Part 33

"O morall Gower, this booke I direct To thee and to the philosophicall Strode, To vouchsafe there need is to correct Of your benignities and zeales good."

Then Skelton the laureate, in his long song upon the death of Philip Sparrow (which recalls the exquisite gem of Catullus in a like threnody), takes occasion to say:--

"Gower's englysshe is olde, And of no value is tolde; His matter is worth gold, And worthy to be enrold."

And again:--

Gower that first garnished our English rude."

Old Puttenham also bears this testimony:--"But of them all [the English poets] particularly this is myne opinion, that Chaucer, with Gower, Lidgate, and Harding, for their antiquitie ought to have the first place."

Taine dismisses him with little more than a fillip, and Lowell, while discoursing appreciatively on Chaucer, says:--

"Gower has positively raised tediousness to the precision of science; he has made dullness an heirloom for the students of our literary history. As you slip to and fro on the frozen levels of his verse, which give no foothold to the mind; as your nervous ear awaits the inevitable recurrence of his rhyme, regularly pertinacious as the tick of an eight-day clock, and reminding you of Wordsworth's

'Once more the ass did lengthen out The hard dry seesaw of his horrible bray,'

you learn to dread, almost to respect, the powers of this indefatigable man. He is the undertaker of the fair mediaeval legend, and his style has the hateful gloss, the seemingly unnatural length, of a coffin."

Yet hear Morley:--

"To this day we hear among our living countrymen, as was to be heard in Gower's time and long before, the voice passing from man to man, that in spite of admixture with the thousand defects incident to human character, sustains the keynote of our literature, and speaks from the soul of our history the secret of our national success. It is the voice that expresses the persistent instinct of the English mind to find out what is unjust among us and undo it, to find out duty to be done and do it, as God's bidding.... In his own Old English or Anglo-Saxon way he tries to put his soul into his work. Thus in the 'Vox Clamantis' we have heard him asking that the soul of his book, not its form, be looked to; and speaking the truest English in such sentences as that 'the eye is blind and the ear deaf, that convey nothing down to the heart's depth; and the heart that does not utter what it knows is as a live coal under ashes. If I know little, there may be another whom that little will help.... But to the man who believes in God, no power is unattainable if he but rightly feels his work; he ever has enough, whom God increases.' This is the old spirit of Caedmon and of Bede; in which are laid, while the earth lasts, the strong foundations of our literature. It was the strength of such a temper in him that made Gower strong. 'God knows,' he says again, 'my wish is to be useful; that is the prayer that directs my labor.' And while he thus touches the root of his country's philosophy, the form of his prayer--that what he has written may be what he would wish it to be--is still a thoroughly sound definition of good English writing. His prayer is that there may be no word of untruth, and that 'each word may answer to the thing it speaks of, pleasantly and fitly; that he may flatter in it no one, and seek in it no praise above the praise of God.'"

The part of Gower's writing here brought before the reader is the quaintly told and charming story of Petronella, from 'Liber Primus' of the 'Confessio.' It may be evidence that all the malediction upon the poet above quoted is not deserved.

The 'Confessio Amantis' has been edited and collated with the best manuscripts by Dr. Reinhold Pauli (1857). The 'Vox Clamantis' was printed for the first time in 1850, under the editorship of H. O. Coxe and for the Roxburghe Club. The 'Balades and Other Poems' are also included in the publication of the Roxburghe Club. Other sources of information regarding Gower are 'Illustrations of the Lives and Writings of Gower and Chaucer' by Henry J. Todd (1810); Henry Morley's reviews in 'English Writers'; and various short articles.

PETRONELLA

From the 'Confessio Amantis'

A king whilom was yonge and wise, The which set of his wit great prise. Of depe ymaginations And straunge interpretations, Problemes and demaundes eke His wisedom was to finde and seke; Wherof he wolde in sondry wise Opposen hem that weren wise. But none of hem it mighte bere Upon his word to yive answere;[1] Out taken one, which was a knight: To him was every thing so light, That also sone as he hem herde The kinges wordes he answerde, What thing the king him axe wolde, Whereof anone the trouth he tolde. The king somdele had an envie, And thought he wolde his wittes plie To sete some conclusion, Which shulde be confusion Unto this knight, so that the name And of wisdom the highe fame Toward him selfe he wolde winne. And thus of all his wit withinne This king began to studie and muse What straunge mater he might use The knightes wittes to confounde; And ate last he hath it founde, And for the knight anon he sente, That he shall telle what he mente. Upon three points stood the matere, Of questions as thou shalte here. The firste pointe of all thre Was this: what thing in his degre Of all this world hath nede lest, And yet men helpe it allthermest. The second is: what moste is worth And of costage is lest put forth. The thrid is: which is of most cost, And lest is worth, and goth to lost. The king these thre demaundes axeth. To the knight this law he taxeth: That he shall gone, and comen ayein The thridde weke, and tell him pleine To every point, what it amounteth. And if so be that he miscounteth To make in his answere a faile, There shall none other thinge availe, The king saith, but he shall be dede And lese his goodes and his hede. This knight was sory of this thinge, And wolde excuse him to the kinge; But he ne wolde him nought forbere, And thus the knight of his answere Goth home to take avisement. But after his entendement The more he cast his wit about, The more he stant thereof in doubte. Tho[2] wist he well the kinges herte, That he the deth ne shulde asterte,[3] And suche a sorroe to him hath take That gladship he hath all forsake. He thought first upon his life, And after that upon his wife, Upon his children eke also, Of whiche he had doughteres two. The yongest of hem had of age Fourtene yere, and of visage She was right faire, and of stature Lich to an hevenlich figure, And of maner and goodly speche, Though men wolde all landes seche, They shulden nought have founde her like. She sigh[4] her fader sorroe and sike,[5] And wist nought the cause why. So cam she to him prively, And that was wher he made his mone Within a gardin all him one.[6] Upon her knees she gan down falle With humble herte, and to him calle And saide:--"O good fader dere, Why make ye thus hevy chere,[7] And I wot nothinge how it is? And well ye knowe, fader, this, What adventure that you felle Ye might it saufly to me telle; For I have ofte herd you saide, That ye such truste have on me laide, That to my suster ne to my brother In all this worlde ne to none other Ye durste telle a privete So well, my fader, as to me. Forthy,[8] my fader, I you praie Ne casteth nought that hert[9] awaie, For I am she that wolde kepe Your honour." And with that to wepe Her eye may nought be forbore;[10] She wisheth for to ben unbore,[11] Er[12] that her fader so mistriste To tellen her of that he wiste. And ever among mercy[13] she cride, That he ne shulde his counseil hide From her, that so wolde him good And was so nigh flesshe and blood. So that with weping, ate laste His chere upon his childe he caste, And sorroefully to that she praide[14] He tolde his tale, and thus he saide:-- "The sorroe, doughter, which I make Is nought all only for my sake, But for the bothe and for you alle. For suche a chaunce is me befalle, That I shall er this thridde day Lese all that ever I lese may, My life and all my good therto. Therefore it is I sorroe so." "What is the cause, alas," quod she, "My fader, that ye shulden be Dede and destruied in suche a wise?" And he began the points devise, Which as the king tolde him by mouthe, And said her pleinly, that he couthe Answeren to no point of this. And she, that hereth howe it is, Her counseil yaf[15] and saide tho[16]:-- "My fader, sithen it is so, That ye can se none other weie, But that ye must nedes deie, I wolde pray you of o[17] thinge,-- Let me go with you to the kinge, And ye shall make him understonde, How ye, my wittes for to fonde, Have laid your answere upon me, And telleth him in such degre Upon my worde ye wol abide To life or deth, what so betide. For yet perchaunce I may purchace With some good word the kinges grace, Your life and eke your good to save. For ofte shall a woman have Thing, whiche a man may nought areche." The fader herd his doughters speche, And thought there was no reson in, And sigh his owne life to winne He couthe done himself no cure.[18] So better him thought in aventure To put his life and all his good, Than in the manner as it stood, His life incertein for to lese. And thus thenkend he gan to chese To do the counseil of this maid, And toke the purpose which she said. The day was comen, and forth they gone; Unto the court they come anone, Where as the kinge in his jugement Was set and hath this knight assent. Arraied in her beste wise, This maiden with her wordes wise Her fader ledde by the honde Into the place,[19] where he fonde The king with other which he wolde; And to the king knelend he tolde As he enformed was to-fore, And praith the king, that he therfore His doughters wordes wolde take; And saith, that he woll undertake Upon her wordes for to stonde. Tho was ther great merveile on honde, That he, which was so wise a knight, His life upon so yonge a wight Besette wolde in jeopartie, And many it helden for folie. But at the laste, netheles, The king commaundeth ben in pees, And to this maide he cast his chere,[20] And saide he wolde her tale here, And bad her speke; and she began:-- "My lege lord, so as I can," Quod she, "the pointes which I herde, They shull of reson ben answerde. The first I understonde is this: What thinge of all the worlde it is, Which men most helpe and hath lest nede. My lege lord, this wolde I rede: The erthe it is, which evermo With mannes labour is bego As well in winter as in maie. The mannes honde doth what he may To helpe it forth and make it riche, And forthy men it delve and diche, And even it with strength of plough, Wher it hath of him self inough So that his nede is ate leste. For every man, birde, and beste Of flour and gras and roote and rinde And every thing by way of kinde Shall sterve, and erthe it shall become As it was out of erthe nome,[21] It shall be therthe torne ayein.[22] And thus I may by reson sein That erthe is the most nedeles And most men helpe it netheles; So that, my lord, touchend of this I have answerde how that it is. That other point I understood, Which most is worth, and most is good, And costeth lest a man to kepe: My lorde, if ye woll take kepe,[23] I say it is humilite, Through whiche the high Trinite As for deserte of pure love Unto Marie from above, Of that he knewe her humble entente, His owne Sone adown he sente Above all other, and her he chese For that vertu, which bodeth pees. So that I may by reson calle Humilite most worthe of alle, And lest it costeth to mainteine In all the worlde, as it is seine. For who that hath humblesse on honde, He bringeth no werres into londe, For he desireth for the best To setten every man in reste. Thus with your highe reverence Me thenketh that this evidence As to this point is suffisaunt. And touchend of the remenaunt, Which is the thridde of your axinges, What lest is worth of alle thinges, And costeth most, I telle it pride, Which may nought in the heven abide. For Lucifer with hem that felle Bar pride with him into helle. There was pride of to grete cost Whan he for pride hath heven lost; And after that in Paradise Adam for pride lost his prise In middel-erth. And eke also Pride is the cause of alle wo, That all the world ne may suffice To staunche of pride the reprise. Pride is the heved[24] of all sinne, Which wasteth all and may nought winne; Pride is of every mis[25] the pricke[26]; Pride is the worste of all wicke, And costeth most and lest is worth In place where he hath his forth. Thus have I said that I woll say Of min answere, and to you pray, My lege lorde, of your office, That ye such grace and suche justice Ordeigne for my fader here, That after this, whan men it here, The world therof may speke good." The king, which reson understood, And hath all herde how she hath said, Was inly glad, and so well paid, That all his wrath is over go. And he began to loke tho Upon this maiden in the face, In which he found so mochel grace, That all his prise on her he laide In audience, and thus he saide:-- "My faire maide, well the[27] be Of thin answere, and eke of the Me liketh well, and as thou wilte, Foryive be thy faders gilte. And if thou were of such lignage, That thou to me were of parage, And that thy fader were a pere, As he is now a bachelere, So siker as I have a life, Thou sholdest thanne be my wife. But this I saie netheles, That I woll shape thin encrese; What worldes good that thou wolt crave Are of my yift, and thou shalt have." And she the king with wordes wise, Knelende, thanketh in this wise:-- "My lege lord, god mot you quite.[28] My fader here hath but a lite Of warison,[29] and that he wende Had all be[30] lost, but now amende He may well through you noble grace." With that the king right in his place Anon forth in that freshe hete An erldome, which than of eschete Was late falle into his honde, Unto this knight with rent and londe Hath yove, and with his chartre sesed, And thus was all the noise appesed. This maiden, which sate on her knees To-fore the kinges charitees, Commendeth and saith evermore:-- "My lege lord, right now to-fore Ye saide, and it is of recorde, That if my fader were a lorde And pere unto these other grete, Ye wolden for nought elles lette, That I ne sholde be your wife. And thus wote every worthy life A kinges worde mot nede be holde. Forthy my lord, if that ye wolde So great a charite fulfille, God wote it were well my wille. For he which was a bachelere, My fader, is now made a pere; So whan as ever that I cam, An erles doughter nowe I am." This yonge king, which peised[31] all Her beaute and her wit withall, As he, which was with love hente,[32] Anone therto gaf his assente. He might nought the place asterte, That she nis lady of his herte. So that he toke her to his wife To holde, while that he hath life. And thus the king toward his knight Accordeth him, as it is right. And over this good is to wite[33] In the cronique as it is write, This noble kinge, of whom I tolde, Of Spaine by tho daies olde The kingdom had in governaunce, And as the boke maketh remembraunce, Alphonse was his propre name. The knight also, if I shall name, Danz Petro hight, and as men telle, His doughter wise Petronelle Was cleped, which was full of grace. And that was sene in thilke place, Where she her fader out of tene[34] Hath brought and made her selfe a quene, Of that she hath so well desclosed The points whereof she was opposed.

[1] No one could solve his puzzles.

[2] For.

[3] Escape.

[4] Saw.

[5] Sigh.

[6] Own.

[7] Care.

[8] Therefore.

[9] Heart.

[10] Cannot endure it.

[11] Unborn.

[12] Ere.

[13] In the midst of pity (for him).

[14] In answer to her prayer.

[15] Gave.

[16] Thus.

[17] One.

[18] Saw that he could do nothing to save his own life.

[19] Palace.

[20] Turned his attention.

[21] Taken.

[22] Shall turn thereto again.

[23] Heed.

[24] Head.

[25] Mischief.

[26] Core.

[27] Thee.

[28] May God requite you.

[29] Has had but little reward.

[30] Been.

[31] Poised--weighed.

[32] Seized.

[33] Know.

[34] Destruction.

ULYSSES S. GRANT

(1822-1885)

BY HAMLIN GARLAND

Ulysses Grant was born on the 27th of April, 1822, in a small two-room cabin situated in Point Pleasant, a village in southern Ohio, about forty miles above Cincinnati. His father, Jesse R. Grant, was a powerful, alert, and resolute man, ready of speech and of fair education for the time. His family came from Connecticut, and was of the earliest settlers in New England. Hannah Simpson, his wife, was of strong American stock also. The Simpsons had been residents, for several generations, of southeastern Pennsylvania. The Grants and the Simpsons had been redoubtable warriors in the early wars of the republic. Hannah Simpson was a calm, equable, self-contained young woman, as reticent and forbearing as her husband was disputatious and impetuous.

Their first child was named Hiram Ulysses Grant. Before the child was two years of age, Jesse Grant, who was superintending a tannery in Point Pleasant, removed to Georgetown, Brown County, Ohio, and set up in business for himself. Georgetown was a village in the deep woods, and in and about this village Ulysses Grant grew to be a sturdy, self-reliant boy. He loved horses, and became a remarkable rider and teamster at a very early age. He was not notable as a scholar, but it was soon apparent that he had inherited the self-poise, the reticence, and the modest demeanor of his mother. He took part in the games and sports of the boys, but displayed no military traits whatever. At the age of seventeen he was a fair scholar for his opportunities, and his ambitious father procured for him an appointment to the Military Academy at West Point. He reported at the adjutant's desk in June 1839, where he found his name on the register "Ulysses S. Grant" through a mistake of his Congressman, Thomas L. Hamer. Meanwhile, to escape ridicule on the initials of his name, which spelled "H.U.G." he had transposed his name to Ulysses H. Grant, and at his request the adjutant changed the S to an H; but the name on record in Washington was Ulysses S., and so he remained "U. S. Grant" to the government and U. H. Grant to his friends and relatives.

His record at West Point was a good one in mathematics and fair in most of his studies. He graduated at about the middle of his class, which numbered thirty-nine. He was much beloved and respected as an upright, honorable, and loyal young fellow. At the time of his graduation he was president of the only literary society of the academy; W. S. Hancock was its secretary.

He remained markedly unmilitary throughout his course, and was remembered mainly as a good comrade, a youth of sound judgment, and the finest horseman in the academy. He asked to be assigned to cavalry duty, but was brevetted second lieutenant of the 4th Infantry, and ordered to Jefferson Barracks, near St. Louis. Here he remained till the spring of 1844, when his regiment was ordered to a point on the southwestern frontier, near the present town of Natchitoches, Louisiana. Here he remained till May 1845, when the Mexican War opened, and for the next three years he served with his regiment in every battle except Buena Vista. He was twice promoted for gallant conduct, and demonstrated his great coolness, resource, and bravery in the hottest fire. He was regimental quartermaster much of the time, and might honorably have kept out of battle, but he contrived to be in the forefront with his command.

In the autumn of 1848 he married Miss Julia Dent of St. Louis, and as first lieutenant and regimental quartermaster, with a brevet of captain, he served at Sackett's Harbor and Detroit alternately till June 1852, when he was ordered to the coast. This was a genuine hardship, for he was unable to take his wife and child with him; but he concluded to remain in the army, and went with his command, sailing from New York and passing by the way of the Isthmus. On the way across the Isthmus the regiment encountered cholera, and all Grant's coolness, resource, and bravery were required to get his charge safely across. "He seemed never to think of himself, and appeared to be a man of iron," his companions said.

He was regimental quartermaster at Fort Vancouver, near Portland, Oregon, for one year. In 1853 he was promoted to a captaincy and ordered to Fort Humboldt, near Eureka in California. In 1854, becoming disheartened by the never-ending vista of barrack life, and despairing of being able to have his wife and children with him, he sent in his resignation, to take effect July 31st, 1854. He had lost money by unfortunate business ventures, and so returned forlorn and penniless to New York. Thence he made his way to St. Louis to his wife and children, and began the world again as a farmer, without a house or tools or horses.

His father-in-law, Mr. Frederick Dent, who lived about ten miles out of the city, set aside some sixty or eighty acres of land for his use, and thereon he built with his own hands a log cabin, which he called "Hardscrabble." For nearly four years he lived the life of a farmer. He plowed, hoed, cleared the land, hauled wood and props to the mines, and endured all the hardships and privations of a small farmer. In 1858 his health gave way, and he moved to St. Louis in the attempt to get into some less taxing occupation. He tried for the position of county engineer, and failed. He went into the real estate business with a friend, and failed in that. He secured a place in the customs office, but the collector died and he was thrown out of employment.

In the spring of 1860, despairing of getting a foothold in St. Louis, he removed to Galena, Illinois, where his father had established a leather store, a branch of his tannery in Covington, Kentucky. Here he came in touch again with his two brothers, Simpson and Orvil Grant. He became a clerk at a salary of six hundred dollars per annum. At this time he was a quiet man of middle age, and his manner and mode of life attracted little attention till in 1861, when Sumter was fired upon and Lincoln called for volunteers. Galena at once held a war meeting to raise a company. Captain Grant, because of his military experience, was made president of the meeting, and afterward was offered the captaincy of the company, which he refused, saying, "I have been a captain in the regular army. I am fitted to command a regiment."