Chapter 11

"These will serve our purpose," said Odin. But even after he had spoken he hesitated long, for he knew that it was a solemn thing which they were about to do-this making of human beings with souls and with the power to suffer. At last he breathed upon the logs, and behold! they lived and moved, and assumed a form like that of the gods themselves. The other two gods bestowed upon them intelligence and beauty; and then, with blessings upon the newly created pair, the three gods took their way back to Asgard.

From this first man and woman sprang all the human race, which dwelt upon the earth under the constant care of the gods. Sometimes, at sunset, men and women standing in the fields would fancy they caught gleams from the golden palaces of the gods in the heavens; and often, when the rain had washed the air, they saw clearly the gorgeous bridge over which the gods passed from their city of Asgard to the earth. For this bridge was nothing else than the rainbow.

AMERICAN INDIAN MYTHS

The various tribes and families of American Indians held different views as to the origin of the world. Some views differed but slightly, while in other instances absolutely dissimilar stories were told. One of the Algonkin tribes told how the queen of heaven, Atahensic, had a grievous quarrel with her lord, Atahocan. Furious, the king of the heavens seized his wife and threw her over the walls of the sky. Down, down, she fell toward the vast abyss of waters which filled all space. But as she was about to sink into the water, suddenly a tortoise raised its back above the surface of the waters, and thus afforded her a resting place. The tortoise grew to an immense size, and finally became the dwelling place of all human beings. The Indians believed that the attempts of the tortoise, wearied of one position, to settle itself more comfortably, caused the earthquakes.

A tradition of the Ottawa Indians is that the earth was found in the claws and jaws of a muskrat. It grew and grew upon the surface of the water, and the Great Spirit, who sat above watching its growth, sent out a wolf and told him to run around the earth and then return to him, that he might see how large the new island had become. Within a short time the wolf was back, so the Great Spirit knew that the earth had not yet become very large. Later he sent out the same messenger again, and this time the wolf was gone for two years. A third time he sent the wolf forth, and as he returned no more, the Great Spirit knew that the earth had become a huge place, fit to live upon.

In the legends of the Athapasca, as in those we have just read, we hear of the great world of water. A mighty bird, "whose eyes were fire, whose glances were lightning and the clapping of whose wings was thunder," suddenly flew down and moved along the surface of the water. Instantly the earth rose and remained above the surface of the water, and this same all-powerful bird then called into being the different animals.

The Quiché have a similar legend, but it is very quaintly phrased: "This is the first word and the first speech. There were neither men nor brutes; neither birds, fish, nor crabs, stick nor stone, valley nor mountain, stubble nor forest, nothing but the sky. The face of the land was hidden. There was naught but the silent sea and the sky. There was nothing joined, nor any sound, nor thing that stirred; neither any to do evil, nor to rumble in the heavens, nor a walker on foot; only the silent waters, only the pacified ocean, only it in its calm. Nothing was but stillness, and rest, and darkness, and the night." A mighty wind passed over the surface of this water, and at the sound of it the solid land arose.

The Indian legends as to the creation of man are as varied as those of the creation of the world. Some relate that human beings simply sprang from trees or from stones, but most of them agree in regarding the Great Spirit, uncreated and eternal, as the creator of man.

The Ojibway legend tells of two cranes, a male and a female, created by the Great Spirit in the upper world and sent through an opening in the sky to seek a home for themselves on the earth. They were told that they might choose any spot as their home, and that upon making choice they would immediately be changed into a man and a woman. They visited one place after another, and finally made choice of a land about Lake Superior, because here they were certain that there would always be plenty of water and plenty of fish for food. As soon as they alighted and folded their wings, the Great Spirit turned them into human beings.

The Winnebago Indians believed that after the Great Spirit had created the earth and the trees and the grass, he took a piece out of his heart and thereof made a man. Later he made a woman, but a bit of ordinary flesh served to make her. Thus, the Winnebagoes said, man was wise and great, but woman was much wanting in sense.

THE DEFINITION OF A GENTLEMAN [Footnote: From _The Idea of a University._]

CARDINAL NEWMAN

Hence it is that it is almost a definition of a gentleman to say he is one who never inflicts pain. This description is both refined and, as far as it goes, accurate. He is mainly occupied in merely removing the obstacles which hinder the free and unembarrassed action of those about him; and he concurs with their movements rather than takes the initiative himself. His benefits may be considered as parallel to what are called comforts or conveniences in arrangements of a personal nature; like an easy chair or a good fire, which do their part in dispelling cold and fatigue, though nature provides both means of rest and animal heat without them. The true gentleman in like manner carefully avoids whatever may cause a jar or a jolt in the minds of those with whom he is cast--all clashing of opinion, or collision of feeling, all restraint, or suspicion, or gloom, or resentment; his great concern being to make every one at his ease and at home. He has his eyes on all his company; he is tender towards the bashful, gentle towards the distant, and merciful towards the absurd; he can recollect to whom he is speaking; he guards against unseasonable allusions, or topics which may irritate; he is seldom prominent in conversation, and never wearisome. He makes light of favors while he does them, and seems to be receiving when he is conferring. He never speaks of himself except when compelled, never defends himself by a mere retort; he has no ears for slander or gossip, is scrupulous in imputing motives to those who interfere with him, and interprets everything for the best. He is never mean or little in his disputes, never takes unfair advantage, never mistakes personalities or sharp sayings for arguments, or insinuates evil which he dare not say out. From a long-sighted prudence, he observes the maxim of the ancient sage, that we should ever conduct ourselves towards our enemy as if he were one day to be our friend. He has too much good sense to be affronted at insults, he is too well employed to remember injuries, and too indolent to bear malice. He is patient, forbearing, and resigned, on philosophical principles; he submits to pain, because it is inevitable, to bereavement, because it is irreparable, and to death, because it is his destiny.

If he engages in controversy of any kind, his disciplined intellect preserves him from the blundering discourtesy of better, perhaps, but less educated minds; who, like blunt weapons, tear and hack instead of cutting clean, who mistake the point in argument, waste their strength on trifles, misconceive their adversary, and leave the question more involved than they find it. He may be right or wrong in his opinion, but he is too clear-headed to be unjust; he is as simple as he is forcible, and as brief as he is decisive. Nowhere shall we find greater candor, consideration, indulgence: he throws himself into the minds of his opponents, he accounts for their mistakes. He knows the weakness of human reason as well as its strength, its province and its limits.

If he be an unbeliever, he will be too profound and large-minded to ridicule religion or to act against it; he is too wise to be a dogmatist or fanatic in his infidelity. He respects piety and devotion; he even supports institutions as venerable, beautiful, or useful, to which he does not assent; he honors the ministers of religion, and it contents him to decline its mysteries without assailing or denouncing them. He is a friend of religious toleration, and that, not only because his philosophy has taught him to look on all forms of faith with an impartial eye, but also from the gentleness and effeminacy of feeling, which is the attendant on civilization.

THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER

_By_ ALEXANDER POPE

Father of all! in every age, In every clime adored, By saint, by savage, and by sage, Jehovah, Jove, or Lord!

Thou Great First Cause, least understood: Who all my sense confined To know but this, that Thou art good, And that myself am blind;

Yet gave me, in this dark estate, And binding nature fast in fate, Left free the human will.

What conscience dictates to be done, Or warns me not to do, This, teach me more than hell to shun, That, more than heaven pursue.

What blessings Thy free bounty gives, Let me not cast away; For God is paid when man receives: T' enjoy is to obey.

Yet not to earth's contracted span Thy goodness let me bound, Or think Thee Lord alone of man, When thousand worlds are round.

If I am right, Thy grace impart, Still in the right to stay; If I am wrong, oh! teach my heart To find that better way.

Save me alike from foolish pride, Or impious discontent, At aught Thy wisdom has denied, Or aught Thy goodness lent.

Teach me to feel another's woe, To hide the fault I see; That mercy I to others show, That mercy show to me.

Mean though I am, not wholly so, Since quickened by Thy breath; Oh, lead me wheresoe'er I go, Through this day's life or death.

This day, be bread and peace my lot: All else beneath the sun, Thou know'st if best bestowed or not, And let Thy will be done.

To Thee, whose temple is all space, Whose altar earth, sea, skies, One chorus let all being raise, All nature's incense rise!

INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP

_By_ ROBERT BROWNING

You know we French stormed Ratisbon: A mile or so away, On a little mound, Napoleon Stood on our storming day; With neck out-thrust, you fancy how, Legs wide, arms locked behind, As if to balance the prone brow Oppressive with its mind.

Just as perhaps he mused, "My plans That soar, to earth may fall, Let once my army-leader Lannes Waver at yonder wall,--" Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew A rider, bound on bound Full-galloping: nor bridle drew Until he reached the mound.

Then off there flung in smiling joy, And held himself erect By just his horse's mane, a boy: You hardly could suspect--- (So tight he kept his lips compressed, Scarce any blood came through)

You looked twice ere you saw his breast Was all but shot in two.

"Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace We've got you Ratisbon! The Marshal's in the market place, And you'll be there anon, To see your flag-bird flap its vans Where I, to heart's desire, Perched him!" The chief's eye flashed; his plans Soared up again like fire.

The chief's eye flashed; but presently Softened itself, as sheathes A film the mother eagle's eye When her bruised eaglet breathes. "You're wounded!" "Nay," the soldier's pride Touched to the quick, he said: "I'm killed, Sire!" And his chief beside, Smiling, the boy fell dead.

I. FACTS TO KNOW

This little poem is very different from the poems of Longfellow, which we read a few pages back. It is very nervous and tense, and as you read it, it seems jerky in movement, not smooth as the waters of the Charles. Then again, sometimes words are omitted that make it a little difficult to understand at first reading. Moreover, Browning uses words in curious ways that Longfellow would not have thought about.

There are many interesting things to learn about this incident, however, and after we have learned them, we appreciate the poem very much better. First we need to know the following facts:

_Ratisbon_, or _Regensburg_, is a city in Bavaria, on the Danube River.

Napoleon Bonaparte, the great Emperor of the French, was much the man the poem shows us.

_Prone brow_ means that Napoleon's brow was inclined forward, that his head was drooping.

_Lannes_ was a famous French marshal, who showed remarkable powers of leadership. Both his legs were shot away at the Battle of Aspern, and he died a few days later at Vienna.

_Out-thrust full-galloping, flag-bird_, are compound words which Browning has formed for his own use.

_Fancy_ in the fifth line means _can imagine_.

_Vans_ in the fourth stanza is an old word no longer in use. It means _wings_.

The eagle has what is really a third eyelid, a thin translucent membrane, which naturalists call the nictitating, or winking, membrane. It may be drawn over the eye independently of the other lids. You may have seen ducks, chickens or other birds drawing this milky film back and forth over their eyes as they looked at you.

_Nor bridle drew_, and _his chief beside_, are phrases in which Browning has used the words out of their natural order. Can you find other similar expressions?

II. THE STORY

1. Incidents:

(a) Napoleon watches the storming of Ratisbon.

(b) He thinks it may be a failure.

(c) He sees a rider galloping from out the smoke of battle.

(d) The rider reaches Napoleon, leaps from his horse and clings to its mane.

(e) The rider announces the fall of Ratisbon.

(f) Napoleon rejoices.

(g) He speaks to the boy of his wound.

(h) The boy answers and falls dead.

2. The whole story might be summed up as follows: _A wounded youth brings to Napoleon news of the fall of Ratisbon, and expires at the emperor's feet._

III. THE CHARACTERS

There are just two persons in this little tragedy, a boy and an emperor. Let us see what they were like; the boy is of greater interest than the emperor.

1. The Boy:

(a) From the way he rode his horse, we know he must have been strong and athletic.

(b) He was gay and joyful, for he smiled as he dismounted from his horse, and he smiled as he fell dead.

(c) That he was strong-willed, we know; for his tightly compressed lips held back the blood, and he concealed his suffering.

(d) He was courageous: he put the flag in the market place, as we are told in the fourth stanza.

(e) He was ambitious, we know; for it satisfied his heart's desire to win Ratisbon.

(f) He was proud, else he would not have noticed that the emperor called him wounded. Had it been a mere wound, he would never have fallen.

2. At different places in the poem, we find that Napoleon was _ambitious_, yet _anxious_ over the outcome of the battle; that he was _thoughtful_ and _resourceful_; that while he _rejoiced_ in his victory, he _sympathized_ with the wounded boy.

IV. THE STAGE

The poem is like a little drama or play in one scene. Place Napoleon in his uniform on a little mound, and see him standing there with his head thrust forward, looking at the storming of a city a mile or so away. Things are indistinct in the background because the smoke of the battle obscures the walls and towers of the city. However, Napoleon is not so far away but that he hears the roar, and sees the denser clouds rise at each new discharge of battery guns. From between the clouds comes the single horse with its youthful rider galloping at full speed, without an instant's pause, until the mound is reached. We see the young man leap from his horse and grasp its mane to keep himself from falling, but though his lips are compressed, we see his eyes smiling brightly as he tells the emperor the great news.

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE

_By_ GHACE E. SELLON

One of the most daring of those who engaged in the sea-fights of the American Revolution was Daniel Hawthorne, commander of a privateer, a man whose courage and enterprise won for him the title of "Bold Daniel." He came of one of the earliest American families, one that had been established in Salem, Massachusetts, in 1637, and had contributed not a little to the fame of that seaport, for his ancestors had been leaders among those whose stern and narrow views of justice had led them to persecute the Quakers and later to put to death innocent people during the awful period of the Salem witchcraft. Yet the same hardihood and fearless uprightness that had won esteem for Daniel Hawthorne had distinguished the family from the very first, and was passed on to the brave commander's descendants. His son Nathaniel, like the long line of notable men who had gone before him, possessed a strict sense of right and wrong, much courage and an especial fondness for the adventurous life on the sea. Though he contributed nothing to the celebrity of his forefathers, his son and namesake, the novelist Nathaniel Hawthorne, born in Salem, on July 4, 1804, gained for the old New England family a glory that will last.

It was in the home built by his father's father that Nathaniel was born and that he spent the first four years of his life. Yet he was never privileged to hear from the old captain's lips of the exciting sea- skirmishes in which the "Fair America," under the command of "Bold Daniel," had encountered and held her own against British vessels, for his grandfather had died many years before. Nor did the young boy ever know the pleasure of companionship with his father, who died in South America in 1808. In a great measure, too, he was deprived of association with his mother from the time when, following her husband's death, she removed with her children to her father's home, in another part of Salem. So deeply did she feel her loss that she shut herself away from the world during the remainder of her lifetime, and kept such strict privacy that she did not even take her meals with her family. The children were naturally quiet and reserved, and with the example of their mother's seclusion always before them, they took little part in the life outside of their home. Nathaniel did not like school, and, being under the care of relatives who allowed him much freedom, he missed a considerable part of the early school training that most boys receive. Yet his time was not wasted, for there were good books in his home, and these he read of his own free will.

When he was about eight or nine years of age, his mother took her children to live for a time upon property owned by her family on the shore of Lake Sebago, in Maine. Then began a period of great delight for the young boy and his sisters. As the land was mostly covered with woods and the settlements were far apart, there were endless opportunities for fishing and hunting and roaming about the woods or spending long, uninterrupted hours with favorite authors. In the winter Nathaniel passed much time in skating on Lake Sebago, feeling wholly free and at home in the midst of the wild life of nature.

So far as the boy's wishes were concerned, these days in Maine might have continued indefinitely; but his mother, feeling that he needed the discipline of regular study, sent him back to Salem to be prepared by a private teacher for entrance into Bowdoin College. The result of this training was that when he was about eighteen he became a member of the class at Bowdoin to which Longfellow and Horatio Bridge belonged, and thus began a career at college in which he proved himself a somewhat wayward student. The grind and drudgery of courses uninteresting to him he shunned, yet he would not let himself fail in any work that he undertook. Subjects that he liked he mastered readily.

Though he found no pleasure in breaking college rules, yet he made no pretensions to being a model student. He played cards in his room when he might have been studying, and would go off on a fishing trip when the fancy took him, without much regard for unfinished lessons. He looked forward with undisguised pleasure to his vacations spent at home, and on one occasion was so overcome by his desire to bring his studies to an end and leave Brunswick that, a short time before the close of the term, he wrote to his sister Louisa demanding that she invent an excuse for his return home. After stating five reasons for thus quitting Bowdoin, he continued:

"If you are at a loss for an excuse, say that mother is out of health; or that Uncle R. is going a journey on account of his health, and wishes me to attend him; or that Elizabeth is on a visit at some distant place, and wishes me to come and bring her home; or that George Archer has just arrived from sea, and is to sail again immediately, and wishes to see me before he goes; or that some of my relations are to die or be married, and my presence is necessary on the occasion. And lastly, if none of these excuses will suit you, and you can think of no other, write and order me to come home without any. If you do not, I shall certainly forge a letter, for I will be at home within a week. Write the very day you receive this. If Elizabeth were at home, she would be at no loss for a good excuse. If you will do what I tell you, I shall be Your affectionate brother, NATH. HAWTHORNE.

"My want of decent clothes will prevent my calling at Mrs. Sutton's. Write immediately, write immediately, write immediately.

"Haste, haste, post-haste, ride and run, until these shall be delivered. You must and shall and will do as I desire. If you can think of a true excuse, send it; if not, any other will answer the same purpose. If I do not get a letter by Monday, or Tuesday at farthest, I will leave Brunswick without liberty."

It is an interesting fact that this impetuous young student was regarded as the finest-looking man at Bowdoin. He was not much less than six feet tall, and was strong, supple and well proportioned. His dark hair waved back from a handsomely formed face; and his deep blue eyes, under their heavy brows, impressed one with their remarkable brightness and expressiveness.

Though it may seem surprising, it is true that Nathaniel Hawthorne was not at all conscious in his early youth of the great possibilities that lay in him to become a writer, and that not until he had advanced in his college course did he form the purpose of making literature a profession. As early as sixteen years of age he had written verses that had been published; yet he was far from believing that he had poetic power. That he did not at this time take very seriously his ability as a writer, may be judged from this passage in a letter to his mother written in March, 1821:

"I am quite reconciled to going to college, since I am to spend the vacations with you. Yet four years of the best part of my life is a great deal to throw away. I have not yet concluded what profession I shall have.

"The being a minister is of course out of the question. I should not think that even you could desire me to choose so dull a way of life. Oh, no, mother, I was not born to vegetate forever in one place, and to live and die as calm and tranquil as--a puddle of water.

"As to lawyers, there are so many of them already that one half of them (upon a moderate calculation) are in a state of actual starvation.

"A physician, then, seems to be 'Hobson's choice;' but yet I should not like to live by the diseases and infirmities of my fellow-creatures. And it would weigh very heavily on my conscience, in the course of my practice, if I should chance to send any unlucky patient 'ad inferum,' which being interpreted is, 'to the realms below.' Oh that I was rich enough to live without a profession!