Part 6
No one is more sensible than myself (my dear Burfle), I say no one is more sensible than I am, of the gravity of this schism--for schism it threatens to be. And no one appreciates more than I do how much there is to be said on both sides. The one party will urge (with perfect justice), that the buttoned boot is a development. They maintain (and there is much to be said in their favour), that the common practice of wearing buttoned boots, their ornate appearance, and the indication of well-being which they afford, fit them most especially for the Service of the Temple. They are seen upon the feet of Parisians, of Romans, of Viennese; they are associated with our modern occasions of Full Dress, and when we wear them we feel that we are one with all that is of ours in Christendom. In a word, they are Catholic, in the best and truest sense of the word.
Now, my dear Burfle, consider the other side of the argument. The laced boot, modern though it be in form and black and solid, is yet most undoubtedly the Primitive Boot in its essential. That the early Christians wore sandals is now beyond the reach of doubt or the power of the wicked. There is indeed the famous forgery of Gelasius, which may have imposed upon the superstition of the dark ages,[75] there is the doubtful evidence also of the mosaic at Ravenna. But the only solid ground ever brought forward was the passage in the Pseudo-Johannes, which no modern scholar will admit to refer to buttons. ξύγον means among other things a lace, an absolute lace, and I defy our enemies (who are many and unscrupulous), to deny. The Sandal has been finally given its place as a Primitive Christian ornament; and we can crush the machinations of foreign missions, I think, with the plain sentence of that great scholar, Dr. Junker, “The sandal,” he says, “is the parent of the laced boot.”
So far then, so good. You see (my dear Burfle), how honestly the two sides may differ, and how, with such a backing upon either side, the battle might rage indefinitely, to the final extinction, perhaps, of our beloved country and its most cherished institutions.
Is there no way by which such a catastrophe may be avoided?
Why most certainly _yes_. There is a road on which both may travel, a place in which all may meet. I mean the boot (preferably the cloth boot) with elastic sides. Already it is worn by many of our clergy.[76] It offends neither party, it satisfies, or should satisfy, both; and for my part, I see in it one of those compromises upon which our greatness is founded. Let us then determine to be in this matter neither _sheep_ nor _goats_. It is better, far better, to admit some sheepishness into our goatishness, or (if our extremists _will_ have it so), some goatishness into our sheepishness--it is better, I say, to enter one fold and be at peace together, than to imperil our most cherished and beloved tenets in a mere wrangle upon non-essentials. For, after all what is essential to us? Not boots, I think, but righteousness. Righteousness may express itself in boots, it is just and good that it should do so, but to see righteousness in the boot itself is to fall into the gross materialism of the middle ages, and to forget our birthright and the mess of pottage.
Yours (my dear Burfle) in all charity,
JOSIAH LAMBKIN.
XV.
Lambkin’s Letter to a French Friend
Lambkin’s concern for the Continent was deep and lasting. He knew the Western part of this Division of the Globe from a constant habit of travel which would take him by the Calais-Bâle, passing through the St. Gothard by night, and so into the storied plains of Italy.[77] It was at Milan that he wrote his _Shorter Anglo-Saxon Grammar_, and in Assisi that he corrected the proofs of his article on the value of oats as human food. Everyone will remember the abominable outrage at Naples, where he was stabbed by a coachman in revenge for his noble and disinterested protection of a poor cab-horse; in a word, Italy is full of his vacations, and no name is more familiar to the members of the Club at the Villa Marinoni.
It may seem strange that under such circumstances our unhappy neighbours across the Channel should so especially have taken up his public action. He was no deep student of the French tongue, and he had but a trifling acquaintance with the habits of the common people of that country; but he has said himself with great fervour, in his “Thoughts on Political Obligations,” that no man could be a good citizen of England who did not understand her international position. “What” (he would frequently exclaim) “what can they know of England, who only England know?”[78] He did not pretend to a familiarity with the minute details of foreign policy, nor was he such a pedant as to be offended at the good-humoured chaff directed against his accent in the pronunciation of foreign names. Nevertheless he thought it--and rightly thought it--part of his duty to bring into any discussion of the affairs of the Republic those chance phrases which lend colour and body to a conversation. He found this duty as it lay in his path and accomplished it, without bombast, but with full determination, and with a vast firmness of purpose. Thus he would often let drop such expressions as “état majeur,” “la cléricalisme c’est l’ennemi,” “l’état c’est moi,”[79] and such was his painful and exact research that he first in the University arrived at the meaning of the word “bordereau,” which, until his discovery, all had imagined to be a secret material of peculiar complexity.
Mr. Lambkin had but one close friend in France, a man who had from cosmopolitan experience acquired a breadth and humour which the Frenchman so conspicuously lacks; he united, therefore, the charm of the French character to that general experience which Lambkin invariably demanded of his friends, and the fact that he belonged to a small political minority and had so long associated with foreigners had winnowed from that fine soul the grossness and one-sidedness, the mingled vanity and ferocity, which seems so fatal a part of the Gallic temper. In some ways this friend reminded one of the great Huguenots whom France to her eternal loss banished by the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, and of whom a bare twenty thousand are now to be found in the town of Nîmes. In other ways this gifted mind recalled--and this would be in his moments of just indignation--the manner and appearance of a Major Prophet.
Jules de la Vaguère dè Bissac was the first of his family to bear that ancient name, but not the least worthy. Born on a Transatlantic in the port of Hamburg, his first experience of life had been given him in the busy competition of New York. It was there that he acquired the rapid glance, the grasp, the hard business head which carried him from Buenos Ayres to Amsterdam, and finally to a fortune. His wealth he spent in the entertainment of his numerous friends, in the furtherance of just aims in politics (to which alas! the rich in France do not subscribe as they should), to the publication of sound views in the press, and occasionally (for old habit is second nature[80]), in the promotion of some industrial concern destined to benefit his country and the world.[81] With transactions, however sound and honest, that savoured of mere speculation De Bissac would have nothing to do, and when his uncle and brother fled the country in 1887, he helped, indeed, with his purse but he was never heard to excuse or even to mention the poor, fallen men.
His hotel in the Rue des Fortifications (a modest but coquettish little gem, whose doors were bronze copies of the famous gates of the Baptistery at Florence), had often received Mr. Lambkin and a happy circle of friends. Judge then of the horror and indignation with which Oxford heard that two of its beautiful windows had been intentionally broken on the night of June 15th, 1896. The famous figure of “Mercy,” taken from the stained glass at Rheims, was destroyed and one of the stones had fallen on the floor within an inch of a priceless Sèvres vase that had once belonged to Law and had been bought from M. Panama. It was on the occasion of this abominable outrage that Mr. Lambkin sent the following letter, which, as it was published in the _Horreur_, I make no scruple of reprinting. But, for the sake of the historical interest it possesses, I give it in its original form:--
“CHER AMI ET MONSIEUR,
Je n’ai pas de doute que vous aurez souvenu votre visite à Oxford, car je suis bien sur que je souviens ma visite à Paris, quand je fus recu avec tant de bienveillance par vous et votre aimable famille.
Vous aurez donc immediatement après l’accident pensé à nous car vous aurez su que nous étions, moi et Bilkin, vos amis sincerès surtout dans la politique. Nous avons expecté quelque chose pareille et nous comprenons bien pourquoi c’est le mauvais Durand qui a jété les pierres. Vous avez été trop bon pour cet homme là. Souvenez-vous en future que c’est exactement ceux à qui nous pretons de l’argent et devraient être dévoués à nous, qui deviennent des ennemis. Voilà ce qui empêche si souvent de faire du bien excepté à ceux qui nous seront fideles et doux.
(_All this, being of a private nature, was not printed in M. de Bissac’s paper. The public portion follows._)
Il est bien evident d’où viennent des abominables et choquants choses pareilles. C’est que la France se meurent. Un pays où il n’y a personne[82] qui peut empecher des fanatiques de briser les verres est un pays en décadence, voilà ce que l’Irlande aurait été si nous étions pas là pour l’empecher. On briserait des verres très surement et beaucoup. J’espère que je ne blesse pas votre cœur de Français en disant tout celà, mais il est bien mieux de connaître ce que l’on a, même si c’est mortel comme en France.
Vous l’avez bien dit c’est les militarisme et cléricalisme qui font ces outrages. Examinez bien l’homme qui a fait ça et vous verrez qu’il a été baptisé et très probablement il a fait son service militaire. Oh! Mon cher ami que Dieu[83] vous a merveilleusement préservé de l’influence du Sabe et du Goupillon! Vous n’avez pas fait votre service et si vous êtes sage ne faites le jamais car il corrompt le caractère. Je nous ne l’avons pas.
J’ai lu avec grand plaisir votre article “Le Prêtre au Bagne,” oui! c’est au Bagne que’l on devrait envoyer les Prêtres seulement dans un pays ou tant de personne sont Catholiques, je crains que les jurys sentimentales de votre pays aquitterait honteusement ces hommes néfastes.
J’espère que je ne blesse pas votre Cœur de Catholique en disant cela.[84] Nos Catholiques ici ne sont pas si mauvais que nos Catholiques là-bas. Beaucoup des notres sont de très bonnes familles, mais en Irlande l’ignorance et terrible, et on veut le faire plus grand avec une Université!
En éspérant que la France redeviendra son vrai même[85] ce que je crains être impossible, je reste, mon cher ami (et Monsieur) votre ami sincère, agriez mes vœux pressés, tout-à-toi.
JOSUE LAMBKIN.
XVI.
Interview with Mr. Lambkin.
A representative of _The J. C. R._ had, but a short while before his death, the privilege of an interview with Mr. Lambkin on those numerous questions of the day which the enterprise of the Press puts before its readers. The meeting has a most pathetic interest! Here was the old man full and portly, much alive to current questions, and to the last a true representative of his class. Within a week the fatal Gaudy had passed and he was no more! Though the words here given are reported by another, they bear the full, fresh impress of his personality and I treasure them as the last authentic expression of that great mind.
“Ringing the bell” (writes our representative) “at a neat villa in the Banbury Road, the door was answered by a trim serving-maid in a chintz gown and with a white cap on her head. The whole aspect of Mr. Lambkin’s household without and within breathes repose and decent merriment. I was ushered into a well-ordered study, and noticed upon the walls a few handsome prints, chosen in perfect taste and solidly mounted in fine frames, ‘The meeting of Wellington and Blucher at Waterloo,’ ‘John Knox preaching before Mary Queen of Scots,’ ‘The trial of Lord William Russell,’ and two charming pictures of a child and a dog: ‘Can ’oo talk?’ and ‘Me too!’ completed the little gallery. I noticed also a fine photograph of the Marquis of Llanidloes, whose legal attainments and philological studies had formed a close bond between him and Mr. Lambkin. A faded daguerreotype of Mr. Lambkin’s mother and a pencil sketch of his father’s country seat possessed a pathetic interest.
“Mr. Lambkin came cheerily into the room, and I plunged at once ‘in medias res.’
“‘Pray Mr. Lambkin what do you think of the present position of parties?’”
“‘Why, if you ask me,’ he replied, with an intelligent look, ‘I think the great party system needs an opposition to maintain it in order, and I regret the absence of any man of weight or talent--I had almost said of common decency--on the Liberal side. The late Lord Llanidloes--who was the old type of Liberal--such a noble heart!--said to me in this very room, ‘Mark my words, Lambkin’ (said he) ‘_the Opposition is doomed_.’ This was in Mr. Gladstone’s 1885 Parliament; it has always seemed to me a wonderful prophecy. But Llanidloes was a wonderful man, and the place of second Under-Secretary for Agriculture was all too little a reward for such services as his to the State. ‘Do you know those lines,’ here Mr. Lambkin grew visibly affected, ‘Then all were for the party and none were for the State, the rich man paid the poor man, and the weak man loved the great’? ‘I fear those times will never come again.’
“A profound silence followed. ‘However,’ continued he with quiet emphasis, ‘Home Rule is dead, and there is no immediate danger of any tampering with the judicial system of Great Britain after the fashion that obtains in France.’
“‘Yes,’ he continued, with the smile that makes him so familiar, ‘these are my books: trifles,--but my own. Here’ (taking down a volume), ‘is _What would Cromwell have done?_--a proposal for reforming Oxford. Then here, in a binding with purple flowers, is my _Time and Purpose_,--a devotional book which has sold largely. The rest of the shelf is what I call my ‘casual’ work. It was mainly done for that great modern publisher,--Matthew Straight, who knows so well how to combine the old Spirit with Modern exigencies. You know his beautiful sign of the Boiling Pot in Plummer’s Court? It was painted for him by one of his young artists. You have doubtless seen his name in the lists of guests at country houses; I often meet him when I go to visit my friends, and we plan a book together.
“‘Thus my _Boys of Great Britain_--an historical work, was conceived over the excellent port of Baron Gusmann at Westburton Abbey. Then there is the expansion of this book, _English Boyhood_, in three volumes, of which only two have appeared--_Anglo-Saxon Boyhood_ and _Mediæval Boyhood in England_. It is very laborious.
“‘No,’ he resumed, with nervous rapidity, ‘I have not confined myself to these. There is “_What is Will?_” “_Mehitopel the Jewess of Prague_” (a social novel); “_The Upper House of Convocation before History_;” “_Elements of the Leibnitzian Monodology for Schools_” (which is the third volume in the High School Series); “_Physiology of the Elephant_” and its little abbreviated form for the use of children, “_How Jumbo is made Inside_,” dedicated, by the way, to that dear little fairy, Lady Constantia de la Pole: such a charming child, and destined, I am sure, to be a good and beautiful woman. She is three years old, and shooting up like a graceful young lily.’
“‘I fear I am detaining you,’ I said, as the good man, whose eyes had filled with tears during the last remark (he is a great lover of children) pulled out a gold watch and consulted its tell-tale dial. ‘Not at all!,’ he replied with finished courtesy, ‘but I always make a point of going in to High Tea and seeing my wife and family well under weigh before I go off to Hall. Surely that must be the gong, and there (as the pleasant sound of children’s high voices filled the house) come what I call my young barbarians.’
“He accompanied me to the door with true old-world politeness and shook me beautifully by the hand. ‘Good-bye,’ he said, ‘Good-bye and God-speed. You may make what use you like of this, that I believe the task of the journalist to be among the noblest in our broad land. The Press has a great mission, a great mission.’
“With these words still ringing in my ears I gathered up my skirts to cross the muddy roadway and stepped into the tram.”
Women’s Printing Society, Ltd., 66, Whitcomb St. W.C.
FOOTNOTES.
[1]
But do not think I shall explain To any great extent. Believe me, I partly write to give you pain, And if you do not like me, leave me.
[2]
And least of all can you complain, Reviewers, whose unholy trade is, To puff with all your might and main Biographies of single ladies.
[3] Never mind.
[4]
The plan forgot (I know not how, Perhaps the Refectory filled it), To put a chapel in: and now We’re mortgaging the rest to build it.
[5] There can be no doubt that the work is a true example of the early Semitic Comedy. It was probably sung in Parts at the Spring-feast, and would be acted by shepherds wearing masks and throwing goatskins at one another, as they appear on the Bas-relief at Ik-shmûl. See the article in _Righteousness_, by a gentleman whom the Bible Society sent out to Assyria at their own expense; and the note to Appendix A of Benson’s _Og: King of Bashan_.
[6] The house is now occupied by Mr. Heavy, the well-known financier.
[7] The old school house has been pulled down to make room for a set of villas called “Whortlebury Gardens.” I believe No. 35 to be the exact spot, but was unable to determine it accurately on account of the uncourteous action of the present proprietor.
[8] I am speaking of 1861.
[9] Mr. Lambkin has assured me that his lordship had maintained these relations to the day of his death.
[10] To be pronounced as a monosyllable in the American fashion.
[11] Mr. Punt, Mr. Howl, and Mr. Grewcock--(now, alas! deceased).
[12] A neat rendering of “Sublimi feriam sidera vertice.”
[13] _To the Examiners._--These facts (of which I guarantee the accuracy) were given me by a Director.
[14] A reminiscence of Milton: “Fas est et ab hoste doceri.”
[15] Lambkin told me he regretted this line, which was for the sake of Rhyme. He would willingly have replaced it, but to his last day could construct no substitute.
[16] The anecdote will be found in my _Fifty Years of Chance Acquaintances_. (Isaacs & Co., 44s. nett.)
[17] Lambkin resolutely refused to define Happiness when pressed to do so by a pupil in June, 1881: in fact, his hatred of definitions was so well-known as to earn him the good-humoured nick-name of “the Sloucher” among the wilder young scholars.
[18] τὸ μεσόν
[19] This was the first historical example of Lambkin’s acquaintance with Hebrew--a knowledge which he later turned to such great account in his attack on the pseudo-Johannes.
[20] It is the passage that follows which made so startling an impression on the examiners. At that time young Lambkin was almost alone in holding the views which have since, through the Fellows of Colleges who may be newspaper men or colonial governors, influenced the whole world.
[21] Jocular.
[22] The MS. is here almost illegible
[23] The very word “dormant” comes from the Latin for “sleeping.”
[24] I knew Professor M‘O. in the sixties. He was a charming and cultured Scotchman, with a thorough mastery of the English tongue.
[25] Dr. von Lieber-Augustin. I knew him well. He was a charming and cultured German.
[26] How different from the cynical ribaldry of Voltaire.
[27] Mr. Buffin. I know him well. His uncle is Lord Glenaltamont, one of the most charming and cultured of our new peers.
[28] See especially “Hypnotism,” being the researches of the Research Society (xiv. vols., London, 1893), and “Superstitions of the Past, especially the belief in the Influence of Sleep upon Spells,” by Dr. Beradini. Translated by Mrs. Blue. (London: Tooby & Co., 1895.)
[29] Bk. I. or Bk. IV.
[30] “Amo dormire. Sed nunquam dormio post nonas horas nam episcopus sum et volo dare bonum exemplum fidelibus.” App. Sid. Epistol., Bk. III., Epist. 26. (Libermach’s edition. Berlin, 1875.) It has the true ring of the fifth century.
[31] So Herrick, in his famous epigram on Buggins. A learned prelate of my acquaintance would frequently quote this.
[32] The same lines occur in several other poets. Notably _Tupper_ and _Montgomery_.
[33] See “Private Memoirs of the Court of Geo. III. and the Regent,” by Mrs. Fitz-H----t.
[34] See further, _The Morning Star of England_, in “Stirrers of the Nations Series,” by the Rev. H. Turmsey, M.A. Also _Foes and Friends of John of Gaunt_, by Miss Matchkin.
[35] “Latin Proses,” 3_s._ 6_d._ net. Jason and Co., Piccadilly.
[36] Now doing his duty to the Empire nobly as a cattle-man in Minnesota.
[37] Everyone will remember the striking article on this author in _The Christian Home_ for July, 1886. It was from Lambkin’s pen.
[38] Lambkin was, when he wrote this letter, fully twenty-six years of age.
[39] Only a playful term of course.
[40] A considerable discussion has arisen as to the meaning of this.
[41] A jocular allusion.
[42] “Sicut ut homo qui”--my readers will fill in the rest.
[43] The note of exclamation is my own.
[44] Author of _Prussian Morals_.
[45] These are almost the exact words that appeared in the subsequent and over-rated book of Théophile Gauthier: “Rien ne mène à rien cependant tout arrive.”
[46] It was by my suggestion (_quorum pars parva fui_) that was added the motto “They that go down to the sea in ships, they see the wonders of the Lord.”
[47] _Livorno_ in Italian.
[48] Or “have given rise.” Myself and my colleagues attempted (or had attempted) to determine this point. But there can be little doubt that the version we arrived at is right both in grammar and in fact. The MS. is confused.
[49] Though posted in Gravesend this letter appears to have been written between London and the Estuary. Some say in Dead Man’s Reach.
[50] This passage was set for the Latin Prose in the Burford Scholarship of 1875. It was won by Mr. Hurt, now Chaplain of the Wainmakers’ Guild.
[51] Normans.
[52] Hastings.
[53] These letters were never printed till now.
[54] The late Hon. John Tupton, the amiable colonial who purchased Marlborough House and made so great a stir in London some years ago.
[55] Mrs. Tupton, senior, a woman whose heroic struggles in the face of extreme poverty were a continual commentary on the awful results of our so-called perfected Penal System.
[56] There is great doubt upon the exactitude of this. In his lifetime Tupton often spoke of “the poor tenement house in New York where I was born,” and in a letter he alludes to “my birth at sea in the steerage of a Liner.”
[57] This was perhaps the origin of a phrase which may be found scattered with profusion throughout Lambkin’s works.
[58] Mr. Lambkin did not give the derivation of this word.
[59] “Alii igni infamiae vitam alii fugâ dederunt.”--_Tacitus, In Omnes Caesares_, I. viii. 7.
[60] The italicised words were omitted in the article.
[61] The full title of the translation is “The Roman Sandal: Its growth, development and decay. Its influence on society and its position in the liturgy of the Western Church.”
[62] Nephew of Mr. Child, the former editor; grandson of Mr. Pilgrim, the founder; and father of the present editor of _Culture_.