Chapter XXXIV: Canto XXV (3)

“The stone wall,” saith he, “doth fall aside,
Down must the stately columns fall;
Glass is this earth’s Luck and Pride;
In atoms shall fall this earthly ball
One day like the Luck of Edenhall!”

THE TWO LOCKS OF HAIR.

FROM PFIZER.

A youth, light-hearted and content,
I wander through the world:
Here, Arab-like, is pitched my tent,
And straight again is furled.

Yet oft I dream, that once a wife
Close in my heart was locked,
And in the sweet repose of life
A blessed child I rocked.

I wake! Away that dream,—away!
Too long did it remain!
So long, that both by night and day
It ever comes again.

The end lies ever in my thought;
To a grave so cold and deep
The mother beautiful was brought;
Then dropt the child asleep.

But now the dream is wholly o’er,
I bathe mine eyes and see;
And wander through the world once more,
A youth so light and free.

Two locks,—and they are wondrous fair,—
Left me that vision mild;
The brown is from the mother’s hair,
The blonde is from the child.

And when I see that lock of gold,
Pale grows the evening-red;
And when the dark lock I behold,
I wish that I were dead.

REMORSE.

FROM GRAF VON PLATEN.

How I started up in the night, in the night,
Drawn on without rest or reprieval,
The streets, with their watchmen, were lost to my sight
As I wandered so light
In the night, in the night,
Through the gate with the arch mediæval.

The mill-brook rushed through the rocky height,
I leaned o’er the bridge in my yearning;
Deep under me watched I the waves in their flight,
As they glided so light
In the night, in the night,
Yet backward not one was returning.

O’erhead were revolving, so countless and bright,
The stars in melodious existence;
And with them the moon, more serenely bedight;—
They sparkled so light
In the night, in the night,
Through the magical measureless distance.

And upward I gazed, in the night, in the night,
And again on the waves in their fleeting;
Ah woe! thou hast wasted thy days in delight,
Now silence thou light
In the night, in the night,
The Remorse in thy heart that is beating.

TRANSLATIONS FROM THE DANISH.

KING CHRISTIAN.

A NATIONAL SONG OF DENMARK.—FROM JOHANNES EVALD.

King Christian stood by the lofty mast
In mist and smoke;
His sword was hammering so fast,
Through Gothic helm and brain it passed;
Then sank each hostile hulk and mast,
In mist and smoke.
“Fly!” shouted they, “fly, he who can!
Who braves of Denmark’s Christian
The stroke?”

Nils Juel gave heed to the tempest’s roar;
Now is the hour!
He hoisted his blood-red flag once more,
And smote upon the foe full sore,
And shouted loud through the tempest’s roar,
“Now is the hour!”
“Fly!” shouted they, “for shelter fly!
Of Denmark’s Juel who can defy
The power?”

North Sea! a glimpse of Wessel rent
Thy murky sky!
Then champions to thine arms were sent;
Terror and Death glared where he went;
From the waves was heard a wail, that rent
Thy murky sky!
From Denmark, thunders Tordenskiol’,
Let each to Heaven commend his soul,
And fly!

Path of the Dane to fame and might!
Dark-rolling wave!
Receive thy friend, who, scorning flight,
Goes to meet danger with despite,
Proudly as thou the tempest’s might,
Dark-rolling wave!
And amid pleasures and alarms,
And war and victory, be thine arms
My grave!

THE ELECTED KNIGHT.

[The following strange and somewhat mystical ballad is from Nyerup and Rahbek’s _Danske Viser_ of the Middle Ages. It seems to refer to the first preaching of Christianity in the North, and to the institution of Knight-Errantry. The three maidens I suppose to be Faith, Hope, and Charity. The irregularities of the original have been carefully preserved in the translation.]

Sir Oluf he rideth over the plain,
Full seven miles broad and seven miles wide,
But never, ah never, can meet with the man
A tilt with him dare ride.

He saw under the hill-side
A Knight full well equipped;
His steed was black, his helm was barred;
He was riding at full speed.

He wore upon his spurs
Twelve little golden birds;
Anon he spurred his steed with a clang,
And there sat all the birds and sang.

He wore upon his mail
Twelve little golden wheels;
Anon in eddies the wild wind blew,
And round and round the wheels they flew.

He wore before his breast
A lance that was poised in rest;
And it was sharper than diamond-stone,
It made Sir Oluf’s heart to groan.

He wore upon his helm
A wreath of ruddy gold;
And that gave him the Maidens Three,
The youngest was fair to behold.

Sir Oluf questioned the Knight eftsoon
If he were come from heaven down;
“Art thou Christ of Heaven?” quoth he,
“So will I yield me unto thee.”

“I am not Christ the Great,
Thou shalt not yield thee yet;
I am an Unknown Knight,
Three modest Maidens have me bedight.”

“Art thou a Knight elected,
And have three Maidens thee bedight;
So shalt thou ride a tilt this day,
For all the Maidens’ honour!”

The first tilt they together rode
They put their steeds to the test;
The second tilt they together rode,
They proved their manhood best;

The third tilt they together rode,
Neither of them would yield;
The fourth tilt they together rode,
They both fell on the field.

Now lie the lords upon the plain.
And their blood runs unto death;
Now sit the Maidens in the high tower.
The youngest sorrows till death.

CHILDHOOD.

There was a time when I was very small,
When my whole frame was but an ell in height,
Sweetly, as I recall it, tears do fall,
And therefore I recall it with delight.

I sported in my tender mother’s arms,
And rode a-horseback on best father’s knee;
Alike were sorrows, passions, and alarms,
And gold, and Greek, and love, unknown to me.

Then seemed to me this world far less in size,
Likewise it seemed to me less wicked far;
Like points in heaven, I saw the stars arise,
And longed for wings that I might catch a star.

I saw the moon behind the island fade,
And thought, “O, were I on that island there,
I could find out of what the moon is made,
Find out how large it is, how round, how fair!”

Wondering, I saw God’s sun through western skies,
Sink in the ocean’s golden lap at night,
And yet upon the morrow early rise,
And paint the eastern heaven with crimson light;

And thought of God, the gracious Heavenly Father,
Who made me, and that lovely sun on high,
And all those pearls of heaven thick-strung together,
Dropped, clustering, from his hand o’er all the sky.

With childish reverence, my young lips did say
The prayer my pious mother taught to me;
“O Gentle God! O, let me strive alway
Still to be wise, and good, and follow thee!”

So prayed I for my father and my mother,
And for my sister, and for all the town;
The king I knew not, and the beggar-brother,
Who, bent with age, went, sighing, up and down.

They perished, the blithe days of boyhood perished,
And all the gladness, all the peace I knew!
Now have I but their memory, fondly cherished;—
God! may I never, never, lose that too!

MISCELLANEOUS TRANSLATIONS.

THE FUGITIVE.

TARTAR SONG, FROM THE PROSE VERSION OF CHODZKO.

I.

“He is gone to the desert land!
I can see the shining mane
Of his horse on the distant plain,
As he rides with his Kossak band!

“Come back, rebellious one!
Let thy proud heart relent;
Come back to my tall, white tent,
Come back, my only son!

“Thy hand in freedom shall
Cast thy hawks, when morning breaks,
On the swans of the Seven Lakes,
On the lakes of Karajal.

“I will give thee leave to stray
And pasture thy hunting steeds
In the long grass and the reeds
Of the meadows of Karaday.

“I will give thee my coat of mail,
Of softest leather made,
With choicest steel inlaid;
Will not all this prevail?”

II.

“This hand no longer shall
Cast my hawks when morning breaks,
On the swans of the Seven Lakes,
On the lakes of Karajal.

“I will no longer stray
And pasture my hunting steeds
In the long grass and the reeds
Of the meadows of Karaday.

“Though thou give me thy coat of mail,
Of softest leather made,
With choicest steel inlaid,
All this cannot prevail.

“What right hast thou, O Khan,
To me, who am mine own,
Who am slave to God alone,
And not to any man?

“God will appoint the day
When I again shall be
By the blue, shallow sea,
Where the steel-bright sturgeons play.

“God, who doth care for me,
In the barren wilderness,
On unknown hills, no less
Will my companion be.

“When I wander, lonely and lost,
In the wind; when I watch at night
Like a hungry wolf, and am white
And covered with hoar-frost;

“Yea, wheresoever I be,
In the yellow desert sands,
In mountains or unknown lands,
Allah will care for me!”

III.

Then Sobra, the old, old man,—
Three hundred and sixty years
Had he lived in this land of tears,
Bowed down and said, “O Khan!”

“If you bid me, I will speak.
There’s no sap in dry grass,
No marrow in dry bones! Alas,
The mind of old men is weak!

“I am old, I am very old:
I have seen the primeval man,
I have seen the great Gengis Khan
Arrayed in his robes of gold.

“What I say to you is the truth;
And I say to you, O Khan,
Pursue not the star-white man,
Pursue not the beautiful youth.

“Him the Almighty made,
And brought him forth of the light,
At the verge and end of the night,
When men on the mountain prayed.

“He was born at the break of day,
When abroad the angels walk;
He hath listened to their talk,
And he knoweth what they say.

“Gifted with Allah’s grace,
Like the moon of Ramazan
When it shines in the skies, O Khan,
Is the light of his beautiful face.

“When first on earth he trod,
The first words that he said
Were these, as he stood and prayed,
There is no God but God!

“And he shall be king of men,
For Allah hath heard his prayer,
And the Archangel in the air,
Gabriel, hath said, Amen!”

TO THE STORK.

ARMENIAN POPULAR SONG, FROM THE PROSE VERSION OF ALISHAN.

Welcome, O Stork! that dost wing
Thy flight from the far-away!
Thou hast brought us the signs of Spring,
Thou hast made our sad hearts gay.

Descend, O Stork! descend
Upon our roof to rest;
In our ash-tree, O my friend,
My darling, make thy nest.

To thee, O Stork, I complain,
O Stork, to thee I impart
The thousand sorrows, the pain
And aching of my heart.

When thou away didst go,
Away from this tree of ours,
The withering winds did blow,
And dried up all the flowers.

Dark grew the brilliant sky,
Cloudy and dark and drear;
They were breaking the snow on high,
And winter was drawing near.

From Varaca’s rocky wall,
From the rock of Varaca unrolled,
The snow came and covered all,
And the green meadow was cold.

O Stork, our garden with snow
Was hidden away and lost,
And the rose-trees that in it grow
Were withered by snow and frost.

THE BOY AND THE BROOK.

ARMENIAN POPULAR SONG, FROM THE PROSE VERSION OF ALISHAN.

Down from yon distant mountain height
The brooklet flows through the village street;
A boy comes forth to wash his hands,
Washing, yes washing, there he stands,
In the water cool and sweet.

“Brook, from what mountain dost thou come?
O my brooklet cool and sweet!”
“I come from yon mountain high and cold,
Where lieth the new snow on the old,
And melts in the summer heat.”

“Brook, to what river dost thou go?
O my brooklet cool and sweet!”
“I go to the river there below
Where in bunches the violets grow,
And sun and shadow meet.”

“Brook, to what garden dost thou go?
O my brooklet cool and sweet!”
“I go to that garden in the vale
Where all night long the nightingale
Her love-song doth repeat.”

“Brook, to what fountain dost thou go?
O my brooklet cool and sweet!”
“I go to that fountain, at whose brink
The maid that loves thee comes to drink,
And, whenever she looks therein,
I rise to meet her, and kiss her chin,
And my joy is then complete.”

THE SIEGE OF KAZAN.

TARTAR SONG, FROM THE PROSE VERSION OF CHODZKO.

Black are the moors before Kazan,
And their stagnant waters smell of blood:
I said in my heart, with horse and man,
I will swim across this shallow flood.

Under the feet of Argamack,
Like new moons were the shoes he bare,
Silken trappings hung on his back,
In a talisman on his neck, a prayer.

My warriors, thought I, are following me;
But when I looked behind, alas!
Not one of all the band could I see,
All had sunk in the black morass!

Where are our shallow fords? and where
The power of Kazan with its fourfold gates?
From the prison windows our maidens fair
Talk of us still through the iron grates.

We cannot hear them; for horse and man
Lie buried deep in the dark abyss!
Ah! the black day hath come down on Kazan!
Ah! was ever a grief like this?

COLUMBUS.

A TRANSLATION FROM SCHILLER.

The following lines, hitherto unpublished, were written for Charles Sumner, and were read July 4, at Roseland Park, Woodstock, Connecticut:—

I.

Steer, bold mariner, on! albeit witlings deride thee
And the steersman drop idly his hand at the helm;
Ever, ever to Westward! There must the coast be discovered,
If it but lie distinct, luminous lie in thy mind.

II.

Trust to the God that leads thee, and follow the sea that is silent;
Did it not yet exist, now would it rise from the flood.
Nature with Genius stands united in league everlasting;
What is promised to one, surely the other performs.

Notes.

Page 31. _All the Foresters of Flanders._

The title of Foresters was given to the early governors of Flanders, appointed by the kings of France. Lyderick du Bucq, in the days of Clotaire the Second, was the first of them; and Beaudoin Bras-de-Fer, who stole away the fair Judith, daughter of Charles the Bald, from the French court, and married her in Bruges, was the last. After him, the title of Forester was changed to that of Count. Philippe d’Alsace, Guy de Dampierre, and Louis de Crécy, coming later in the order of time, were therefore rather Counts than Foresters. Philippe went twice to the Holy Land as a Crusader, and died of the plague at St. Jean-d’Acre, shortly after the capture of the city by the Christians. Guy de Dampierre died in the prison of Compiègne. Louis de Crécy was son and successor of Robert de Béthune, who strangled his wife, Yolande de Burgogne, with the bridle of his horse, for having poisoned, at the age of eleven years, Charles, his son by his first wife, Blanche d’Anjou.

Page 31. _Stately dames like queens attended._

When Philippe-le-Bel, king of France, visited Flanders with his queen, she was so astonished at the magnificence of the dames of Bruges, that she exclaimed, “Je croyais être seule reine ici, mais il paraît que ceux de Flandre qui se trouvent dans nos prisons sont tous des princes, car leurs femmes sont habillées comme des princesses et des reines.”

When the burgomasters of Ghent, Bruges, and Ypres went to Paris to pay homage to King John, in 1351, they were received with great pomp and distinction; but, being invited to a festival, they observed that their seats at table were not furnished with cushions; whereupon, to make known their displeasure at this want of regard to their dignity, they folded their richly-embroidered cloaks and seated themselves upon them. On rising from table, they left their cloaks behind them, and, being informed of their apparent forgetfulness, Simon van Eertrycke, burgomaster of Bruges, replied: “We Flemings are not in the habit of carrying away our cushions after dinner.”

Page 31. _Knights who bore the Fleece of Gold._

Philippe de Burgogne, surnamed Le Bon, espoused Isabella of Portugal, on the 10th of January 1430; and on the same day instituted the famous order of the Fleece of Gold.

Page 31. _I beheld the gentle Mary._

Marie de Valois, Duchess of Burgundy, was left by the death of her father, Charles-le-Téméraire, at the age of twenty, the richest heiress of Europe. She came to Bruges, as Countess of Flanders, in 1477, and in the same year was married by proxy to the Archduke Maximilian. According to the custom of the time, the Duke of Bavaria, Maximilian’s substitute, slept with the princess. They were both in complete dress, separated by a naked sword, and attended by four armed guards. Marie was adored by her subjects for her gentleness and her many other virtues.

Maximilian was the son of the Emperor Frederick the Third, and is the same person mentioned afterwards in the poem of _Nuremberg_ as the Kaiser Maximilian, and the hero of Pfinzing’s poem of _Teuerdank_. Having been imprisoned by the revolted burghers of Bruges, they refused to release him, till he consented to kneel in the public square, and to swear on the Holy Evangelists and the body of Saint Donatus, that he would not take vengeance upon them for their rebellion.

Page 31. _The bloody battle of the Spurs of Gold._

This battle, the most memorable in Flemish history, was fought under the walls of Courtray, on the 11th of July 1302, between the French and the Flemings, the former commanded by Robert, Comte d’Artois, and the latter by Guillaume de Juliers, and Jean, Comte de Namur. The French army was completely routed, with a loss of twenty thousand infantry and seven thousand cavalry, among whom were sixty-three princes, dukes, and counts, seven hundred lords-banneret, and eleven hundred noblemen. The flower of the French nobility perished on that day; to which history has given the name of the _Journée des Eperons d’Or_, from the great number of golden spurs found on the field of battle. Seven hundred of them were hung up as a trophy in the church of Notre Dame de Courtray; and as the cavaliers of that day wore but a single spur each, these vouched to God for the violent and bloody death of seven hundred of his creatures.

Page 31. _Saw the fight at Minnewater._

When the inhabitants of Bruges were digging a canal at Minnewater to bring the waters of the Lys from Deynze to their city, they were attacked and routed by the citizens of Ghent, whose commerce would have been much injured by the canal. They were led by Jean Lyons, captain of a military company at Ghent, called the _Chaperons Blancs_. He had great sway over the turbulent populace, who, in those prosperous times of the city, gained an easy livelihood by labouring two or three days in the week, and had the remaining four or five to devote to public affairs. The fight at Minnewater was followed by open rebellion against Louis de Maele, the Count of Flanders and Protector of Bruges. His superb château of Wondelghem was pillaged and burnt, and the insurgents forced the gates of Bruges, and entered in triumph, with Lyons mounted at their head. A few days afterwards he died suddenly, perhaps by poison.

Meanwhile the insurgents received a check at the village of Nevèle; and two hundred of them perished in the church, which was burnt by the Count’s orders. One of the chiefs, Jean de Lannoy, took refuge in the belfry. From the summit of the tower he held forth his purse filled with gold, and begged for deliverance. It was in vain. His enemies cried to him from below to save himself as best he might; and, half suffocated with smoke and flame, he threw himself from the tower, and perished at their feet. Peace was soon afterwards established, and the Count retired to faithful Bruges.

Page 35. _In the church of sainted Lawrence stands a pix of sculpture rare._

This pix, or tabernacle for the vessels of the sacrament, is by the hand of Adam Kraft. It is an exquisite piece of sculpture, in white stone, and rises to the height of sixty-four feet. It stands in the choir, whose richly-painted windows cover it with varied colours.

Page 56. _As Lope says._

“La cólera
de un Español sentado no se templa,
si no le representan en dos horas
hasta el final juicio desde el Génesis.”
_Lope de Vega._

Page 58. _Abernuncio Satanas._

“Digo, Señora, respondió Sancho, lo que tengo dicho, que de los azotes abernuncio. Abrenuncio habeis de decir, Sancho, y no como decis, dijo el Duque.”—_Don Quixote_, Part ii. c. xxxv.

Page 64. _Fray Carillo._

The allusion here is to a Spanish epigram.

“Siempre, Fray Carrillo, estás
cansándonos acá fuera;
quién en tu celda estuviera
para no verte jamás!”

_Böhl de Faber._ _Floresta_, No. 611.

Page 64. _Padre Francisco._

This is from an Italian popular song.

“‘Padre Francesco,
Padre Francesco!’
—Cosa volete del Padre Francesco—
‘V’è una bella ragazzina
Che si vuole confessar!‘
Fatte l’entrare, fatte l’entrare!
Che la voglio confessare!”
_Kopisch._ _Volksthümliche Poesien aus allen Mundarten
Italiens und seiner Inseln_, p. 194.

Page 65. _Ave! cujus calcem clare._

From a monkish hymn of the twelfth century, in Sir Alexander Croke’s _Essay on the Origin, Progress, and Decline of Rhyming Latin Verse_, p. 109.

Page 73. _Asks if his money-bags would rise._

“Y volviéndome á un lado, ví á un Avariento, que estaba preguntando á otro (que por haber sido embalsamado, y estar léxos sus tripas, no hablaba porque no habian llegado si habian de resucitar aquel dia todos los enterrados), si resucitarian unos bolsones suyos?”—_El Sueño de las Calaveras._

Page 74. _The river of his thoughts._

This expression is from Dante:—

“Si che chiaro
Per essa scenda della mente il fiume.”

Byron has likewise used the expression; though I do not recollect in which of his poems. [_The Dream._—EDITOR.]

Page 75. _Mari Franca._

“Porque casó Mari Franca
cuatro leguas de Salamanca.”

Page 75. _Ay, soft, emerald eyes._

The Spaniards, with good reason, consider this colour of the eye as beautiful, and celebrate it in song; as, for example, in the well-known _Villancico_:—

“Ay ojuelos verdes,
ay los mis ojuelos,
ay hagan los cielos
que de mí te acuerdes!

* * * * *

Tengo confianza
de mis verdes ojos.”
_Böhl de Faber._ _Floresta_, No. 255.

Dante speaks of Beatrice’s eyes as emeralds. _Purgatorio_, xxxi. 116. Lami says, in his _Annotazioni_, “Erano i suoi occhi d’ un turchino verdiccio, simie a quel del mare.”

Page 76. _The Avenging Child._

See the ancient ballads of _El Infante Vengador_, and _Calaynos_.

Page 76. _All are sleeping._

From the Spanish. _Böhl’s Floresta_, No. 282.

Page 85. _Good Night!_

From the Spanish; as are likewise the songs immediately following, and that which commences the first scene of Act III.

Page 95. _The evil eye._

“In the Gitano language, casting the evil eye is called _Querelar Nasula_, which simply means making sick, and which, according to the common superstition, is accomplished by casting an evil look at people, especially children, who, from the tenderness of their constitution, are supposed to be more easily blighted than those of a more mature age. After receiving the evil glance, they fall sick, and die in a few hours.

“The Spaniards have very little to say respecting the evil eye, though the belief in it is very prevalent, especially in Andalusia, amongst the lower orders. A stag’s horn is considered a good safeguard, and on that account a small horn, tipped with silver, is frequently attached to the children’s necks by means of a cord braided from the hair of a black mare’s tail. Should the evil glance be cast, it is imagined that the horn receives it, and instantly snaps asunder. Such horns may be purchased in some of the silversmiths’ shops at Seville.”—BORROW’S _Zincali_, vol. i. c. ix.

Page 96. _On the top of a mountain I stand._

This and the following scraps of song are from Borrow’s _Zincali; or, An Account of the Gipsies in Spain_.

Page 103. _If thou art sleeping, maiden._

From the Spanish; as is likewise the song of the Contrabandista below.

Page 158.

_For these bells have been anointed
And baptized with holy water_!

The Consecration and Baptism of Bells is one of the most curious ceremonies of the Church in the Middle Ages. The Council of Cologne ordained as follows:—

“Let the bells be blessed, as the trumpets of the Church militant, by which the people are assembled to hear the word of God; the clergy to announce his mercy by day, and his truth in their nocturnal vigils: that by their sound the faithful may be invited to prayers, and that the spirit of devotion in them may be increased. The fathers have also maintained that demons affrighted by the sound of bells calling Christians to prayers, would flee away; and when they fled, the persons of the faithful would be secure: that the destruction of lightnings and whirlwinds would be averted, and the spirits of the storm defeated.”—_Edinburgh Encyclopædia_, Art. “Bells.” See also Scheible’s _Kloster_, vi. 776.

Page 178. _It is the malediction of Eve_!

“Nec esses plus quam femina, quæ nunc etiam viros transcendis, et quæ maledictionem Evæ in benedictionem vertisti Mariæ.”—_Epistola Abælardi Heloissæ._

Page 194. _To come back to my text._

In giving this sermon of Friar Cuthbert, as a specimen of the _Risus Paschales_, or street preaching of the monks at Easter, I have exaggerated nothing. This very anecdote, offensive as it is, comes from a discourse of Father Barletta, a Dominican friar of the fifteenth century, whose fame as a popular preacher was so great, that it gave rise to the proverb—

_Nescit predicare
Qui nescit Barettare._

“Among the abuses introduced in this century,” says Tiraboschi, “was that of exciting from the pulpit the laughter of the hearers; as if that were the same thing as converting them. We have examples of this not only in Italy, but also in France, where the sermons of Menot and Maillard, and of others, who would make a better appearance on the stage than in the pulpit, are still celebrated for such follies.”

If the reader is curious to see how far the freedom of speech was carried in these popular sermons, he is referred to Scheible’s _Kloster_, vol. i., where he will find extracts from Abraham à Sancta Clara, Sebastian, Frank, and others; and, in particular, an anonymous discourse called _Der Gräuel der Verwüstung_—The Abomination of Desolation—preached at Ottakring, a village west of Vienna, November 25, 1782, in which the licence of language is carried to its utmost limit.

See also _Prédicatoriana, ou Révélations singulières et amusantes sur les Prédicateurs; par G. P. Philomneste_. (Menin.) This work contains extracts from the popular sermons of St. Vincent Ferrier, Barletta, Menot, Maillard, Marini, Raulin, Valladier, De Besse, Camus, Père André, Bening, and the most eloquent of all, Jacques Brydaine.

My authority for the spiritual interpretation of bell-ringing, which follows, is Durandus, _Ration_. _Divin Offic._, Lib. i. cap. 4.

Page 197. THE NATIVITY: A Miracle-Play.

The earliest mystery or religious play which has been preserved is the _Christos Paschon_ of Gregory Nazianzen, written in Greek in the fourth century. Next to this come the remarkable Latin plays of Roswitha, the nun of Gandersheim, in the tenth century, which, though crude, and wanting in artistic construction, are marked by a good deal of dramatic power and interest. A handsome edition of these plays, with a French translation, has been lately published, entitled, _Théatre de Rotsvitha, Religieuse Allemande du Xᵉ Siècle_. _Par Charles Magnin._ Paris, 1845.

The most important collections of English Mysteries and Miracle-Plays are those known as the Townley, the Chester, and the Coventry plays. The first of these collections has been published by the Surtees Society, and the other two by the Shakespeare Society. In his introduction to the Coventry Mysteries, the editor, Mr. Halliwell, quotes the following passage from Dugdale’s _Antiquities of Warwickshire_:—

“Before the suppression of the monasteries, this city was very famous for the pageants that were played therein, upon Corpus Christi day; which, occasioning very great confluence of people thither, from far and near, was of no small benefit thereto; which pageants being acted with mighty state and reverence by the friars of this house, had theatres for the several scenes, very large and high, placed upon wheels, and drawn to all the eminent parts of the city, for the better advantage of the spectators; and contained the story of the New Testament, composed into old English Rithme, as appeareth by an ancient MS., intituled _Ludus Corporis Christi_, or _Ludus Conventriæ_. I have been told by some old people, who in their younger years were eye-witnesses of these pageants so acted, that the yearly confluence of people to see that show was extraordinary great, and yielded no small advantage to this city.”

The representation of religious plays has not yet been wholly discontinued by the Roman Church. At Ober-Ammergau in the Tyrol, a grand spectacle of this kind is exhibited once in ten years. A very graphic description of that which took place in the year 1850 is given by Miss Anna Mary Howitt, in her _Art-Student in Munich_, vol. i. chap. iv. She says:—

“We had come expecting to feel our souls revolt at so material a representation of Christ, as any representation of him we naturally imagined must be in a peasant’s Miracle-Play. Yet so far, strange to confess, neither horror, disgust, nor contempt was excited in our minds. Such an earnest solemnity and simplicity breathed throughout the whole of the performance, that to me, at least, anything like anger, or a perception of the ludicrous, would have seemed more irreverent on my part than was this simple, childlike rendering of the sublime Christian tragedy. We felt at times as though the figures of Cimabue’s, Giotto’s, and Perugino’s pictures had become animated, and were moving before us; there was the same simple arrangement and brilliant colour of drapery; the same earnest, quiet dignity about the heads, whilst the entire absence of all theatrical effect wonderfully increased the illusion. There were scenes and groups so extraordinarily like the early Italian pictures, that you could have declared they were the works of Giotto and Perugino, and not living men and women, had not the figures moved and spoken, and the breeze stirred their richly-coloured drapery, and the sun cast long, moving shadows behind them on the stage. These effects of sunshine and shadow, and of drapery fluttered by the wind, were very striking and beautiful; one could imagine how the Greeks must have availed themselves of such striking effects in their theatres open to the sky.”

Mr. Bayard Taylor, in his _Eldorado_, gives a description of a Mystery he saw performed at San Lionel, in Mexico. See vol. ii. chap. xi.

“Against the wing-wall of the Hacienda del Mayo, which occupied one end of the plaza, was raised a platform, on which stood a table covered with scarlet cloth. A rude bower of cane-leaves, on one end of the platform, represented the manger of Bethlehem; while a cord, stretched from its top across the plaza to a hole in the front of the church, bore a large tinsel star suspended by a hole in its centre. There was quite a crowd in the plaza, and very soon a procession appeared, coming up from the lower part of the village. The three kings took the lead; the Virgin, mounted on an ass that gloried in a gilded saddle and rose-besprinked mane and tail, followed them, led by the angel; and several women, with curious masks of paper, brought up the rear. Two characters of the harlequin sort—one with a dog’s head on his shoulders, and the other a bald-headed friar, with a huge hat hanging on his back—played all sorts of antics for the diversion of the crowd. After making the circuit of the plaza, the Virgin was taken to the platform, and entered the manger. King Herod took his seat at the scarlet table, with an attendant in blue coat and red sash, whom I took to be his Prime Minister. The three kings remained on their horses in front of the church; but between them and the platform, under the string on which the star was to slide, walked two men in long white robes and blue hoods, with parchment folios in their hands. These were the Wise Men of the East, as one might readily know from their solemn air, and the mysterious glances which they cast towards all quarters of the heavens.

“In a little while, a company of women on the platform, concealed behind a curtain, sang an angelic chorus to the tune of ‘O pescator dell’ onda.’ At the proper moment, the Magi turned towards the platform, followed by the star, to which a string was conveniently attached, that it might be slid along the line. The three kings followed the star till it reached the manger, when they dismounted, and inquired for the sovereign whom it had led them to visit. They were invited upon the platform and introduced to Herod, as the only king; this did not seem to satisfy them, and, after some conversation, they retired. By this time the star had receded to the other end of the line, and commenced moving forward again, they following. The angel called them into the manger, where, upon their knees, they were shown a small wooden box, supposed to contain the sacred infant; they then retired, and the star brought them back no more. After this departure, King Herod declared himself greatly confused by what he had witnessed, and was very much afraid this newly-found king would weaken his power. Upon consultation with his Prime Minister, the Massacre of the Innocents was decided upon as the only means of security.

“The angel, on hearing this, gave warning to the Virgin, who quickly got down from the platform, mounted her bespangled donkey, and hurried off. Herod’s Prime Minister directed all the children to be handed up for execution. A boy, in a ragged sarape, was caught and thrust forward; the Minister took him by the heels in spite of his kicking, and held his head on the table. The little brother and sister of the boy, thinking he was really to be decapitated, yelled at the top of their voices in an agony of terror, which threw the crowd into a roar of laughter. King Herod brought down his sword with a whack on the table, and the Prime Minister, dipping his brush into a pot of white paint which stood before him, made a flaring cross on the boy’s face. Several other boys were caught and served likewise; and finally, the two harlequins, whose kicks and struggles nearly shook down the platform. The procession then went off up the hill, followed by the whole population of the village. All the evening there were fandangos in the méson, bonfires and rockets on the plaza, ringing of bells, and high mass in the church, with the accompaniment of two guitars, tinkling to lively polkas.”

In 1852 there was a representation of this kind by Germans in Boston; and I have now before me the copy of a playbill, announcing the performance on June 10, 1852, in Cincinnati, of the “Great Biblico-Historical Drama, the Life of Jesus Christ,” with the characters and the names of the performers.

Page 211. THE SCRIPTORIUM.

A most interesting volume might be written on the Calligraphers and Chrysographers, the transcribers and illuminators of manuscripts in the Middle Ages. These men were for the most part monks, who laboured sometimes for pleasure and sometimes for penance, in multiplying copies of the classics and the Scriptures.

“Of all bodily labours which are proper for us,” says Cassiodorus, the old Calabrian monk, “that of copying books has always been more to my taste than any other. The more so, as in this exercise the mind is instructed by the reading of the Holy Scriptures, and it is a kind of homily to the others, whom these books may reach. It is preaching with the hand, by converting the fingers into tongues: it is publishing to men in silence the words of salvation; in fine, it is fighting against the demon with pen and ink. As many words as a transcriber writes, so many wounds the demon receives. In a word, a recluse, seated in his chair to copy books, travels into different provinces, without moving from the spot, and the labour of his hands is felt even where he is not.”

Nearly every monastery was provided with its Scriptorium. Nicholas de Clairvaux, St. Bernard’s secretary, in one of his letters, describes his cell, which he calls Scriptoriolum, where he copied books. And Mabillon, in his _Études Monastiques_, says that in his time were still to be seen at Citeaux “many of those little cells where the transcribers and bookbinders worked.”

Silvestre’s _Paléographie Universelle_ contains a vast number of facsimiles of the most beautiful illuminated manuscripts of all ages and all countries; and Montfaucon in his _Palæographia Græca_ gives the names of over three hundred calligraphers. He also gives an account of the books they copied, and the colophons, with which, as with a satisfactory flourish of the pen, they closed their long-continued labours. Many of these are very curious; expressing joy, humility, remorse; entreating the reader’s prayers and pardon for the writer’s sins; and sometimes pronouncing a malediction on any one who should steal the book. A few of these I subjoin:—

“As pilgrims rejoice, beholding their native land, so are transcribers made glad, beholding the end of a book.”

“Sweet is it to write the end of any book.”

“Ye who read, pray for me, who have written this book, the humble and sinful Theodulus.”

“As many, therefore, as shall read this book, pardon me, I beseech you, if aught I have erred in accent acute and grave, in apostrophe, in breathing soft or aspirate; and may God save you all. Amen.”

“If anything is well, praise the transcriber; if ill, pardon his unskilfulness.”

“Ye who read, pray for me, the most sinful of all men, for the Lord’s sake.”

“The hand that has written this book shall decay, alas! and become dust, and go down to the grave, the corrupter of all bodies. But all ye who are of the portion of Christ, pray that I may obtain the pardon of my sins. Again and again I beseech you with tears, brothers and fathers, accept my miserable supplication, O holy choir! I am called John, woe is me! I am called Hiereus, or Sacerdos, in name only, not in unction.”

“Whoever shall carry away this book, without permission of the Pope, may he incur the malediction of the Holy Trinity, of the Holy Mother of God, of Saint John the Baptist, of the one hundred and eighteen holy Nicene Fathers, and of all the Saints; the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah; and the halter of Judas; anathema, amen.”

“Keep safe, O Trinity, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, my three fingers, with which I have written this book.”

“Mathusalas Machir transcribed this divinest book in toil, infirmity, and dangers many.”

“Bacchius Barbardorius and Michael Sophianus wrote this book in sport and laughter, being the guests of their noble and common friend Vincentius Pinellus, and Petrus Nunnius, a most learned man.”

This last colophon, Montfaucon does not suffer to pass without reproof. “Other calligraphers,” he remarks, “demand only the prayers of their readers, and the pardon of their sins; but these glory in their wantonness.”

Page 217. _Drink down to your peg._

One of the canons of Archbishop Anselm, promulgated at the beginning of the twelfth century, ordains “that priests go not to drinking bouts, nor drink to pegs.” In the times of the hard-drinking Danes, King Edgar ordained that “pins or nails should be fastened into the drinking-cups or horns at stated distances, and whosoever shall drink beyond those marks at one draught should be obnoxious to a severe punishment.”

Sharpe, in his _History of the Kings of England_, says: “Our ancestors were formerly famous for compotation; their liquor was ale, and one method of amusing themselves in this way was with the peg-tankard. I had lately one of them in my hand. It had on the inside a row of eight pins, one above another, from top to bottom. It held two quarts, and was a noble piece of plate, so that there was a gill of ale, half a pint, Winchester measure, between each peg. The law was, that every person that drank was to empty the space between pin and pin, so that the pins were so many measures to make the company all drink alike, and to swallow the same quantity of liquor. This was a pretty sure method of making all the company drunk, especially if it be considered that the rule was, that whosoever drank short of his pin, or beyond it, was obliged to drink again, and even as deep as to the next pin.”

Page 218. _The Convent of St. Gildas de Rhuys._

Abelard, in a letter to his friend Philintus, gives a sad picture of this monastery. “I live,” he says, “in a barbarous country, the language of which I do not understand; I have no conversation, but with the rudest people. My walks are on the inaccessible shore of a sea, which is perpetually stormy. My monks are only known by their dissoluteness, and living without any rule or order. Could you see the abbey, Philintus, you would not call it one. The doors and walls are without any ornament, except the heads of wild boars and hinds’ feet, which are nailed up against them, and the hides of frightful animals. The cells are hung with the skins of deer. The monks have not so much as a bell to wake them, the cocks and dogs supply that defect. In short, they pass their whole days in hunting: would to Heaven that were their greatest fault, or that their pleasures terminated there! I endeavour in vain to recall them to their duty; they all combine against me, and I only expose myself to continual vexations and dangers. I imagine I see every moment a naked sword hang over my head. Sometimes they surround me, and load me with infinite abuses; sometimes they abandon me, and I am left alone to my own tormenting thoughts. I make it my endeavour to merit by my sufferings, and to appease an angry God. Sometimes I grieve for the loss of the house of the Paraclete, and wish to see it again. Ah, Philintus, does not the love of Heloise still burn in my heart? I have not yet triumphed over that unhappy passion. In the midst of my retirement I sigh, I weep, I pine, I speak the dear name Heloise, and am pleased to hear the sound.”—_Letters of the celebrated Abelard and Heloise. Translated by Mr. John Hughes._ Glasgow, 1751.

Page 232. _Were it not for my magic garters and staff._

The method of making the Magic Garters and the Magic Staff is thus laid down in _Les Secrets Merveilleux du Petit Albert_, a French translation of _Alberti Parvi Lucii Libellus de Mirabilibus Naturæ Arcanis_:—

“Gather some of the herb called motherwort, when the sun is entering the first degree of the sign of Capricorn; let it dry a little in the shade, and make some garters of the skin of a young hare; that is to say, having cut the skin of the hare into strips two inches wide, double them, sew the before-mentioned herb between, and wear them on your legs. No horse can long keep up with a man on foot who is furnished with these garters.”—P. 128.

“Gather, on the morrow of All Saints, a strong branch of willow, of which you will make a staff, fashioned to your liking. Hollow it out, by removing the pith from within, after having furnished the lower end with an iron ferrule. Put into the bottom of the staff the two eyes of a young wolf, the tongue and heart of a dog, three green lizards, and the hearts of three swallows. These must all be dried in the sun, between two papers, having been first sprinkled with finely-pulverised saltpetre. Besides all these, put into the staff seven leaves of vervain, gathered on the eve of St. John the Baptist, with a stone of divers colours, which you will find in the nest of the lapwing, and stop the end of the staff with a pomel of box, or of any other material you please, and be assured that this staff will guarantee you from the perils and mishaps which too often befall travellers, either from robbers, wild beasts, mad dogs, or venomous animals. It will also procure you the good-will of those with whom you lodge.”—P. 130.

Page 237. _Saint Elmo’s stars._

So the Italian sailors call the phosphorescent gleams that sometimes play about the masts and rigging of ships.

Page 238. THE SCHOOL OF SALERNO.

For a history of the celebrated schools of Salerno and Monte-Cassino, the reader is referred to Sir Alexander Croke’s introduction to the _Regimen Sanitatis Salernitanum_; and Kurt Sprengel’s _Geschichte der Arzneikunde_, i. 463, or Jourdan’s French translation of it, _Histoire de la Médecine_, ii. 354.

Page 255. THE SONG OF HIAWATHA.

This Indian Edda—if I may so call it—is founded on a tradition prevalent among the North American Indians, of a personage of miraculous birth who was sent among them to clear their rivers, forests, and fishing-grounds, and to teach them the arts of peace. He was known among different tribes by the several names of Michabou, Chiabo, Manabozo, Tarenyawagon, and Hiawatha. Mr. Schoolcraft gives an account of him in his _Algic Researches_, vol. i. p. 134; and in his _History, Condition, and Prospects of the Indian Tribes of the United States_, Part iii. p. 314, may be found the Iroquois form of the tradition, derived from the verbal narrations of an Onondaga chief.

Into this old tradition I have woven other curious Indian legends, drawn chiefly from the various and valuable writings of Mr. Schoolcraft, to whom the literary world is greatly indebted for his indefatigable zeal in rescuing from oblivion so much of the legendary lore of the Indians.

The scene of the poem is among the Ojibways on the southern shore of Lake Superior, in the region between the Pictured Rocks and the Grand Sable.

VOCABULARY TO THE SONG OF HIAWATHA.

Adjidau’mo, _the red squirrel_.
Ahdeek’, _the reindeer_.
Ahmeek’, _the beaver_.
Algonquin, _Ojibway_.
Annemee’kee, _the thunder_.
Apuk’wa, _a bulrush_.
Baim-wa’wa, _the sound of the thunder_.
Bemah’gut, _the grape-vine_.
Bena, _the pheasant_.
Big-Sea-Water, _Lake Superior_.
Bukadawin, _famine_.
Cheemaun’, _a birch canoe_.
Chetowaik’, _the plover_.
Chibia’bos, _a musician_; _friend of Hiawatha_;
_ruler in the Land of Spirits_.
Dahin’da, _the bull-frog_.
Dush-kwo-ne’-she, _or_ Kwo-ne’-she, _the dragon-fly_.
Esa, _shame upon you_.
Ewa-yea’, _lullaby_.
Gitche Gu’mee, _the Big-Sea-Water, Lake Superior_.
Gitche Man’ito, _the Great Spirit, the Master of Life_.
Gushkewau’, _the darkness_.
Hiawa’tha, _the Prophet, the Teacher_; _son of Mudjekeewis,
the West-Wind, and Wenonah, daughter of Nokomis_.
Ia’goo, _a great boaster and story-teller_.
Inin’ewug, _men, or pawns in the Game of the Bowl_.
Ishkoodah’, _fire, a comet_.
Jee’bi, _a ghost, a spirit_.
Joss’akeed, _a prophet_.
Kabibonok’ka, _the North-Wind_.
Ka’go, _do not_.
Kagh, _the Hedgehog_.
Kahgahgee’, _the raven_.
Kaw, _no_.
Kaween’, _no indeed_.
Kayoshk’, _the sea-gull_.
Keego, _a fish_.
Keeway’din, _the North-west wind, the Home-wind_.
Kena’beek, _a serpent_.
Keneu’, _the great war-eagle_.
Keno’zha, _the pickerel_.
Ko’ko-ko’ho, _the owl_.
Kuntasoo’, _the Game of Plum-stones_.
Kwa’sind, _the Strong Man_.
Kwo-ne’-she, _or_ Dush-kwo-ne’-she, _the dragon-fly_.
Mahnahbe’zee, _the swan_.
Mahng, _the loon_.
Mahn-go-tay’see, _loon-hearted, brave_.
Mahnomo’nee, _wild rice_.
Ma’ma, _the woodpecker_.
Maskeno’zha, _the pike_.
Me’da, a _medicine-man_.
Meenah’ga, _the blueberry_.
Megissog’won, _the Great Pearl-Feather, a magician, and the Manito
of Wealth_.
Meshinau’wa, _a pipe-bearer_.
Minjekah’wun, _Hiawatha’s mittens_.
Minneha’ha, _Laughing Water_; _a waterfall on a stream
running into the Mississippi, between Fort Snelling
and the Falls of St. Anthony_.
Minneha’ha, _Laughing Water_; _wife of Hiawatha_.
Minne-wa’wa, _a pleasant sound, as of the wind in the trees_.
Mishe-Mo’kwa, _the Great Bear_.
Mishe-Nah’ma, _the Great Sturgeon_.
Miskodeed’, _the Spring-Beauty, the Claytonia Virginica_.
Monda’min, _Indian corn_.
Moon of Bright Nights, _April_.
Moon of Leaves, _May_.
Moon of Strawberries, _June_.
Moon of the Falling Leaves, _September_.
Moon of Snow-shoes, _November_.
Mudjekee’wis, _the West-Wind_; _father of Hiawatha_.
Mudway-aush’ka, _sound of waves on a shore_.
Mushkoda’sa, _the grouse_.
Nah’ma, _the sturgeon_.
Nah’ma-wusk, _the spearmint_.
Na’gow Wudjoo’, _the Sand Dunes of Lake Superior_.
Nee-ba-naw-baigs, _water-spirits_.
Nenemoo’sha, _sweetheart_.
Nepah’win, _sleep_.
Noko’mis, _a grandmother_; _mother of Wenonah_.
No’sa, _my father_.
Nush’ka, _look! look!_
Odah’min, _the strawberry_.
Okahah’wis, _the fresh-water herring_.
Ome’me, _the pigeon_.
Ona’gon, _a bowl_.
Onaway’, _awake_.
Opechee’, _the robin_.
Osse’o, _Son of the Evening Star_.
Owais’sa, _the blue-bird_.
Oweenee’, _wife of Osseo_.
Ozawa’beek, _a round piece of brass or copper in the
Game of the Bowl_.
Pah-puk-kee’-na, _the grasshopper_.
Pau’guk, _death_.
Pau-Puk-Kee’wis, _the handsome Yenadizze, the Storm-Fool_.
Pawwa’ting, _Saut Sainte Marie_.
Pe’boan, _Winter_.
Pem’ican, _meat of the deer or buffalo dried and pounded_.
Pezhekee’, _the bison_.
Pishnekuh’, _the brant_.
Pone’mah, _hereafter_.
Pugasaing, _game of the bowl_.
Puggawau’gun, _a war-club_.
Puk-Wudj’ies, Puk-Wudj-In-in’ees, _little wild men of the
woods_; _pigmies_.
Sah-sah-je’-wun, _rapids_.
Sah’wa, _the perch_.
Segwun’, _Spring_.
Sha’da, _the pelican_.
Shahbo’min, _the gooseberry_.
Shah-shah, _long ago_.
Shaugoda’ya, _a coward_.
Shawgashee’, _the craw-fish_.
Shawonda’see, _the South-Wind_.
Shaw-shaw, _the swallow_.
Shesh’ebwug, _ducks_; _pieces in the Game of the Bowl_.
Shin’gebis, _the diver, or greebe_.
Showain’neme’shin, _pity me_.
Shuh’shuh’gah, _the blue heron_.
Soan-ge-ta’ha, _strong-hearted_.
Subbeka’she, _the spider_.
Sugge’ma, _the mosquito_.
To’tem, _family coat of arms_.
Ugh, _yes_.
Ugudwash’, _the sun-fish_.
Unktahee’, _the God of Water_.
Wabas’so, _the rabbit_; _the North_.
Wabe’no, _a magician, a juggler_.
Wabe’no-wusk, _yarrow_.
Wa’bun, _the East-Wind_.
Wa’bun An’nung, _the Star of the East, the Morning Star_.
Wahono’min, _a cry of lamentation_.
Wah-way-tay’see, _the fire-fly_.
Wam’pum, _beads of shell_.
Waubewy’on, _a white skin wrapper_.
Wa’wa, _the wild-goose_.
Waw’beek, _a rock_.
Waw-be-wa’wa, _the white goose_.
Wawonais’sa, _the whippoorwill_.
Way-muk-kwa’na, _the caterpillar_.
Weno’nah, _the eldest daughter_. _Hiawatha’s mother_;
_daughter of Nokomis_.
Yenadiz’ze, _an idler and gambler_; _an Indian dandy_.

Page 255. _In the Vale of Tawasentha._

This valley, now called Norman’s Kill, is in Albany County, New York.

Page 256. _On the mountains of the Prairie._

Mr. Catlin, in his _Letters and Notes on the Manners, Customs, and Condition of the North American Indians_, vol. ii. p. 160, gives an interesting account of the _Côteau des Prairies_, and the Red Pipe-stone Quarry. He says:—

“Here (according to their traditions) happened the mysterious birth of the red pipe, which has blown its fumes of peace and war to the remotest corners of the continent; which has visited every warrior, and passed through its reddened stem the irrevocable oath of war and desolation. And here, also, the peace-breathing calamet was born, and fringed with the eagle’s quills, which has shed its thrilling fumes over the land, and soothed the fury of the relentless savage.

“The Great Spirit at an ancient period here called the Indian Nations together, and, standing on the precipice of the red pipe-stone rock, broke from its wall a piece, and made a huge pipe by turning it in his hand, which he smoked over them, and to the North, the South, the East, and the West, and told them that this stone was red—that it was their flesh—that they must use it for their pipes of peace—that it belonged to them all, and that the war-club and scalping-knife must not be raised on its ground. At the last whiff of his pipe his head went into a great cloud, and the whole surface of the rock for several miles was melted and glazed; two great ovens were opened beneath, and two women (guardian spirits of the place) entered them in a blaze of fire; and they are heard there yet (Tso-mec-cos-tee and Tso-me-cos-te-won-dee), answering to the invocations of the high-priests or medicine men, who consult them when they are visitors to this sacred place.”

Page 258. _Hark you, Bear! you are a coward._

This anecdote is from Heckewelder. In his account of the _Indian Nations_, he describes an Indian hunter as addressing a bear in nearly these words. “I was present,” he says, “at the delivery of this curious invective; when the hunter had despatched the bear, I asked him how he thought that poor animal could understand what he said to it! ‘Oh,’ said he in answer, ‘the bear understood me very well; did you not observe how ashamed he looked while I was upbraiding him?’”—_Transactions of the American Philosophical Society_, vol. i. p. 240.

Page 262. _Hush! the Naked Bear will get thee!_

Heckewelder, in a letter published in the _Transactions of the American Philosophical Society_, vol. iv. p. 260, speaks of this tradition as prevalent among the Mohicans and Delawares.

“Their reports,” he says, “run thus: that among all animals that had been formerly in this country, this was the most ferocious; that it was much larger than the largest of the common bears, and remarkably long-bodied; all over (except a spot of hair on its back of a white colour) naked....