Chapter XII: Canto THE THIRD (1)

digito male pertinaci.--_Hor_.

[39]Shade of Boileau! (who told in deathless lays
A choral pulpit's military praise,)
Thou, too, that dared'st a cloister'd warfare sing,
And dip thy bucket in Castalia's spring!
Forgive, blest bards, if, with unequal fire,
I feebly strike the imitative lyre;
Though strong to celebrate no vulgar fray,
Since P----t and conquest swell the exulting lay.
Not link'd, alas in friendship's sacred band,
With hands fast lock'd the furious parsons stand;
Each grasps the whip with unrelenting might--
The whip, the cause and guerdon of the fight--
But either warrior spends his strength in vain,
And panting draws his lengthen'd breath with pain,
Till now the Dean, with throat extended wide,
And faltering shout, for speedy succour cried
[40]To them who in yon grateful cell repose,
Where Greenland odours feast the stranger's nose--
"Scouts, porters, shoe-blacks, whatsoe'er your trade,
All, all, attend, your master's fist to aid!"
They heard his voice, and, trembling at the sound,
The half-breech'd legions swarm'd like moths around;
But, ah! the half-breech'd legions, call'd in vain,
Dismay'd and useless, fill'd the cumber'd plain;
And while for servile aid the Doctor calls,
[41]By P----t subverted, prone to earth he sprawls.
[42]E'en then were heard, so Brazenose students sing,
The grass-plot chains in boding notes to ring;
E'en then we mark'd, where, gleaming through the night,
Aerial crosses shed a lurid light.
Those wrestlers, too, whom naked we behold
Through many a summer's night and winter's cold,
Now changed appear'd, his pristine languor fled,
Expiring Abel raised his sinking head,
While with fix'd eyes his murderer seemed to stand,
The bone half dropping from his nerveless hand.
So, when of old, as Latian records tell,
At Pompey's base the laurel'd despot fell,
Reviving freedom mock'd her sinking foe,
And demons shriek'd as Brutus dealt the blow.
His trencher-bonnet tumbling from his crown,
Subdued by Bernard, sunk the Doctor down;
But yet, though breathless on the hostile plain,
The whip he could not seize he snapt in twain--
"Where now, base themester,"--P----t exulting said,
And waved the rattling fragments o'er his head--
"Where now thy threats? Yet learn from me to know
How glorious 'tis to spare a fallen foe.
Uncudgel'd, rise--yet hear my high command--
[43]Hence to thy room! or dread thy conqueror's hand."
[44]His hair all gravel, and all green his clothes,
In doleful dumps the downcast Doctor rose,
Then slunk unpitied from the hated plain,
And inly groaning sought his couch again;
Yet, as he went, he backward cast his view,
And bade his ancient power a last adieu.
So, when some sturdy swain through miry roads
A grunting porker to the market goads,
With twisted neck, splash'd hide, and progress slow,
Oft backward looks the swine, and half disdains to go.
"Ah me! how fallen," with choaking sobs he said,
And sunk exhausted on his welcome bed;
"Ere yet my shame, wide-circling through the town,
Spreads from the strong contagion of the gown,
Oh! be it mine, unknowing and unknown,
[45]With deans deceased, to sleep beneath the stone."
As tearful thus, and half convulsed with spite,
He lengthen'd out with plaints the livelong night,
At that still hour of night, when dreams are oft'nest true,
A well-known spectre rose before his view,
As in some lake, when hush'd in every breeze,
The bending ape his form reflected sees,[46]
Such and so like the Doctor's angel shone,
And by his gait the guardian sprite was known,
Benignly bending o'er his aching head--
"Sleep, Henry, sleep, my best beloved," he said,[47]
"Soft dreams of bliss shall soothe thy midnight hour;
Connubial transport and collegiate power.
Fly fast, ye months, till Henry shall receive
The joys a bride and benefice can give.
But first to sanction thy prophetic name,
In yon tall pile a doctor's honours claim;[48]
E'en now methinks the awe-struck crowd behold
Thy powder'd caxon and thy cane of gold.
E'en now--but hark! the chimney sparrows sing,
St Mary's chimes their early matins ring--
I go--but thou----through many a festive night
Collegiate bards shall chant thy luckless fight--
Though many a jest shall spread the table round,
And many a bowl to B----r----d's health be crown'd--
O'er juniors still maintain thy dread command,
Still boast, my son, thy cross-compelling hand.[49]
Adieu!"--His shadowy robes the phantom spread,
And o'er the Doctor drowsy influence shed;
Scared at the sound, far off his terrors flew,
And love and hope once more his curtains drew.

[Footnote 18: In the quadrangle of Brazenose College, there is a statue of Cain destroying Abel with a bone, or some such instrument. It is of lead, and _white-washed_, and no doubt that those who have heard that Cain was struck black, will be surprised to find that in Brazenose he is white as innocence.]

[Footnote 19: All the world has rung with the fame of Roger Bacon, formerly of this college, and of his exploits in astrology, chemistry, and metallurgy, _inter alia_ his brazen head, of which alone the nose remains, a precious relic, and (to use the words of the excellent author of the _Oxford Guide_) still conspicuous over the portal, where it erects itself as a symbolical illustration of the Salernian adage "Noscitur a naso."]

[Footnote 20: Two medallions of Alfred and Erigena ornament the outside of the Hall, so as to overlook the field of battle.]

[Footnote 21: The Porter of the college.]

[Footnote 22: The doctor's servant or scout.]

[Footnote 23: Two wine-merchants residing in Oxford.]

[Footnote 24: To those gentlemen who, for half an hour together, have sometimes had the honour of waiting in the Doctor's antechamber, "Donec libeat vigilare tyranno," this passage will need no explanation; and of his acts of graceful dignity and unaffected piety at chapel, perhaps the less that is said the better.]

[Footnote 25: It was a Rosicrucian tenet, that the demon was assimilated to the object of his care; and in this we are confirmed by the authority of the Doctor himself, who treated very largely on the subject of demons in his lecture on Plato's Phædon. The powers of his mind were never more successfully displayed than when he illustrated his positions by the scriptural instance of the two Galilean demoniacs, who abode in the tombs night and day. It was reserved for his ingenuity and learning to discover that those unfortunate Bedlamites were not mortals, but departed spirits.]

[Footnote 26: The real friend of collegiate discipline, whose feelings our author would blush to offend, will be pleased to recollect that this deviation from the usual dinner hour took place in the long vacation; that it was introduced for the convenience of study, and that the doctor, could he so far have forgotten his dignity as to have joined the four o'clock party, would have found decorous manners, and more than one brother fellow of the company.]

[Footnote 27: Wisely was it ordained by our founders, that, young men being too apt to laugh in their sleeves at the conduct of their superiors, the academical dress of the under-graduates should, as far as possible, obviate that inconvenience. Thus, also, Tully hath it, "Cedant arma togæ."]

[Footnote 28: The two founders of Brazenose College.]

[Footnote 29: It is necessary to explain to non-academic readers, that it is customary for the tutor of a college to put an X opposite the name of an offending member in the Buttery Book, as it is called, by which he is interdicted from having bread buttered, a kind of excommunication.]

[Footnote 30: For the meaning of this expression we refer the reader to the most preposterous imposition ever known in the annals of collegiate punishment; the original MS. of which is preserved in the museum of an eminent collector in Kent. In short, as in Cambridge they sell their butter by the yard, so at Brazenose the cloth measure has been applied with singular success to the works of genius; and perhaps the system may be so far improved upon, that a future under-graduate may have to toil through a _furlong_ of Strabo, or a _perch_ of logic.]

[Footnote 31: This alludes to the hobbling gait of the Doctor, in consequence of the defect in his foot.]

[Footnote 32: The Rev. B----d P----t.]

[Footnote 33: Alluding to a notorious malefactor, executed about this times and hung in chains on Wimbledon Common.]

[Footnote 34: Prophetically spoken, as the Doctor was then only a junior fellow.]

[Footnote 35: The Doctor, finding that Horace prescribed a nine years' delay for play or poem, inferred that more than twice that time was necessary for the learned labours of the editor of Strabo.]

[Footnote 36: For the wonderful answers of the learned cuckoo, at logic lecture, we refer to his (the cuckoo's) equally edified class-fellows.]

[Footnote 37: The reader will perhaps be astonished to find, that the Doctor as supposed to flatter himself with the hope that his attentions were not altogether unacceptable to a young lady of singular elegance and personal accomplishments, here alluded to.]

[Footnote 38: "Obscoenæque volucres signa dabant."]

[Footnote 39: The poet invokes his heroi-comic predecessors, the author of the _Lutrin_, and Alessandro Tassoni, whose _Secchia Rapita_, or Rape of the Bucket, is well known to the amateurs of Italian poetry.]

[Footnote 40: No classical stranger could ever pass the porter in his lodge at Brazenose, without being sensibly reminded of a favourite passage in Horace, and exclaiming, "Quis multà gracilis--puer in rosâ, Perfusus liquidis--odoribus Grato----sub antro." ]

[Footnote 41: "Procumbit humi bos." This is not the first time the Doctor has been overcome by _port_.]

[Footnote 42:
"Hine exaudiri gemitus, et sæva sonare
Verbera, tum stridor ferri tractæque catenæ."
]

[Footnote 43: With great practical justice and classical elegance, the words of the assailant are retorted upon himself-- "Suo sibi gladio hunc jugulo." ]

[Footnote 44: The _boulevérsement_ is supposed to have happened on the green adjoining the gravel.]

[Footnote 45: Dead deans, broken bottles, dilapidated lantherns, under-graduated ladders, and other lumber, have generally found their level under the pavement of Brazenose cloisters.]

[Footnote 46: Like Virgil's nightingale or owl--
"Ferali carmine bubo
Flet noctem."
]

[Footnote 47: "Post mediam visus noctem cum somnia vera."]

[Footnote 48: We have heard it whispered, but cannot undertake to vouch for the truth of the rumour, that a considerable wager now depends upon the accomplishment of this prophecy within nine calendar months after the Doctor has obtained a _bona fide_ degree.]

[Footnote 49: Alluding to the collegiate punishment before explained.]

* * * * *

CHARLES EDWARD AT VERSAILLES.

ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF CULLODEN.

Take away that star and garter--hide them from my loathing sight,
Neither king nor prince shall tempt me from my lonely room this night;
Fitting for the throneless exile is the atmosphere of pall,
And the gusty winds that shiver 'neath the tapestry on the wall.
When the taper faintly dwindles like the pulse within the vein,
That to gay and merry measure ne'er may hope to bound again,
Let the shadows gather round me while I sit in silence here,
Broken-hearted, as an orphan watching by his father's bier.
Let me hold my still communion far from every earthly sound--
Day of penance--day of passion--ever, as the year comes round.
Fatal day whereon the latest die was cast for me and mine--
Cruel day, that quell'd the fortunes of the hapless Stuart line!
Phantom-like, as in a mirror, rise the griesly scenes of death--
There before me, in its wildness, stretches bare Culloden's heath--
There the broken clans are scatter'd, gaunt as wolves, and famine-eyed--
Hunger gnawing at their vitals--hope abandon'd--all but pride--
Pride--and that supreme devotion which the Southron never knew,
And the hatred, deeply rankling, 'gainst the Hanoverian crew.
Oh, my God! are these the remnants--these the wrecks of the array,
That around the royal standard gather'd on the glorious day,
When, in deep Glenfinnart's valley, thousands, on their bended knees,
Saw once more that stately banner waving in the northern breeze,
When the noble Tullibardine stood beneath its weltering fold,
With the ruddy lion ramping in the field of treasured gold!
When the mighty heart of Scotland, all too big to slumber more,
Burst in wrath and exultation, like a huge volcano's roar!
There they stand, the batter'd columns, underneath the murky sky,
In the hush of desperation, not to conquer but to die.
Hark! the bagpipe's fitful wailing--not the pibroch loud and shrill,
That, with hope of bloody banquet, lured the ravens from the hill--
But a dirge both low and solemn, fit for ears of dying men,
Marshall'd for their latest battle, never more to fight again.
Madness--madness! Why this shrinking? Were we less inured to war
When our reapers swept the harvest from the field of red Dunbar?
Fetch my horse, and blow the trumpet!--Call the riders of Fitz-James,
Let Lord Lewis bring the muster!--Valiant chiefs of mighty names--
Trusty Keppoch! stout Glengarry! gallant Gordon! wise Lochiel!
Bid the clansmen charge together, fast, and fell, and firm as steel.
Elcho, never look so gloomy! What avails a sadden'd brow?
Heart, man--heart! we need it sorely--never half so much as now.
Had we but a thousand troopers--had we but a thousand more!----
Noble Perth, I hear them coming!--Hark! the English cannons' roar.
God! how awful sounds that volley, bellowing through the mist and rain!
Was not that the Highland slogan? Let me hear that shout again!
Oh, for prophet eyes to witness how the desperate battle goes!
Cumberland! I would not fear thee, could my Camerons see their foe.
Sound, I say, the charge at venture--t'is not naked steel we fear;
Better perish in the mêlée than be shot like driven deer!
Hold! the mist begins to scatter. There in front 'tis rent asunder,
And the cloudy battery crumbles underneath the deafening thunder;
There I see the scarlet gleaming! Now, Macdonald--now or never!--
Woe is me, the clans are broken! Father, thou art lost for ever!
Chief and vassal, lord and yeoman, there they lie in heaps together,
Smitten by the deadly volley, rolled in blood upon the heather;
And the Hanoverian horsemen, fiercely riding to and fro,
Deal their murderous strokes at random.--
Ah my God! where am I now?
Will that baleful vision never vanish from my aching sight?
Must those scenes and sounds of terror haunt me still by day and night?
Yea, the earth hath no oblivion for the noblest chance it gave,
None, save in its latest refuge--seek it only in the grave.
Love may die, and hatred slumber, and their memory will decay,
As the water'd garden recks not of the drought of yesterday;
But the dream of power once broken, what shall give repose again?
What shall charm the serpent-furies coil'd around the maddening brain?
What kind draught can nature offer strong enough to lull their sting?
Better to be born a peasant than to live an exiled king!
Oh, these years of bitter anguish!--What is life to such as me,
With my very heart as palsied as a wasted cripple's knee!
Suppliant-like for alms depending on a false and foreign court,
Jostled by the flouting nobles, half their pity, half their sport.
Forced to hold a place in pageant, like a royal prize of war
Walking with dejected features close behind his victor's car,
Styled an equal--deem'd a servant--fed with hopes of future gain--
Worse by far is fancied freedom than the captive's clanking chain!
Could I change this gilded bondage even for the massy tower
Whence King James beheld his lady sitting in the castle bower--
Birds around her sweetly singing, fluttering on the kindled spray,
And the comely garden glowing in the light of rosy May.
Love descended to the window--Love removed the bolt and bar--
Love was warder to the lovers from the dawn to even-star.
Wherefore, Love, didst thou betray me? Where is now the tender glance?
Where the meaning looks once lavish'd by the dark-eyed Maid of France?
Where the words of hope she whisper'd, when around my neck she threw
That same scarf of broider'd tissue, bade me wear it and be true--
Bade me send it as a token when my banner waved once more
On the castled Keep of London, where my fathers' waved before?
And I went and did not conquer--but I brought it back again--
Brought it back from storm and battle--brought it back without stain;
And once more I knelt before her, and I laid it at her feet,
Saying, "Wilt thou own it, Princess? There at least is no defeat!"
Scornfully she look'd upon me with a measured eye and cold--
Scornfully she view'd the token, though her fingers wrought the gold,
And she answer'd, faintly flushing, "Hast thou kept it, then, so long?
Worthy matter for a minstrel to be told in knightly song!
Worthy of a bold Provençal, pacing through the peaceful plain,
Singing of his lady's favour, boasting of her silken chain,
Yet scarce worthy of a warrior sent to wrestle for a crown.
Is this all that thou hast brought me from thy field of high renown?
Is this all the trophy carried from the lands where thou hast been?
It was broider'd by a Princess, can'st thou give it to a Queen?"
Woman's love is writ in water! Woman's faith is traced in sand!
Backwards--backwards let me wander to the noble northern land;
Let me feel the breezes blowing fresh along the mountain side;
Let me see the purple heather, let me hear the thundering tide,
Be it hoarse as Corrievreckan spouting when the storm is high--
Give me but one hour of Scotland--let me see it ere I die!
Oh, my heart is sick and heavy--southern gales are not for me;
Though the glens are white with winter, place me there, and set me free;
Give me back my trusty comrades--give me back my Highland maid--
Nowhere beats the heart so kindly as beneath the tartan plaid!
Flora! when thou wert beside me, in the wilds of far Kintail--
When the cavern gave us shelter from the blinding sleet and hail--
When we lurk'd within the thicket, and, beneath the waning moon,
Saw the sentry's bayonet glimmer, heard him chant his listless tune--
When the howling storm o'ertook us drifting down the island's lee,
And our crazy bark was whirling like a nutshell on the sea--
When the nights were dark and dreary, and amidst the fern we lay
Faint and foodless, sore with travel, longing for the streaks of day;
When thou wert an angel to me, watching my exhausted sleep--
Never didst thou hear me murmur--couldst thou see how now I weep!
Bitter tears and sobs of anguish, unavailing though they be.
Oh the brave--the brave and noble--who have died in vain for me!

W.E.A.

* * * * *

EARLY GREEK ROMANCES--THE ETHIOPICS OF HELIODORUS.

"It is not in Provence, (Provincia _Romanorum_,) as is commonly said from the derivation of the name--nor yet in Spain, as many suppose, that we are to look for the fatherland of those amusing compositions called _Romances_, which are so eminently useful in these days as affording a resource and occupation to ladies and gentlemen who have nothing to do. It is in distant and far different climes to our own, and in the remote antiquity of long vanished ages:--it is among the people of the East, the Arabs, the Egyptians, the Persians, and the Syrians, that the germ and origin is to be found of this species of fictitious narrative, for which the peculiar genius and poetical temperament of those nations particularly adapt them, and in which they delight to a degree scarcely to be credited. For even their ordinary discourse is interspersed with figurative expressions; and their maxims of theology and philosophy, and above all, of morals and political science, are invariably couched under the guise of allegory or parable. I need not stay to enlarge upon the universal veneration paid throughout the East to the fables of Bidpai or Pilpay, and to Lokman, who is (as may easily be shown) the Esop of the Greeks:--and it is well known that the story of Isfendiyar, and of the daring deeds of the Persian hero Rustan, in love and war,[50] are to this day more popular in those regions than the tales of Hercules, Roland, or Amadis de Gaul, ever were with us. And so decidedly is Asia the parent of these fictions, that we shall find on examination, that nearly all those who in early times distinguished themselves as writers of what are now called romances, were of oriental birth or extraction. Clearchus, a pupil of Aristotle, and the first who attempted any thing of the sort in the Greek language, was a native of Soli in Cilicia:--Jamblichus was a Syrian, as were also Heliodorus and Lucian, the former being of Emessa, the latter of Samosata:--Achilles Tatius was an Alexandrian; and the rule will be found to hold good in other instances, with scarcely a single exception."

[Footnote 50: The exploits of these and other paladins of the Kaianian dynasty, the heroic age of Persian history, are now known to us principally through the _Shah-Nameh_ of Ferdousi, a poem bearing date only at the beginning of the eleventh century; but both this and its predecessor, the _Bostan-Nameh_, were founded on ballads and [Greek: rhapsôdiai] of far distant ages, which had escaped the ravages of time and the Mohammedans, and some of which are even now preserved among the ancient tribes of pure Persian descent, in the S.W. provinces of the kingdom. Sir John Malcolm (_History of Persia_, ii. 444, note, 8vo. ed.,) gives an amusing anecdote of the effect produced among his escort by one of these popular chants.]

Such is the doctrine laid down (at somewhat greater length than we have rendered it) by the learned Huetius, in his treatise _De Origine Fabularum Romanensium_; and from the general principle therein propounded, we are certainly by no means inclined to dissent. But while fully admitting that it is to the vivid fancy and picturesque imagination of the Orientals that we owe the origin of all those popular legends which have penetrated, under various changes of costume, into every corner of Europe,[51] as well as those more gorgeous creations which appear, interwoven with the ruder creations of the northern nations, to have furnished the groundwork of the _fabliaux_ and _lais_ of the chivalry of the middle ages:--we still hold that the invention of the romance of ordinary life, in which the interest of the story depends upon occurrences in some measure within the bounds of probability, and in which the heroes and heroines are neither invested with superhuman qualities, nor extricated from their difficulties by supernatural means, must be ascribed to a more _European_ state of society than that which produced those tales of wonder, which are commonly considered as characteristic of the climes of the East. Even the authors enumerated by the learned bishop of Avranches himself, in the passage above quoted, were all denizens of the _Greek_ cities of Asia Minor, Syria, and Egypt, and consequently, in all probability, Greeks by descent; and though the scene of their works is frequently laid in Asia, the costumes and characters introduced are almost invariably on the Greek model. These writers, therefore, may fairly be considered as constituting a distinct class from those more strictly Oriental, not only in birth, but in language and ideas; and as being, in fact, the legitimate forerunners of that portentous crowd of modern novelists, whose myriad productions seem destined (as the Persians believe of the misshapen progeny of Gog and Magog, confined within the brazen wall of Iskender,) to over-run the world of literature in these latter days.

[Footnote 51: The prototype of the well-known Welsh legend of Beth-Gelert, for instance, is found in the Sanscrit Hitopadosa, as translated by Sir William Jones, with a mere change in the _dramatis personæ_--the faithful hound Gelert becoming a tame mungoos or ichneumon, the wolf a cabra-capello, and the young heir of the Welsh prince an infant rajah.]

At the head of this early school of romantic writers, in point of merit as of time, (for the writings of Lucian can scarcely be considered as regular romances; and the "Babylonica" of Jamblichus, and the "Dinias and Dercyllis" of Antonius Diogenes, are known to us only by the abstract of them preserved in Photius,) we may, without hesitation, place Heliodorus, the author of the "Ethiopics," "whose writings"--says Huetius--"the subsequent novelists of those ages constantly proposed to themselves as a model for imitation; and as truly may they all be said to have drunk of the waters of this fountain, as all the poets did of the Homeric spring." To so servile an extent, indeed, was this imitation carried, that while both the incidents and characters in the "Clitophon and Leucippe" of Achilles Tatius, a work which, in point of literary merit, stands next to that of Heliodorus, are, in many passages, almost a reproduction, with different names and localities,[52] of those in the "Ethiopics," the last-named has again had his copyists in the "Hysminias and Hysmine" of Eustathius or Eumathius, and the "Dosicles and Rhodanthe" of Theodorus Prodromus, the latter of whom was a monk of the twelfth century. In these productions of the lower empire, the extravagance of the language, the improbability of the plot, and the wearisome dullness of the details, are worthy of each other; and are only varied occasionally by a little gross indelicacy, from which, indeed, none but Heliodorus is wholly exempt. Yet, "as in the lowest deep there is a lower still," so even Theodorus Prodromus has found an humble imitator in Nicetas Eugenianus, than whose romance of "Charicles and Drosilla" it must be allowed that the force of nonsense "can no further go." Besides this descending scale of plagiarism, which we have followed down to its lowest anti-climax, we should mention, for the sake of making our catalogue complete, the "Pastorals, or Daphnis and Chloe" of Longus--a work in itself of no particular merits or demerits as a literary composition, but noted for its unparalleled depravity, and further remarkable as the first of the class of pastoral romances, which were almost as rife in Europe during the middle ages as novels of fashionable life are, for the sins of this generation, at the present day. There only remain to be enumerated the three precious farragos entitled "The Ephesiacs, or Habrocomas and Anthia"--"the Babylonics"--and "the Cypriacs"--said to be from the pen of three different Xenophons, of whose history nothing, not even the age in which any of them lived, can be satisfactorily made out--though the uniformity of stupid extravagance, not less than the similarity of name, would lead _à priori_ to the conclusion that one luckless wight must have been the author of all three. From this list of the Byzantine romances, (in which we are not sure that one or two may not after all have been omitted,) it will be seen that Heliodorus had a tolerably numerous progeny, even in his own language, to answer for; though we fear we must concur in the sweeping censure of a Quarterly Reviewer, (vol. x. p. 301,) who condemns then _en masse_, with the single exception of the "Ethiopics" of the last-named author, as "a few tiresome stories, absolutely void of taste, invention, or interest; without influence even upon the declining literature of their own age, and in all probability quite unknown to the real forerunners of Richardson, Fielding, and Rousseau."

[Footnote 52: The principal adventures of Clitophon and Leucippe consist in being twice taken by pirates on the banks of the Nile, as Theagenes and Chariclea are in the Ethiopics.]

A work thus excepted, by common consent, from the general reprobation is which all its compeers are involved, must deserve some notice from its negative, if not from its positive merits; and the particulars which have been preserved of its literary history are also somewhat curious. Even in these days, when almost every other individual is a novelist, either _in esse_ or in embryo, the announcement of a love-story from the pen of a bishop would create what is called "a considerable sensation"--though perhaps it would hardly draw down on the author such condign and summary punishment as was inflicted by the straitlaced Kirk of Scotland, less than a century ago, on one of her ministers, for the high crime and misdemeanour of having indited "a stage play, called the _Tragedy of Douglas_."[53] Yet not only the "Ethiopics," but the best known of its successors, the "Clitophon and Leucippe" of Achilles Tatius, are both universally asserted to have been juvenile productions of ecclesiastics who afterwards attained the episcopal dignity: and the former, if we may credit the Ecclesiastical History of Nicephorus, fared not much better at the hands of the Provincial Synod of Thessaly than did the "Tragedy of Douglas" at those of the Scottish Presbyteries. Hear what saith the historian: "This Heliodorus, bishop of Trica, had in his youth written certain love-stories called the "Ethiopics," which are highly popular even at the present day, though they are now better known by the title of 'Chariclea'"--(the name of the heroine)--"and it was by reason thereof that he lost his see. For, inasmuch as very many of the youth were drawn into peril of sin by the perusal of these amorous tales, it was determined by the provincial synod that either these books, which kindled the fire of love, should themselves be consumed by fire, or that the author should be deposed from his episcopal functions--and this choice being propounded to him, he preferred resigning his bishopric to suppressing his writings."--(_Niceph. Hist. Ecclesiast._ lib. xii. c. 34.)[54] Heliodorus, according to the same authority, was the first Thessalian bishop who had insisted on the married clergy putting away their wives, which may probably have tended to make him unpopular: but the story of his deposition, it should be observed, rests solely on the statement of Nicephorus, and is discredited by Bayle and Huet, who argue that the silence of Socrates (_Ecclesiast. Hist._ v. chap. 22.) in the passage where he expressly assigns the authorship of the "Ethiopics" to _the Bishop_ Heliodorus, more than counterbalances the unsupported assertion of Nicephorus--"an author," says Huet, "of more credulity than judgment." If Heliodorus were, indeed, as has been generally supposed, the same to whom several of the Epistles of St Jerome were addressed, this circumstance would supply an additional argument against the probability of his having incurred the censures of the church: but whatever the testimony of Nicephorus may be worth on this point, his mention of the work affords undeniable proof of its long continued popularity, as his Ecclesiastical History was written about A.D. 900, and Heliodorus lived under the reign of the sons of Theodosius, or fully five hundred years earlier. Enough, however, has been said of him in his capacity of a bishop--and we shall proceed to consider him in that of an author, by which he is far better known than by episcopacy.

[Footnote 53: Home was expelled the ministry for this heinous offence, which raised a fearful turmoil at the time among Synods and Presbyteries. The Glasgow Presbytery published a declaration (Feb. 14, 1757) on the "melancholy but notorious fact, that one, who is a minister of the Church of Scotland, did himself write and compose a stage play intitled the Tragedy of Douglas;" and to this declaration various other presbyteries published their adhesion.]

[Footnote 54: This sentence might, with more justice, have been visited upon the work of the other bishop, Achilles Tatius, for his not infrequent transgressions against delicacy, a fault never chargeable on Heliodorus.]

The time of the story is laid in the middle ages of Grecian history, after the conclusion of the wars between Greece and Persia, and while Egypt was still governed by the satraps of the great king; and the first scene at once plunges the reader, in accordance with the Horatian precept, _in medias res_. A band of marauders, prowling on the coast of Egypt, are surprised by the sight of a ship moored to the shore without any one on board, while the beach around is strewed with the fragments of a costly banquet, and with a number of dead bodies of men, slain apparently in mutual conflict; the only survivors being a damsel of surpassing beauty, arrayed as a priestess of Diana, who is wailing over the inanimate form of a wounded youth. Before they have time however, either to unravel the mystery, or to avail themselves of the booty, thus unexpectedly spread before them, they are in turn put to flight by a more numerous party of robbers, or rather buccaneers, (_bucoli_ or _herdsmen_,) who carry off the forlorn couple to their retreat, in the inner-most recesses of a vast lake or morass, near the Heracleotic mouth of the Nile.[55] The description of this robber-colony appears to have been drawn from an existing or well-remembered state of things, and bears considerable resemblance, except in the presence of women and children, to a _setsha_, or stronghold, of the Zaporog Cossacks in the islets of the Dniepr.

[Footnote 55: This is usually called the _Canopia_ mouth; but Herodotus (who says that it was dug by artificial means) calls it the _Bucolic_, perhaps from the haunts above described in its neighbourhood.]

"This whole region is called by the Egyptians the _Bucolia_, or 'pasturages,' and is a tract of low land, which has been converted by the inundations of the Nile into a lake, of great depth in the middle, and gradually shoaling towards the margins into a marsh. Among this labyrinth of lakes and morasses, all the robber-community of Egypt hold their commonwealth; some building huts wherever there is enough of dry land for the purpose, and others living wholly on board their boats, which serve them for a home, as well as to transport them from place to place. In these narrow craft their children are born and brought up, tied by a cord round their foot, in their infancy, to keep them from falling overboard, and tasting for their first food, after being weaned, the fish of the lake dried in the sun. Thus, many of these _buccaneers_ are natives of the lake itself, which they regard as their country and their fortress; and they also receive among them many recruits of the same sort as themselves. The waters serve them for a defence, and they are further fortified by the vast quantity of reeds overgrowing the borders of the lake, through which they have contrived certain narrow winding paths known only to themselves, to guard them against sudden incursions from without."

The chief, Thyamis, is forthwith desperately smitten by the charms of Chariclea, and announces, in a set speech to his followers, when assembled for the division of the booty, his intention of taking her to wife. The heroine, as usual with heroines in such trying circumstances, feigns compliance, stipulating only for the delay of the ceremony till she could deposit her sacred ornaments in a temple; a request which Thyamis--who, by the way, is no vulgar depredator, but an Egyptian of rank, who has been deprived of an hereditary[56] priesthood, and driven into hiding, by the baseness of a younger brother--is too well bred to refuse. The beautiful captive is accordingly, (with Theagenes, whom she calls her brother,) given in charge, for the time, to an Athenian prisoner named Cnemon, who had been driven into exile by the vindictive artifices of his step-mother and her confidante, and the recital of whose adventures (apparently borrowed from those of Hippolitus) occupies a considerable space at this juncture, without much advancing the story. On the following day, however, the settlement is attacked by an irresistible force, guided by the gang who had been driven from their prey on the beach. Thyamis, after performing prodigies of valour, is taken prisoner; and Theagenes and Chariclea, with Cnemon, escaping in the confusion, find themselves alone in an island of the lake. Cnemon, as being best acquainted with the language and the surrounding country, is sent the next day to the main land, to make discoveries, accompanied by Thermuthis, the buccanier lieutenant, who had returned when the fray was over, in hopes of recovering a fair captive of his own. The object of his search, however, who proves to be no other than Thisbe, the treacherous soubrette through whom Cnemon's misfortunes had arisen, had been slain by accident in the conflict; and Thermuthis, whose suspicions had been awakened by the joy expressed by Cnemon, is meditating the murder of his fellow-traveller, when he opportunely perishes by the bite of an asp. Cnemon, continuing on his way,[57] reaches the margin of the Nile opposite the town of Chemmis, and there encounters a venerable personage, who, wrapt in deep thought, is pensively pacing the banks of the river. This old Egyptian priest, (for such he proves to be,) Calasiris by name, not only takes the abrupt intrusion of Cnemon in perfect good part, but carries his complaisance so far as to invite him to the house of a friend of whom he is himself a guest, and the honours of whose mansion he is doing in the temporary absence of the owner. This obliging offer is, of course, accepted with great alacrity; and, in the course of after-dinner conversation, the incidental mention by Calasiris of the names of Theagenes and Chariclea, and the consequent enquiries of Cnemon, who recognises them as those of his late fellow captives, lead to a long episodical narration from the old gentleman, during which Cnemon, in return for the hospitality and confidence thus unexpectedly shown him, displays most enviable powers as a listener, and which, in a great measure, unfolds the plot to the reader.

[Footnote 56: The hereditary succession of the Egyptian priesthood is stated both by Herodotus and Diodorus; but Sir J.G. Wilkinson (_Manners of the Ancient Egyptians_, i. 262,) believe that, "though a priest was son of a priest, the peculiar office held by a son may sometimes have been different in point of rank from that of his father."]

[Footnote 57: Before setting out on this expedition, he "reduces his hair to a more moderate quantity than that usually worn by robbers." Thus, the Italian bravoes of the middle ages, when they repented their evil ways, were wont to "shave the tuft," which was thrown over the face as a disguise; hence the phrase, _radere il ciuffo_, still used as synonymous with becoming an honest man. See Manzoni's well-known romance of "I Promessi Sposi."]

It appears that Persina, consort of Hydaspes, King of Ethiopia, had given birth, in consequence of one of those accidents which will sometimes happen in the best regulated families, to a _white_ or fair-complexioned daughter;[58] and dreading lest the hue of her offspring, unusual in that country, might draw on herself suspicions which might expose her to certain pains and penalties, she secretly committed the infant to the care of Sisimithres, an officer of the court, placing at the same time in his hands, as tokens by which she might afterwards be recognised, various costly ornaments, especially a ring which had been given her by the king at their nuptials, bearing "the royal symbol engraven within a circle on the talismanic stone _Pantarbé_," and a fillet on which was embroidered, in the Ethiopic character,[59] the story of the child's birth. Under the guardianship of Sisimithres, she remained seven years; till, fearing for her safety if she continued in Ethiopia, he took the opportunity of his being sent to Thebes as ambassador from Hydaspes to the Satrap of Egypt, to transfer his charge, with the tokens attached to her, to a priest of the Delphian Apollo, named Charicles, who was travelling in search of consolation for domestic afflictions. Before Sisimithres, however, had time to explain the previous history of the foundling, he was compelled to leave Egypt in haste; and Charicles, carrying her with him on his return to his Grecian home, adopted her as his daughter, add gave her the name of Chariclea. She grew up at Delphi a miracle of grace and beauty, dedicating herself to the service of the temple, and obedient to the will of her supposed father in all points, except one, her determination to lead a single life. At this juncture, Calasiris (who, as it now incidentally transpires, is father of Thyamis and his rival-brother Petosiris) arrives at Delphi during the celebration of the Pythian games, having found it expedient to absent himself from Egypt for a time, for various family reasons, and more especially on account of the prediction of an oracle, that he should live to see his two sons engaged with each other in mortal conflict. A favourable response, vouchsafed to him by the Pythia from the tripod, at his entrance into the fane of Apollo, having pointed him out as a personage of consideration, he is treated with high distinction by Charicles, who confides to him the history of Chariclea, as far as he is himself acquainted with it, and entreats him to dispose her, by those occult sciences in which the Egyptian priests were supposed to be versed, to listen to the suit of his nephew Alcamenes, whom he had destined for her husband. Calasiris promises compliance; but the scene is now changed by the arrival of a magnificent deputation from the Ænianes, a noble tribe of Thessaly, headed by a princely youth named Theagenes, who, as a reputed descendant of Achilles, has come to sacrifice at the shrine of his ancestor Neoptolemus. The pomp and pageantry of the ceremonial is described in vivid language, and with considerable effect; and as a specimen of our author's manner, we shall quote the procession of the Thessalians to the temple.

"In the van came the oxen destined for sacrifice, led by men of
rustic guise and rude demeanour, each clad in a white tunic
closely girt about him, with the right arm bare to the
shoulder, and brandishing a double-headed axe. The oxen were
all black without mixture, with massive necks low-hung dewlaps,
and straight and even horns, which in some were gilt, in the
others twined with garlands; and their number was neither more
nor less than a hundred--a true hecatomb. Next followed the
rest of the victims, each kind of animal kept separate and in
order, and all marshalled to the sound of flutes and other wind
instruments. Then appeared, in rich and flowing robes, and with
their long locks floating loose on their shoulders, a band of
the deep-zoned virgins of Thessaly, divided into two separate
sets or choruses, the first of which bore baskets of flowers
and ripe fruit, while those in the second carried salvers of
sweetmeats and rich perfumes, which filled the air with the
mingled fragrance breathing from them; but these light burdens
were supported on their heads, thus leaving their hands free to
be joined in the movements of the dance, to the slow and
stately measure of which they advanced; while one chorus led
the hymn, the strains of which were taken up by the other, in
praise of Peleus and Thetis, their hero-son, and Neoptolemus
and the other heroes of his race. The alternate rhythm of the
chant keeping time with the fall of their footsteps, riveted
the attention of the spectators, who seemed spell-bound by the
sweet voices of the maidens, till the cavalcade which
succeeded, flashing out from the crowd beyond, with their
princely leader at their head, once more attracted all eyes to
themselves. The troop consisted of fifty horsemen, who rode
like guards in double file, twenty-five on each side of the
chief, arrayed all alike in white cloaks with borders of azure
embroidery, clasped across the breast with golden buckles, and
with buskins laced above the ancle with scarlet thongs. Their
steeds were all of that generous breed which the rich plains of
Thessaly alone produce, and pawed the ground as if impatient of
the bit by which their ardour was restrained by their riders;
and the silver and gold which glittered on their frontlets and
caparisons, showed the rivalry prevailing among these cavaliers
in the splendour of the equipments, rather of their coursers
than themselves. But it was on him who rode in the midst of
this gallant party, eclipsing all his comrades as the glare of
lightning seems to obscure all lesser luminaries, that the eyes
of the gazing crowd were now fixed. He was completely armed at
all points, except his head, and grasped in his hand an ashen
lance; while a scarlet cloak, on which was depicted, in figures
of gold tissue, the battle of the Centaurs with the Lapithæ,
flowed loose over his panoply, and was fastened in front with a
clasp, representing Pallas sculptured in amber, and holding
before her the Gorgon's head on her shield. The breeze, which
blew back his locks from his forehead, gave his features more
fully to view; and even the horse which bore him seemed to move
with a statelier gait, arching his neck and proudly caracoling,
as if conscious of the noble presence of his master; while the
admiration of the surrounding multitude burst out into a
spontaneous shout of applause, and some of the women of the
lower class even threw fruit and flowers towards him, in the
hope, I suppose, of drawing on themselves a glance of
acknowledgement from his eye."

[Footnote 58: The incidents of the birth of Chariclea have been copied by Tasso in the story of Clorinda, as related to her by Arsete, in the 12th canto of "Gierusalemme Liberata." In the "Shah-Nameh," also, Zal, the father of the Persian hero Rustan, being born _with white hair_, is exposed by his father Sam on the mountain of Elborz, where he is preserved and brought up by the giant-bird Simorgh.]

[Footnote 59: "In the _royal_ character"--"[Greek: grammasin Aithiopikois oy dêmotikois, alla basilikois]." This distinction between the royal and popular system of hieroglyphics, as well as the etiquette, before mentioned, of inscribing the title of the king within a circle or oval, is borrowed, as need hardly be mentioned, from the monuments of Egypt.]

The cavalier thus eulogized by Calasiris is of course Theagenes, who, after thrice encompassing in due form the tomb of Neoptolemus, at length reaches the Temple of Apollo; but, during the performance of the ceremonial, it falls to his lot to receive the torch with which the altar is to be kindled from the hand of Chariclea, and love at first sight, mutual and instantaneous, is the result. The aid of Calasiris is again invoked by both the lovers; and the good old gentleman, whose knowledge of the Ethiopian hieroglyphics, by enabling him to decipher the mysterious inscription on the fillet, has put him in possession of the true parentage of Chariclea, (which he does not, however, communicate to Charicles,) at once resolves to contrive their elopement, being further stimulated thereto by Apollo in a dream--the agency of dreams, it should be remarked, being introduced on almost every possible occasion throughout the narrative, and their dictates in all cases religiously acted upon by the parties interested. A passage is procured on board a Phoenician ship opportunely lying in the Crissæan Gulf, the nearest point of the coast to Delphi; and the abduction of Chariclea having been effected by apparent violence by the companions of Theagenes, the trio set sail for Sicily, the fugitives passing as the children of Calasiris. The voyage is at first prosperous; but the ship happening to touch at Zacynthus, the beauty of Chariclea attracts the eye of a noted pirate named Trachinus, who, when the vessel resumes her course, pursues and captures her after a long chase, and turning the crew adrift in the boat,[60] and carries his prize, with his three captives, to the coast of Egypt, where he prepares a feast on the beach, from the materials furnished by the rich cargo of the Phoenician ship, in honour of his intended nuptials. Calasiris, however, whose genius seems ever fertile in expedients, has contrived to possess the mind of Pelorus, the pirate lieutenant, with the belief that he is the object of the fair captive's preference; and his assertion at the banquet of his claims gives rise to a furious conflict among the intoxicated pirates, ending in the slaughter of the whole party except Pelorus himself, who in turn falls by the sword of Theagenes. Calasiris, who had prudently retired to a safe distance till the fighting was over, is now on the point of coming forward to aid Chariclea in the care of her wounded lover, when he is anticipated by the arrival of the robbers, by whom, as related at the commencement of the story, he sees his protegés carried off.

[Footnote 60: The capture of the vessel has furnished the subject of a painting by Raffaelle and Giulio Romano.]

Before this recital, however, had been brought to a close, Nausicles,[61] the master of the house, returns, and the cause of his absence is explained. An Athenian mistress whom he had brought from Greece had fallen into the hands of the freebooters; and Nausicles, having procured the aid of a body of Persian troops from the governor of the district, had proceeded against the buccanier settlement in order to recover her. On reaching the island, however, they find only Theagenes and Chariclea, Cnemon and Thermuthis having just started on their voyage of discovery; and Nausicles, disappointed of finding her whom he sought, (and who was no other than the faithless Thisbe, slain, as above related, in the battle,) conceived the idea of claiming Chariclea in her place by way of indemnity; while Theagenes was sent off to Memphis by the Persian officer, who deemed that his beauty and noble bearing would make him an acceptable addition to the household[62] of the Satrap Oroondates. The lovers are thus again separated, and Chariclea is in despair; but, on arriving at the house of Nausicles, she is of course immediately recognised and reclaimed by Calasiris. Cnemon, who seems to have as extraordinary a genius for sudden friendships as the two heroines in the "Rovers," marries the fair daughter of Nausicles after a few hours' courtship, and at once sets sail with his father-in-law for Greece, having ascertained from him that the detection of his enemies had now made his return safe:--And Calasiris and Chariclea, disguised as beggars, set out in search of the lost Theagenes. That luckless hero had, meanwhile, been re-captured on his road to Memphis, by his, old friend Thyamis, who, having escaped (it does not exactly appear how) from the emissaries of his treacherous brother, with whom the attack on the island proves to have originated, is now at the head of another and more powerful body of the buccanier fraternity, in the district of Bessa. He receives Theagenes with great cordiality, and, having beaten off an attack from the Persian troops, takes the bold resolution of leading his lawless followers against Memphis itself, in order to reclaim his right to the priesthood, while Oroondates is engaged on the southern frontier in withstanding an invasion of the Ethiopians. Arsace, the wife of the satrap, who is acting as vice-regent for her husband, unprovided with troops to repel this sudden incursion, proposes that the two brothers shall settle the ecclesiastical succession by single combat; and a duel accordingly takes place under the walls of Memphis, in which Petosiris is getting considerably the worst of it, when the combat is interrupted by the arrival of Chariclea and Calasiris, who thus witnesses the spectacle foretold by the oracle--(the dread of seeing which had driven him into voluntary exile)--his two sons aiming at each other's life. The situation is a well-conceived one, and described with spirit. Calasiris is recognised by his penitent sons, and himself resumes the priesthood, the contested vacancy in which had been occasioned only by his absence and supposed death. The lovers are received as his guests in the temple of Isis, and all seems on the point of ending happily, when Calasiris, as if the object of his existence had been accomplished in the fulfilment of the oracle, is found the same night dead in his bed.

[Footnote 61: He is called "A merchant of Naucratis," though resident in Chemmis. But Naucratis, as we find from Herodotus, (ii. 179,) "was of old the only free port of Egypt; and, if any trader came to one of the other mouths of the Nile, he was put upon oath that his coming was involuntary, and was then made to sail to the Canopic mouth. But, if contrary winds prevented him from doing this, he was obliged to send his cargo in barges round the Delta to Naucratis, so strict was the regulation." Amasis was the first king who had permitted the trade of the Greeks at this port, [ib. 178,] and the restriction appears to have been continued under the Persian rule.]

[Footnote 62: The establishment of household slaves or _Mamlukes_ seems to have been nearly on the same footing with the ancient as with the modern Persians.]