Post Office, these editions were decided to +be not the regular circulation of the paper, and for that reason were +denied admission to the mails. + +A week later the Post Office Department ruled that the paper was +seditious, and barred it entirely from the mails. This was a fearful +blow to the socialist propaganda. The _Appeal_ was desperate. It +devised a plan of reaching its subscribers through the express +companies, but they declined to handle it. This was the end of the +_Appeal_. But not quite. It prepared to go on with its book publishing. +Twenty thousand copies of father’s book were in the bindery, and the +presses were turning off more. And then, without warning, a mob arose +one night, and, under a waving American flag, singing patriotic songs, +set fire to the great plant of the _Appeal_ and totally destroyed it. + +Now Girard, Kansas, was a quiet, peaceable town. There had never been +any labor troubles there. The _Appeal_ paid union wages; and, in fact, +was the backbone of the town, giving employment to hundreds of men and +women. It was not the citizens of Girard that composed the mob. This +mob had risen up out of the earth apparently, and to all intents and +purposes, its work done, it had gone back into the earth. Ernest saw in +the affair the most sinister import. + +“The Black Hundreds[1] are being organized in the United States,” he +said. “This is the beginning. There will be more of it. The Iron Heel +is getting bold.” + + [1] The Black Hundreds were reactionary mobs organized by the + perishing Autocracy in the Russian Revolution. These reactionary + groups attacked the revolutionary groups, and also, at needed moments, + rioted and destroyed property so as to afford the Autocracy the + pretext of calling out the Cossacks. + +And so perished father’s book. We were to see much of the Black +Hundreds as the days went by. Week by week more of the socialist papers +were barred from the mails, and in a number of instances the Black +Hundreds destroyed the socialist presses. Of course, the newspapers of +the land lived up to the reactionary policy of the ruling class, and +the destroyed socialist press was misrepresented and vilified, while +the Black Hundreds were represented as true patriots and saviours of +society. So convincing was all this misrepresentation that even sincere +ministers in the pulpit praised the Black Hundreds while regretting the +necessity of violence. + +History was making fast. The fall elections were soon to occur, and +Ernest was nominated by the socialist party to run for Congress. His +chance for election was most favorable. The street-car strike in San +Francisco had been broken. And following upon it the teamsters’ strike +had been broken. These two defeats had been very disastrous to +organized labor. The whole Water Front Federation, along with its +allies in the structural trades, had backed up the teamsters, and all +had been smashed down ingloriously. It had been a bloody strike. The +police had broken countless heads with their riot clubs; and the death +list had been augmented by the turning loose of a machine-gun on the +strikers from the barns of the Marsden Special Delivery Company. + +In consequence, the men were sullen and vindictive. They wanted blood, +and revenge. Beaten on their chosen field, they were ripe to seek +revenge by means of political action. They still maintained their labor +organization, and this gave them strength in the political struggle +that was on. Ernest’s chance for election grew stronger and stronger. +Day by day unions and more unions voted their support to the +socialists, until even Ernest laughed when the Undertakers’ Assistants +and the Chicken Pickers fell into line. Labor became mulish. While it +packed the socialist meetings with mad enthusiasm, it was impervious to +the wiles of the old-party politicians. The old-party orators were +usually greeted with empty halls, though occasionally they encountered +full halls where they were so roughly handled that more than once it +was necessary to call out the police reserves. + +History was making fast. The air was vibrant with things happening and +impending. The country was on the verge of hard times,[2] caused by a +series of prosperous years wherein the difficulty of disposing abroad +of the unconsumed surplus had become increasingly difficult. Industries +were working short time; many great factories were standing idle +against the time when the surplus should be gone; and wages were being +cut right and left. + + [2] Under the capitalist régime these periods of hard times were as + inevitable as they were absurd. Prosperity always brought calamity. + This, of course, was due to the excess of unconsumed profits that was + piled up. + +Also, the great machinist strike had been broken. Two hundred thousand +machinists, along with their five hundred thousand allies in the +metalworking trades, had been defeated in as bloody a strike as had +ever marred the United States. Pitched battles had been fought with the +small armies of armed strike-breakers[3] put in the field by the +employers’ associations; the Black Hundreds, appearing in scores of +wide-scattered places, had destroyed property; and, in consequence, a +hundred thousand regular soldiers of the United States had been called +out to put a frightful end to the whole affair. A number of the labor +leaders had been executed; many others had been sentenced to prison, +while thousands of the rank and file of the strikers had been herded +into bull-pens[4] and abominably treated by the soldiers. + + [3] _Strike-breakers_—these were, in purpose and practice and + everything except name, the private soldiers of the capitalists. They + were thoroughly organized and well armed, and they were held in + readiness to be hurled in special trains to any part of the country + where labor went on strike or was locked out by the employers. Only + those curious times could have given rise to the amazing spectacle of + one, Farley, a notorious commander of strike-breakers, who, in 1906, + swept across the United States in special trains from New York to San + Francisco with an army of twenty-five hundred men, fully armed and + equipped, to break a strike of the San Francisco street-car men. Such + an act was in direct violation of the laws of the land. The fact that + this act, and thousands of similar acts, went unpunished, goes to show + how completely the judiciary was the creature of the Plutocracy. + + [4] _Bull-pen_—in a miners’ strike in Idaho, in the latter part of the + nineteenth century, it happened that many of the strikers were + confined in a bull-pen by the troops. The practice and the name + continued in the twentieth century. + +The years of prosperity were now to be paid for. All markets were +glutted; all markets were falling; and amidst the general crumble of +prices the price of labor crumbled fastest of all. The land was +convulsed with industrial dissensions. Labor was striking here, there, +and everywhere; and where it was not striking, it was being turned out +by the capitalists. The papers were filled with tales of violence and +blood. And through it all the Black Hundreds played their part. Riot, +arson, and wanton destruction of property was their function, and well +they performed it. The whole regular army was in the field, called +there by the actions of the Black Hundreds.[5] All cities and towns +were like armed camps, and laborers were shot down like dogs. Out of +the vast army of the unemployed the strike-breakers were recruited; and +when the strike-breakers were worsted by the labor unions, the troops +always appeared and crushed the unions. Then there was the militia. As +yet, it was not necessary to have recourse to the secret militia law. +Only the regularly organized militia was out, and it was out +everywhere. And in this time of terror, the regular army was increased +an additional hundred thousand by the government. + + [5] The name only, and not the idea, was imported from Russia. The + Black Hundreds were a development out of the secret agents of the + capitalists, and their use arose in the labor struggles of the + nineteenth century. There is no discussion of this. No less an + authority of the times than Carroll D. Wright, United States + Commissioner of Labor, is responsible for the statement. From his + book, entitled “The Battles of Labor,” is quoted the declaration that + “_in some of the great historic strikes the employers themselves have + instigated acts of violence;_” that manufacturers have deliberately + provoked strikes in order to get rid of surplus stock; and that + freight cars have been burned by employers’ agents during railroad + strikes in order to increase disorder. It was out of these secret + agents of the employers that the Black Hundreds arose; and it was + they, in turn, that later became that terrible weapon of the + Oligarchy, the agents-provocateurs. + +Never had labor received such an all-around beating. The great captains +of industry, the oligarchs, had for the first time thrown their full +weight into the breach the struggling employers’ associations had made. +These associations were practically middle-class affairs, and now, +compelled by hard times and crashing markets, and aided by the great +captains of industry, they gave organized labor an awful and decisive +defeat. It was an all-powerful alliance, but it was an alliance of the +lion and the lamb, as the middle class was soon to learn. + +Labor was bloody and sullen, but crushed. Yet its defeat did not put an +end to the hard times. The banks, themselves constituting one of the +most important forces of the Oligarchy, continued to call in credits. +The Wall Street[6] group turned the stock market into a maelstrom where +the values of all the land crumbled away almost to nothingness. And out +of all the rack and ruin rose the form of the nascent Oligarchy, +imperturbable, indifferent, and sure. Its serenity and certitude was +terrifying. Not only did it use its own vast power, but it used all the +power of the United States Treasury to carry out its plans. + + [6] _Wall Street_—so named from a street in ancient New York, where + was situated the stock exchange, and where the irrational organization + of society permitted underhanded manipulation of all the industries of + the country. + +The captains of industry had turned upon the middle class. The +employers’ associations, that had helped the captains of industry to +tear and rend labor, were now torn and rent by their quondam allies. +Amidst the crashing of the middle men, the small business men and +manufacturers, the trusts stood firm. Nay, the trusts did more than +stand firm. They were active. They sowed wind, and wind, and ever more +wind; for they alone knew how to reap the whirlwind and make a profit +out of it. And such profits! Colossal profits! Strong enough themselves +to weather the storm that was largely their own brewing, they turned +loose and plundered the wrecks that floated about them. Values were +pitifully and inconceivably shrunken, and the trusts added hugely to +their holdings, even extending their enterprises into many new +fields—and always at the expense of the middle class. + +Thus the summer of 1912 witnessed the virtual death-thrust to the +middle class. Even Ernest was astounded at the quickness with which it +had been done. He shook his head ominously and looked forward without +hope to the fall elections. + +“It’s no use,” he said. “We are beaten. The Iron Heel is here. I had +hoped for a peaceable victory at the ballot-box. I was wrong. Wickson +was right. We shall be robbed of our few remaining liberties; the Iron +Heel will walk upon our faces; nothing remains but a bloody revolution +of the working class. Of course we will win, but I shudder to think of +it.” + +And from then on Ernest pinned his faith in revolution. In this he was +in advance of his party. His fellow-socialists could not agree with +him. They still insisted that victory could be gained through the +elections. It was not that they were stunned. They were too cool-headed +and courageous for that. They were merely incredulous, that was all. +Ernest could not get them seriously to fear the coming of the +Oligarchy. They were stirred by him, but they were too sure of their +own strength. There was no room in their theoretical social evolution +for an oligarchy, therefore the Oligarchy could not be. + +“We’ll send you to Congress and it will be all right,” they told him at +one of our secret meetings. + +“And when they take me out of Congress,” Ernest replied coldly, “and +put me against a wall, and blow my brains out—what then?” + +“Then we’ll rise in our might,” a dozen voices answered at once. + +“Then you’ll welter in your gore,” was his retort. “I’ve heard that +song sung by the middle class, and where is it now in its might?” + + + + +CHAPTER XI. +THE GREAT ADVENTURE + + +Mr. Wickson did not send for father. They met by chance on the +ferry-boat to San Francisco, so that the warning he gave father was not +premeditated. Had they not met accidentally, there would not have been +any warning. Not that the outcome would have been different, however. +Father came of stout old _Mayflower_[1] stock, and the blood was +imperative in him. + + [1] One of the first ships that carried colonies to America, after the + discovery of the New World. Descendants of these original colonists + were for a while inordinately proud of their genealogy; but in time + the blood became so widely diffused that it ran in the veins + practically of all Americans. + +“Ernest was right,” he told me, as soon as he had returned home. +“Ernest is a very remarkable young man, and I’d rather see you his wife +than the wife of Rockefeller himself or the King of England.” + +“What’s the matter?” I asked in alarm. + +“The Oligarchy is about to tread upon our faces—yours and mine. Wickson +as much as told me so. He was very kind—for an oligarch. He offered to +reinstate me in the university. What do you think of that? He, Wickson, +a sordid money-grabber, has the power to determine whether I shall or +shall not teach in the university of the state. But he offered me even +better than that—offered to make me president of some great college of +physical sciences that is being planned—the Oligarchy must get rid of +its surplus somehow, you see. + +“‘Do you remember what I told that socialist lover of your daughter’s?’ +he said. ‘I told him that we would walk upon the faces of the working +class. And so we shall. As for you, I have for you a deep respect as a +scientist; but if you throw your fortunes in with the working +class—well, watch out for your face, that is all.’ And then he turned +and left me.” + +“It means we’ll have to marry earlier than you planned,” was Ernest’s +comment when we told him. + +I could not follow his reasoning, but I was soon to learn it. It was at +this time that the quarterly dividend of the Sierra Mills was paid—or, +rather, should have been paid, for father did not receive his. After +waiting several days, father wrote to the secretary. Promptly came the +reply that there was no record on the books of father’s owning any +stock, and a polite request for more explicit information. + +“I’ll make it explicit enough, confound him,” father declared, and +departed for the bank to get the stock in question from his +safe-deposit box. + +“Ernest is a very remarkable man,” he said when he got back and while I +was helping him off with his overcoat. “I repeat, my daughter, that +young man of yours is a very remarkable young man.” + +I had learned, whenever he praised Ernest in such fashion, to expect +disaster. + +“They have already walked upon my face,” father explained. “There was +no stock. The box was empty. You and Ernest will have to get married +pretty quickly.” + +Father insisted on laboratory methods. He brought the Sierra Mills into +court, but he could not bring the books of the Sierra Mills into court. +He did not control the courts, and the Sierra Mills did. That explained +it all. He was thoroughly beaten by the law, and the bare-faced robbery +held good. + +It is almost laughable now, when I look back on it, the way father was +beaten. He met Wickson accidentally on the street in San Francisco, and +he told Wickson that he was a damned scoundrel. And then father was +arrested for attempted assault, fined in the police court, and bound +over to keep the peace. It was all so ridiculous that when he got home +he had to laugh himself. But what a furor was raised in the local +papers! There was grave talk about the bacillus of violence that +infected all men who embraced socialism; and father, with his long and +peaceful life, was instanced as a shining example of how the bacillus +of violence worked. Also, it was asserted by more than one paper that +father’s mind had weakened under the strain of scientific study, and +confinement in a state asylum for the insane was suggested. Nor was +this merely talk. It was an imminent peril. But father was wise enough +to see it. He had the Bishop’s experience to lesson from, and he +lessoned well. He kept quiet no matter what injustice was perpetrated +on him, and really, I think, surprised his enemies. + +There was the matter of the house—our home. A mortgage was foreclosed +on it, and we had to give up possession. Of course there wasn’t any +mortgage, and never had been any mortgage. The ground had been bought +outright, and the house had been paid for when it was built. And house +and lot had always been free and unencumbered. Nevertheless there was +the mortgage, properly and legally drawn up and signed, with a record +of the payments of interest through a number of years. Father made no +outcry. As he had been robbed of his money, so was he now robbed of his +home. And he had no recourse. The machinery of society was in the hands +of those who were bent on breaking him. He was a philosopher at heart, +and he was no longer even angry. + +“I am doomed to be broken,” he said to me; “but that is no reason that +I should not try to be shattered as little as possible. These old bones +of mine are fragile, and I’ve learned my lesson. God knows I don’t want +to spend my last days in an insane asylum.” + +Which reminds me of Bishop Morehouse, whom I have neglected for many +pages. But first let me tell of my marriage. In the play of events, my +marriage sinks into insignificance, I know, so I shall barely mention +it. + +“Now we shall become real proletarians,” father said, when we were +driven from our home. “I have often envied that young man of yours for +his actual knowledge of the proletariat. Now I shall see and learn for +myself.” + +Father must have had strong in him the blood of adventure. He looked +upon our catastrophe in the light of an adventure. No anger nor +bitterness possessed him. He was too philosophic and simple to be +vindictive, and he lived too much in the world of mind to miss the +creature comforts we were giving up. So it was, when we moved to San +Francisco into four wretched rooms in the slum south of Market Street, +that he embarked upon the adventure with the joy and enthusiasm of a +child—combined with the clear sight and mental grasp of an +extraordinary intellect. He really never crystallized mentally. He had +no false sense of values. Conventional or habitual values meant nothing +to him. The only values he recognized were mathematical and scientific +facts. My father was a great man. He had the mind and the soul that +only great men have. In ways he was even greater than Ernest, than whom +I have known none greater. + +Even I found some relief in our change of living. If nothing else, I +was escaping from the organized ostracism that had been our increasing +portion in the university town ever since the enmity of the nascent +Oligarchy had been incurred. And the change was to me likewise +adventure, and the greatest of all, for it was love-adventure. The +change in our fortunes had hastened my marriage, and it was as a wife +that I came to live in the four rooms on Pell Street, in the San +Francisco slum. + +And this out of all remains: I made Ernest happy. I came into his +stormy life, not as a new perturbing force, but as one that made toward +peace and repose. I gave him rest. It was the guerdon of my love for +him. It was the one infallible token that I had not failed. To bring +forgetfulness, or the light of gladness, into those poor tired eyes of +his—what greater joy could have blessed me than that? + +Those dear tired eyes. He toiled as few men ever toiled, and all his +lifetime he toiled for others. That was the measure of his manhood. He +was a humanist and a lover. And he, with his incarnate spirit of +battle, his gladiator body and his eagle spirit—he was as gentle and +tender to me as a poet. He was a poet. A singer in deeds. And all his +life he sang the song of man. And he did it out of sheer love of man, +and for man he gave his life and was crucified. + +And all this he did with no hope of future reward. In his conception of +things there was no future life. He, who fairly burnt with immortality, +denied himself immortality—such was the paradox of him. He, so warm in +spirit, was dominated by that cold and forbidding philosophy, +materialistic monism. I used to refute him by telling him that I +measured his immortality by the wings of his soul, and that I should +have to live endless aeons in order to achieve the full measurement. +Whereat he would laugh, and his arms would leap out to me, and he would +call me his sweet metaphysician; and the tiredness would pass out of +his eyes, and into them would flood the happy love-light that was in +itself a new and sufficient advertisement of his immortality. + +Also, he used to call me his dualist, and he would explain how Kant, by +means of pure reason, had abolished reason, in order to worship God. +And he drew the parallel and included me guilty of a similar act. And +when I pleaded guilty, but defended the act as highly rational, he but +pressed me closer and laughed as only one of God’s own lovers could +laugh. I was wont to deny that heredity and environment could explain +his own originality and genius, any more than could the cold groping +finger of science catch and analyze and classify that elusive essence +that lurked in the constitution of life itself. + +I held that space was an apparition of God, and that soul was a +projection of the character of God; and when he called me his sweet +metaphysician, I called him my immortal materialist. And so we loved +and were happy; and I forgave him his materialism because of his +tremendous work in the world, performed without thought of soul-gain +thereby, and because of his so exceeding modesty of spirit that +prevented him from having pride and regal consciousness of himself and +his soul. + +But he had pride. How could he have been an eagle and not have pride? +His contention was that it was finer for a finite mortal speck of life +to feel Godlike, than for a god to feel godlike; and so it was that he +exalted what he deemed his mortality. He was fond of quoting a fragment +from a certain poem. He had never seen the whole poem, and he had tried +vainly to learn its authorship. I here give the fragment, not alone +because he loved it, but because it epitomized the paradox that he was +in the spirit of him, and his conception of his spirit. For how can a +man, with thrilling, and burning, and exaltation, recite the following +and still be mere mortal earth, a bit of fugitive force, an evanescent +form? Here it is: + +“Joy upon joy and gain upon gain +Are the destined rights of my birth, +And I shout the praise of my endless days +To the echoing edge of the earth. +Though I suffer all deaths that a man can die +To the uttermost end of time, +I have deep-drained this, my cup of bliss, +In every age and clime— + +“The froth of Pride, the tang of Power, +The sweet of Womanhood! +I drain the lees upon my knees, +For oh, the draught is good; +I drink to Life, I drink to Death, +And smack my lips with song, +For when I die, another ‘I’ shall pass the cup along. + +“The man you drove from Eden’s grove + Was I, my Lord, was I, +And I shall be there when the earth and the air + Are rent from sea to sky; +For it is my world, my gorgeous world, + The world of my dearest woes, +From the first faint cry of the newborn + To the rack of the woman’s throes. + +“Packed with the pulse of an unborn race, +Torn with a world’s desire, +The surging flood of my wild young blood +Would quench the judgment fire. +I am Man, Man, Man, from the tingling flesh +To the dust of my earthly goal, +From the nestling gloom of the pregnant womb +To the sheen of my naked soul. +Bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh +The whole world leaps to my will, +And the unslaked thirst of an Eden cursed +Shall harrow the earth for its fill. +Almighty God, when I drain life’s glass +Of all its rainbow gleams, +The hapless plight of eternal night +Shall be none too long for my dreams. + +“The man you drove from Eden’s grove + Was I, my Lord, was I, +And I shall be there when the earth and the air + Are rent from sea to sky; +For it is my world, my gorgeous world, + The world of my dear delight, +From the brightest gleam of the Arctic stream + To the dusk of my own love-night.” + +Ernest always overworked. His wonderful constitution kept him up; but +even that constitution could not keep the tired look out of his eyes. +His dear, tired eyes! He never slept more than four and one-half hours +a night; yet he never found time to do all the work he wanted to do. He +never ceased from his activities as a propagandist, and was always +scheduled long in advance for lectures to workingmen’s organizations. +Then there was the campaign. He did a man’s full work in that alone. +With the suppression of the socialist publishing houses, his meagre +royalties ceased, and he was hard-put to make a living; for he had to +make a living in addition to all his other labor. He did a great deal +of translating for the magazines on scientific and philosophic +subjects; and, coming home late at night, worn out from the strain of +the campaign, he would plunge into his translating and toil on well +into the morning hours. And in addition to everything, there was his +studying. To the day of his death he kept up his studies, and he +studied prodigiously. + +And yet he found time in which to love me and make me happy. But this +was accomplished only through my merging my life completely into his. I +learned shorthand and typewriting, and became his secretary. He +insisted that I succeeded in cutting his work in half; and so it was +that I schooled myself to understand his work. Our interests became +mutual, and we worked together and played together. + +And then there were our sweet stolen moments in the midst of our +work—just a word, or caress, or flash of love-light; and our moments +were sweeter for being stolen. For we lived on the heights, where the +air was keen and sparkling, where the toil was for humanity, and where +sordidness and selfishness never entered. We loved love, and our love +was never smirched by anything less than the best. And this out of all +remains: I did not fail. I gave him rest—he who worked so hard for +others, my dear, tired-eyed mortalist. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. +THE BISHOP + + +It was after my marriage that I chanced upon Bishop Morehouse. But I +must give the events in their proper sequence. After his outbreak at +the I. P. H. Convention, the Bishop, being a gentle soul, had yielded +to the friendly pressure brought to bear upon him, and had gone away on +a vacation. But he returned more fixed than ever in his determination +to preach the message of the Church. To the consternation of his +congregation, his first sermon was quite similar to the address he had +given before the Convention. Again he said, and at length and with +distressing detail, that the Church had wandered away from the Master’s +teaching, and that Mammon had been instated in the place of Christ. + +And the result was, willy-nilly, that he was led away to a private +sanitarium for mental disease, while in the newspapers appeared +pathetic accounts of his mental breakdown and of the saintliness of his +character. He was held a prisoner in the sanitarium. I called +repeatedly, but was denied access to him; and I was terribly impressed +by the tragedy of a sane, normal, saintly man being crushed by the +brutal will of society. For the Bishop was sane, and pure, and noble. +As Ernest said, all that was the matter with him was that he had +incorrect notions of biology and sociology, and because of his +incorrect notions he had not gone about it in the right way to rectify +matters. + +What terrified me was the Bishop’s helplessness. If he persisted in the +truth as he saw it, he was doomed to an insane ward. And he could do +nothing. His money, his position, his culture, could not save him. His +views were perilous to society, and society could not conceive that +such perilous views could be the product of a sane mind. Or, at least, +it seems to me that such was society’s attitude. + +But the Bishop, in spite of the gentleness and purity of his spirit, +was possessed of guile. He apprehended clearly his danger. He saw +himself caught in the web, and he tried to escape from it. Denied help +from his friends, such as father and Ernest and I could have given, he +was left to battle for himself alone. And in the enforced solitude of +the sanitarium he recovered. He became again sane. His eyes ceased to +see visions; his brain was purged of the fancy that it was the duty of +society to feed the Master’s lambs. + +As I say, he became well, quite well, and the newspapers and the church +people hailed his return with joy. I went once to his church. The +sermon was of the same order as the ones he had preached long before +his eyes had seen visions. I was disappointed, shocked. Had society +then beaten him into submission? Was he a coward? Had he been bulldozed +into recanting? Or had the strain been too great for him, and had he +meekly surrendered to the juggernaut of the established? + +I called upon him in his beautiful home. He was woefully changed. He +was thinner, and there were lines on his face which I had never seen +before. He was manifestly distressed by my coming. He plucked nervously +at his sleeve as we talked; and his eyes were restless, fluttering +here, there, and everywhere, and refusing to meet mine. His mind seemed +preoccupied, and there were strange pauses in his conversation, abrupt +changes of topic, and an inconsecutiveness that was bewildering. Could +this, then, be the firm-poised, Christ-like man I had known, with pure, +limpid eyes and a gaze steady and unfaltering as his soul? He had been +man-handled; he had been cowed into subjection. His spirit was too +gentle. It had not been mighty enough to face the organized wolf-pack +of society. + +I felt sad, unutterably sad. He talked ambiguously, and was so +apprehensive of what I might say that I had not the heart to catechise +him. He spoke in a far-away manner of his illness, and we talked +disjointedly about the church, the alterations in the organ, and about +petty charities; and he saw me depart with such evident relief that I +should have laughed had not my heart been so full of tears. + +The poor little hero! If I had only known! He was battling like a +giant, and I did not guess it. Alone, all alone, in the midst of +millions of his fellow-men, he was fighting his fight. Torn by his +horror of the asylum and his fidelity to truth and the right, he clung +steadfastly to truth and the right; but so alone was he that he did not +dare to trust even me. He had learned his lesson well—too well. + +But I was soon to know. One day the Bishop disappeared. He had told +nobody that he was going away; and as the days went by and he did not +reappear, there was much gossip to the effect that he had committed +suicide while temporarily deranged. But this idea was dispelled when it +was learned that he had sold all his possessions,—his city mansion, his +country house at Menlo Park, his paintings, and collections, and even +his cherished library. It was patent that he had made a clean and +secret sweep of everything before he disappeared. + +This happened during the time when calamity had overtaken us in our own +affairs; and it was not till we were well settled in our new home that +we had opportunity really to wonder and speculate about the Bishop’s +doings. And then, everything was suddenly made clear. Early one +evening, while it was yet twilight, I had run across the street and +into the butcher-shop to get some chops for Ernest’s supper. We called +the last meal of the day “supper” in our new environment. + +Just at the moment I came out of the butcher-shop, a man emerged from +the corner grocery that stood alongside. A queer sense of familiarity +made me look again. But the man had turned and was walking rapidly +away. There was something about the slope of the shoulders and the +fringe of silver hair between coat collar and slouch hat that aroused +vague memories. Instead of crossing the street, I hurried after the +man. I quickened my pace, trying not to think the thoughts that formed +unbidden in my brain. No, it was impossible. It could not be—not in +those faded overalls, too long in the legs and frayed at the bottoms. + +I paused, laughed at myself, and almost abandoned the chase. But the +haunting familiarity of those shoulders and that silver hair! Again I +hurried on. As I passed him, I shot a keen look at his face; then I +whirled around abruptly and confronted—the Bishop. + +He halted with equal abruptness, and gasped. A large paper bag in his +right hand fell to the sidewalk. It burst, and about his feet and mine +bounced and rolled a flood of potatoes. He looked at me with surprise +and alarm, then he seemed to wilt away; the shoulders drooped with +dejection, and he uttered a deep sigh. + +I held out my hand. He shook it, but his hand felt clammy. He cleared +his throat in embarrassment, and I could see the sweat starting out on +his forehead. It was evident that he was badly frightened. + +“The potatoes,” he murmured faintly. “They are precious.” + +Between us we picked them up and replaced them in the broken bag, which +he now held carefully in the hollow of his arm. I tried to tell him my +gladness at meeting him and that he must come right home with me. + +“Father will be rejoiced to see you,” I said. “We live only a stone’s +throw away. + +“I can’t,” he said, “I must be going. Good-by.” + +He looked apprehensively about him, as though dreading discovery, and +made an attempt to walk on. + +“Tell me where you live, and I shall call later,” he said, when he saw +that I walked beside him and that it was my intention to stick to him +now that he was found. + +“No,” I answered firmly. “You must come now.” + +He looked at the potatoes spilling on his arm, and at the small parcels +on his other arm. + +“Really, it is impossible,” he said. “Forgive me for my rudeness. If +you only knew.” + +He looked as if he were going to break down, but the next moment he had +himself in control. + +“Besides, this food,” he went on. “It is a sad case. It is terrible. +She is an old woman. I must take it to her at once. She is suffering +from want of it. I must go at once. You understand. Then I will return. +I promise you.” + +“Let me go with you,” I volunteered. “Is it far?” + +He sighed again, and surrendered. + +“Only two blocks,” he said. “Let us hasten.” + +Under the Bishop’s guidance I learned something of my own neighborhood. +I had not dreamed such wretchedness and misery existed in it. Of +course, this was because I did not concern myself with charity. I had +become convinced that Ernest was right when he sneered at charity as a +poulticing of an ulcer. Remove the ulcer, was his remedy; give to the +worker his product; pension as soldiers those who grow honorably old in +their toil, and there will be no need for charity. Convinced of this, I +toiled with him at the revolution, and did not exhaust my energy in +alleviating the social ills that continuously arose from the injustice +of the system. + +I followed the Bishop into a small room, ten by twelve, in a rear +tenement. And there we found a little old German woman—sixty-four years +old, the Bishop said. She was surprised at seeing me, but she nodded a +pleasant greeting and went on sewing on the pair of men’s trousers in +her lap. Beside her, on the floor, was a pile of trousers. The Bishop +discovered there was neither coal nor kindling, and went out to buy +some. + +I took up a pair of trousers and examined her work. + +“Six cents, lady,” she said, nodding her head gently while she went on +stitching. She stitched slowly, but never did she cease from stitching. +She seemed mastered by the verb “to stitch.” + +“For all that work?” I asked. “Is that what they pay? How long does it +take you?” + +“Yes,” she answered, “that is what they pay. Six cents for finishing. +Two hours’ sewing on each pair.” + +“But the boss doesn’t know that,” she added quickly, betraying a fear +of getting him into trouble. “I’m slow. I’ve got the rheumatism in my +hands. Girls work much faster. They finish in half that time. The boss +is kind. He lets me take the work home, now that I am old and the noise +of the machine bothers my head. If it wasn’t for his kindness, I’d +starve. + +“Yes, those who work in the shop get eight cents. But what can you do? +There is not enough work for the young. The old have no chance. Often +one pair is all I can get. Sometimes, like to-day, I am given eight +pair to finish before night.” + +I asked her the hours she worked, and she said it depended on the +season. + +“In the summer, when there is a rush order, I work from five in the +morning to nine at night. But in the winter it is too cold. The hands +do not early get over the stiffness. Then you must work later—till +after midnight sometimes. + +“Yes, it has been a bad summer. The hard times. God must be angry. This +is the first work the boss has given me in a week. It is true, one +cannot eat much when there is no work. I am used to it. I have sewed +all my life, in the old country and here in San Francisco—thirty-three +years. + +“If you are sure of the rent, it is all right. The houseman is very +kind, but he must have his rent. It is fair. He only charges three +dollars for this room. That is cheap. But it is not easy for you to +find all of three dollars every month.” + +She ceased talking, and, nodding her head, went on stitching. + +“You have to be very careful as to how you spend your earnings,” I +suggested. + +She nodded emphatically. + +“After the rent it’s not so bad. Of course you can’t buy meat. And +there is no milk for the coffee. But always there is one meal a day, +and often two.” + +She said this last proudly. There was a smack of success in her words. +But as she stitched on in silence, I noticed the sadness in her +pleasant eyes and the droop of her mouth. The look in her eyes became +far away. She rubbed the dimness hastily out of them; it interfered +with her stitching. + +“No, it is not the hunger that makes the heart ache,” she explained. +“You get used to being hungry. It is for my child that I cry. It was +the machine that killed her. It is true she worked hard, but I cannot +understand. She was strong. And she was young—only forty; and she +worked only thirty years. She began young, it is true; but my man died. +The boiler exploded down at the works. And what were we to do? She was +ten, but she was very strong. But the machine killed her. Yes, it did. +It killed her, and she was the fastest worker in the shop. I have +thought about it often, and I know. That is why I cannot work in the +shop. The machine bothers my head. Always I hear it saying, ‘I did it, +I did it.’ And it says that all day long. And then I think of my +daughter, and I cannot work.” + +The moistness was in her old eyes again, and she had to wipe it away +before she could go on stitching. + +I heard the Bishop stumbling up the stairs, and I opened the door. What +a spectacle he was. On his back he carried half a sack of coal, with +kindling on top. Some of the coal dust had coated his face, and the +sweat from his exertions was running in streaks. He dropped his burden +in the corner by the stove and wiped his face on a coarse bandana +handkerchief. I could scarcely accept the verdict of my senses. The +Bishop, black as a coal-heaver, in a workingman’s cheap cotton shirt +(one button was missing from the throat), and in overalls! That was the +most incongruous of all—the overalls, frayed at the bottoms, dragged +down at the heels, and held up by a narrow leather belt around the hips +such as laborers wear. + +Though the Bishop was warm, the poor swollen hands of the old woman +were already cramping with the cold; and before we left her, the Bishop +had built the fire, while I had peeled the potatoes and put them on to +boil. I was to learn, as time went by, that there were many cases +similar to hers, and many worse, hidden away in the monstrous depths of +the tenements in my neighborhood. + +We got back to find Ernest alarmed by my absence. After the first +surprise of greeting was over, the Bishop leaned back in his chair, +stretched out his overall-covered legs, and actually sighed a +comfortable sigh. We were the first of his old friends he had met since +his disappearance, he told us; and during the intervening weeks he must +have suffered greatly from loneliness. He told us much, though he told +us more of the joy he had experienced in doing the Master’s bidding. + +“For truly now,” he said, “I am feeding his lambs. And I have learned a +great lesson. The soul cannot be ministered to till the stomach is +appeased. His lambs must be fed bread and butter and potatoes and meat; +after that, and only after that, are their spirits ready for more +refined nourishment.” + +He ate heartily of the supper I cooked. Never had he had such an +appetite at our table in the old days. We spoke of it, and he said that +he had never been so healthy in his life. + +“I walk always now,” he said, and a blush was on his cheek at the +thought of the time when he rode in his carriage, as though it were a +sin not lightly to be laid. + +“My health is better for it,” he added hastily. “And I am very +happy—indeed, most happy. At last I am a consecrated spirit.” + +And yet there was in his face a permanent pain, the pain of the world +that he was now taking to himself. He was seeing life in the raw, and +it was a different life from what he had known within the printed books +of his library. + +“And you are responsible for all this, young man,” he said directly to +Ernest. + +Ernest was embarrassed and awkward. + +“I—I warned you,” he faltered. + +“No, you misunderstand,” the Bishop answered. “I speak not in reproach, +but in gratitude. I have you to thank for showing me my path. You led +me from theories about life to life itself. You pulled aside the veils +from the social shams. You were light in my darkness, but now I, too, +see the light. And I am very happy, only . . .” he hesitated painfully, +and in his eyes fear leaped large. “Only the persecution. I harm no +one. Why will they not let me alone? But it is not that. It is the +nature of the persecution. I shouldn’t mind if they cut my flesh with +stripes, or burned me at the stake, or crucified me head-downward. But +it is the asylum that frightens me. Think of it! Of me—in an asylum for +the insane! It is revolting. I saw some of the cases at the sanitarium. +They were violent. My blood chills when I think of it. And to be +imprisoned for the rest of my life amid scenes of screaming madness! +No! no! Not that! Not that!” + +It was pitiful. His hands shook, his whole body quivered and shrank +away from the picture he had conjured. But the next moment he was calm. + +“Forgive me,” he said simply. “It is my wretched nerves. And if the +Master’s work leads there, so be it. Who am I to complain?” + +I felt like crying aloud as I looked at him: “Great Bishop! O hero! +God’s hero!” + +As the evening wore on we learned more of his doings. + +“I sold my house—my houses, rather,” he said, “all my other +possessions. I knew I must do it secretly, else they would have taken +everything away from me. That would have been terrible. I often marvel +these days at the immense quantity of potatoes two or three hundred +thousand dollars will buy, or bread, or meat, or coal and kindling.” He +turned to Ernest. “You are right, young man. Labor is dreadfully +underpaid. I never did a bit of work in my life, except to appeal +aesthetically to Pharisees—I thought I was preaching the message—and +yet I was worth half a million dollars. I never knew what half a +million dollars meant until I realized how much potatoes and bread and +butter and meat it could buy. And then I realized something more. I +realized that all those potatoes and that bread and butter and meat +were mine, and that I had not worked to make them. Then it was clear to +me, some one else had worked and made them and been robbed of them. And +when I came down amongst the poor I found those who had been robbed and +who were hungry and wretched because they had been robbed.” + +We drew him back to his narrative. + +“The money? I have it deposited in many different banks under different +names. It can never be taken away from me, because it can never be +found. And it is so good, that money. It buys so much food. I never +knew before what money was good for.” + +“I wish we could get some of it for the propaganda,” Ernest said +wistfully. “It would do immense good.” + +“Do you think so?” the Bishop said. “I do not have much faith in +politics. In fact, I am afraid I do not understand politics.” + +Ernest was delicate in such matters. He did not repeat his suggestion, +though he knew only too well the sore straits the Socialist Party was +in through lack of money. + +“I sleep in cheap lodging houses,” the Bishop went on. “But I am +afraid, and never stay long in one place. Also, I rent two rooms in +workingmen’s houses in different quarters of the city. It is a great +extravagance, I know, but it is necessary. I make up for it in part by +doing my own cooking, though sometimes I get something to eat in cheap +coffee-houses. And I have made a discovery. Tamales[1] are very good +when the air grows chilly late at night. Only they are so expensive. +But I have discovered a place where I can get three for ten cents. They +are not so good as the others, but they are very warming. + + [1] A Mexican dish, referred to occasionally in the literature of the + times. It is supposed that it was warmly seasoned. No recipe of it has + come down to us. + +“And so I have at last found my work in the world, thanks to you, young +man. It is the Master’s work.” He looked at me, and his eyes twinkled. +“You caught me feeding his lambs, you know. And of course you will all +keep my secret.” + +He spoke carelessly enough, but there was real fear behind the speech. +He promised to call upon us again. But a week later we read in the +newspaper of the sad case of Bishop Morehouse, who had been committed +to the Napa Asylum and for whom there were still hopes held out. In +vain we tried to see him, to have his case reconsidered or +investigated. Nor could we learn anything about him except the +reiterated statements that slight hopes were still held for his +recovery. + +“Christ told the rich young man to sell all he had,” Ernest said +bitterly. “The Bishop obeyed Christ’s injunction and got locked up in a +madhouse. Times have changed since Christ’s day. A rich man to-day who +gives all he has to the poor is crazy. There is no discussion. Society +has spoken.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. +THE GENERAL STRIKE + + +Of course Ernest was elected to Congress in the great socialist +landslide that took place in the fall of 1912. One great factor that +helped to swell the socialist vote was the destruction of Hearst.[1] +This the Plutocracy found an easy task. It cost Hearst eighteen million +dollars a year to run his various papers, and this sum, and more, he +got back from the middle class in payment for advertising. The source +of his financial strength lay wholly in the middle class. The trusts +did not advertise.[2] To destroy Hearst, all that was necessary was to +take away from him his advertising. + + [1] _William Randolph Hearst_—a young California millionaire who + became the most powerful newspaper owner in the country. His + newspapers were published in all the large cities, and they appealed + to the perishing middle class and to the proletariat. So large was his + following that he managed to take possession of the empty shell of the + old Democratic Party. He occupied an anomalous position, preaching an + emasculated socialism combined with a nondescript sort of petty + bourgeois capitalism. It was oil and water, and there was no hope for + him, though for a short period he was a source of serious apprehension + to the Plutocrats. + + [2] The cost of advertising was amazing in those helter- skelter + times. Only the small capitalists competed, and therefore they did the + advertising. There being no competition where there was a trust, there + was no need for the trusts to advertise. + +The whole middle class had not yet been exterminated. The sturdy +skeleton of it remained; but it was without power. The small +manufacturers and small business men who still survived were at the +complete mercy of the Plutocracy. They had no economic nor political +souls of their own. When the fiat of the Plutocracy went forth, they +withdrew their advertisements from the Hearst papers. + +Hearst made a gallant fight. He brought his papers out at a loss of a +million and a half each month. He continued to publish the +advertisements for which he no longer received pay. Again the fiat of +the Plutocracy went forth, and the small business men and manufacturers +swamped him with a flood of notices that he must discontinue running +their old advertisements. Hearst persisted. Injunctions were served on +him. Still he persisted. He received six months’ imprisonment for +contempt of court in disobeying the injunctions, while he was +bankrupted by countless damage suits. He had no chance. The Plutocracy +had passed sentence on him. The courts were in the hands of the +Plutocracy to carry the sentence out. And with Hearst crashed also to +destruction the Democratic Party that he had so recently captured. + +With the destruction of Hearst and the Democratic Party, there were +only two paths for his following to take. One was into the Socialist +Party; the other was into the Republican Party. Then it was that we +socialists reaped the fruit of Hearst’s pseudo-socialistic preaching; +for the great Majority of his followers came over to us. + +The expropriation of the farmers that took place at this time would +also have swelled our vote had it not been for the brief and futile +rise of the Grange Party. Ernest and the socialist leaders fought +fiercely to capture the farmers; but the destruction of the socialist +press and publishing houses constituted too great a handicap, while the +mouth-to-mouth propaganda had not yet been perfected. So it was that +politicians like Mr. Calvin, who were themselves farmers long since +expropriated, captured the farmers and threw their political strength +away in a vain campaign. + +“The poor farmers,” Ernest once laughed savagely; “the trusts have them +both coming and going.” + +And that was really the situation. The seven great trusts, working +together, had pooled their enormous surpluses and made a farm trust. +The railroads, controlling rates, and the bankers and stock exchange +gamesters, controlling prices, had long since bled the farmers into +indebtedness. The bankers, and all the trusts for that matter, had +likewise long since loaned colossal amounts of money to the farmers. +The farmers were in the net. All that remained to be done was the +drawing in of the net. This the farm trust proceeded to do. + +The hard times of 1912 had already caused a frightful slump in the farm +markets. Prices were now deliberately pressed down to bankruptcy, while +the railroads, with extortionate rates, broke the back of the +farmer-camel. Thus the farmers were compelled to borrow more and more, +while they were prevented from paying back old loans. Then ensued the +great foreclosing of mortgages and enforced collection of notes. The +farmers simply surrendered the land to the farm trust. There was +nothing else for them to do. And having surrendered the land, the +farmers next went to work for the farm trust, becoming managers, +superintendents, foremen, and common laborers. They worked for wages. +They became villeins, in short—serfs bound to the soil by a living +wage. They could not leave their masters, for their masters composed +the Plutocracy. They could not go to the cities, for there, also, the +Plutocracy was in control. They had but one alternative,—to leave the +soil and become vagrants, in brief, to starve. And even there they were +frustrated, for stringent vagrancy laws were passed and rigidly +enforced. + +Of course, here and there, farmers, and even whole communities of +farmers, escaped expropriation by virtue of exceptional conditions. But +they were merely strays and did not count, and they were gathered in +anyway during the following year.[3] + + [3] The destruction of the Roman yeomanry proceeded far less rapidly + than the destruction of the American farmers and small capitalists. + There was momentum in the twentieth century, while there was + practically none in ancient Rome. + Numbers of the farmers, impelled by an insane lust for the soil, + and willing to show what beasts they could become, tried to escape + expropriation by withdrawing from any and all market-dealing. They + sold nothing. They bought nothing. Among themselves a primitive + barter began to spring up. Their privation and hardships were + terrible, but they persisted. It became quite a movement, in fact. + The manner in which they were beaten was unique and logical and + simple. The Plutocracy, by virtue of its possession of the + government, raised their taxes. It was the weak joint in their + armor. Neither buying nor selling, they had no money, and in the + end their land was sold to pay the taxes. + +Thus it was that in the fall of 1912 the socialist leaders, with the +exception of Ernest, decided that the end of capitalism had come. What +of the hard times and the consequent vast army of the unemployed; what +of the destruction of the farmers and the middle class; and what of the +decisive defeat administered all along the line to the labor unions; +the socialists were really justified in believing that the end of +capitalism had come and in themselves throwing down the gauntlet to the +Plutocracy. + +Alas, how we underestimated the strength of the enemy! Everywhere the +socialists proclaimed their coming victory at the ballot-box, while, in +unmistakable terms, they stated the situation. The Plutocracy accepted +the challenge. It was the Plutocracy, weighing and balancing, that +defeated us by dividing our strength. It was the Plutocracy, through +its secret agents, that raised the cry that socialism was sacrilegious +and atheistic; it was the Plutocracy that whipped the churches, and +especially the Catholic Church, into line, and robbed us of a portion +of the labor vote. And it was the Plutocracy, through its secret agents +of course, that encouraged the Grange Party and even spread it to the +cities into the ranks of the dying middle class. + +Nevertheless the socialist landslide occurred. But, instead of a +sweeping victory with chief executive officers and majorities in all +legislative bodies, we found ourselves in the minority. It is true, we +elected fifty Congressmen; but when they took their seats in the spring +of 1913, they found themselves without power of any sort. Yet they were +more fortunate than the Grangers, who captured a dozen state +governments, and who, in the spring, were not permitted to take +possession of the captured offices. The incumbents refused to retire, +and the courts were in the hands of the Oligarchy. But this is too far +in advance of events. I have yet to tell of the stirring times of the +winter of 1912. + +The hard times at home had caused an immense decrease in consumption. +Labor, out of work, had no wages with which to buy. The result was that +the Plutocracy found a greater surplus than ever on its hands. This +surplus it was compelled to dispose of abroad, and, what of its +colossal plans, it needed money. Because of its strenuous efforts to +dispose of the surplus in the world market, the Plutocracy clashed with +Germany. Economic clashes were usually succeeded by wars, and this +particular clash was no exception. The great German war-lord prepared, +and so did the United States prepare. + +The war-cloud hovered dark and ominous. The stage was set for a +world-catastrophe, for in all the world were hard times, labor +troubles, perishing middle classes, armies of unemployed, clashes of +economic interests in the world-market, and mutterings and rumblings of +the socialist revolution.[4] + + [4] For a long time these mutterings and rumblings had been heard. As + far back as 1906 A.D., Lord Avebury, an Englishman, uttered the + following in the House of Lords: “_The unrest in Europe, the spread of + socialism, and the ominous rise of Anarchism, are warnings to the + governments and the ruling classes that the condition of the working + classes in Europe is becoming intolerable, and that if a revolution is + to be avoided some steps must be taken to increase wages, reduce the + hours of labor, and lower the prices of the necessaries of life._” The + _Wall Street Journal_, a stock gamesters’ publication, in commenting + upon Lord Avebury’s speech, said: “_These words were spoken by an + aristocrat and a member of the most conservative body in all Europe. + That gives them all the more significance. They contain more valuable + political economy than is to be found in most of the books. They sound + a note of warning. Take heed, gentlemen of the war and navy + departments!_” + At the same time, Sydney Brooks, writing in America, in Harper’s + Weekly, said: “_You will not hear the socialists mentioned in + Washington. Why should you? The politicians are always the last + people in this country to see what is going on under their noses. + They will jeer at me when I prophesy, and prophesy with the utmost + confidence, that at the next presidential election the socialists + will poll over a million votes._” + +The Oligarchy wanted the war with Germany. And it wanted the war for a +dozen reasons. In the juggling of events such a war would cause, in the +reshuffling of the international cards and the making of new treaties +and alliances, the Oligarchy had much to gain. And, furthermore, the +war would consume many national surpluses, reduce the armies of +unemployed that menaced all countries, and give the Oligarchy a +breathing space in which to perfect its plans and carry them out. Such +a war would virtually put the Oligarchy in possession of the +world-market. Also, such a war would create a large standing army that +need never be disbanded, while in the minds of the people would be +substituted the issue, “America _versus_ Germany,” in place of +“Socialism _versus_ Oligarchy.” + +And truly the war would have done all these things had it not been for +the socialists. A secret meeting of the Western leaders was held in our +four tiny rooms in Pell Street. Here was first considered the stand the +socialists were to take. It was not the first time we had put our foot +down upon war,[5] but it was the first time we had done so in the +United States. After our secret meeting we got in touch with the +national organization, and soon our code cables were passing back and +forth across the Atlantic between us and the International Bureau. + + [5] It was at the very beginning of the twentieth century A.D., that + the international organization of the socialists finally formulated + their long-maturing policy on war. Epitomized their doctrine was: + “_Why should the workingmen of one country fight with the workingmen + of another country for the benefit of their capitalist masters?_” + On May 21, 1905 A.D., when war threatened between Austria and + Italy, the socialists of Italy, Austria, and Hungary held a + conference at Trieste, and threatened a general strike of the + workingmen of both countries in case war was declared. This was + repeated the following year, when the “Morocco Affair” threatened + to involve France, Germany, and England. + +The German socialists were ready to act with us. There were over five +million of them, many of them in the standing army, and, in addition, +they were on friendly terms with the labor unions. In both countries +the socialists came out in bold declaration against the war and +threatened the general strike. And in the meantime they made +preparation for the general strike. Furthermore, the revolutionary +parties in all countries gave public utterance to the socialist +principle of international peace that must be preserved at all hazards, +even to the extent of revolt and revolution at home. + +The general strike was the one great victory we American socialists +won. On the 4th of December the American minister was withdrawn from +the German capital. That night a German fleet made a dash on Honolulu, +sinking three American cruisers and a revenue cutter, and bombarding +the city. Next day both Germany and the United States declared war, and +within an hour the socialists called the general strike in both +countries. + +For the first time the German war-lord faced the men of his empire who +made his empire go. Without them he could not run his empire. The +novelty of the situation lay in that their revolt was passive. They did +not fight. They did nothing. And by doing nothing they tied their +war-lord’s hands. He would have asked for nothing better than an +opportunity to loose his war-dogs on his rebellious proletariat. But +this was denied him. He could not loose his war-dogs. Neither could he +mobilize his army to go forth to war, nor could he punish his +recalcitrant subjects. Not a wheel moved in his empire. Not a train +ran, not a telegraphic message went over the wires, for the +telegraphers and railroad men had ceased work along with the rest of +the population. + +And as it was in Germany, so it was in the United States. At last +organized labor had learned its lesson. Beaten decisively on its own +chosen field, it had abandoned that field and come over to the +political field of the socialists; for the general strike was a +political strike. Besides, organized labor had been so badly beaten +that it did not care. It joined in the general strike out of sheer +desperation. The workers threw down their tools and left their tasks by +the millions. Especially notable were the machinists. Their heads were +bloody, their organization had apparently been destroyed, yet out they +came, along with their allies in the metal-working trades. + +Even the common laborers and all unorganized labor ceased work. The +strike had tied everything up so that nobody could work. Besides, the +women proved to be the strongest promoters of the strike. They set +their faces against the war. They did not want their men to go forth to +die. Then, also, the idea of the general strike caught the mood of the +people. It struck their sense of humor. The idea was infectious. The +children struck in all the schools, and such teachers as came, went +home again from deserted class rooms. The general strike took the form +of a great national picnic. And the idea of the solidarity of labor, so +evidenced, appealed to the imagination of all. And, finally, there was +no danger to be incurred by the colossal frolic. When everybody was +guilty, how was anybody to be punished? + +The United States was paralyzed. No one knew what was happening. There +were no newspapers, no letters, no despatches. Every community was as +completely isolated as though ten thousand miles of primeval wilderness +stretched between it and the rest of the world. For that matter, the +world had ceased to exist. And for a week this state of affairs was +maintained. + +In San Francisco we did not know what was happening even across the bay +in Oakland or Berkeley. The effect on one’s sensibilities was weird, +depressing. It seemed as though some great cosmic thing lay dead. The +pulse of the land had ceased to beat. Of a truth the nation had died. +There were no wagons rumbling on the streets, no factory whistles, no +hum of electricity in the air, no passing of street cars, no cries of +news-boys—nothing but persons who at rare intervals went by like +furtive ghosts, themselves oppressed and made unreal by the silence. + +And during that week of silence the Oligarchy was taught its lesson. +And well it learned the lesson. The general strike was a warning. It +should never occur again. The Oligarchy would see to that. + +At the end of the week, as had been prearranged, the telegraphers of +Germany and the United States returned to their posts. Through them the +socialist leaders of both countries presented their ultimatum to the +rulers. The war should be called off, or the general strike would +continue. It did not take long to come to an understanding. The war was +declared off, and the populations of both countries returned to their +tasks. + +It was this renewal of peace that brought about the alliance between +Germany and the United States. In reality, this was an alliance between +the Emperor and the Oligarchy, for the purpose of meeting their common +foe, the revolutionary proletariat of both countries. And it was this +alliance that the Oligarchy afterward so treacherously broke when the +German socialists rose and drove the war-lord from his throne. It was +the very thing the Oligarchy had played for—the destruction of its +great rival in the world-market. With the German Emperor out of the +way, Germany would have no surplus to sell abroad. By the very nature +of the socialist state, the German population would consume all that it +produced. Of course, it would trade abroad certain things it produced +for things it did not produce; but this would be quite different from +an unconsumable surplus. + +“I’ll wager the Oligarchy finds justification,” Ernest said, when its +treachery to the German Emperor became known. “As usual, the Oligarchy +will believe it has done right.” + +And sure enough. The Oligarchy’s public defence for the act was that it +had done it for the sake of the American people whose interests it was +looking out for. It had flung its hated rival out of the world-market +and enabled us to dispose of our surplus in that market. + +“And the howling folly of it is that we are so helpless that such +idiots really are managing our interests,” was Ernest’s comment. “They +have enabled us to sell more abroad, which means that we’ll be +compelled to consume less at home.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. +THE BEGINNING OF THE END + + +As early as January, 1913, Ernest saw the true trend of affairs, but he +could not get his brother leaders to see the vision of the Iron Heel +that had arisen in his brain. They were too confident. Events were +rushing too rapidly to culmination. A crisis had come in world affairs. +The American Oligarchy was practically in possession of the +world-market, and scores of countries were flung out of that market +with unconsumable and unsalable surpluses on their hands. For such +countries nothing remained but reorganization. They could not continue +their method of producing surpluses. The capitalistic system, so far as +they were concerned, had hopelessly broken down. + +The reorganization of these countries took the form of revolution. It +was a time of confusion and violence. Everywhere institutions and +governments were crashing. Everywhere, with the exception of two or +three countries, the erstwhile capitalist masters fought bitterly for +their possessions. But the governments were taken away from them by the +militant proletariat. At last was being realized Karl Marx’s classic: +“The knell of private capitalist property sounds. The expropriators are +expropriated.” And as fast as capitalistic governments crashed, +cooperative commonwealths arose in their place. + +“Why does the United States lag behind?”; “Get busy, you American +revolutionists!”; “What’s the matter with America?”—were the messages +sent to us by our successful comrades in other lands. But we could not +keep up. The Oligarchy stood in the way. Its bulk, like that of some +huge monster, blocked our path. + +“Wait till we take office in the spring,” we answered. “Then you’ll +see.” + +Behind this lay our secret. We had won over the Grangers, and in the +spring a dozen states would pass into their hands by virtue of the +elections of the preceding fall. At once would be instituted a dozen +cooperative commonwealth states. After that, the rest would be easy. + +“But what if the Grangers fail to get possession?” Ernest demanded. And +his comrades called him a calamity howler. + +But this failure to get possession was not the chief danger that Ernest +had in mind. What he foresaw was the defection of the great labor +unions and the rise of the castes. + +“Ghent has taught the oligarchs how to do it,” Ernest said. “I’ll wager +they’ve made a text-book out of his ‘Benevolent Feudalism.’”[1] + + [1] “Our Benevolent Feudalism,” a book published in 1902 A.D., by W. + J. Ghent. It has always been insisted that Ghent put the idea of the + Oligarchy into the minds of the great capitalists. This belief + persists throughout the literature of the three centuries of the Iron + Heel, and even in the literature of the first century of the + Brotherhood of Man. To-day we know better, but our knowledge does not + overcome the fact that Ghent remains the most abused innocent man in + all history. + +Never shall I forget the night when, after a hot discussion with half a +dozen labor leaders, Ernest turned to me and said quietly: “That +settles it. The Iron Heel has won. The end is in sight.” + +This little conference in our home was unofficial; but Ernest, like the +rest of his comrades, was working for assurances from the labor leaders +that they would call out their men in the next general strike. +O’Connor, the president of the Association of Machinists, had been +foremost of the six leaders present in refusing to give such assurance. + +“You have seen that you were beaten soundly at your old tactics of +strike and boycott,” Ernest urged. + +O’Connor and the others nodded their heads. + +“And you saw what a general strike would do,” Ernest went on. “We +stopped the war with Germany. Never was there so fine a display of the +solidarity and the power of labor. Labor can and will rule the world. +If you continue to stand with us, we’ll put an end to the reign of +capitalism. It is your only hope. And what is more, you know it. There +is no other way out. No matter what you do under your old tactics, you +are doomed to defeat, if for no other reason because the masters +control the courts.”[2] + + [2] As a sample of the decisions of the courts adverse to labor, the + following instances are given. In the coal- mining regions the + employment of children was notorious. In 1905 A.D., labor succeeded in + getting a law passed in Pennsylvania providing that proof of the age + of the child and of certain educational qualifications must accompany + the oath of the parent. This was promptly declared unconstitutional by + the Luzerne County Court, on the ground that it violated the + Fourteenth Amendment in that it discriminated between individuals of + the same class—namely, children above fourteen years of age and + children below. The state court sustained the decision. The New York + Court of Special Sessions, in 1905 A.D., declared unconstitutional the + law prohibiting minors and women from working in factories after nine + o’clock at night, the ground taken being that such a law was “class + legislation.” Again, the bakers of that time were terribly overworked. + The New York Legislature passed a law restricting work in bakeries to + ten hours a day. In 1906 A.D., the Supreme Court of the United States + declared this law to be unconstitutional. In part the decision read: + “_There is no reasonable ground for interfering with the liberty of + persons or the right of free contract by determining the hours of + labor in the occupation of a baker._” + +“You run ahead too fast,” O’Connor answered. “You don’t know all the +ways out. There is another way out. We know what we’re about. We’re +sick of strikes. They’ve got us beaten that way to a frazzle. But I +don’t think we’ll ever need to call our men out again.” + +“What is your way out?” Ernest demanded bluntly. + +O’Connor laughed and shook his head. “I can tell you this much: We’ve +not been asleep. And we’re not dreaming now.” + +“There’s nothing to be afraid of, or ashamed of, I hope,” Ernest +challenged. + +“I guess we know our business best,” was the retort. + +“It’s a dark business, from the way you hide it,” Ernest said with +growing anger. + +“We’ve paid for our experience in sweat and blood, and we’ve earned all +that’s coming to us,” was the reply. “Charity begins at home.” + +“If you’re afraid to tell me your way out, I’ll tell it to you.” +Ernest’s blood was up. “You’re going in for grab-sharing. You’ve made +terms with the enemy, that’s what you’ve done. You’ve sold out the +cause of labor, of all labor. You are leaving the battle-field like +cowards.” + +“I’m not saying anything,” O’Connor answered sullenly. “Only I guess we +know what’s best for us a little bit better than you do.” + +“And you don’t care a cent for what is best for the rest of labor. You +kick it into the ditch.” + +“I’m not saying anything,” O’Connor replied, “except that I’m president +of the Machinists’ Association, and it’s my business to consider the +interests of the men I represent, that’s all.” + +And then, when the labor leaders had left, Ernest, with the calmness of +defeat, outlined to me the course of events to come. + +“The socialists used to foretell with joy,” he said, “the coming of the +day when organized labor, defeated on the industrial field, would come +over on to the political field. Well, the Iron Heel has defeated the +labor unions on the industrial field and driven them over to the +political field; and instead of this being joyful for us, it will be a +source of grief. The Iron Heel learned its lesson. We showed it our +power in the general strike. It has taken steps to prevent another +general strike.” + +“But how?” I asked. + +“Simply by subsidizing the great unions. They won’t join in the next +general strike. Therefore it won’t be a general strike.” + +“But the Iron Heel can’t maintain so costly a programme forever,” I +objected. + +“Oh, it hasn’t subsidized all of the unions. That’s not necessary. Here +is what is going to happen. Wages are going to be advanced and hours +shortened in the railroad unions, the iron and steel workers unions, +and the engineer and machinist unions. In these unions more favorable +conditions will continue to prevail. Membership in these unions will +become like seats in Paradise.” + +“Still I don’t see,” I objected. “What is to become of the other +unions? There are far more unions outside of this combination than in +it.” + +“The other unions will be ground out of existence—all of them. For, +don’t you see, the railway men, machinists and engineers, iron and +steel workers, do all of the vitally essential work in our machine +civilization. Assured of their faithfulness, the Iron Heel can snap its +fingers at all the rest of labor. Iron, steel, coal, machinery, and +transportation constitute the backbone of the whole industrial fabric.” + +“But coal?” I queried. “There are nearly a million coal miners.” + +They are practically unskilled labor. They will not count. Their wages +will go down and their hours will increase. They will be slaves like +all the rest of us, and they will become about the most bestial of all +of us. They will be compelled to work, just as the farmers are +compelled to work now for the masters who robbed them of their land. +And the same with all the other unions outside the combination. Watch +them wobble and go to pieces, and their members become slaves driven to +toil by empty stomachs and the law of the land. + +“Do you know what will happen to Farley[3] and his strike-breakers? +I’ll tell you. Strike-breaking as an occupation will cease. There won’t +be any more strikes. In place of strikes will be slave revolts. Farley +and his gang will be promoted to slave-driving. Oh, it won’t be called +that; it will be called enforcing the law of the land that compels the +laborers to work. It simply prolongs the fight, this treachery of the +big unions. Heaven only knows now where and when the Revolution will +triumph.” + + [3] James Farley—a notorious strike-breaker of the period. A man more + courageous than ethical, and of undeniable ability. He rose high under + the rule of the Iron Heel and finally was translated into the oligarch + class. He was assassinated in 1932 by Sarah Jenkins, whose husband, + thirty years before, had been killed by Farley’s strike-breakers. + +“But with such a powerful combination as the Oligarchy and the big +unions, is there any reason to believe that the Revolution will ever +triumph?” I queried. “May not the combination endure forever?” + +He shook his head. “One of our generalizations is that every system +founded upon class and caste contains within itself the germs of its +own decay. When a system is founded upon class, how can caste be +prevented? The Iron Heel will not be able to prevent it, and in the end +caste will destroy the Iron Heel. The oligarchs have already developed +caste among themselves; but wait until the favored unions develop +caste. The Iron Heel will use all its power to prevent it, but it will +fail. + +“In the favored unions are the flower of the American workingmen. They +are strong, efficient men. They have become members of those unions +through competition for place. Every fit workman in the United States +will be possessed by the ambition to become a member of the favored +unions. The Oligarchy will encourage such ambition and the consequent +competition. Thus will the strong men, who might else be +revolutionists, be won away and their strength used to bolster the +Oligarchy. + +“On the other hand, the labor castes, the members of the favored +unions, will strive to make their organizations into close +corporations. And they will succeed. Membership in the labor castes +will become hereditary. Sons will succeed fathers, and there will be no +inflow of new strength from that eternal reservoir of strength, the +common people. This will mean deterioration of the labor castes, and in +the end they will become weaker and weaker. At the same time, as an +institution, they will become temporarily all-powerful. They will be +like the guards of the palace in old Rome, and there will be palace +revolutions whereby the labor castes will seize the reins of power. And +there will be counter-palace revolutions of the oligarchs, and +sometimes the one, and sometimes the other, will be in power. And +through it all the inevitable caste-weakening will go on, so that in +the end the common people will come into their own.” + +This foreshadowing of a slow social evolution was made when Ernest was +first depressed by the defection of the great unions. I never agreed +with him in it, and I disagree now, as I write these lines, more +heartily than ever; for even now, though Ernest is gone, we are on the +verge of the revolt that will sweep all oligarchies away. Yet I have +here given Ernest’s prophecy because it was his prophecy. In spite of +his belief in it, he worked like a giant against it, and he, more than +any man, has made possible the revolt that even now waits the signal to +burst forth.[4] + + [4] Everhard’s social foresight was remarkable. As clearly as in the + light of past events, he saw the defection of the favored unions, the + rise and the slow decay of the labor castes, and the struggle between + the decaying oligarchs and labor castes for control of the great + governmental machine. + +“But if the Oligarchy persists,” I asked him that evening, “what will +become of the great surpluses that will fall to its share every year?” + +“The surpluses will have to be expended somehow,” he answered; “and +trust the oligarchs to find a way. Magnificent roads will be built. +There will be great achievements in science, and especially in art. +When the oligarchs have completely mastered the people, they will have +time to spare for other things. They will become worshippers of beauty. +They will become art-lovers. And under their direction and generously +rewarded, will toil the artists. The result will be great art; for no +longer, as up to yesterday, will the artists pander to the bourgeois +taste of the middle class. It will be great art, I tell you, and wonder +cities will arise that will make tawdry and cheap the cities of old +time. And in these cities will the oligarchs dwell and worship +beauty.[5] + + [5] We cannot but marvel at Everhard’s foresight. Before ever the + thought of wonder cities like Ardis and Asgard entered the minds of + the oligarchs, Everhard saw those cities and the inevitable necessity + for their creation. + +“Thus will the surplus be constantly expended while labor does the +work. The building of these great works and cities will give a +starvation ration to millions of common laborers, for the enormous bulk +of the surplus will compel an equally enormous expenditure, and the +oligarchs will build for a thousand years—ay, for ten thousand years. +They will build as the Egyptians and the Babylonians never dreamed of +building; and when the oligarchs have passed away, their great roads +and their wonder cities will remain for the brotherhood of labor to +tread upon and dwell within.[6] + + [6] And since that day of prophecy, have passed away the three + centuries of the Iron Heel and the four centuries of the Brotherhood + of Man, and to-day we tread the roads and dwell in the cities that the + oligarchs built. It is true, we are even now building still more + wonderful wonder cities, but the wonder cities of the oligarchs + endure, and I write these lines in Ardis, one of the most wonderful of + them all. + +“These things the oligarchs will do because they cannot help doing +them. These great works will be the form their expenditure of the +surplus will take, and in the same way that the ruling classes of Egypt +of long ago expended the surplus they robbed from the people by the +building of temples and pyramids. Under the oligarchs will flourish, +not a priest class, but an artist class. And in place of the merchant +class of bourgeoisie will be the labor castes. And beneath will be the +abyss, wherein will fester and starve and rot, and ever renew itself, +the common people, the great bulk of the population. And in the end, +who knows in what day, the common people will rise up out of the abyss; +the labor castes and the Oligarchy will crumble away; and then, at +last, after the travail of the centuries, will it be the day of the +common man. I had thought to see that day; but now I know that I shall +never see it.” + +He paused and looked at me, and added: + +“Social evolution is exasperatingly slow, isn’t it, sweetheart?” + +My arms were about him, and his head was on my breast. + +“Sing me to sleep,” he murmured whimsically. “I have had a visioning, +and I wish to forget.” + + + + +CHAPTER XV. +LAST DAYS + + +It was near the end of January, 1913, that the changed attitude of the +Oligarchy toward the favored unions was made public. The newspapers +published information of an unprecedented rise in wages and shortening +of hours for the railroad employees, the iron and steel workers, and +the engineers and machinists. But the whole truth was not told. The +oligarchs did not dare permit the telling of the whole truth. In +reality, the wages had been raised much higher, and the privileges were +correspondingly greater. All this was secret, but secrets will out. +Members of the favored unions told their wives, and the wives gossiped, +and soon all the labor world knew what had happened. + +It was merely the logical development of what in the nineteenth century +had been known as grab-sharing. In the industrial warfare of that time, +profit-sharing had been tried. That is, the capitalists had striven to +placate the workers by interesting them financially in their work. But +profit-sharing, as a system, was ridiculous and impossible. +Profit-sharing could be successful only in isolated cases in the midst +of a system of industrial strife; for if all labor and all capital +shared profits, the same conditions would obtain as did obtain when +there was no profit-sharing. + +So, out of the unpractical idea of profit-sharing, arose the practical +idea of grab-sharing. “Give us more pay and charge it to the public,” +was the slogan of the strong unions.[1] And here and there this selfish +policy worked successfully. In charging it to the public, it was +charged to the great mass of unorganized labor and of weakly organized +labor. These workers actually paid the increased wages of their +stronger brothers who were members of unions that were labor +monopolies. This idea, as I say, was merely carried to its logical +conclusion, on a large scale, by the combination of the oligarchs and +the favored unions. + + [1] All the railroad unions entered into this combination with the + oligarchs, and it is of interest to note that the first definite + application of the policy of profit-grabbing was made by a railroad + union in the nineteenth century A.D., namely, the Brotherhood of + Locomotive Engineers. P. M. Arthur was for twenty years Grand Chief of + the Brotherhood. After the strike on the Pennsylvania Railroad in + 1877, he broached a scheme to have the Locomotive Engineers make terms + with the railroads and to “go it alone” so far as the rest of the + labor unions were concerned. This scheme was eminently successful. It + was as successful as it was selfish, and out of it was coined the word + “arthurization,” to denote grab-sharing on the part of labor unions. + This word “arthurization” has long puzzled the etymologists, but its + derivation, I hope, is now made clear. + +As soon as the secret of the defection of the favored unions leaked +out, there were rumblings and mutterings in the labor world. Next, the +favored unions withdrew from the international organizations and broke +off all affiliations. Then came trouble and violence. The members of +the favored unions were branded as traitors, and in saloons and +brothels, on the streets and at work, and, in fact, everywhere, they +were assaulted by the comrades they had so treacherously deserted. + +Countless heads were broken, and there were many killed. No member of +the favored unions was safe. They gathered together in bands in order +to go to work or to return from work. They walked always in the middle +of the street. On the sidewalk they were liable to have their skulls +crushed by bricks and cobblestones thrown from windows and house-tops. +They were permitted to carry weapons, and the authorities aided them in +every way. Their persecutors were sentenced to long terms in prison, +where they were harshly treated; while no man, not a member of the +favored unions, was permitted to carry weapons. Violation of this law +was made a high misdemeanor and punished accordingly. + +Outraged labor continued to wreak vengeance on the traitors. Caste +lines formed automatically. The children of the traitors were +persecuted by the children of the workers who had been betrayed, until +it was impossible for the former to play on the streets or to attend +the public schools. Also, the wives and families of the traitors were +ostracized, while the corner groceryman who sold provisions to them was +boycotted. + +As a result, driven back upon themselves from every side, the traitors +and their families became clannish. Finding it impossible to dwell in +safety in the midst of the betrayed proletariat, they moved into new +localities inhabited by themselves alone. In this they were favored by +the oligarchs. Good dwellings, modern and sanitary, were built for +them, surrounded by spacious yards, and separated here and there by +parks and playgrounds. Their children attended schools especially built +for them, and in these schools manual training and applied science were +specialized upon. Thus, and unavoidably, at the very beginning, out of +this segregation arose caste. The members of the favored unions became +the aristocracy of labor. They were set apart from the rest of labor. +They were better housed, better clothed, better fed, better treated. +They were grab-sharing with a vengeance. + +In the meantime, the rest of the working class was more harshly +treated. Many little privileges were taken away from it, while its +wages and its standard of living steadily sank down. Incidentally, its +public schools deteriorated, and education slowly ceased to be +compulsory. The increase in the younger generation of children who +could not read nor write was perilous. + +The capture of the world-market by the United States had disrupted the +rest of the world. Institutions and governments were everywhere +crashing or transforming. Germany, Italy, France, Australia, and New +Zealand were busy forming cooperative commonwealths. The British Empire +was falling apart. England’s hands were full. In India revolt was in +full swing. The cry in all Asia was, “Asia for the Asiatics!” And +behind this cry was Japan, ever urging and aiding the yellow and brown +races against the white. And while Japan dreamed of continental empire +and strove to realize the dream, she suppressed her own proletarian +revolution. It was a simple war of the castes, Coolie versus Samurai, +and the coolie socialists were executed by tens of thousands. Forty +thousand were killed in the street-fighting of Tokio and in the futile +assault on the Mikado’s palace. Kobe was a shambles; the slaughter of +the cotton operatives by machine-guns became classic as the most +terrific execution ever achieved by modern war machines. Most savage of +all was the Japanese Oligarchy that arose. Japan dominated the East, +and took to herself the whole Asiatic portion of the world-market, with +the exception of India. + +England managed to crush her own proletarian revolution and to hold on +to India, though she was brought to the verge of exhaustion. Also, she +was compelled to let her great colonies slip away from her. So it was +that the socialists succeeded in making Australia and New Zealand into +cooperative commonwealths. And it was for the same reason that Canada +was lost to the mother country. But Canada crushed her own socialist +revolution, being aided in this by the Iron Heel. At the same time, the +Iron Heel helped Mexico and Cuba to put down revolt. The result was +that the Iron Heel was firmly established in the New World. It had +welded into one compact political mass the whole of North America from +the Panama Canal to the Arctic Ocean. + +And England, at the sacrifice of her great colonies, had succeeded only +in retaining India. But this was no more than temporary. The struggle +with Japan and the rest of Asia for India was merely delayed. England +was destined shortly to lose India, while behind that event loomed the +struggle between a united Asia and the world. + +And while all the world was torn with conflict, we of the United States +were not placid and peaceful. The defection of the great unions had +prevented our proletarian revolt, but violence was everywhere. In +addition to the labor troubles, and the discontent of the farmers and +of the remnant of the middle class, a religious revival had blazed up. +An offshoot of the Seventh Day Adventists sprang into sudden +prominence, proclaiming the end of the world. + +“Confusion thrice confounded!” Ernest cried. “How can we hope for +solidarity with all these cross purposes and conflicts?” + +And truly the religious revival assumed formidable proportions. The +people, what of their wretchedness, and of their disappointment in all +things earthly, were ripe and eager for a heaven where industrial +tyrants entered no more than camels passed through needle-eyes. +Wild-eyed itinerant preachers swarmed over the land; and despite the +prohibition of the civil authorities, and the persecution for +disobedience, the flames of religious frenzy were fanned by countless +camp-meetings. + +It was the last days, they claimed, the beginning of the end of the +world. The four winds had been loosed. God had stirred the nations to +strife. It was a time of visions and miracles, while seers and +prophetesses were legion. The people ceased work by hundreds of +thousands and fled to the mountains, there to await the imminent coming +of God and the rising of the hundred and forty and four thousand to +heaven. But in the meantime God did not come, and they starved to death +in great numbers. In their desperation they ravaged the farms for food, +and the consequent tumult and anarchy in the country districts but +increased the woes of the poor expropriated farmers. + +Also, the farms and warehouses were the property of the Iron Heel. +Armies of troops were put into the field, and the fanatics were herded +back at the bayonet point to their tasks in the cities. There they +broke out in ever recurring mobs and riots. Their leaders were executed +for sedition or confined in madhouses. Those who were executed went to +their deaths with all the gladness of martyrs. It was a time of +madness. The unrest spread. In the swamps and deserts and waste places, +from Florida to Alaska, the small groups of Indians that survived were +dancing ghost dances and waiting the coming of a Messiah of their own. + +And through it all, with a serenity and certitude that was terrifying, +continued to rise the form of that monster of the ages, the Oligarchy. +With iron hand and iron heel it mastered the surging millions, out of +confusion brought order, out of the very chaos wrought its own +foundation and structure. + +“Just wait till we get in,” the Grangers said—Calvin said it to us in +our Pell Street quarters. “Look at the states we’ve captured. With you +socialists to back us, we’ll make them sing another song when we take +office.” + +“The millions of the discontented and the impoverished are ours,” the +socialists said. “The Grangers have come over to us, the farmers, the +middle class, and the laborers. The capitalist system will fall to +pieces. In another month we send fifty men to Congress. Two years hence +every office will be ours, from the President down to the local +dog-catcher.” + +To all of which Ernest would shake his head and say: + +“How many rifles have you got? Do you know where you can get plenty of +lead? When it comes to powder, chemical mixtures are better than +mechanical mixtures, you take my word.” + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. +THE END + + +When it came time for Ernest and me to go to Washington, father did not +accompany us. He had become enamoured of proletarian life. He looked +upon our slum neighborhood as a great sociological laboratory, and he +had embarked upon an apparently endless orgy of investigation. He +chummed with the laborers, and was an intimate in scores of homes. +Also, he worked at odd jobs, and the work was play as well as learned +investigation, for he delighted in it and was always returning home +with copious notes and bubbling over with new adventures. He was the +perfect scientist. + +There was no need for his working at all, because Ernest managed to +earn enough from his translating to take care of the three of us. But +father insisted on pursuing his favorite phantom, and a protean phantom +it was, judging from the jobs he worked at. I shall never forget the +evening he brought home his street pedler’s outfit of shoe-laces and +suspenders, nor the time I went into the little corner grocery to make +some purchase and had him wait on me. After that I was not surprised +when he tended bar for a week in the saloon across the street. He +worked as a night watchman, hawked potatoes on the street, pasted +labels in a cannery warehouse, was utility man in a paper-box factory, +and water-carrier for a street railway construction gang, and even +joined the Dishwashers’ Union just before it fell to pieces. + +I think the Bishop’s example, so far as wearing apparel was concerned, +must have fascinated father, for he wore the cheap cotton shirt of the +laborer and the overalls with the narrow strap about the hips. Yet one +habit remained to him from the old life; he always dressed for dinner, +or supper, rather. + +I could be happy anywhere with Ernest; and father’s happiness in our +changed circumstances rounded out my own happiness. + +“When I was a boy,” father said, “I was very curious. I wanted to know +why things were and how they came to pass. That was why I became a +physicist. The life in me to-day is just as curious as it was in my +boyhood, and it’s the being curious that makes life worth living.” + +Sometimes he ventured north of Market Street into the shopping and +theatre district, where he sold papers, ran errands, and opened cabs. +There, one day, closing a cab, he encountered Mr. Wickson. In high glee +father described the incident to us that evening. + +“Wickson looked at me sharply when I closed the door on him, and +muttered, ‘Well, I’ll be damned.’ Just like that he said it, ‘Well, +I’ll be damned.’ His face turned red and he was so confused that he +forgot to tip me. But he must have recovered himself quickly, for the +cab hadn’t gone fifty feet before it turned around and came back. He +leaned out of the door. + +“‘Look here, Professor,’ he said, ‘this is too much. What can I do for +you?’ + +“‘I closed the cab door for you,’ I answered. ‘According to common +custom you might give me a dime.’ + +“‘Bother that!’ he snorted. ‘I mean something substantial.’ + +“He was certainly serious—a twinge of ossified conscience or something; +and so I considered with grave deliberation for a moment. + +“His face was quite expectant when I began my answer, but you should +have seen it when I finished. + +“‘You might give me back my home,’ I said, ‘and my stock in the Sierra +Mills.’” + +Father paused. + +“What did he say?” I questioned eagerly. + +“What could he say? He said nothing. But I said, ‘I hope you are +happy.’ He looked at me curiously. ‘Tell me, are you happy?’” I asked. + +“He ordered the cabman to drive on, and went away swearing horribly. +And he didn’t give me the dime, much less the home and stock; so you +see, my dear, your father’s street-arab career is beset with +disappointments.” + +And so it was that father kept on at our Pell Street quarters, while +Ernest and I went to Washington. Except for the final consummation, the +old order had passed away, and the final consummation was nearer than I +dreamed. Contrary to our expectation, no obstacles were raised to +prevent the socialist Congressmen from taking their seats. Everything +went smoothly, and I laughed at Ernest when he looked upon the very +smoothness as something ominous. + +We found our socialist comrades confident, optimistic of their strength +and of the things they would accomplish. A few Grangers who had been +elected to Congress increased our strength, and an elaborate programme +of what was to be done was prepared by the united forces. In all of +which Ernest joined loyally and energetically, though he could not +forbear, now and again, from saying, apropos of nothing in particular, +“When it comes to powder, chemical mixtures are better than mechanical +mixtures, you take my word.” + +The trouble arose first with the Grangers in the various states they +had captured at the last election. There were a dozen of these states, +but the Grangers who had been elected were not permitted to take +office. The incumbents refused to get out. It was very simple. They +merely charged illegality in the elections and wrapped up the whole +situation in the interminable red tape of the law. The Grangers were +powerless. The courts were in the hands of their enemies. + +This was the moment of danger. If the cheated Grangers became violent, +all was lost. How we socialists worked to hold them back! There were +days and nights when Ernest never closed his eyes in sleep. The big +leaders of the Grangers saw the peril and were with us to a man. But it +was all of no avail. The Oligarchy wanted violence, and it set its +agents-provocateurs to work. Without discussion, it was the +agents-provocateurs who caused the Peasant Revolt. + +In a dozen states the revolt flared up. The expropriated farmers took +forcible possession of the state governments. Of course this was +unconstitutional, and of course the United States put its soldiers into +the field. Everywhere the agents-provocateurs urged the people on. +These emissaries of the Iron Heel disguised themselves as artisans, +farmers, and farm laborers. In Sacramento, the capital of California, +the Grangers had succeeded in maintaining order. Thousands of secret +agents were rushed to the devoted city. In mobs composed wholly of +themselves, they fired and looted buildings and factories. They worked +the people up until they joined them in the pillage. Liquor in large +quantities was distributed among the slum classes further to inflame +their minds. And then, when all was ready, appeared upon the scene the +soldiers of the United States, who were, in reality, the soldiers of +the Iron Heel. Eleven thousand men, women, and children were shot down +on the streets of Sacramento or murdered in their houses. The national +government took possession of the state government, and all was over +for California. + +And as with California, so elsewhere. Every Granger state was ravaged +with violence and washed in blood. First, disorder was precipitated by +the secret agents and the Black Hundreds, then the troops were called +out. Rioting and mob-rule reigned throughout the rural districts. Day +and night the smoke of burning farms, warehouses, villages, and cities +filled the sky. Dynamite appeared. Railroad bridges and tunnels were +blown up and trains were wrecked. The poor farmers were shot and hanged +in great numbers. Reprisals were bitter, and many plutocrats and army +officers were murdered. Blood and vengeance were in men’s hearts. The +regular troops fought the farmers as savagely as had they been Indians. +And the regular troops had cause. Twenty-eight hundred of them had been +annihilated in a tremendous series of dynamite explosions in Oregon, +and in a similar manner, a number of train loads, at different times +and places, had been destroyed. So it was that the regular troops +fought for their lives as well as did the farmers. + +As for the militia, the militia law of 1903 was put into effect, and +the workers of one state were compelled, under pain of death, to shoot +down their comrade-workers in other states. Of course, the militia law +did not work smoothly at first. Many militia officers were murdered, +and many militiamen were executed by drumhead court martial. Ernest’s +prophecy was strikingly fulfilled in the cases of Mr. Kowalt and Mr. +Asmunsen. Both were eligible for the militia, and both were drafted to +serve in the punitive expedition that was despatched from California +against the farmers of Missouri. Mr. Kowalt and Mr. Asmunsen refused to +serve. They were given short shrift. Drumhead court martial was their +portion, and military execution their end. They were shot with their +backs to the firing squad. + +Many young men fled into the mountains to escape serving in the +militia. There they became outlaws, and it was not until more peaceful +times that they received their punishment. It was drastic. The +government issued a proclamation for all law-abiding citizens to come +in from the mountains for a period of three months. When the proclaimed +date arrived, half a million soldiers were sent into the mountainous +districts everywhere. There was no investigation, no trial. Wherever a +man was encountered, he was shot down on the spot. The troops operated +on the basis that no man not an outlaw remained in the mountains. Some +bands, in strong positions, fought gallantly, but in the end every +deserter from the militia met death. + +A more immediate lesson, however, was impressed on the minds of the +people by the punishment meted out to the Kansas militia. The great +Kansas Mutiny occurred at the very beginning of military operations +against the Grangers. Six thousand of the militia mutinied. They had +been for several weeks very turbulent and sullen, and for that reason +had been kept in camp. Their open mutiny, however, was without doubt +precipitated by the agents-provocateurs. + +On the night of the 22d of April they arose and murdered their +officers, only a small remnant of the latter escaping. This was beyond +the scheme of the Iron Heel, for the agents-provocateurs had done their +work too well. But everything was grist to the Iron Heel. It had +prepared for the outbreak, and the killing of so many officers gave it +justification for what followed. As by magic, forty thousand soldiers +of the regular army surrounded the malcontents. It was a trap. The +wretched militiamen found that their machine-guns had been tampered +with, and that the cartridges from the captured magazines did not fit +their rifles. They hoisted the white flag of surrender, but it was +ignored. There were no survivors. The entire six thousand were +annihilated. Common shell and shrapnel were thrown in upon them from a +distance, and, when, in their desperation, they charged the encircling +lines, they were mowed down by the machine-guns. I talked with an +eye-witness, and he said that the nearest any militiaman approached the +machine-guns was a hundred and fifty yards. The earth was carpeted with +the slain, and a final charge of cavalry, with trampling of horses’ +hoofs, revolvers, and sabres, crushed the wounded into the ground. + +Simultaneously with the destruction of the Grangers came the revolt of +the coal miners. It was the expiring effort of organized labor. +Three-quarters of a million of miners went out on strike. But they were +too widely scattered over the country to advantage from their own +strength. They were segregated in their own districts and beaten into +submission. This was the first great slave-drive. Pocock[1] won his +spurs as a slave-driver and earned the undying hatred of the +proletariat. Countless attempts were made upon his life, but he seemed +to bear a charmed existence. It was he who was responsible for the +introduction of the Russian passport system among the miners, and the +denial of their right of removal from one part of the country to +another. + + [1] Albert Pocock, another of the notorious strike-breakers of earlier + years, who, to the day of his death, successfully held all the + coal-miners of the country to their task. He was succeeded by his son, + Lewis Pocock, and for five generations this remarkable line of + slave-drivers handled the coal mines. The elder Pocock, known as + Pocock I., has been described as follows: “A long, lean head, + semicircled by a fringe of brown and gray hair, with big cheek-bones + and a heavy chin, . . . a pale face, lustreless gray eyes, a metallic + voice, and a languid manner.” He was born of humble parents, and began + his career as a bartender. He next became a private detective for a + street railway corporation, and by successive steps developed into a + professional strikebreaker. Pocock V., the last of the line, was blown + up in a pump-house by a bomb during a petty revolt of the miners in + the Indian Territory. This occurred in 2073 A.D. + +In the meantime, the socialists held firm. While the Grangers expired +in flame and blood, and organized labor was disrupted, the socialists +held their peace and perfected their secret organization. In vain the +Grangers pleaded with us. We rightly contended that any revolt on our +part was virtually suicide for the whole Revolution. The Iron Heel, at +first dubious about dealing with the entire proletariat at one time, +had found the work easier than it had expected, and would have asked +nothing better than an uprising on our part. But we avoided the issue, +in spite of the fact that agents-provocateurs swarmed in our midst. In +those early days, the agents of the Iron Heel were clumsy in their +methods. They had much to learn and in the meantime our Fighting Groups +weeded them out. It was bitter, bloody work, but we were fighting for +life and for the Revolution, and we had to fight the enemy with its own +weapons. Yet we were fair. No agent of the Iron Heel was executed +without a trial. We may have made mistakes, but if so, very rarely. The +bravest, and the most combative and self-sacrificing of our comrades +went into the Fighting Groups. Once, after ten years had passed, Ernest +made a calculation from figures furnished by the chiefs of the Fighting +Groups, and his conclusion was that the average life of a man or woman +after becoming a member was five years. The comrades of the Fighting +Groups were heroes all, and the peculiar thing about it was that they +were opposed to the taking of life. They violated their own natures, +yet they loved liberty and knew of no sacrifice too great to make for +the Cause.[2] + + [2] These Fighting groups were modelled somewhat after the Fighting + Organization of the Russian Revolution, and, despite the unceasing + efforts of the Iron Heel, these groups persisted throughout the three + centuries of its existence. Composed of men and women actuated by + lofty purpose and unafraid to die, the Fighting Groups exercised + tremendous influence and tempered the savage brutality of the rulers. + Not alone was their work confined to unseen warfare with the secret + agents of the Oligarchy. The oligarchs themselves were compelled to + listen to the decrees of the Groups, and often, when they disobeyed, + were punished by death—and likewise with the subordinates of the + oligarchs, with the officers of the army and the leaders of the labor + castes. + Stern justice was meted out by these organized avengers, but most + remarkable was their passionless and judicial procedure. There were + no snap judgments. When a man was captured he was given fair trial + and opportunity for defence. Of necessity, many men were tried and + condemned by proxy, as in the case of General Lampton. This + occurred in 2138 A.D. Possibly the most bloodthirsty and malignant + of all the mercenaries that ever served the Iron Heel, he was + informed by the Fighting Groups that they had tried him, found him + guilty, and condemned him to death—and this, after three warnings + for him to cease from his ferocious treatment of the proletariat. + After his condemnation he surrounded himself with a myriad + protective devices. Years passed, and in vain the Fighting Groups + strove to execute their decree. Comrade after comrade, men and + women, failed in their attempts, and were cruelly executed by the + Oligarchy. It was the case of General Lampton that revived + crucifixion as a legal method of execution. But in the end the + condemned man found his executioner in the form of a slender girl + of seventeen, Madeline Provence, who, to accomplish her purpose, + served two years in his palace as a seamstress to the household. + She died in solitary confinement after horrible and prolonged + torture; but to-day she stands in imperishable bronze in the + Pantheon of Brotherhood in the wonder city of Serles. + We, who by personal experience know nothing of bloodshed, must not + judge harshly the heroes of the Fighting Groups. They gave up their + lives for humanity, no sacrifice was too great for them to + accomplish, while inexorable necessity compelled them to bloody + expression in an age of blood. The Fighting Groups constituted the + one thorn in the side of the Iron Heel that the Iron Heel could + never remove. Everhard was the father of this curious army, and its + accomplishments and successful persistence for three hundred years + bear witness to the wisdom with which he organized and the solid + foundation he laid for the succeeding generations to build upon. In + some respects, despite his great economic and sociological + contributions, and his work as a general leader in the Revolution, + his organization of the Fighting Groups must be regarded as his + greatest achievement. + +The task we set ourselves was threefold. First, the weeding out from +our circles of the secret agents of the Oligarchy. Second, the +organizing of the Fighting Groups, and outside of them, of the general +secret organization of the Revolution. And third, the introduction of +our own secret agents into every branch of the Oligarchy—into the labor +castes and especially among the telegraphers and secretaries and +clerks, into the army, the agents-provocateurs, and the slave-drivers. +It was slow work, and perilous, and often were our efforts rewarded +with costly failures. + +The Iron Heel had triumphed in open warfare, but we held our own in the +new warfare, strange and awful and subterranean, that we instituted. +All was unseen, much was unguessed; the blind fought the blind; and yet +through it all was order, purpose, control. We permeated the entire +organization of the Iron Heel with our agents, while our own +organization was permeated with the agents of the Iron Heel. It was +warfare dark and devious, replete with intrigue and conspiracy, plot +and counterplot. And behind all, ever menacing, was death, violent and +terrible. Men and women disappeared, our nearest and dearest comrades. +We saw them to-day. To-morrow they were gone; we never saw them again, +and we knew that they had died. + +There was no trust, no confidence anywhere. The man who plotted beside +us, for all we knew, might be an agent of the Iron Heel. We mined the +organization of the Iron Heel with our secret agents, and the Iron Heel +countermined with its secret agents inside its own organization. And it +was the same with our organization. And despite the absence of +confidence and trust we were compelled to base our every effort on +confidence and trust. Often were we betrayed. Men were weak. The Iron +Heel could offer money, leisure, the joys and pleasures that waited in +the repose of the wonder cities. We could offer nothing but the +satisfaction of being faithful to a noble ideal. As for the rest, the +wages of those who were loyal were unceasing peril, torture, and death. + +Men were weak, I say, and because of their weakness we were compelled +to make the only other reward that was within our power. It was the +reward of death. Out of necessity we had to punish our traitors. For +every man who betrayed us, from one to a dozen faithful avengers were +loosed upon his heels. We might fail to carry out our decrees against +our enemies, such as the Pococks, for instance; but the one thing we +could not afford to fail in was the punishment of our own traitors. +Comrades turned traitor by permission, in order to win to the wonder +cities and there execute our sentences on the real traitors. In fact, +so terrible did we make ourselves, that it became a greater peril to +betray us than to remain loyal to us. + +The Revolution took on largely the character of religion. We worshipped +at the shrine of the Revolution, which was the shrine of liberty. It +was the divine flashing through us. Men and women devoted their lives +to the Cause, and new-born babes were sealed to it as of old they had +been sealed to the service of God. We were lovers of Humanity. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. +THE SCARLET LIVERY + + +With the destruction of the Granger states, the Grangers in Congress +disappeared. They were being tried for high treason, and their places +were taken by the creatures of the Iron Heel. The socialists were in a +pitiful minority, and they knew that their end was near. Congress and +the Senate were empty pretences, farces. Public questions were gravely +debated and passed upon according to the old forms, while in reality +all that was done was to give the stamp of constitutional procedure to +the mandates of the Oligarchy. + +Ernest was in the thick of the fight when the end came. It was in the +debate on the bill to assist the unemployed. The hard times of the +preceding year had thrust great masses of the proletariat beneath the +starvation line, and the continued and wide-reaching disorder had but +sunk them deeper. Millions of people were starving, while the oligarchs +and their supporters were surfeiting on the surplus.[1] We called these +wretched people the people of the abyss,[2] and it was to alleviate +their awful suffering that the socialists had introduced the unemployed +bill. But this was not to the fancy of the Iron Heel. In its own way it +was preparing to set these millions to work, but the way was not our +way, wherefore it had issued its orders that our bill should be voted +down. Ernest and his fellows knew that their effort was futile, but +they were tired of the suspense. They wanted something to happen. They +were accomplishing nothing, and the best they hoped for was the putting +of an end to the legislative farce in which they were unwilling +players. They knew not what end would come, but they never anticipated +a more disastrous end than the one that did come. + + [1] The same conditions obtained in the nineteenth century A.D. under + British rule in India. The natives died of starvation by the million, + while their rulers robbed them of the fruits of their toil and + expended it on magnificent pageants and mumbo-jumbo fooleries. + Perforce, in this enlightened age, we have much to blush for in the + acts of our ancestors. Our only consolation is philosophic. We must + accept the capitalistic stage in social evolution as about on a par + with the earlier monkey stage. The human had to pass through those + stages in its rise from the mire and slime of low organic life. It was + inevitable that much of the mire and slime should cling and be not + easily shaken off. + + [2] _The people of the abyss_—this phrase was struck out by the genius + of H. G. Wells in the late nineteenth century A.D. Wells was a + sociological seer, sane and normal as well as warm human. Many + fragments of his work have come down to us, while two of his greatest + achievements, “Anticipations” and “Mankind in the Making,” have come + down intact. Before the oligarchs, and before Everhard, Wells + speculated upon the building of the wonder cities, though in his + writings they are referred to as “pleasure cities.” + +I sat in the gallery that day. We all knew that something terrible was +imminent. It was in the air, and its presence was made visible by the +armed soldiers drawn up in lines in the corridors, and by the officers +grouped in the entrances to the House itself. The Oligarchy was about +to strike. Ernest was speaking. He was describing the sufferings of the +unemployed, as if with the wild idea of in some way touching their +hearts and consciences; but the Republican and Democratic members +sneered and jeered at him, and there was uproar and confusion. Ernest +abruptly changed front. + +“I know nothing that I may say can influence you,” he said. “You have +no souls to be influenced. You are spineless, flaccid things. You +pompously call yourselves Republicans and Democrats. There is no +Republican Party. There is no Democratic Party. There are no +Republicans nor Democrats in this House. You are lick-spittlers and +panderers, the creatures of the Plutocracy. You talk verbosely in +antiquated terminology of your love of liberty, and all the while you +wear the scarlet livery of the Iron Heel.” + +Here the shouting and the cries of “Order! order!” drowned his voice, +and he stood disdainfully till the din had somewhat subsided. He waved +his hand to include all of them, turned to his own comrades, and said: + +“Listen to the bellowing of the well-fed beasts.” + +Pandemonium broke out again. The Speaker rapped for order and glanced +expectantly at the officers in the doorways. There were cries of +“Sedition!” and a great, rotund New York member began shouting +“Anarchist!” at Ernest. And Ernest was not pleasant to look at. Every +fighting fibre of him was quivering, and his face was the face of a +fighting animal, withal he was cool and collected. + +“Remember,” he said, in a voice that made itself heard above the din, +“that as you show mercy now to the proletariat, some day will that same +proletariat show mercy to you.” + +The cries of “Sedition!” and “Anarchist!” redoubled. + +“I know that you will not vote for this bill,” Ernest went on. “You +have received the command from your masters to vote against it. And yet +you call me anarchist. You, who have destroyed the government of the +people, and who shamelessly flaunt your scarlet shame in public places, +call me anarchist. I do not believe in hell-fire and brimstone; but in +moments like this I regret my unbelief. Nay, in moments like this I +almost do believe. Surely there must be a hell, for in no less place +could it be possible for you to receive punishment adequate to your +crimes. So long as you exist, there is a vital need for hell-fire in +the Cosmos.” + +There was movement in the doorways. Ernest, the Speaker, all the +members turned to see. + +“Why do you not call your soldiers in, Mr. Speaker, and bid them do +their work?” Ernest demanded. “They should carry out your plan with +expedition.” + +“There are other plans afoot,” was the retort. “That is why the +soldiers are present.” + +“Our plans, I suppose,” Ernest sneered. “Assassination or something +kindred.” + +But at the word “assassination” the uproar broke out again. Ernest +could not make himself heard, but he remained on his feet waiting for a +lull. And then it happened. From my place in the gallery I saw nothing +except the flash of the explosion. The roar of it filled my ears and I +saw Ernest reeling and falling in a swirl of smoke, and the soldiers +rushing up all the aisles. His comrades were on their feet, wild with +anger, capable of any violence. But Ernest steadied himself for a +moment, and waved his arms for silence. + +“It is a plot!” his voice rang out in warning to his comrades. “Do +nothing, or you will be destroyed.” + +Then he slowly sank down, and the soldiers reached him. The next moment +soldiers were clearing the galleries and I saw no more. + +Though he was my husband, I was not permitted to get to him. When I +announced who I was, I was promptly placed under arrest. And at the +same time were arrested all socialist Congressmen in Washington, +including the unfortunate Simpson, who lay ill with typhoid fever in +his hotel. + +The trial was prompt and brief. The men were foredoomed. The wonder was +that Ernest was not executed. This was a blunder on the part of the +Oligarchy, and a costly one. But the Oligarchy was too confident in +those days. It was drunk with success, and little did it dream that +that small handful of heroes had within them the power to rock it to +its foundations. To-morrow, when the Great Revolt breaks out and all +the world resounds with the tramp, tramp of the millions, the Oligarchy +will realize, and too late, how mightily that band of heroes has +grown.[3] + + [3] Avis Everhard took for granted that her narrative would be read in + her own day, and so omits to mention the outcome of the trial for high + treason. Many other similar disconcerting omissions will be noticed in + the Manuscript. Fifty-two socialist Congressmen were tried, and all + were found guilty. Strange to relate, not one received the death + sentence. Everhard and eleven others, among whom were Theodore + Donnelson and Matthew Kent, received life imprisonment. The remaining + forty received sentences varying from thirty to forty-five years; + while Arthur Simpson, referred to in the Manuscript as being ill of + typhoid fever at the time of the explosion, received only fifteen + years. It is the tradition that he died of starvation in solitary + confinement, and this harsh treatment is explained as having been + caused by his uncompromising stubbornness and his fiery and tactless + hatred for all men that served the despotism. He died in Cabañas in + Cuba, where three of his comrades were also confined. The fifty- two + socialist Congressmen were confined in military fortresses scattered + all over the United States. Thus, Du Bois and Woods were held in Porto + Rico, while Everhard and Merryweather were placed in Alcatraz, an + island in San Francisco Bay that had already seen long service as a + military prison. + +As a revolutionist myself, as one on the inside who knew the hopes and +fears and secret plans of the revolutionists, I am fitted to answer, as +very few are, the charge that they were guilty of exploding the bomb in +Congress. And I can say flatly, without qualification or doubt of any +sort, that the socialists, in Congress and out, had no hand in the +affair. Who threw the bomb we do not know, but the one thing we are +absolutely sure of is that we did not throw it. + +On the other hand, there is evidence to show that the Iron Heel was +responsible for the act. Of course, we cannot prove this. Our +conclusion is merely presumptive. But here are such facts as we do +know. It had been reported to the Speaker of the House, by +secret-service agents of the government, that the Socialist Congressmen +were about to resort to terroristic tactics, and that they had decided +upon the day when their tactics would go into effect. This day was the +very day of the explosion. Wherefore the Capitol had been packed with +troops in anticipation. Since we knew nothing about the bomb, and since +a bomb actually was exploded, and since the authorities had prepared in +advance for the explosion, it is only fair to conclude that the Iron +Heel did know. Furthermore, we charge that the Iron Heel was guilty of +the outrage, and that the Iron Heel planned and perpetrated the outrage +for the purpose of foisting the guilt on our shoulders and so bringing +about our destruction. + +From the Speaker the warning leaked out to all the creatures in the +House that wore the scarlet livery. They knew, while Ernest was +speaking, that some violent act was to be committed. And to do them +justice, they honestly believed that the act was to be committed by the +socialists. At the trial, and still with honest belief, several +testified to having seen Ernest prepare to throw the bomb, and that it +exploded prematurely. Of course they saw nothing of the sort. In the +fevered imagination of fear they thought they saw, that was all. + +As Ernest said at the trial: “Does it stand to reason, if I were going +to throw a bomb, that I should elect to throw a feeble little squib +like the one that was thrown? There wasn’t enough powder in it. It made +a lot of smoke, but hurt no one except me. It exploded right at my +feet, and yet it did not kill me. Believe me, when I get to throwing +bombs, I’ll do damage. There’ll be more than smoke in my petards.” + +In return it was argued by the prosecution that the weakness of the +bomb was a blunder on the part of the socialists, just as its premature +explosion, caused by Ernest’s losing his nerve and dropping it, was a +blunder. And to clinch the argument, there were the several Congressmen +who testified to having seen Ernest fumble and drop the bomb. + +As for ourselves, not one of us knew how the bomb was thrown. Ernest +told me that the fraction of an instant before it exploded he both +heard and saw it strike at his feet. He testified to this at the trial, +but no one believed him. Besides, the whole thing, in popular slang, +was “cooked up.” The Iron Heel had made up its mind to destroy us, and +there was no withstanding it. + +There is a saying that truth will out. I have come to doubt that +saying. Nineteen years have elapsed, and despite our untiring efforts, +we have failed to find the man who really did throw the bomb. +Undoubtedly he was some emissary of the Iron Heel, but he has escaped +detection. We have never got the slightest clew to his identity. And +now, at this late date, nothing remains but for the affair to take its +place among the mysteries of history.[4] + + [4] Avis Everhard would have had to live for many generations ere she + could have seen the clearing up of this particular mystery. A little + less than a hundred years ago, and a little more than six hundred + years after her death, the confession of Pervaise was discovered in + the secret archives of the Vatican. It is perhaps well to tell a + little something about this obscure document, which, in the main, is + of interest to the historian only. + Pervaise was an American, of French descent, who in 1913 A.D., was + lying in the Tombs Prison, New York City, awaiting trial for + murder. From his confession we learn that he was not a criminal. He + was warm-blooded, passionate, emotional. In an insane fit of + jealousy he killed his wife—a very common act in those times. + Pervaise was mastered by the fear of death, all of which is + recounted at length in his confession. To escape death he would + have done anything, and the police agents prepared him by assuring + him that he could not possibly escape conviction of murder in the + first degree when his trial came off. In those days, murder in the + first degree was a capital offense. The guilty man or woman was + placed in a specially constructed death-chair, and, under the + supervision of competent physicians, was destroyed by a current of + electricity. This was called electrocution, and it was very popular + during that period. Anaesthesia, as a mode of compulsory death, was + not introduced until later. + This man, good at heart but with a ferocious animalism close at the + surface of his being, lying in jail and expectant of nothing less + than death, was prevailed upon by the agents of the Iron Heel to + throw the bomb in the House of Representatives. In his confession + he states explicitly that he was informed that the bomb was to be a + feeble thing and that no lives would be lost. This is directly in + line with the fact that the bomb was lightly charged, and that its + explosion at Everhard’s feet was not deadly. + Pervaise was smuggled into one of the galleries ostensibly closed + for repairs. He was to select the moment for the throwing of the + bomb, and he naively confesses that in his interest in Everhard’s + tirade and the general commotion raised thereby, he nearly forgot + his mission. + Not only was he released from prison in reward for his deed, but he + was granted an income for life. This he did not long enjoy. In 1914 + A.D., in September, he was stricken with rheumatism of the heart + and lived for three days. It was then that he sent for the Catholic + priest, Father Peter Durban, and to him made confession. So + important did it seem to the priest, that he had the confession + taken down in writing and sworn to. What happened after this we can + only surmise. The document was certainly important enough to find + its way to Rome. Powerful influences must have been brought to + bear, hence its suppression. For centuries no hint of its existence + reached the world. It was not until in the last century that + Lorbia, the brilliant Italian scholar, stumbled upon it quite by + chance during his researches in the Vatican. + There is to-day no doubt whatever that the Iron Heel was + responsible for the bomb that exploded in the House of + Representatives in 1913 A.D. Even though the Pervaise confession + had never come to light, no reasonable doubt could obtain; for the + act in question, that sent fifty-two Congressmen to prison, was on + a par with countless other acts committed by the oligarchs, and, + before them, by the capitalists. + There is the classic instance of the ferocious and wanton judicial + murder of the innocent and so-called Haymarket Anarchists in + Chicago in the penultimate decade of the nineteenth century A.D. In + a category by itself is the deliberate burning and destruction of + capitalist property by the capitalists themselves. For such + destruction of property innocent men were frequently + punished—“railroaded” in the parlance of the times. + In the labor troubles of the first decade of the twentieth century + A.D., between the capitalists and the Western Federation of Miners, + similar but more bloody tactics were employed. The railroad station + at Independence was blown up by the agents of the capitalists. + Thirteen men were killed, and many more were wounded. And then the + capitalists, controlling the legislative and judicial machinery of + the state of Colorado, charged the miners with the crime and came + very near to convicting them. Romaines, one of the tools in this + affair, like Pervaise, was lying in jail in another state, Kansas, + awaiting trial, when he was approached by the agents of the + capitalists. But, unlike Pervaise, the confession of Romaines was + made public in his own time. + Then, during this same period, there was the case of Moyer and + Haywood, two strong, fearless leaders of labor. One was president + and the other was secretary of the Western Federation of Miners. + The ex-governor of Idaho had been mysteriously murdered. The crime, + at the time, was openly charged to the mine owners by the + socialists and miners. Nevertheless, in violation of the national + and state constitutions, and by means of conspiracy on the parts of + the governors of Idaho and Colorado, Moyer and Haywood were + kidnapped, thrown into jail, and charged with the murder. It was + this instance that provoked from Eugene V. Debs, national leader of + the American socialists at the time, the following words: “_The + labor leaders that cannot be bribed nor bullied, must be ambushed + and murdered. The only crime of Moyer and Haywood is that they have + been unswervingly true to the working class. The capitalists have + stolen our country, debauched our politics, defiled our judiciary, + and ridden over us rough-shod, and now they propose to murder those + who will not abjectly surrender to their brutal dominion. The + governors of Colorado and Idaho are but executing the mandates of + their masters, the Plutocracy. The issue is the Workers versus the + Plutocracy. If they strike the first violent blow, we will strike + the last._” + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. +IN THE SHADOW OF SONOMA + + +Of myself, during this period, there is not much to say. For six months +I was kept in prison, though charged with no crime. I was a _suspect_—a +word of fear that all revolutionists were soon to come to know. But our +own nascent secret service was beginning to work. By the end of my +second month in prison, one of the jailers made himself known as a +revolutionist in touch with the organization. Several weeks later, +Joseph Parkhurst, the prison doctor who had just been appointed, proved +himself to be a member of one of the Fighting Groups. + +Thus, throughout the organization of the Oligarchy, our own +organization, weblike and spidery, was insinuating itself. And so I was +kept in touch with all that was happening in the world without. And +furthermore, every one of our imprisoned leaders was in contact with +brave comrades who masqueraded in the livery of the Iron Heel. Though +Ernest lay in prison three thousand miles away, on the Pacific Coast, I +was in unbroken communication with him, and our letters passed +regularly back and forth. + +The leaders, in prison and out, were able to discuss and direct the +campaign. It would have been possible, within a few months, to have +effected the escape of some of them; but since imprisonment proved no +bar to our activities, it was decided to avoid anything premature. +Fifty-two Congressmen were in prison, and fully three hundred more of +our leaders. It was planned that they should be delivered +simultaneously. If part of them escaped, the vigilance of the oligarchs +might be aroused so as to prevent the escape of the remainder. On the +other hand, it was held that a simultaneous jail-delivery all over the +land would have immense psychological influence on the proletariat. It +would show our strength and give confidence. + +So it was arranged, when I was released at the end of six months, that +I was to disappear and prepare a secure hiding-place for Ernest. To +disappear was in itself no easy thing. No sooner did I get my freedom +than my footsteps began to be dogged by the spies of the Iron Heel. It +was necessary that they should be thrown off the track, and that I +should win to California. It is laughable, the way this was +accomplished. + +Already the passport system, modelled on the Russian, was developing. I +dared not cross the continent in my own character. It was necessary +that I should be completely lost if ever I was to see Ernest again, for +by trailing me after he escaped, he would be caught once more. Again, I +could not disguise myself as a proletarian and travel. There remained +the disguise of a member of the Oligarchy. While the arch-oligarchs +were no more than a handful, there were myriads of lesser ones of the +type, say, of Mr. Wickson—men, worth a few millions, who were adherents +of the arch-oligarchs. The wives and daughters of these lesser +oligarchs were legion, and it was decided that I should assume the +disguise of such a one. A few years later this would have been +impossible, because the passport system was to become so perfect that +no man, woman, nor child in all the land was unregistered and +unaccounted for in his or her movements. + +When the time was ripe, the spies were thrown off my track. An hour +later Avis Everhard was no more. At that time one Felice Van Verdighan, +accompanied by two maids and a lap-dog, with another maid for the +lap-dog,[1] entered a drawing-room on a Pullman,[2] and a few minutes +later was speeding west. + + [1] This ridiculous picture well illustrates the heartless conduct of + the masters. While people starved, lap-dogs were waited upon by maids. + This was a serious masquerade on the part of Avis Everhard. Life and + death and the Cause were in the issue; therefore the picture must be + accepted as a true picture. It affords a striking commentary of the + times. + + [2] _Pullman_—the designation of the more luxurious railway cars of + the period and so named from the inventor. + +The three maids who accompanied me were revolutionists. Two were +members of the Fighting Groups, and the third, Grace Holbrook, entered +a group the following year, and six months later was executed by the +Iron Heel. She it was who waited upon the dog. Of the other two, Bertha +Stole disappeared twelve years later, while Anna Roylston still lives +and plays an increasingly important part in the Revolution.[3] + + [3] Despite continual and almost inconceivable hazards, Anna Roylston + lived to the royal age of ninety-one. As the Pococks defied the + executioners of the Fighting Groups, so she defied the executioners of + the Iron Heel. She bore a charmed life and prospered amid dangers and + alarms. She herself was an executioner for the Fighting Groups, and, + known as the Red Virgin, she became one of the inspired figures of the + Revolution. When she was an old woman of sixty-nine she shot “Bloody” + Halcliffe down in the midst of his armed escort and got away + unscathed. In the end she died peaceably of old age in a secret refuge + of the revolutionists in the Ozark mountains. + +Without adventure we crossed the United States to California. When the +train stopped at Sixteenth Street Station, in Oakland, we alighted, and +there Felice Van Verdighan, with her two maids, her lap-dog, and her +lap-dog’s maid, disappeared forever. The maids, guided by trusty +comrades, were led away. Other comrades took charge of me. Within half +an hour after leaving the train I was on board a small fishing boat and +out on the waters of San Francisco Bay. The winds baffled, and we +drifted aimlessly the greater part of the night. But I saw the lights +of Alcatraz where Ernest lay, and found comfort in the thought of +nearness to him. By dawn, what with the rowing of the fishermen, we +made the Marin Islands. Here we lay in hiding all day, and on the +following night, swept on by a flood tide and a fresh wind, we crossed +San Pablo Bay in two hours and ran up Petaluma Creek. + +Here horses were ready and another comrade, and without delay we were +away through the starlight. To the north I could see the loom of Sonoma +Mountain, toward which we rode. We left the old town of Sonoma to the +right and rode up a canyon that lay between outlying buttresses of the +mountain. The wagon-road became a wood-road, the wood-road became a +cow-path, and the cow-path dwindled away and ceased among the upland +pastures. Straight over Sonoma Mountain we rode. It was the safest +route. There was no one to mark our passing. + +Dawn caught us on the northern brow, and in the gray light we dropped +down through chaparral into redwood canyons deep and warm with the +breath of passing summer. It was old country to me that I knew and +loved, and soon I became the guide. The hiding-place was mine. I had +selected it. We let down the bars and crossed an upland meadow. Next, +we went over a low, oak-covered ridge and descended into a smaller +meadow. Again we climbed a ridge, this time riding under red-limbed +madronos and manzanitas of deeper red. The first rays of the sun +streamed upon our backs as we climbed. A flight of quail thrummed off +through the thickets. A big jackrabbit crossed our path, leaping +swiftly and silently like a deer. And then a deer, a many-pronged buck, +the sun flashing red-gold from neck and shoulders, cleared the crest of +the ridge before us and was gone. + +We followed in his wake a space, then dropped down a zigzag trail that +he disdained into a group of noble redwoods that stood about a pool of +water murky with minerals from the mountain side. I knew every inch of +the way. Once a writer friend of mine had owned the ranch; but he, too, +had become a revolutionist, though more disastrously than I, for he was +already dead and gone, and none knew where nor how. He alone, in the +days he had lived, knew the secret of the hiding-place for which I was +bound. He had bought the ranch for beauty, and paid a round price for +it, much to the disgust of the local farmers. He used to tell with +great glee how they were wont to shake their heads mournfully at the +price, to accomplish ponderously a bit of mental arithmetic, and then +to say, “But you can’t make six per cent on it.” + +But he was dead now, nor did the ranch descend to his children. Of all +men, it was now the property of Mr. Wickson, who owned the whole +eastern and northern slopes of Sonoma Mountain, running from the +Spreckels estate to the divide of Bennett Valley. Out of it he had made +a magnificent deer-park, where, over thousands of acres of sweet slopes +and glades and canyons, the deer ran almost in primitive wildness. The +people who had owned the soil had been driven away. A state home for +the feeble-minded had also been demolished to make room for the deer. + +To cap it all, Wickson’s hunting lodge was a quarter of a mile from my +hiding-place. This, instead of being a danger, was an added security. +We were sheltered under the very ægis of one of the minor oligarchs. +Suspicion, by the nature of the situation, was turned aside. The last +place in the world the spies of the Iron Heel would dream of looking +for me, and for Ernest when he joined me, was Wickson’s deer-park. + +We tied our horses among the redwoods at the pool. From a cache behind +a hollow rotting log my companion brought out a variety of things,—a +fifty-pound sack of flour, tinned foods of all sorts, cooking utensils, +blankets, a canvas tarpaulin, books and writing material, a great +bundle of letters, a five-gallon can of kerosene, an oil stove, and, +last and most important, a large coil of stout rope. So large was the +supply of things that a number of trips would be necessary to carry +them to the refuge. + +But the refuge was very near. Taking the rope and leading the way, I +passed through a glade of tangled vines and bushes that ran between two +wooded knolls. The glade ended abruptly at the steep bank of a stream. +It was a little stream, rising from springs, and the hottest summer +never dried it up. On every hand were tall wooded knolls, a group of +them, with all the seeming of having been flung there from some +careless Titan’s hand. There was no bed-rock in them. They rose from +their bases hundreds of feet, and they were composed of red volcanic +earth, the famous wine-soil of Sonoma. Through these the tiny stream +had cut its deep and precipitous channel. + +It was quite a scramble down to the stream bed, and, once on the bed, +we went down stream perhaps for a hundred feet. And then we came to the +great hole. There was no warning of the existence of the hole, nor was +it a hole in the common sense of the word. One crawled through +tight-locked briers and branches, and found oneself on the very edge, +peering out and down through a green screen. A couple of hundred feet +in length and width, it was half of that in depth. Possibly because of +some fault that had occurred when the knolls were flung together, and +certainly helped by freakish erosion, the hole had been scooped out in +the course of centuries by the wash of water. Nowhere did the raw earth +appear. All was garmented by vegetation, from tiny maiden-hair and +gold-back ferns to mighty redwood and Douglas spruces. These great +trees even sprang out from the walls of the hole. Some leaned over at +angles as great as forty-five degrees, though the majority towered +straight up from the soft and almost perpendicular earth walls. + +It was a perfect hiding-place. No one ever came there, not even the +village boys of Glen Ellen. Had this hole existed in the bed of a +canyon a mile long, or several miles long, it would have been well +known. But this was no canyon. From beginning to end the length of the +stream was no more than five hundred yards. Three hundred yards above +the hole the stream took its rise in a spring at the foot of a flat +meadow. A hundred yards below the hole the stream ran out into open +country, joining the main stream and flowing across rolling and +grass-covered land. + +My companion took a turn of the rope around a tree, and with me fast on +the other end lowered away. In no time I was on the bottom. And in but +a short while he had carried all the articles from the cache and +lowered them down to me. He hauled the rope up and hid it, and before +he went away called down to me a cheerful parting. + +Before I go on I want to say a word for this comrade, John Carlson, a +humble figure of the Revolution, one of the countless faithful ones in +the ranks. He worked for Wickson, in the stables near the hunting +lodge. In fact, it was on Wickson’s horses that we had ridden over +Sonoma Mountain. For nearly twenty years now John Carlson has been +custodian of the refuge. No thought of disloyalty, I am sure, has ever +entered his mind during all that time. To betray his trust would have +been in his mind a thing undreamed. He was phlegmatic, stolid to such a +degree that one could not but wonder how the Revolution had any meaning +to him at all. And yet love of freedom glowed sombrely and steadily in +his dim soul. In ways it was indeed good that he was not flighty and +imaginative. He never lost his head. He could obey orders, and he was +neither curious nor garrulous. Once I asked how it was that he was a +revolutionist. + +“When I was a young man I was a soldier,” was his answer. “It was in +Germany. There all young men must be in the army. So I was in the army. +There was another soldier there, a young man, too. His father was what +you call an agitator, and his father was in jail for lese majesty—what +you call speaking the truth about the Emperor. And the young man, the +son, talked with me much about people, and work, and the robbery of the +people by the capitalists. He made me see things in new ways, and I +became a socialist. His talk was very true and good, and I have never +forgotten. When I came to the United States I hunted up the socialists. +I became a member of a section—that was in the day of the S. L. P. Then +later, when the split came, I joined the local of the S. P. I was +working in a livery stable in San Francisco then. That was before the +Earthquake. I have paid my dues for twenty-two years. I am yet a +member, and I yet pay my dues, though it is very secret now. I will +always pay my dues, and when the cooperative commonwealth comes, I will +be glad.” + +Left to myself, I proceeded to cook breakfast on the oil stove and to +prepare my home. Often, in the early morning, or in the evening after +dark, Carlson would steal down to the refuge and work for a couple of +hours. At first my home was the tarpaulin. Later, a small tent was put +up. And still later, when we became assured of the perfect security of +the place, a small house was erected. This house was completely hidden +from any chance eye that might peer down from the edge of the hole. The +lush vegetation of that sheltered spot make a natural shield. Also, the +house was built against the perpendicular wall; and in the wall itself, +shored by strong timbers, well drained and ventilated, we excavated two +small rooms. Oh, believe me, we had many comforts. When Biedenbach, the +German terrorist, hid with us some time later, he installed a +smoke-consuming device that enabled us to sit by crackling wood fires +on winter nights. + +And here I must say a word for that gentle-souled terrorist, than whom +there is no comrade in the Revolution more fearfully misunderstood. +Comrade Biedenbach did not betray the Cause. Nor was he executed by the +comrades as is commonly supposed. This canard was circulated by the +creatures of the Oligarchy. Comrade Biedenbach was absent-minded, +forgetful. He was shot by one of our lookouts at the cave-refuge at +Carmel, through failure on his part to remember the secret signals. It +was all a sad mistake. And that he betrayed his Fighting Group is an +absolute lie. No truer, more loyal man ever labored for the Cause.[4] + + [4] Search as we may through all the material of those times that has + come down to us, we can find no clew to the Biedenbach here referred + to. No mention is made of him anywhere save in the Everhard + Manuscript. + +For nineteen years now the refuge that I selected had been almost +continuously occupied, and in all that time, with one exception, it has +never been discovered by an outsider. And yet it was only a quarter of +a mile from Wickson’s hunting-lodge, and a short mile from the village +of Glen Ellen. I was able, always, to hear the morning and evening +trains arrive and depart, and I used to set my watch by the whistle at +the brickyards.[5] + + [5] If the curious traveller will turn south from Glen Ellen, he will + find himself on a boulevard that is identical with the old country + road seven centuries ago. A quarter of a mile from Glen Ellen, after + the second bridge is passed, to the right will be noticed a barranca + that runs like a scar across the rolling land toward a group of wooded + knolls. The barranca is the site of the ancient right of way that in + the time of private property in land ran across the holding of one + Chauvet, a French pioneer of California who came from his native + country in the fabled days of gold. The wooded knolls are the same + knolls referred to by Avis Everhard. + The Great Earthquake of 2368 A.D. broke off the side of one of + these knolls and toppled it into the hole where the Everhards made + their refuge. Since the finding of the Manuscript excavations have + been made, and the house, the two cave rooms, and all the + accumulated rubbish of long occupancy have been brought to light. + Many valuable relics have been found, among which, curious to + relate, is the smoke-consuming device of Biedenbach’s mentioned in + the narrative. Students interested in such matters should read the + brochure of Arnold Bentham soon to be published. + A mile northwest from the wooded knolls brings one to the site of + Wake Robin Lodge at the junction of Wild-Water and Sonoma Creeks. + It may be noticed, in passing, that Wild- Water was originally + called Graham Creek and was so named on the early local maps. But + the later name sticks. It was at Wake Robin Lodge that Avis + Everhard later lived for short periods, when, disguised as an + agent-provocateur of the Iron Heel, she was enabled to play with + impunity her part among men and events. The official permission to + occupy Wake Robin Lodge is still on the records, signed by no less + a man than Wickson, the minor oligarch of the Manuscript. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. +TRANSFORMATION + + +“You must make yourself over again,” Ernest wrote to me. “You must +cease to be. You must become another woman—and not merely in the +clothes you wear, but inside your skin under the clothes. You must make +yourself over again so that even I would not know you—your voice, your +gestures, your mannerisms, your carriage, your walk, everything.” + +This command I obeyed. Every day I practised for hours in burying +forever the old Avis Everhard beneath the skin of another woman whom I +may call my other self. It was only by long practice that such results +could be obtained. In the mere detail of voice intonation I practised +almost perpetually till the voice of my new self became fixed, +automatic. It was this automatic assumption of a rôle that was +considered imperative. One must become so adept as to deceive oneself. +It was like learning a new language, say the French. At first speech in +French is self-conscious, a matter of the will. The student thinks in +English and then transmutes into French, or reads in French but +transmutes into English before he can understand. Then later, becoming +firmly grounded, automatic, the student reads, writes, and _thinks_ in +French, without any recourse to English at all. + +And so with our disguises. It was necessary for us to practise until +our assumed roles became real; until to be our original selves would +require a watchful and strong exercise of will. Of course, at first, +much was mere blundering experiment. We were creating a new art, and we +had much to discover. But the work was going on everywhere; masters in +the art were developing, and a fund of tricks and expedients was being +accumulated. This fund became a sort of text-book that was passed on, a +part of the curriculum, as it were, of the school of Revolution.[1] + + [1] Disguise did become a veritable art during that period. The + revolutionists maintained schools of acting in all their refuges. They + scorned accessories, such as wigs and beards, false eyebrows, and such + aids of the theatrical actors. The game of revolution was a game of + life and death, and mere accessories were traps. Disguise had to be + fundamental, intrinsic, part and parcel of one’s being, second nature. + The Red Virgin is reported to have been one of the most adept in the + art, to which must be ascribed her long and successful career. + +It was at this time that my father disappeared. His letters, which had +come to me regularly, ceased. He no longer appeared at our Pell Street +quarters. Our comrades sought him everywhere. Through our secret +service we ransacked every prison in the land. But he was lost as +completely as if the earth had swallowed him up, and to this day no +clew to his end has been discovered.[2] + + [2] Disappearance was one of the horrors of the time. As a motif, in + song and story, it constantly crops up. It was an inevitable + concomitant of the subterranean warfare that raged through those three + centuries. This phenomenon was almost as common in the oligarch class + and the labor castes, as it was in the ranks of the revolutionists. + Without warning, without trace, men and women, and even children, + disappeared and were seen no more, their end shrouded in mystery. + +Six lonely months I spent in the refuge, but they were not idle months. +Our organization went on apace, and there were mountains of work always +waiting to be done. Ernest and his fellow-leaders, from their prisons, +decided what should be done; and it remained for us on the outside to +do it. There was the organization of the mouth-to-mouth propaganda; the +organization, with all its ramifications, of our spy system; the +establishment of our secret printing-presses; and the establishment of +our underground railways, which meant the knitting together of all our +myriads of places of refuge, and the formation of new refuges where +links were missing in the chains we ran over all the land. + +So I say, the work was never done. At the end of six months my +loneliness was broken by the arrival of two comrades. They were young +girls, brave souls and passionate lovers of liberty: Lora Peterson, who +disappeared in 1922, and Kate Bierce, who later married Du Bois,[3] and +who is still with us with eyes lifted to to-morrow’s sun, that heralds +in the new age. + + [3] Du Bois, the present librarian of Ardis, is a lineal descendant of + this revolutionary pair. + +The two girls arrived in a flurry of excitement, danger, and sudden +death. In the crew of the fishing boat that conveyed them across San +Pablo Bay was a spy. A creature of the Iron Heel, he had successfully +masqueraded as a revolutionist and penetrated deep into the secrets of +our organization. Without doubt he was on my trail, for we had long +since learned that my disappearance had been cause of deep concern to +the secret service of the Oligarchy. Luckily, as the outcome proved, he +had not divulged his discoveries to any one. He had evidently delayed +reporting, preferring to wait until he had brought things to a +successful conclusion by discovering my hiding-place and capturing me. +His information died with him. Under some pretext, after the girls had +landed at Petaluma Creek and taken to the horses, he managed to get +away from the boat. + +Part way up Sonoma Mountain, John Carlson let the girls go on, leading +his horse, while he went back on foot. His suspicions had been aroused. +He captured the spy, and as to what then happened, Carlson gave us a +fair idea. + +“I fixed him,” was Carlson’s unimaginative way of describing the +affair. “I fixed him,” he repeated, while a sombre light burnt in his +eyes, and his huge, toil-distorted hands opened and closed eloquently. +“He made no noise. I hid him, and tonight I will go back and bury him +deep.” + +During that period I used to marvel at my own metamorphosis. At times +it seemed impossible, either that I had ever lived a placid, peaceful +life in a college town, or else that I had become a revolutionist +inured to scenes of violence and death. One or the other could not be. +One was real, the other was a dream, but which was which? Was this +present life of a revolutionist, hiding in a hole, a nightmare? or was +I a revolutionist who had somewhere, somehow, dreamed that in some +former existence I have lived in Berkeley and never known of life more +violent than teas and dances, debating societies, and lecture rooms? +But then I suppose this was a common experience of all of us who had +rallied under the red banner of the brotherhood of man. + +I often remembered figures from that other life, and, curiously enough, +they appeared and disappeared, now and again, in my new life. There was +Bishop Morehouse. In vain we searched for him after our organization +had developed. He had been transferred from asylum to asylum. We traced +him from the state hospital for the insane at Napa to the one in +Stockton, and from there to the one in the Santa Clara Valley called +Agnews, and there the trail ceased. There was no record of his death. +In some way he must have escaped. Little did I dream of the awful +manner in which I was to see him once again—the fleeting glimpse of him +in the whirlwind carnage of the Chicago Commune. + +Jackson, who had lost his arm in the Sierra Mills and who had been the +cause of my own conversion into a revolutionist, I never saw again; but +we all knew what he did before he died. He never joined the +revolutionists. Embittered by his fate, brooding over his wrongs, he +became an anarchist—not a philosophic anarchist, but a mere animal, mad +with hate and lust for revenge. And well he revenged himself. Evading +the guards, in the nighttime while all were asleep, he blew the +Pertonwaithe palace into atoms. Not a soul escaped, not even the +guards. And in prison, while awaiting trial, he suffocated himself +under his blankets. + +Dr. Hammerfield and Dr. Ballingford achieved quite different fates from +that of Jackson. They have been faithful to their salt, and they have +been correspondingly rewarded with ecclesiastical palaces wherein they +dwell at peace with the world. Both are apologists for the Oligarchy. +Both have grown very fat. “Dr. Hammerfield,” as Ernest once said, “has +succeeded in modifying his metaphysics so as to give God’s sanction to +the Iron Heel, and also to include much worship of beauty and to reduce +to an invisible wraith the gaseous vertebrate described by Haeckel—the +difference between Dr. Hammerfield and Dr. Ballingford being that the +latter has made the God of the oligarchs a little more gaseous and a +little less vertebrate.” + +Peter Donnelly, the scab foreman at the Sierra Mills whom I encountered +while investigating the case of Jackson, was a surprise to all of us. +In 1918 I was present at a meeting of the ’Frisco Reds. Of all our +Fighting Groups this one was the most formidable, ferocious, and +merciless. It was really not a part of our organization. Its members +were fanatics, madmen. We dared not encourage such a spirit. On the +other hand, though they did not belong to us, we remained on friendly +terms with them. It was a matter of vital importance that brought me +there that night. I, alone in the midst of a score of men, was the only +person unmasked. After the business that brought me there was +transacted, I was led away by one of them. In a dark passage this guide +struck a match, and, holding it close to his face, slipped back his +mask. For a moment I gazed upon the passion-wrought features of Peter +Donnelly. Then the match went out. + +“I just wanted you to know it was me,” he said in the darkness. “D’you +remember Dallas, the superintendent?” + +I nodded at recollection of the vulpine-faced superintendent of the +Sierra Mills. + +“Well, I got him first,” Donnelly said with pride. “’Twas after that I +joined the Reds.” + +“But how comes it that you are here?” I queried. “Your wife and +children?” + +“Dead,” he answered. “That’s why. No,” he went on hastily, “’tis not +revenge for them. They died easily in their beds—sickness, you see, one +time and another. They tied my arms while they lived. And now that +they’re gone, ’tis revenge for my blasted manhood I’m after. I was once +Peter Donnelly, the scab foreman. But to-night I’m Number 27 of the +’Frisco Reds. Come on now, and I’ll get you out of this.” + +More I heard of him afterward. In his own way he had told the truth +when he said all were dead. But one lived, Timothy, and him his father +considered dead because he had taken service with the Iron Heel in the +Mercenaries.[4] A member of the ’Frisco Reds pledged himself to twelve +annual executions. The penalty for failure was death. A member who +failed to complete his number committed suicide. These executions were +not haphazard. This group of madmen met frequently and passed wholesale +judgments upon offending members and servitors of the Oligarchy. The +executions were afterward apportioned by lot. + + [4] In addition to the labor castes, there arose another caste, the + military. A standing army of professional soldiers was created, + officered by members of the Oligarchy and known as the Mercenaries. + This institution took the place of the militia, which had proved + impracticable under the new regime. Outside the regular secret service + of the Iron Heel, there was further established a secret service of + the Mercenaries, this latter forming a connecting link between the + police and the military. + +In fact, the business that brought me there the night of my visit was +such a trial. One of our own comrades, who for years had successfully +maintained himself in a clerical position in the local bureau of the +secret service of the Iron Heel, had fallen under the ban of the +’Frisco Reds and was being tried. Of course he was not present, and of +course his judges did not know that he was one of our men. My mission +had been to testify to his identity and loyalty. It may be wondered how +we came to know of the affair at all. The explanation is simple. One of +our secret agents was a member of the ’Frisco Reds. It was necessary +for us to keep an eye on friend as well as foe, and this group of +madmen was not too unimportant to escape our surveillance. + +But to return to Peter Donnelly and his son. All went well with +Donnelly until, in the following year, he found among the sheaf of +executions that fell to him the name of Timothy Donnelly. Then it was +that that clannishness, which was his to so extraordinary a degree, +asserted itself. To save his son, he betrayed his comrades. In this he +was partially blocked, but a dozen of the ’Frisco Reds were executed, +and the group was well-nigh destroyed. In retaliation, the survivors +meted out to Donnelly the death he had earned by his treason. + +Nor did Timothy Donnelly long survive. The ’Frisco Reds pledged +themselves to his execution. Every effort was made by the Oligarchy to +save him. He was transferred from one part of the country to another. +Three of the Reds lost their lives in vain efforts to get him. The +Group was composed only of men. In the end they fell back on a woman, +one of our comrades, and none other than Anna Roylston. Our Inner +Circle forbade her, but she had ever a will of her own and disdained +discipline. Furthermore, she was a genius and lovable, and we could +never discipline her anyway. She is in a class by herself and not +amenable to the ordinary standards of the revolutionists. + +Despite our refusal to grant permission to do the deed, she went on +with it. Now Anna Roylston was a fascinating woman. All she had to do +was to beckon a man to her. She broke the hearts of scores of our young +comrades, and scores of others she captured, and by their heart-strings +led into our organization. Yet she steadfastly refused to marry. She +dearly loved children, but she held that a child of her own would claim +her from the Cause, and that it was the Cause to which her life was +devoted. + +It was an easy task for Anna Roylston to win Timothy Donnelly. Her +conscience did not trouble her, for at that very time occurred the +_Nashville Massacre_, when the Mercenaries, Donnelly in command, +literally murdered eight hundred weavers of that city. But she did not +kill Donnelly. She turned him over, a prisoner, to the ’Frisco Reds. +This happened only last year, and now she had been renamed. The +revolutionists everywhere are calling her the “Red Virgin.”[5] + + [5] It was not until the Second Revolt was crushed, that the ’Frisco + Reds flourished again. And for two generations the Group flourished. + Then an agent of the Iron Heel managed to become a member, penetrated + all its secrets, and brought about its total annihilation. This + occurred in 2002 A.D. The members were executed one at a time, at + intervals of three weeks, and their bodies exposed in the labor-ghetto + of San Francisco. + +Colonel Ingram and Colonel Van Gilbert are two more familiar figures +that I was later to encounter. Colonel Ingram rose high in the +Oligarchy and became Minister to Germany. He was cordially detested by +the proletariat of both countries. It was in Berlin that I met him, +where, as an accredited international spy of the Iron Heel, I was +received by him and afforded much assistance. Incidentally, I may state +that in my dual rôle I managed a few important things for the +Revolution. + +Colonel Van Gilbert became known as “Snarling” Van Gilbert. His +important part was played in drafting the new code after the Chicago +Commune. But before that, as trial judge, he had earned sentence of +death by his fiendish malignancy. I was one of those that tried him and +passed sentence upon him. Anna Roylston carried out the execution. + +Still another figure arises out of the old life—Jackson’s lawyer. Least +of all would I have expected again to meet this man, Joseph Hurd. It +was a strange meeting. Late at night, two years after the Chicago +Commune, Ernest and I arrived together at the Benton Harbor refuge. +This was in Michigan, across the lake from Chicago. We arrived just at +the conclusion of the trial of a spy. Sentence of death had been +passed, and he was being led away. Such was the scene as we came upon +it. The next moment the wretched man had wrenched free from his captors +and flung himself at my feet, his arms clutching me about the knees in +a vicelike grip as he prayed in a frenzy for mercy. As he turned his +agonized face up to me, I recognized him as Joseph Hurd. Of all the +terrible things I have witnessed, never have I been so unnerved as by +this frantic creature’s pleading for life. He was mad for life. It was +pitiable. He refused to let go of me, despite the hands of a dozen +comrades. And when at last he was dragged shrieking away, I sank down +fainting upon the floor. It is far easier to see brave men die than to +hear a coward beg for life.[6] + + [6] The Benton Harbor refuge was a catacomb, the entrance of which was + cunningly contrived by way of a well. It has been maintained in a fair + state of preservation, and the curious visitor may to-day tread its + labyrinths to the assembly hall, where, without doubt, occurred the + scene described by Avis Everhard. Farther on are the cells where the + prisoners were confined, and the death chamber where the executions + took place. Beyond is the cemetery—long, winding galleries hewn out of + the solid rock, with recesses on either hand, wherein, tier above + tier, lie the revolutionists just as they were laid away by their + comrades long years agone. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. +A LOST OLIGARCH + + +But in remembering the old life I have run ahead of my story into the +new life. The wholesale jail delivery did not occur until well along +into 1915. Complicated as it was, it was carried through without a +hitch, and as a very creditable achievement it cheered us on in our +work. From Cuba to California, out of scores of jails, military +prisons, and fortresses, in a single night, we delivered fifty-one of +our fifty-two Congressmen, and in addition over three hundred other +leaders. There was not a single instance of miscarriage. Not only did +they escape, but every one of them won to the refuges as planned. The +one comrade Congressman we did not get was Arthur Simpson, and he had +already died in Cabañas after cruel tortures. + +The eighteen months that followed was perhaps the happiest of my life +with Ernest. During that time we were never apart. Later, when we went +back into the world, we were separated much. Not more impatiently do I +await the flame of to-morrow’s revolt than did I that night await the +coming of Ernest. I had not seen him for so long, and the thought of a +possible hitch or error in our plans that would keep him still in his +island prison almost drove me mad. The hours passed like ages. I was +all alone. Biedenbach, and three young men who had been living in the +refuge, were out and over the mountain, heavily armed and prepared for +anything. The refuges all over the land were quite empty, I imagine, of +comrades that night. + +Just as the sky paled with the first warning of dawn, I heard the +signal from above and gave the answer. In the darkness I almost +embraced Biedenbach, who came down first; but the next moment I was in +Ernest’s arms. And in that moment, so complete had been my +transformation, I discovered it was only by an effort of will that I +could be the old Avis Everhard, with the old mannerisms and smiles, +phrases and intonations of voice. It was by strong effort only that I +was able to maintain my old identity; I could not allow myself to +forget for an instant, so automatically imperative had become the new +personality I had created. + +Once inside the little cabin, I saw Ernest’s face in the light. With +the exception of the prison pallor, there was no change in him—at +least, not much. He was my same lover-husband and hero. And yet there +was a certain ascetic lengthening of the lines of his face. But he +could well stand it, for it seemed to add a certain nobility of +refinement to the riotous excess of life that had always marked his +features. He might have been a trifle graver than of yore, but the +glint of laughter still was in his eyes. He was twenty pounds lighter, +but in splendid physical condition. He had kept up exercise during the +whole period of confinement, and his muscles were like iron. In truth, +he was in better condition than when he had entered prison. Hours +passed before his head touched pillow and I had soothed him off to +sleep. But there was no sleep for me. I was too happy, and the fatigue +of jail-breaking and riding horseback had not been mine. + +While Ernest slept, I changed my dress, arranged my hair differently, +and came back to my new automatic self. Then, when Biedenbach and the +other comrades awoke, with their aid I concocted a little conspiracy. +All was ready, and we were in the cave-room that served for kitchen and +dining room when Ernest opened the door and entered. At that moment +Biedenbach addressed me as Mary, and I turned and answered him. Then I +glanced at Ernest with curious interest, such as any young comrade +might betray on seeing for the first time so noted a hero of the +Revolution. But Ernest’s glance took me in and questioned impatiently +past and around the room. The next moment I was being introduced to him +as Mary Holmes. + +To complete the deception, an extra plate was laid, and when we sat +down to table one chair was not occupied. I could have cried with joy +as I noted Ernest’s increasing uneasiness and impatience. Finally he +could stand it no longer. + +“Where’s my wife?” he demanded bluntly. + +“She is still asleep,” I answered. + +It was the crucial moment. But my voice was a strange voice, and in it +he recognized nothing familiar. The meal went on. I talked a great +deal, and enthusiastically, as a hero-worshipper might talk, and it was +obvious that he was my hero. I rose to a climax of enthusiasm and +worship, and, before he could guess my intention, threw my arms around +his neck and kissed him on the lips. He held me from him at arm’s +length and stared about in annoyance and perplexity. The four men +greeted him with roars of laughter, and explanations were made. At +first he was sceptical. He scrutinized me keenly and was half +convinced, then shook his head and would not believe. It was not until +I became the old Avis Everhard and whispered secrets in his ear that +none knew but he and Avis Everhard, that he accepted me as his really, +truly wife. + +It was later in the day that he took me in his arms, manifesting great +embarrassment and claiming polygamous emotions. + +“You are my Avis,” he said, “and you are also some one else. You are +two women, and therefore you are my harem. At any rate, we are safe +now. If the United States becomes too hot for us, why I have qualified +for citizenship in Turkey.”[1] + + [1] At that time polygamy was still practised in Turkey. + +Life became for me very happy in the refuge. It is true, we worked hard +and for long hours; but we worked together. We had each other for +eighteen precious months, and we were not lonely, for there was always +a coming and going of leaders and comrades—strange voices from the +under-world of intrigue and revolution, bringing stranger tales of +strife and war from all our battle-line. And there was much fun and +delight. We were not mere gloomy conspirators. We toiled hard and +suffered greatly, filled the gaps in our ranks and went on, and through +all the labour and the play and interplay of life and death we found +time to laugh and love. There were artists, scientists, scholars, +musicians, and poets among us; and in that hole in the ground culture +was higher and finer than in the palaces of wonder-cities of the +oligarchs. In truth, many of our comrades toiled at making beautiful +those same palaces and wonder-cities.[2] + + [2] This is not braggadocio on the part of Avis Everhard. The flower + of the artistic and intellectual world were revolutionists. With the + exception of a few of the musicians and singers, and of a few of the + oligarchs, all the great creators of the period whose names have come + down to us, were revolutionists. + +Nor were we confined to the refuge itself. Often at night we rode over +the mountains for exercise, and we rode on Wickson’s horses. If only he +knew how many revolutionists his horses have carried! We even went on +picnics to isolated spots we knew, where we remained all day, going +before daylight and returning after dark. Also, we used Wickson’s cream +and butter,[3] and Ernest was not above shooting Wickson’s quail and +rabbits, and, on occasion, his young bucks. + + [3] Even as late as that period, cream and butter were still crudely + extracted from cow’s milk. The laboratory preparation of foods had not + yet begun. + +Indeed, it was a safe refuge. I have said that it was discovered only +once, and this brings me to the clearing up of the mystery of the +disappearance of young Wickson. Now that he is dead, I am free to +speak. There was a nook on the bottom of the great hole where the sun +shone for several hours and which was hidden from above. Here we had +carried many loads of gravel from the creek-bed, so that it was dry and +warm, a pleasant basking place; and here, one afternoon, I was +drowsing, half asleep, over a volume of Mendenhall.[4] I was so +comfortable and secure that even his flaming lyrics failed to stir me. + + [4] In all the extant literature and documents of that period, + continual reference is made to the poems of Rudolph Mendenhall. By his + comrades he was called “The Flame.” He was undoubtedly a great genius; + yet, beyond weird and haunting fragments of his verse, quoted in the + writings of others, nothing of his has come down to us. He was + executed by the Iron Heel in 1928 A.D. + +I was aroused by a clod of earth striking at my feet. Then from above, +I heard a sound of scrambling. The next moment a young man, with a +final slide down the crumbling wall, alighted at my feet. It was Philip +Wickson, though I did not know him at the time. He looked at me coolly +and uttered a low whistle of surprise. + +“Well,” he said; and the next moment, cap in hand, he was saying, “I +beg your pardon. I did not expect to find any one here.” + +I was not so cool. I was still a tyro so far as concerned knowing how +to behave in desperate circumstances. Later on, when I was an +international spy, I should have been less clumsy, I am sure. As it +was, I scrambled to my feet and cried out the danger call. + +“Why did you do that?” he asked, looking at me searchingly. + +It was evident that he had no suspicion of our presence when making the +descent. I recognized this with relief. + +“For what purpose do you think I did it?” I countered. I was indeed +clumsy in those days. + +“I don’t know,” he answered, shaking his head. “Unless you’ve got +friends about. Anyway, you’ve got some explanations to make. I don’t +like the look of it. You are trespassing. This is my father’s land, +and—” + +But at that moment, Biedenbach, ever polite and gentle, said from +behind him in a low voice, “Hands up, my young sir.” + +Young Wickson put his hands up first, then turned to confront +Biedenbach, who held a thirty-thirty automatic rifle on him. Wickson +was imperturbable. + +“Oh, ho,” he said, “a nest of revolutionists—and quite a hornet’s nest +it would seem. Well, you won’t abide here long, I can tell you.” + +“Maybe you’ll abide here long enough to reconsider that statement,” +Biedenbach said quietly. “And in the meanwhile I must ask you to come +inside with me.” + +“Inside?” The young man was genuinely astonished. “Have you a catacomb +here? I have heard of such things.” + +“Come and see,” Biedenbach answered with his adorable accent. + +“But it is unlawful,” was the protest. + +“Yes, by your law,” the terrorist replied significantly. “But by our +law, believe me, it is quite lawful. You must accustom yourself to the +fact that you are in another world than the one of oppression and +brutality in which you have lived.” + +“There is room for argument there,” Wickson muttered. + +“Then stay with us and discuss it.” + +The young fellow laughed and followed his captor into the house. He was +led into the inner cave-room, and one of the young comrades left to +guard him, while we discussed the situation in the kitchen. + +Biedenbach, with tears in his eyes, held that Wickson must die, and was +quite relieved when we outvoted him and his horrible proposition. On +the other hand, we could not dream of allowing the young oligarch to +depart. + +“I’ll tell you what to do,” Ernest said. “We’ll keep him and give him +an education.” + +“I bespeak the privilege, then, of enlightening him in jurisprudence,” +Biedenbach cried. + +And so a decision was laughingly reached. We would keep Philip Wickson +a prisoner and educate him in our ethics and sociology. But in the +meantime there was work to be done. All trace of the young oligarch +must be obliterated. There were the marks he had left when descending +the crumbling wall of the hole. This task fell to Biedenbach, and, +slung on a rope from above, he toiled cunningly for the rest of the day +till no sign remained. Back up the canyon from the lip of the hole all +marks were likewise removed. Then, at twilight, came John Carlson, who +demanded Wickson’s shoes. + +The young man did not want to give up his shoes, and even offered to +fight for them, till he felt the horseshoer’s strength in Ernest’s +hands. Carlson afterward reported several blisters and much grievous +loss of skin due to the smallness of the shoes, but he succeeded in +doing gallant work with them. Back from the lip of the hole, where +ended the young man’s obliterated trial, Carlson put on the shoes and +walked away to the left. He walked for miles, around knolls, over +ridges and through canyons, and finally covered the trail in the +running water of a creek-bed. Here he removed the shoes, and, still +hiding trail for a distance, at last put on his own shoes. A week later +Wickson got back his shoes. + +That night the hounds were out, and there was little sleep in the +refuge. Next day, time and again, the baying hounds came down the +canyon, plunged off to the left on the trail Carlson had made for them, +and were lost to ear in the farther canyons high up the mountain. And +all the time our men waited in the refuge, weapons in hand—automatic +revolvers and rifles, to say nothing of half a dozen infernal machines +of Biedenbach’s manufacture. A more surprised party of rescuers could +not be imagined, had they ventured down into our hiding-place. + +I have now given the true disappearance of Philip Wickson, one-time +oligarch, and, later, comrade in the Revolution. For we converted him +in the end. His mind was fresh and plastic, and by nature he was very +ethical. Several months later we rode him, on one of his father’s +horses, over Sonoma Mountains to Petaluma Creek and embarked him in a +small fishing-launch. By easy stages we smuggled him along our +underground railway to the Carmel refuge. + +There he remained eight months, at the end of which time, for two +reasons, he was loath to leave us. One reason was that he had fallen in +love with Anna Roylston, and the other was that he had become one of +us. It was not until he became convinced of the hopelessness of his +love affair that he acceded to our wishes and went back to his father. +Ostensibly an oligarch until his death, he was in reality one of the +most valuable of our agents. Often and often has the Iron Heel been +dumbfounded by the miscarriage of its plans and operations against us. +If it but knew the number of its own members who are our agents, it +would understand. Young Wickson never wavered in his loyalty to the +Cause. In truth, his very death was incurred by his devotion to duty. +In the great storm of 1927, while attending a meeting of our leaders, +he contracted the pneumonia of which he died.[5] + + [5] The case of this young man was not unusual. Many young men of the + Oligarchy, impelled by sense of right conduct, or their imaginations + captured by the glory of the Revolution, ethically or romantically + devoted their lives to it. In similar way, many sons of the Russian + nobility played their parts in the earlier and protracted revolution + in that country. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. +THE ROARING ABYSMAL BEAST + + +During the long period of our stay in the refuge, we were kept closely +in touch with what was happening in the world without, and we were +learning thoroughly the strength of the Oligarchy with which we were at +war. Out of the flux of transition the new institutions were forming +more definitely and taking on the appearance and attributes of +permanence. The oligarchs had succeeded in devising a governmental +machine, as intricate as it was vast, that worked—and this despite all +our efforts to clog and hamper. + +This was a surprise to many of the revolutionists. They had not +conceived it possible. Nevertheless the work of the country went on. +The men toiled in the mines and fields—perforce they were no more than +slaves. As for the vital industries, everything prospered. The members +of the great labor castes were contented and worked on merrily. For the +first time in their lives they knew industrial peace. No more were they +worried by slack times, strike and lockout, and the union label. They +lived in more comfortable homes and in delightful cities of their +own—delightful compared with the slums and ghettos in which they had +formerly dwelt. They had better food to eat, less hours of labor, more +holidays, and a greater amount and variety of interests and pleasures. +And for their less fortunate brothers and sisters, the unfavored +laborers, the driven people of the abyss, they cared nothing. An age of +selfishness was dawning upon mankind. And yet this is not altogether +true. The labor castes were honeycombed by our agents—men whose eyes +saw, beyond the belly-need, the radiant figure of liberty and +brotherhood. + +Another great institution that had taken form and was working smoothly +was the Mercenaries. This body of soldiers had been evolved out of the +old regular army and was now a million strong, to say nothing of the +colonial forces. The Mercenaries constituted a race apart. They dwelt +in cities of their own which were practically self-governed, and they +were granted many privileges. By them a large portion of the perplexing +surplus was consumed. They were losing all touch and sympathy with the +rest of the people, and, in fact, were developing their own class +morality and consciousness. And yet we had thousands of our agents +among them.[1] + + [1] The Mercenaries, in the last days of the Iron Heel, played an + important rôle. They constituted the balance of power in the struggles + between the labor castes and the oligarchs, and now to one side and + now to the other, threw their strength according to the play of + intrigue and conspiracy. + +The oligarchs themselves were going through a remarkable and, it must +be confessed, unexpected development. As a class, they disciplined +themselves. Every member had his work to do in the world, and this work +he was compelled to do. There were no more idle-rich young men. Their +strength was used to give united strength to the Oligarchy. They served +as leaders of troops and as lieutenants and captains of industry. They +found careers in applied science, and many of them became great +engineers. They went into the multitudinous divisions of the +government, took service in the colonial possessions, and by tens of +thousands went into the various secret services. They were, I may say, +apprenticed to education, to art, to the church, to science, to +literature; and in those fields they served the important function of +moulding the thought-processes of the nation in the direction of the +perpetuity of the Oligarchy. + +They were taught, and later they in turn taught, that what they were +doing was right. They assimilated the aristocratic idea from the moment +they began, as children, to receive impressions of the world. The +aristocratic idea was woven into the making of them until it became +bone of them and flesh of them. They looked upon themselves as +wild-animal trainers, rulers of beasts. From beneath their feet rose +always the subterranean rumbles of revolt. Violent death ever stalked +in their midst; bomb and knife and bullet were looked upon as so many +fangs of the roaring abysmal beast they must dominate if humanity were +to persist. They were the saviours of humanity, and they regarded +themselves as heroic and sacrificing laborers for the highest good. + +They, as a class, believed that they alone maintained civilization. It +was their belief that if ever they weakened, the great beast would +ingulf them and everything of beauty and wonder and joy and good in its +cavernous and slime-dripping maw. Without them, anarchy would reign and +humanity would drop backward into the primitive night out of which it +had so painfully emerged. The horrid picture of anarchy was held always +before their child’s eyes until they, in turn, obsessed by this +cultivated fear, held the picture of anarchy before the eyes of the +children that followed them. This was the beast to be stamped upon, and +the highest duty of the aristocrat was to stamp upon it. In short, they +alone, by their unremitting toil and sacrifice, stood between weak +humanity and the all-devouring beast; and they believed it, firmly +believed it. + +I cannot lay too great stress upon this high ethical righteousness of +the whole oligarch class. This has been the strength of the Iron Heel, +and too many of the comrades have been slow or loath to realize it. +Many of them have ascribed the strength of the Iron Heel to its system +of reward and punishment. This is a mistake. Heaven and hell may be the +prime factors of zeal in the religion of a fanatic; but for the great +majority of the religious, heaven and hell are incidental to right and +wrong. Love of the right, desire for the right, unhappiness with +anything less than the right—in short, right conduct, is the prime +factor of religion. And so with the Oligarchy. Prisons, banishment and +degradation, honors and palaces and wonder-cities, are all incidental. +The great driving force of the oligarchs is the belief that they are +doing right. Never mind the exceptions, and never mind the oppression +and injustice in which the Iron Heel was conceived. All is granted. The +point is that the strength of the Oligarchy today lies in its satisfied +conception of its own righteousness.[2] + + [2] Out of the ethical incoherency and inconsistency of capitalism, + the oligarchs emerged with a new ethics, coherent and definite, sharp + and severe as steel, the most absurd and unscientific and at the same + time the most potent ever possessed by any tyrant class. The oligarchs + believed their ethics, in spite of the fact that biology and evolution + gave them the lie; and, because of their faith, for three centuries + they were able to hold back the mighty tide of human progress—a + spectacle, profound, tremendous, puzzling to the metaphysical + moralist, and one that to the materialist is the cause of many doubts + and reconsiderations. + +For that matter, the strength of the Revolution, during these frightful +twenty years, has resided in nothing else than the sense of +righteousness. In no other way can be explained our sacrifices and +martyrdoms. For no other reason did Rudolph Mendenhall flame out his +soul for the Cause and sing his wild swan-song that last night of life. +For no other reason did Hurlbert die under torture, refusing to the +last to betray his comrades. For no other reason has Anna Roylston +refused blessed motherhood. For no other reason has John Carlson been +the faithful and unrewarded custodian of the Glen Ellen Refuge. It does +not matter, young or old, man or woman, high or low, genius or clod, go +where one will among the comrades of the Revolution, the motor-force +will be found to be a great and abiding desire for the right. + +But I have run away from my narrative. Ernest and I well understood, +before we left the refuge, how the strength of the Iron Heel was +developing. The labor castes, the Mercenaries, and the great hordes of +secret agents and police of various sorts were all pledged to the +Oligarchy. In the main, and ignoring the loss of liberty, they were +better off than they had been. On the other hand, the great helpless +mass of the population, the people of the abyss, was sinking into a +brutish apathy of content with misery. Whenever strong proletarians +asserted their strength in the midst of the mass, they were drawn away +from the mass by the oligarchs and given better conditions by being +made members of the labor castes or of the Mercenaries. Thus discontent +was lulled and the proletariat robbed of its natural leaders. + +The condition of the people of the abyss was pitiable. Common school +education, so far as they were concerned, had ceased. They lived like +beasts in great squalid labor-ghettos, festering in misery and +degradation. All their old liberties were gone. They were labor-slaves. +Choice of work was denied them. Likewise was denied them the right to +move from place to place, or the right to bear or possess arms. They +were not land serfs like the farmers. They were machine-serfs and +labor-serfs. When unusual needs arose for them, such as the building of +the great highways and air-lines, of canals, tunnels, subways, and +fortifications, levies were made on the labor-ghettos, and tens of +thousands of serfs, willy-nilly, were transported to the scene of +operations. Great armies of them are toiling now at the building of +Ardis, housed in wretched barracks where family life cannot exist, and +where decency is displaced by dull bestiality. In all truth, there in +the labor-ghettos is the roaring abysmal beast the oligarchs fear so +dreadfully—but it is the beast of their own making. In it they will not +let the ape and tiger die. + +And just now the word has gone forth that new levies are being imposed +for the building of Asgard, the projected wonder-city that will far +exceed Ardis when the latter is completed.[3] We of the Revolution will +go on with that great work, but it will not be done by the miserable +serfs. The walls and towers and shafts of that fair city will arise to +the sound of singing, and into its beauty and wonder will be woven, not +sighs and groans, but music and laughter. + + [3] Ardis was completed in 1942 A.D., Asgard was not completed until + 1984 A.D. It was fifty-two years in the building, during which time a + permanent army of half a million serfs was employed. At times these + numbers swelled to over a million—without any account being taken of + the hundreds of thousands of the labor castes and the artists. + +Ernest was madly impatient to be out in the world and doing, for our +ill-fated First Revolt, that had miscarried in the Chicago Commune, was +ripening fast. Yet he possessed his soul with patience, and during this +time of his torment, when Hadly, who had been brought for the purpose +from Illinois, made him over into another man[4] he revolved great +plans in his head for the organization of the learned proletariat, and +for the maintenance of at least the rudiments of education amongst the +people of the abyss—all this of course in the event of the First Revolt +being a failure. + + [4] Among the Revolutionists were many surgeons, and in vivisection + they attained marvellous proficiency. In Avis Everhard’s words, they + could literally make a man over. To them the elimination of scars and + disfigurements was a trivial detail. They changed the features with + such microscopic care that no traces were left of their handiwork. The + nose was a favorite organ to work upon. Skin-grafting and + hair-transplanting were among their commonest devices. The changes in + expression they accomplished were wizard-like. Eyes and eyebrows, + lips, mouths, and ears, were radically altered. By cunning operations + on tongue, throat, larynx, and nasal cavities a man’s whole + enunciation and manner of speech could be changed. Desperate times + give need for desperate remedies, and the surgeons of the Revolution + rose to the need. Among other things, they could increase an adult’s + stature by as much as four or five inches and decrease it by one or + two inches. What they did is to-day a lost art. We have no need for + it. + +It was not until January, 1917, that we left the refuge. All had been +arranged. We took our place at once as agents-provocateurs in the +scheme of the Iron Heel. I was supposed to be Ernest’s sister. By +oligarchs and comrades on the inside who were high in authority, place +had been made for us, we were in possession of all necessary documents, +and our pasts were accounted for. With help on the inside, this was not +difficult, for in that shadow-world of secret service identity was +nebulous. Like ghosts the agents came and went, obeying commands, +fulfilling duties, following clews, making their reports often to +officers they never saw or cooperating with other agents they had never +seen before and would never see again. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. +THE CHICAGO COMMUNE + + +As agents-provocateurs, not alone were we able to travel a great deal, +but our very work threw us in contact with the proletariat and with our +comrades, the revolutionists. Thus we were in both camps at the same +time, ostensibly serving the Iron Heel and secretly working with all +our might for the Cause. There were many of us in the various secret +services of the Oligarchy, and despite the shakings-up and +reorganizations the secret services have undergone, they have never +been able to weed all of us out. + +Ernest had largely planned the First Revolt, and the date set had been +somewhere early in the spring of 1918. In the fall of 1917 we were not +ready; much remained to be done, and when the Revolt was precipitated, +of course it was doomed to failure. The plot of necessity was +frightfully intricate, and anything premature was sure to destroy it. +This the Iron Heel foresaw and laid its schemes accordingly. + +We had planned to strike our first blow at the nervous system of the +Oligarchy. The latter had remembered the general strike, and had +guarded against the defection of the telegraphers by installing +wireless stations, in the control of the Mercenaries. We, in turn, had +countered this move. When the signal was given, from every refuge, all +over the land, and from the cities, and towns, and barracks, devoted +comrades were to go forth and blow up the wireless stations. Thus at +the first shock would the Iron Heel be brought to earth and lie +practically dismembered. + +At the same moment, other comrades were to blow up the bridges and +tunnels and disrupt the whole network of railroads. Still further, +other groups of comrades, at the signal, were to seize the officers of +the Mercenaries and the police, as well as all Oligarchs of unusual +ability or who held executive positions. Thus would the leaders of the +enemy be removed from the field of the local battles that would +inevitably be fought all over the land. + +Many things were to occur simultaneously when the signal went forth. +The Canadian and Mexican patriots, who were far stronger than the Iron +Heel dreamed, were to duplicate our tactics. Then there were comrades +(these were the women, for the men would be busy elsewhere) who were to +post the proclamations from our secret presses. Those of us in the +higher employ of the Iron Heel were to proceed immediately to make +confusion and anarchy in all our departments. Inside the Mercenaries +were thousands of our comrades. Their work was to blow up the magazines +and to destroy the delicate mechanism of all the war machinery. In the +cities of the Mercenaries and of the labor castes similar programmes of +disruption were to be carried out. + +In short, a sudden, colossal, stunning blow was to be struck. Before +the paralyzed Oligarchy could recover itself, its end would have come. +It would have meant terrible times and great loss of life, but no +revolutionist hesitates at such things. Why, we even depended much, in +our plan, on the unorganized people of the abyss. They were to be +loosed on the palaces and cities of the masters. Never mind the +destruction of life and property. Let the abysmal brute roar and the +police and Mercenaries slay. The abysmal brute would roar anyway, and +the police and Mercenaries would slay anyway. It would merely mean that +various dangers to us were harmlessly destroying one another. In the +meantime we would be doing our own work, largely unhampered, and +gaining control of all the machinery of society. + +Such was our plan, every detail of which had to be worked out in +secret, and, as the day drew near, communicated to more and more +comrades. This was the danger point, the stretching of the conspiracy. +But that danger-point was never reached. Through its spy-system the +Iron Heel got wind of the Revolt and prepared to teach us another of +its bloody lessons. Chicago was the devoted city selected for the +instruction, and well were we instructed. + +Chicago[1] was the ripest of all—Chicago which of old time was the city +of blood and which was to earn anew its name. There the revolutionary +spirit was strong. Too many bitter strikes had been curbed there in the +days of capitalism for the workers to forget and forgive. Even the +labor castes of the city were alive with revolt. Too many heads had +been broken in the early strikes. Despite their changed and favorable +conditions, their hatred for the master class had not died. This spirit +had infected the Mercenaries, of which three regiments in particular +were ready to come over to us _en masse_. + + [1] Chicago was the industrial inferno of the nineteenth century A.D. + A curious anecdote has come down to us of John Burns, a great English + labor leader and one time member of the British Cabinet. In Chicago, + while on a visit to the United States, he was asked by a newspaper + reporter for his opinion of that city. “Chicago,” he answered, “is a + pocket edition of hell.” Some time later, as he was going aboard his + steamer to sail to England, he was approached by another reporter, who + wanted to know if he had changed his opinion of Chicago. “Yes, I + have,” was his reply. “My present opinion is that hell is a pocket + edition of Chicago.” + +Chicago had always been the storm-centre of the conflict between labor +and capital, a city of street-battles and violent death, with a +class-conscious capitalist organization and a class-conscious workman +organization, where, in the old days, the very school-teachers were +formed into labor unions and affiliated with the hod-carriers and +brick-layers in the American Federation of Labor. And Chicago became +the storm-centre of the premature First Revolt. + +The trouble was precipitated by the Iron Heel. It was cleverly done. +The whole population, including the favored labor castes, was given a +course of outrageous treatment. Promises and agreements were broken, +and most drastic punishments visited upon even petty offenders. The +people of the abyss were tormented out of their apathy. In fact, the +Iron Heel was preparing to make the abysmal beast roar. And hand in +hand with this, in all precautionary measures in Chicago, the Iron Heel +was inconceivably careless. Discipline was relaxed among the +Mercenaries that remained, while many regiments had been withdrawn and +sent to various parts of the country. + +It did not take long to carry out this programme—only several weeks. We +of the Revolution caught vague rumors of the state of affairs, but had +nothing definite enough for an understanding. In fact, we thought it +was a spontaneous spirit of revolt that would require careful curbing +on our part, and never dreamed that it was deliberately +manufactured—and it had been manufactured so secretly, from the very +innermost circle of the Iron Heel, that we had got no inkling. The +counter-plot was an able achievement, and ably carried out. + +I was in New York when I received the order to proceed immediately to +Chicago. The man who gave me the order was one of the oligarchs, I +could tell that by his speech, though I did not know his name nor see +his face. His instructions were too clear for me to make a mistake. +Plainly I read between the lines that our plot had been discovered, +that we had been countermined. The explosion was ready for the flash of +powder, and countless agents of the Iron Heel, including me, either on +the ground or being sent there, were to supply that flash. I flatter +myself that I maintained my composure under the keen eye of the +oligarch, but my heart was beating madly. I could almost have shrieked +and flown at his throat with my naked hands before his final, +cold-blooded instructions were given. + +Once out of his presence, I calculated the time. I had just the moments +to spare, if I were lucky, to get in touch with some local leader +before catching my train. Guarding against being trailed, I made a rush +of it for the Emergency Hospital. Luck was with me, and I gained access +at once to comrade Galvin, the surgeon-in-chief. I started to gasp out +my information, but he stopped me. + +“I already know,” he said quietly, though his Irish eyes were flashing. +“I knew what you had come for. I got the word fifteen minutes ago, and +I have already passed it along. Everything shall be done here to keep +the comrades quiet. Chicago is to be sacrificed, but it shall be +Chicago alone.” + +“Have you tried to get word to Chicago?” I asked. + +He shook his head. “No telegraphic communication. Chicago is shut off. +It’s going to be hell there.” + +He paused a moment, and I saw his white hands clinch. Then he burst +out: + +“By God! I wish I were going to be there!” + +“There is yet a chance to stop it,” I said, “if nothing happens to the +train and I can get there in time. Or if some of the other +secret-service comrades who have learned the truth can get there in +time.” + +“You on the inside were caught napping this time,” he said. + +I nodded my head humbly. + +“It was very secret,” I answered. “Only the inner chiefs could have +known up to to-day. We haven’t yet penetrated that far, so we couldn’t +escape being kept in the dark. If only Ernest were here. Maybe he is in +Chicago now, and all is well.” + +Dr. Galvin shook his head. “The last news I heard of him was that he +had been sent to Boston or New Haven. This secret service for the enemy +must hamper him a lot, but it’s better than lying in a refuge.” + +I started to go, and Galvin wrung my hand. + +“Keep a stout heart,” were his parting words. “What if the First Revolt +is lost? There will be a second, and we will be wiser then. Good-by and +good luck. I don’t know whether I’ll ever see you again. It’s going to +be hell there, but I’d give ten years of my life for your chance to be +in it.” + +The Twentieth Century[2] left New York at six in the evening, and was +supposed to arrive at Chicago at seven next morning. But it lost time +that night. We were running behind another train. Among the travellers +in my Pullman was comrade Hartman, like myself in the secret service of +the Iron Heel. He it was who told me of the train that immediately +preceded us. It was an exact duplicate of our train, though it +contained no passengers. The idea was that the empty train should +receive the disaster were an attempt made to blow up the Twentieth +Century. For that matter there were very few people on the train—only a +baker’s dozen in our car. + + [2] This was reputed to be the fastest train in the world then. It was + quite a famous train. + +“There must be some big men on board,” Hartman concluded. “I noticed a +private car on the rear.” + +Night had fallen when we made our first change of engine, and I walked +down the platform for a breath of fresh air and to see what I could +see. Through the windows of the private car I caught a glimpse of three +men whom I recognized. Hartman was right. One of the men was General +Altendorff; and the other two were Mason and Vanderbold, the brains of +the inner circle of the Oligarchy’s secret service. + +It was a quiet moonlight night, but I tossed restlessly and could not +sleep. At five in the morning I dressed and abandoned my bed. + +I asked the maid in the dressing-room how late the train was, and she +told me two hours. She was a mulatto woman, and I noticed that her face +was haggard, with great circles under the eyes, while the eyes +themselves were wide with some haunting fear. + +“What is the matter?” I asked. + +“Nothing, miss; I didn’t sleep well, I guess,” was her reply. + +I looked at her closely, and tried her with one of our signals. She +responded, and I made sure of her. + +“Something terrible is going to happen in Chicago,” she said. “There’s +that fake[3] train in front of us. That and the troop-trains have made +us late.” + + [3] False. + +“Troop-trains?” I queried. + +She nodded her head. “The line is thick with them. We’ve been passing +them all night. And they’re all heading for Chicago. And bringing them +over the air-line—that means business. + +“I’ve a lover in Chicago,” she added apologetically. “He’s one of us, +and he’s in the Mercenaries, and I’m afraid for him.” + +Poor girl. Her lover was in one of the three disloyal regiments. + +Hartman and I had breakfast together in the dining car, and I forced +myself to eat. The sky had clouded, and the train rushed on like a +sullen thunderbolt through the gray pall of advancing day. The very +negroes that waited on us knew that something terrible was impending. +Oppression sat heavily upon them; the lightness of their natures had +ebbed out of them; they were slack and absent-minded in their service, +and they whispered gloomily to one another in the far end of the car +next to the kitchen. Hartman was hopeless over the situation. + +“What can we do?” he demanded for the twentieth time, with a helpless +shrug of the shoulders. + +He pointed out of the window. “See, all is ready. You can depend upon +it that they’re holding them like this, thirty or forty miles outside +the city, on every road.” + +He had reference to troop-trains on the side-track. The soldiers were +cooking their breakfasts over fires built on the ground beside the +track, and they looked up curiously at us as we thundered past without +slackening our terrific speed. + +All was quiet as we entered Chicago. It was evident nothing had +happened yet. In the suburbs the morning papers came on board the +train. There was nothing in them, and yet there was much in them for +those skilled in reading between the lines that it was intended the +ordinary reader should read into the text. The fine hand of the Iron +Heel was apparent in every column. Glimmerings of weakness in the armor +of the Oligarchy were given. Of course, there was nothing definite. It +was intended that the reader should feel his way to these glimmerings. +It was cleverly done. As fiction, those morning papers of October 27th +were masterpieces. + +The local news was missing. This in itself was a masterstroke. It +shrouded Chicago in mystery, and it suggested to the average Chicago +reader that the Oligarchy did not dare give the local news. Hints that +were untrue, of course, were given of insubordination all over the +land, crudely disguised with complacent references to punitive measures +to be taken. There were reports of numerous wireless stations that had +been blown up, with heavy rewards offered for the detection of the +perpetrators. Of course no wireless stations had been blown up. Many +similar outrages, that dovetailed with the plot of the revolutionists, +were given. The impression to be made on the minds of the Chicago +comrades was that the general Revolt was beginning, albeit with a +confusing miscarriage in many details. It was impossible for one +uninformed to escape the vague yet certain feeling that all the land +was ripe for the revolt that had already begun to break out. + +It was reported that the defection of the Mercenaries in California had +become so serious that half a dozen regiments had been disbanded and +broken, and that their members with their families had been driven from +their own city and on into the labor-ghettos. And the California +Mercenaries were in reality the most faithful of all to their salt! But +how was Chicago, shut off from the rest of the world, to know? Then +there was a ragged telegram describing an outbreak of the populace in +New York City, in which the labor castes were joining, concluding with +the statement (intended to be accepted as a bluff[4]) that the troops +had the situation in hand. + + [4] A lie. + +And as the oligarchs had done with the morning papers, so had they done +in a thousand other ways. These we learned afterward, as, for example, +the secret messages of the oligarchs, sent with the express purpose of +leaking to the ears of the revolutionists, that had come over the +wires, now and again, during the first part of the night. + +“I guess the Iron Heel won’t need our services,” Hartman remarked, +putting down the paper he had been reading, when the train pulled into +the central depot. “They wasted their time sending us here. Their plans +have evidently prospered better than they expected. Hell will break +loose any second now.” + +He turned and looked down the train as we alighted. + +“I thought so,” he muttered. “They dropped that private car when the +papers came aboard.” + +Hartman was hopelessly depressed. I tried to cheer him up, but he +ignored my effort and suddenly began talking very hurriedly, in a low +voice, as we passed through the station. At first I could not +understand. + +“I have not been sure,” he was saying, “and I have told no one. I have +been working on it for weeks, and I cannot make sure. Watch out for +Knowlton. I suspect him. He knows the secrets of a score of our +refuges. He carries the lives of hundreds of us in his hands, and I +think he is a traitor. It’s more a feeling on my part than anything +else. But I thought I marked a change in him a short while back. There +is the danger that he has sold us out, or is going to sell us out. I am +almost sure of it. I wouldn’t whisper my suspicions to a soul, but, +somehow, I don’t think I’ll leave Chicago alive. Keep your eye on +Knowlton. Trap him. Find out. I don’t know anything more. It is only an +intuition, and so far I have failed to find the slightest clew.” We +were just stepping out upon the sidewalk. “Remember,” Hartman concluded +earnestly. “Keep your eyes upon Knowlton.” + +And Hartman was right. Before a month went by Knowlton paid for his +treason with his life. He was formally executed by the comrades in +Milwaukee. + +All was quiet on the streets—too quiet. Chicago lay dead. There was no +roar and rumble of traffic. There were not even cabs on the streets. +The surface cars and the elevated were not running. Only occasionally, +on the sidewalks, were there stray pedestrians, and these pedestrians +did not loiter. They went their ways with great haste and definiteness, +withal there was a curious indecision in their movements, as though +they expected the buildings to topple over on them or the sidewalks to +sink under their feet or fly up in the air. A few gamins, however, were +around, in their eyes a suppressed eagerness in anticipation of +wonderful and exciting things to happen. + +From somewhere, far to the south, the dull sound of an explosion came +to our ears. That was all. Then quiet again, though the gamins had +startled and listened, like young deer, at the sound. The doorways to +all the buildings were closed; the shutters to the shops were up. But +there were many police and watchmen in evidence, and now and again +automobile patrols of the Mercenaries slipped swiftly past. + +Hartman and I agreed that it was useless to report ourselves to the +local chiefs of the secret service. Our failure so to report would be +excused, we knew, in the light of subsequent events. So we headed for +the great labor-ghetto on the South Side in the hope of getting in +contact with some of the comrades. Too late! We knew it. But we could +not stand still and do nothing in those ghastly, silent streets. Where +was Ernest? I was wondering. What was happening in the cities of the +labor castes and Mercenaries? In the fortresses? + +As if in answer, a great screaming roar went up, dim with distance, +punctuated with detonation after detonation. + +“It’s the fortresses,” Hartman said. “God pity those three regiments!” + +At a crossing we noticed, in the direction of the stockyards, a +gigantic pillar of smoke. At the next crossing several similar smoke +pillars were rising skyward in the direction of the West Side. Over the +city of the Mercenaries we saw a great captive war-balloon that burst +even as we looked at it, and fell in flaming wreckage toward the earth. +There was no clew to that tragedy of the air. We could not determine +whether the balloon had been manned by comrades or enemies. A vague +sound came to our ears, like the bubbling of a gigantic caldron a long +way off, and Hartman said it was machine-guns and automatic rifles. + +And still we walked in immediate quietude. Nothing was happening where +we were. The police and the automobile patrols went by, and once half a +dozen fire-engines, returning evidently from some conflagration. A +question was called to the fireman by an officer in an automobile, and +we heard one shout in reply: “No water! They’ve blown up the mains!” + +“We’ve smashed the water supply,” Hartman cried excitedly to me. “If we +can do all this in a premature, isolated, abortive attempt, what can’t +we do in a concerted, ripened effort all over the land?” + +The automobile containing the officer who had asked the question darted +on. Suddenly there was a deafening roar. The machine, with its human +freight, lifted in an upburst of smoke, and sank down a mass of +wreckage and death. + +Hartman was jubilant. “Well done! well done!” he was repeating, over +and over, in a whisper. “The proletariat gets its lesson to-day, but it +gives one, too.” + +Police were running for the spot. Also, another patrol machine had +halted. As for myself, I was in a daze. The suddenness of it was +stunning. How had it happened? I knew not how, and yet I had been +looking directly at it. So dazed was I for the moment that I was +scarcely aware of the fact that we were being held up by the police. I +abruptly saw that a policeman was in the act of shooting Hartman. But +Hartman was cool and was giving the proper passwords. I saw the +levelled revolver hesitate, then sink down, and heard the disgusted +grunt of the policeman. He was very angry, and was cursing the whole +secret service. It was always in the way, he was averring, while +Hartman was talking back to him and with fitting secret-service pride +explaining to him the clumsiness of the police. + +The next moment I knew how it had happened. There was quite a group +about the wreck, and two men were just lifting up the wounded officer +to carry him to the other machine. A panic seized all of them, and they +scattered in every direction, running in blind terror, the wounded +officer, roughly dropped, being left behind. The cursing policeman +alongside of me also ran, and Hartman and I ran, too, we knew not why, +obsessed with the same blind terror to get away from that particular +spot. + +Nothing really happened then, but everything was explained. The flying +men were sheepishly coming back, but all the while their eyes were +raised apprehensively to the many-windowed, lofty buildings that +towered like the sheer walls of a canyon on each side of the street. +From one of those countless windows the bomb had been thrown, but which +window? There had been no second bomb, only a fear of one. + +Thereafter we looked with speculative comprehension at the windows. Any +of them contained possible death. Each building was a possible +ambuscade. This was warfare in that modern jungle, a great city. Every +street was a canyon, every building a mountain. We had not changed much +from primitive man, despite the war automobiles that were sliding by. + +Turning a corner, we came upon a woman. She was lying on the pavement, +in a pool of blood. Hartman bent over and examined her. As for myself, +I turned deathly sick. I was to see many dead that day, but the total +carnage was not to affect me as did this first forlorn body lying there +at my feet abandoned on the pavement. “Shot in the breast,” was +Hartman’s report. Clasped in the hollow of her arm, as a child might be +clasped, was a bundle of printed matter. Even in death she seemed loath +to part with that which had caused her death; for when Hartman had +succeeded in withdrawing the bundle, we found that it consisted of +large printed sheets, the proclamations of the revolutionists. + +“A comrade,” I said. + +But Hartman only cursed the Iron Heel, and we passed on. Often we were +halted by the police and patrols, but our passwords enabled us to +proceed. No more bombs fell from the windows, the last pedestrians +seemed to have vanished from the streets, and our immediate quietude +grew more profound; though the gigantic caldron continued to bubble in +the distance, dull roars of explosions came to us from all directions, +and the smoke-pillars were towering more ominously in the heavens. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. +THE PEOPLE OF THE ABYSS + + +Suddenly a change came over the face of things. A tingle of excitement +ran along the air. Automobiles fled past, two, three, a dozen, and from +them warnings were shouted to us. One of the machines swerved wildly at +high speed half a block down, and the next moment, already left well +behind it, the pavement was torn into a great hole by a bursting bomb. +We saw the police disappearing down the cross-streets on the run, and +knew that something terrible was coming. We could hear the rising roar +of it. + +“Our brave comrades are coming,” Hartman said. + +We could see the front of their column filling the street from gutter +to gutter, as the last war-automobile fled past. The machine stopped +for a moment just abreast of us. A soldier leaped from it, carrying +something carefully in his hands. This, with the same care, he +deposited in the gutter. Then he leaped back to his seat and the +machine dashed on, took the turn at the corner, and was gone from +sight. Hartman ran to the gutter and stooped over the object. + +“Keep back,” he warned me. + +I could see he was working rapidly with his hands. When he returned to +me the sweat was heavy on his forehead. + +“I disconnected it,” he said, “and just in the nick of time. The +soldier was clumsy. He intended it for our comrades, but he didn’t give +it enough time. It would have exploded prematurely. Now it won’t +explode at all.” + +Everything was happening rapidly now. Across the street and half a +block down, high up in a building, I could see heads peering out. I had +just pointed them out to Hartman, when a sheet of flame and smoke ran +along that portion of the face of the building where the heads had +appeared, and the air was shaken by the explosion. In places the stone +facing of the building was torn away, exposing the iron construction +beneath. The next moment similar sheets of flame and smoke smote the +front of the building across the street opposite it. Between the +explosions we could hear the rattle of the automatic pistols and +rifles. For several minutes this mid-air battle continued, then died +out. It was patent that our comrades were in one building, that +Mercenaries were in the other, and that they were fighting across the +street. But we could not tell which was which—which building contained +our comrades and which the Mercenaries. + +By this time the column on the street was almost on us. As the front of +it passed under the warring buildings, both went into action again—one +building dropping bombs into the street, being attacked from across the +street, and in return replying to that attack. Thus we learned which +building was held by our comrades, and they did good work, saving those +in the street from the bombs of the enemy. + +Hartman gripped my arm and dragged me into a wide entrance. + +“They’re not our comrades,” he shouted in my ear. + +The inner doors to the entrance were locked and bolted. We could not +escape. The next moment the front of the column went by. It was not a +column, but a mob, an awful river that filled the street, the people of +the abyss, mad with drink and wrong, up at last and roaring for the +blood of their masters. I had seen the people of the abyss before, gone +through its ghettos, and thought I knew it; but I found that I was now +looking on it for the first time. Dumb apathy had vanished. It was now +dynamic—a fascinating spectacle of dread. It surged past my vision in +concrete waves of wrath, snarling and growling, carnivorous, drunk with +whiskey from pillaged warehouses, drunk with hatred, drunk with lust +for blood—men, women, and children, in rags and tatters, dim ferocious +intelligences with all the godlike blotted from their features and all +the fiendlike stamped in, apes and tigers, anaemic consumptives and +great hairy beasts of burden, wan faces from which vampire society had +sucked the juice of life, bloated forms swollen with physical grossness +and corruption, withered hags and death’s-heads bearded like +patriarchs, festering youth and festering age, faces of fiends, +crooked, twisted, misshapen monsters blasted with the ravages of +disease and all the horrors of chronic innutrition—the refuse and the +scum of life, a raging, screaming, screeching, demoniacal horde. + +And why not? The people of the abyss had nothing to lose but the misery +and pain of living. And to gain?—nothing, save one final, awful glut of +vengeance. And as I looked the thought came to me that in that rushing +stream of human lava were men, comrades and heroes, whose mission had +been to rouse the abysmal beast and to keep the enemy occupied in +coping with it. + +And now a strange thing happened to me. A transformation came over me. +The fear of death, for myself and for others, left me. I was strangely +exalted, another being in another life. Nothing mattered. The Cause for +this one time was lost, but the Cause would be here to-morrow, the same +Cause, ever fresh and ever burning. And thereafter, in the orgy of +horror that raged through the succeeding hours, I was able to take a +calm interest. Death meant nothing, life meant nothing. I was an +interested spectator of events, and, sometimes swept on by the rush, +was myself a curious participant. For my mind had leaped to a star-cool +altitude and grasped a passionless transvaluation of values. Had it not +done this, I know that I should have died. + +Half a mile of the mob had swept by when we were discovered. A woman in +fantastic rags, with cheeks cavernously hollow and with narrow black +eyes like burning gimlets, caught a glimpse of Hartman and me. She let +out a shrill shriek and bore in upon us. A section of the mob tore +itself loose and surged in after her. I can see her now, as I write +these lines, a leap in advance, her gray hair flying in thin tangled +strings, the blood dripping down her forehead from some wound in the +scalp, in her right hand a hatchet, her left hand, lean and wrinkled, a +yellow talon, gripping the air convulsively. Hartman sprang in front of +me. This was no time for explanations. We were well dressed, and that +was enough. His fist shot out, striking the woman between her burning +eyes. The impact of the blow drove her backward, but she struck the +wall of her on-coming fellows and bounced forward again, dazed and +helpless, the brandished hatchet falling feebly on Hartman’s shoulder. + +The next moment I knew not what was happening. I was overborne by the +crowd. The confined space was filled with shrieks and yells and curses. +Blows were falling on me. Hands were ripping and tearing at my flesh +and garments. I felt that I was being torn to pieces. I was being borne +down, suffocated. Some strong hand gripped my shoulder in the thick of +the press and was dragging fiercely at me. Between pain and pressure I +fainted. Hartman never came out of that entrance. He had shielded me +and received the first brunt of the attack. This had saved me, for the +jam had quickly become too dense for anything more than the mad +gripping and tearing of hands. + +I came to in the midst of wild movement. All about me was the same +movement. I had been caught up in a monstrous flood that was sweeping +me I knew not whither. Fresh air was on my cheek and biting sweetly in +my lungs. Faint and dizzy, I was vaguely aware of a strong arm around +my body under the arms, and half-lifting me and dragging me along. +Feebly my own limbs were helping me. In front of me I could see the +moving back of a man’s coat. It had been slit from top to bottom along +the centre seam, and it pulsed rhythmically, the slit opening and +closing regularly with every leap of the wearer. This phenomenon +fascinated me for a time, while my senses were coming back to me. Next +I became aware of stinging cheeks and nose, and could feel blood +dripping on my face. My hat was gone. My hair was down and flying, and +from the stinging of the scalp I managed to recollect a hand in the +press of the entrance that had torn at my hair. My chest and arms were +bruised and aching in a score of places. + +My brain grew clearer, and I turned as I ran and looked at the man who +was holding me up. He it was who had dragged me out and saved me. He +noticed my movement. + +“It’s all right!” he shouted hoarsely. “I knew you on the instant.” + +I failed to recognize him, but before I could speak I trod upon +something that was alive and that squirmed under my foot. I was swept +on by those behind and could not look down and see, and yet I knew that +it was a woman who had fallen and who was being trampled into the +pavement by thousands of successive feet. + +“It’s all right,” he repeated. “I’m Garthwaite.” + +He was bearded and gaunt and dirty, but I succeeded in remembering him +as the stalwart youth that had spent several months in our Glen Ellen +refuge three years before. He passed me the signals of the Iron Heel’s +secret service, in token that he, too, was in its employ. + +“I’ll get you out of this as soon as I can get a chance,” he assured +me. “But watch your footing. On your life don’t stumble and go down.” + +All things happened abruptly on that day, and with an abruptness that +was sickening the mob checked itself. I came in violent collision with +a large woman in front of me (the man with the split coat had +vanished), while those behind collided against me. A devilish +pandemonium reigned,—shrieks, curses, and cries of death, while above +all rose the churning rattle of machine-guns and the put-a-put, +put-a-put of rifles. At first I could make out nothing. People were +falling about me right and left. The woman in front doubled up and went +down, her hands on her abdomen in a frenzied clutch. A man was +quivering against my legs in a death-struggle. + +It came to me that we were at the head of the column. Half a mile of it +had disappeared—where or how I never learned. To this day I do not know +what became of that half-mile of humanity—whether it was blotted out by +some frightful bolt of war, whether it was scattered and destroyed +piecemeal, or whether it escaped. But there we were, at the head of the +column instead of in its middle, and we were being swept out of life by +a torrent of shrieking lead. + +As soon as death had thinned the jam, Garthwaite, still grasping my +arm, led a rush of survivors into the wide entrance of an office +building. Here, at the rear, against the doors, we were pressed by a +panting, gasping mass of creatures. For some time we remained in this +position without a change in the situation. + +“I did it beautifully,” Garthwaite was lamenting to me. “Ran you right +into a trap. We had a gambler’s chance in the street, but in here there +is no chance at all. It’s all over but the shouting. Vive la +Revolution!” + +Then, what he expected, began. The Mercenaries were killing without +quarter. At first, the surge back upon us was crushing, but as the +killing continued the pressure was eased. The dead and dying went down +and made room. Garthwaite put his mouth to my ear and shouted, but in +the frightful din I could not catch what he said. He did not wait. He +seized me and threw me down. Next he dragged a dying woman over on top +of me, and, with much squeezing and shoving, crawled in beside me and +partly over me. A mound of dead and dying began to pile up over us, and +over this mound, pawing and moaning, crept those that still survived. +But these, too, soon ceased, and a semi-silence settled down, broken by +groans and sobs and sounds of strangulation. + +I should have been crushed had it not been for Garthwaite. As it was, +it seemed inconceivable that I could bear the weight I did and live. +And yet, outside of pain, the only feeling I possessed was one of +curiosity. How was it going to end? What would death be like? Thus did +I receive my red baptism in that Chicago shambles. Prior to that, death +to me had been a theory; but ever afterward death has been a simple +fact that does not matter, it is so easy. + +But the Mercenaries were not content with what they had done. They +invaded the entrance, killing the wounded and searching out the unhurt +that, like ourselves, were playing dead. I remember one man they +dragged out of a heap, who pleaded abjectly until a revolver shot cut +him short. Then there was a woman who charged from a heap, snarling and +shooting. She fired six shots before they got her, though what damage +she did we could not know. We could follow these tragedies only by the +sound. Every little while flurries like this occurred, each flurry +culminating in the revolver shot that put an end to it. In the +intervals we could hear the soldiers talking and swearing as they +rummaged among the carcasses, urged on by their officers to hurry up. + +At last they went to work on our heap, and we could feel the pressure +diminish as they dragged away the dead and wounded. Garthwaite began +uttering aloud the signals. At first he was not heard. Then he raised +his voice. + +“Listen to that,” we heard a soldier say. And next the sharp voice of +an officer. “Hold on there! Careful as you go!” + +Oh, that first breath of air as we were dragged out! Garthwaite did the +talking at first, but I was compelled to undergo a brief examination to +prove service with the Iron Heel. + +“Agents-provocateurs all right,” was the officer’s conclusion. He was a +beardless young fellow, a cadet, evidently, of some great oligarch +family. + +“It’s a hell of a job,” Garthwaite grumbled. “I’m going to try and +resign and get into the army. You fellows have a snap.” + +“You’ve earned it,” was the young officer’s answer. “I’ve got some +pull, and I’ll see if it can be managed. I can tell them how I found +you.” + +He took Garthwaite’s name and number, then turned to me. + +“And you?” + +“Oh, I’m going to be married,” I answered lightly, “and then I’ll be +out of it all.” + +And so we talked, while the killing of the wounded went on. It is all a +dream, now, as I look back on it; but at the time it was the most +natural thing in the world. Garthwaite and the young officer fell into +an animated conversation over the difference between so-called modern +warfare and the present street-fighting and sky-scraper fighting that +was taking place all over the city. I followed them intently, fixing up +my hair at the same time and pinning together my torn skirts. And all +the time the killing of the wounded went on. Sometimes the revolver +shots drowned the voices of Garthwaite and the officer, and they were +compelled to repeat what they had been saying. + +I lived through three days of the Chicago Commune, and the vastness of +it and of the slaughter may be imagined when I say that in all that +time I saw practically nothing outside the killing of the people of the +abyss and the mid-air fighting between sky-scrapers. I really saw +nothing of the heroic work done by the comrades. I could hear the +explosions of their mines and bombs, and see the smoke of their +conflagrations, and that was all. The mid-air part of one great deed I +saw, however, and that was the balloon attacks made by our comrades on +the fortresses. That was on the second day. The three disloyal +regiments had been destroyed in the fortresses to the last man. The +fortresses were crowded with Mercenaries, the wind blew in the right +direction, and up went our balloons from one of the office buildings in +the city. + +Now Biedenbach, after he left Glen Ellen, had invented a most powerful +explosive—“expedite” he called it. This was the weapon the balloons +used. They were only hot-air balloons, clumsily and hastily made, but +they did the work. I saw it all from the top of an office building. The +first balloon missed the fortresses completely and disappeared into the +country; but we learned about it afterward. Burton and O’Sullivan were +in it. As they were descending they swept across a railroad directly +over a troop-train that was heading at full speed for Chicago. They +dropped their whole supply of expedite upon the locomotive. The +resulting wreck tied the line up for days. And the best of it was that, +released from the weight of expedite, the balloon shot up into the air +and did not come down for half a dozen miles, both heroes escaping +unharmed. + +The second balloon was a failure. Its flight was lame. It floated too +low and was shot full of holes before it could reach the fortresses. +Herford and Guinness were in it, and they were blown to pieces along +with the field into which they fell. Biedenbach was in despair—we heard +all about it afterward—and he went up alone in the third balloon. He, +too, made a low flight, but he was in luck, for they failed seriously +to puncture his balloon. I can see it now as I did then, from the lofty +top of the building—that inflated bag drifting along the air, and that +tiny speck of a man clinging on beneath. I could not see the fortress, +but those on the roof with me said he was directly over it. I did not +see the expedite fall when he cut it loose. But I did see the balloon +suddenly leap up into the sky. An appreciable time after that the great +column of the explosion towered in the air, and after that, in turn, I +heard the roar of it. Biedenbach the gentle had destroyed a fortress. +Two other balloons followed at the same time. One was blown to pieces +in the air, the expedite exploding, and the shock of it disrupted the +second balloon, which fell prettily into the remaining fortress. It +couldn’t have been better planned, though the two comrades in it +sacrificed their lives. + +But to return to the people of the abyss. My experiences were confined +to them. They raged and slaughtered and destroyed all over the city +proper, and were in turn destroyed; but never once did they succeed in +reaching the city of the oligarchs over on the west side. The oligarchs +had protected themselves well. No matter what destruction was wreaked +in the heart of the city, they, and their womenkind and children, were +to escape hurt. I am told that their children played in the parks +during those terrible days and that their favorite game was an +imitation of their elders stamping upon the proletariat. + +But the Mercenaries found it no easy task to cope with the people of +the abyss and at the same time fight with the comrades. Chicago was +true to her traditions, and though a generation of revolutionists was +wiped out, it took along with it pretty close to a generation of its +enemies. Of course, the Iron Heel kept the figures secret, but, at a +very conservative estimate, at least one hundred and thirty thousand +Mercenaries were slain. But the comrades had no chance. Instead of the +whole country being hand in hand in revolt, they were all alone, and +the total strength of the Oligarchy could have been directed against +them if necessary. As it was, hour after hour, day after day, in +endless train-loads, by hundreds of thousands, the Mercenaries were +hurled into Chicago. + +And there were so many of the people of the abyss! Tiring of the +slaughter, a great herding movement was begun by the soldiers, the +intent of which was to drive the street mobs, like cattle, into Lake +Michigan. It was at the beginning of this movement that Garthwaite and +I had encountered the young officer. This herding movement was +practically a failure, thanks to the splendid work of the comrades. +Instead of the great host the Mercenaries had hoped to gather together, +they succeeded in driving no more than forty thousand of the wretches +into the lake. Time and again, when a mob of them was well in hand and +being driven along the streets to the water, the comrades would create +a diversion, and the mob would escape through the consequent hole torn +in the encircling net. + +Garthwaite and I saw an example of this shortly after meeting with the +young officer. The mob of which we had been a part, and which had been +put in retreat, was prevented from escaping to the south and east by +strong bodies of troops. The troops we had fallen in with had held it +back on the west. The only outlet was north, and north it went toward +the lake, driven on from east and west and south by machine-gun fire +and automatics. Whether it divined that it was being driven toward the +lake, or whether it was merely a blind squirm of the monster, I do not +know; but at any rate the mob took a cross street to the west, turned +down the next street, and came back upon its track, heading south +toward the great ghetto. + +Garthwaite and I at that time were trying to make our way westward to +get out of the territory of street-fighting, and we were caught right +in the thick of it again. As we came to the corner we saw the howling +mob bearing down upon us. Garthwaite seized my arm and we were just +starting to run, when he dragged me back from in front of the wheels of +half a dozen war automobiles, equipped with machine-guns, that were +rushing for the spot. Behind them came the soldiers with their +automatic rifles. By the time they took position, the mob was upon +them, and it looked as though they would be overwhelmed before they +could get into action. + +Here and there a soldier was discharging his rifle, but this scattered +fire had no effect in checking the mob. On it came, bellowing with +brute rage. It seemed the machine-guns could not get started. The +automobiles on which they were mounted blocked the street, compelling +the soldiers to find positions in, between, and on the sidewalks. More +and more soldiers were arriving, and in the jam we were unable to get +away. Garthwaite held me by the arm, and we pressed close against the +front of a building. + +The mob was no more than twenty-five feet away when the machine-guns +opened up; but before that flaming sheet of death nothing could live. +The mob came on, but it could not advance. It piled up in a heap, a +mound, a huge and growing wave of dead and dying. Those behind urged +on, and the column, from gutter to gutter, telescoped upon itself. +Wounded creatures, men and women, were vomited over the top of that +awful wave and fell squirming down the face of it till they threshed +about under the automobiles and against the legs of the soldiers. The +latter bayoneted the struggling wretches, though one I saw who gained +his feet and flew at a soldier’s throat with his teeth. Together they +went down, soldier and slave, into the welter. + +The firing ceased. The work was done. The mob had been stopped in its +wild attempt to break through. Orders were being given to clear the +wheels of the war-machines. They could not advance over that wave of +dead, and the idea was to run them down the cross street. The soldiers +were dragging the bodies away from the wheels when it happened. We +learned afterward how it happened. A block distant a hundred of our +comrades had been holding a building. Across roofs and through +buildings they made their way, till they found themselves looking down +upon the close-packed soldiers. Then it was counter-massacre. + +Without warning, a shower of bombs fell from the top of the building. +The automobiles were blown to fragments, along with many soldiers. We, +with the survivors, swept back in mad retreat. Half a block down +another building opened fire on us. As the soldiers had carpeted the +street with dead slaves, so, in turn, did they themselves become +carpet. Garthwaite and I bore charmed lives. As we had done before, so +again we sought shelter in an entrance. But he was not to be caught +napping this time. As the roar of the bombs died away, he began peering +out. + +“The mob’s coming back!” he called to me. “We’ve got to get out of +this!” + +We fled, hand in hand, down the bloody pavement, slipping and sliding, +and making for the corner. Down the cross street we could see a few +soldiers still running. Nothing was happening to them. The way was +clear. So we paused a moment and looked back. The mob came on slowly. +It was busy arming itself with the rifles of the slain and killing the +wounded. We saw the end of the young officer who had rescued us. He +painfully lifted himself on his elbow and turned loose with his +automatic pistol. + +“There goes my chance of promotion,” Garthwaite laughed, as a woman +bore down on the wounded man, brandishing a butcher’s cleaver. “Come +on. It’s the wrong direction, but we’ll get out somehow.” + +And we fled eastward through the quiet streets, prepared at every cross +street for anything to happen. To the south a monster conflagration was +filling the sky, and we knew that the great ghetto was burning. At last +I sank down on the sidewalk. I was exhausted and could go no farther. I +was bruised and sore and aching in every limb; yet I could not escape +smiling at Garthwaite, who was rolling a cigarette and saying: + +“I know I’m making a mess of rescuing you, but I can’t get head nor +tail of the situation. It’s all a mess. Every time we try to break out, +something happens and we’re turned back. We’re only a couple of blocks +now from where I got you out of that entrance. Friend and foe are all +mixed up. It’s chaos. You can’t tell who is in those darned buildings. +Try to find out, and you get a bomb on your head. Try to go peaceably +on your way, and you run into a mob and are killed by machine-guns, or +you run into the Mercenaries and are killed by your own comrades from a +roof. And on the top of it all the mob comes along and kills you, too.” + +He shook his head dolefully, lighted his cigarette, and sat down beside +me. + +“And I’m that hungry,” he added, “I could eat cobblestones.” + +The next moment he was on his feet again and out in the street prying +up a cobblestone. He came back with it and assaulted the window of a +store behind us. + +“It’s ground floor and no good,” he explained as he helped me through +the hole he had made; “but it’s the best we can do. You get a nap and +I’ll reconnoitre. I’ll finish this rescue all right, but I want time, +time, lots of it—and something to eat.” + +It was a harness store we found ourselves in, and he fixed me up a +couch of horse blankets in the private office well to the rear. To add +to my wretchedness a splitting headache was coming on, and I was only +too glad to close my eyes and try to sleep. + +“I’ll be back,” were his parting words. “I don’t hope to get an auto, +but I’ll surely bring some grub,[1] anyway.” + + [1] Food. + +And that was the last I saw of Garthwaite for three years. Instead of +coming back, he was carried away to a hospital with a bullet through +his lungs and another through the fleshy part of his neck. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. +NIGHTMARE + + +I had not closed my eyes the night before on the Twentieth Century, and +what of that and of my exhaustion I slept soundly. When I first awoke, +it was night. Garthwaite had not returned. I had lost my watch and had +no idea of the time. As I lay with my eyes closed, I heard the same +dull sound of distant explosions. The inferno was still raging. I crept +through the store to the front. The reflection from the sky of vast +conflagrations made the street almost as light as day. One could have +read the finest print with ease. From several blocks away came the +crackle of small hand-bombs and the churning of machine-guns, and from +a long way off came a long series of heavy explosions. I crept back to +my horse blankets and slept again. + +When next I awoke, a sickly yellow light was filtering in on me. It was +dawn of the second day. I crept to the front of the store. A smoke +pall, shot through with lurid gleams, filled the sky. Down the opposite +side of the street tottered a wretched slave. One hand he held tightly +against his side, and behind him he left a bloody trail. His eyes roved +everywhere, and they were filled with apprehension and dread. Once he +looked straight across at me, and in his face was all the dumb pathos +of the wounded and hunted animal. He saw me, but there was no kinship +between us, and with him, at least, no sympathy of understanding; for +he cowered perceptibly and dragged himself on. He could expect no aid +in all God’s world. He was a helot in the great hunt of helots that the +masters were making. All he could hope for, all he sought, was some +hole to crawl away in and hide like any animal. The sharp clang of a +passing ambulance at the corner gave him a start. Ambulances were not +for such as he. With a groan of pain he threw himself into a doorway. A +minute later he was out again and desperately hobbling on. + +I went back to my horse blankets and waited an hour for Garthwaite. My +headache had not gone away. On the contrary, it was increasing. It was +by an effort of will only that I was able to open my eyes and look at +objects. And with the opening of my eyes and the looking came +intolerable torment. Also, a great pulse was beating in my brain. Weak +and reeling, I went out through the broken window and down the street, +seeking to escape, instinctively and gropingly, from the awful +shambles. And thereafter I lived nightmare. My memory of what happened +in the succeeding hours is the memory one would have of nightmare. Many +events are focussed sharply on my brain, but between these indelible +pictures I retain are intervals of unconsciousness. What occurred in +those intervals I know not, and never shall know. + +I remember stumbling at the corner over the legs of a man. It was the +poor hunted wretch that had dragged himself past my hiding-place. How +distinctly do I remember his poor, pitiful, gnarled hands as he lay +there on the pavement—hands that were more hoof and claw than hands, +all twisted and distorted by the toil of all his days, with on the +palms a horny growth of callous a half inch thick. And as I picked +myself up and started on, I looked into the face of the thing and saw +that it still lived; for the eyes, dimly intelligent, were looking at +me and seeing me. + +After that came a kindly blank. I knew nothing, saw nothing, merely +tottered on in my quest for safety. My next nightmare vision was a +quiet street of the dead. I came upon it abruptly, as a wanderer in the +country would come upon a flowing stream. Only this stream I gazed upon +did not flow. It was congealed in death. From pavement to pavement, and +covering the sidewalks, it lay there, spread out quite evenly, with +only here and there a lump or mound of bodies to break the surface. +Poor driven people of the abyss, hunted helots—they lay there as the +rabbits in California after a drive.[1] Up the street and down I +looked. There was no movement, no sound. The quiet buildings looked +down upon the scene from their many windows. And once, and once only, I +saw an arm that moved in that dead stream. I swear I saw it move, with +a strange writhing gesture of agony, and with it lifted a head, gory +with nameless horror, that gibbered at me and then lay down again and +moved no more. + + [1] In those days, so sparsely populated was the land that wild + animals often became pests. In California the custom of rabbit-driving + obtained. On a given day all the farmers in a locality would assemble + and sweep across the country in converging lines, driving the rabbits + by scores of thousands into a prepared enclosure, where they were + clubbed to death by men and boys. + +I remember another street, with quiet buildings on either side, and the +panic that smote me into consciousness as again I saw the people of the +abyss, but this time in a stream that flowed and came on. And then I +saw there was nothing to fear. The stream moved slowly, while from it +arose groans and lamentations, cursings, babblings of senility, +hysteria, and insanity; for these were the very young and the very old, +the feeble and the sick, the helpless and the hopeless, all the +wreckage of the ghetto. The burning of the great ghetto on the South +Side had driven them forth into the inferno of the street-fighting, and +whither they wended and whatever became of them I did not know and +never learned.[2] + + [2] It was long a question of debate, whether the burning of the South + Side ghetto was accidental, or whether it was done by the Mercenaries; + but it is definitely settled now that the ghetto was fired by the + Mercenaries under orders from their chiefs. + +I have faint memories of breaking a window and hiding in some shop to +escape a street mob that was pursued by soldiers. Also, a bomb burst +near me, once, in some still street, where, look as I would, up and +down, I could see no human being. But my next sharp recollection begins +with the crack of a rifle and an abrupt becoming aware that I am being +fired at by a soldier in an automobile. The shot missed, and the next +moment I was screaming and motioning the signals. My memory of riding +in the automobile is very hazy, though this ride, in turn, is broken by +one vivid picture. The crack of the rifle of the soldier sitting beside +me made me open my eyes, and I saw George Milford, whom I had known in +the Pell Street days, sinking slowly down to the sidewalk. Even as he +sank the soldier fired again, and Milford doubled in, then flung his +body out, and fell sprawling. The soldier chuckled, and the automobile +sped on. + +The next I knew after that I was awakened out of a sound sleep by a man +who walked up and down close beside me. His face was drawn and +strained, and the sweat rolled down his nose from his forehead. One +hand was clutched tightly against his chest by the other hand, and +blood dripped down upon the floor as he walked. He wore the uniform of +the Mercenaries. From without, as through thick walls, came the muffled +roar of bursting bombs. I was in some building that was locked in +combat with some other building. + +A surgeon came in to dress the wounded soldier, and I learned that it +was two in the afternoon. My headache was no better, and the surgeon +paused from his work long enough to give me a powerful drug that would +depress the heart and bring relief. I slept again, and the next I knew +I was on top of the building. The immediate fighting had ceased, and I +was watching the balloon attack on the fortresses. Some one had an arm +around me and I was leaning close against him. It came to me quite as a +matter of course that this was Ernest, and I found myself wondering how +he had got his hair and eyebrows so badly singed. + +It was by the merest chance that we had found each other in that +terrible city. He had had no idea that I had left New York, and, coming +through the room where I lay asleep, could not at first believe that it +was I. Little more I saw of the Chicago Commune. After watching the +balloon attack, Ernest took me down into the heart of the building, +where I slept the afternoon out and the night. The third day we spent +in the building, and on the fourth, Ernest having got permission and an +automobile from the authorities, we left Chicago. + +My headache was gone, but, body and soul, I was very tired. I lay back +against Ernest in the automobile, and with apathetic eyes watched the +soldiers trying to get the machine out of the city. Fighting was still +going on, but only in isolated localities. Here and there whole +districts were still in possession of the comrades, but such districts +were surrounded and guarded by heavy bodies of troops. In a hundred +segregated traps were the comrades thus held while the work of +subjugating them went on. Subjugation meant death, for no quarter was +given, and they fought heroically to the last man.[3] + + [3] Numbers of the buildings held out over a week, while one held out + eleven days. Each building had to be stormed like a fort, and the + Mercenaries fought their way upward floor by floor. It was deadly + fighting. Quarter was neither given nor taken, and in the fighting the + revolutionists had the advantage of being above. While the + revolutionists were wiped out, the loss was not one-sided. The proud + Chicago proletariat lived up to its ancient boast. For as many of + itself as were killed, it killed that many of the enemy. + +Whenever we approached such localities, the guards turned us back and +sent us around. Once, the only way past two strong positions of the +comrades was through a burnt section that lay between. From either side +we could hear the rattle and roar of war, while the automobile picked +its way through smoking ruins and tottering walls. Often the streets +were blocked by mountains of debris that compelled us to go around. We +were in a labyrinth of ruin, and our progress was slow. + +The stockyards (ghetto, plant, and everything) were smouldering ruins. +Far off to the right a wide smoke haze dimmed the sky,—the town of +Pullman, the soldier chauffeur told us, or what had been the town of +Pullman, for it was utterly destroyed. He had driven the machine out +there, with despatches, on the afternoon of the third day. Some of the +heaviest fighting had occurred there, he said, many of the streets +being rendered impassable by the heaps of the dead. + +Swinging around the shattered walls of a building, in the stockyards +district, the automobile was stopped by a wave of dead. It was for all +the world like a wave tossed up by the sea. It was patent to us what +had happened. As the mob charged past the corner, it had been swept, at +right angles and point-blank range, by the machine-guns drawn up on the +cross street. But disaster had come to the soldiers. A chance bomb must +have exploded among them, for the mob, checked until its dead and dying +formed the wave, had white-capped and flung forward its foam of living, +fighting slaves. Soldiers and slaves lay together, torn and mangled, +around and over the wreckage of the automobiles and guns. + +Ernest sprang out. A familiar pair of shoulders in a cotton shirt and a +familiar fringe of white hair had caught his eye. I did not watch him, +and it was not until he was back beside me and we were speeding on that +he said: + +“It was Bishop Morehouse.” + +Soon we were in the green country, and I took one last glance back at +the smoke-filled sky. Faint and far came the low thud of an explosion. +Then I turned my face against Ernest’s breast and wept softly for the +Cause that was lost. Ernest’s arm about me was eloquent with love. + +“For this time lost, dear heart,” he said, “but not forever. We have +learned. To-morrow the Cause will rise again, strong with wisdom and +discipline.” + +The automobile drew up at a railroad station. Here we would catch a +train to New York. As we waited on the platform, three trains thundered +past, bound west to Chicago. They were crowded with ragged, unskilled +laborers, people of the abyss. + +“Slave-levies for the rebuilding of Chicago,” Ernest said. “You see, +the Chicago slaves are all killed.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. +THE TERRORISTS + + +It was not until Ernest and I were back in New York, and after weeks +had elapsed, that we were able to comprehend thoroughly the full sweep +of the disaster that had befallen the Cause. The situation was bitter +and bloody. In many places, scattered over the country, slave revolts +and massacres had occurred. The roll of the martyrs increased mightily. +Countless executions took place everywhere. The mountains and waste +regions were filled with outlaws and refugees who were being hunted +down mercilessly. Our own refuges were packed with comrades who had +prices on their heads. Through information furnished by its spies, +scores of our refuges were raided by the soldiers of the Iron Heel. + +Many of the comrades were disheartened, and they retaliated with +terroristic tactics. The set-back to their hopes made them despairing +and desperate. Many terrorist organizations unaffiliated with us sprang +into existence and caused us much trouble.[1] These misguided people +sacrificed their own lives wantonly, very often made our own plans go +astray, and retarded our organization. + + [1] The annals of this short-lived era of despair make bloody reading. + Revenge was the ruling motive, and the members of the terroristic + organizations were careless of their own lives and hopeless about the + future. The Danites, taking their name from the avenging angels of the + Mormon mythology, sprang up in the mountains of the Great West and + spread over the Pacific Coast from Panama to Alaska. The Valkyries + were women. They were the most terrible of all. No woman was eligible + for membership who had not lost near relatives at the hands of the + Oligarchy. They were guilty of torturing their prisoners to death. + Another famous organization of women was The Widows of War. A + companion organization to the Valkyries was the Berserkers. These men + placed no value whatever upon their own lives, and it was they who + totally destroyed the great Mercenary city of Bellona along with its + population of over a hundred thousand souls. The Bedlamites and the + Helldamites were twin slave organizations, while a new religious sect + that did not flourish long was called The Wrath of God. Among others, + to show the whimsicality of their deadly seriousness, may be mentioned + the following: The Bleeding Hearts, Sons of the Morning, the Morning + Stars, The Flamingoes, The Triple Triangles, The Three Bars, The + Rubonics, The Vindicators, The Comanches, and the Erebusites. + +And through it all moved the Iron Heel, impassive and deliberate, +shaking up the whole fabric of the social structure in its search for +the comrades, combing out the Mercenaries, the labor castes, and all +its secret services, punishing without mercy and without malice, +suffering in silence all retaliations that were made upon it, and +filling the gaps in its fighting line as fast as they appeared. And +hand in hand with this, Ernest and the other leaders were hard at work +reorganizing the forces of the Revolution. The magnitude of the task +may be understood when it is taken into.[2] + + [2] This is the end of the Everhard Manuscript. It breaks off abruptly + in the middle of a sentence. She must have received warning of the + coming of the Mercenaries, for she had time safely to hide the + Manuscript before she fled or was captured. It is to be regretted that + she did not live to complete her narrative, for then, undoubtedly, + would have been cleared away the mystery that has shrouded for seven + centuries the execution of Ernest Everhard. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IRON HEEL *** + + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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If you are not located in the United States, +you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located +before using this eBook. + +Title: We + +Author: Evgenii Ivanovich Zamiatin + +Translator: Gregory Zilboorg + +Release date: April 27, 2020 [eBook #61963] + Most recently updated: October 17, 2024 + +Language: English + +Credits: Produced by Andrew Sly, Mary Glenn Krause, University of + Michigan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at + https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images + made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.) + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WE *** + +EUGENE ZAMIATIN + +WE + +Authorized Translation from the Russian + + By + GREGORY ZILBOORG + + New York + E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY + 681 FIFTH AVENUE + + + Copyright, 1924 + By E. P. Dutton & Company + +_All Rights Reserved_ + +Printed in the United States of America + + + + +FOREWORD + + +In submitting this book to the American public the translator has +this to say. + +The artistic and psychological sides of the novel are hardly to +be discussed in a preface. Great as the art of a writer may be +and profound as his psychology may seem to one, the impression +is largely a matter of individual variations, and this side must +naturally be left to each individual's judgment and sensibilities. + +There is, however, one side of the matter which deserves particular +mention and motivated emphasis. + +It is perhaps for the first time in the history of the last few +decades that a Russian book, inspired by Russian life, written in +Russia and in the Russian language, should see its first light not +in Russia but abroad, and not in the language it was originally +written but translated into a foreign tongue. During the darkest +years of Russian history, in the 'forties, 'sixties, 'eighties and +'nineties of the last century, many Russian writers were forced by +oppression and reaction to live abroad and to write abroad, yet +their writings would reach Russia, as they were intended primarily +for the Russian reader and Russian life. Most of Turgeniev's novels +were written while he was in France, and with the exception of his +last short story which he dictated on his deathbed, all his novels +and stories were written in Russian. Hertzen, Kropotkin, and at one +time Dostoyevski, were similarly obliged to write while away from +their native land. + +Here is a book written by an artist who lived and still lives in +Russia, and whose intimate love for Russia and her suffering is so +great that he finds it impossible to leave Russia even in these +days of stress and sorrow. But his book may not appear in the +country where it was written. It is a great tragedy--this spiritual +loneliness of the artist who cannot speak to his own people. In +bringing out this book in English, the author tries to address +himself to the world without having the opportunity of being heard +by his own people. This situation, however, is to a great extent +symbolic of the spiritual mission of Zamiatin, for no matter what +the language in which he originally writes, and no matter how +typically national his artistic perception and intuition, he is +essentially universal and his vision transcends the boundaries +of a purely national art. Moreover, is it not true that the more +genuinely national a man's art, and the more sincerely national his +personality, the more is he universal? Abraham Lincoln is more than +an American national figure, and I doubt if the appeal Lincoln's +personality makes would be universal as it is if he were not so +typically American. It is difficult to find personalities more +national than Tolstoi or Dostoyevski, and this is perhaps the reason +why they stand out as two of the most typically universal minds with +a universal appeal that the nineteenth century gave us. + +Zamiatin is not so great as the men referred to above, but despite +his youth, he already proves to be the bearer of that quality of +greatness which characterizes a personality with a universal appeal. + +_We_ is, as Zamiatin himself calls it, the most jocular and the +most earnest thing he has thus far written. It is a novel that +puts most poignantly and earnestly before every thoughtful reader +the most difficult problem that exists today in the civilized +world,--the problem of preservation of the independent original +creative personality. Our civilization today depends upon the +energetic movement of great masses of people. Wars, revolutions, +general strikes--all these phenomena involve great masses, large +groups, enormous mobs. Despite the fact that there is hardly a +corner in the world today where the average man does not make the +trite complaint, "What we need is leadership," the world today +seems for a time at least to have lost its capacity for producing +real leaders. For our great successes in mechanical civilization, +our exceptional efforts in efficiency, tend to bring into play +large numbers rather than great individualities. What under these +conditions is the lot of a creative individuality? What the tragedy +of an independent spirit under present conditions is, is pointed +out in an unique way in _We_. The problem of creative individuality +versus mob is today not a mere Russian problem. It is as poignant +under Bolshevist dictatorship as it is in Ford's factory. + +Of course the sincere, honest and frank treatment of this problem +seems offensive to anyone who prefers to be a member of a mob or +keep this or that part of humanity in the state of a mob. That +is why _We_ could not see light in Russia, and will probably be +disliked by those whose spiritual activities are reduced to the +mechanical standards of a mechanical civilization which is devoid of +original creative effort. + +A few words about the method by which Zamiatin tries to drive home +to the reader his main ideas. It is the method of "Laughter through +tears," to use an old expression of Gogol. It is the form which is +dictated by profound love for humanity, mixed with pity and hatred +of those factors which are the cause of the disindividualization of +man today. It is the old emotion of the ancient Catul: "Odi et amo." +Zamiatin laughs in order to hide his tears, hence amusing as _We_ +may seem and really is, it barely conceals a profound human tragedy +which is universal today. + +The reader may be interested in knowing something about Zamiatin +himself. Zamiatin does not like to tell about himself and the +translator does not think he has the right to tell more than to +quote Zamiatin's own answer to a request addressed to him a couple +of years ago to write his autobiography: + +"I see you want my autobiography by all means, but I assure you +that you will have to limit yourself only to an outside inspection +and get but a glimpse, perhaps, into the dark windows. I seldom ask +anybody to enter. + +"As to the outside, you will see a lonely child without playmates, +lying on a Turkish divan, hind-side up, reading a book, or under +the grand piano while his mother plays Chopin. Two steps away from +Chopin, just outside the window with the geraniums, in the middle of +the street, there is a small pig tied to a stake and hens fluttering +in the dust. + +"If you are interested in the geography, here it is--Lebedyan, in +the most Russian Tambov province about which Tolstoi and Turgeniev +wrote so much. Chronology?--The end of the 'eighties and early +'nineties, then Voronesh, the _Gymnasium pension_, boredom and rabid +dogs on Main Street. One of these dogs got me by the leg. At that +time I loved to make different experiments on myself, and I decided +to wait and see whether I would or would not get the rabies and what +is most important, I was very curious: What would I feel when the +time would come for the rabies (about two weeks after the bite)? I +felt a great many things, but two weeks later I did not get the +rabies, therefore I announced to the inspector in the school that I +got the rabies and must go at once to Moscow for vaccination. + +"In the _Gymnasium_ I would get _A plus_ for composition and was +not always on good terms with mathematics. Perhaps because of that +(sheer stubbornness) I chose the most mathematical career--the +ship-building department of the Petrograd Polytech. + +"Thirteen years ago in the month of May--and that May was remarkable +in that the snow covered the flowers--I simultaneously finished my +work for my diploma and my first short story. The short story was +published in the old _Obrazovanye_. + +"Well, what else do you want? That meant that I was going to write +short stories and was going to publish them. Therefore for the +following three years I wrote about nothing but ice cutters, steam +engines, refillers and 'The Theoretical Exploration of the Works of +Floating Steam Shovels.' I couldn't help myself. I was attached to +the chair of Ship Architecture and busied myself with teaching in +the ship-building faculty, where I teach until now. + +"If I mean anything in Russian Literature, I owe this completely to +the Petrograd Secret Service. In 1911 this service exiled me from +Petrograd and I was forced to spend two years in a non-populated +place in Lachta. There, in the midst of the white winter silence +and the green summer silence, I wrote my _Provincial_. After that +the late Ismaylov expressed in print his belief that I wore very +high boots and was a long-haired provincial type, carrying a heavy +stick, and he was later very much surprised that I 'didn't look a +bit like that.' Incidentally, 'not a bit like that' I became in +England where, during the War, I spent about two years, building +ships and visiting the ruins of ancient castles. I listened to the +banging of the German Zeppelin bombs and wrote a short novel _The +Islanders_. + +"I regret immensely that I did not witness the Russian Revolution +in February and know only the October Revolution, because it was in +October, a life preserver around my body and all the lights out, +passing German submarines, that I returned to Petrograd. Because +of this I felt like one who never having been in love gets up one +morning and finds himself married about ten years. + +"Now I write little, perhaps because my requirements towards myself +become greater. Three new volumes are in the hands of the publisher +and begin to be published only now. The fourth will be my novel +_We_, the funniest and most earnest thing I have written. However, +the most serious and most interesting novels I never wrote. They +happened to me in my life." + + * * * + +Zamiatin continues to live in Russia and continues to live with +Russia, but such is the sarcasm of Fate that the first Russian +novel giving a real synthesis of the Russian revolution and its +greater universal meaning, this novel written by Zamiatin, should +remain unknown to the Russians in Russia. + + Gregory Zilboorg. + _New York_, 1924. + + + + +CONTENTS + page + + Foreword Gregory Zilboorg v + + Record + 1. An Announcement--The Wisest of Lines--A Poem 1 + 2. Ballet--Square Harmony--X 4 + 3. A Coat--A Wall--The Tables 12 + 4. The Wild Man with the Barometer--Epilepsy--If 18 + 5. The Square--The Rulers of the World--An Agreeable and + Useful Function 24 + 6. An Accident--The Cursed "It's Clear"--Twenty-four Hours 28 + 7. An Eyelash--Taylor--Henbane and Lily of the Valley 38 + 8. An Irrational Root--R-13--The Triangle 46 + 9. Liturgy--Iambus--The Cast-Iron Hand 53 + 10. A Letter--A Membrane--Hairy I 59 + 11. No, I Can't; Let It Be without Headings! 70 + 12. The Delimitation of the Infinite--Angel--Meditations + on Poetry 77 + 13. Fog--Thou--A Decidedly Absurd Adventure 83 + 14. "Mine"--Impossible--A Cold Floor 91 + 15. The Bell--The Mirror-Like Sea--I am to Burn Eternally 95 + 16. Yellow--A Two-dimensional Shadow--An Incurable Soul 102 + 17. Through Glass--I Died--The Corridor 111 + 18. Logical Debris--Wounds and Plaster--Never Again 121 + 19. The Infinitesimal of the Third Order--From Under the + Forehead--Over the Railing 130 + 20. Discharge--The Material of an Idea--The Zero Rock 139 + 21. The Duty of an Author--The Ice-swells--The Most Difficult + Love 144 + 22. The Benumbed Waves--Everything is Improving--I Am a Microbe 152 + 23. Flowers--The Dissolution of a Crystal--If Only (?) 158 + 24. The Limit of the Function--Easter--To Cross Out Everything 165 + 25. The Descent from Heaven--The Greatest Catastrophe in + History--The Known--Is Ended 171 + 26. The World Does Exist--Rash--Forty-one Degrees Centigrade 181 + 27. No Headings. It Is Impossible 187 + 28. Both of Them--Entropy and Energy--The Opaque Part of + the Body 196 + 29. Threads of the Face--Sprouts--An Unnatural Compression 207 + 30. The Last Number--Galileo's Mistake--Would It Not Be Better 211 + 31. The Great Operation--I Forgave Everything--The Collision + of Trains 217 + 32. I Do Not Believe--Tractors--A Little Human Splinter 228 + 33. This without a Synopsis, Hastily, the Last 237 + 34. The Forgiven Ones--A Sunny Night--A Radio-Walkryie 239 + 35. In a Ring--A Carrot--A Murder 251 + 36. Empty Pages--The Christian God--About My Mother 260 + 37. Infusorian--Doomsday--Her Room 266 + 38. I Don't Know What Title--Perhaps the Whole Synopsis May Be + Called a Cast-off Cigarette-Butt 272 + 39. The End 276 + 40. Facts--The Bell--I Am Certain 284 + + + + +WE + + + + +RECORD ONE + + An Announcement + The Wisest of Lines + A Poem + + +This is merely a copy, word by word, of what was published this +morning in the State newspaper: + +"In another hundred and twenty days the building of the _Integral_ +will be completed. The great historic hour is near, when the first +_Integral_ will rise into the limitless space of the universe. A +thousand years ago your heroic ancestors subjected the whole earth +to the power of the United State. A still more glorious task is +before you,--the integration of the indefinite equation of the +Cosmos by the use of the glass, electric, fire-breathing _Integral_. +Your mission is to subjugate to the grateful yoke of reason the +unknown beings who live on other planets, and who are perhaps still +in the primitive state of freedom. If they will not understand that +we are bringing them a mathematically faultless happiness, our duty +will be to force them to be happy. But before we take up arms, we +shall try the power of words. + +"In the name of The Well-Doer, the following is announced herewith +to all Numbers of the United State: + +"Whoever feels capable must consider it his duty to write treatises, +poems, manifestoes, odes and other compositions on the greatness and +the beauty of the United State. + +"This will be the first load which the _Integral_ will carry. + +"Long live the United State! Long live the Numbers!! Long live the +Well-Doer!!!" + +I feel my cheeks are burning as I write this. To integrate the +colossal, universal equation! To unbend the wild curve, to +straighten it out to a tangent--to a straight line! For the United +State is a straight line, a great, divine, precise, wise line, the +wisest of lines! + +I, D-503, the builder of the _Integral_, I am only one of the many +mathematicians of the United State. My pen, which is accustomed to +figures, is unable to express the march and rhythm of consonance; +therefore I shall try to record only the things I see, the things +I think, or to be more exact, the things _we_ think. Yes, we; that +is exactly what I mean, and "We" shall, therefore, be the title of +my records. But this will only be a derivative of our life,--of our +mathematical, perfect life in the United State. If this be so, will +not this derivative be a poem in itself, despite my limitations? It +will. I believe, I know it. + +I feel my cheeks are burning as I write this. I feel something +similar to what a woman probably feels when for the first time she +senses within herself the pulse of a tiny, blind, human being. It +is I, and at the same time it is not I. And for many long months it +will be necessary to feed it with my life, with my blood, and then +with a pain at my heart, to tear it from myself and lay it at the +feet of the United State. + +Yet I am ready, as everyone, or nearly everyone of us, is. I am +ready. + + + + +RECORD TWO + + Ballet + Square Harmony + X + + +Spring. From behind the Green Wall from some unknown plains the +wind brings to us the yellow honeyed pollen of flowers. One's lips +are dry from this sweet dust. Every moment one passes one's tongue +over them. Probably, all women whom I meet in the street (and men +certainly also), have today sweet lips. This disturbs somewhat my +logical thinking. But the sky! The sky is blue. Its limpidness is +not marred by a single cloud. (How primitive was the taste of the +ancients, since their poets were always inspired by these senseless, +formless, stupidly rushing accumulations of steam!) I love, I am +sure it will not be an error if I say we love, only such a sky--a +sterile, faultless sky. On such days the whole universe seems to be +moulded of the same eternal glass, like the Green Wall, and like all +our buildings. On such days one sees into the very blue depth of +things. One sees their wonderful equations, hitherto unknown. One +sees them in everything, even in the most ordinary everyday things. + +Here is an example: this morning I was on the dock where the +_Integral_ is being built, and I saw the lathes; blindly, with +abandon, the balls of the regulators were rotating; the cranks +were swinging from side to side with a glimmer; the working-beam +proudly swung its shoulder; and the mechanical chisels were dancing +to the melody of an unheard Tarantella. I suddenly perceived all +the music, all the beauty, of this colossal, of this mechanical +ballet, illumined by light blue rays of sunshine. Then the thought +came: why beautiful? Why is a dance beautiful? Answer: because it +is an _unfree_ movement. Because the deep meaning of the dance +is contained in its absolute, ecstatic submission, in the ideal +_non-freedom_. If it is true that our ancestors would abandon +themselves in dancing at the most inspired moments of their lives +(religious mysteries, military parades) then it means only one +thing: the instinct of non-freedom has been characteristic of human +nature from ancient times, and we in our life of today, we are only +consciously-- + +I was interrupted. The switchboard clicked. I raised my eyes,--O-90, +of course! In half a minute she herself will be here to take me for +the walk. + +Dear O--! She always seems to me to look like her name, O--. She is +approximately ten centimeters shorter than the required Maternal +Norm. Therefore she appears all round; the rose-colored O of her +lips is open to meet every word of mine. She has a round soft dimple +on her wrist. Children have such dimples. As she came in, the +logical fly-wheel was still buzzing in my head, and following its +inertia, I began to tell her about my new formula which embraced the +machines and the dancers and all of us. + +"Wonderful, isn't it!" I asked. + +"Yes, wonderful ... Spring!" she replied, with a rosy smile. + +You see? Spring! She talks about Spring! Females!... I became +silent. + +We were down in the street. The avenue was crowded. On days when +the weather is so beautiful the afternoon personal hour is usually +the hour of the supplementary walk. As always the big Musical Tower +was playing with all its pipes, the March of the United State. +The Numbers, hundreds, thousands of Numbers in light blue unifs +(probably a derivative of the ancient _uniform_) with golden badges +on the chest,--the State number of each one, male or female,--the +Numbers were walking slowly, four abreast, exaltedly keeping +the step. I, we four, were but one of the innumerable waves of +a powerful torrent. To my left, O-90 (if one of my long-haired +ancestors were writing this a thousand years ago, he would probably +call her by that funny word, _mine_), to my right, two unknown +Numbers, a she-Number and a he-Number. + +Blue sky, tiny baby suns in each one of our badges; our faces are +unclouded by the insanity of thoughts. Rays.... Do you picture it? +Everything seems to be made of a kind of smiling, a ray-like matter. +And the brass measures: Tra-ta-ta-tam.... Tra-ta-ta-tam ... stamping +on the brassy steps which sparkle in the sun; with every step you +rise higher and higher into the dizzy blue heights.... Then, as this +morning on the dock, again I saw as if for the first time in my +life, the impeccably straight streets, the glistening glass of the +pavement, the divine parallelopipeds of the transparent dwellings, +the square harmony of the grayish-blue rows of Numbers. And it +seemed to me that not past generations, but I myself, had won a +victory over the old god and the old life, that I myself had created +all this. I felt like a tower: I was afraid to move my elbow, lest +the walls, the cupola and the machines should fall to pieces. + +Then without warning--a jump through centuries: I remembered +(apparently through an association by contrast) a picture in +the museum, a picture of an avenue of the twentieth century, +a thundering many-colored confusion of men, wheels, animals, +bill-boards, trees, colors, and birds.... They say all this once +actually existed! + +It seemed to me so incredible, so absurd, that I lost control of +myself and laughed aloud. A laugh, as if an echo of mine, reached my +ear from the right. I turned. I saw white, very white, sharp teeth, +and an unfamiliar female face. + +"I beg your pardon," she said, "but you looked about you like an +inspired mythological god on the seventh day of creation. You look +as though you are sure that I, too, was created by you, by no one +but you. It is very flattering." + +All this without a smile, even with a certain degree of respect--(she +may know that I am the builder of the _Integral_). In her eyes +nevertheless, in her brows, there was a strange irritating X, and +I was unable to grasp it, to find an arithmetical expression for +it. Somehow I was confused; with a somewhat hazy mind, I tried +logically to motivate my laughter. + +"It was absolutely clear that this contrast, this impassable abyss, +between the things of today and of years ago--" + +"But why impassable?" (What bright, sharp teeth!) "One might throw a +bridge over that abyss. Please imagine: a drum battalion, rows,--all +this existed before and consequently--" + +"Oh, yes, it is clear," I exclaimed. + +It was a remarkable intersection of thoughts. She said almost in +the same words the things I wrote down before the walk! Do you +understand? Even the thoughts! It is because nobody is _one_, but +_one of_. We are all so much alike-- + +"Are you sure?" I noticed her brows which rose to the temples in an +acute angle,--like the sharp corners of an X. Again I was confused, +casting a glance to the right, then to the left. To my right--she, +slender, abrupt, resistantly flexible like a whip, I-330 (I saw her +number now). To my left, O-, totally different, made all of circles +with a child-like dimple on her wrist; and at the very end of our +row, an unknown he-Number, double-curved like the letter S. We were +all so different from one another.... + +The one to my right, I-330, apparently caught my confused eye, for +she said with a sigh, "Yes, alas!" + +I don't deny that this exclamation was quite in place, but again +there was something in her face or in her voice.... + +With an abruptness unusual for me, I said, "Why 'alas'? Science is +developing and if not now, then within fifty or one hundred years--" + +"Even the noses will--" + +"Yes, noses!" This time I almost shouted, "Since there is still a +reason, no matter what, for envy.... Since my nose is button-like +and someone else's is--" + +"Well your nose is rather classic, as they would say in the ancient +days, although your hands--No, no, show me your hands!" + +I hate to have anyone look at my hands; they are covered with +long hair,--a stupid atavism. I stretched out my hand and said as +indifferently as I could, "Ape-like." + +She glanced at my hand, then at my face. + +"No, a very curious harmony." + +She weighed me with her eyes as though with scales. The little horns +again appeared at the corners of her brows. + +"He is registered in my name," exclaimed O-90 with a rosy smile. + +I made a grimace. Strictly speaking, she was out of order. This dear +O-, how shall I say it? the speed of her tongue is not correctly +calculated; the speed per second of her tongue should be slightly +less than the speed per second of her thoughts,--at any rate not the +reverse. + +At the end of the avenue the big bell of the Accumulating Tower +resounded seventeen. The personal hour was at an end. I-330 was +leaving us with that S-like he-Number. He has such a respectable, +and I noticed then, such a familiar face. I must have met him +somewhere, but where I could not remember. Upon leaving me I-330 +said with the same X-like smile: + +"Drop in day after tomorrow at auditorium 112." + +I shrugged my shoulders: "If I am assigned to the auditorium you +just named--" + +She, with a peculiar, incomprehensible certainty: "You will." + +The woman had upon me a disagreeable effect, like an irrational +component of an equation which you cannot eliminate. I was glad to +remain alone with dear O-, at least for a short while. Hand in hand +with her, I passed four lines of avenues; at the next corner she +went to the right, I to the left. O- timidly raised her round blue +crystalline eyes: + +"I would like so much to come to you today and pull down the +curtains, especially today, right now...." + +How funny she is. But what could I say to her? She was with me only +yesterday and she knows as well as I that our next sexual day is +day-after-tomorrow. It is merely another case in which her thoughts +are too far ahead. It sometimes happens that the spark comes too +early to the motor. + +At parting I kissed her twice--no, I shall be exact, three times, on +her wonderful blue eyes, such clear, unclouded eyes. + + + + +RECORD THREE + + A Coat + A Wall + The Tables + + +I looked over all that I wrote down yesterday and I find that +my descriptions are not sufficiently clear. That is, everything +would undoubtedly be clear to one of us but who knows to whom my +_Integral_ will some day bring these records? Perhaps you, like +our ancestors, have read the great book of civilization only up to +the page of nine hundred years ago. Perhaps you don't know even +such elementary things as the Hour Tables, Personal Hours, Maternal +Norm, Green Wall, Well-Doer. It seems droll to me and at the same +time very difficult, to explain these things. It is as though, let +us say, a writer of the twentieth century should start to explain +in his novel such words as coat, apartment, wife. Yet if his novel +had been translated for primitive races, how could he have avoided +explaining what a coat meant? I am sure that the primitive man would +look at a coat and think, "What is this for? It is only a burden, +an unnecessary burden." I am sure that you will feel the same, if I +tell you that not one of us has ever stepped beyond the Green Wall +since the Two Hundred Years' War. + +But, dear readers, you must think, at least a little. It helps. + +It is clear that the history of mankind as far as our knowledge +goes, is a history of the transition from nomadic forms to more +sedentary ones. Does it not follow that the most sedentary form of +life (ours) is at the same time, the most perfect one? There was a +time when people were rushing from one end of the earth to another, +but this was the prehistoric time when such things as nations, wars, +commerce, different discoveries of different Americas still existed. +Who has need of these things now? + +I admit humanity acquired this habit of a sedentary form of life not +without difficulty and not at once. When the Two Hundred Years' War +had destroyed all the roads which later were overgrown with grass, +it was probably very difficult at first. It seemed uncomfortable to +live in cities which were cut off from each other by green debris. +But what of it? Man soon after he lost his tail probably did not +learn at once how to chase away flies without its help. I am almost +sure that at first he was even lonesome without his tail, but now, +can you imagine yourself with a tail? Or can you imagine yourself +walking in the street naked, without clothes? (It is possible you go +without clothes still.) Here we have the same case. I cannot imagine +a city which is not clad with a Green Wall; I cannot imagine a life +which is not clad with the figures of our Tables. + +Tables.... Now even, purple figures look at me austerely yet kindly +from the golden background of the wall. Involuntarily I am reminded +of the thing which was called by the ancients, "Sainted Image," and +I feel a desire to compose verses, or prayers which are the same. +Oh, why am not I a poet, so as to be able properly to glorify the +Tables, the heart and pulse of the United State! + +All of us and perhaps all of you read in childhood while in school, +that greatest of all monuments of ancient literature, the Official +Railroad Guide. But if you compare this with the Tables, you +will see side by side graphite and diamonds. Both are the same, +carbon. But how eternal, transparent, how shining the diamond! +Who does not lose his breath when he runs through the pages of +the Guide? The Tables transformed each one of us, actually, into +a six-wheeled steel hero of a great poem. Every morning with +six-wheeled precision, at the same hour, at the same minute, we wake +up, millions of us at once. At the very same hour millions like +one we begin our work, and millions like one, we finish it. United +into a single body with a million hands, at the very same second, +designated by the Tables, we carry the spoons to our mouths; at the +same second we all go out to walk, go to the auditorium, to the +halls for the Taylor exercises and then to bed. + +I shall be quite frank: even we have not attained the absolute, +exact solution of the problem of happiness. Twice a day, from +sixteen to seventeen o'clock and from twenty-one to twenty-two, our +united powerful organism dissolves into separate cells; these are +the personal hours designated by the Tables. During these hours +you would see the curtains discreetly drawn in the rooms of some; +others march slowly over the pavement of the main avenue or sit at +their desks as I sit now. But I firmly believe, let them call me +an idealist and a dreamer, I believe that sooner or later we shall +somehow find even for these hours, a place in the general formula. +Somehow, all of the 86,400 seconds will be incorporated in the +Tables of Hours. + +I have had opportunity to read and hear many improbable things about +those times when human beings still lived in the state of freedom, +that is, an unorganized primitive state. One thing has always +seemed to me the most improbable: how could a government, even a +primitive government, permit people to live without anything like +our Tables,--without compulsory walks, without precise regulation +of the time to eat, for instance? They would get up and go to bed +whenever they liked. Some historians even say that in those days the +streets were lighted all night; and all night people went about the +streets. + +That I cannot understand; true, their minds were rather limited in +those days. Yet they should have understood, should they not, that +such a life was actually wholesale murder, although slow murder, +day after day? The State (humanitarianism) forbade in those days the +murder of one person, but it did not forbid the killing of millions +slowly and by half. To kill one, that is, to reduce the general +sum of human life by fifty years, was considered criminal, but to +reduce the general sum of human life by fifty million years was not +considered criminal! Is it not droll? Today this simple mathematical +moral problem could easily be solved in half a minute's time by any +ten-year-old Number, yet _they_ couldn't do it! All their Immanuel +Kants together couldn't do it! It didn't enter the heads of all +their Kants to build a system of scientific ethics, that is, ethics +based on adding, subtracting, multiplying and dividing. + +Further, is it not absurd that their State (they called it State!) +left sexual life absolutely without control? However, whenever and +as much as they wanted.... Absolutely unscientific like beasts; and +like beasts they blindly gave birth to children! Is it not strange +to understand gardening, chicken-farming, fishery (we have definite +knowledge that they were familiar with all these things), and not +to be able to reach the last step in this logical scale, namely, +production of children,--not to be able to discover such things as +Maternal and Paternal Norms? + +It is so droll, so improbable, that while I write this I am afraid +lest you, my unknown future readers, should think I am merely a bad +jester. I feel almost as though you may think I simply want to mock +you and with a most serious appearance try to relate to you absolute +nonsense. But first, I am incapable of jesting, for in every joke a +lie has its hidden function. And second, the science of the United +State contends that the life of the ancients was exactly what I +am describing, and the science of the United State cannot make a +mistake! Yet how could they have State logic, since they lived in a +condition of freedom like beasts, like apes, like herds? What could +one expect of them, since even in our day one hears from time to +time, coming from the bottom, the primitive depths, the echo of the +apes? + +Fortunately it happens only from time to time, very seldom. Happily +it is only a case of small parts breaking; these may easily be +repaired without stopping the eternal great march of the whole +machine. And in order to eliminate a broken peg we have the skillful +heavy hand of the Well-Doer, we have the experienced eyes of the +Guardians.... + +By the way, I just thought of that Number whom I met yesterday, +the double-curved one like the letter S; I think I have seen him +several times coming out of the Bureau of the Guardians. Now I +understand why I felt such an instinctive respect for him and a +kind of awkwardness when that strange I-330 at his side.... I must +confess that, that I-- ... they ring the bell, time to sleep, it is +twenty-two-thirty. Till tomorrow, then. + + + + +RECORD FOUR + + The Wild Man with a Barometer + Epilepsy + If + + +Until today everything in life seemed to me clear (that is why, I +think, I always had a sort of partiality toward the word "clear"), +but today ... I don't understand. First, I really was assigned +to auditorium 112 as she said, although the probability was as +500:10,000,000 or 1:20,000. (500 is the number of auditoriums and +there are 10,000,000 Numbers.) And second ... but let me relate +things in successive order. The auditorium: an enormous half-globe +of glass with the sun piercing through. The circular rows of +noble, globe-like, closely-shaven heads. With joy in my heart I +looked around. I believe I was looking in the hope of seeing the +rose-colored scythe, the dear lips of O-, somewhere among the blue +waves of the unifs. Then I saw extraordinarily white, sharp teeth +like the.... But no! Tonight at twenty-one o'clock O- was to come +to me; therefore my desire to see her was quite natural. The bell. +We stood up, sang the Hymn of the United State, and our clever +phono-lecturer appeared on the platform with a sparkling golden +megaphone. + +"Respected Numbers, not so long ago our archaeologists dug up a +book written in the twentieth century. In this book the ironical +author tells about a Wild Man and a barometer. The Wild Man noticed +that every time the barometer's hand stopped on the word 'rain,' it +actually rained. And as the Wild Man craved rain, he let out as much +mercury as was necessary to put it at the level of the word 'rain' +(on the screen a Wild Man with feathers, letting out the mercury. +Laughter). + +"You are laughing at him, but don't you think the 'European' of that +age deserves more to be laughed at? He, like the Wild Man, wanted +rain,--rain with a little r, an algebraic rain; but he remained +standing before the barometer like a wet hen. The Wild Man at least +had more courage and energy and logic, although primitive logic. The +Wild Man showed the ability to establish a connection between cause +and effect: by letting out the mercury he made the first step on the +path which...." + +Here (I repeat, I am not concealing anything, I am setting down +everything) I suddenly became impermeable to the quickening currents +coming from the megaphone. I suddenly felt I had come here in +vain (why in vain and how could I not have come here, where I +was assigned?). Everything seemed to me empty like a shell. I +succeeded with difficulty in switching my attention in again when +the phono-lecturer came to the main theme of the evening,--to our +music as a mathematical composition (mathematics is the cause, +music the effect). The phono-lecturer began the description of the +recently invented musicometer. + +"... By merely rotating this handle any one is enabled to produce +about three sonatas per hour. What difficulties our predecessors +had in making music! They were able to compose only by bringing +themselves to strokes of inspiration,--an extinct form of epilepsy. +Here you have an amusing illustration of their achievements: the +music of Scriabin, twentieth century. This black box," (a curtain +parted on the platform, and we saw an ancient instrument) "this box +they called the 'Royal Grand.' They attached to this the idea of +_regality_, which also goes to prove how their music...." + +And I don't remember anything further. Very possibly because ... +I'll tell you frankly, because she, I-330, came to the "Royal" box. +Probably I was simply startled by her unexpected appearance on the +platform. + +She was dressed in a fantastic dress of the ancient time, a black +dress closely fitting the body, sharply delimiting the white of her +shoulders and breast and that warm shadow waving with her breath +between.... And the dazzling, almost angry teeth. A smile, a bite, +directed downward. She took her seat; she began to play something +wild, convulsive, loud like all their life then,--not a shadow of +rational mechanism. Of course all those around me were right; they +were laughing. Only a few ... but why is it that I too, I...? + +Yes, epilepsy, a mental disease, a pain. A slow, sweet pain, +bite, and it goes deeper and becomes sharper. And then, slowly, +sunshine,--not our sunshine, not crystalline, bluish and soft, +coming through the glass bricks. No, a wild sunshine, rushing and +burning, tearing everything into small bits.... + +The Number at my left glanced at me and chuckled. I don't know why +but I remember exactly how a microscopic saliva bubble appeared on +his lips and burst. That bubble brought me back to myself. I was +again I. + +Like all the other Numbers I heard now only the senseless, +disorderly cracking of the chords. I laughed; I felt so light and +simple. The gifted phono-lecturer represented to us only too well +that wild epoch. And that was all. + +With what a joy I listened afterward to our contemporary music. It +was demonstrated to us at the end of the lecture for the sake of +contrast. Crystalline, chromatic scales converging and diverging +into endless series; and synthetic harmony of the formulae of Taylor +and McLauren, wholesome, square and massive like the "trousers +of Pythagoras." Sad melodies dying away in waving movements. +The beautiful texture of the spectrum of planets, dissected by +Frauenhofer lines ... what magnificent, what perfect regularity! +How pitiful the wilful music of the ancients, not limited except by +the scope of their wild imaginations! + +As usual in good order, four abreast, all of us left the auditorium. +The familiar double-curved figure passed swiftly by. I respectfully +bowed. + +Dear O- was to come in an hour. I felt agitated,--agreeably and +usefully. Home at last! I rushed to the house-office, handed over +to the controller on duty my pink ticket and received a certificate +permitting the use of the curtains. This right exists in our State +only for the sexual days. Normally we live surrounded by transparent +walls which seem to be knitted of sparkling air; we live beneath +the eye of everyone, always bathed in light. We have nothing to +conceal from one another; besides, this mode of living makes the +difficult and exalted task of the Guardians much easier. Without it +many bad things might happen. It is possible that the strange opaque +dwellings of the ancients were responsible for their pitiful cellish +psychology. "My (_sic!_) home is my fortress!" How did they manage +to think of such things? + +At twenty-two o'clock I lowered the curtain and at the same second +O- came in smiling, slightly out of breath. She extended to me +her rosy lips and her pink ticket. I tore off the stub but I +could not tear myself away from the rosy lips up to the last +moment,--twenty-two-fifteen. + +Then I showed her my diary and I talked; I think I talked very +well on the beauty of a square, a cube, a straight line. At first +she listened so charmingly, she was so rosy, when suddenly a tear +appeared in her blue eyes, then another, and a third fell straight +on the open page (page 7). The ink blurred; well, I shall have to +copy it again. + +"My dear O-, if only you, if...." + +"What if? If what?" + +Again the old lament about a child or perhaps something new +regarding, regarding ... the other one? Although it seems as though +some ... but that would be too absurd! + + + + +RECORD FIVE + + The Square + The Rulers of the World + An Agreeable and Useful Function + + +Again with you, my unknown reader; I talk to you as though you +were, let us say, my old comrade, R-13, the poet with the lips of a +negro,--well, everyone knows him. Yet you are somewhere on the moon, +or on Venus, or on Mars. Who knows you? Where and who are you? + +Imagine a square, a living, beautiful square. Imagine that this +square is obliged to tell you about itself, about its life. You +realize that this square would hardly think it necessary to mention +the fact that all its four angles are equal. It knows this too +well. This is such an ordinary, obvious thing. I am in exactly +the same square position. Take the pink checks for instance, +and all that goes with them: for me they are as natural as the +equality of the four angles of the square. But for you they are +perhaps more mysterious and hard to understand than the binom of +Newton. Let me explain: an ancient sage once said a clever thing +(accidentally, beyond doubt). He said, "Love and Hunger rule the +world." Consequently, to dominate the world, man had to win a +victory over hunger after paying a very high price. I refer to the +great Two Hundred Years' War, the war between the city and the land. +Probably on account of religious prejudices, the primitive peasants +stubbornly held on to their "bread."[1] In the 35th year before the +foundation of the United State, our contemporary petroleum food was +invented. True, only about two-tenths of the population of the globe +did not die out. But how beautifully shining the face of the earth +became when it was cleared of its impurities! + +[1] This word came down to us for use only as a poetic form, for the +chemical constitution of this substance is unknown to us. + +Accordingly the 0.2 which survived, have enjoyed the greatest +happiness in the bosom of the United State. But is it not clear that +supreme bliss and envy are only the numerator and the denominator +respectively, of the same fraction, happiness? What sense would the +innumerable sacrifices of the Two Hundred Years' War have for us +if a reason were left in our life for jealousy? Yet such a reason +persisted because there remained button-like noses and classical +noses (_Cf_: our conversation during the promenade). For there were +some whose love was sought by everyone and others whose love was +sought by no one. + +Naturally, having conquered hunger (that is, algebraically speaking, +having achieved the total of bodily welfare), the United State +directed its attack against the second ruler of the world, against +love. At last this element also was conquered, that is, organized +and put into a mathematical formula. It is already three hundred +years since our great historic Lex Sexualis was promulgated: "A +Number may obtain a license to use any other Number as a sexual +product." + +The rest is only a matter of technique. You are carefully examined +in the laboratory of the Sexual Department where they find the +content of the sexual hormones in your blood, and they make out for +you accordingly a Table of sexual days. Then you file an application +to enjoy the services of Number so and so, or Numbers so and so. You +get for that purpose a check-book (pink). That is all. + +It is clear that under such circumstances there is no more reason +for envy or jealousy. The denominator of the fraction of happiness +is reduced to zero and the whole fraction is thus converted into +a magnificent infiniteness. The thing which was for the ancients +the source of innumerable stupid tragedies has been converted in +our time into an harmonious, agreeable and useful function of the +organism, a function like sleep, like physical labor, the taking +of food, digestion, etc., etc. Hence you see how the great power +of logic purifies everything it happens to touch. Oh, if only you +unknown readers can conceive this divine power! If you will only +learn to follow it to the end! + +It is very strange: while I was writing today of the loftiest +summit of human history, all the while I breathed the purest +mountain air of thought, but within me it was and remains cloudy, +cobwebby, and there is a kind of cross-like, four-pawed X. Or +perhaps it is my paws and I feel like that only because they are +always before my eyes, my hairy paws. I don't like to talk about +them. I dislike them. They are a trace of a primitive epoch. Is it +possible that there is in me...? + +I wanted to strike out all this because it trespasses on the limits +of my synopsis. But then I decided: no, I shall not! Let this diary +give the curve of the most imperceptible vibrations of my brain, +like a precise seismograph, for at times such vibrations serve as +forewarnings.... Certainly this is absurd! This certainly should be +stricken out; we have conquered all the elements; catastrophes are +not possible any more. + +Now everything is clear to me. The peculiar feeling inside is a +result of that very same square situation of which I spoke in the +beginning. There is no X in me. There can be none. I am simply +afraid lest some X will be left in you, my unknown readers. I +believe you will understand that it is harder for me to write than +it ever was for any author throughout human history. Some of them +wrote for contemporaries, some for the future generations but +none of them ever wrote for their ancestors, or beings like their +primitive, distant ancestors. + + + + +RECORD SIX + + An Accident + The Cursed "It's Clear" + Twenty-four Hours + + +I must repeat, I made it my duty to write concealing nothing. +Therefore I must point out now that sad as it may be, the process +of hardening and crystallization of life has evidently not been +completed even here in our State. A few steps remain to be made +before we reach the ideal. The ideal (it's clear), is to be found +where nothing _happens_, but here.... I will give you an example: in +the State paper I read that in two days the holiday of Justice will +be celebrated on the Plaza of the Cube. This means that again some +Number has impeded the smooth run of the great State machine. Again +something that was not foreseen, or forecalculated _happened_. + +Besides, something _happened_ to me. True, it occurred during the +personal hour, that is during the time specifically assigned to +unforeseen circumstances, yet.... + +At about sixteen (to be exact, ten minutes to sixteen), I was at +home. Suddenly the telephone: "D-503?"--a woman's voice. + +"Yes." + +"Are you free?" + +"Yes." + +"It is I, I-330. I shall run over to you immediately. We shall go +together to the Ancient House. Agreed?" + +I-330!... This I- irritates me, repels me. She almost frightens me; +but just because of that I answered, "Yes." + +In five minutes we were in an aero. Blue sky of May. The light sun +in its golden aero buzzed behind us without catching up and without +lagging behind. Ahead of us a white cataract of a cloud. Yes, a +white cataract of a cloud nonsensically fluffy like the cheeks of +an ancient cupid. That cloud was disturbing. The front window was +open; it was windy; lips were dry. Against one's will one passed the +tongue constantly over them and thought about lips. + +Already we saw in the distance the hazy green spots on the other +side of the Wall. Then a slight involuntary sinking of the heart, +down--down--down, as if from a steep mountain, and we were at the +Ancient House. + +That strange, delicate, blind establishment is covered all around +with a glass shell, otherwise it would undoubtedly have fallen +to pieces long ago. At the glass door we found an old woman all +wrinkles, especially her mouth which was all made up of folds and +pleats. Her lips had disappeared, having folded inward; her mouth +seemed grown together. It seemed incredible that she should be able +to talk and yet she did: + +"Well, dear, come again to see my little house?" + +Her wrinkles shone, that is, her wrinkles diverged like rays, which +created the impression of shining. + +"Yes, grandmother," answered I-330. + +The wrinkles continued to shine. + +"And the sun, eh,--do you see it, you rogue, you! I know, I know. +It's all right. Go all by yourselves,--I shall remain here in the +sunshine." + +Hmm.... Apparently my companion was a frequent guest here. Something +disturbed me; probably that unpleasant optical impression,--the +cloud on the smooth blue surface of the sky. + +While we were ascending the wide, dark stairs, I-330 said, "I love +her, that old woman." + +"Why?" + +"I don't know. Perhaps for her mouth,--or perhaps for nothing, just +so." + +I shrugged my shoulders. She continued walking upstairs with a faint +smile or perhaps without a smile at all. + +I felt very guilty. It is clear that there must not be "love, just +so," but "love because of." For all elements of nature should be.... + +"It's clear ..." I began, but I stopped at that word and cast +a furtive look at I-330. Did she notice it or not? She looked +somewhere, down; her eyes were closed like curtains. + +It struck me suddenly: evening about twenty-two; you walk on the +avenue and among the brightly lighted, transparent, cubic cells, are +dark spaces, lowered curtains, and there behind the curtains.... +What has she behind her curtains? Why did she phone me today? Why +did she bring me here? and all this.... + +She opened a heavy, squeaking, opaque door and we found ourselves +in a sombre disorderly space (they called it an "apartment"). The +same strange "royal" musical instrument and a wild, unorganized, +crazy loudness of colors and forms like their ancient music. A white +plane above, dark blue walls, red, green, orange bindings of ancient +books, yellow bronze candelabras, a statue of Buddha, furniture +with lines distorted by epilepsy, impossible to reduce to any clear +equation. + +I could hardly bear that chaos. But my companion apparently +possessed a stronger constitution. + +"This is my most beloved--" she suddenly caught herself (again a +smile,--bite, and white sharp teeth), "to be more exact, the most +nonsensical of all 'apartments'." + +"Or to be most exact, of all the States. Thousands of microscopic +States, fighting eternal wars, pitiless like--" + +"Oh yes, it's clear," said I-330 with apparent sincerity. + +We passed through a room where we found a few small children's beds +(children in those days were also private property). Then more +rooms, glimmering mirrors, sombre closets, unbearably loud-colored +divans, an enormous "fireplace," a large mahogany bed. Our +contemporary beautiful, transparent, eternal glass was represented +here only by pitiful, delicate, tiny squares of windows. + +"And to think; here there was love 'just so'; they burned and +tortured themselves" (again the curtain of the eyes was lowered), +"What a stupid, uneconomical spending of human energy. Am I not +right?" + +She spoke as though reading my thoughts but in her smile there +remained always that irritating X. There behind the curtains +something was going on, I don't know what, but something that made +me lose my patience. I wanted to quarrel with her, to scream at her +(exactly, to scream), but I had to agree. It was impossible not to +agree. + +We stopped in front of a mirror. At that moment I saw only her eyes. +An idea came to me: human beings are built as nonsensically as these +stupid "apartments," human heads are opaque, and there are only two +very small windows that lead inside,--the eyes. She seemed to have +guessed my thoughts; she turned around: "Well, here they are, my +eyes,--well" (this suddenly, then silence). + +There were in front of me two gloomy dark windows and behind them +inside, such strange hidden life. I saw there only fire, burning +like a peculiar "fireplace" and unknown figures resembling.... + +All this was certainly very natural; I saw in her eyes the +reflection of my own face. But my feelings were unnatural and not +like me. Evidently the depressing influence of the surroundings was +beginning to tell on me. I felt definitely fear. I felt as if I were +trapped and caged in a strange cage. I felt that I was caught in the +wild hurricane of ancient life. + +"Do you know ..." said I-330, "step out for a moment into the next +room." Her voice came from there,--from inside, from behind the dark +window-eyes,--where the fireplace was blazing. + +I went out, sat down. From a shelf on the wall there looked +straight into my face, somewhat smiling, a snub-nosed, asymmetrical +physiognomy of one of the ancient poets; I think it was Pushkin. + +"Why do I sit here enduring this smile with such resignation and +what is this all about? Why am I here? And why all these strange +sensations, this irritating, repellent female, this strange game?" + +The door of the closet slammed; there was the rustle of silk. I +felt it difficult to restrain myself from getting up and, and.... I +don't remember exactly; probably I wanted to tell her a number of +disagreeable things. But she had already appeared. + +She was dressed in a short bright-yellowish dress, black hat, black +stockings. The dress was of light silk,--I saw clearly very long +black stockings above the knees, an uncovered neck and the shadow +between.... + +"It's clear that you want to seem original. But is it possible that +you--?" + +"It is clear," interrupted I-330, "that to be original means to +stand out among others; consequently to be original means to violate +the law of equality. What was called in the language of the ancients +'to be common' is with us only the fulfilling of one's duty. For--" + +"Yes, yes, exactly," I interrupted impatiently, "and there is no +use, no use...." + +She came near the bust of the snub-nosed poet, lowered the curtains +on the wild fire of her eyes and said, this time I think she was +really in earnest, or perhaps she merely wanted to soften my +impatience with her, but she said a very reasonable thing: + +"Don't you think it surprising that once people could stand types +like this? Not only stand them but worship them. What a slavish +spirit, don't you think so?" + +"It's clear ... that is...!" I wanted ... (damn that cursed "it's +clear!"). + +"Oh, yes, I understand. But in fact these were rulers stronger than +the crowned ones. Why were they not isolated and exterminated? In +our State--" + +"Oh, yes, in our State--" I began. + +Suddenly she laughed. I saw the laughter in her eyes. I saw the +resounding sharp curve of that laughter, flexible, tense like a +whip. I remember my whole body shivered. I thought of grasping her +... and I don't know what.... I had to do something, mattered little +what; automatically I looked at my golden badge, glanced at my +watch,--ten minutes to seventeen! + +"Don't you think it is time to go?" I said in as polite a tone as +possible. + +"And if I should ask you to stay here with me?" + +"What? Do you realize what you are saying? In ten minutes I must be +in the auditorium." + +"And 'all the Numbers must take the prescribed courses in art and +science'," said I-330 with my voice. + +Then she lifted the curtain, opened her eyes,--through the dark +windows the fire was blazing. + +"I have a physician in the Medical Bureau; he is registered to me; +if I ask him, he will give you a certificate declaring that you are +ill. All right?" + +Understood! At last I understood where this game was leading. + +"Ah, so! But you know that every honest Number as a matter of course +must immediately go to the office of the Guardians and--" + +"And as a matter not of course?" (Sharp smile-bite) "I am very +curious to know; will you or will you not go to the Guardians?" + +"Are you going to remain here?" + +I grasped the knob of the door. It was a brass knob, a cold, brass +knob and I heard, cold like brass, her voice: + +"Just a minute, may I?" + +She went to the telephone, called a Number,--I was so upset it +escaped me,--and spoke loudly: "I shall be waiting for you in the +Ancient House. Yes, yes, alone." + +I turned the cold brass knob. + +"May I take the aero?" + +"Oh yes, certainly, please!" + +In the sunshine at the gate the old woman was dozing like a plant. +Again I was surprised to see her grown-together mouth open, and to +hear her say: + +"And your lady, did she remain alone?" + +"Alone." + +The mouth of the old woman grew together again; she shook her head; +apparently even her weakening brain understood the stupidity and the +danger of the behaviour of that woman. + +At seventeen o'clock exactly, I was at the lecture. There I suddenly +realized that I did not tell the whole truth to the old woman. I-330 +was not there alone _now_. Possibly this fact, that I involuntarily +told the old woman a lie, was torturing me now and distracting my +attention. Yes, not alone,--that was the point. + +After twenty-one-thirty o'clock I had a free hour. I could therefore +have gone to the office of the Guardians to make my report; but +after that stupid adventure I was so tired--besides, the law +provides two days. I shall have time tomorrow; I have another +twenty-four hours. + + + + +RECORD SEVEN + + An Eyelash + Taylor + Henbane and Lily of the Valley + + +Night. Green, orange, blue. The red royal instrument. The yellow +dress. Then a brass Buddha. Suddenly it lifted the brass eyelids +and sap began to flow from it, from Buddha. Sap also from the yellow +dress. Even in the mirror,--drops of sap, and from the large bed +and from the children's bed and soon from myself.... It is horror, +mortally sweet horror!... + +I woke up. Soft blue light, the glass of the walls, of the chairs, +of the table was glimmering. This calmed me. My heart stopped +palpitating. Sap! Buddha! How absurd! I am sick, it is clear; I +never saw dreams before. They say that to see dreams was a common +normal thing with the ancients. Yes, after all, their life was a +whirling carousel: green, orange, Buddha, sap,--but we, people +of today, we know all too well that dreaming is a serious mental +disease. I.... Is it possible that _my_ brain, this precise, clean, +glittering mechanism, like a chronometer without a speck of dust on +it, is...? Yes it is, now. I really feel there in the brain some +foreign body like an eyelash in the eye. One does not feel one's +whole body but this eye with a hair in it, one cannot forget it for +a second.... + +The cheerful, crystalline sound of the bell at my head. Seven +o'clock. Time to get up. To the right and to the left as in mirrors, +to the right and to the left through the glass walls I see others +like myself, other rooms like my own, other clothes like my own, +movements like mine, duplicated thousands of times. This invigorates +me; I see myself as a part of an enormous, vigorous, united body; +and what precise beauty! Not a single superfluous gesture, or bow, +or turn. Yes, this Taylor was undoubtedly the greatest genius of the +ancients. True, he did not come to the idea of applying his method +to the whole life, to every step throughout the twenty-four hours of +the day; he was unable to integrate his system from one o'clock to +twenty-four. I cannot understand the ancients. How could they write +whole libraries about some Kant and take notice only slightly of +Taylor, of this prophet who saw ten centuries ahead? + +Breakfast was over. The hymn of the United State had been +harmoniously sung; rhythmically, four abreast we walked to +the elevators, the motors buzzed faintly and swiftly we went +down--down--down, the heart sinking slightly. Again that stupid +dream or some unknown function of that dream. Oh, yes! Yesterday in +the aero, then down--down! Well, it is all over, anyhow. Period. It +is very fortunate that I was so firm and brusque with her. + +The car of the underground railway carried me swiftly to the place +where the motionless, beautiful body of the _Integral_, not yet +spiritualized by fire, was glittering in the docks in the sunshine. +With closed eyes I dreamed in formulae. Again I calculated in +my mind what was the initial velocity required to tear away the +_Integral_ from the earth. Every second the mass of the _Integral_ +would change because of the expenditure of the explosive fuel. The +equation was very complex with transcendant figures. As in a dream +I felt, right here in the firm calculated world, how someone sat +down at my side, barely touching me and saying, "Pardon." I opened +my eyes. At first, apparently because of an association with the +_Integral_, I saw something impetuously flying into the distance: a +head; I saw pink wing-ears sticking out on the sides of it, then the +curve of the overhanging back of the head, the double-curved letter +S. + +Through the glass walls of my algebraic world, again I felt the +eyelash in my eye. I felt something disagreeable, I felt that today +I must.... + +"Certainly, please,"--I smiled at my neighbor and bowed. + +Number S-4711 I saw glittering on his golden badge (that is why I +associated him with the letter S from the very first moment: an +optical impression which remained unregistered by consciousness). +His eyes sparkled, two sharp little drills; they were revolving +swiftly, drilling in deeper and deeper. It seemed that in a moment +they would drill in to the bottom and would see something that I do +not even dare to confess to myself.... + +That bothersome eyelash became wholly clear to me. S- was one of +them, one of the Guardians, and it would be the simplest thing +immediately, without deferring to tell him everything! + +"I went yesterday to the Ancient House ..." my voice was strange, +husky, flat,--I tried to cough. + +"That is good. It must have given you material for some instructive +deductions." + +"Yes ... but ... You see, I was not alone; I was in the company of +I-330, and then...." + +"I-330? You are fortunate. She is a very interesting, gifted woman; +she has a host of admirers." + +But he too--then during the promenade.... Perhaps he is even +assigned as her he-Number! No, it is impossible to tell him, +unthinkable. This was perfectly clear. + +"Yes, yes, certainly, very," I smiled, broader and broader, more +stupidly, and felt as if my smile made me look foolish, naked. + +The drills reached the bottom; revolving continually they screwed +themselves back into his eyes. S- smiled double-curvedly, nodded and +slid to the exit. + +I covered my face with the newspaper (I felt as if everybody were +looking at me), and soon I forgot about the eyelash, about the +little drills, about everything, I was so upset by what I read +in the paper: "According to authentic information, traces of an +organization which still remains out of reach, have again been +discovered. This organization aims at liberation from the beneficial +yoke of the State." + +Liberation! It is remarkable how persistent human criminal instincts +are! I use deliberately the word "criminal," for freedom and crime +are as closely related as--well, as the movement of an aero and its +speed: if the speed of an aero equals zero, the aero is motionless; +if human liberty is equal to zero, man does not commit any crime. +That is clear. The way to rid man of criminality is to rid him of +freedom. No sooner did we rid ourselves of freedom (in the cosmic +sense centuries are only a "no sooner"), than suddenly some unknown +pitiful degenerates.... No, I cannot understand why I did not go +immediately yesterday to the Bureau of the Guardians. Today, after +sixteen o'clock, I shall go there without fail. + +At sixteen-ten I was in the street; at once I noticed O-90 at the +corner; she was all rosy with delight at the encounter. She has a +simple, round mind. A timely meeting; she would understand and lend +me support. Or, ... no, I did not need any support; my decision was +firm. + +The pipes of the Musical Tower thundered out harmoniously the +March--the same daily March. How wonderful the charm of this +dailiness, of this constant repetition and mirror-like smoothness! + +"Out for a walk?" Her round blue eyes opened toward me widely, blue +windows leading inside; I penetrate there unhindered; there is +nothing in there, I mean nothing foreign, nothing superfluous. + +"No, not for a walk. I must go." I told her where. And to my +astonishment I saw her rosy round mouth form a crescent with the +horns downward as if she tasted something sour. This angered me. + +"You she-Numbers seem to be incurably eaten up by prejudices. You +are absolutely unable to think abstractly. Forgive me the word but +this I call bluntness of mind." + +"You? ... to the spies? How ugly! And I went to the Botanical Garden +and brought you a branch of lily-of-the-valley...." + +"Why, 'and I'? Why this 'and'? Just like a woman!" + +Angrily (this I must confess), I snatched the flowers. "Here they +are, your lilies-of-the-valley. Well, smell them! Good? Yes? Why not +use a little bit of logic? The lilies-of-the-valley smell good; all +right! But you cannot say about an odor, about the conception of an +odor, that it _is_ good or bad, can you? You can't, can you? There +is the smell of lilies-of-the-valley and there is the disagreeable +smell of henbane. Both are odors. The ancient States had their +spies; we have ours ... yes, spies! I am not afraid of words. But +is it not clear to you that there the spies were henbane; here they +are lilies-of-the-valley? Yes, lilies-of-the-valley, yes!" + +The rosy crescent quivered. Now I understand that it was only my +impression but at that moment I was certain she was going to laugh. +I shouted still louder: + +"Yes, lilies-of-the-valley! And there is nothing funny about it, +nothing funny!" + +The smooth round globes of heads passing by were turning towards us. +O-90 gently took my hand. + +"You are so strange today ... are you ill?" + +My dream.... Yellow color.... Buddha.... It was at once born clearly +upon me that I must go to the Medical Bureau. + +"Yes, you are right, I am sick," I said with joy (that seems to +me an inexplicable contradiction; there was nothing to be joyful +about). + +"You must go at once to the doctor. You understand that; you are +obliged to be healthy; it seems strange to have to prove it to you." + +"My dear O-, of course you are right. Absolutely right." + +I did not go to the Bureau of the Guardians; I could not; I had +to go to the Medical Bureau; they kept me there until seventeen +o'clock. + +In the evening (incidentally, the Bureau of Guardians is closed +evenings)--in the evening O- came to see me. The curtains were not +lowered. We busied ourselves with the arithmetical problems of an +ancient text-book. This occupation always calms and purifies our +thoughts. O- sat over her note book, her head slightly inclined +to the left; she was so assiduous that she poked out her left +cheek with the tongue from within. She looked so child-like, so +charming.... I felt everything in me was pleasant, precise and +simple. + +She left. I remained alone. I breathed deeply two times (it is +very good exercise before retiring for the night). Suddenly,--an +unexpected odor reminiscent of something very disagreeable! I soon +found out what was the matter: a branch of lily-of-the-valley +was hidden in my bed. Immediately everything was aroused again, +came up from the bottom. Decidedly, it was tactless on her part +surreptitiously to put these lilies-of-the-valley there. Well, true +I did not go; I didn't, but was it my fault that I felt indisposed? + + + + +RECORD EIGHT + + An Irrational Root + R-13 + The Triangle + + +It was long ago during my school-days, when I first encountered the +square-root of minus one. I remember it all very clearly; a bright +globe-like class hall, about a hundred round heads of children +and Plappa--our mathematician. We nicknamed him Plappa; it was +a very much used-up mathematician, loosely screwed together; as +the member of the class who was on duty that day would be putting +the plug into the socket behind we would hear at first from the +megaphone, "Plap-plap-plap-plap--tshshsh...." Only then the lesson +would follow. One day Plappa told us about irrational numbers, and +I remember I wept and banged the table with my fist and cried, "I +do not want that square-root of minus one; take that square-root +of minus one away!" This irrational root grew into me as something +strange, foreign, terrible; it tortured me; it could not be thought +out. It could not be defeated because it was beyond reason. + +Now that square-root of minus one is here again. I read over what +I have written and I clearly see that I was insincere with myself, +that I lied to myself in order to avoid seeing that square-root of +minus one. My sickness, etc., is all nonsense; _I could go there_. I +feel sure that if such a thing had happened a week ago I should have +gone without hesitating. Why then am I unable to go now?... Why? + +Today, for instance, at exactly sixteen-ten I stood before the +glittering Glass Wall. Above was the shining, golden, sun-like sign: +"Bureau of Guardians." Inside, a long queue of bluish-gray unifs +awaiting their turns, faces shining like the oil lamps in an ancient +temple. They came to accomplish a great thing: they came to put on +the altar of the United State their beloved ones, their friends, +their own selves. My whole being craved to join them, yet ... I +could not; my feet were as though melted into the glass plates of +the sidewalk. I simply stood there looking foolish. + +"Heh, mathematician! Dreaming?" + +I shivered. Black eyes varnished with laughter looked at me,--thick +negro lips! It was my old friend the poet, R-13, and with him rosy +O-. I turned around angrily (I still believe that if they had +not appeared I should have entered the Bureau and have torn the +square-root of minus one out of my flesh). + +"Not dreaming at all; if you will, 'standing in adoration'," I +retorted quite brusquely. + +"Oh, certainly, certainly! You, my friend, should never have become +a mathematician; you should have become a poet, a great poet! Yes, +come over to our trade, to the poets. Heh? If you will, I can +arrange it in a jiffy. Heh?" + +R-13 usually talks very fast: His words run in torrents, his thick +lips sprinkle. Every P is a fountain, every "poets" a fountain. + +"So far I have served knowledge, and I shall continue to serve +knowledge." + +I frowned. I do not like, I do not understand jokes, and R-13 has +the bad habit of joking. + +"Heh, to the deuce with knowledge. Your much-heralded knowledge is +but a form of cowardice. It is a fact! Yes, you want to encircle the +infinite with a wall and you fear to cast a glance behind the wall. +Yes, sir! And if ever you should glance beyond the wall you would be +dazzled and close your eyes,--yes,--" + +"Walls are the foundation of every human--" I began. + +R-13 sprinkled his fountain. O- laughed rosily and roundly. I +waved my hand: "Well, you may laugh, I don't care." I was busy +with something else. I had to find a way of eating up, of crushing +down, that square-root of minus one. "Suppose," I offered, "we go +to my place and do some arithmetical problems." (The quiet hour of +yesterday afternoon came to my memory; perhaps today also....) + +O- glanced at R-, then serenely and roundly at me; the soft, +endearing color of our pink checks came to her cheeks. + +"But today I am.... I have a check to him today." (A glance at R-.) +"And tonight he is busy, so that--" + +The moist varnished lips whispered good-naturedly: "Half an hour +is plenty for us, is it not, O-? I am not a great lover of your +problems; let us simply go over to my place and chat." + +I was afraid to remain alone with myself, or to be more correct, +with that new strange self, who by some curious coincidence bore +my number, D-503. So I went with R-. True, he is not precise, +not rhythmic, his logic is jocular and turned inside out, yet we +are.... Three years ago we both chose our dear, rosy O-. This tied +our friendship more firmly together than our school-days did. In +R-'s room everything seems like mine; the Tables, the glass of the +chairs, the table, the closet, the bed. But as we entered, R- moved +one chair out of place, then another,--the room became confused, +everything lost the established order and seemed to violate every +rule of Euclid's geometry. R- remained the same as before; in Taylor +and in mathematics he always lagged at the tail of the class. + +We recalled Plappa, how we boys used to paste the whole surface +of his glass legs with paper notes expressing our thanks (we all +loved Plappa). We recalled our priest (it goes without saying that +we were taught not the "law" of ancient religion but the law of +the United State). Our priest had a very powerful voice; a real +hurricane would come out of the megaphone. And we children would +yell the prescribed texts after him with all our lung-power. We +recalled how our scapegrace, R-13, used to stuff the priest with +chewed paper; every word was thus accompanied by a paper wad shot +out. Naturally, R- was punished, for what he did was undoubtedly +wrong, but now we laughed heartily;--by we I mean our triangle, R-, +O-, and I, I must confess, I too. + +"And what if he had been a living one? Like the ancient ones, heh?" +We'd have b... b..., a fountain running from the fat bubbling lips. +The sun was shining through the ceiling, the sun above, the sun from +the sides, its reflection from below. O- on R-13's lap and minute +drops of sunlight in O-'s blue eyes. Somehow my heart warmed up. The +square-root of minus one became silent and motionless.... + +"Well, how is your _Integral_? Will you soon hop off to enlighten +the inhabitants of the planets? You'd better hurry up, my boy, or +we poets will have produced such a devilish lot that even your +_Integral_ will be unable to lift the cargo. 'Every day from eight +to eleven' ..." R- wagged his head and scratched the back of it. +The back of his head is square; it looks like a little valise (I +recalled for some reason an ancient painting "In the Cab"). I felt +more lively. + +"You too are writing for the _Integral_? Tell me about it. What are +you writing about? What did you write today, for instance?" + +"Today I did not write; today I was busy with something else." +"B-b-busy" sprinkled straight into my face. + +"What else?" + +R- frowned. "What? What? Well, if you insist I'll tell you. I was +busy with the Death Sentence. I was putting the Death Sentence into +verse. An idiot--and to be frank, one of our poets.... For two +years we all lived side by side with him and nothing seemed wrong. +Suddenly he went crazy. 'I,' said he, 'am a genius! And I am above +the law.' All that sort of nonsense.... But it is not a thing to +talk about." + +The fat lips hung down. The varnish disappeared from the eyes. He +jumped up, turned around and stared through the wall. I looked at +his tightly closed little "valise" and thought, "What is he handling +in his little valise now?" + +A moment of awkward asymmetric silence. I could not see clearly what +was the matter but I was certain there was something.... + +"Fortunately the antediluvian time of those Shakespeares and +Dostoyevskis (or what were their names?) is past," I said in a voice +deliberately loud. + +R- turned his face to me. Words sprinkled and bubbled out of him as +before, but I thought I noticed there was no more joyful varnish to +his eyes. + +"Yes, dear mathematician, fortunately, fortunately. We are the happy +arithmetical mean. As you would put it, the integration from zero to +infinity, from imbeciles to Shakespeare. Do I put it right?" + +I do not know why (it seemed to me absolutely uncalled for) I +recalled suddenly the other one, _her_ tone. A thin invisible +thread stretched between her and R- (what thread?). The square-root +of minus one began to bother me again. I glanced at my badge; +sixteen-twenty-five o'clock! They had only thirty-five minutes for +the use of the pink check. + +"Well, I must go." I kissed O-, shook hands with R- and went to the +elevator. + +As I crossed the avenue I turned around. Here and there in the +huge mass of glass penetrated by sunshine there were grayish-blue +squares, the opaque squares of lowered curtains,--the squares of +rhythmic, Taylorized happiness. On the seventh floor I found R-13's +square. The curtains were already lowered. + +Dear O-.... Dear R-.... He also has (I do not know why I write this +"also," but I write as it comes from my pen), he too has something +which is not entirely clear in him. Yet I, he and O-, we are a +triangle; I confess, not an isosceles triangle but a triangle +nevertheless. We, to speak in the language of our ancestors (perhaps +to you, my planetary readers, this is the more comprehensible +language) we are a family. And one feels so good at times, when one +is able for a short while, at least, to close oneself within a firm +triangle, to close oneself away from anything that.... + + + + +RECORD NINE + + Liturgy + Iambus + The Cast-Iron Hand + + +A solemn bright day. On such days one forgets one's weaknesses, +inexactitudes, illnesses, and everything is crystalline and +imperturbable like our new glass.... + +The Plaza of the Cube. Sixty-six imposing concentric circles--stands. +Sixty-six rows of quiet serene faces. Eyes reflecting the shining +of the sky,--or perhaps it is the shining of the United State. +Red like blood, are the flowers--the lips of the women. Like soft +garlands the faces of the children in the first rows, nearest the +place of action. Profound, austere, gothic silence. + +To judge by the descriptions which reach us from the ancients, +they felt somewhat like this during their "Church services," but +they served their nonsensical unknown god; we serve our rational +god, whom we most thoroughly know. Their god gave them nothing but +eternal, torturing seeking; our god gives us absolute truth, that +is, he has rid us of any kind of doubt. Their god did not invent +anything cleverer than sacrificing oneself, nobody knows what for; +we bring to our god, The United State, a quiet, rational, carefully +thought-out sacrifice. + +Yes, it was a solemn liturgy for the United State, a reminiscence of +the great days, years, of the Two Hundred Years' War,--a magnificent +celebration of the victory of _all_ over _one_, of the _sum_ over +the individual! + +That _one_ stood on the steps of the Cube which was filled with +sunlight. A white, no not even white, but already colorless glass +face, lips of glass. And only the eyes--thirsty, swallowing, black +holes leading into that dreadful world from which he was only a few +minutes away. The golden badge with the number already had been +taken off. His hands were tied with a red ribbon. (A symbol of +ancient custom. The explanation of it is that in the old times when +this sort of thing was not done in the name of the United State, the +convicted naturally considered that they had the right to resist, +hence their hands were usually bound with chains.) + +On the top of the Cube, next to the Machine, the motionless, +metallic figure of him whom we call the Well-Doer. One could not see +his face from below. All one could see was that it was bounded by +austere, magnificent, square lines. And his hands.... Did you ever +notice how sometimes in a photograph the hands, if they were too +near the camera, come out enormous? They then compel your attention, +overshadow everything else. Those hands of his, heavy hands, quiet +for the time being, were stony hands,--it seemed the knees on which +they rested must have had pains to bear their weight. + +Suddenly one of those hands rose slowly. A slow cast-iron gesture; +obeying the will of the lifted hand, a Number came out on the +platform. It was one of the State poets, whose fortunate lot it was +to crown our celebration with his verses. + +Divine iambic brass verses thundered over the many stands. They +dealt with the man, who, his reason lost and lips like glass, stood +on the steps and waited for the logical consequences of his own +insane deeds. + +... A blaze.... Buildings were swaying in those iambic lines, and +sprinkling upward their liquified golden substance, they broke and +fell. The green trees were scorched, their sap slowly ran out and +they remained standing like black crosses, like skeletons. Then +appeared Prometheus (that meant _us_). + + "... he harnessed fire + With machines and steel + And fettered chaos with Law...." + +The world was renovated; it became like steel,--a sun of steel, +trees of steel, men of steel. Suddenly an insane man, "Unchained +the fire and set it free," and again the world had perished.... +Unfortunately I have a bad memory for poetry, but one thing I am +sure of: one could not choose more instructive or more beautiful +parables. + +Another slow, heavy gesture of the cast-iron hand and another poet +appeared on the steps of the Cube. I stood up! Impossible! But ... +thick negro lips,--it _was_ he. Why did he not tell me that he was +to be invested with such high.... His lips trembled; they were gray. +Oh, I certainly understood; to be face to face with the Well-Doer, +face to face with the hosts of Guardians! Yet one should not allow +oneself to be so upset. + +Swift sharp verses like an axe.... They told about an unheard-of +crime, about sacrilegious poems in which the Well-Doer was +called.... But no, I do not dare to repeat.... + +R-13 was pale when he finished, and looking at no one (I did not +expect such bashfulness of him) he descended and sat down. For +an infinitesimal fraction of a second I saw right beside him +somebody's face--a sharp, black triangle--and instantly I lost it; +my eyes, thousands of eyes, were directed upward toward the Machine. +Then--again the superhuman, cast-iron, gesture of the hand. + +Swayed by an unknown wind the criminal moved; one step ... one more, +... then the last step in his life. His face was turned to the sky, +his head thrown backward--he was on his last.-- ... Heavy, stony +like fate, the Well-Doer went around the machine, put his enormous +hand on the lever.... Not a whisper, not a breath around; all eyes +were upon that hand.... What crushing, scorching power one must feel +to be the tool, to be the resultant of hundreds of thousands of +wills! How great his lot! + +Another second. The hand moved down, switching in the current. The +lightning-sharp blade of the electric ray.... A faint crack like +a shiver, in the tubes of the Machine.... The prone body, covered +with a light phosphorescent smoke; then suddenly, under the eyes of +all, it began to melt,--to melt, to dissolve with terrible speed. +And then nothing; just a pool of chemically pure water which only a +moment ago was so red and pulsated in his heart.... + +All this was simple; all of us were familiar with the phenomenon, +dissociation of matter,--yes, the splitting of the atoms of the +human body! Yet every time we witnessed it, it seemed a miracle; it +was a symbol of the superhuman power of the Well-Doer. + +Above, in front of Him, the burning faces of the female numbers, +mouths half open from emotion, flowers swaying in the wind.[2] +According to custom, ten women were covering with flowers the +unif of the Well-Doer, which was still wet with spray. With the +magnificent step of a supreme priest He slowly descended, slowly +passed between the rows of stands; and like tender white branches +there rose toward Him the arms of the women; and, millions like +one, our tempestuous cheers! Then cheers in honor of the Guardians, +who all unseen, were present among us.... Who knows, perhaps the +fancy of the ancient man foresaw them centuries ahead, when he +created the gentle and formidable "guardian-angels" assigned to each +one from the day of his birth? + +[2] These flowers naturally were brought from the Botanical Museum. +I, personally, am unable to see anything beautiful in flowers, or +in anything else that belongs to the lower kingdom which now exists +only beyond the Green Wall. Only rational and useful things are +beautiful: machines, boots, formulae, food, etc. + +Yes, there was in our celebration something of the ancient +religions, something purifying like a storm.... You whose lot it may +be to read this, are you familiar with such emotions? I am sorry for +you if you are not. + + + + +RECORD TEN + + A Letter + A Manhunt + Hairy I + + +Yesterday was for me a kind of filter-paper which chemists use for +filtering their solutions (all suspended and superfluous particles +remain on the paper). This morning I went downstairs all purified +and distilled, transparent. + +Downstairs in the hall the controller sat at a small table, +constantly looking at her watch and recording the Numbers who were +leaving. Her name is U- ... well, I prefer not to give her Number, +for I fear I may not write kindly about her. Although, as a matter +of fact, she is a very respectable, mature woman. The only thing I +do not like in her is that her cheeks fold down a little like gills +of a fish (although I do not see anything wrong in this appearance). +She scratched with her pen and I saw on the page "D-503"--and +suddenly, splash! an ink-blot. No sooner did I open my mouth to call +her attention to that, than she raised her head and blotted me with +an inky smile. "There is a letter for you. You will receive it, +dear. Yes, yes, you will." + +I knew a letter, after she had read it, must go through the Bureau +of the Guardians (I think it is unnecessary to explain in detail +this natural order of things); I would receive it not later than +twelve o'clock. But that tiny smile confused me; the drop of ink +clouded the transparency of the distilled solution. At the dock of +the _Integral_ I could not concentrate; I even made a mistake in my +calculations,--that never happened to me before. + +At twelve o'clock, again the rosy-brown fish-gills' smile, and at +last the letter was in my hands. I cannot say why I did not read +it right there, but I put it in my pocket and ran into my room. +I opened it and glanced it over and ... and sat down. It was the +official notification advising me that Number I-330 had had me +assigned to her and that today at twenty-one o'clock, I was to go to +her. Her address was given. + +"No! After all that happened! After I showed her frankly my attitude +toward her! Besides, how could she know that I did not go to the +Bureau of the Guardians? She had no way of knowing that I was ill +and could not.... And despite all this...." + +A dynamo was whirling and buzzing in my head. Buddha ... yellow +... lilies-of-the-valley ... rosy crescent.... Besides,--besides, +O- wanted to come to see me today! I am sure she would not believe +(how could one believe), that I had absolutely nothing to do with +the matter, that ... I am sure also that we (O- and I) will have +a difficult, foolish and absolutely illogical conversation. No, +anything but that! Let the situation solve itself mechanically; I +shall send her a copy of this official communication. + +While I was hastily putting the paper in my pocket, I noticed my +terrible ape-like hand. I remembered how that day during our walk, +she took my hand and looked at it. Is it possible that she really +... that she.... + +A quarter to twenty-one. A white northern night. Everything was +glass,--greenish. But it was a different kind of glass, not like +ours, not genuine but very breakable,--a thin glass shell and within +that shell things were flying, whirling, buzzing. I should not have +been surprised if suddenly the cupola of the auditorium had risen in +slow, rolling clouds of smoke; or if the ripe moon had sent an inky +smile,--like that one at the little table this morning; or if in all +the houses suddenly all the curtains had been lowered and behind the +curtains.... + +I felt something peculiar; my ribs were like iron bars that +interfered, decidedly interfered, with my heart, giving it too +little space. I stood at a glass door on which were the golden +letters _I-330_; I-330 sat at the table with her back to me; she was +writing something. I stepped in. + +"Here...." I held out the pink check, "... I received the +notification this noon and here I am!" + +"How punctual you are! Just a minute please, may I? Sit down. I +shall finish in a minute." + +She lowered her eyes to the letter. What had she there, behind her +lowered curtains? What would she say? What would she do in a second? +How to learn it? How to calculate it, since she comes from beyond, +from the wild ancient land of dreams? I looked at her in silence. +My ribs were iron bars. The space for the heart was too small.... +When she speaks her face is like a swiftly revolving, glittering +wheel; you cannot see the separate bars. But at that moment the +wheel was motionless. I saw a strange combination: dark eyebrows +running right to the temples--a sharp, mocking triangle; and still +another dark triangle with its apex upward--two deep wrinkles from +the nose to the angles of the mouth. And these two triangles somehow +contradicted each other. They gave the whole face that disagreeable, +irritating X, or cross; a face obliquely marked by a cross. + +The wheel started to turn; its bars blurred. + +"So you did not go to the Bureau of Guardians after all?" + +"I did ... I did not feel well ... I could not." + +"Yes? I thought so; something _must_ have prevented you, matters +little what (sharp teeth--a smile). But now you are in my hands. You +remember: 'Any Number who within forty-eight hours fails to report +to the Bureau is considered....'" + +My heart banged so forcibly that the iron bars bent. If I were +not sitting ... like a little boy, how stupid! I was caught like +a little boy and stupidly I kept silent. I felt I was in a net; +neither my legs nor my arms.... + +She stood up and stretched herself lazily. She pressed the button +and the curtains on all four walls fell with a slight rustle. I was +cut off from the rest of the world, alone with her. + +She was somewhere behind me, near the closet door. The unif +was rustling, falling. I was listening, _all_ listening. I +remembered,--no, it glistened in my mind for one hundredth of a +second,--I once had to calculate the curve of a street membrane +of a new type. (These membranes are handsomely decorated and are +placed on all the avenues, registering all street conversations for +the Bureau of Guardians.) I remembered a rosy concave, trembling +membrane,--a strange being consisting of one organ only, an ear. I +was at that moment such a membrane. + +Now the "click" of the snap-button at her collar, at her breast, and +... lower. The glassy silk rustled over her shoulders and knees, +over the floor. I heard--and this was clearer than actual seeing--I +heard how one foot stepped out of the grayish-blue heap of silk, +then the other.... Soon I'd hear the creak of the bed and ... + +The tensely stretched membrane trembled and registered the +silence,--no, the sharp hammer-like blows of the heart against the +iron bars and endless pauses between beats. And I heard, saw, how +she, behind me hesitated for a second, thinking. The door of the +closet.... It slammed; again silk ... silk.... + +"Well, all right." + +I turned around. She was dressed in a saffron-yellow dress of an +ancient style. This was a thousand times worse than if she had not +been dressed at all. Two sharp points, through the thin tissue +glowing with rosiness, two burning embers piercing through ashes; +two tender, round knees.... + +She was sitting in a low armchair. In front of her on a small square +table, I noticed a bottle filled with something poisonously green +and two small glasses on thin legs. In the corner of her mouth she +had a very thin paper tube; she was ejecting smoke formed by the +burning of that ancient smoking substance whose name I do not now +remember. + +The membrane was still vibrating. Within the sledge-hammer was +pounding the red-hot iron bars of my chest. I heard distinctly every +blow of the hammer, and ... what if she too heard it? + +But she continued to produce smoke very calmly; calmly she looked at +me; and nonchalantly she flicked ashes on the pink check! + +With as much self-control as possible I asked, "If you still feel +that way, why did you have me assigned to you? And why did you make +me come here?" + +As if she had not heard at all, she poured some of the green liquid +from the bottle into a small glass and sipped it. + +"Wonderful liqueur! Want some?" + +Then I understood; alcohol! Like lightning there came to memory what +I saw yesterday: the stony hand of the Well-Doer, the unbearable +blade of the electric ray; there on the Cube, the head thrown +backward, the stretched-out body! I shivered. + +"Please listen," I said, "You know, do you not, that any one who +poisons himself with nicotine, more particularly with alcohol, is +severely treated by the United State?" + +Dark brows raised high to the temples, the sharp mocking triangle. + +"'It is more reasonable to annihilate a few than to allow many to +poison themselves.... And degeneration,' ... etc.... This is true to +the point of indecency." + +"Indecency?" + +"Yes. To let out into the street such a group of bald-headed naked +little truths. Only imagine please. Imagine, say, that persistent +admirer of mine, S-, well, you know him. Then imagine: if he should +discard the deception of clothes and appear in public in his true +form ... oh!" She laughed. But I clearly saw her lower, sorrowful +triangle; two deep grooves from the nose to the mouth. And for +some reason these grooves made me think: that double-curved being, +half-hunched, with wing-like ears,--he embraced her? her, such ... +Oh! + +Naturally, I try now merely to express my abnormal feelings of that +moment. Now, as I write, I understand perfectly that all this is as +it should be; that he, S-4711, like any other honest Number has a +perfect right to the joys of life and that it would be unjust.... +But I think the point is quite clear. + +I-330 laughed a long, strange laugh. Then she cast a look at me, +into me. + +"The most curious thing is that I am not in the least afraid of you. +You are such a dear, I am sure of it! You would never think of going +to the Bureau and reporting that I drink liqueurs and smoke. You +will be sick or busy, or I don't know what.... Furthermore, I am +sure you will drink this charming poison with me." + +What an impertinent, mocking tone! I felt definitely that in a +moment I should hate her. (Why in a moment? In fact I hated her all +the time.) + +I-330 turned over the little glass of green poison straight into +her mouth. Then she stood up, and all rosy through the translucent +saffron-yellow tissue, she made a few steps and stopped behind my +chair.... Suddenly her arms were about my neck ... her lips grew +into mine, no, even somewhere much deeper, much more terribly.... I +swear all this was very unexpected for me. That is why perhaps ... +for I could not (at this moment I see clearly) I could not myself +have the desire to.... + +Unbearably sweet lips. (I suppose it was the taste of the liqueur.) +It was as though burning poison were being poured into me, and more +and more.... + +I tore away from the earth and began revolving as an independent +planet,--down--down--following an uncalculable curve.... + +What happened next I am able to describe only in an approximate way, +only by way of more or less corresponding analogies. + +It never occurred to me before but it is true: we who live on the +earth, we are always walking over a seething red sea of fire which +is hidden in the womb of the earth. We never think of it. But +imagine the ground under our feet suddenly transformed into a thin +glass shell; suddenly we should behold...! + +I became glass-like and saw within myself. There were two selves in +me. One, the former D-503, Number D-503; and the other.... Before, +that other used only to show his hairy paws from time to time, but +now the whole other self left his shell. That shell was breaking, +and in a moment.... + +Grasping with all my strength the last straw (the arms of the +chair), I asked loudly (so as to hear my first self), "Where, where +did you get this poison?" + +"Oh, this? A physician, one of my...." + +"'One of my! one of my' what?" And my other self jumped up suddenly +and yelled: "I won't allow it! I want no one but me.... I shall +kill any one who.... Because I.... You." ... I saw my other self +grasp her rudely with his hairy paws, tear the silk, and put his +teeth in her flesh!... I remember exactly, his teeth!... + +I do not remember how, but I-330 slipped away and I saw her +straightened, her head raised high, her eyes overlain by that cursed +impenetrable curtain. She stood leaning with her back against the +closet door and listening to me. + +I remember I was on the floor; I embraced her limbs, kissed her +knees and cried supplicatingly, "At once, right away, right away." + +Sharp teeth.... The sharp mocking triangle of the brows.... She bent +over and in silence unbuttoned my badge. + +"Yes, yes, dear--dear." + +I began hastily to remove my unif. But I-330, silent as before, +lifted my badge to my eyes, showing me the clock upon it. It was +twenty-two-twenty-five. + +I became cold. I knew what it meant to be out in the street after +twenty-two-thirty. My insanity disappeared at once. I was again +I. I saw clearly one thing: I hated her, hated her, hated-- ... +Without saying good-bye, without looking back, I ran out of the +room. Hurriedly trying to fasten the badge back in its place, I +ran down the stairs (I was afraid lest some one notice me in the +elevator), and jumped out into a deserted street. + +Everything was in its place; life so simple, ordinary, orderly. +Glittering glass houses, pale glass sky, a greenish, motionless +night. But under that cool glass something wild, something red +and hairy, was silently seething. I was gasping for breath but I +continued to run, so as not to be late. + +Suddenly I felt that my badge which I had hurriedly pinned on, was +detaching itself; it came off and fell to the sidewalk. I bent +over to pick it up and in the momentary silence I heard somebody's +steps. I turned. Someone small and hunched was disappearing around +the corner. At least so it seemed. I started to run as fast as I +could. The wind whistled in my ears. At the entrance of my house I +stopped and looked at the clock; one minute to twenty-two-thirty! I +listened; nobody behind. It was my foolish imagination, the effect +of the poison. + +The night was full of torture. My bed seemed to lift itself under +me, then to fall again, then up again! I used autosuggestion: "At +night all the Numbers must sleep; sleeping at night is a duty just +like working during the day. To sleep at night is necessary for the +next day's work. Not to sleep at night is criminal." Yet I could +not sleep--I could not. I was perishing! I was unable to fulfill my +duties to the United State! I.... + + + + +RECORD ELEVEN + +No, I Can't; Let It Be without Headings! + + +Evening. It is somewhat foggy. The sky is covered with a +milky-golden tissue, and one cannot see what is there, beyond, +on the heights. The ancients "knew" that the greatest, bored +skeptic--their God, lived there. We know that crystalline, blue, +naked, indecent Nothing is there. _I_ do not know any more what +_is_ there. I have learned too many things of late. Knowledge, +self-confident knowledge which is sure that it is faultless, is +faith. I had firm faith in myself; I believed that I knew all about +myself. But then.... I look in the mirror. And for the first time +in my life, yes, _for the first time in my life_, I see clearly, +precisely, consciously and with surprise, I see myself as some +"him!" I am "he." Frowning, black, straight brows; between them +like a scar, there is a vertical wrinkle. (Was there that wrinkle +before?) Steel gray eyes encircled by the shadow of a sleepless +night. And behind that steel ... I understand; I never before knew +what there was behind that steel. From there (this "there" is at +once so near and so infinitely distant!) I look at myself--at "him." +And I know surely that "he" with his straight brows is a stranger, +that I meet him here for the first time in my life. The real I is +_not_ he. + +No. Period. All this is nonsense. And all these foolish emotions are +only delirium, the result of last night's poisoning.... Poisoning +with what? With a sip of that green poison or with her? It matters +little. I write all this merely in order to demonstrate how +strangely the precise and sharp human reason may become confused. +This reason, strong enough to make infinity which the ancients +feared so much, understandable by means of.... The switch buzzes, +"Number R-13." Well, I am even glad; alone I should.... + +_Twenty minutes later_: + +On the plane of this paper, in a world of two dimensions, these +lines follow each other, but in another world they.... I am losing +the sense for figures.... Twenty minutes! Perhaps two hundred or two +hundred thousand!... + +It seems so strange, quietly, deliberately, measuring every word, +to write down my adventure with R-. Imagine yourself sitting down +at your own bed, crossing your legs, watching curiously how you +yourself shrivel in the very same bed. My mental state is similar to +that. + +When R-13 came in I was perfectly quiet and normal. I began with +sincere admiration to tell him how wonderfully he succeeded in +versifying the death sentence of that insane man, and that his +poem more than anything else had smothered and annihilated the +transgressor of the law. + +"More than that," I said, "if I were ordered to prepare a +mathematical draught of the Machine of the Well-Doer, I should +undoubtedly,--undoubtedly, put on that draught some of your +verses!"--Suddenly I saw R-'s eyes becoming more and more opaque, +his lips acquiring a gray tint. + +"What is the matter?" + +"What?--Well.... Merely that I am dead sick of it; everybody keeps +on: 'the death-sentence, the death-sentence!' I want to hear no more +of it! You understand? I do not want...." He became serious, rubbing +his neck--that little valise filled with luggage which I cannot +understand. A silence. There! He found something in that little +valise of his, removed it, unwrapped it, spread it out; his eyes +became covered with the varnish of laughter. He began: + +"I am writing something for your _Integral_. Yes.... I am!" He was +himself again; bubbling, sprinkling lips; words splashing like a +fountain. + +"You see, it is the ancient legend of paradise." ("p" like a +fountain.) "That legend referred to us of today, did it not? Yes. +Only think of it, think of it a moment! There were two in paradise +and the choice was offered to them: happiness without freedom, or +freedom without happiness. No other choice. _Tertium non datur_. +They, fools that they were, chose freedom. Naturally, they longed +for centuries afterwards for fetters, for the fetters of yore. +This was the meaning of their world-weariness, _Weltschmerz_. For +centuries! And only we found a way to regain happiness.... No, +listen, follow me! The ancient god and we, side by side at the +same table! Yes, we helped god definitely and finally to defeat +the devil. It was he, the devil, who lead people to transgression, +to taste pernicious freedom, he the cunning serpent? And we came +along, planted a boot on his head and ... squash! Done with him! +Paradise again! We returned to the simple-mindedness and innocence +of Adam and Eve. No more meddling with good and evil and all +that; everything is simple again, heavenly, childishly simple! +The Well-Doer, The Machine, The Cube, the giant Gas Bell, The +Guardians,--all these are good. All this is magnificent, beautiful, +noble, lofty, crystalline, pure. For all this preserves our +non-freedom, that is, our happiness. In our place those ancients +would indulge in discussions, deliberations, etc. They would break +their heads trying to make out what was moral or unmoral. But we.... +Well, in short, these are the highlights of my little paradise +poem. What do you think of it? And above all the style is most +solemn, pious. Understand me? Nice little idea, is it not? Do you +understand?" + +Of course I understood. I remember my thoughts at that moment: "his +appearance is nonsensical and lacking in symmetry, yet what an +orderly-working mind he has!" This made him dear to me, that is to +the real _me_. (I still insist that _I_ of before is the real one; +my I of late is, certainly, only an illness.) + +Apparently R- read my thought in my face; he put his hand on my +shoulders and laughed: "Oh you!... Adam! By the way, about Eve...." +He searched for something in his pockets, took out a little book, +turned over a few leaves and said, "For the day-after-tomorrow,--oh, +no, two days from now,--O-90 has a pink check on you. How about +it?... As before?... You want her to?" + +"Of course, of course!" + +"All right then, I'll tell her. You see she herself is very +bashful.... What a funny story! You see, for me she has only a +pink-check affection, but for you!... And you, you did not even come +to tell us how a fourth member sneaked into our triangle! Who is it? +Repent, sinner! Come on!" + +A curtain rose inside me; rustle of silk, green bottle, lips.... +Without any reason whatever I exclaimed (oh, why didn't I restrain +myself at that moment?), "Tell me, R-, did you ever have the +opportunity to try nicotine or alcohol?" + +R- sucked in his lips, looked at me from under his brows. I +distinctly heard his thoughts: "Friend though he is, yet...." And he +answered: + +"What shall I say? Strictly speaking, no. But I know a woman...." + +"I-330?" I cried. + +"What! You? You too?" R- was full of laughter; he chuckled, ready to +splash over. + +My mirror was hanging in such a way that in order to see R- clearly +I had to turn and look across the table. From my armchair I could +see now only my own forehead and eyebrows. Then I, the real I, +suddenly saw in the mirror a broken, quivering line of brow; I, the +real I, heard suddenly a wild disgusting cry: "What? What does that +'also' mean? What does that 'also' mean? I demand...." + +Widely parted negro lips.... Eyes bulging. I (the real I) grasped my +other wild, hairy, heavily breathing self forcibly. I (the real I) +said to him, to R-, "In the name of the Well-Doer, please forgive +me. I am very sick; I don't sleep; I do not know what is the matter +with me." + +A swiftly passing smile appeared on the thick lips. + +"Yes, yes, I understand, I understand. I am familiar with all this, +theoretically, of course. Good-bye." + +At the door he turned around like a little black ball, came back to +the table and put a book upon it. "This is my latest book. I came to +bring it to you. Almost forgot. Good-bye." ("b" like a splash.) The +little ball rolled out. + +I am alone. Or, to be more exact, I am _tête-à-tête_ with that +other self. I sit in the armchair and having crossed my legs, I +watch curiously from some indefinite "there," how I (myself) am +shrivelling in my bed! + +Why, oh, why is it, that for three years R-, O-, and I were so +friendly together and now suddenly--one word only about that other +female, about I-330, and.... Is it possible that that insanity +called love and jealousy does exist not only in the idiotic books of +the ancients? What seems most strange is that I, I!... Equations, +formulae, figures, and suddenly this! I can't understand it, I +can't! Tomorrow I shall go to R- and tell him.... No, it isn't +true; I shall not go; neither tomorrow nor day after tomorrow, nor +ever.... I can't, I do not want to see him. This is the end. Our +triangle is broken up. + +I am alone. It is evening. There is a light fog. The sky is covered +by a thin milky-golden tissue. If I only knew what is there--higher. +If I only knew who I am. Which I am I? + + + + +RECORD TWELVE + + The Delimitation of the Infinite + Angel + Meditations on Poetry + + +I continue to believe that I shall recover, that I may recover. +I slept very well. No dreams or any other symptoms of disease. +Dear O-90 will come tomorrow. Everything will again be simple, +regular and limited like a circle. I am not afraid of this word +"limited." The work of the highest faculty of man, judgment, is +always directed toward the constant limiting of the infinite, +toward the breaking up of the infinite into comfortably digestible +portions,--differentials. This is what gives divine beauty to my +element, mathematics. And it is exactly this beauty that that other +female lacks. But this last thought of mine is only an accidental +mental association. + +These thoughts swarmed in my mind while I was listening to the +regular, rhythmic sounds of the underground railway. Silently I +followed the rhythm of its wheels and recited to myself R-'s verses +(from the book which he gave me yesterday), and I felt that behind +me some one was leaning over my shoulder and looking at the open +pages. I did not turn around but with the corner of my eye I noticed +pink ears, spread like wings, the double-curved ... like the +letter.... It was he, but I did not want to disturb him. I feigned +not to have noticed him. How he came in, I do not know. I did not +see him when I got into the car. + +This incident, insignificant in itself, had an especially good +effect upon me; it invigorated me, I should say. It is pleasant to +feel that somebody's penetrating eye is watching you from behind +your shoulder, lovingly guarding you from making the most minute +mistake, from the most minute incorrect step. It may seem to you too +sentimental but I see in all this the materialization of the dream +of the ancients about a Guardian-Angel. How many things about which +the ancients had only dreams, are materialized in our life! + +At the moment when I became aware of the presence of the +Guardian-Angel behind me I was enjoying a poem entitled "Happiness." +I think I am not mistaken when I say that it is a piece of rare +beauty and depth of thought. Here are the first four lines: + + "Two times two--eternal lovers; + Inseparable in passion four ... + Most flaming lovers in the world, + Eternally welded, two times two." + +And the rest is in the same vein: on the wisdom and the eternal +happiness of the multiplication table. Every poet is inevitably +a Columbus. America existed before Columbus for ages, but only +Columbus found it. The multiplication table existed before R-13 +for ages, but only R-13 could find in the virginal forest of +figures a new Eldorado. Is it not true? Is there any happiness +more wise and cloudless in this wonderful world? Steel may rust. +The ancient god created the ancient man, i.e., the man capable +of mistakes, _ergo_ the ancient god himself made a mistake. The +multiplication table is more wise and more absolute than the ancient +god, for the multiplication table never (do you understand--_never_) +makes mistakes! There are no more fortunate and happy people than +those who live according to the correct, eternal laws of the +multiplication table. No hesitation! No errors! There is but one +truth, and there is but one path to it; and that truth is: four, +and that path is: two times two. Would it not seem preposterous for +these happily multiplied twos suddenly to begin thinking of some +foolish kind of freedom? i.e. (is it not clear?) of a mistake? It +seems undeniable, axiomatic, that R-13 knows how to grasp the most +fundamental, the most.... + +At that moment again I felt (first near the back of my head, then +on my left ear) the warm, tender breath of the Guardian-Angel. He +apparently noticed that the book on my lap had long been closed and +that my thoughts were somewhere very far.... Well, I am ready this +minute to spread before him the pages of my brain. This gives one +such a feeling of tranquility and joy. I remember I even turned +around and gazed long and questioningly into his eyes; but either +he did not understand, or he did not want to understand me. He did +not ask me anything.... The only thing left for me is to relate +everything to you, my unknown readers. You are to me now as dear and +as near and as far out of reach as he was at that moment. + +This was my way of thinking: from the part to the whole,--R-13 is +the part; the whole is our Institution of State Poets and Authors. +I thought: how was it that the ancients did not notice the utter +absurdity of their prose and poetry? The gigantic, magnificent +power of the artistic word was spent by them in vain. It is really +droll; anybody wrote whatever happened to come into his head! It +was as foolish as the fact that in the days of the ancients the +ocean blindly splashed at the shore for twenty-four hours without +interruption or use. The millions of kilogram-meters of energy +which were hidden in the waves were used only for the stimulation +of sweethearts! We obtained electricity from the amorous whisper +of the waves! We made a domestic animal out of that sparkling, +foaming, rabid one! And in the same manner we domesticated and +harnessed the wild element of poetry. Now poetry is no longer the +unpardonable whistling of nightingales but a State Service! Poetry +is a commodity. + +Our famous "Mathematical Norms"! Without them in our schools, how +could we love so sincerely and dearly our four rules of arithmetic? +And "Thorns!" This is a classical image: the Guardians are thorns +about a rose; thorns that guard our tender State-Flower from coarse +hands. Whose heart could resist, could remain indifferent to see +and hear the lips of our children recite like a prayer: "A bad boy +caught the rose with his hand but the thorn of steel pricked him +like a needle; the bad boy cried and ran home," etc., etc. And the +"Daily Odes to the Well-Doer!" Who, having read them, will not +bow piously before the unselfish service of that Number of all +Numbers? And the dreadful red "Flowers of Court Sentences!" And the +immortal tragedy, "Those Who Come Late to Work!" And the popular +book, "Stanzas on Sex-Hygiene!" + +Our whole life in all its complexity and beauty is thus stamped +forever in the gold of words. Our poets do not soar any longer in +the unknown; they have descended to earth and they march with us, +keeping step to the accompaniment of our austere and mechanical +March of the musical State Tower. Their lyre is the morning +rubbing-sound of the electric tooth-brushes, and the threatening +crack of the electric sparks coming from the Machine of the +Well-Doer, and the magnificent echo of the Hymn of the United State, +and the intimate ringing of the crystalline, shining wash-basins, +and the stimulating rustle of the falling curtains, and the joyous +voices of the newest cook-books, and the almost imperceptible +whisper of the street membranes.... + +Our gods are here, below. They are with us in the Bureau, in the +kitchen, in the shops, in the rest-rooms. The gods have become like +us, _ergo_ we have become like gods. And we shall come to you, my +unknown readers on another planet, we shall come to you to make your +life as god-like, as rational and as correct as ours.... + + + + +RECORD THIRTEEN + + Fog + Thou + A Decidedly Absurd Adventure + + +I awoke at dawn. The rose-colored firmament looked into my eyes. +Everything was beautiful, round. "O-90 is to come tonight. Surely +I am healthy again." I smiled and fell asleep. The Morning Bell! +I got up; everything looked different. Through the glass of the +ceiling, through the walls, nothing could be seen but fog,--fog +everywhere, strange clouds, becoming heavier and nearer; the +boundary between earth and sky disappeared. Everything seemed to +be floating and thawing and falling.... Not a thing to hold to. No +houses to be seen; they all were dissolved in the fog like crystals +of salt in water. On the sidewalks and inside the houses dark +figures like suspended particles in a strange milky solution, were +hanging, below, above,--up to the tenth floor. Everything seemed +to be covered with smoke, as though a fire were somewhere raging +noiselessly. + +At eleven-forty-five exactly (I looked at the clock particularly at +that time to catch the figures, to save at least the figures) at +eleven-forty-five, just before leaving, according to our Table of +Hours, to go and occupy myself with physical labor, I dropped into +my room for a moment. Suddenly the telephone rang. A voice,--a long +needle slowly penetrating my heart: + +"Oh, you are at home? I am very glad! Wait for me at the corner. We +shall go together.... Where? Well, you'll see." + +"You know perfectly well that I am going to work now." + +"You know perfectly well that you'll do as I say! _Au-revoir._ In +two minutes!..." + +I stood at the corner. I had to wait to try to make clear to her +that only the United State directs me, not she. "You'll do as I +say!" How sure she is! One hears it in her voice. And what if...? + +Unifs, dull gray as if woven of damp fog would appear for a second +at my side and then soundlessly redissolve. I was unable to turn my +eyes away from the clock.... I seemed myself to have become that +sharp, quivering hand which marked the seconds. Ten, eight minutes +... three ... two minutes to twelve.... Of course! I was late! Oh, +how I hated her, yet I had to wait to prove that I.... + +A red line in the milky whiteness of the fog--like blood, like a +wound made by a sharp knife--her lips. + +"I made you wait, I think? And now you are late for your work +anyway?" + +"How...? Well, yes, it is too late now." + +I glanced at her lips in silence. All women are lips, lips only. +Some are rosy lips, tense and round, a ring, a tender fence +separating one from the world. But these! A second ago they were not +here, and suddenly ... the slash of a knife! I seemed to see even +the dripping sweet blood.... + +She came nearer. She leaned gently against my shoulder; we became +one. Something streamed from her into me. I felt, I knew, it +_should_ be so. Every fibre of my nervous system told me this, every +hair on my head, every painfully sweet heartbeat. And what a joy it +was to submit to what _should_ be. A fragment of iron-ore probably +feels the same joy of submission to precise, inevitable law, when +it clings to a loadstone. The same joy is in a stone which thrown +aloft, hesitates a little at the height of its flight and then +rushes down to the ground. It is the same with a man when in his +final convulsion he takes a last deep breath and dies. + +I remember I smiled vaguely and said for no reason at all, "Fog ... +very." + +"Thou lovest fog, dost thou?" + +This ancient, long-forgotten _thou_--the thou of a master to his +slave--penetrated me slowly, sharply.... Yes, I was a slave.... This +too was inevitable, was good. + +"Yes, good ..." I said aloud to myself, and then to her, "I hate +fog. I am afraid of fog." + +"Then you love it. For if you fear it because it is stronger than +you, hate it because you fear it, you love it. For you cannot +subject it to yourself. One loves only the things one cannot +conquer." + +"Yes, that is so. That is why ... that is precisely why I...." + +We were walking--as one. Somewhere beyond the fog the sun was +singing in a faint tone, gradually swelling, filling the air with +tension and with pearl and gold and rose and red.... The whole world +seemed to be one unembraceable woman, and we who were in her body +were not yet born; we were ripening in joy. It was clear to me, +absolutely clear, that everything existed only for me: the sun, the +fog, the gold--for me. I did not ask where we were going; what did +it matter? It was pleasure to walk, to ripen, to become stronger and +more tense.... + +"Here ..." I-330 stopped at a door. "It so happens that today there +is some one on duty who ... I told you about him in the Ancient +House." + +Carefully guarding the forces ripening within me, I read the sign: +"Medical Bureau." Automatically only I understood. + +... A glass room, filled with golden fog; shelves of glass, colored +bottles, jars, electric wires, bluish sparks in tubes; and a male +Number--a very thinly flattened man. He might have been cut out of a +sheet of paper. Wherever he was, whichever way he turned, he showed +only a profile, a sharply pointed, glittering blade of a nose and +lips like scissors. + +I could not hear what I-330 told him; I merely saw her lips when +she was talking; and I felt that I was smiling, irrepressibly, +blissfully. The scissors-like lips glittered and the doctor said, +"Yes, yes, I see. A most dangerous disease. I know of nothing more +dangerous." And he laughed. With his thin, flat, papery hand he +wrote something on a piece of paper and gave it to I-330; he wrote +on another piece of paper and handed it over to me. He had given us +certificates, testifying that we were ill, that we were unable to go +to work. Thus I stole my work from the United State; I was a thief; +I deserved to be put beneath the Machine of the Well-Doer. Yet I was +indifferent to this thought; it was as distant from me as though it +were written in a novel. I took the certificate without an instant's +hesitation. I, all my being, my eyes, my lips, my hands ... knew it +was as it should be. + +At the corner, from a half empty garage we took an aero. I-330 took +the wheel as she had done before, pressed the starter and we tore +away from the earth. We soared. Behind us the golden haze; the Sun. +The thin, blade-like profile of the doctor seemed to me suddenly so +dear, so beloved. Formerly I knew everything was revolving around +the Sun. Now I knew everything was revolving around me. Slowly, +blissfully, with half-closed eyes.... + +At the gate of the Ancient House we found the same old woman. What +a dear mouth, with lips grown together and ray-like wrinkles around +it! Probably those lips have remained grown together all these days; +but now they parted and smiled: + +"Ah! you mischievous girl, you! Work is too much for you? Well, all +right, all right. If anything happens I'll run up and warn you." + +A heavy, squeaky, opaque door. It closed behind us, and at once my +heart opened painfully, widely, still wider.... My lips ... hers.... +I drank and drank from them. I tore myself away; in silence I looked +into her widely open eyes, and then again.... + +The room in half dusk.... Blue and saffron-yellow lights, dark green +morocco leather, the golden smile of Buddha, a wide mahogany bed, +a glimmer of mirrors.... And my dream of a few days before became +so comprehensible, so clear to me; everything seemed saturated +with the golden prime-juice of life, and it seemed that I was +overflowing with it,--one second more and it would splash out.... +Like iron-ore to a loadstone, in sweet submission to the precise +and unchangeable law, inevitably, I clung to her.... There was no +pink check, no counting, no United State; I myself was no more. +Only, drawn together, the tenderly-sharp teeth were there, only her +golden, widely open eyes, and through them I saw deeper, within.... +And silence.... Only somewhere in a corner, thousands of miles away +it seemed, drops of water were dripping from the faucet of the +washstand. I was the Universe! + +... And between drops whole epochs, eras, were elapsing.... + +I put on my unif and bent over I-330 to draw her into me with my +eyes--for the last time. + +"I knew it.... I knew you," said I-330 in a very low voice. She +passed her hand over her face as though brushing something away; +then she arose brusquely, put on her unif and her usual sharp, +bite-like smile. + +"Well, my fallen angel ... you perished just now, do you know that? +No? You are not afraid? Well, _au-revoir_. You shall go home alone. +Well?" + +She opened the mirror-door of the cupboard and looking at me over +her shoulder, she waited. I left the room obediently. Yet no sooner +had I left the room than I felt it was urgent that she touch me +with her shoulder--only for one second with her shoulder, nothing +more. I ran back into the room, where (I presumed) she was standing +before the mirror, busy buttoning up her unif; I rushed in and +stopped abruptly. I saw (I remember it clearly), I saw the key +in the keyhole of the closet and the ancient ring upon it was +still swinging but I-330 was not there. She could not have left +the room as there was but one exit.... Yet I-330 was not there! I +looked around everywhere. I even opened the cupboard and felt of the +different ancient dresses; nobody.... + +I feel somewhat ridiculous, my dear planetary readers, relating +to you this most improbable adventure. But what else can I do +since it all happened exactly as I relate it? Was not the whole +day from early morning, full of improbable adventures? Does it not +all resemble the ancient disease of dream-seeing? If this be so, +what does it matter if I relate one absurdity more, or one less? +Moreover, I am convinced that sooner or later I shall be able to +include all these absurdities in some kind of a logical sequence. +This thought comforts me as I hope it will comfort you. + +... How overwhelmed I am! If only you knew how overwhelmed! + + + + +RECORD FOURTEEN + + "Mine" + Impossible + A Cold Floor + + +I shall continue to relate my adventures of yesterday. I was busy +during the personal hour before retiring to bed, and thus I was +unable to record everything last night. But everything is graven in +me; especially, for some reason, and apparently forever, I shall +remember that unbearably cold floor.... + +I was expecting O-90 last evening as it was her regular day. I +went downstairs to the controller on duty to get a permit for the +lowering of my curtains. + +"What is the matter with you?" asked the controller. "You seem so +peculiar tonight." + +"I ... I am sick." + +Strictly speaking, I told her the truth. I certainly am sick. +All this _is_ an illness. Presently I remembered; of course, my +certificate! I touched it in my pocket. Yes, there it was, rustling. +Then all this did happen! It did actually happen! + +I held out the paper to the controller. As I did so, I felt the +blood rushing to my cheeks. Without looking directly at her, I +noticed with what an expression of surprise she gazed at me. + +Then at twenty-one-thirty o'clock.... In the room to the left the +curtains were lowered, and in the room to the right my neighbor +was sitting over a book. His head is bald and covered with bulging +lumps. His forehead is enormous--a yellow parabola. I was walking up +and down the room--suffering. How could I meet her, after all that +happened! O-90, I mean. I felt plainly to my right, how the eyes of +my neighbor were staring at me. I clearly saw the wrinkles on his +forehead like a row of yellow, illegible lines; and for some reason +I was certain that those lines dealt with me. + +A quarter of an hour before twenty-two, the cheerful, rosy whirlwind +was in my room; the firm ring of her rosy arms closed about my neck. +Then I felt how that ring grew weaker and weaker, and then it broke +and her arms dropped.... + +"You are not the same, not the same man! You are no longer mine!" + +"What curious terminology: 'mine.' I never belonged--" I faltered. +It suddenly occurred to me: true, I belonged to no one before, but +now--Is it not clear that now I do not live any more in our rational +world but in the ancient delirious world, in a world of square-root +of minus one? + +The curtains fell. There to my right my neighbor let his book drop +at that moment from the table to the floor. And through the last +narrow space between the curtain and the floor I saw a yellow hand +pick up the book. Within I felt: "Only to seize that hand with all +my power." + +"I thought ... I wanted to meet you during the hour for the walk. I +wanted ... I must talk to you about so many things, so many...." + +Poor, dear, O-90. Her rosy mouth was a crescent with its horns +downward. But I could not tell her everything, could I, if for no +other reason than that it would make her an accomplice of my crimes? +I knew that she would not have the courage to report me to the +Bureau of Guardians, consequently.... + +"My dear O-, I am sick, I am exhausted. I went again today to the +Medical Bureau; but it is nothing, it will pass. But let us not talk +about it;--let us forget it." + +O-90 was lying down. I kissed her gently. I kissed that childish, +fluffy fold at her wrist. Her blue eyes were closed. The pink +crescent of her lips was slowly blooming, more and more like a +flower. I kissed her.... + +Suddenly I clearly realized how empty I was, how I had given +away.... No, I could not--impossible! I knew I must ... but +no--impossible! I ought ... but no--impossible! My lips cooled at +once. The rosy crescent trembled, darkened, drew together. O-90 +covered herself with the bedspread, her face hidden in the pillow. + +I was sitting near the bed, on the floor. What a desperately cold +floor! I sat there in silence. The terrible cold from the floor +rose higher and higher. There in the blue, silent space among the +planets, there probably it is as cold. + +"Please understand, dear; I did not mean..." I muttered, "With all +my heart, I ..." + +It was the truth. I, my real self did not mean.-- ... Yet how could +I express it in words? How could I explain to her that the piece of +iron did not want to.... But that the law is precise, inevitable! + +O-90 lifted her face from the pillow and without opening her eyes +she said, "Go away." But because she was crying she pronounced it +"Oo aaa-ay." For some reason this absurd detail will not leave my +memory. + +Penetrated by the cold and torpid, I went out into the hall. I +pressed my forehead against the cold glass. Outside a thin, almost +imperceptible film of haze was spread. "Towards night," I thought, +"it will descend again and drown the world. How sad a night it will +be!" + +O-90 passed swiftly by, going toward the elevator. The door slammed. + +"Wait a minute!" I screamed. I was frightened. + +But the elevator was already groaning, going down--down--down.... + +"She robbed me of R-, she robbed me of O-90, yet, yet ... +nevertheless...." + + + + +RECORD FIFTEEN + + The Bell + The Mirror-Like Sea + I Am To Burn Eternally + + +I was walking upon the dock where the _Integral_ is being built, +when the Second Builder came to meet me. His face as usual was round +and white,--a porcelain plate. When he speaks it seems as though he +serves you a plate of something unbearably tasty. + +"You chose to be ill, and without the Chief we had an accident, as +it were, yesterday." + +"An accident?" + +"Yes, sir. We finished the bell and started to let it down, and +imagine! the men caught a male without a number. How he got in, I +cannot make out. They took him to the Operation Department. Oh, +they'll draw the mystery out of the fellow there; 'why' and 'how,' +etc...." He smiled delightedly. + +Our best and most experienced physicians work in the Operation +Department under the direct supervision of the Well-Doer himself. +They have all kinds of instruments, but the best of all is the +Gas Bell. The procedure is taken from an ancient experiment of +elementary physics: they used to put a rat under a gas bell and +gradually pump out the air; the air becomes more and more rarified, +and ... you know the rest. + +But our Gas Bell is certainly a more perfect apparatus and it is +used in combination with different gasses. Furthermore, we don't +torture a defenseless animal as the ancients did; we use it for a +higher purpose: to guard the security of the United State, in other +words, the happiness of millions. About five centuries ago when the +work of the Operation Department was only beginning, there were +yet to be found some fools who compared our Operation Department +with the ancient Inquisition. But this is as absurd as to compare +a surgeon performing a tracheotomy with a highway cut-throat. Both +use a knife, perhaps the same kind of a knife, both do the same +thing, viz., cut the throat of a living man, yet one is a well-doer, +the other is a murderer; one is marked plus, the other minus.... +All this becomes perfectly clear in one second, in one turn of our +logical wheel, the teeth of which engage that _minus_, turn it +upward and thus change its aspect. That other matter is somewhat +different; the ring in the door was still oscillating, apparently +the door had just closed, yet she, I-330, had disappeared; she was +not there! The logical wheel could not turn this fact. A dream? But +even now I feel still in my right shoulder that incomprehensible +sweet pain of I-330 near me in the fog, pressing herself against me. +"Thou lovest fog?" Yes, I love the fog too. I love everything and +everything appears to me wonderful, new, tense; everything is so +good!... + +"So good," I said aloud. + +"Good?" The porcelain eyes bulged out. "What good do you find in +that? If that man without a number contrived to sneak in, it means +that there are others around here, everywhere, all the time, here +around the _Integral_, they--" + +"Whom do you mean by 'they'?" + +"How do I know who? But I sense them, all the time." + +"Have you heard about the new operation which has been invented? I +mean the surgical removal of fancy?" (There really were rumors of +late about something of the sort.) + +"No, I haven't. What has that to do with it?" + +"Merely this: if I were you, I should go and ask to have this +operation performed upon me." + +The plate expressed distinctly something lemon-like, sour. Poor +fellow! He took offence if one even hinted that he might possess +imagination. Well, a week ago I too should have taken offence at +such a hint. Not so now, for I know that I have imagination, that is +what my illness consists in, and more than that: I know that it is a +wonderful illness,--one does not want to be cured, simply does not +want to! + +We ascended the glass steps; the world spread itself below us like +the palm of a hand. + +You, readers of these records, whoever you be, you have the sun +above you. And if you ever were ill, as I am now, then you know +what kind of a sun there is or may be in the morning; you know +that pinkish, lucid, warm gold; the air itself looks a little +pinkish; everything seems permeated by the tender blood of the sun; +everything is alive; the stones seem soft and living; iron living +and warm; people all full of life and smiles. It may be that in a +short while all this will disappear, that in an hour the pinkish +blood of the sun will be drained out, but in the meantime everything +is alive. And I see how something flows and pulsates in the sides of +the _Integral_; I see the _Integral_ _think_ of its great and lofty +future, of the heavy load of inevitable happiness which it is to +carry up there into the heights, to you, unseen ones, to you who +seek eternally and who never find. You shall find! You shall be +happy! You must be happy, and you have now not very long to wait! + +The body of the _Integral_ is almost ready; it is an exquisite, +oblong ellipsoid, made of our glass, which is everlasting like +gold and flexible like steel. I watched them within, fixing its +transverse ribs and its longitudinal stringers; in the stern they +were erecting the base of the gigantic motor. Every three seconds +the powerful tail of the _Integral_ will eject flame and gasses +into the universal space, and the _Integral_ will soar forward and +higher,--like a flaming Tamerlane of happiness! I watched how the +workers, true to the Taylor system, would bend down, then unbend +and turn around swiftly and rhythmically like levers of an enormous +engine. In their hands they held glittering glass pipes which +emitted bluish streaks of flame; the glass walls were being cut into +with flame; with flame there were being welded the angles, the ribs, +the bars. I watched the monstrous glass cranes easily rolling over +the glass rails; like the workers themselves they would obediently +turn, bend down and bring their loads inward into the bowels of the +_Integral_. All seemed one, humanized machine and mechanized humans. +It was the most magnificent, the most stirring beauty, harmony, +music! + +Quick! Down! To them, and with them! And I descended and mingled +with them, fused with their mass, caught in the rhythm of steel and +glass. Their movements were measured, tense and round. Their cheeks +were colored with health, their mirror-like foreheads not clouded by +the insanity of thinking. I was floating upon a mirror-like sea. I +was reposing.... Suddenly one of them turned toward me his care-free +face. + +"Well, better today?" + +"What better?" + +"You were not here yesterday. And we thought something serious...." +His forehead was shining; a childish and innocent smile. + +My blood rushed to my face. No, I could not lie, facing those eyes. +I remained silent; I was drowning.... Above, the shiny round white +porcelain face appeared in the hatchway. + +"Eh! D-503! Come up here! Something is wrong with a frame and +brackets here, and ..." + +Not waiting until he had finished, I rushed to him, upstairs; I was +shamefully saving myself by flight. I had not the power to raise my +eyes. I was dazed by the sparkling glass steps under my feet, and +with every step I made I felt more and more hopeless. I, a corrupted +man, a criminal, was out of place here. No, I shall probably never +again be able to fuse myself into this mechanical rhythm, nor to +float over this mirror-like, untroubled sea. I am to burn eternally +from now on, running from place to place, seeking a nook where I may +hide my eyes, eternally, until I.... A spark cold as ice pierced me: +"I myself, I matter little, but is it necessary that _she_ also...? +I must see that she ..." + +I crawled through the hatchway to the deck and stood there; where +was I to go now? I did not know what I had come for! I looked aloft. +The midday sun exhausted by its march, was fuming dimly. Below was +the _Integral_, a gray mass of glass,--dead. The pink blood was +drained out! It was clear to me that all this was my imagination and +that everything remained as before, yet it was also clear to me that +... + +"What is the matter with you, D-503? Are you deaf? I call you and +call.... What is the matter with you?" It was the Second Builder +yelling directly into my ear; he must have been yelling that way for +quite a while. + +What was the matter with me? I had lost my rudder, the motor was +groaning as before, the aero was quivering and rushing on but it +had no rudder. I did not even know where I was rushing, down to the +earth or up to the sun, to its flame.... + + + + +RECORD SIXTEEN + + Yellow + A Two-dimensional Shadow + An Incurable Soul + + +I have not written for several days, for I don't know how many. +All my days are alike. All are of one color,--yellow like dry, +overheated sand. Not a patch of shade, not a drop of water, only an +infinity of yellow sand. I cannot live without her, but she, since +she disappeared that day so mysteriously in the Ancient House.... + +Since that time I have seen her only once, during the hour for the +Walk, two, three, four days ago, I do not remember exactly. All my +days are alike. She only passed swiftly by and for a second filled +up the yellow, empty world. With her, arm in arm, reaching not +higher than her shoulder, were the double-curved S- and the thin +papery doctor, and a fourth person whose fingers only I remember +well; they streamed out, those fingers, from the sleeve of the +unif like a bundle of rays, uncommonly thin, white, long. I-330 +raised her hand and waved to me, then she bent toward the one with +the ray-like fingers, over the head of S-. I overheard the word +_Integral_. All four turned around to look at me,--and then they +disappeared in the bluish-gray sea and my road was once more dry and +yellow. + +That same evening she had a pink check on me. I stood before the +switchboard and with hatred and tenderness I implored it to click +and soon to show the number I-330. I would jump out into the hall +at every sound of the elevator. The door of the latter would open +heavily. Pale, tall, blonde and dark they would come out of the +elevator, and here and there curtains were falling.... But she was +not there. She did not come. And it is quite possible that now, at +this minute, as I write these lines, at twenty-two o'clock exactly, +with her eyes closed, she is pressing her shoulder against somebody +else _in the same way_ and _in the same way_ she may be asking +someone: "Do you love me?" Whom? Who is he? That one with ray-like +fingers or that thick-lipped, sprinkling R-? Or S-? S-! Why is it +that I have heard his steps splashing behind me as though in a +ditch all these days? Why has he been following me all these days +like a shadow? Ahead of me, to my side, behind me, a grayish-blue, +two-dimensional shadow; people cross it, people step on it but it +remains nearby, attached to me by unseen ties. Perhaps that tie is +I-330. I do not know. Or perhaps they, the Guardians I mean, already +know that I ... + +If some one should tell you your shadow sees you, sees you all the +time, would you understand? All at once peculiar sensations arise +in you; your arms seem to belong to someone else, they are in the +way. That is how I feel; very frequently now I notice how absurdly +I wave my hands without any rhythm. I have an irresistible desire to +glance behind me but I am unable to do so, my neck might as well be +forged of iron. I flee, I run faster and faster, and even with my +back I feel that shadow following me as fast as I can run, and there +is no place to hide myself, no place! + +At length I reach my room. Alone at last! But here I find another +thing, the telephone. I pick up the receiver. "Yes, I-330 please." +And again I hear a light noise through the receiver; some one's step +in the hall there, passing the door of her room, and--silence.... I +drop the receiver. I cannot, cannot bear it any longer, and I run to +see her! + +This happened yesterday. I ran there and for a whole hour from +sixteen to seventeen I wandered near the house in which she lives. +Numbers were passing by in rows. Thousands of feet were beating the +time like a behemoth with a million legs passing by. I was alone, +thrown out by a storm on an uninhabited island, and my eyes were +seeking and seeking among the grayish-blue waves. "There soon," I +thought, "will appear from somewhere the sharp mocking angles of the +brows lifted to the temples, and the dark window-eyes, and there +behind them a flaming fireplace and someone's shadow.... And I will +rush straight in behind those windows and say to her, 'Thou' (yes, +'thou' without fail), 'Thou knowest I cannot live without thee any +longer, then why-- ...?'" But silence reigned. + +Suddenly I heard the silence; suddenly I heard the Musical Tower +silenced, and I understood! It was after seventeen already; every +one had already left. I was alone. It was too late to return home. +Around me,--a desert made of glass and bathed with yellow sunshine. +I saw, as if in water, the reflection of the walls in the glass +smoothness of the street, sparkling walls, hanging upside down. +Myself also upside down, hanging absurdly in the glass. + +"I must go at once, this very second, to the Medical Bureau or else +... or perhaps _this_ would be best: to remain here, to wait quietly +until they see me and come and take me into the Operation Department +and put an end to everything at once, redeem everything...." A +slight rustle! and the double-curved S- was before me. Without +looking I felt his two gray steel-drill eyes bore quickly into me. I +plucked up all my strength to show a smile and to say (I had to say +something), "I, I must go to the Medical Bureau." + +"Who is detaining you? What are you standing here for?" + +I was silent, absurdly hanging upside down. + +"Follow me," said S- austerely. + +I followed obediently, waving my unnecessary, foreign arms. I could +not raise my eyes. I walked through a strange world turned upside +down, where people had their feet pasted to the ceilings, and where +engines stood with their bases upward, and where, still lower, the +sky merged in the heavy glass of the pavement. I remember what +pained me most was the fact that looking at the world for the last +time in my life, I should see it upside down rather than in its +natural state; but I could not raise my eyes. + +We stopped. Steps. One step ... and I should see the figures of the +doctors in their white aprons and the enormous dumb Bell. + +With force, with some sort of an inner screw, at length I succeeded +in tearing my eyes away from the glass beneath my feet, and I +noticed the golden letters, "Medical Bureau." Why did he bring me +here rather than to the Operation Department? Why did he spare +me?--about this I did not even think at that moment. I made one +jump over all the steps, firmly closed the door behind me and took +a very deep breath, as if I had not breathed since morning and as +if my heart had not beaten for the same length of time, as if only +now I started to breathe and only now there opened a sluice in my +chest.... + +Inside there were two of them, one a short specimen with heavy legs, +his eyes like the horns of a bull tossing the patients up, the other +extremely thin with lips like sparkling scissors, a nose like a +blade--it was the same man who ... I ran to him as to a dear friend, +straight over close to the blade, and muttered something about +insomnia, dreams, shadows, yellow sand. The scissors-lips sparkled +and smiled. + +"Yes, it _is_ too bad. Apparently a soul has formed in you." + +A soul?--that strange ancient word that was forgotten long ago.... + +"Is it ... v-very dangerous?" I stuttered. + +"Incurable," was the cut of the scissors. + +"But more specifically, what is it? Somehow I cannot imagine--" + +"You see ... how shall I put it? Are you a mathematician?" + +"Yes." + +"Then you see ... imagine a plane, let us say this mirror. You +and I are on its surface. You see? there we are, squinting our +eyes to protect ourselves from the sunlight, or here is the bluish +electric spark in that tube, there the shadow of that aero that just +passed. All this is on the surface, is momentary only. Now imagine +this very same surface softened by a flame so that nothing can any +longer glide over it, so everything instead will penetrate into that +mirror world which excites such curiosity in children. I assure +you, children are not so foolish as we think they are! The surface +becomes a volume, a body, a world; and inside the mirror,--within +you, there is the sunshine, and the whirlwind caused by the aero +propeller, and your trembling lips and someone else's lips also. You +see, the cold mirror reflects, throws out, while this one absorbs; +it keeps forever a trace of everything that touches it. Once you saw +an imperceptible wrinkle on some one's face, and this wrinkle is +forever preserved within you; you may happen to hear in the silence +a drop of water falling,--and you will hear it forever!" + +"Yes, yes, that is it!" I grasped his hand. I could hear drops of +water dripping in the silence from the faucet of a washstand and at +once I knew it was forever. + +"But tell me please, why suddenly ... suddenly a soul? There was +none, yet suddenly.... Why is it that no one has it, yet I...." I +pressed the thin hand; I was afraid to loosen the safety belt. + +"Why? Well, why don't we grow feathers or wings, but only shoulder +blades, bases for wings? We have aeros; wings would only be in the +way. Wings are needed in order to fly, but we don't need to fly +anywhere. We have arrived at the terminus. We have found what we +wanted. Is that not so?" + +I nodded vaguely. He glanced at me and laughed a scalpel-like +metallic laugh. The other doctor overheard us and stamped out of +his room on his heavy legs. He picked up the thin doctor with his +horn-eyes, then picked me up. + +"What is the matter, a soul? You say a soul? Oh, damn it! We may +soon retrogress even to the cholera epidemics. I told you," he +tossed the thin one on the horns, "I told you the only thing to do +is to operate on them all, wholesale! simply extirpate the centre +for fancy. Only surgery can help here, only surgery." He put on +a pair of enormous X-ray spectacles and remained thus for a long +while, looking into my skull, through the bones into my brain and +making notes. + +"Very, very curious! Listen." He looked firmly into my eyes. "Would +you not consent to have me perform an extirpation on you? It would +be invaluable to the United State; it might help us to prevent an +epidemic. If you have no special reasons, of course...." + +Some time ago I should probably have said without hesitation, "I am +willing," but now,--I was silent. I caught the profile of the thin +doctor; I implored him! + +"You see," he said at last, "Number D-530 is building the _Integral_ +and I am sure the operation would interfere...." + +"Ah-h!" grumbled the other and stamped back into his room. + +We remained alone. The paper-like hand was put lightly and +caressingly upon mine, the profile-like face came nearer and he said +in a very low voice: "I shall tell you a secret. You are not the +only one. My colleague is right when he speaks of an epidemic. Try +to remember, have you not noticed yourself, some one with something +similar, very similar, identical?" + +He looked at me closely. What was he alluding to? To whom?... Is it +possible?... + +"Listen," I jumped up from my seat. But he had already changed the +subject. In a loud metallic tone: + +"... As to the insomnia and for the dreams you complain of, I advise +you to walk a great deal. Tomorrow morning you must begin taking +long walks ... say as far as the Ancient House." + +Again he pierced me with his eyes and he smiled thinly. It seemed to +me that I saw enveloped in the tender tissue of that smile a word, a +letter, a name, the only name.... Or was it only my imagination? I +waited impatiently while he wrote a certificate of illness for today +and tomorrow. Once more I gently and firmly pressed his hand, then I +ran out. + +My heart now feels light and swift like an aero; it carries me +higher and higher.... I know joy will come tomorrow. What joy?... + + + + +RECORD SEVENTEEN + + Through Glass + I Died + The Corridor + + +I am puzzled. Yesterday, at the very moment when I thought +everything was untangled, and that all the X's were at last found, +new unknowns appeared in my equation. The origin of the coordinates +of the whole story is of course the Ancient Home. From this centre +the axes of all the X's, Y's, and Z's radiate, and recently they +have entered into the formation of my whole life. + +I walked along the X-axis (Avenue 59) towards the centre. The +whirlwind of yesterday still raged within me; houses and people +upside down; my own hands torturingly foreign to me; glimmering +scissors; the sharp sound of drops dripping from the faucet;--all +this existed, all this _existed_ once! All these things were +revolving wildly, tearing my flesh, rotating wildly beneath the +molten surface, there where the "soul" is located. + +In order to follow the instructions of the doctor I chose the road +which followed not the hypotenuse but the two legs of a triangle. +Soon I reached the road running along the Green Wall. From beyond +the Wall, from the infinite ocean of green there rose toward me an +immense wave of roots, branches, flowers, leaves. It rose higher +and higher; it seemed as though it would splash over me and that +from a man, from the finest and most precise mechanism which I am, +I would be transformed into.... But fortunately there was the Green +Wall between me and that wild green sea. Oh, how great and divinely +limiting is the wisdom of walls and bars! This Green Wall is I think +the greatest invention ever conceived. Man ceased to be a wild +animal the day he built the first wall; man ceased to be a wild man +only on the day when the Green Wall was completed, when by this wall +we isolated our machine-like, perfect world from the irrational, +ugly world of trees, birds and beasts.... + +The blunt snout of some unknown beast was to be seen dimly through +the glass of the Wall; its yellow eyes kept repeating the same +thought which remained incomprehensible to me. We looked into each +other's eyes for a long while. Eyes are shafts which lead from the +superficial world into a world which is beneath the surface. A +thought awoke in me: "what if that yellow-eyed one, sitting there +on that absurd dirty heap of leaves, is happier than I, in his life +which cannot be calculated in figures!" I waved my hand. The yellow +eyes twinkled, moved back and disappeared in the foliage. What a +pitiful being! How absurd the idea that he might be happier! Happier +than _I_ he may be, but I am an exception, am I not? I am sick. + +I noticed that I was approaching the dark red walls of the Ancient +House and I saw the grown-together lips of the old woman. I ran to +her with all speed. + +"Is she here?" + +The grown-together lips opened slowly: + +"Who is 'she'?" + +"Who? I-330, of course. You remember we came together, she and I, in +an aero the other day." + +"Oh, yes, yes, yes,--yes." + +Ray-wrinkles around the lips, artful rays radiating from the eyes. +They were making their way deeper and deeper into me. + +"Well, she is here, all right. Came in a while ago." + +"Here!" I noticed at the feet of the old woman a bush of +silver,--bitter wormwood. (The court of the Ancient House, being a +part of the museum is carefully kept in its prehistoric state.) A +branch of the bush touched the old woman, she caressed that branch; +upon her knees lay stripes of sunshine. For a second I myself, the +sun, the old woman, the wormwood, those yellow eyes, all seemed to +be one; we were firmly united by common veins and one common blood, +boisterous, magnificent blood, was running through those veins. + +I am ashamed now to write down all this, but I promised to be frank +to the end of these records: yes, I bent over and kissed that soft, +grown-together mouth of the old woman. She wiped it with her hand +and laughed. + +Running, I passed through familiar, half-dark, echoing rooms, and +for some reason I ran straight to the bedroom. When I had reached +the door, a thought flashed: "And if she is there ... not alone?" I +stopped and listened. But all I heard was the tick-tock of my heart, +not within me, but somewhere near, outside me. + +I entered. The large bed,--untouched. A mirror ... another mirror +in the door of the cupboard, and in the keyhole an ancient key upon +an ancient ring. No one was there. I called softly: "I-330, are you +here?"--and then in a still lower voice with closed eyes, holding +my breath,--in a voice as though I were kneeling before her, "I-, +dear." Silence. Only the water was dripping fast into the white +basin of the washstand. I cannot now explain why, but I disliked +that sound. I turned the faucet hard and went out. She was not +there, so much was clear. She must be in another "apartment." + +I ran down a wide, sombre stairway, pulled one door, another, a +third,--locked. Every room was locked save that of "our" apartment. +And she was not there. I went back again to the same apartment +without knowing why. I walked slowly, with difficulty; my shoe-soles +suddenly became as heavy as cast-iron. I remember distinctly my +thought, "It is a mistake that the force of gravity is a constant; +consequently all my formulae...." + +Suddenly--an explosion! A door slammed down below; some one stamped +quickly over the flagstones. I again became lightfooted, extremely +light! I dashed to the railing to bend over, and in one word, one +exclamation, expressed everything: "You!" + +I became cold. Below in the square shadow of the window-frame, +flapping its pink wing-ears, the head of S- passed by! + +Like lightning I saw only the naked conclusion. Without any premises +(I don't recall any premises even now) the conclusion: he must not +see me here! And on the tips of my toes, pressing myself against the +wall, I sneaked upstairs into the unlocked apartment. + +I stopped for a second at the door. He was stamping upward, here. If +only the door.... I prayed to the door but it was a wooden one,--It +squeaked, it squealed. Like a wind something red passed my eyes, +something green, and the yellow Buddha. In front of the mirror-door +of the cupboard, my pale face; my ears still following those steps, +my lips.... Now _he_ was already passing the green and yellow, now +he was passing Buddha, now at the doorsill of the bedroom.... + +I grasped the key of the cupboard; the ring oscillated. This +oscillation reminded me of something. Again a conclusion, a naked +conclusion without premises; a conclusion, or to be more exact, a +fragment of one: "Now I-330 is...." I brusquely opened the cupboard +and when inside in the darkness shut the door firmly. One step! The +floor shook under my feet. Slowly and softly I floated somewhere +downward; my eyes were dimmed,--I died! + +Later when I sat down to describe all these adventures, I sought in +my memory and consulted some books; and now I understand, of course! +I was in a state of temporary death. This state was known to the +ancients, but as far as I am informed it is unknown to us. I have +no conception of how long I was dead, probably not longer than five +or ten seconds, but after awhile I arose from the dead and opened +my eyes. It was dark. But I felt I was falling down--down--down. I +stretched out my hand to attach myself to something but the rough +wall scratched my fingers; it was running away from me, upward. I +felt blood on my fingers. It was clear that all this was not merely +a play of my sick imagination. But what was it? What? + +I heard my own frequent, trembling breaths. (I am not ashamed to +confess this, it was all unexpected and incomprehensible.) A minute, +two, three passed; I was still going down. Then a soft bump. The +thing that had been falling away from under my feet was motionless. +I found in the darkness a knob, and turned it; a door opened; +there was a dim light. I now noticed behind me a square platform, +travelling upward. I tried to run back to it but it was too late. "I +am cut off here," I thought. Where "here" might be, I did not know. + +A corridor. A heavy silence. The small lamps on the vaulted ceiling +resembled an endless, twinkling, dotted line. The corridor was +similar to the "tube" of our underground railways but it was much +narrower, and made not of our glass but of some other, very ancient +material. For a moment I thought of the underground caves where they +say many tried to save themselves during the Two Hundred Years' War. +There was nothing to do but to walk ahead. + +I walked, I think, for about twenty minutes. A turn to the right, +the corridor became wider, the small lamps brighter. There was a +dim droning somewhere.... Was it a machine or voices? I did not +know. I stood before a heavy, opaque door, from behind which came +the noise. I knocked. Then I knocked again, louder. Now there was +silence behind the door. Something clanked; the door opened slowly +and heavily. + +I don't know which of us was the more dumbfounded; the thin +blade-like doctor stood before me! + +"You here!" his scissors opened and remained open. + +And I, as if I did not know a human word, stood silent, merely +stared, without comprehending that he was talking to me. He must +have told me to leave, for with his thin paper stomach he slowly +pressed me to the side, to the more brightly lighted end of the +corridor and poked me in the back. + +"Beg your pardon ... I wanted ... I thought that she, I-330 ... but +behind me...." + +"Stay where you are," said the doctor brusquely, and he disappeared. + +At last! At last she was nearby, here, and what did it matter where +"here" was? I saw the familiar saffron-yellow silk, the smile-bite, +the eyes with their curtains drawn.... My lips quivered, so did my +hands and knees, and I had a most stupid thought: "Vibrations make +sounds. Shivering must make a sound. Why then don't I hear it?" + +Her eyes opened for me widely. I entered into them. + +"I could not ... any longer!... Where have you been?... Why?..." + +I was unable to tear my eyes away from her for a second, and I +talked as if in a delirium, fast and incoherently, or perhaps I +only thought without speaking out: "A shadow ... behind me. I died. +And from the cupboard.... Because that doctor of yours ... speaks +with his scissors.... I have a soul ... incurable ... and I must +walk...." + +"An incurable soul? My poor boy!" I-330 laughed. She covered me +with the sparkles of her laughter; my delirium left me. Everywhere +around her little laughs were sparkling! How good it was! + +The doctor reappeared from around the turn, the wonderful, +magnificent, thinnest doctor. + +"Well?" He was already beside her. + +"Oh, nothing, nothing. I shall tell you later. He got here by +accident. Tell them that I shall be back in about a quarter of an +hour." + +The doctor slid around the corner. She lingered. The door closed +with a heavy thud. Then slowly, very slowly, piercing my heart with +a sharp sweet needle, I-330 pressed against me with her shoulder and +then with her arm, with her whole body, and we walked away as if +fused into one. + +I do not remember now where we turned into darkness; in the darkness +we walked up some endless stairway in silence. I did not see but I +knew, I knew that she walked as I did, with closed eyes, blind, her +head thrown a little backward, biting her lips and listening to the +music, that is to say, to my almost audible tremor. + +I returned to consciousness in one of the innumerable nooks in the +courtyard of the Ancient House. There was a fence of earth with +naked stone ribs and yellow teeth of walls half fallen to pieces. +She opened her eyes and said, "Day-after-tomorrow at sixteen." She +was gone. + +Did all this really happen? I do not know. I shall learn +day-after-tomorrow. One real sign remains: on my right hand the +skin has been rubbed from the tips of three fingers. But today, on +the _Integral_ the Second Builder assured me that he saw me touch +the polishing wheel with those very same fingers. Perhaps I did. It +is quite probable. I don't know. I don't know anything. + + + + +RECORD EIGHTEEN + + Logical Debris + Wounds and Plaster + Never Again + + +Last night as soon as I had gone to bed, I fell momentarily to the +bottom of the ocean of sleep like an overloaded ship which has been +wrecked. The heavy thicket of wavy green water enveloped me. Then +slowly I floated from the bottom upward, and somewhere in the middle +of that course, I opened my eyes,--my room! The morning was still +green and motionless. A fragment of sunshine coming from the mirror +on my closet door shone into my eyes. This fragment does not permit +me to sleep, being thus an obstacle in the way of exactly fulfilling +the rules of the Tables which prescribe so many hours of sleep. +I should have opened the closet but I felt as though I were in a +spider web, and cobweb covered my eyes; I had no power to sit up. + +Yet I got up and opened the closet door; suddenly, there behind that +door, making her way through the mass of garments which hung there, +was I-330! I have become so accustomed of late to most improbable +things, that as far as I remember I was not even surprised; I did +not even ask a question. I jumped into the closet, slammed the +mirror-door behind me and breathlessly, brusquely, blindly, avidly I +clung to her. I remember clearly even now:--through the narrow crack +of the door a sharp sun-ray like lightning broke into the darkness +and played on the floor and walls of the closet, and a little higher +the cruel ray-blade fell upon the naked neck of I-330, and this for +some reason seemed to me so terrible that I could not bear it, and I +screamed;--and again I opened my eyes. My room! + +The morning was still green and motionless. On the door of my closet +was a fragment of the sunshine. I was in bed. A dream? Yet my heart +was still wildly beating, quivering and twitching; there was a dull +pain in the tips of my fingers and in my knees. _This_ undoubtedly +_did_ happen! And now I am unable any more to distinguish what is +dream from what is actuality; irrational numbers grow through my +solid, habitual, tri-dimensional life; and instead of firm, polished +surfaces--there is something shaggy and rough.... + +I waited long for the Bell to ring. I was lying thinking, untangling +a very strange logical chain. In our superficial life, every +formula, every equation, corresponds to a curve or a solid. We +have never seen any curve or solid corresponding to my square-root +of minus one. The horrifying part of the situation is that there +exist such curves or solids; unseen by us they do exist, they +must, inevitably; for in mathematics as on a screen, strange sharp +shadows appear before us. One must remember that mathematics like +death, never makes mistakes, never plays tricks. If we are unable +to see those irrational curves or solids, it only means that they +inevitably possess a whole immense world somewhere beneath the +surface of our life.... + +I jumped up without waiting for the waking Bell and began to pace +up and down the room. My mathematics, the only firm and immovable +island of my shaken life, this too was torn from its anchor and +was floating, whirling. Then it means that that absurd thing, the +"soul," is as real as my unif, as my boots, although I do not see +them since they are behind the door of the closet. If boots are not +a sickness, why should the "soul" be one? I sought, but I could not +find, a way out of the logical confusion. It looked to me like that +strange and sad debris beyond the Green Wall; my logical debris +too, is filled with extraordinary, incomprehensible, wordless +but speaking beings. It occurred to me for a moment that through +some strange, thick glass I saw _it_; I saw it at once infinitely +large and infinitely small, scorpion-like with hidden but ever +perceptible sting; I _saw_ the square-root of minus one. Perhaps it +was nothing else but my "soul," which like the legendary scorpion of +the ancients, was voluntarily stinging itself with.... + +The Bell! The day began. All I saw and felt neither died, nor +disappeared, it merely became covered with daylight, as our visible +world does not die or disappear at the end of the day but merely +becomes covered with the darkness of night. My head was filled by +a light, thin haze. Through that haze I perceived the long glass +tables and the globe-like heads busy chewing, slowly, silently, +in unison. At a distance, through the haze, the metronome was +slowly beating its tick-tock, and to the accompaniment of this +customary and caressing music I joined with the others in counting +automatically to fifty: fifty is the number of chewing movements +required by the law of the State for every piece of food. And +automatically then, keeping time, I went downstairs and put my +name down in the book for the outgoing Numbers,--as everyone did. +But I felt I _lived_ separately from everybody; I lived by myself +separated by a soft wall which absorbs noises; beyond that wall +there was my world. + +Here a thought occurred to me. If that world is only my own, why +should I tell about it in these records? Why should I recount +all these absurd "dreams" about closets, endless corridors? With +great sorrow I notice that instead of a correct and strictly +mathematical poem in honor of the United State, I am writing a +fantastic novel. Oh! if only it were a novel and not my actual life, +full of X's, square-roots of minus one and down-fallings! Yet all +may be for the best. Probably you, my unknown readers, are children +still as compared with us. We are brought up by the United State; +consequently we have reached the highest summits attainable by man. +And you, being children, may swallow without crying all the bitter +things I am to give you only if they be coated with the syrup of +adventures. + + * * * * * + +_The Same Evening_ + +Are you familiar with the following sensation? You are in an aero +and you dash upward along a blue spiral line; the window is open and +the wind rushes past your face, whistling. There is no earth. The +earth is forgotten. The earth is as far from you as Venus, Saturn +or Jupiter. That is how I live now. A hurricane wind beats into my +face; I forget the earth, forget rosy, dear O-90. Yet the earth does +exist and sooner or later I must plane down to that earth; only I +close my eyes to avoid seeing the date at which there is the name +O-90 written on my Tables. + +This evening the distant earth reminded me of itself. In order to +fulfill the recommendation of the doctor (I desire sincerely, most +sincerely I desire to be cured), I wandered for two hours and eight +minutes over the straight lines of the deserted avenues. Everybody +was in the auditoriums, in accordance with the Table. Only I, cut +off from the rest, I was alone. Strictly speaking, it was a very +unnatural situation. Imagine a finger cut off from the whole, from +the hand; a separate human finger, somewhat hunched, running over +the glass sidewalk. I was such a finger. What seemed most strange +and unnatural was that the finger had no desire to be with its +hand, with its fellows. I want either to be alone or with _her_; +to transfuse my whole being into hers through a contact with her +shoulder or through our interwoven fingers. + +I came home as the sun was setting. The pink dust of evening was +covering the glass of the walls, the golden peak of the Accumulating +Tower, the voices and smiles of the Numbers. Is it not strange: the +passing rays of the evening sun fall to the earth at the same angle +as the awakening rays of the morning, yet they make everything seem +so different; the pink tinge is different. At sunset it is so quiet, +somewhat melancholy; at sunrise it is resounding, boisterous. + +In the hall downstairs when I entered, I saw U-, the controller. She +took a letter from the heaps of envelopes covered with pink dust and +handed it to me. I repeat: she is a very respectable woman and I am +sure she has only the very best feelings towards me.... Yet, every +time I see those cheeks hanging down, which look like the gills of a +fish, I.... + +Holding out her dry hand with the letter, U- sighed. But that sigh +only very slightly moved in me the curtains which separate me from +the rest of the world. I was completely projected upon the envelope +which trembled in my hand. I had no doubt but that it was a letter +from I-330. + +At that moment I heard another sigh, such a deliberate one, +underscored with two lines, that I raised my eyes from the envelope +and saw a tender, cloudy smile coming from between the gills, +through the bashful jalousies of lowered eyes. And then: + +"You poor, poor, dear!..." a sigh underscored with three lines, and +a glance at the letter, an imperceptible glance. (What was in the +letter she naturally knew, _ex officio_.) + +"No, really?... Why?" + +"No, no, dear, I know better than you. For a long time I have +watched you and I see that you need some one with years of +experience of life to accompany you." + +I felt all pasted around by her smile. It was like a plaster upon +the wounds which were to be inflicted upon me by the letter I held +in my hand. Finally, through the bashful jalousies of her eyes, she +said in a very low voice: "I shall think about it, dear. I shall +think it over. And be sure that if I feel myself strong enough ..." + +"Great Well-Doer! Is it possible that my lot is?... Is it possible +that she means to say, that she?..." + +My eyes were dimmed and filled with thousands of sinusoids; the +letter was trembling. I went near the light, to the wall. There the +light of the sun was going out; from the sun was falling thicker and +thicker the dark, sad, pink dust, covering the floor, my hands, the +letter. I opened the envelope and found the signature as fast as I +could,--the first wound! It was not I-330; it was O-90! And another +wound: in the right-hand corner a slovenly splash,--a blot! I cannot +bear blots. It matters little whether they are made by ink or by ... +well, it matters not by what. Heretofore, such a blot would have had +only a disagreeable effect, disagreeable to the eyes; but now--why +did that small gray blot seem to be like a cloud and seem to spread +about me a leaden, bluish darkness? Or was it again the "soul" at +work? Here is a transcript of the letter: + +"You know, or perhaps you don't ... I cannot write well. Little it +matters! Now you know that without you there is for me not a single +day, a single morning, a single spring, for R- is only ... well, +that is of no importance to you. At any rate, I am very grateful +to him, for without him, alone all these days, I don't know what +would.... During these last few days and nights I have lived through +ten years, or perhaps twenty years. My room seemed to me not square +but round; I walk around without end, round after round, always the +same thing, not a door to escape through. I cannot live without +you because I love you; and I should not, I cannot be with you any +more,--because I love you! Because I see and I understand that you +need no one now, no one in the world save that other, and you must +realize that it is precisely because I love you I must ... + +"I need another two or three days in order to paste together the +fragments of myself and thus restore at least something similar to +the O-90 of old. Then I shall go myself, and myself I shall state +that I take your name from my list, and this will be better for you; +you must feel happy now. I shall never again...." + +"Good-bye, O-." + +Never again. Yes, that is better. She is right. But, why then?... +Why then?... + + + + +RECORD NINETEEN + + The Infinitesimal of the Third Order + From Under the Forehead + Over the Railing + + +There in the strange corridor lighted by the dotted line of dim +little electric lamps ... or no, no, later, when we had already +reached one of the nooks in the courtyard of the Ancient House, she +said, "Day-after-tomorrow." That "day-after-tomorrow" is today. And +everything seems to have wings and to fly; the day flies; and our +_Integral_ too already has wings. We finished placing the motor +and tried it out today, without switching it in. What magnificent, +powerful salvos! Each of them sounded for me like a salute in honor +of _her_, the only one,--in honor of today! + +At the time of the first explosion about a dozen loafing Numbers +from the docks stood near the main tube--and nothing was left of +them save a few crumbs and a little soot. With pride I write down +now that this occurrence did not disturb the rhythm of our work even +for a second. Not a man shrank. We and our lathes continued our +rectilinear or curved motions with the same sparkling and polished +precision as before, as if nothing had happened. As a matter of +fact, what did happen? A dozen Numbers represent hardly one hundred +millionth part of the United State. For practical consideration, +that is but an infinitesimal of the third order. That _pity_, a +result of arithmetical ignorance, was known to the ancients; to us +it seems absurd. + +It seems droll to me also, that yesterday I was thinking, even +relating in these pages about a gray blot! All that was only the +"softening of the surface" which is normally as hard as diamond, +like our walls. (There is an ancient saying: "Shooting beans at a +stone wall--") + +Sixteen o'clock. I did not go for the supplementary walk; who knows, +she might come now, when the sun is so noisily bright. + +I am almost the only one in his room. Through the walls full of +sunshine I see for a distance to the right and to the left and below +strings of other rooms, repeating each other as if in a mirror, +hanging in the air and empty. Only on the bluish stairway, striped +by the golden ink of the sun, is seen rising a thin, gray shadow. +Already I hear steps, and I see through the door and I feel a smile +pasted to my face like a plaster. But it passed to another stairway +and down. The click of the switchboard! I threw myself to that +little white slit and ... an unfamiliar male Number! (A consonant +means a male Number.) + +The elevator groaned and stopped. A big, slovenly, slanting forehead +stood before me, and the eyes ... They impressed me strangely; it +seemed as if the man talked with his eyes which were deep under the +forehead. + +"Here is a letter from her, for you." (From under the awning of that +forehead.) "She asked that everything ... as requested in the letter +... without fail." This too, from under the forehead, from under the +awning, and he turned, looked about. + +"No, there is nobody, nobody. Quickly! the letter!" + +He put the letter in my hand and went out without a word. + +A pink check fell out of the envelope. It was hers, _her_ check! Her +tender perfume! I felt like running to catch up with that wonderful +under-the-forehead one. A tiny note followed the check from the +envelope; three lines: "The check ... Lower the curtains without +fail, as if I were actually with you. It is necessary that they +should think that I ... I am very, very sorry." + +I tore the note into small bits. A glance at the mirror revealed +my distorted, broken eyebrows. I took the check and was ready to +do with it as I had done with the note. "She asked that everything +... as requested in the letter ... without fail." My arms weakened +and the hands loosened. The check was back on the table. She _is_ +stronger than I, stronger than I. It seemed as though I were going +to act as she wished. Besides ... however, it is a long time before +evening. + +The check remained on the table. In the mirror--my distorted, broken +eyebrows. Oh, why did I not have a doctor's certificate for today? I +should like to go and walk, walk without end around the Green Wall +and then to fall on my bed ... to the bottom of.... Yet I had to go +to Auditorium No. 13, and I should have to grip myself, so as to +bear up for two hours! Two hours without motion, at a time when I +wanted to scream and stamp my feet! + +The lecture was on. It was very strange to hear from the sparkling +tube of the phono-lecturer not the usual metallic voice but a soft, +velvety, mossy one. It was a woman's voice and I seemed to have a +vision of the woman: a little hook-like old woman, like the one of +the Ancient House. + +The Ancient House! Suddenly from within me a powerful fountain +of.... I had to use all my strength to control myself, so as not to +fill the auditorium with screams. The soft mossy words were piercing +me, yet only empty words about children and child-production reached +my ear. I was like a photographic plate: everything was making +its imprint with a strange, senseless precision on me; the golden +scythe which was nothing more than the reflection of light from the +megaphone of the lecture apparatus, under the megaphone a child, +a living illustration. It was leaning toward the megaphone, the +angle of its infinitesimal unif in its mouth, its little fist +clenched firmly, its thumb squeezed into the fist, a light fluffy +pleat of skin at the wrist. Like a photographic plate I was taking +the impression of all this. Now I saw how its naked leg hung over +the edge of the platform, the pink fan of its finger waved in the +air.... One minute more, one second and the child would be on the +floor! + +A female's scream, a wave of translucent wings, her unif on the +platform! She caught the child, her lips clung to the fluffy pleat +of the baby's wrist; she moved the child to the middle of the +table and left the platform. The imprints were registering in +me: a pink crescent of a mouth, the horns downward! Eyes like +small blue saucers filled with liquid! It was O-90. And as if +reading a consequential formula, I suddenly felt the necessity, the +naturalness of that insignificant occurrence. + +She sat down behind me, somewhat to my left. I looked back. +She quietly removed her gaze from the table and the child and +looked straight into me. Within again: She, I, the table on the +platform,--three points: and through those three points lines were +drawn, a projection of some as yet unforeseen events! + +Then I went home through the green dusky street which seemed +many-eyed because of the electric lights. I heard myself +tick-tocking like a clock. And the hands of that clock seemed to be +about to pass a figure: I was going to do something, something that +would cut off every way of retreat. She wants somebody, whom I do +not know, to think she is with me. I want her; what do I care what +_she_ wants? I do not want to be alone behind the curtains and that +is all there is to it! + +From behind came sounds of a familiar gait, like splashing in a +ditch. I did not need to look back, I knew it was S-. He would +follow me to the very door, probably. Then he would stay below on +the sidewalk, and he would try to drill upward into my room with his +boring eyes, until the curtains would fall, concealing something +criminal. + +Was he my Guardian-Angel? No! My decision was made. + +When I came into my room and turned on the light, I could not +believe my eyes! O-90 stood at my table, or to be more exact, +she was hanging like a creased empty dress. She seemed to have +no tensity, no spring beneath the dress; her arms and legs were +springless, her voice was hanging and springless. + +"About my letter, did you receive it? Yes? I must know your answer, +I must--today." + +I shrugged my shoulders. I enjoyed looking into her blue eyes which +were filled with tears as if she were the guilty one. I lingered +over my answer. With pleasure I pricked her: + +"Answer? Well.... You are right. Undoubtedly. In everything." + +"Then ..." (She tried to cover the minute tremor with a smile but +it did not escape me.) "Well, all right. I shall ... I shall leave +you at once." + +Yet she remained drooping over the table. Drooping eyelids, drooping +arms and legs. The pink check of the other was still on the table. I +quickly opened this manuscript, "WE," and with its pages I covered +the check, trying to hide it from myself, rather than from O-. + +"See, here, I am still busy writing. Already 101 pages! Something +quite unexpected comes out in this writing." + +In a voice, in a shadow of a voice, "And do you remember ... how the +other day I ... on the _seventh_ page ... and it dropped...." + +The tiny blue saucers filled to the borders; silently and rapidly +the tears ran down her cheeks. And suddenly, like the dropping of +the tears,--rushing forth,--words: + +"I cannot ... I shall leave you in a moment. I shall never again ... +and I don't care.... Only I want, I must have a child! From you! +Give me a child and I will leave. I will!" + +I saw she was trembling all over beneath her unif, and I felt ... +I too, would soon ... would.... I put my hands behind my back and +smiled. + +"What? You desire to go under the Machine of the Well-Doer?" + +Like a stream her words ran over the dam. + +"I don't care. I shall feel it for a while within me. I want to see, +to see only once the little fold of skin here at the wrist, like +that one on the table in the Auditorium. Only for one day!" + +Three points: she, I and a little fist with a fluffy fold of skin +there on the table! + +I remember how once when I was a child they took me up on the +Accumulating Tower. At the very top I bent over the glass railing +of an opening in the Tower. Below people seemed like dots; my heart +contracted sweetly. "What if...." On that occasion I only clenched +my hands around the railing; now I jumped over. + +"So you desire ... being perfectly aware that ..." + +Her eyes were closed as if the sun were beating straight into her +face. A wet, shining smile! + +"Yes, yes! I want it!" + +Quickly I took out the pink check of the other from under the +manuscript and down I went to the controller on duty. O-90 caught +my hand, screamed out something, but what it was I understood only +later, when I returned. + +She was sitting on the edge of the bed, hands firmly clasped about +the knees. + +"Is it, is it her check?" + +"What does it matter? Well, it is hers, yes." + +Something cracked. It must have been the springs of the bed, for +O-90 made a slight motion only. She remained sitting, her hands upon +her knees. + +"Well, quick...." I roughly pressed her hand. A red spot was left +on her wrist (tomorrow it would become purple), where the fluffy, +infantile fold.... It was the last.... I turned the switch, my +thoughts went out with the light. Darkness, a spark! and I had +jumped over the railing, down.... + + + + +RECORD TWENTY + + Discharge + The Material of a Idea + The Zero Rock + + +_Discharge_ is the best word for it. Now I see that it was actually +like an electric discharge. The pulse of my last few days had been +becoming dryer and dryer, more and more frequent, more intense. +The opposite poles had been drawing nearer and nearer and already +I could hear the dry crackling; one millimeter more, and--an +explosion! Then silence. + +Within me there is quiet now and emptiness like that of a house +after everybody has left, when one lies ill, all alone and hears so +clearly the distinct, metallic, tick-tock of thoughts. + +Perhaps that "discharge" cured me at last of my torturing "soul." +Again I am like all of us. At least at this moment as I write, I +can see as it were, without any pain in my mental eye, how O-90 is +brought to the steps of the Cube; or I see her in the Gas Bell. And +if there in the Operation Department she should give my name,--I do +not care. Piously and gratefully I should kiss the punishing hand +of the Well-Doer at the last moment. I have this right in regard to +the United State: to receive my punishment. And I shall not give up +this right. No Number ought, or dares, to refuse this only personal, +and therefore, most precious, privilege. + +... Quickly, metallically, distinctly, do the thoughts rap in the +head. An invisible aero carries me into the blue height of my +beloved abstractions. And I see how there in the height, in the +purest rarified air, my judgment about the only "right" bursts with +a crack, like a pneumatic tire. I see clearly that only an atavism, +the absurd superstition of the ancients, gives me this idea of +"right." + +There are ideas of clay and ideas moulded of gold, or of our +precious glass. In order to know the material of which an idea is +made, one needs only to let fall upon it a drop of strong acid. +One of these acids was known to the ancients under the name of +_reductio ad absurdum_. This was the name of it, I think. But they +were afraid of this poison; they preferred to believe that they saw +_heaven_, even though it was a toy made of clay, rather than confess +to themselves that it was only a blue nothing. We on the other hand +(Glory to the Well-Doer!), we are adults and we have no need of +toys. Now if we put a drop of acid on the idea of "right".... Even +the ancients (the most mature of them) knew that the source of right +was--might! Right is a function of might. Here we have our scale: on +the one side an ounce, on the other a ton. On one side "I," on the +other "we," the United State. Is it not clear? To assume that I may +have any "right" as far as the State is concerned, is like assuming +that an ounce may equilibrate a ton in a scale! Hence the natural +distribution: tons--rights, grams--duties. And the natural road from +nothingness to greatness, is to forget that one is a gram and to +feel that one is one-millionth of a ton! + +You ripe-bodied, bright Venerians; you sooty, blacksmith-like +Uranians, I almost hear your protests in this silence. But only +think, everything that is great is simple. Remember, only the four +rules of arithmetic are unshakeable and eternal! And only that +mortality will be unshakeable and eternal which is built upon those +four rules. This is the superior wisdom, this is the summit of that +pyramid around which people red with sweat, fought and battled for +centuries trying to crawl up! + +Looking from this summit down to the bottom, where something is +still left swarming like worms, from this summit all that is left +over in us from the ancients seems alike. Alike are the unlawful +coming motherhood of O-90, a murder, and the insanity of that +Number who dared to throw verses into the face of the United State; +and alike is the judgment for them--premature death. This is that +divine justice of which those stone-housed ancients dreamed, lit by +the naive pink rays of the dawn of history. Their "God" punished +sacrilege as a capital crime. + +You Uranians, morose and as black as the ancient Spaniards, who +were wise in knowing so well how to burn at the stake, you are +silent; I think you agree with me. But I hear you, pink Venerians, +saying something about "tortures, executions, return to barbarism." +My dear Venerians, I pity you! You are incapable of philosophical, +mathematical thinking. Human history moves upward in circles, +like an aero. The circles are at times golden, sometimes they are +bloody, but all have 360 degrees. They go from 0° to 10°, 20°, 200°, +360°,--and then again 0°. Yes, we have returned to zero. But for a +mathematically working mind it is clear that this zero is different; +it is a perfectly new zero. We started from zero to the right and +came to zero on the left. Hence instead of plus zero, we are at +minus zero. Do you understand? + +This zero appears to me now as a silent, immense, narrow rock, +sharp as a blade. In cruel darkness, holding our breath, we set +sail from the black night-side of the zero rock. For centuries we, +Columbuses, floated and floated; we made the circuit of the whole +world and at last! Hurrah! Salute! We climbed up the masts; before +us now was a new side of the zero rock, hitherto unknown, bathed +in the Polar light of the United State; a blue mass covered with +rainbow sparkles! Suns!--a hundred suns! A million rainbows! What +does it matter if we are separated from the other, black side of +the zero rock only by the thickness of a blade? A knife is the most +solid, the most immortal, the most inspired invention of man. The +knife served on the guillotine. The knife is the universal tool for +cutting knots. The way of paradoxes follows its sharp edge, the only +way becoming to a fearless mind.... + + + + +RECORD TWENTY-ONE + + The Duty of an Author + The Ice-swells + The Most Difficult Love + + +Yesterday was her day and again she did not come. Again there +came her incoherent note, explaining nothing. But I am tranquil, +perfectly tranquil. If I do act as I am told to in the note, if I +do go to the controller on duty, produce the pink check and then, +having lowered the curtains if I do sit alone in my room, I do all +this of course not because I have no power to act contrary to her +desire. It seems funny? Decidedly not! It is quite simple: separated +from all curative, plaster-like smiles I am enabled quietly to +write these very lines. This first. And second: I am afraid to lose +in her, in I-330, perhaps the only clue I shall ever have to the +understanding of all the unknowns, like the story of the cupboard, +or my temporary death, for instance. To understand, to discover +these unknowns as the author of these records, I feel it simply my +duty. Moreover, the unknown is naturally the enemy of man. And _Homo +Sapiens_ only then becomes Man in the complete sense of the word, +when his punctuation includes no question marks, only exclamation +points, commas and periods. + +Thus, guided by what seems to me simply my duty as an author, I +took an aero today at sixteen o'clock and went to the Ancient +House. A strong wind was blowing against me. The aero advanced with +difficulty through the thicket of air, its transparent branches +whistling and whipping. The city below seemed a heap of blue blocks +of ice. Suddenly--a cloud, a swift, oblique shadow. The ice became +leaden; it swelled. As in springtime when you happen to stand at the +shore and wait; in one more minute everything will move and pull +and crack! But the minute passes and the ice remains motionless; +you feel as though you yourself are swelling, your heart beats +more restlessly, more frequently.... But why do I write about all +this? And whence all these strange sensations? For is there such an +iceberg as could ever break the most lucid, solid crystal of our +life? + +At the entrance of the Ancient House I found no one. I went around +it and found the old janitress near the Green Wall. She held her +hand above her eyes, looking upward. Beyond the Wall, sharp black +triangles of some birds; they would rush, cawing, in onslaught +on the invisible fence of electric waves, and as they felt the +electricity against their breasts, they would recoil and soar once +more beyond the Wall. + +I noticed oblique, swift shadows on the dark, wrinkled face, a quick +glance at me. + +"Nobody here, nobody, nobody! No! And no use coming here...." + +In what respect is it "no use" and what a strange idea, to consider +me somebody's shadow. Perhaps all of you are only my shadows. Did I +not populate these pages which only recently were white quadrangular +deserts, with you? Without me would they whom I shall guide over the +narrow paths of my lines, could they ever see you? + +Of course I did not say all this to the old woman. From experience +I know that the most torturing thing is to inoculate someone with a +doubt as to the fact that he or she is a three-dimensional reality +and not some other reality. I remarked only, quite drily, that her +business was to open the gate, and she let me into the courtyard. + +It was empty. Quiet. The wind remained beyond the walls, distant +as on that day, when shoulder to shoulder, two like one, we came +out from beneath, from the corridors,--if it ever really happened. +I walked under stone arches, my steps resounded against the +damp vaults and fell behind me, sounding as though someone were +continually following me. The yellow walls with patches of red brick +were watching me through their square spectacles, windows,--watching +me open the squeaky doors of a barn, look into corners, nooks +and hidden places.... A gate in the fence and a lonely spot. The +monument of the Two Hundred Years' War. From the ground naked, stone +ribs were sticking out. The yellow jaws of the wall. An ancient oven +with a chimney like a ship petrified forever among red-brick waves. + +It seemed to me that I had seen those yellow teeth once before. +I saw them still dimly in my mind, as at the bottom of a +barrel, through water. And I began to search. I fell into caves +occasionally; I stumbled over stones; rusty jaws caught my unif a +few times; salt drops of sweat ran from my forehead into my eyes. + +Nowhere! I could find that exit from below, from the corridors, +nowhere! There was none. Well, perhaps it was better that it +happened so. Probably that _all_ was only one of my absurd "dreams." + +Tired out, covered with cobweb and dust, I opened the gate to return +to the main yard, when suddenly ... a rustle behind me, splashing +steps, and there before me were the pink wing-like ears and the +double-curved smile of S-. Half closing his eyes, he bored his +little drills into me and asked: + +"Taking a walk?" + +I was silent. My arms were heavy. + +"Well, do you feel better now?" + +"Yes, thank you. I think I am getting normal again." + +He let me go. He lifted his eyes, looked upward, and I noticed his +Adam's apple for the first time; it resembles a broken spring, +sticking out from beneath the upholstery of a divan. + +Above us, not very high (about 50 meters) aeros were buzzing. By +their low, slow flight and by the observation tubes which hung down, +I recognized them. They were the aeros of the Guardians. But there +were not two or three, as usual, there were about ten or twelve (I +regret to have to confine myself to an approximate figure). + +"Why are there so many today?" I dared to ask S-. + +"Why? Hm.... A real physician begins to treat a patient when +he is still well but on the way to becoming sick tomorrow, +day-after-tomorrow or within a week. Prophylaxis! Yes!" + +He nodded and went splashing over the stones of the yard. Then he +turned his head and said over his shoulder, "Be careful!" + +Again I was alone. Silence. Emptiness. Far beyond the Green Wall the +birds and the wind. What did he mean? My aero ran very fast with the +wind. Light and heavy shadows from the clouds. Below blue cupolas, +cubes of glass-ice were becoming leaden and swelling.... + +_The Same Evening_ + +I took up my pen just now in order to write upon these pages a +few thoughts which, it seems to me, will prove useful for you, +my readers. These thoughts are concerned with the great Day of +Unanimity which is now not far away. But as I sat down, I discovered +that I cannot write at present; instead I sit and listen to the wind +beating the glass with its dark wings; all the while I am busy +looking about and I am waiting, expecting.... What? I do not know. +So I was very glad when I saw the brownish-pink gills enter my room, +heartily glad I may say. She sat down and innocently smoothed a fold +of her unif that fell between her knees, and very soon she pasted +upon me, all over me, a host of smiles,--a bit of a smile on each +crack of my face and this gave me pleasant sensations, as if I were +tightly bound like an infant of the ancients in a swaddling-cloth. + +"Imagine! Today, when I entered the classroom" (she works in the +Child-Educational Refinery), "I suddenly noticed a caricature upon +the blackboard. Indeed! I assure you! They had pictured me in the +form of a fish! Perhaps I really--" + +"No, no! Why do you say that?" I hastily exclaimed. When one was +near her, it was clear indeed that she had nothing resembling +gills. No. When I referred to gills in these pages I was certainly +irreverent. + +"Oh, after all it does not matter. But the act as such, think of +it! Of course I called the Guardians at once. I love children very +much and I think that the most difficult and the most exalted love +is--cruelty. You understand me, of course." + +"Certainly!" Her sentence so closely resembled my thoughts! I could +not refrain from reading to her a passage from my Record No. 20, +beginning "Quietly, metallically, distinctly, do the thoughts" ... +etc. I felt her brownish-pink cheeks twitching and coming closer +and closer to me. Suddenly I felt in my hands her firm, dry, even +slightly prickling fingers. + +"Give, give this to me please. I shall have it phonographed and make +the children learn it by heart. Not only your Venerians need all +this, but we ourselves right now, tomorrow, day-after-tomorrow." + +She glanced around and said in a very low voice: + +"Have you heard, they say that on the Day of Unanimity--" + +I sprang to my feet. + +"What? What do they say? What--on the Day of Unanimity?" + +The coziness of my room, its very walls, seemed to have vanished. I +felt myself thrown outside, where the tremendous, shaggy wind was +tossing about and where the slanting clouds of dusk were descending +lower and lower.... + +U- boldly and firmly grasped me by the shoulders. I even noticed how +her fingers, responding to my emotion, trembled slightly. + +"Sit down, dear, and don't be upset. They say many things; must we +believe them all? Moreover, if only you need me, I shall be near you +on that day. I shall leave the school-children with someone else and +I shall stay with you, for you, dear, you too are a child and you +need...." + +"No, no!" (I raised my hands in protest). "Not for anything! You +really think then that I am a child and that I cannot do without +a.... Oh, no! Not for anything in the world." (I must confess I had +other plans for that day!) + +She smiled. The wording of that smile apparently was: "Oh, what a +stubborn, what a stubborn boy!" She sat down, eyelids lowered. Her +hands modestly busied themselves with fixing the fold of the unif +which fell again between her knees, and suddenly, about something +entirely different, she said: + +"I think I must decide ... for your sake.... But I implore you, do +not hurry me. I must think it over." + +I did not hurry her, although I realized that I ought to have been +delighted, as there is no greater honor than to crown someone's +evening years. + +... All night strange wings were about. I walked and protected my +head with my hands from those wings. And a chair, not like ours, but +an ancient chair, came in with a horse-like gait: first the right +fore- and left hind-leg, then the left fore- and right hind-leg. It +rushed to my bed and crawled into it, and I liked that wooden chair, +although it made me uncomfortable and caused me some pain. + +It is very strange; is it really impossible to find any cure for +this dream-sickness, or to make it rational, perhaps even useful? + + + + +RECORD TWENTY-TWO + + The Benumbed Waves + Everything Is Improving + I Am a Microbe + + +Please imagine that you stand at the seashore. The waves go +rhythmically up, down, up.... Suddenly when they have risen they +remain in that position, benumbed, torpid! It was just as weird +and unnatural when everything became confused and our regular walk +which is prescribed by the Tables, suddenly came to an end. The +last time such a thing happened was 119 years ago, when according +to our historians a meteorite fell hissing and fuming into the +very midst of the marchers. We were walking yesterday as usual, +that is like warriors on the Assyrian monuments, a thousand heads +and two composite, integrated legs and two swinging integrated +arms. At the end of the avenue where the Accumulating Tower was +formidably resounding, a quadrangle appeared: on the sides, in +front and behind--guards; in the centre three Numbers. Their unifs +were already stripped of the golden State badges; everything was +painfully clear. The enormous dial on the top of the Tower looked +like a face; it bent down from the clouds and spitting down its +seconds, it waited with indifference. It showed six minutes past +thirteen exactly. There was some confusion in the quadrangle. I was +very close and I saw the most minute details. I clearly remember +a thin, long neck and on the temple a confused net of small blue +veins like rivers on the map of a small unfamiliar world, and that +unknown world was apparently still a very young man. He evidently +noticed someone in our ranks; he stopped, rose upon his tip-toes +and stretched his neck. One of the guards snapped his back with +the bluish spark of the electric whip--he squealed in a thin voice +like a puppy. The distinct snaps followed each other at intervals +of approximately two seconds; a snap and a squeal, a snap and a +squeal.... We continued to walk as usual, rhythmically, in our +Assyrian manner. I watched the graceful zigzags of the electric +sparks and thought: "Human society is constantly improving, as it +should. How ugly a tool was the ancient whip and how much beauty +there is--" + +At that moment, like a nut flying from a wheel revolving at full +speed, a female Number, thin, flexible and tense, tore herself +from our rows, and with a cry, "Enough! Don't you dare!" she threw +herself straight into the quadrangle. It was like the meteorite of +119 years ago; our march came to a standstill and our rows appeared +like the gray crests of waves frozen by sudden cold. For a second +I looked at that woman's figure with the eye of a stranger as all +the others did. She was no Number any longer; she was only a human +being and she existed for us only as a substantiation of the insult +which she cast upon the United State. But a motion of hers, her +bending while twisting to the left upon her hips, revealed to me +clearly who she was. I knew, I knew that body, flexible as a whip! +My eyes, my lips, my hands knew it; at that moment I was absolutely +certain.... Two of the guards dashed to catch her. One more moment +and that limpid mirror-like point on the pavement would have become +the point of meeting of their trajectories, and she would have been +caught! My heart fell, stopped. Without thinking whether it was +permissible or not, whether it was reasonable or absurd, I threw +myself straight to that point. + +I felt thousands of eyes bulging with horror fixed upon me but that +only added a sort of desperately joyful power to that wild being +with hairy paws which arose in me and ran faster and faster. Two +more steps--she turned around-- + +I saw a quivering face covered with freckles, red eyebrows.... It +was not she! Not I-330! + +A rabid, quivering joy took hold of me. I wanted to shout something +like: "Catch her! Get her, that--" But I heard only my whisper. A +heavy hand was already upon my shoulder; I was caught and led away. +I tried to explain to them: + +"But listen, you must understand that I thought that...." + +But could I explain even to myself all the sickness which I have +described in these pages? My light went out; I waited obediently. As +a leaf that is torn from its branch by a sudden gust of wind falls +humbly, but on its way down turns and tries to catch every little +branch, every fork, every knot; so I tried to catch every one of the +silent, globe-like heads, or the transparent ice of the walls, or +the blue needle of the Accumulating Tower which seemed to pierce the +clouds. + +At that moment, when a heavy curtain was about to separate from me +this beautiful world, I noticed not far away a familiar, enormous +head gliding over the mirror surface of the pavement and wagging its +wing-like ears. I heard a familiar, flat voice: + +"I deem it my duty to testify that Number D-503 is ill and is unable +to regulate his emotions. Moreover, I am sure that he was led by +natural indignation--" + +"Yes! Yes!" I exclaimed, "I even shouted 'catch her!'" + +From behind me: "You did not shout anything." + +"No, but I wanted to. I swear by the Well-Doer, I wanted to!" + +For a second I was bored through by the gray, cold, drill-eyes. +I don't know whether he believed that what I said was the truth +(almost!), or whether he had some secret reason for sparing me for a +while, but he wrote a short note, handed it to one of those who had +held me and again I was free. That is, I was again included in the +orderly, endless, Assyrian rows of Numbers. + +The quadrangle, the freckled face and the temple with the map of +blue veinlets disappeared forever around the corner. We walked +again--a million-headed body; and in each one of us resided that +humble joyfulness with which in all probability molecules, atoms and +phagocytes live. + +In the ancient days the Christians understood this feeling; they are +our only (though very imperfect) direct forerunners. The greatness +of the "Church of the United Flock" was known to them. They knew +that resignation is virtue, and pride--a vice; that "We" is from +God, "I" from the devil. + +I was walking, keeping step with the others yet separated from them. +I was still trembling from the emotion just felt, like a bridge +over which a thundering ancient steel train has passed a moment +before. I _felt_ myself. To feel one's self, to be conscious of +one's personality, is the lot of an eye inflamed by a cinder, or an +infected finger, or a bad tooth. A healthy eye, or finger, or tooth +is not felt; it is non-existent as it were. Is it not clear then, +that consciousness of oneself is a sickness? + +Apparently I am no longer a phagocyte which quietly, in a +business-like way devours microbes (microbes with freckled faces +and blue temples); apparently I am myself a microbe, and she too, +I-330, is a microbe, a wonderful, diabolic microbe! It is quite +possible that there are already thousands of such microbes among us, +still pretending to be phagocytes, as I pretend. What if today's +accident, although in itself not important, is only a beginning, +only the first meteorite of a shower of burning and thundering +stones which the infinite may have poured out upon our glass +paradise? + + + + +RECORD TWENTY-THREE + + Flowers + The Dissolution of a Crystal + If only (?) + + +They say there are flowers that bloom only once in a hundred years. +Why not suppose the existence of flowers that bloom only once a +thousand years? We may have known nothing about them until now only +because today is the "once in a thousand years"? + +Happy and dizzy I walked downstairs to the controller on duty +and quickly under my gaze all around me and silently the +thousand-year-old buds burst, and everything was blooming: +armchairs, shoes, golden badges, electric bulbs, someone's dark +heavy eyes, the polished columns of the banisters, the handkerchief +which someone lost on the stairs, the small, ink-blotted desk of the +controller and the tender brown, somewhat freckled cheeks of U-. +Everything seemed not ordinary, new, tender, rosy, moist. U- took +the pink stub from me while the blue, aromatic moon, hanging from an +unseen branch, shone through the glass of the wall and over the head +of U-. With a solemn gesture I pointed my finger and said: + +"The moon. You see?" + +U- glanced at me, then at the number of the stub and again made that +familiar, charmingly innocent movement with which she fixes the fold +of the unif between her knees. + +"You look abnormal and ill, dear. Abnormality and illness are the +same thing. You are killing yourself. And no one would tell you +that, no one!" + +That "No one" was certainly equivalent to the number on the +stub,--I-330. This thought was confirmed by an ink-blot which +fell close to the figure 330. Dear, wonderful U-! You are right, +of course. I am not reasonable. I am sick. I have a soul. I am a +microbe. But is blooming--not a sickness? Is it not painful when the +buds are bursting? And don't you think that spermatozoa are the most +terrible of all microbes? + +Back upstairs to my room. In the widely open cup of the armchair +was I-330. I, on the floor, embracing her limbs, my head on her +lap. We were silent. Everything was silent. Only the pulse was +audible. Like a crystal I was _dissolving_ in her, in I-330. I +felt most distinctly how the polished facets which limited me in +space were slowly thawing, melting away. I was dissolving in her +lap, in her, and I became at once smaller and larger and larger, +unembraceable. For she was not she but the whole universe. For a +second I and that armchair near the bed, transfixed with joy, we +were one. And the wonderfully smiling old woman at the gate of the +Ancient House, and the wild debris beyond the Green Wall, and some +strange silver wreckage on a black background, dozing like the old +woman and the slam of a door in the distance,--all this was within +me, was listening to my pulse and soaring through the happiest of +seconds. + +In absurd, confused, overflowing words I attempted to tell her that +I was a crystal and that there was a door in me, and that I felt how +happy the armchair was. But something nonsensical came out of the +attempt and I stopped. I was ashamed. And suddenly: + +"Dear I-! Forgive me! I understand nothing. I talk so foolishly!" + +"And why should you think that foolishness is not fine? If we had +taken pains to educate human foolishness through centuries, as +we have done with our intelligence, it might perhaps have been +transformed into something very precious." + +Yes, I think she is right! How could she be wrong at that moment? + +"... And for this foolishness of yours and for what you did +yesterday during the walk, I love you the more, much more." + +"Then why did you torture me? Why would you not come? Why did you +send me the pink check and make me--?" + +"Perhaps I wanted to test you. Perhaps I must be sure that you will +do anything I wish, that you are completely mine." + +"Yes, completely." + +She took my face, my whole self, between her palms, lifted my head: + +"And how about 'It is the duty of every honest Number'? Eh?" + +Sweet, sharp, white teeth,--a smile. In the open cup of the armchair +she was like a bee,--sting and honey combined. + +Yes, duty.... I turned over in my mind the pages of my records; +indeed there is not a thought about the fact that strictly speaking +I should.... + +I was silent. Exaltedly (and probably stupidly) I smiled, looking +into the pupils of her eyes. I followed first one eye and then +the other and in each of them I saw myself, a millimetric self +imprisoned in those tiny rainbow cells. Then again the lips and the +sweet pain of blooming. + +In each Number of the United State there is an unseen metronome +which tick-tocks silently; without looking at the clock we know +exactly the time of day within five minutes. But now my metronome +had stopped and I did not know how much time had passed. In fright +I grasped my badge with its clock from under the pillow. Glory be +to the Well-Doer! I had twenty minutes more! But those minutes were +such tiny, short ones! They ran! And I wanted to tell her so many +things. I wanted to tell her all about myself; about the letter from +O- and about that terrible evening when I gave her a child; and for +some reason also about my childhood, about our mathematician Plappa +and about the square-root of minus one; and how, when I attended +the glorification on the Day of Unanimity for the first time in my +life, I wept bitterly because there was an ink-stain on my unif--on +such a holy day! + +I-330 lifted her head. She leaned on her elbow. In the corners +of her lips two long, sharp lines and the dark angle of lifted +eyebrows--a cross. + +"Perhaps on that day ..." her brow grew darker; she took my hand and +pressed it hard. "Tell me, will you ever forget me? Will you always +remember me?" + +"But why such talk? What is it, I-, dear?" + +She was silent. And her eyes were already sliding past me, through +me, away into the distance. I suddenly heard the wind beating the +glass with its enormous wings. Of course it had been blowing all the +while but I had not noticed it until then. And for some reason those +cawing birds over the Green Wall came to my mind. + +I-330 shook her head with a gesture of throwing something off. Once +more she touched me for a second with her whole body, as an aero +before landing touches the ground for a second with all the tension +of a recoiling spring. + +"Well, give me my stockings, quick!" + +The stockings were on the desk, on the open manuscript, on page 124. +Being in haste I caught some of the pages and they were scattered +over the floor so that it was hard to put them back in the proper +order. Moreover, even if I put them in that order there will be no +real order; there are obstacles to that anyway, some undiscoverable +unknowns. + +"I can't bear it," I said, "You are here, near me, yet you seem to +be behind an opaque ancient wall; through that wall I hear a rustle +and voices; I cannot make out the words, I don't know what is there. +I cannot bear it. You seem always to withhold something from me; you +have never told me what kind of a place it was where I found myself +that day beneath the Ancient House. Where did those corridors lead? +Why was the doctor there,--or perhaps all that never happened?" + +I-330 put her hands on my shoulders and slowly entered deeply into +my eyes. + +"You want to know all?" + +"Yes, I do." + +"And you would not be afraid to follow me anywhere? Wherever I +should lead you?" + +"Anywhere!" + +"All right then. I promise you, after the holiday, if only.... Oh +yes, there is your _Integral_. I always forget to ask; will it soon +be completed?" + +"No. 'If only' what? Again! 'If only' what?" + +She, already at the door: "You shall see." + +I was again alone. All that she left behind her was a barely +perceptible scent, similar to that of a sweet, dry, yellow dust of +flowers from behind the Green Wall; also, sunk deeply within me, +question marks like small hooks similar to those the ancients used +for fishing (_vide_ the Prehistoric Museum). + +... Why did she suddenly ask about the _Integral_? + + + + +RECORD TWENTY-FOUR + + The Limit of the Function + Easter + To Cross Out Everything + + +I am like a motor set in motion at a speed of too many revolutions +per second, the bearings have become too hot and in one more minute +the molten metal will begin to drip and everything will go to the +devil. Cold water! Quick! Some logic! I pour pailfuls of it, but my +logic merely sizzles on the hot metal and disappears in the air in +the form of vapor. + +Of course it is clear that in order to establish the true meaning +of a function, one must establish its limit. It is also clear that +yesterday's "dissolution in the universe" taken to its limit is +death. For death is exactly the most complete dissolution of the +self in the universe. Hence: L=f(D), love is the function of +death. + +Yes, exactly, exactly! That is why I am afraid of I-330; I struggle +against her, I don't want.... But why is it that within me "I don't +want to" and "I want to" stand side by side? That is the chief +horror of the matter; I continue to long for that happy death of +yesterday. The horror of it is that even now, when I have integrated +the logical function, when it becomes evident that the latter +contains death hidden in it, nevertheless I long for it with my +lips, arms, breast, with every millimeter.... + +Tomorrow is the Day of Unanimity. She will certainly be there and I +shall see her, though from a distance. That distance will be painful +to me, for I must be, I am inevitably drawn, close to her, so that +her hands, her shoulder, her hair.... I long for even that pain.... +Let it come.... Great Well-Doer! How absurd to desire pain! Who is +ignorant of the simple fact that pains are negative items which +reduce that sum total we call happiness? Consequently ... Well, no +"consequently" ... Emptiness.... Nakedness! + +_The Same Evening._ + +Through the glass wall of the house I see a disquieting, windy, +feverishly pink, sunset. I move my armchair to avoid that pinkness +and turn over these pages, and I find I am forgetting that I write +this not for myself but for you unknown people whom I love and pity, +for you who still lag centuries behind, below. Let me tell you about +the Day of Unanimity, about that Great Day. I think that day for us +is what Easter was for the ancients. I remember I used to prepare an +hour-calendar the eve of that day; solemnly I would cross out every +time the figure of the hour elapsed; nearer by one hour! one hour +less to wait!... If I were certain that nobody would discover it, I +assure you I should now too, make out such a calendar and carry it +with me, and I should watch how many hours remain until tomorrow, +when I shall see, at least from a distance.... + +(I was interrupted. They brought me a new unif from the shop. As is +customary, new unifs are given to us for tomorrow's celebration. +Steps in the hall, exclamations of joy, noises.) + +I shall continue; tomorrow I shall see the same spectacle which we +see year after year and which always awakes in us fresh emotions, +as though we saw it for the first time: an impressive throng of +piously lifted arms. Tomorrow is the day of the yearly election of +the Well-Doer. Tomorrow we shall again hand over to our Well-Doer +the keys to the impregnable fortress of our happiness. Certainly +this in no way resembles the disorderly, unorganized election-days +of the ancients, on which (it seems so funny!) they did not even +know in advance the result of the election. To build a state on some +non-discountable contingencies, to build blindly,--what could be +more nonsensical? Yet centuries were required to pass before this +was understood! + +Needless to say, we in this respect as in all others have no place +for contingencies; nothing unexpected can happen. The elections +themselves have rather a symbolic meaning. They remind us that we +are a united, powerful organism of millions of cells, that--, to +use the language of the "gospel" of the ancients, we are a united +church. The history of the United State knows not a single case +in which upon this solemn day even a solitary voice has dared to +violate the magnificent unison. + +They say that the ancients used to conduct their elections secretly, +stealthily like thieves. Some of our historians assert even that +they would come to the electoral celebrations completely masked. +Imagine the weird, fantastic spectacle! Night. A plaza. Along the +walls the stealthily creeping figures covered with mantles. The +red flame of torches dancing in the wind.... Why was such secrecy +necessary? It has never been satisfactorily explained. Probably it +resulted from the fact that elections were associated with some +mystic and superstitious, perhaps even criminal ceremonies. We have +nothing to conceal or to be ashamed of; we celebrate our election +openly, honestly, in daylight. I see them all vote for the Well-Doer +and everybody sees me vote for the Well-Doer. How could it be +otherwise, since "all" and "I" are one "we"? How ennobling, sincere, +lofty, is this compared with the cowardly, thievish "secrecy" of the +ancients! Moreover, how much more expedient! For even admitting for +a moment the impossible, that is the outbreak of some dissonance in +our customary unity, in that case our unseen Guardians are always +right there among us, are they not, to register the Numbers who +would fall into error and save them from any further false steps? +The United State is theirs, the Numbers'! And besides.... + +Through the wall to my left a she-number before the mirror-door +of the closet; she is hastily unbuttoning her unif. For a second, +swiftly--eyes, lips, two sharp, pink ... the curtains fell. Within +me instantly awoke all that happened yesterday and now I no longer +know what I meant to say by "besides...." I no longer wish to;--I +cannot. I want one thing. I want I-330. I want her every minute, +every second, to be with me, with no one else. All that I wrote +about Unanimity is of no value; it is not what I want; I have a +desire to cross it out, to tear it to pieces and throw it away. For +I know (be it a sacrilege, yet it is the truth), that a glorious Day +is possible only with her and only then when we are side by side, +shoulder to shoulder. Without her the Sun of tomorrow will appear +to me only as a little circle cut out of a tin sheet, and the sky a +sheet of tin painted blue, and I myself ... I snatched the telephone +receiver. + +"I-330, are you there?" + +"Yes, it is I. Why so late?" + +"Perhaps not too late yet. I want to ask you ... I want you to be +with me tomorrow--dear!" + +"Dear" I said in a very low voice. And for some reason a thing I +saw this morning at the docks flashed through my mind: just for +fun someone put a watch under the hundred-ton sledge-hammer.... +A swing, a breath of wind in the face and the silent hundred-ton, +knife-like weight on the breakable watch.... + +A silence. I thought I heard someone's whisper in I-330's room. Then +her voice: + +"No, I cannot. Of course you understand that I myself.... No, I +cannot. 'Why?' You shall see tomorrow." + +Night. + + + + +RECORD TWENTY-FIVE + + The Descent from Heaven + The Greatest Catastrophe in History + The Known--Is Ended + + +At the beginning all arose, and the hymn, like a solemn mantle, +slowly waved above our heads. Hundreds of tubes of the Musical Tower +and millions of human voices. For a second I forgot everything; I +forgot that alarming something at which I-330 hinted in connection +with today's celebration; I think I even forgot about her. At that +moment I was the very same little boy who once wept because of a +tiny ink-stain on his unif, which no one else could see. Even if it +be so, if nobody sees that I am covered with black, ineffaceable +stains, I know it, do I not? I know that there should be no place +for a criminal like me among these frank open faces. What if I +should rush forward and shout out all at once everything about +myself! The end might follow. Let it! At least for a second I would +feel myself clear and clean and senseless like that innocent blue +sky.... + +All eyes were directed upward; in the pure morning blue, still moist +with the tears of night, a small dark spot appeared. Now it was +dark, now bathed in the rays of the sun. It was He, descending to +us from the sky, He--the new Jehovah--in an aero, He, as wise and as +lovingly cruel as the Jehovah of the ancients. Nearer and nearer, +and higher toward him were drawn millions of hearts. Already he +saw us. And in my mind with Him I looked over everything from the +heights: concentric circles of stands marked with dotted blue lines +of unifs,--like circles of a spider-web strewn with microscopic suns +(the shining of the badges). And in the centre there soon the wise +white spider would occupy his place--the Well-Doer clad in white, +the Well-Doer who wisely tangled our hands and feet in the salutary +net of happiness. + +His magnificent descent from the sky was accomplished. The brassy +Hymn came to silence; all sat down. At once I perceived that +everything was really a very thin spider-web, the threads of which +were stretched tense and trembling, and it seemed that in a moment +those threads might break and something improbable.... + +I half rose and looked around, and I met many lovingly-worried eyes +which passed from one face to another. I saw someone lifting his +hand and almost imperceptibly waving his fingers--he was making +signs to another. The latter replied with a similar finger-sign. And +a third.... I understood; they were the Guardians. I understood; +they were alarmed by something--the spider-web was stretched and +trembling. And within me as if tuned to the same wave-length of a +radio, within me there was a corresponding quiver. + +On the platform a poet was reciting his pre-electoral ode. I could +not hear a single word; I only felt the rhythmic swing of the +hexametric pendulum, and with its every motion I felt how nearer and +nearer there was approaching some hour set for.... I continued to +turn over face after face like pages but I could not find the one, +the only one, I was seeking, the one I needed to find at once, as +soon as possible, for one more swing of the pendulum and.... + +It was he, certainly it was he! Below, past the main platform, +gliding over the sparkling glass, the ear-wings flapped by, the +running body gave a reflection of a double-curved S-, like a noose +which was rolling toward some of the intricate passages among the +stands. S-, I-330,--there is some thread between them. I have always +felt some thread between them. I don't know yet what that thread is +but some day I shall untangle it. I planted my gaze on him; he was +rushing farther away, behind him that invisible thread.... There he +stopped ... there.... I was pierced, twisted together into a knot as +if by a lightning-like, many-volted electric discharge; in my row, +not more than 40° from me, S- stopped and bowed. I saw I-330 and +beside her the smiling, repellent, negro-lipped R-13. + +My first thought was to rush to her and cry, "Why with him? Why did +you not want...?" But the salutary invisible spider-web bound fast +my hands and feet; so, gritting my teeth together I sat stiff as +iron, my gaze fixed upon them. A sharp _physical_ pain at my heart. +I remember my thought: "if non-physical causes effect physical pain, +then it is clear that...." + +I regret that I did not come to any conclusion. I remember only that +something about "soul" flashed through my mind, a purely nonsensical +ancient expression, "His soul fell into his boots" passed through my +head. My heart sank. The hexameter came to an end. It was about to +start. What "It"? + +The five minute pre-election recess established by custom. The +custom-established pre-electional silence. But now it was not that +pious, really prayer-like silence that it usually was. Now it was +as in the ancient days when there were no Accumulating Towers, +when the sky, still untamed in those days, would roar from time to +time with its "storms." It was like the "lull before the storm" +of the ancient days. The air seemed to be made of transparent, +vaporized cast-iron. One wanted to breathe with one's mouth wide +open. My hearing, intense to painfulness, registered from behind a +mouse-like, gnawing, worried whisper. Without lifting my eyes I saw +those two, I-330 and R-13, side by side, shoulder to shoulder,--and +on my knees my trembling, foreign, hateful, hairy hands.... + +Everybody was holding a badge with a clock in his hands. One.... +Two.... Three.... Five minutes. From the main platform a cast-iron, +slow voice: + +"Those in favor shall lift their hands." + +If only I dared to look straight into his eyes as formerly! Straight +and devotedly, and think: "Here I am, my whole self! Take me!" But +now I did not dare. I had to make an effort to raise my hand, as if +my joints were rusty. + +A whisper of millions of hands. Someone's subdued "Ah!" and I felt +something was coming, falling heavily, but I could not understand +what it was, and I did not have the strength or courage to take a +look.... + +"Those opposed?"... + +This was always the most magnificent moment of our celebration: all +would remain sitting motionless, joyfully bowing their heads under +the salutary yoke of that Number of Numbers. But now, to my horror +again I heard a rustle; light as a sigh, yet it was more distinct +even than the brass tube of the Hymn. Thus the last sigh in a man's +life, around him people with their faces pale and with drops of cold +sweat upon their foreheads.... I lifted my eyes and.... + +It took one hundredth of a second only; I saw thousands of hands +arise "opposed" and fall back. I saw the pale cross-marked face of +I-330 and her lifted hand. Darkness came upon my eyes. + +Another hundredth of a second, silence. Quiet. The pulse. Then, as +if at the sign of some mad conductor, from all the stands rattling, +shouting, a whirlwind of unifs lifted by the rush, the perplexed +figures of the Guardians running to and fro. Someone's heels in +the air near my eyes and close to those heels someone's wide-open +mouth tearing itself by an inaudible scream. For some reason this +picture remains particularly distinct in my memory: thousands of +mouths noiselessly yelling as if on the screen of a monstrous +cinema. Also as if on a screen, somewhere below at a distance, for a +second--O-90, pressed against the wall in a passage, her lips white, +defending her abdomen with her crossed arms. She disappeared as if +washed away by a wave, or else I simply forgot her because.... + +This not on the screen any more but within me, within my compressed +heart, within the rapidly pulsating temples; over my head, somewhat +to the left, R-13 suddenly jumped upon a bench, all sprinkling, red, +rabid. In his arms was I-330, pale, her unif torn from shoulder to +breast, red blood on white. She firmly held him round the neck, and +he with huge leaps from bench to bench, repellent and agile, like a +gorilla, was carrying her away upward. + +As if it were in a fire of ancient days, everything became red +around me. Only one thing in my head: to jump after them, to catch +them. At this moment I cannot explain to myself the source of that +strength within me, but like a battering-ram I broke through the +crowd, over somebody's shoulders, over a bench and I was there in a +moment and caught R-13 by the collar: + +"Don't you dare! Don't you dare, I say! Immediately--" + +Fortunately no one could hear my voice, as everyone was shouting and +running. + +"Who is it? What is the matter? What--" R-13 turned around; his +sprinkling lips were trembling. He apparently thought it was one of +the Guardians. + +"What? I do not want--I won't allow--Put her down at once!" + +But he only sprinkled angrily with his lips, shook his head and ran +on. Then I ... I am terribly ashamed to write all this down but I +believe I must, so that you, my unknown readers, may make a complete +study of my disease.... Then I hit him over the head with all my +might. You understand? I hit him. This I remember distinctly. I +remember also a feeling of liberation that followed my action, a +feeling of lightness in my whole body. + +I-330 slid quickly out of his arms. + +"Go away!" she shouted to R-, "Don't you see that he--? Go!" + +R-13 showed his white negro teeth, sprinkled into my face some word, +dived down and disappeared. And I picked up I-330, pressed her +firmly to myself and carried her away. + +My heart was beating forcibly. It seemed enormous. And with every +beat it would splash out such a thundering, such a hot, such a +joyful wave! A flash: "Let them, below there, let them toss and rush +and yell and fall; what matter if something has fallen, if something +has been shattered to dust?-- Little matter! Only to remain this way +and carry her, carry and carry...." + +_The Same Evening, Twenty-two o'Clock._ + +I hold my pen with great difficulty. Such an extraordinary fatigue +after all the dizzying events of this morning. Is it possible that +the strong, salutary, centuries-old walls of the United State have +fallen? Is it possible that we are again without a roof over our +heads, back in the wild state of freedom like our remote ancestors? +Is it possible that we have lost our Well-Doer? "Opposed!" On the +Day of Unanimity--opposed! I am ashamed of _them_, painfully, +fearfully ashamed.... But who are "they"? And who am I? "They," +"We"...? Do I know? + +I shall continue. + +She was sitting where I had brought her on the uppermost glass bench +which was hot from the sun. Her right shoulder and the beginning of +the wonderful and incalculable curve were uncovered,--an exceedingly +thin serpent of blood. She seemed not to be aware of the blood, or +that her breast was uncovered. No, I will say rather: she seemed +to see all that and seemed to feel that it was essential to her, +that if her unif were buttoned she would have torn it, she would +have.... + +"And tomorrow!" She breathed the words through sparkling white +clenched teeth, "Tomorrow, nobody knows what ... do you understand? +Neither I nor anyone else knows; it is unknown! Do you realize what +a joy it is? Do you realize that all that was certain has come to an +end? Now ... things will be new, improbable, unforeseen!" + +Below the human waves were still foaming, tossing, roaring, but they +seemed to be very far away, and to be growing more and more distant. +For she was looking at me. She slowly drew me into herself through +the narrow, golden windows of her pupils. We thus remained silent +for a long while. And for some reason I recalled how once I watched +some queer yellow pupils through the Green Wall, while above the +Wall birds were soaring (or was this another time?). + +"Listen, if nothing particular happens tomorrow, I shall take you +there; do you understand?" + +No, I did not understand but I nodded in silence. I was dissolved, I +became infinitesimal, a geometrical point.... + +After all, there is some logic,--a peculiar logic of today, in this +state of being a point. A point has more unknowns than any other +entity. If a point should start to move, it might become thousands +of curves, or hundreds of solids. + +I was afraid to budge. What might I have become if I had moved? It +seemed to me that everybody like myself was afraid now of even the +most minute of motions. + +At this moment, for instance, as I sit and write, everyone is +sitting hidden in his glass cell, expecting something. I do not hear +the buzzing of the elevators, usual at this hour, or laughter or +steps, from time to time Numbers pass in couples through the hall, +whispering, on tip-toe.... + +What will happen tomorrow? What will become of me tomorrow? + + + + +RECORD TWENTY-SIX + + The World Does Exist + Rash + Forty-one Degrees Centigrade + + +Morning. Through the ceiling the sky is as usual firm, round, +red-cheeked. I think I should have been less surprised had I found +above some extraordinary quadrangular sun, or people clad in +many-colored dresses made of the skins of animals, or opaque walls +of stone. Then the world, _our world_, does still exist? Or is it +only inertia? Is the generator already switched out, while the +armature is still roaring and revolving;--two more revolutions, or +three, and at the fourth will it die away? + +Are you familiar with that strange state in which you wake up in +the middle of the night, open your eyes into the darkness and then +suddenly feel you are lost in the dark; you quickly, quickly begin +to feel around, to seek something familiar and solid, a wall, a +lamp, a chair? In exactly the same way I felt around, seeking in the +Journal of the United State; quickly, quickly--I found this: + +"The celebration of the Day of Unanimity, long awaited by all, +took place yesterday. The same Well-Doer who so often proved his +unshakeable wisdom, was unanimously re-elected for the forty-eighth +time. The celebration was clouded by a little confusion, created by +the enemies of happiness, who by their action naturally lost the +right to be the bricks for the foundation of the renovated United +State. It is clear to everybody that to take into consideration +their votes would mean to consider as a part of a magnificent, +heroic symphony the accidental cough of a sick person who happened +to be in a concert hall." + +Oh, great Sage! Is it really true that despite everything we are +saved? What objection indeed can one find to this most crystalline +syllogism? And further on a few more lines: + +"Today at twelve o'clock a joint meeting of the Administrative +Bureau, Medical Bureau, and Bureau of Guardians will take place. An +important State decree is to be expected shortly." + +No, the Walls still stand erect. Here they are! I can feel them. And +that strange feeling of being lost somewhere, of not knowing where +I am--that feeling is gone. I am not surprised any longer to see +the sky blue and the sun round and all the Numbers going to work as +usual.... + +I walked along the avenue with a particularly firm resounding step. +It seemed to me that everyone else walked exactly like me. But at +the crossing, on turning the corner, I noticed people strangely +shying away, going around the corner of a building sidewise, as if a +pipe had burst in the wall, as if cold water were spurting like a +fountain on the sidewalk and it was impossible to cross it. + +Another five or ten steps and I too felt a spurt of cold water +that struck me and threw me from the sidewalk; at a height of +approximately two meters a quadrangular piece of paper was pasted to +the wall and on that sheet of paper,--unintelligible, poisonously +green letters: + +_MEPHI_ + +And under the paper,--an S-like curved back and wing-ears shaking +with anger or emotion. His right arm lifted as high as possible, his +left arm hopelessly stretched out backward like a hurt wing, he was +trying to jump high enough to reach the paper and tear it off but he +was unable to do so. He was a fraction of an inch too short. + +Probably every one of the passers-by had the same thought: "If I go +to help him, I, only one of the many, will he not think that I am +guilty of something and that I am therefore anxious to...." + +I must confess, I had that thought. But remembering how many times +he had proved my real Guardian-angel and how often he had saved +me, I stepped towards him and with courage and warm assurance I +stretched out my hand and tore off the sheet. S- turned around. The +little drills sank quickly into me to the bottom and found something +there. Then he lifted his left brow, winked toward the wall where +"Mephi" had been hanging a minute ago. The tail of his little smile +twinkled even with a certain pleasure which greatly surprised me. +But why should I be surprised? A doctor always prefers a temperature +of 40°C. and a rash to the slow, languid rise of the temperature +during the period of incubation of a disease; it enables him to +determine the character of the disease. _Mephi_ broke out today on +the walls like a rash. I understood his smile. + +In the passage to the underground railway, under our feet on the +clean glass of the steps again a white sheet: _Mephi_. And also on +the walls of the tunnel and on the benches and on the mirror of +the car. (Apparently pasted on in haste as some were hanging on a +slant.) Everywhere the same white gruesome rash. + +I must confess that the exact meaning of that smile became clear to +me only after many days which were overfilled with the strangest and +most unexpected events. + +The roaring of the wheels, distinct in the general silence, seemed +to be the noise of infected streams of blood. Some Number was +inadvertently touched on the shoulder and he started so that a +package of papers fell out of his hands. To my left another Number +was reading a paper, his eyes fixed always on the same line; the +paper perceptibly trembled in his hands. I felt that everywhere, in +the wheels, in the hands, in the newspapers, even in the eyelashes, +the pulse was becoming more and more rapid and I thought it +probable that today when I-330 and I should find ourselves _there_, +the temperature would rise to 39°, 40°, perhaps 41° and.... + +At the docks--the same silence filled with the buzzing of an +invisible propeller. The lathes were silent as if brooding. Only +the cranes were moving almost inaudibly as if on tip-toe, gliding, +bending over, picking up with their tentacles the lumps of frozen +air and loading the tanks of the _Integral_. We are already +preparing the _Integral_ for a trial flight. + +"Well, shall we have her up in a week?" This was my question +addressed to the Second Builder. His face is like porcelain, painted +with sweet blue and tender pink little flowers (eyes and lips), but +today those little flowers looked faded and washed-out. We were +counting aloud when suddenly I broke off in the midst of a word and +stopped, my mouth wide open; above the cupola, above the blue lump +lifted by the crane, there was a scarcely noticeable small white +square. I felt my whole body trembling--perhaps with laughter. +Yes! _I myself heard_ my own laughter. (Did you ever hear your own +laughter?) + +"No, listen," I said. "Imagine you are in an ancient aeroplane. The +altimeter shows 5000 meters. A wing breaks; you are dashing down +like.... And on the way you calculate: 'Tomorrow from twelve to +two ... from two to six ... and dinner at five!' Would it not be +absurd?" + +The little blue flowers began to move and bulge out. What if I were +made of glass and he could have seen what was going on within me at +that moment? If he knew that some three or four hours later.... + + + + +RECORD TWENTY-SEVEN + +No Headings. It Is Impossible! + + +I was alone in the endless corridors. In those same corridors.... A +mute, concrete sky. Water was dripping somewhere upon a stone. The +familiar heavy opaque door,--and the subdued noise from behind it. + +She said she would come out at sixteen sharp. It was already five +minutes, then ten, then fifteen past sixteen. No one appeared. For a +second I was my former self, horrified at the thought that the door +might open. + +"Five minutes more, and if she does not come out...." + +Water was dripping somewhere upon a stone. No one about. With +melancholy pleasure I felt: "saved," and slowly I turned and walked +back along the corridor. The trembling dots of the small lamps on +the ceiling became dimmer and dimmer. Suddenly a quick rattle of a +door behind me. Quick steps, softly echoing from the ceiling and the +walls. It was she, light as a bird, panting somewhat from running. + +"I knew you would be here, you would come! I knew you,--you...." + +The spears of her eyelashes moved apart to let me in and ... how can +I describe what effect that ancient, absurd and wonderful rite has +upon me when her lips touch mine? Can I find a formula to express +that whirlwind which sweeps out of my soul everything, everything +save her? Yes, yes from my _soul_. You may laugh at me if you will. + +She made an effort to raise her eyelids and her slow words too came +with an effort: + +"No. Now we must go." + +The door opened. Old, worn steps. An unbearably multicolored noise, +whistling and light.... + + * * * * * + +Twenty-four hours have passed since then and everything seems to +have settled in me, yet it is most difficult for me to find words +for even an approximate description.... It is as though a bomb had +exploded in my head.... Open mouths, wings, shouts, leaves, words, +stones, all these one after another in a heap.... + +I remember my first thought was: "Fast--back!" For it was clear +to me that while I was waiting there in the corridors, _they_ +somehow had blasted and destroyed the Green Wall, and from behind it +everything rushed in and splashed over our city which until then had +been kept clean of that lower world. I must have said something of +this sort to I-330. She laughed. + +"No, we have simply come out _beyond the Green Wall_." + +Then I opened my eyes, and close to me, actually, I saw those very +things which until then not a single living Number had ever seen +otherwise than depreciated a thousand times, dimmed and hazy through +the cloudy glass of the Wall. + +The Sun,--it was no longer our light, evenly diffused over the +mirror surface of the pavements; it seemed an accumulation of living +fragments, of incessantly oscillating, dizzy spots which blinded +the eyes. And the trees! Like candles rising into the very sky, +or like spiders which squatted upon the earth, supported by their +clumsy paws, or like mute green fountains. And all this was moving, +jumping, rustling. Under my feet some strange little ball was +crawling.... I stood as though rooted to the ground. I was unable to +take a step because under my foot there was not an even plane, but +(imagine!), something disgustingly soft, yielding, living, springy, +green!... + +I was dazed; I was strangled,--yes, strangled; it is the best word +to express my state. I stood holding fast with both hands to a +swinging branch. + +"It is nothing. It is all right. It is natural,--for the first time. +It will pass. Courage!" + +At I-330's side bouncing dizzily on a green net,--someone's thinnest +profile, cut out of paper. No, not "someone's." I recognized him. I +remembered. It was the doctor. I understood everything very clearly. +I realized that they both caught me beneath the arms and laughingly +dragged me forward. My legs twisted and glided.... Terrible noise, +cawing, stumps, yelling, branches, tree-trunks, wings, leaves, +whistling.... + +The trees ran apart. A bright clearing. In the clearing, people, or +perhaps to be more exact, _beings_. Now comes the most difficult +part to describe for _this_ was beyond any bounds of probability. It +is clear to me now why I-330 was stubbornly silent about it before; +I should not have believed it, should not have believed even her. It +is even possible that tomorrow I shall not believe myself, shall not +believe my own description in these pages. + +In the clearing, around a naked, skull-like rock,--a noisy crowd +of three or four hundred ... people. Well, let's call them people. +I find it difficult to coin new words. Just as on the stands +you recognize in the general accumulation of faces only those +which are familiar to you, so at first I recognized only our +grayish-blue unifs. But one second later and I saw distinctly and +clearly among the unifs dark, red, golden, black, brown and white +humans--apparently they were humans. None of them had any clothes +on, and their bodies were covered with short, glistening hair, like +that which may be seen on the stuffed horse in the Prehistoric +Museum. But their females had faces exactly, yes exactly, like +the faces of our women: tender, rosy and not overgrown with hair. +Also their breasts were free of hair, firm breasts of wonderful +geometrical form. As to the males, only a part of their faces were +free from hair, like our ancestors', and the organs of reproduction, +similar to ours. + +All this was so unbelievable, so unexpected, that I stood there +quietly (I assert positively that I stood quietly), and looked +around. Like a scale: overload one side sufficiently and then you +may gently put on the other as much as you will; the arrow will not +move. + +Suddenly I felt alone. I-330 was no longer with me. I don't know how +nor where she disappeared. Around me were only _those_, with their +hair glistening like silk in the sunlight. I caught someone's warm, +strong, dark shoulder. + +"Listen, please, in the name of the Well-Doer, could you tell me +where she went? A while, a minute ago she...." + +Long-haired, austere eyebrows turned to me. + +"Sh ... sh ... silence!" He made a sign with his head towards the +centre where there stood the yellow, skull-like stone. + +There above the heads of all I saw her. The sun beat straight into +my eyes, and because of that she seemed coal-black, standing out +on the blue cloth of the sky,--a coal-black silhouette on a blue +background. A little higher the clouds were floating. And it seemed +that not the clouds but the rock itself, and she herself upon that +rock, and the crowd and the clearing,--all were silently floating +like a ship, and the earth was light and glided away from under the +feet.... + +"Brothers!" (It was she.) "Brothers, you all know that there inside +the Wall, in the City, they are building the _Integral_. And you +know also that the day has come for us to destroy that Wall and all +other walls, so that the green wind may blow all over the earth, +from end to end. But the _Integral_ is going to take these walls +up into the heights to the thousands of other worlds which every +evening whisper to us with their lights through the black leaves of +night...." + +Waves and foam and wind were beating the rock: + +"Down with the _Integral!_ Down!" + +"No, brothers, not 'down'. The _Integral_ must be ours. And it +_shall_ be ours. On the day when it first sets sail into the sky, +_we_ shall be on board. For the Builder of the _Integral_ is with +us. He left the walls, he came with me here in order to be with us. +Long live the Builder!" + +A second--and I was somewhere above everything. Under me: heads, +heads, heads, wide open yelling mouths, arms rising and falling.... +There was something strange and intoxicating in it all. I felt +myself _above everybody_; I was,--I,--a separate world; I ceased to +be the usual item; I became unity.... + +Again I was below, near the rock, my body happy, shaken and rumpled, +as after an embrace of love. Sunlight, voices, and from above--the +smile of I-330. A golden-haired woman, her whole body silky-golden +and diffusing an odor of different herbs, was near by. She held a +cup, apparently made of wood. She drank a little from it with her +red lips and then offered the cup to me. I closed my eyes and with +avidity I drank the sweet cold prickly sparks, pouring them down on +the fire which burned within me. + +Soon afterward my blood and the whole world began to circulate a +thousand times faster; the earth seemed to be flying, light as down. +And within me everything was simple, light and clear. Only then +I noticed on the rock the familiar, enormous letters: M E P H I, +and for some reason the inscription seemed to me _necessary_. It +seemed to be a simple thread binding everything together. A rather +rough picture hewn in the rock; this too, seemed comprehensible; +it represented a youth with wings and with a transparent body, and +in the place ordinarily occupied by the heart,--a blinding, red, +blazing coal. Again, I understood that coal, or no, I _felt_ it as +I felt without hearing every word of I-330 (she continued to speak +from above, from the rock), and I felt that all of them breathed one +breath and that they were all ready to fly somewhere like the birds +over the Wall. + +From behind, from the confusion of breathing bodies,--a loud voice: + +"But this is folly!" + +It seems to me it was I, yes, I am certain it was I, who then jumped +on the rock; from there I saw the sun, heads, a green sea on a blue +background, and I cried: + +"Yes, yes, precisely. All must become insane; we must become insane +as soon as possible! We must; I know it." + +I-330 was at my side. Her smile--two dark lines from the angles of +her mouth directed upward.... And within me a blazing coal. It was +momentary, light, a little painful, beautiful.... And later,--only +stray fragments that remained sticking in me.... + +... Very low and slowly a bird was moving. I saw it was living, like +me. It was turning its head now to the right and then to the left +like a human being, and its round black eyes screwed themselves into +me.... + +... Then: a human back glistening with fur the color of ancient +ivory;--a mosquito crawling on that back, a mosquito with tiny +transparent wings. The back twitched to chase the mosquito away; it +twitched again.... + +... And yet another thing: a shadow from the leaves, a woven, +net-like shadow. Some lay in that shadow, chewing something, +something similar to the legendary food of the ancients, a long +yellow fruit and a piece of something dark. They put some of it in +my hand, and it seemed droll to me for I did not know whether I +might eat it or not.... + +... And again: a crowd, heads, legs, arms, mouths, faces appearing +for a second and disappearing like bursting bubbles. For a second +appeared (or perhaps it was only an hallucination?) the transparent, +flying wing-ears.... + +With all my might I pressed the hand of I-330. She turned to me. + +"What is the matter?" + +"He is here! I thought, I--" + +"Who?" + +"S-, a second ago, in the crowd." + +The ends of the thin coal-black, brows moved to the temples--a smile +like a sharp triangle. I could not see clearly why she smiled. How +could she smile? + +"But you understand, I-330, don't you, you understand what it means +if he, or one of them is here?" + +"You are funny! How could it ever enter the heads of those within +the Wall that we are here? Remember; take yourself. Did you ever +think it was possible? They are busy hunting us _there_,--let them! +You are delirious!" + +Her smile was light and cheerful and I too, was smiling; the earth +was drunken, cheerful, light, floating.... + + + + +RECORD TWENTY-EIGHT + + Both of Them + Entropy and Energy + The Opaque Part of the Body + + +If your world is similar to the world of the ancients, then you may +easily imagine that one day you suddenly come upon a sixth or a +seventh continent, upon some Atlantis, and you find there unheard +of cities, labyrinths, people flying through the air without the +aid of wings or aeros, stones lifted into the air by the power of +a gaze,--in brief, imagine that you see things that cannot come to +your mind even if you suffer from dream-sickness. That is how I feel +now. For you must understand that no one has ever gone beyond the +Green Wall since the Two Hundred Years' War, as I already have told +you. + +I know that it is my duty to you, my unknown friends, to give more +details about that unsuspected strange world which opened to me +yesterday. But for the time being I am unable to return to that +subject. Everything is so novel, so novel it is like a rainstorm, +and I am not big enough to collect it all. I spread out the folds of +my unif, my palms,--and yet pailfuls splash past me and only drops +can reach these pages.... + +At first I heard behind me, behind the door, a loud voice. I +recognized her voice, the voice of I-330, tense, metallic--and +another one, almost inflexible, like a wooden ruler, the voice of +U-. Then the door came open with a crack and both of them shot into +the room. _Shot_ is the right word. + +I-330 put her hand on the back of my armchair and smiled over her +shoulder but only with her teeth, at U-. I should not care to stand +before such a smile. + +"Listen," she said to me, "this woman seems to have made it her +business to guard you from me like a little child. Is it with your +permission?" + +"But he _is_ a child. Yes! That is why he does not notice that you +... that it is only in order.... That all this is only a foul game! +Yes! And it is my duty...." + +For a second (in the mirror) the broken, trembling line of brows. +I leaped, controlling with difficulty the other self within me, +the one with the hairy fists; with difficulty, pushing every word +through my teeth, I cried straight into her face, into her very +gills: + +"Get out of here at once! Out! At once!" + +The gills swelled at first into brick-red lumps, then fell and +became gray. She opened her mouth to say something but without a +word she slammed it shut and went out. + +I threw myself towards I-330. + +"Never, never will I forgive myself! She dared! You ... but you +don't think, do you, that you, that she.... This is all because she +wants to register on me but I...." + +"Fortunately she will not have time for that now. Besides, even a +thousand like her.... I don't care.... I know you will not believe +that thousand but only me. For after all that happened yesterday, I +am all yours, all, to the very end, as you wanted it. I am in your +hands; you can now at any moment...." + +"What, 'at any moment?'" (But at once I understood what. My blood +rushed to my ears and cheeks.) "Don't speak about that, you must +never speak about that! The _other_ I, my former self ... but +now...." + +"How do I know? Man is like a novel: up to the last page one does +not know what the end will be. It would not be worth reading +otherwise." + +She was stroking my head. I could not see her face but I could +tell by her voice that she was looking somewhere very far into +the distance; she hooked herself to that cloud which was floating +silently, slowly, no one knows where to. + +Suddenly she pushed me away with her hand, firmly but tenderly. + +"Listen. I came to tell you that perhaps we are now ... our last +days.... You know, don't you, that all Auditoriums are to be closed +after tonight?" + +"Closed?" + +"Yes. I passed by and saw that in all Auditoriums preparations are +going on: tables; medics all in white...." + +"But what does it all mean?" + +"I don't know. Nobody knows as yet. That is the worst of it. I only +feel the current is on, the spark is jumping, and if not today, then +tomorrow.... Yet perhaps they will not have time...." + +For a long while I have ceased to understand who are _they_ and who +_we_. I do not understand what I want; do I want them to have or not +to have enough time? One thing is clear to me: I-330 is now on the +very edge, on the very edge, and in one second more.... + +"But it is folly," I said. "You, versus the United State! It is the +same as if you should cover the muzzle of a gun with your hands and +expect that way to prevent the shot.... It is absolute folly!" + +A smile. + +"'We must all go insane,--as soon as possible go insane.' It was +yesterday, do you remember?" + +Yes, she was right; I had even written it down. Consequently it +really took place. In silence I looked into her face. At that moment +the dark cross was especially distinct. + +"I-, dear, before it is too late.... If you want ... I'll leave +everything, I'll forget everything, and we'll go there beyond the +Wall, to _them_.... I do not even know who they are...." + +She shook her head. Through the dark windows of her eyes I saw +within her a flaming oven, sparks, tongues of flame and above them a +heap of dry, tarry wood. It was clear to me that it was too late, my +words could be of no avail. + +She stood up. She would soon leave. Perhaps these were the last +days, or the last minutes.... I grasped her hand. + +"No, stay a little while longer ... for the sake ... for the +sake...." + +She slowly lifted my hand towards the light, my hairy paw which I +detest. I wanted to withdraw it but she held it tightly. + +"Your hand.... You undoubtedly don't know and very few do know, +that women from here occasionally used to fall in love with _them_. +Probably there are in you a few drops of that blood of the sun and +the woods. Perhaps that is why I...." + +Silence. It was so strange that because of that silence, because of +an emptiness, of nothing, my heart should beat so wildly. I cried. + +"Ah, you shall not go yet! You shall not go until you tell me about +_them_ ... for you love ... them, and I do not know even who they +are, nor where they come from." + +"Who are they? The half we have lost. H2 and O, two halves; but +in order to get water, H2O, creeks, seas, waterfalls, storms, it +is necessary that those two halves be united." + +I distinctly remember every movement of hers. I remember she picked +up a glass triangle from my table and while talking she pressed its +sharp edge against her cheek; a white scar would appear; then it +would fill again and become pink and disappear. And it is strange +that I cannot remember her words, especially the beginning of the +story. I remember only different images and colors. At first, +I remember, she told me about the Two Hundred Years' War. Red +color.... On the green of the grass, on the dark clay, on the +pale blue of the snow,--everywhere red ditches that would not +become dry. Then yellow; yellow grass burned by the sun, yellow +naked wild-men and wild dogs side by side near swollen cadavers +of dogs or perhaps of men. All this, certainly beyond the Walls, +for the City was already the victor and it possessed already our +present-day petroleum food. And at night ... down from the sky +... heavy black folds. The folds would swing over the woods, the +villages,--blackish-red slow columns of smoke. A dull moaning; +endless strings of people driven into the City to be saved by force +and to be whipped into happiness. + +"... You knew almost all this." + +"Yes, almost." + +"But you did not know and only a few did, that a small part of them +remained together and stayed to live beyond the Wall. Being naked, +they went into the woods. They learned there from the trees, beasts, +birds, flowers and sun. Hair soon grew over their bodies, but under +that hair they preserved their warm red blood. With you it was +worse; numbers covered your bodies; numbers crawled over you like +lice. One ought to strip you of everything, and naked you ought to +be driven into the woods. You ought to learn how to tremble with +fear, with joy, with wild anger, with cold; you should pray to fire! +And we Mephi, we want...." + +"Oh, wait a minute! 'Mephi,' what does it mean!" + +"Mephi? It is from Mephisto. You remember, there on the rock, the +figure of the youth? Or, no. I shall explain it to you in your own +language and you will understand better: there are two forces in +the world, entropy and energy. One leads into blessed quietude, to +happy equilibrium, the other to the destruction of equilibrium, +to torturingly perpetual motion. Our, or rather your ancestors, +the Christians, worshipped entropy like a God. But we are not +Christians, we...." + +At that moment a slight whisper was suddenly heard, a knock at the +door, and in rushed that flattened man with the forehead low over +his eyes, who several times had brought me notes from I-330. He ran +straight to us, stopped, panting like an air-pump, and could say not +a word, as he must have been running at top speed. + +"But tell me! What has happened?" I-330 grasped him by the hand. + +"They are coming here,--" panted the air-pump, "with guards.... And +with them that what's-his-name, the hunchback...." + +"S-?" + +"Yes. They are in the house by this time. They'll soon be here. +Quick, quick!" + +"Nonsense, we have time!" I-330 was laughing, cheerful sparks in her +eyes. It was either absurd, senseless courage, or else there was +something I did not yet understand. + +"I-, dear, for the sake of the Well-Doer! You must understand that +this...." + +"For the sake of the Well-Doer!" The sharp, triangle-smile. + +"Well ... well, for my sake, I implore you!" + +"Oh, yes, I wanted to talk to you about some other matters.... Well, +never mind.... We'll talk about them tomorrow." + +And cheerfully (yes cheerfully) she nodded to me; the other came out +for a second from under his forehead's awning and nodded also. I was +alone. + +Quick! To my desk! I opened this manuscript, took the pen so that +they should find me at this work which is for the benefit of +the United State. Suddenly I felt every hair on my head living, +separated, moving: "What if they should read, even one page of these +most recently written?" + +Motionless I sat at the table but everything around me seemed to +be moving, as if the less than microscopic movements of the atoms +suddenly were magnified millions of times, and I saw the walls +trembling, my pen trembling and the letters swinging and fusing +together. "To hide them! But where?" Glass all around. "To burn +them?" But they would notice the fire through the corridor and in +the neighboring room. Besides I felt unable, I felt too weak, to +destroy this torturing and perhaps dearest piece of my own self.... + +Voices from a distance (from the corridor) and steps. I had only +time to snatch a handful of pages and put them under me, and then as +if soldered to the armchair, every atom of which was quivering, I +remained sitting, while the floor under my feet rolled like the deck +of a ship, up and down.... + +All shrunk together and hidden under the awning of my own forehead +like that messenger, I watched them stealthily; they were going from +room to room, beginning at the right end of the corridor. Nearer +... nearer.... I saw that some sat in their rooms, torpid like me; +others would jump up and open their doors wide,--lucky ones! If only +I too, could.... + +"The Well-Doer is the most perfect fumigation humanity needs, +consequently no peristalsis in the organism of the United State +could...." I was writing this nonsense, pressing my trembling pen +hard, and lower and lower my head bent over the table, and within me +some sort of crazy forge.... With my back I was listening ... and +I heard the click of the door-knob.... A current of fresh air.... +My armchair was dancing a mad dance.... Only then, and even then +with difficulty, I tore myself away from the page, turned my head +in the direction of the newcomers (how difficult it is to play +a foul game!). In front of all was S-, morose, silent, swiftly +drilling with his eyes deep shafts within me, within my armchair +and within the pages which were twitching in my hands. Then for a +second--familiar, everyday faces at the door; one of them separated +itself from the rest with its bulging, pinkish-brown gills.... + +At once I recalled everything that happened in the same room half an +hour ago and it was clear to me that they would presently.... + +All my being was shriveling and pulsating in that fortunately opaque +part of my body with which I was covering the manuscript. U- came up +to S-, gently plucked his sleeve and said in a low voice: + +"This is D-503, the builder of the _Integral_. You have probably +heard of him. He is always like that, at his desk; does not spare +himself at all!" + +... And I thought!... What a dear, wonderful woman!... + +S- slid up to me, bent over my shoulder toward the table. I covered +the lines I had written with my elbow but he shouted severely: + +"Show us at once what you have there, please!" + +Dying with shame, I held out the sheet of paper. He read it over, +and I noticed a tiny smile jump out of his eyes, jump down his face +and slightly wagging its tail, perch upon the right angle of his +mouth.... + +"Somewhat ambiguous, yet.... Well, you may continue; we shall not +disturb you any more." + +He went splashing towards the door as if in a ditch of water. And +with every step of his I felt coming back to me my legs, my arms, +my fingers,--my soul again distributed itself evenly over my whole +body; I breathed.... + +The last thing: U- lingered in my room to come back to me and say in +my very ear in a whisper: "It is lucky for you that I...." + +I did not understand. What did she mean by that? The same evening I +learned that they led away three Numbers, although nobody speaks out +loud about that, or about anything that happened. This ostensible +silence is due to the educational influence of the Guardians who are +ever present among us. Conversations deal chiefly with the quick +fall of the barometer and the forthcoming change in the weather. + + + + +RECORD TWENTY-NINE + + Threads on the Face + Sprouts + An Unnatural Compression + + +It is strange: the barometer continues to fall yet there is no +wind. There is quiet. Above, the storm which we do not yet hear has +begun. The clouds are rushing with a terrific speed. There are few +of them as yet; separate fragments; it is as if there above us an +unknown city were being destroyed and pieces of walls and towers +were rushing down, coming nearer and nearer with terrific speed, +but it will take some days of rushing through the blue infinite +before they reach the bottom, that is us, below. And below there is +silence. + +There are thin, incomprehensible, almost invisible threads in the +air; every autumn they are brought here from beyond the Wall. They +float slowly, and suddenly you feel something foreign and invisible +on your face; you want to brush it off, but no, you cannot rid +yourself of it. You feel it especially near the Green Wall, where I +was this morning. I-330 made an appointment with me to meet her in +the Ancient House in that "Apartment" of ours. + +I was not far from the rust-red, opaque mass of the Ancient House, +when I heard behind me short hasty steps and rapid breathing. I +turned around and saw O-90 trying to catch up to me. She seemed +strangely and perfectly rounded. Her arms and breast, her whole +body, so familiar to me, was rounded out, stretching her unif. It +seemed as though it would soon tear the thin cloth and come out into +the sun, into the light. I think that there in the green debris, in +springtime, the unseen sprouts try thus to tear their way through +the ground in order to emit their branches and leaves and to bloom. + +For a few seconds she shone into my face with her blue eyes in +silence. + +"I saw you on the Day of Unanimity." + +"I saw you, too." I at once remembered; below, in a narrow passage +she had stood, pressing herself to the wall, protecting her abdomen +with her arms, and automatically I glanced now at her abdomen which +rounded the unif. She must have noticed, for she became pink, and +with a rosy smile: + +"I am so happy ... so happy! I am so full of ... you understand, I +am ... I walk and I hear nothing around me.... And all the while I +listen within, within me...." + +I was silent. Something foreign was shadowing my face and I was +unable to rid myself of it. Suddenly, all shining, light blue, she +caught my hand; I felt her lips upon it.... It was for the first +time in my life.... It was some ancient caress as yet unknown to +me.... And I was so ashamed and it pained me so much that I swiftly, +I think even roughly, pulled my hand away. + +"Listen, you are crazy, it seems.... And anyway you ... what are you +happy about? Is it possible that you forget what is ahead of you? If +not now, then within a month or two...." + +Her light went out, her roundness sagged and shrank. And in my +heart an unpleasant, even a painful compression, mixed with pity. +Our heart is nothing else than an ideal pump: a compression, i.e., +a shrinking at the moment of pumping, is a technical absurdity. +Hence it is clear how essentially absurd, unnatural and pathological +are all these "loves" and "pities," etc., etc., which create that +compression.... + +Silence. To the left the cloudy green glass of the Wall. And just +ahead the dark red mass. Those two colors combined, gave me as a +resultant what I thought was a splendid idea. + +"Wait! I know how to save you! I shall save you from.... To see +one's own child for a few moments only and then be sent to death! +No! You shall be able to bring it up! You shall watch it and see it +grow in your arms, and ripen like a fruit...." + +Her body quivered and she seemed to have chained herself to me. + +"Do you remember that woman, I-330? That ... of ... of long ago?... +Who during that walk?... Well, she is now right here, in the +Ancient House. Let us go to her and I assure you that I shall +arrange matters at once." + +I already pictured us, I-330 and I, leading O-90 through the +corridors ... then how she would be brought amidst flowers, grass, +and leaves.... But O-90 stepped back, the little horns of her rosy +crescent trembling and bending downward. + +"Is she _that same one_?" she asked. + +"That is...." I was confused for some reason. "Yes, of course ... +that very same...." + +"And you want me to go to _her_, to ask her ... to.... Don't you +ever dare to say another word about it!" + +Leaning over, she walked away.... Then as if she remembered +something, she turned around and cried: + +"I shall die; be it so! And it is none of your business ... what do +you care?" + +Silence. From above pieces of blue towers and walls were falling +downward with terrific speed ... they will have perhaps hours or +days to fly through the infinite.... Unseen threads were slowly +floating through the air, planting themselves upon my face, and it +was impossible to brush them off, impossible to rid myself of them. + +I walked slowly toward the Ancient House and in my heart I felt that +absurd, tormenting compression.... + + + + +RECORD THIRTY + + The Last Number + Galileo's Mistake + Would It Not Be Better? + + +Here is my conversation with I-330, which took place in the Ancient +House yesterday in the midst of loud noise, among colors which +stifled the logical course of my thoughts, red, green, bronze, +saffron-yellow, orange colors.... And all the while under the +motionless marble smile of that snub-nosed ancient poet. + +I shall reproduce the conversation word by word, for it seems to +me that it may have an enormous and decisive importance for the +fate of the United State,--more than that, for the fate of the +universe. Besides, reading it, you my unknown readers, may find some +justification for me. I-330, without preliminaries, at once threw +everything upon my head: + +"I know that the day after tomorrow the first trial trip of the +_Integral_ is to take place. On that day we shall take possession of +it." + +"What! Day after tomorrow?" + +"Yes. Sit down and don't be upset. We cannot afford to lose a +minute. Among the hundreds who were arrested yesterday there are +twenty Mephis. To let pass two or three days means that they will +perish." + +I was silent. + +"As observers on the trial trip they will send electricians, +mechanicians, physicians, meteorologists, etc.... At twelve sharp, +you must remember this, when the bell rings for dinner we shall +remain in the passage, lock them all up in the dining hall, and the +_Integral_ will be ours. You realize that it is most necessary, +happen what may! The _Integral_ in our hands will be a tool that +will help to put an end to everything at once without pain.... Their +aeros?... Bah! They would be insignificant mosquitos against a +buzzard. And then, if it proves inevitable, we may direct the tubes +of the motors downward and by their work alone...." + +I jumped up. + +"It is inconceivable! It is absurd! Is it not clear to you that what +you are contriving is a revolution?" + +"Yes, a revolution. Why is it absurd?" + +"Absurd? because a revolution is impossible! Because _our_ (I speak +for myself and for you), our revolution was the last one. No other +revolutions may occur. Everybody knows that." + +A mocking, sharp triangle of brows. + +"My dear, you are a mathematician, are you not? More than that, a +philosopher-mathematician? Well then, name the last number!" + +"What is ... I ... I cannot understand, which _last_?" + +"The last one, the highest, the largest." + +"But I-330, it is absurd! Since the number of numbers is infinite, +how can there be a last one?" + +"And why then do you think there is a _last_ revolution? There is +no last revolution, their number is infinite.... The 'last one' is +a children's story. Children are afraid of the infinite, and it is +necessary that children should not be frightened, so that they may +sleep through the night." + +"But what is the use, what is the use of it all? For the sake of the +Well-Doer! What is the use since all are happy already?" + +"All right! Even suppose that is so. What further?" + +"How funny! A purely childish question. You tell something to +children, come to the very end, yet they will invariably ask you, +'what further?' and 'what for?'" + +"Children are the only courageous philosophers. And courageous +philosophers are invariably children. One ought always to ask like +children, 'what further'?" + +"Nothing further! Period. In the whole world evenly, everywhere, +there is distributed...." + +"Ah, 'evenly!' 'Everywhere!' That is the point, entropy! +Psychological entropy. Don't you as a mathematician know that only +differences (only differences!), in temperature, only thermic +contrasts make for life? And if all over the world there are evenly +warm or evenly cold bodies, they must be pushed off! ... in order +to get flame, explosions! And we shall push!..." + +"But I-330, please realize that our ancestors during the Two Hundred +Years' War did exactly that!" + +"Oh, they were right! A thousand times right! They did one wrong +thing, however; later they began to believe that they were the _last +number_, a number that does not exist in nature. Their mistake was +the mistake of Galileo; he was right in that the earth revolves +about the sun but he did not know that our whole solar system +revolves about some other centre, he did not know that the real (not +relative) orbit of the earth is not a naive circle." + +"And you, the Mephi?" + +"We? For the time being we know that there is no _last_ number. We +may forget that some day. Of course, we shall certainly forget it +when we grow old, as everything inevitably grows old. Then we shall +inevitably fall like autumn leaves from the trees, like you the +day-after-tomorrow.... No, no dear, not you personally. You are with +us, are you not? You are with us?" + +Flaming, stormy, sparkling! I never before had seen her in such a +state. She embraced me with her whole self; I disappeared. + +Her last word, looking steadily, deeply into my eyes: + +"Then, do not forget: at twelve o'clock sharp." + +And I answered: + +"Yes, I remember." + +She left. I was alone amidst a rebellious, multi-voiced commotion of +blue, red, green, saffron-yellow and orange.... + +Yes, at twelve!... Suddenly a feeling of something foreign on +my face, of something implanted, that could not be brushed off. +Suddenly, yesterday morning, and U- and all she shouted into the +face of I-330! Why, how absurd! + +I hastened to get out of the house and home, home! Somewhere behind +me I heard the chattering of birds beyond the Wall. And ahead of me +in the setting sun the balls of cupolas made of red, crystallized +fire, enormous flaming cubes--houses, and the sharp point of the +Accumulating Tower high in the sky like a paralyzed streak of +lightning. And all this, all this impeccable, most geometric beauty, +shall I, I myself, with my hands...? Is there no way out? No path? +No trail? + +I passed by an auditorium (I do not recall its number). Inside, the +benches were stacked along the walls. In the middle, tables covered +with snow-white glass sheets, with pink stains of sunny blood on +the white.... There was foreshadowed in all that some unknown and +therefore alarming tomorrow. It is unnatural for a thinking and +seeing human being to live among irregularities, unknowns, X's. If +suddenly your eyes were covered with a bandage and you were let go +to feel around, to stumble, ever aware that somewhere very close +to you there is the border-line, one step only and nothing but a +compressed, smothered piece of flesh will be left of you.... I now +feel somewhat like that. + +... And what if without waiting for anything I should ... just head +down.... Would it not be the only right thing to do? To disentangle +everything at once? + + + + +RECORD THIRTY-ONE + + The Great Operation + I Forgave Everything + The Collision of Trains + + +Saved! At the very last moment, when it seemed that there was +nothing to hold to, that it was the end!... + +It was as if you already ascended the steps towards the threatening +machine of the Well-Doer, or as if the great glass Bell with a heavy +thud already covered you, and for the last time in life you looked +at the blue sky to swallow it with your eyes ... when suddenly, it +was only a dream! The sun is pink and cheerful and the wall ... what +happiness to be able to touch the cold wall! And the pillow! To +delight endlessly in the little cavity formed by your own head in +the white pillow!... This is approximately what I felt, when I read +the State Journal this morning. It has been all a terrible dream +and this dream is over. And I was so feeble, so unfaithful, that I +thought of selfish, voluntary death! I am ashamed now to reread the +last lines of yesterday. But let them remain as a memory of that +incredible might-have-happened, which will not happen! On the front +page of the State Journal the following gleamed: + +"REJOICE! + +"For from now on we are _perfect!_ + +"Before today your own creation, engines, were more perfect than +you. + +"WHY? + +"For every spark from a dynamo--is a spark of pure reason; each +motion of a piston--a pure syllogism. Is it not true that the same +faultless reason is within you? + +"The philosophy of the cranes, presses, and pumps is finished +and clear like a circle. But is your philosophy less circular? +The beauty of a mechanism lies in its immutable, precise rhythm, +like that of a pendulum. But have you not become as precise as a +pendulum, you who are brought up on the system of Taylor? + +"Yes, but there is one difference: + +"MECHANISMS HAVE NO FANCY + +"Did you ever notice a pump cylinder during its work show upon its +face a wide, distant, sensuously-dreaming smile? Did you ever hear +cranes restlessly toss about and sigh at night, during the hours +designed for rest? + +"NO! + +"Yet on your faces (you may well blush with shame!), the Guardians +have seen more and more frequently those smiles and they have +heard your sighs. And (you should hide your eyes for shame!) the +historians of the United State all tendered their resignations so as +to be relieved from having to record such shameful occurrences. + +"It is not your fault; you are ill. And the name of your illness is + +"FANCY + +"It is a worm that gnaws black wrinkles on one's forehead. It is a +fever that drives one to run farther and farther, albeit 'farther' +may begin where happiness ends. It is the last barricade on our road +to happiness. + +"_Rejoice! This Barricade Has Been Blasted at Last! The Road is +Open!_ + +"The latest discovery of our State science is that there is a centre +for fancy,--a miserable little nervous knot in the lower region of +the frontal lobe of the brain. A triple treatment of this knot with +X-rays will cure you of fancy-- + +"_Forever!_ + +"You are perfect; you are mechanized; the road to hundred per-cent +happiness is open! Hasten then all of you, young and old, hasten to +undergo the great Operation! Hasten to the auditoriums where the +great Operation is being performed! Long live the Great Operation! +Long live the United State! Long live the Well-Doer." + +You, had you read all this not in my records which look like an +ancient strange novel, had you like me held in your trembling hands +the newspaper, smelling of typographic ink ... if you knew as I do, +that all this is most certain reality, if not the reality of today, +then that of tomorrow,--would you not feel the very things I feel? +Would not your head whirl as mine does? Would there not run over +your back and arms those strange, sweet, icy needles? Would you not +feel that you were a giant, an Atlas?--that if only you stood up and +straightened out you would reach the ceiling with your head? + +I snatched the telephone receiver. + +"I-330. Yes.... Yes. Yes ... 330!" And then, swallowing my own words +I shouted, "Are you at home? Yes? Have you read? You are reading +now? Is it not, is it not stupendous?" + +"Yes...." A long, dark silence. The wires buzzed almost imperceptibly. +She was thinking. + +"I must see you today without fail. Yes, in my room, after sixteen, +without fail!" + +Dear ... she is such a dear!... "Without fail!" I was smiling and I +could not stop, I felt I should carry that smile with me into the +street like a light above my head. + +Outside the wind ran over me, whirling, whistling, whipping, but +I felt even more cheerful. "All right, go on, go on moaning and +groaning! The Walls cannot be torn down." Flying leaden clouds broke +over my head ... well let them! They could not eclipse the sun! We +chained it to the zenith like so many Joshuas, sons of Nuns! + +At the corner a group of Joshuas, sons of Nuns, were standing with +their foreheads pasted to the glass of the wall. Inside, on a +dazzling white table already a Number lay. One could see two naked +soles diverging from under the sheet in a yellow angle.... White +medics bent over his head,--a white hand, a stretched-out hand +holding a syringe filled with something.... + +"And you, what are you waiting for?" I asked nobody in particular, +or rather all of them. + +"And you?" Someone's round head turned to me. + +"I? Oh, afterward! I must first...." Somewhat confused, I left the +place. I really had to see I-330 first. But why first? I could not +explain to myself.... + +The docks. The _Integral_, bluish like ice, was glistening and +sparkling. The engine was caressingly grumbling, repeating some one +word, as if it were my word, a familiar one. I bent down and stroked +the long, cold tube of the motor. "Dear! What a dear tube! Tomorrow +it will come to life, tomorrow for the first time it will tremble +with burning, flaming streams in its bowels." + +With what eyes would I have looked at the glass monster had +everything remained as it was yesterday? If I knew that tomorrow at +twelve I should betray it, yes, betray.... Someone behind cautiously +touched my elbow. I turned around. The plate-like, flat face of the +Second Builder. + +"Do you know already?" he asked. + +"What? About the Operation? Yes. How everything, everything ... +suddenly...." + +"No, not that. The trial flight is put off until day-after-tomorrow,--on +account of that Operation. They rushed us for nothing; we hurried...." + +"On account of that Operation!" Funny, limited man. He could see +no farther than his own platter! If only he knew that but for the +Operation tomorrow at twelve he would be locked-up in a glass cage, +would be tossing about, trying to climb the walls! + +At twelve-thirty when I came into my room I saw U-. She was sitting +at my table, firm, straight, bone-like, resting her right cheek on +her hand. She must have waited for a long while because when she +brusquely rose to meet me there remained on her cheek five white +imprints of her fingers. + +For a second that terrible morning came back to me; she beside +I-330, indignant. But for a second only. All was at once washed off +by the sun of today, as it happens sometimes when you enter your +room on a bright day and absent-mindedly turn on the light, the bulb +shines but it is out of place, droll, unnecessary. + +Without hesitation I held out my hand to her; I forgave her +everything. She firmly grasped both my hands and pressed them +till they hurt. Her cheeks quivering and hanging down like ancient +precious ornaments, she said with emotion: + +"I was waiting.... I want only one moment.... I only wanted to say +... how happy, how joyous I am for you! You realize of course, that +tomorrow or day-after-tomorrow you will be healthy again, as if born +anew." + +I noticed my papers on the table; the last two pages of my record +of yesterday; they were in the place where I left them the night +before. If only she knew what I wrote there! Although I did not care +after all. Now it was only history; it was the ridiculously far off +distance like an image through a reversed opera-glass. + +"Yes," I said, "a while ago, while passing through the avenue, I saw +a man walking ahead of me. His shadow stretched along the pavement +and think of it! his shadow was luminous! I think, more than that, +I am absolutely certain that tomorrow all shadows will disappear. +Not a shadow from any person or any thing! The sun will be shining +through everything." + +She, gently and earnestly: + +"You are a dreamer! I should not allow my children in school to talk +that way." + +She told me something about the children; that they were all led +in one herd to the Operation; that it was necessary to bind them +afterward with ropes; and that one must love pitilessly, "yes, +pitilessly," and that she thought she might finally decide to.... + +She smoothed out the grayish-blue fold of the unif that fell between +her knees, swiftly pasted her smiles all over me and went out. + +Fortunately the sun did not stop today. The sun was running. It was +already sixteen o'clock.... I was knocking at the door, my heart was +knocking.... + +"Come in!" + +I threw myself upon the floor near her chair, to embrace her limbs, +to lift my head upward and look into her eyes, first into one then +into the other, and in each of them to see the reflection of myself +in wonderful captivity.... + +There beyond the wall it looked stormy, there the clouds were +leaden,--let them be! My head was overcrowded with impetuous +words, and I was speaking aloud, and flying with the sun I knew +not where.... No, now we know where we are flying; planets were +following me, planets sparkling with flame and populated with fiery, +singing flowers and mute planets, blue ones where rational stones +were unified into one organized society, and planets which like +our own earth had reached already the apex of one hundred per-cent +happiness. + +Suddenly from above: + +"And don't you think that at the apex are, precisely, _stones_ +unified into an organized society?" The triangle grew sharper and +sharper, darker and darker. + +"Happiness ... well?... Desires are tortures, are they not? It is +clear therefore, that happiness is where there are no longer any +desires, not a single desire any more. What an error, what an absurd +prejudice it was, that formerly we would mark happiness with the +sign 'plus'! No, absolute happiness must be marked 'minus,'--divine +minus!" + +I remember I stammered unintelligibly: + +"Absolute zero!--minus 273°C." + +"Minus 273°--exactly! A somewhat cool temperature. But does it not +prove that we are at the summit?" + +As before she seemed somehow to speak for me and through me, +developing to the end my own thoughts. But there was something so +morbid in her tone that I could not refrain ... with an effort I +drew out a "No." + +"No," I said, "You, you are mocking...." + +She burst out laughing loudly, too loudly. Swiftly, in a second, +she laughed herself to some unseen edge, stumbled and fell over.... +Silence. + +She stood up, put her hands upon my shoulders and looked into me for +a long while. Then she pulled me toward her and everything seemed to +have disappeared save her sharp, hot lips.... + +"Good-bye." + +The words came from afar, from above, and reached me not at once, +only after a minute, perhaps two minutes later. + +"Why ... why 'good-bye'?" + +"You have been ill, have you not? Because of me you have committed +crimes. Has not all this tormented you? And now you have the +Operation to look forward to. You will be cured of me. And that +means--good-bye." + +"No!" I cried. + +A pitilessly sharp black triangle on a white background. + +"What? Do you mean that you don't want happiness?" + +My head was breaking into pieces; two logical trains collided and +crawled upon each other, rattling and smothering.... + +"Well, I am waiting. You must choose; the Operation and hundred +per-cent happiness, or...." + +"I cannot ... without you.... I must not ... without you...." I +said, or perhaps I only thought, I am not sure which, but I-330 +heard. + +"Yes, I know," she said. Then, her hands still on my shoulders and +her eyes not letting my eyes go, "Then ... until tomorrow. Tomorrow +at twelve. You remember?" + +"No, it was postponed for a day. Day-after-tomorrow!" + +"So much the better for us. At twelve, day-after-tomorrow!" + +I walked alone in the dusky street. The wind was whirling, +carrying, driving me like a piece of paper; fragments of the leaden +sky were soaring, soaring--they had to soar through the infinite for +another day or two.... + +Unifs of Numbers were brushing my sides,--yet I was walking alone. +It was clear to me that all were saved but that there was no +salvation for me. For I _do not want_ salvation.... + + + + +RECORD THIRTY-TWO + + I Do Not Believe + Tractors + A Little Human Splinter + + +Do you believe that _you will die_? Oh, yes, "Man is mortal. I am a +man, consequently...." No, not that; I know that; you know it. But I +ask: has it ever happened that you _actually believed_ it? Believed +definitely, believed not with your reason but with your _body_, that +you actually felt that some day those fingers which now hold this +page, will become yellow, icy?... + +No, of course you cannot believe this. That is why you have not +jumped from the tenth floor to the pavement before now, that is why +you eat, turn over these pages, shave, smile, write. + +This very thing, yes, exactly this is alive in me today. I know that +that small black hand on the clock will slide down here towards +midnight, then again it will start to ascend, and it will cross +some last border and the improbable tomorrow will have arrived. I +_know_ it, but somehow I do not _believe_ it, or perhaps I think +that twenty-four hours are twenty-four years. Therefore I am still +able to act, to hurry, to answer questions, to climb the rope-ladder +to the _Integral_. I am still able to feel how the latter is shaking +the surface of the water, and I still understand that I must grasp +the railing, and I am still able to feel the cold glass in my hand. +I see the transparent, living cranes, bending their long necks, +carefully feeding the _Integral_ with the terrible explosive food +which the motors need. I still see below on the river the blue veins +and knots of water swollen by the wind.... Yet all this seems very +distant from me, foreign, flat,--like a draught on a sheet of paper. +And it seems to me strange, when the flat, draught-like face of the +Second Builder, suddenly asks: + +"Well, then. How much fuel for the motors shall we load on? If we +count on three, or say three and a half hours...." + +I see before me, over a draught, my hand with the counter and the +logarithmic dial at the figure 15. + +"Fifteen tons. But you'd better take ... yes, better take a +thousand." + +I said that because I _know_ that tomorrow.... I noticed that my +hands and the dial began to tremble. + +"A thousand! What do you need such a lot for? That would last a +week! No, more than a week!" + +"Well, nobody knows...." + +I do know.... + +The wind whistled, the air seemed to be stuffed to the limit with +something invisible. I had difficulty in breathing, difficulty in +walking, and with difficulty, slowly but without stopping for a +second the hand of the Accumulating Tower was crawling, at the +end of the avenue. The peak of the Tower reached into the very +clouds;--dull, blue, groaning in a subdued way, sucking electricity +from the clouds. The tubes of the Musical Tower resounded. + +As always--four abreast. But the rows did not seem as firm as usual; +they were swinging, bending more and more, perhaps because of the +wind. There! They seemed to have stumbled upon something at the +corner, and they drew back and stopped, congealed, a close mass, a +clot, breathing rapidly; at once all had stretched their necks like +geese. + +"Look! No look, look--there, quick!" + +"_They?_ Are those _they_?" + +"Ah, never! Never! I'd rather put my head straight into the +Machine...." + +"Silence! Are you crazy?" + +On the corner the doors of the auditorium were ajar, a heavy column +of about fifty people--. The word "people" is not the right one. +These were heavy-wheeled automatons bound in iron and moved by an +invisible mechanism. Not people but a sort of human-like tractor. +Over their heads, floating in the air--a white banner with a golden +sun embroidered on it, and the rays of the sun: "We are the first! +We have already been operated upon! Follow us, all of you!" + +They slowly, unhesitatingly mowed through the crowd, and it was +clear that if they had had in their way a wall, a tree, a house, +they would have moved on with no more hesitation through wall, tree +or house. In the middle of the avenue they fused and stretched out +into a chain, arm in arm, their faces turned towards us. And we, +a human clot, tense, the hair pricking our heads, we waited. Our +necks were stretched out goose-fashion. Clouds. The wind whistled. +Suddenly the wings of the chain from right and left bent quickly +around us, and faster, faster, like a heavy engine descending a +hill, they closed the ring and pulled us toward the yawning doors +and inside.... + +Somebody's piercing cry: "They are driving us in! Run!" + +All ran. Close to the wall there still was an open living gate of +human beings. Everybody dashed through it, heads forward. Their +heads became sharp wedges, so with their ribs, shoulders, hips.... +Like a stream of water compressed in a firehose they spurted out +in the form of a fan,--and all around me stamping feet, raised +arms, unifs.... The double-curved S- with his transparent wing-ears +appeared for a moment close before my eyes; he disappeared as +suddenly; I was alone among arms and legs appearing for a second and +disappearing. I was running.... + +I dashed to the entrance of a house to stop for a breath, my back +close to the door,--and immediately, like a splinter borne by the +wind, a human being was thrown towards me. + +"All the while I ... I have been following you. I do not want ... do +you see? I do not want ... I am ready to...." + +Small round hands on my sleeves, round dark blue eyes--it was O-90. +She just slipped along my body like a unif which, its hanger broken, +slips along the wall to fall upon the floor. Like a little bundle +she crumpled below me on the cold door-step, and I stood over her, +stroking her head, her face,--my hands were wet. I felt as if I +were very big and she very small, a small part of myself. I felt +something quite different from what I feel towards I-330. I think +that the ancients must have had similar feelings towards their +private children. + +Below, passing through her hands with which she was covering her +face, a voice came to me: + +"Every night I ... I cannot! If they cure me.... Every night I sit +in the darkness alone and think of _him_, and of what he will look +like when I.... If cured I should have nothing to live with--do you +understand me? You must ... you must...." + +An absurd feeling yet it was there; I really must! Absurd, because +this "duty" of mine was nothing but another crime. Absurd, because +white and black cannot be one, duty and crime cannot coincide. Or +perhaps there is no black and white in life, but everything depends +upon the first logical premise? If the premise is that I unlawfully +gave her a child.... + +"It is all right, but don't, only don't ..." I said. "Of course I +understand.... I must take you to I-330, as I once offered to, so +that she...." + +"Yes." (This in a low voice, without uncovering her face.) + +I helped her rise. Silently we went along the darkening street, each +busy with his own thoughts, or perhaps with the same thought.... We +walked between silent leaden houses, through the tense, whipping +branches of the wind.... + +Through the whistling of the wind all at once I heard, as if +splashing through ditches, the familiar footsteps coming from some +unseen point. At the corner I turned around, and among the clouds, +flying upside-down reflected in the dim glass of the pavement I saw +S-. Instantly my arms became foreign, swinging out of time, and +I began to tell O-90 in a low voice that tomorrow, yes tomorrow, +was the day of the first flight of the _Integral_, and that it was +to be something that never happened before in all history, great, +miraculous. + +"Think of it! For the first time in life to find myself outside +the limits of our city and see--who knows what is beyond the Green +Wall?" + +O-90 looked at me extremely surprised, her blue eyes trying to +penetrate mine; she looked at my senselessly swinging arms. But +I did not let her say a word,--I kept talking, talking.... And +within me, apart from what I was saying and audible only to myself a +thought was feverishly buzzing and knocking. "Impossible! You must +somehow ... you must not lead _him_ to I-330!" + +Instead of turning to the right I turned to the left. The bridge +submissively bent its back in a slavish way to all three of us, +to me, to O-, to him behind. Lights were falling from the houses +across the water, falling and breaking into thousands of sparks +which danced feverishly, sprayed with the mad white foam of the +water. The wind was moaning like a tensely stretched string of a +double-basso somewhere not far away. Through this basso, behind, all +the while.... + +The house where I live. At the entrance O- stopped and began: + +"No! You promised, did you not, that...." + +I did not let her finish. Hastily I pushed her through the entrance +and we found ourselves in the lobby. At the controller's desk--the +familiar, hanging, excitedly quivering cheeks, a group of Numbers +around. They were quarreling about something, heads bending over the +banisters on the second floor; they were running downstairs one by +one. But about that later. I at once drew O-90 into the opposite, +unoccupied corner and sat down with my back to the wall. I saw a +dark large-headed shadow gliding back and forth over the sidewalk. I +took out my notebook. O-90 in her chair was slowly sinking as if she +were evaporating from under her unif, as if her body were thawing, +as if only her empty unif were left, and empty eyes taking one into +the blue emptiness. In a tired voice: + +"Why did you bring me here? You lied to me?" + +"No, not so loud! Look here! Do you see? Through the wall?" + +"Yes, I see a shadow." + +"He is always following me.... I cannot.... Do you understand? I +cannot therefore ... I am going to write a few words to I-330. You +take the note and go alone. I know he will remain here." + +Her body began again to take form and to move beneath the unif; on +her face a faint sunrise, dawn. I put the note between her cold +fingers, pressed her hand firmly and for the last time looked into +her blue eyes. + +"Good-bye. Perhaps some day...." She freed her hand. Slightly +bending over she slowly moved away, made two steps, turned around +quickly and again we were side by side. Her lips were moving; with +her lips and with her eyes she repeated some inaudible word. What an +unbearable smile! What suffering! + +Then the bent-over human splinter went to the door; a bent-over +little shadow beyond the wall; without turning around she went on +faster, still faster.... + +I went to U-'s desk. With emotion filling up her indignant gills she +said to me: + +"They have all gone crazy! He, for instance, is trying to assure me +that he himself saw a naked man covered with hair near the Ancient +House...." + +A voice from the group of empty raised heads; + +"Yes. I repeat it, yes." + +"Well, what do you think of that? Oh, what a delirium!" The +word "delirium" came out of her mouth so full of conviction, so +unbending, that I asked myself: "Perhaps it really was nothing but +delirium, all that has been going on around me of late?" I glanced +at my hairy hand and I remembered: "There are, undoubtedly, some +drops of that blood of the sun and woods in you. That is why perhaps +you...." No, fortunately it was not delirium; or no, _un_fortunately +it was not delirium. + + + + +RECORD THIRTY-THREE + +This without a Synopsis, Hastily, the Last + + +_The day._ + +Quick, to the newspaper! perhaps there.... I read the paper with +my eyes (exactly; my eyes now are like a pen, or like a counting +machine which you hold and feel in your hands like a tool, something +foreign, an instrument). In the newspaper on the first page, in +large print: + +"THE ENEMIES OF HAPPINESS ARE AWAKE! HOLD TO YOUR HAPPINESS WITH +BOTH HANDS. TOMORROW ALL WORK WILL STOP AND ALL THE NUMBERS ARE TO +COME TO BE OPERATED UPON. THOSE WHO FAIL TO COME WILL BE SUBMITTED +TO THE MACHINE OF THE WELL-DOER." + +Tomorrow! How can there be, how can there be any tomorrow? + +Following my daily habit, I stretched out my arm (instrument!) +to the bookshelf to put today's paper with the rest in a cover +ornamented with gold. While doing this: "What for? What does it +matter? Never again shall I.... In this cover, never...." And out of +my hands, down to the floor it fell. + +I stood looking all around, over all my room; hastily I was taking +away, feverishly putting into some unseen valise everything I +regretted leaving here: my desk, my books, my chair. Upon that chair +sat I-330 that day; I was below on the floor.... My bed.... Then +for a minute or two I stood and waited for some miracle to happen; +perhaps the telephone would ring, perhaps she would say that.... But +no, no miracle.... + +I am leaving, going into the unknown. These are my last lines. +Farewell you, my unknown beloved ones, with whom I have lived +through so many pages, before whom I have bared my diseased soul, +my whole self to the last broken little screw, to the last cracked +spring.... I am going.... + + + + +RECORD THIRTY-FOUR + + The Forgiven Ones + A Sunny Night + A Radio-Walkyrie + + +Oh, if only I actually had broken myself to pieces! If only I +actually had found myself with her in some place beyond the Wall, +among beasts showing their yellow tusks; if only I actually had +never returned here! It would be a thousand, a million times easier! +But now--what? Now to go and choke that--! But would it help? No, +no, no! Take yourself in hand, D-503! Set into yourself the firm +logical hub; at least for a short while weigh heavily with all your +might on the lever, and like the ancient slave, turn the millstones +of syllogisms until you have written down and understood everything +that happened.... + +When I boarded the _Integral_, everybody was already there and +everybody occupied his place; all the cells of the gigantic hive +were filled. Through the glass of the decks,--tiny, ant-like +people below, at the telegraph, dynamo, transformers, altimeters, +ventilators, indicators, motor, pumps, tubes.... In the saloon +people sitting over tables and instruments, probably those +commissioned by the Scientific Bureau. Near them the Second Builder +and his two aides. All three had their heads down between their +shoulders like turtles, their faces gray, autumnal, rayless. + +"Well?" I asked. + +"Well, somewhat uncanny," replied one of them smiling a gray rayless +smile, "Perhaps we shall have to land in some unknown place. And, +generally speaking, nobody knows...." + +I hardly could bear to look at them, when in an hour or so I was to +throw them out with my own hands, to cast them out from the cozy +figures of our Tables of Hours, forever to tear them away from +the mother's breast of the United State. They reminded me of the +tragic figures of "The Three Forgiven Ones"--a story known to all +of our school-children. It tells about three Numbers, who by way of +experiment were exempted for a whole month from any work.[3] "Go +wherever you will, do what you will," they were told. The unhappy +three wandered the whole time about the place of their usual work +and gazed within with hungry eyes. They would stop on the plazas +and for hours busy themselves repeating the motions which they were +used to making during certain hours of the day; it became a bodily +necessity for them to do so. They would saw and plane the air; with +unseen sledge-hammers they would bang upon unseen stakes. Finally, +on the tenth day they could bear it no longer; they took one another +by the hand, entered the river, and to the accompaniment of the +March they waded deeper and deeper until the water forever ended +their sufferings. + +[3] It happened long ago, in the third century A. T. (After the +Tables). + +I repeat, it was hard for me to look at them, and I was anxious to +leave them. + +"I just want to take a glance into the engine-room, and then off!" I +said. + +They were asking me questions: What voltage should be used for the +initial spark, how much ballast water was needed in the tank aft. +As if a phonograph were somewhere within me, I was giving quick +and precise answers but _I_, my inner self, was busy with its own +thoughts. + +In the narrow passage gray unifs were passing, gray faces and for a +second, one face with its hair low over the forehead, eyes gazing +from deep beneath it--it was _that same man_. I understood: _they_ +had come and there was no escape from it for me; only minutes +remained, a few dozens of minutes.... An infinitesimal, molecular +quiver of my whole body. This did not cease to the very end,--it was +as if an enormous motor were placed under the very foundation of my +body which was so light that the walls, partitions, cables, beams, +lights--everything was quivering.... + +I did not yet know whether _she_ was there. But I had no time.... +They were calling me: quick! To the commander's bridge; time to go +... where? + +Gray, rayless faces. Below in the water--tense blue veins. Heavy, +cast-iron patches of sky. It was so difficult to lift my cast-iron +hand and take up the receiver of the commander's telephone!... "Up! +Forty-five degrees!" + +A heavy explosion--a jerk--a rabid greenish-white mountain of water +aft--the deck beneath my feet began to move, soft as rubber; and +everything below, the whole life, forever.... For a second, falling +deeper and deeper into a sort of funnel, becoming more and more +compressed--the icy-blue relief-map of the City, the round bubbles +of cupolas, the lonely leaden finger of the Accumulating Tower.... +Then instantaneously a cotton curtain of cloud.... We pierced it, +and there was the sun and the blue sky! Seconds, minutes, miles--the +blue was hardening, fast filling with darkness; like drops of cold +silver sweat appeared the stars.... + +A sad, unbearably bright, black, starry, sunny night.... As if one +had become deaf, one still saw that the pipes were roaring, but +one only saw, dead silence all about. The sun was mute. It was +natural, of course. One might have expected it; we were beyond the +terrestrial atmosphere. The transition was so quick, so sudden +that everyone became timid and silent. Yet I ... I thought I felt +even easier under that fantastic, mute sun. I had bounded over the +inevitable border, having left my body somewhere there below, and +I was soaring bodiless to a new world, where everything was to be +different, upside down. + +"Keep the same course!" I shouted into the engine-room, or perhaps +it was not I but a phonograph in me, and the same machine with a +mechanical, hinge-like movement handed the commander's trumpet to +the Second Builder. All permeated by that most delicate, molecular +quiver known only to me, I ran down the companionway, to seek.... + +The door of the saloon.... An hour later it was to latch and lock +itself.... At the door stood an unfamiliar Number. He was small, +with a face like a hundred or a thousand others which are usually +lost in a crowd, but his arms were exceptionally long,--they reached +down to the knees as though by mistake they had been taken from +another set of human organs and fastened to his shoulders. + +The long arm stretched out and barred the way. + +"Where do you want to go?" + +It was clear that he was not aware I knew everything. All right! +Perhaps it was necessary that it should be so. From above him, in a +deliberately significant tone I said: + +"I am the Builder of the _Integral_ and I am directing the test +flight. Do you understand?" + +The arm drew away. + +The saloon. Heads covered with bristles, gray iron bristles, and +yellow heads, and bald, ripe heads were bent over the instruments +and maps. Swiftly, with a glance, I gathered them in with my +eyes, off I ran, back along the long passage, then through the +hatch into the engine-room. There it was hot from the red tubes, +overheated by the explosions; a constant roar,--the levers were +dancing their desperate drunken dance, quivering ceaselessly with +a barely noticeable quiver; the arrows on the dials.... There! At +last! Near the tachometer, a notebook in his hand, was that man with +the low forehead. + +"Listen," I shouted straight into his ear (because of the roar), "Is +she here? Where is she?" + +"She? There at the radio." + +I dashed over there. There were three of them, all with receiving +helmets on. And she seemed a head taller than usual, wingy, +sparkling, flying like an ancient walkyrie, and those bluish sparks +from the radio seemed to emanate from her,--from her also that +ethereal, lightning-like odor of ozone. + +"Someone--well, you for instance," I said to her, panting from +having run, "I must send a message down to earth, to the docks. +Come, I shall dictate it to you." + +Close to the apparatus there was a small box-like cabin. We sat at +the table side by side. I found her hand and pressed it hard. + +"Well, what is going to happen?" + +"I don't know. Do you realize how wonderful it is? To fly without +knowing where ... no matter where? It will soon be twelve o'clock +and nobody knows what.... And when night.... Where shall you and I +be tonight? Perhaps somewhere on the grass, on dry leaves...." + +Blue sparks emanated from her and the odor of lightning, and the +vibration became more and more frequent within me. + +"Write down," I said loudly, panting (from having run), "Time: +eleven-twenty; speed 5800...." + +"Last night she came to me with your note. I know ... I know +everything; don't talk.... But the child is yours. I sent her over; +she is already beyond the Wall. She will live...." + +I was back on the commander's bridge, back in the delirious night +with its black, starry sky and its dazzling sun. The hands of +the clock on the table were slowly moving from minute to minute. +Everything was permeated by a thin, hardly perceptible quivering +(only I noticed it). For some reason a thought passed through +my head: it would be better if all this took place not here but +somewhere below, nearer to earth. + +"Stop!" I commanded. + +We kept moving by inertia, but more and more slowly. Now the +_Integral_ was caught for a second by an imperceptible little +hair--for a second it hung motionless, then the little hair broke +and the _Integral_ like a stone dashed downward with increasing +speed. That way in silence, minutes, tens of minutes passed. My +pulse was audible; the hand of the clock before my eyes came closer +and closer to twelve. It was clear to me I was a stone; I-330 the +earth; and the stone was under irresistible compulsion to fall +downward, to strike the earth and break into small particles. What +if...? Already the hard blue smoke of the clouds appeared below.... +What if...? But the phonograph within me with a hinge-like motion +and precision took the telephone and commanded: "Low speed!" The +stone ceased falling. Only the four lower tubes were growling, two +ahead and two aft, only enough to hold the _Integral_ motionless, +and the _Integral_, only slightly trembling, stopped in the air as +if anchored, about one kilometer from the earth. + +Everybody came out on deck, (it was shortly before twelve, before +the sounding of the dinner-gong) and leaned over the glass railing; +hastily, in huge gulps, they swallowed the unknown world which lay +below, beyond the Green Wall. Amber, blue, green, the autumnal +woods, prairies, a lake. At the edge of a little blue saucer, some +lone yellow debris, a threatening, dried-out yellow finger,--it must +have been the tower of an ancient "church" saved by a miracle.... + +"Look, there! Look! There to the right!" + +There (over the green desert) a brown blot was rapidly moving. I +held a telescope in my hands and automatically I brought it to my +eyes: the grass reaching their chests, a herd of brown horses was +galloping, and on their back--_they_, black, white, and dark.... + +Behind me: + +"I assure you, I saw a face!" + +"Go away! Tell it to someone else!" + +"Well, look for yourself! Here is the telescope." + +They had already disappeared. Endless green desert, and in +that desert, dominating it completely and dominating me, and +everybody--the piercing vibrations of the gong; dinner time, one +minute to twelve. + +For a second the little world around me became incoherent, +dispersed. Someone's brass badge fell to the floor. It mattered +little. Soon it was under my heel. A voice: "And I tell you, it was +a face!" A black square, the open door of the main saloon. White +teeth pressed together, smiling.... And at that moment, when the +clock began slowly, holding its breath between beats, to strike, +and when the front rows began to move towards the dining saloon, +the rectangle of the door was suddenly crossed by the two familiar, +unnaturally long arms: + +"STOP!" + +Someone's fingers sank piercing into my palm. It was I-330. She was +beside me. + +"Who is it, do you know him?" + +"Is he not ... is he not?..." + +He was already lifted upon somebody's shoulders. Above a hundred +other faces, his face like hundreds, like thousands of other faces +yet unique among the rest.... + +"In the name of the Guardians! You, to whom I talk, _they_ hear me, +every one of them hears me,--I talk to you: _we know_! We don't know +your numbers yet but we know everything else. The _Integral_ shall +not be yours! The test flight will be carried out to the end and you +yourselves, you will not dare to make another move! You with your +own hands will help to go on with the test and afterward ... well, I +have finished!" + +Silence. The glass plates under my feet seemed soft, cotton-like. +My feet too,--soft, cotton-like. Beside me--she with a dead-white +smile, angry blue sparks. Through her teeth to me: + +"Ah! It is your work! You did your 'duty'! Well...." She tore her +hand from mine; the walkyrie helmet with indignant wings was soon to +be seen some distance in front of me. I was alone, torpid, silent. +Like everyone else I followed into the dining saloon. + +But it was not I, not I! I told nobody, save these white, mute +pages.... I cried this to her within me, inaudibly, desperately, +loudly. She was across the table, directly opposite me and not once +did she even touch me with her gaze. Beside her, someone's ripe, +yellow, bald head. I heard (it was I-330's voice): + +"'Nobility' of character! But my dear professor, even a superficial +etymological analysis of the word shows that it is a superstition, a +remnant of the ancient feudal epoch. We...." + +I felt I was growing pale,--and that they would soon notice it. +But the phonograph within me performed the prescribed fifty chewing +movements for every bite. I locked myself into myself as though +into an opaque house; I threw up a heap of rocks before my door and +lowered the window-blinds.... + +Afterward, again the telephone of the commander was in my hands +and again we made the flight with icy, supreme anxiety through the +clouds into the icy, starry, sunny night. Minutes, hours passed.... +Apparently all that time the logical motor within me was working +feverishly at full speed. For suddenly somewhere at a distant point +of the dark blue space I saw my desk, and the gill-like cheeks of U- +over it and the forgotten pages of my records! It became clear to +me; nobody but she ... everything was clear to me! + +If only I could reach the radio-room soon ... wing-like helmets, +the odor of blue lightnings ... I remember telling her something in +a low voice and I remember how she looked _through_ me and how her +voice seemed to come from a distance: + +"I am busy. I am receiving a message from below. You may dictate +yours to her." + +The small, box-like little cabin.... I thought for a second and then +dictated in a firm voice: + +"Time 14:40. Going down. Motors stopped. The end of all." + +The commander's bridge. The machine-heart of the _Integral_ stopped; +we were falling; my heart could not catch up and would remain +behind and rise higher and higher into my throat.... Clouds.... And +then a distant green spot--everything green, more and more distinct, +running like a storm towards us. "Soon the end." + +The porcelain-like white distorted face of the Second Builder! +It was he who struck me with all his strength; I hurt my head on +something; and through the approaching darkness while falling I +heard: + +"Full speed--aft!" + +A brusque jolt upward.... + + + + +RECORD THIRTY-FIVE + + In a Ring + A Carrot + A Murder + + +I did not sleep all night. The whole night but one thought.... As +a result of yesterday's mishap my head is tightly bandaged,--it +seems to me not a bandage but a ring, a pitiless ring of glass-iron, +riveted about my head. And I am busy with the same thought, always +the same thought in my riveted circle: to kill U-. To kill U- +and then go to her and say: "Now do you believe?" What is most +disquieting is that to kill is dirty, primitive. To break her head +with something--the thought of it gives me a peculiar sensation of +something disgustingly sweet in my mouth, and I am unable to swallow +my saliva; I am always spitting into my handkerchief, yet my mouth +feels dry. + +I had in my closet a heavy piston-rod which cracked during the +casting and which I brought home in order to find out the cause of +the cracking with a microscope. I made my manuscript into a tube +(let her read me to the last letter!), pushed the broken piston into +that tube and went downstairs. The stairway seemed endless, the +steps disgustingly slippery, liquid. I had to wipe off moisture +from my mouth very frequently. Downstairs ... my heart dropped. I +took out the piston and went to the controller's table, but she was +not there; instead an empty, icy desk with ink-blots. I remembered +that today all work was stopped; everybody was to go to be operated +upon. Hence there was no need for her to stay here. There was nobody +to be registered.... + +The street. It was windy. The sky seemed to be composed of soaring +panels of cast-iron. And exactly as it seemed for one moment +yesterday, the whole world was broken up into separate, sharp, +independent fragments, and each of these fragments was falling at +full speed; each would stop for a second, hang before me in the +air and disappear without trace. It was as if the black, precise +letters on this page should suddenly move apart and begin to jump +hither and thither in fright, so that there was not a word on the +page, only nonsensical "ap," "jum," "wor." The crowd seemed just +as nonsensical, dispersed (not in rows), going forward, backward, +diagonally, transversely.... + +Then nobody. For a second while I was dashing at full speed, +suddenly stopping, I saw on the second floor in the glass cage +hanging in the air,--a man and a woman--a kiss; she standing with +her whole body bent backward brokenly: "This is for the last time, +forever...." + +At a corner a thorny, moving bush of heads. Above the heads, +separate, floating in the air, a banner: "Down with the machines! +Down with the Operation!" And (distinct from my own self) I thought: +"Is it possible that each one of us bears such a pain, that it can +be removed only with his heart.... That something must be done to +each one, before he...." For a second everything disappeared for me +from the world, except my beast-like hand with the heavy cast-iron +package it held.... + +A boy appeared. He was running, a shadow under his lower lip. The +lower lip turned out like the cuff of a rolled-up sleeve. His face +was distorted; he wept loudly; he was running away from somebody. +Stamping of feet was heard behind him.... + +The boy reminded me: "U- must be in school. I must hurry!" I ran +to the nearest opening of the Underground Railway. At the entrance +someone passed me and said, "Not running. No trains today ... +there!" I descended. A sort of general delirium was reigning. The +glitter of cut-crystal suns; the platform packed closely with heads. +An empty, torpid train. + +In the silence--a voice. I could not see her but I knew, I knew that +intense, living, flexible, whip-like, flogging voice! I felt there +that sharp triangle of brows drawn to the temples.... + +"Let me! Let me reach her! I must!..." + +Someone's tentacles caught my arm, my shoulders. I was nailed. In +the silence I heard: + +"No. Go up to them. There they will cure you; there they will +overfeed you with that leavened happiness. Satiated, you will +slumber peacefully, organized, keeping time and snoring sweetly. Is +it possible that you do not yet hear that great symphony of snoring? +Foolish people! Don't you realize that they want to liberate you +from these gnawing, worm-like, torturing question marks? And you +remain standing here and listening to me? Quick! Up! To the Great +Operation! What is your concern, if I remain here alone? What does +it matter to you if I want to struggle, hopelessly struggle? So much +the better! What does it matter to you that I do not want others +to desire for me? I want to desire for myself. If I desire the +impossible...." + +Another voice, slow, heavy: + +"Ah, the impossible! Which means to run after your stupid fancies; +those fancies would whirl from under your very noses like a tail. +No, we shall catch that tail, and then...." + +"And then--swallow it and fall snoring; a new tail will become +necessary. They say the ancients had a certain animal which they +called 'Ass.' In order to make it go forward they would attach a +carrot to a bow held in front of its nose, so that it could not +reach it.... If it had caught and swallowed it...." + +The tentacles suddenly let me go; I threw myself towards the place +she was speaking from; but at that very moment everything was +brought to confusion. Shouts from behind: "They are coming here! +Coming here!" The lights twinkled and went out,--someone cut the +cable,--and everything was like a lava of cries, groaning, heads, +fingers.... + +I do not know how long we were rolled about that way in the +underground tube. I only remember that steps were felt, dusk +appeared, becoming brighter and brighter, and again we were in the +street, dispersing fan-wise in different directions. + +Again I was alone. Wind. Gray, low twilight crawling over my head. +In the damp glass of the sidewalk, somewhere very deep, there were +light topsy-turvy walls and figures moving along, feet upward. And +that terribly heavy package in my hands pulled me down into that +depth to the bottom. + +At the desk again. U- was not yet there; her room was dark and +empty. I went up to my room and turned on the light. My temples +tightly bound by the iron ring were pulsating. I paced and paced, +always in the same circle: my table, the white package on the table, +the bed, my table, the white package on the table.... In the room +to my left the curtains were lowered. To my right: the knotty bald +head over a book, the enormous parabolic forehead. Wrinkles on the +forehead like a series of yellow, illegible lines. At times our eyes +met and then I felt that those lines were about me. + +... It happened at twenty-one o'clock exactly. U- came in on her +own initiative. I remember that my breathing was so loud that I +could hear it and that I wanted to breathe less noisily but was +unable to. + +She sat down and arranged the fold of her unif on her knees. The +pinkish-brown gills were waving. + +"Oh, dear, is it true that you are wounded? I just learned about it, +and at once I ran...." + +The piston was before me on the table. I jumped up, breathing even +louder. She heard, and stopped half-way through a word and rose. +Already I had located the place on her head; something disgustingly +sweet was in my mouth.... My handkerchief! I could not find it. I +spat on the floor. + +The fellow with the yellow fixed wrinkles which think of me! It was +necessary that he should not see. It would be even more disgusting +if he could.... I pressed the button. (I had no right to do that, +but who cared about rights then?) The curtains fell. + +Evidently she felt and understood what was coming for she rushed to +the door. But I was quicker than she and I locked the door with the +key, breathing loudly and not taking my eyes for a second away from +that place on her head.... + +"You ... you are mad! How dare you...." She moved backward towards +the bed, put her trembling hands between her knees.... Like a tense +spring, holding her firmly with my gaze, I slowly stretched out my +arm towards the table (only one arm could move), and I snatched the +piston. + +"I implore you! One day--only one day! Tomorrow I shall go and +attend to the formalities...." + +What was she talking about? I swung my arm.... And I consider I +killed her. Yes, you my unknown readers, you have the right to call +me murderer. I know that I should have dealt the blow on her head +had she not screamed: + +"For ... for the sake ... I agree.... I ... one moment...." With +trembling hands she tore off her unif;--a large, yellow, drooping +body, she fell upon the bed.... + +Then I understood; she thought that I pulled the curtains ... in +order to ... that I wanted.... + +This was so unexpected and so stupid that I burst out laughing. +Immediately the tense spring within me broke and my hand weakened +and the piston fell to the floor. + +Here I learned from personal experience that laughter is the most +terrible of weapons; you can kill anything with laughter, even +murder. I sat at my table and laughed desperately; I saw no way out +of that absurd situation. I don't know what would have been the end +if things had run their natural course, for suddenly a new factor in +the arithmetical chain: the telephone rang. + +I hurried, grasped the receiver. Perhaps she ... I heard an +unfamiliar voice: + +"Wait a minute." + +Annoying, infinite buzzing. Heavy steps from afar, nearer and louder +like cast-iron, and.... + +"D-503? The Well-Doer speaking. Come at once to me." + +Ding! He hung up the receiver. Ding! like a key in a keyhole. + +U- was still in bed, eyes closed, gills apart in the form of a +smile. I picked up her clothes, threw them on her and said through +clenched teeth: + +"Well. Quick! Quick!" + +She raised her body on her elbow, her breasts hanging down to one +side, eyes round. She became a figure of wax. + +"What?" + +"Get dressed, that is what!" + +Face distorted, she firmly snatched her clothes and said in a flat +voice, "Turn away...." + +I turned away, pressed my forehead against the glass. Light, +figures, sparks, were trembling in the black, wet mirror.... No, +all this was I, myself,--within me.... What did he call me for? +Is it possible that he knows already about her, about me, about +everything? + +U-, already dressed, was at the door. I made a step toward her and +pressed her hand as hard as though I hoped to squeeze out of it drop +by drop what I needed. + +"Listen.... Her name, you know whom I am talking of,--did you report +her name? No? Tell the truth, I must.... I care not what happens, +but tell the truth!" + +"No." + +"No? But why not, since you...." + +Her lower lip turned out like the lip of that boy and her face ... +tears were running down her cheeks. + +"Because I ... I was afraid that if I did you might ... you would +stop lov-- Oh, I cannot, I could not!" + +I understood. It was the truth. Absurd, ridiculous, human truth. I +opened the door. + + + + +RECORD THIRTY-SIX + + Empty Pages + The Christian God + About My Mother + + +It is very strange that a kind of empty white page should be left +in my head. How I walked there, how I waited (I remember I had to +wait), I know nothing about it; I remember not a sound, not a face, +not a gesture, as if all communicating wires between me and the +world were cut. + +When I came to, I found myself standing before Him; I feared to +raise my eyes,--I saw only His enormous cast-iron hands upon His +knees. Those hands weighed upon Him, bending His knees with their +weight. He was slowly moving His fingers. His face was somewhere +above as if in fog. And, only because His voice came to my ear from +such a height, it did not roar like thunder, it did not deafen me +but appeared to be an ordinary human voice. + +"Then you too, you the Builder of the _Integral_! You, whose lot +it was to become the greatest of all _conquistadores_! You whose +name was to have been at the head of a glorious, new chapter of the +history of the United State! You...." + +Blood ran to my head, to my cheeks,--and here again a white page; +only the pulsation in my temples and the heavy voice from above; +but I remember not a word. Only when He became silent I came to +and noticed how His hand moved heavily like a thousand pounds, and +crawled slowly,--a finger threatened me. + +"Well! Why are you silent? Is it true, or not? Executioner? So!" + +"So," I repeated submissively. And then I clearly heard every word +of His. + +"Well then? Do you think I am afraid of the word! Did you ever try +to take off its shell and look into its inner meaning? I shall tell +you.... Remember a blue hill, a crowd, a cross? Some up on the hill, +sprinkled with blood, are busy nailing a body to the cross; others +below, sprinkled with tears, are gazing upward. Does it not seem to +you that the part which those above must play is the more difficult, +the most important part? If it were not for them, how could that +magnificent tragedy ever have been staged? True, they were hissed +by the dark crowd but for that the author of the tragedy, God, +should have remunerated them the more liberally, should he not? +And the Christian, most clement God himself, who burnt on a slow +fire all the infidels, is he not an executioner? Was the number +of those burned by the Christians less than the number of burned +Christians? Yet (you must understand this!), yet this God was for +centuries glorified as the God of love! Absurd? Oh, no. Just the +contrary. It is rather a patent for the imperishable wisdom of man, +written in blood. Even at the time when he still was wild and hairy +man knew that real, algebraic love for humanity must inevitably be +inhuman, and that the inevitable mark of truth is cruelty, just as +the inevitable mark of fire is its property of causing the sensation +of burning. Could you show me a fire that would not hurt? Well, +prove now your point! Proceed! Argue!" + +How could I argue? How could I argue when those thoughts were once +mine, though I was never able to dress them in such a splendid, +tempered armor. I remained silent. + +"If your silence is intended to mean that you agree with me, then +let us talk as adults do after the children have gone to bed; let +us talk to the logical end. I ask: what was it that man from his +diaper age dreamed of, tormented himself for, prayed for? He longed +for that day when someone would tell him what happiness is and then +would chain him to it. What else are we doing now? The ancient +dream about a paradise.... Remember: there in paradise they know no +desires any more, no pity, no love; there they are all--blessed. An +operation has been performed upon their centre of fancy; that is why +they are blessed, angels, servants of God.... And now, at the very +moment when we have caught up with that dream, when we hold it like +this": (He clenched his hand so, that if he had held a stone in it +sap would have run out!) "At the moment when all that was left for +us was to adorn our prize and distribute it amongst all in equal +pieces, at that very moment you, you...." + +The cast-iron roar was suddenly broken off. I was as red as a piece +of iron on an anvil, under the moulding sledge-hammer. This seemed +to have stopped for a second, hanging in air, and I waited, waited +... until suddenly: + +"How old are you?" + +"Thirty-two." + +"Just double the age, and as simple as at sixteen! Listen. Is it +possible that it really never occurred to you that _they_ (we do +not yet know their names but I am certain you will disclose them to +us), that _they_ were interested in you only as the Builder of the +_Integral?_ only in order to be able through the use of you--" + +"Don't! Don't!" I cried. But it was like protecting yourself with +your hands and crying to a bullet: you may still be hearing your +own "don't" but the bullet meanwhile has burned you through, and +writhing with pain, you are prostrated on the ground. + +Yes, yes; the Builder of the _Integral_.... Yes, yes.... At once +there came back to me the angry face of U- with twitching, brick-red +gills, on that morning when both of them.... + +I remember now, clearly, how I raised my eyes and laughed. A +Socrates-like, bald-headed man was sitting before me; and small +drops of sweat dotted the bald surface of his cranium. + +How simple, how magnificently trivial everything was! How simple! +Almost to the point of being ridiculous. Laughter was choking me and +bursting forth in puffs; I covered my mouth with my hand and rushed +wildly out.... + +Steps. Wind. Damp, leaping fragments of lights and faces.... And +while running: "No! Only to see her! To see her once more!" + +Here again, an empty white page. All I remember is feet; not people, +just feet; hundreds of feet, confusedly stamping feet, falling +from somewhere on the pavement; a heavy rain of feet.... And some +cheerful, daring voice, and a shout that was probably for me: "Hey, +hey! Come here! Come along with us!" + +Afterward--a deserted square heavily overloaded with tense wind. In +the middle of the square a dim, heavy threatening mass--the Machine +of the Well-Doer; and a seemingly unexpected image arose within me +in response to the sight of the Machine: a snow-white pillow and on +the pillow a head thrown back, and half-closed eyes and a sharp, +sweet line of teeth.... All this seemed so absurdly, so terribly +connected with the Machine. I know _how_ this connection has come +about but I do not yet want to see it nor to say it aloud--I don't +want to! I do not! + +I closed my eyes, sat down on the steps which lead upwards to +the Machine. I must have been running for my face was wet. From +somewhere very far away cries were coming. But nobody heard them; +nobody heard me crying: "Save me from it--save me!" + +If only I had a mother as the ancients had,--my mother, _mine_, for +whom I should be not the Builder of the _Integral_ and not D-530, +not a molecule of the United State but merely a living human piece, +a piece of herself, a trampled, smothered, a cast-off piece.... And +though I were driving the nails into the cross or being nailed to +it (perhaps it is the same), she would hear what no one else could +hear; her old grown-together wrinkled lips.... + + + + +RECORD THIRTY-SEVEN + + Infusorian + Doomsday + Her Room + + +This morning while we were in the refectory, my neighbor to my left +whispered to me in a frightened tone: + +"But why don't you eat? Don't you see, they are looking at you!" + +I had to pluck up all my strength to show a smile. I felt it--like a +crack in my face; I smiled and the borders of the crack drew apart +wider and wider; it was quite painful. + +What followed was this: no sooner had I lifted the small cube of +paste upon my fork, than my fork jerked from my hand and tinkled +against the plate, and at once the tables, the walls, the plates, +the air even, trembled and rang; and outside too, an enormous, iron, +round roar reaching the sky--floating over heads and houses it died +away in the distance in small, hardly perceptible circles like those +upon water. + +I saw faces instantaneously grow faded and bleached; I saw mouths +filled with food suddenly motionless and forks hanging in air. Then +everything became confused, jumped off the centuries-old tracks, +everybody jumped up from his place (without singing the Hymn!) +and confusedly, in disorder, hastily finishing chewing, choking, +grasping one another.... They were asking: "What? What happened? +What?..." And the disorderly fragments of the Machine which was once +perfect and great, fell down in all directions,--down the elevators, +down the stairs.... Stamping of feet.... Pieces of words like pieces +of torn letters carried by the wind.... + +The same outpour from the neighboring houses. A minute later the +avenue seemed like a drop of water under a microscope: the infusoria +locked up in the transparent, glass-like drop of water were tossing +around, to the sides, up and down. + +"Ah!" Some one's triumphant voice. I saw the back of a neck +and a finger pointing to the sky. I remember very distinctly a +yellow-pinkish nail and under the nail a crescent crawling out as if +from under the horizon. The finger was like a compass; all eyes were +raised to the sky. + +There, running away from an invisible pursuit, masses of cloud +were rushing upon each other; and colored by the clouds the aeros +of the Guardians, with their tubes like antennae, were floating. +And farther to the west--something like.... At first nobody could +understand what it was, even I, who knew (unfortunately) more +than the others. It was like a great hive of black aeros swarming +somewhere at an extraordinary height--they looked like hardly +noticeable, swiftly moving points.... Nearer and nearer.... Hoarse, +guttural sounds began to reach the earth and finally we saw _birds_ +just over our heads! They filled the sky with their sharp, black, +descending triangles. The stormy wind drove them down and they began +to land on the cupolas, on the roofs, poles and balconies. + +"Ah--ah!" and the triumphant back of the neck turned, and I saw that +man with the protruding forehead but it seemed that the title, so +to speak, was all that was left of him: he seemed to have crawled +out from under his forehead and on his face, around the eyes and +lips, bunches of rays were growing. Through the noise of the wind +and wings and cawing, he cried to me: + +"Do you realize? Do you realize! They have blown up the Wall! The +Wall has been blown up! Do you _understand_?" + +Somewhere in the background, figures with their heads drawn in +were hastily rushing by, and into the houses. In the middle of the +pavement a mass of those who had been already operated upon; they +moved towards the west.... + +... Hairy bunches of rays around the lips and eyes.... I grasped his +hands: + +"Tell me. Where is she? Where is I-330? There? Beyond the Wall +or...? I must.... Do you hear me? At once.... I cannot...." + +"Here!" he shouted in a happy, drunken voice, showing strong yellow +teeth, "here in town, and she is acting! Oh, we are doing great +work!" + +Who are those "we"? Who am I? + +There were about fifty around him. Like him, they seemed to have +crawled out from under their foreheads. They were loud, cheerful, +strong-toothed, swallowing the stormy wind. With their simple, not +at all terrible-looking electrocutors (where did they get them?) +they started to the west, towards the operated ones, encircling +them, keeping parallel to forty-eighth avenue.... + +Stumbling against the tightly-drawn ropes woven by the wind, I +was running to her. What for? I did not know. I was stumbling.... +Empty streets.... The city seemed foreign, wild, filled with the +ceaseless, triumphant, hubbub of birds. It seemed like the end of +the world, _Doomsday_. + +Through the glass of the walls in quite a few houses (this +cut into my mind) I saw male and female Numbers in shameless +embraces--without curtains lowered, without pink checks, in the +middle of the day!... + +The house--her house; the door ajar. The lobby, the control desk, +all was empty. The elevator had stopped in the middle of its shaft. +I ran panting up the endless stairs. The corridor. Like the spokes +of a wheel figures on the doors dashed past my eyes; 320, 326, +330,--I-330! Through the glass wall everything in her room was seen +to be upside down, confused, creased. The table overturned, its legs +in the air like a beast. The bed was absurdly placed away from the +wall, obliquely. Strewn over the floor--fallen, trodden petals of +the pink checks. + +I bent over and picked up one, two, three of them; all bore the +name D-503. I was on all of them, drops of myself, of my molten, +poured-out self. And that was all--that was left.... + +Somehow I felt they should not lie there on the floor and be trodden +upon. I gathered a handful of them, put them on the table and +carefully smoothed them out, glanced at them and ... laughed aloud! +I never knew it before but now I know, and you too, know, that +laughter may be of different colors. It is but a distant echo of an +explosion within us; it may be the echo of a holiday, red, blue and +golden fireworks, or at times it may represent pieces of human flesh +exploded into the air.... + +I noticed an unfamiliar name on some of the pink checks. I do not +remember the figures but I do remember the letter--F. I brushed +the stubs from the table to the floor, stepped on them, on myself, +stamped on them with my heels,--and went out.... + +I sat in the corridor on the window-sill in front of her door and +waited long and stupidly. An old man appeared. His face was like +a pierced, empty bladder with folds; from beneath the puncture +something transparent was still slowly dripping. Slowly, vaguely I +realized--tears. And only when the old man was quite far off I came +to and exclaimed: + +"Please ... listen.... Do you know ... Number I-330?" + +The old man turned around, waved his hand in despair and stumbled +farther away.... + +I returned home at dusk. On the west side the sky was twitching +every second in a pale blue electric convulsion:--a subdued, heavy +roar was proceeding from that direction. The roofs were covered with +black charred sticks,--birds. + +I lay down; and instantly like a heavy beast sleep came and stifled +me.... + + + + +RECORD THIRTY-EIGHT + +I Don't Know What Title--Perhaps the Whole Synopsis May Be Called +a Cast-off Cigarette-butt. + + +I awoke. A bright glare painful to look at. I half closed my eyes. +My head seemed filled with some caustic blue smoke. Everything was +enveloped in fog and through the fog: + +"But I did not turn on the light ... then how is it...." + +I jumped up. At the table, leaning her chin on her hand and smiling, +was I-330, looking at me. + +She was at the very table at which I am now writing. Those ten or +fifteen minutes are already behind me, cruelly twisted into a very +firm spring. Yet it seems to me that the door closed after her only +a second ago and that I could still overtake her and grasp her +hand,--and that she might laugh out and say.... + +I-330 was at the table. I rushed towards her. + +"You? You! I have been.... I saw your room.... I thought you...." +But midway I hurt myself upon the sharp, motionless spears of her +eyelashes and I stopped. I remembered: she looked at me in the same +way before,--in the _Integral_. It was urgent to tell her everything +in one second and in such a way that she should believe--or she +would never.... + +"Listen, I-330, I must.... I must ... everything! No, no, one +moment--let me have a glass of water first." + +My mouth was as dry as though it were lined with blotting paper. I +poured a glass of water but I could not.... I put the glass back +upon the table, and with both hands firmly grasped the carafe. + +Now I noticed that the blue smoke was from a cigarette. She brought +the cigarette to her lips and with avidity she drew in and swallowed +the smoke as I did water; then she said: + +"Don't. Be silent. Don't you see it matters little? I came anyway. +They are waiting for me below.... Do you want these minutes which +are our last...?" + +Abruptly she threw the cigarette on the floor and bent backwards +over the side of the chair to reach the button in the wall (it was +quite difficult to do so), and I remember how the chair swayed +slightly, how two of its legs were lifted. Then the curtains fell. + +She came close to me and embraced me. Her knees, through her dress, +were like a slow, gentle, warm, enveloping and permeating poison.... + +Suddenly (it happens at times) you plunge into sweet, warm +sleep--when all at once, as if something pricks you, you tremble and +your eyes are again widely open. So it was now; there on the floor +in her room were the pink checks stamped with traces of footsteps, +one of them bore the letter F. and some figures.... Plus and minus +fused within my mind into one lump.... I could not say even now what +sort of a feeling it was but I crushed her so that she cried out +with pain.... + +One more minute out of these ten or fifteen; her head thrown back, +lying on the bright white pillow, her eyes half closed, a sharp, +sweet line of teeth.... And all this reminded me in an irresistible, +absurd, torturing way about something forbidden, something not +permissible at that moment. More tenderly, more cruelly, I pressed +her to myself, more bright grew the blue traces of my fingers.... + +She said, without opening her eyes (I noticed this), "They say you +went to see the Well-Doer yesterday, is it true?" + +"Yes." + +Then her eyes opened widely and with delight I looked at her and saw +that her face grew quickly paler and paler, that it effaced itself, +disappearing,--only the eyes remained. + +I told her everything. Only for some reason, what I don't know--(no, +it is not true, I know the reason) I was silent about one thing: His +assertion at the end that they needed me only in order.... + +Like the image on a photographic plate in a developing fluid, her +face gradually reappeared; the cheeks, the white line of teeth, the +lips. She stood up and went to the mirror-door of the closet. My +mouth was dry again. I poured water but it was revolting to drink +it; I put the glass back on the table and asked: + +"Did you come to see me because you wanted to inquire...?" + +A sharp, mocking triangle of brows drawn to the temples looked at +me from the mirror. She turned around to say something but said +nothing. + +It was not necessary; I knew. + +To bid her good-bye, I moved my foreign limbs, struck the chair with +them. It fell upside down, dead, like the table in her room. Her +lips were cold ... just as cold was once the floor, here, near my +bed.... + +When she left I sat down on the floor, bent over the +cigarette-butt.... + +I cannot write any more--I no longer want to! + + + + +RECORD THIRTY-NINE + +The End + + +All this was like the last crystal of salt thrown into a saturated +solution; quickly, needle-like crystals began to appear, to grow +more substantial and solid. It was clear to me; the decision was +made and tomorrow morning _I shall do it_! It amounts to suicide +but perhaps then I shall be re-born. For only what is killed can be +re-born. + +Every second the sky twitched in convulsion there in the west. My +head was burning and pulsating inside; I was up all night and I fell +asleep only at about seven o'clock in the morning when the darkness +of the night was already dispelled and becoming gray and when the +roofs crowded with birds became visible.... + +I woke up; ten o'clock. Evidently the bell did not ring today. On +the table--left from yesterday--there stood the glass of water. +I gulped the water down with avidity and I ran; I had to do it +quickly, as quickly as possible. + +The sky was deserted, blue, all eaten up by the storm. Sharp corners +of shadows.... Everything seemed to be cut out of blue autumnal +air--thin, dangerous to touch; it seemed so brittle, ready to +disperse into glass dust. Within me something similar; I ought not +to think; it was dangerous to think, for.... + +And I did not think, perhaps I did not even see properly; I +only registered impressions. There on the pavement, thrown from +somewhere, branches were strewn; their leaves were green, amber and +cherry-red. Above, crossing each other, birds and aeros were tossing +about. Here below heads, open mouths, hands waving branches.... All +this must have been shouting, buzzing, chirping.... + +Then--streets empty as if swept by a plague. I remember I stumbled +over something disgustingly soft, yielding yet motionless. I bent +down--a corpse. It was lying flat, the legs apart. The face.... I +recognized the thick negro lips which even now seemed to sprinkle +with laughter. His eyes, firmly screwed in, laughed into my face. +One second.... I stepped over him and ran. I could no longer.... I +had to have everything done as soon as possible, or else I felt I +would break, I would break in two like an overloaded sail.... + +Luckily it was not more than twenty steps away; I already saw the +sign with the golden letters: "The Bureau of Guardians." At the +door I stopped for a moment to gulp down as much air as I could and +stepped in. + +Inside, in the corridor stood an endless chain of numbers, holding +small sheets of paper and heavy note-books. They moved slowly, +advancing a step or two and stopping again. I began to be tossed +about along the chain, my head was breaking to pieces; I pulled +them by the sleeves, I implored them as a sick man implores to be +given something that would even at the price of sharpest pain end +everything, forever. + +A woman with a belt tightly clasped around her waist over the unif +and with two distinctly protruding squatty hemispheres tossing about +as if she had eyes on them, chuckled at me: + +"He has a belly-ache! Show him to the room second door to the +right!" + +Everybody laughed, and because of that laughter something rose in my +throat; I felt I should either scream or ... or.... + +Suddenly from behind some one touched my elbow. I turned around. +Transparent wing-ears! But they were not pink as usual; they were +purplish red; his Adam's apple was tossing about as though ready to +tear the covering.... + +Quickly boring into me: "What are you here for?" + +I seized him. + +"Quickly! Please! Quickly! ... into your office.... I must tell +everything ... right away.... I am glad that you.... It may be +terrible that it should be you to whom.... But it is well, it is +well...." + +He too, knew _her_; this made it even more tormenting for me. But +perhaps he too, would tremble when he should hear.... And we would +both be killing.... And I would not be alone at that, my supreme +second.... + +The door closed with a slam. I remember a piece of paper was +caught beneath the door and it rustled on the floor when the +door closed. And then a strange airless silence covered us as if +a glass bell were put over us. If only he had uttered a single, +most insignificant word, no matter what, I should have told him +everything at once. But he was silent. So keyed up that I heard a +noise in my ears, I said without looking at him: + +"I think I always hated her from the very beginning.... I +struggled.... Or, no, no, don't believe me; I could have but I did +not want to save myself; I wanted to perish; this was dearer to +me than anything else ... and even now, even this minute, when I +know already everything.... Do you know that I was summoned to the +Well-Doer?" + +"Yes, I do." + +"But what he told me! Please realize that it was equivalent to ... +it was as if some one should remove the floor from under you this +minute, and you and all here on the desk, the papers, the ink ... +the ink would splash out and cover everything with blots...." + +"What else? What further? Hurry up, others are waiting!" + +Then stumbling, muttering, I told him everything that is recorded +in these pages.... About my real self, and about my hairy self, and +about my hands ... yes ... exactly that was the beginning. And +how I would not do my duty then, and how I lied to myself, and how +she obtained false certificates for me, and how I grew worse and +worse, every day, and about the long corridors underground, and +there beyond the Wall.... + +All this I threw out in formless pieces and lumps. I would stutter +and fail to find words. The lips double-curved in a smile would +prompt me with the word I needed and I would nod gratefully: "Yes, +yes!".... Suddenly, what was it? He was talking for me and I only +listened and nodded: "Yes, yes," and then, "Yes, exactly so, ... +yes, yes...." + +I felt cold around my mouth as though it were wet with ether, and I +asked with difficulty: + +"But how is it.... You could not learn anywhere...." + +He smiled a smile growing more and more curved; then: + +"But I see that you do want to conceal from me something. For +example, you enumerated everything you saw beyond the Wall but you +failed to mention one thing. You deny it? But don't you remember +that once, just in passing, just for a second you saw me there? Yes, +yes _me_!" + +Silence. + +Suddenly, like a flash of lightning, it became shamelessly clear to +me: he--he too--. And all myself, my torment, all that I brought +here, crushed by the burden, plucking up my last strength as if +performing a great feat, all appeared to me only funny,--like the +ancient anecdote about Abraham and Isaac; Abraham all in a cold +sweat, with the knife already raised over his son, over himself--and +suddenly a voice from above: "Never mind.... I was only joking." + +Without taking my eyes from the smile which grew more and more +curved, I put my hands on the edge of the desk and slowly, very +slowly pushed myself with my chair away from him. Then instantly +gathering myself into my own hands, I dashed madly out, past loud +voices, past steps and mouths.... + +I do not remember how I got into one of the public rest-rooms at a +station of the Underground Railway. Above, everything was perishing; +the greatest civilization, the most rational in human history was +crumbling,--but here, by some irony everything remained as before, +beautiful. The walls shone; water murmured cosily and like the +water,--the unseen, transparent music.... Only think of it! All this +is doomed; all this will be covered with grass, some day; only myths +will remain.... + +I moaned aloud. At the same instant I felt someone gently patting +my knee. It was from the left; it was my neighbor who occupied a +seat on my left,--an enormous forehead, a bald parabola, yellow +unintelligible lines of wrinkles on his forehead, those lines about +me. + +"I understand you. I understand completely," he said. "Yet you must +calm yourself. You must. It will return. It will inevitably return. +It is only important that everybody should learn of my discovery. +You are the first to whom I talk about it. I have calculated that +there is no _infinity_! No!" + +I looked at him wildly. + +"Yes, yes, I tell you so. There is no infinity. If the universe is +infinite, then the average density of matter must equal zero, but +as it is not zero, we know, consequently the universe is finite; it +is spherical in form and the square of its radius--R2--is equal +to the average density multiplied by.... The only thing left is to +calculate the numerical coefficient and then.... Do you realize +what it means? It means that everything is final, everything is +simple.... But you, my honored sir, you disturb me, you prevent my +finishing my calculations by your yelling!" + +I do not know which shattered me more, his discovery, or his +positiveness at that apocalyptic hour. I only then noticed that he +had a notebook in his hands and a logarithmic dial. I understood +then that even if everything was perishing it was my duty (before +you, my unknown and beloved) to leave these records in a finished +form. + +I asked him to give me some paper, and here in the rest-room to the +accompaniment of the quiet music, transparent like water, I wrote +down these last lines. + +I was about to put down a period as the ancients would put a cross +over the caves into which they used to throw their dead, when all of +a sudden my pencil trembled and fell from between my fingers.... + +"Listen!" (I pulled my neighbor). "Yes, listen, I say. There where +your finite universe ends, what is there? What?" + +He had no time to answer. From above, down the steps, stamping.... + + + + +RECORD FORTY + + Facts + The Bell + I Am Certain + + +Daylight. It is clear. The barometer--760 mm. It is possible that I, +D-503, really wrote these--pages? Is it possible that I ever felt, +or imagined I felt all this? + +The handwriting is mine. And what follows is all in my handwriting. +Fortunately only the handwriting. No more delirium, no absurd +metaphors, no feelings,--only facts. For I am healthy, perfectly, +absolutely healthy.... I am smiling; I cannot help smiling; a +splinter has been taken out of my head and I feel so light, so +empty! To be more exact, not empty, but there is nothing foreign, +nothing that prevents me from smiling. (Smiling is the normal state +for a normal human being). + +The facts are as follows: That evening my neighbor who discovered +the finiteness of the universe, and I, and all others who did not +have a certificate showing that we had been operated on, all of us +were taken to the nearest auditorium. (For some reason the number +of the auditorium, 112, seemed familiar to me). There they tied +us to the tables and performed the great operation. Next day, I, +D-503, appeared before the Well-Doer and told him everything known +to me about the enemies of happiness. Why before it seemed hard for +me to go, I cannot understand. The only explanation seems to be my +illness,--my soul. + +The same evening, sitting at the same table with Him, with the +Well-Doer, I saw for the first time in my life the famous Gas +Chamber. They brought in that woman. She was to testify in my +presence. That woman remained stubbornly silent and smiling. I +noticed that she had sharp and very white teeth which were very +pretty. + +Then she was brought under the Bell. Her face became very white +and as her eyes were large and dark,--all was very pretty. When +they began pumping the air from under the Bell she threw her head +back and half closed her eyes; her lips were pressed together. This +reminded me of something. She looked at me, holding the arms of the +chair firmly. She continued to look until her eyes closed. Then she +was taken out and brought to by means of electrodes and again put +under the Bell. The procedure was repeated three times, yet she did +not utter a word. + +The others who were brought in with that woman, proved to be more +honest; many of them began to speak after the first trial. Tomorrow +they will all ascend the steps to the Machine of the Well-Doer. +No postponement is possible for there still is chaos, groaning, +cadavers, beasts in the western section, and to our regret there +are still quantities of Numbers who betrayed Reason. + +But on the transverse avenue Forty, we succeeded in establishing a +temporary Wall of high voltage waves. And I hope we win. More than +that; I am certain we shall win. For Reason must win. + +THE END + + + + +Transcriber's note: + +Many hyphenation inconsistencies have been regularized. Punctuation +misprints and misplaced quote marks have been silently corrected. +Minor spelling corrections and original page boundaries have been +recorded in html comments. + + + + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WE *** + + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ +concept and trademark. 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Returns the file's main content as a single string. + """ + def read_with_encoding(enc: str) -> str: + lines = [] + with open(path, "r", encoding=enc, errors="strict") as f: + # --- Skip the header (until we hit the START marker) --- + if skip_header: + for line in f: + up = line.upper() + if up.startswith("*** START OF") or "START OF THE PROJECT" in up: + break + # --- Read main content; stop at END marker if skipping header --- + for line in f: + up = line.upper() + if skip_header and (up.startswith("*** END OF") or "END OF THE PROJECT" in up): + break + lines.append(line) + return "".join(lines) + + # Try primary encoding, then fallback if needed + try: + return read_with_encoding(encoding_primary) + except UnicodeDecodeError: + return read_with_encoding(encoding_fallback) + +def Load_Txt(folder: str, skip_header: bool = True): + """ + Load all .txt files in a folder. + Returns: list of (filename, text) with Gutenberg boilerplate removed if requested. + """ + out = [] + if not os.path.isdir(folder): + print(f"[!] Folder '{folder}' not found.") + return out + + for fn in os.listdir(folder): + if fn.lower().endswith(".txt"): + path = os.path.join(folder, fn) + try: + text = read_gutenberg(path, skip_header=skip_header, encoding_primary="utf-8", encoding_fallback="latin-1") + out.append((fn, text)) + except Exception as e: + print(f"[!] Could not read '{fn}': {e}") + + print(f"You have loaded {len(out)} Text files into the Processor") + return out + + +def clean_and_filter(text: str) -> str: + """Lowercase, keep only letters, and remove stopwords/pronouns.""" + Filter_Words = {# --- Stopwords --- + 'the','and','a','to','of','in','is','it','for','on','was','as','at', + 'with','be','by','an','are','were','from','this','which', + + # --- Pronouns --- + 'i','you','he','she','it','we','they','me','him','her','us','them', + 'my','your','his','its','our','their','mine','yours','hers','ours','theirs', + 'myself','yourself','himself','herself','itself','ourselves','yourselves','themselves', + 'this','that','these','those', + 'who','whom','whose','which','what', + 'all','another','any','anybody','anyone','anything','both','each','either', + 'everybody','everyone','everything','few','many','most','neither','nobody', + 'none','no','one','no one','other','others','several','some','somebody', + 'someone','something','such'} + text = text.lower() + cleaned = "" + filtered= [] + for i in text: + if i.isalpha() or i.isspace(): + cleaned += i + words = cleaned.split() + for i in words: + if i not in Filter_Words: + filtered.append(i) + return " ".join(filtered) + +def count_words(text: str) -> dict: + counts = {} + for word in text.split(): + counts[word] = counts.get(word, 0) + 1 + return counts + +def summary_stats(text: str) -> dict: + words = text.split() + unique = set(words) + total= 0 + for i in words: + total+= len(i) + Longest_lenght = max + avg_word_len = total / max(len(words), 1) # + print("This is an overview of the files!") + return{"words": len(words), + "unique_words": len(unique), + "avg_word_len": avg_word_len,} + +def main(): + folder = "text" + files = Load_Txt(folder) + if not files: + return + + all_counts = {} + + for name, text in files: + cleaned = clean_and_filter(text) + counts = count_words(cleaned) + + print(f"\nTop words in {name}:") + top = sorted(counts.items(), key=lambda x: x[1], reverse=True)[:10] + for w, c in top: + print(f" {w:<12} {c}") + + # combine into overall counts + for w, c in counts.items(): + all_counts[w] = all_counts.get(w, 0) + c + + print("\nOverall most common words:") + top_all = sorted(all_counts.items(), key=lambda x: x[1], reverse=True)[:10] + for w, c in top_all: + print(f" {w:<12} {c}") + stats = summary_stats(cleaned) + print(f" words={stats['words']} unique={stats['unique_words']} Avg Word Length={stats['avg_word_len']:.3f}") + +if __name__ == "__main__": + main() diff --git a/visualization.py b/visualization.py new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bd718d8 --- /dev/null +++ b/visualization.py @@ -0,0 +1,39 @@ +import matplotlib.pyplot as plt +from collections import Counter +#import plotext as plt +print("Matplotlib is ready!") +def plot_sentiment(scores: dict): + """ + Visualize sentiment scores for each text as a bar chart. + scores: dictionary { 'filename': sentiment_score } + """ + names = list(scores.keys()) + values = list(scores.values()) + + plt.figure(figsize=(10, 6)) + bars = plt.bar(names, values) + + # color bars by sentiment + for bar, val in zip(bars, values): + if val > 0: + bar.set_color("green") + elif val < 0: + bar.set_color("red") + else: + bar.set_color("gray") + + plt.axhline(0, color="black", linewidth=1) + plt.title("Sentiment Scores of Project Gutenberg Texts") + plt.ylabel("Sentiment Score (-1 to +1)") + plt.xlabel("Book Title") + plt.xticks(rotation=30, ha="right") + plt.tight_layout() + plt.show() + +#def top_n_counts_per_file(files, n=15, cleaner=None): +# result = {} +# for name, raw in files: +# text = cleaner(raw) if cleaner else raw +# counts = Counter(text.split()) +# result[name] = counts.most_common(n) +# return result \ No newline at end of file