Wednesday, 25 September 2024

Sermon on the Feast of the Exaltation of the Cross (Sept. 14) by St. Vincent Ferrer O.P.

 

Philippians 2: 5-8

5 For let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus: 6 Who being in the form of God, thought it not robbery to be equal with God: 7 But emptied himself, taking the form of a servant, being made in the likeness of men, and in habit found as a man. 8 He humbled himself, becoming obedient unto death, even to the death of the cross.

 

 “He humbled himself, becoming obedient unto death, even to the death of the cross.” (Phil 2:8)

Holy Mother the Church celebrates today a feast of the Exultation of the Holy Cross, which we honor twice in the year. The first is the Discovery, in the month of May (May 3). The second today (Sept. 14) on the Exultation.  Reason, because after the Holy Cross was discovered by St. Helena, it came into the possession of the infidels, who contemptuously held it.  But Heraclius, the Most Holy and Christian Roman Emperor, extracted it from the possession of the infidels and exalted it honorably, and today is the feast of that exaltation.  So that our words be fruitful, let us now say the Hail Mary.

It is a common Catholic doctrine of sacred theology that although Christ had other innumerable ways of redeeming and saving mankind, he nevertheless chose to save us through his cross, and to redeem obedient and believers for himself.  St. Thomas in his (Summa theologiae) III, q. 46, a. 4, assigns seven reasons why this was fitting. I shall speak of one, the second, as an introduction of this material to you.

This reason is, because when satisfaction needs to be made for some sin, it is reasonable that the satisfaction correspond to the sin.  For example, if someone sins against God or neighbor by thinking evil in his heart, or by speaking evil, or doing bad things, for such a person to make fitting satisfaction (condigne satisfacere), he ought to take on pain in the heart from this sin, and to strike his heart.  If one sins by mouth by defaming or swearing, proper satisfaction ought not only to be confessed by mouth but he should also to seek pardon from God and neighbor by mouth, if he offended him.  Therefore if through the eyes you have sinned by gazing etc. proper satisfaction is to weep, etc.  Also if you have sinned by ears, by listening to evil things about a neighbor, healing is made by hearing mass and sermons etc.  If through taste, by breaking the fast of the church, etc., to abstain, and so the satisfaction corresponds to the offense.  If you have sinned by hand, extend it in prayer.  If you have shed blood, the proper penitence is to shed your own blood by the discipline.  So it says in Genesis 9: ” Whosoever shall shed man’s blood, his blood shall be shed.” (v. 6).  If you have sinned by the body through carnal sins, you ought to wear a hair shirt (cilicium).  See how appropriate satisfaction is made when the penalty corresponds to the offense.  Scriptural proof if taken from that which [Christ, in fact John the Baptist] said in Luke 3 ” Bring forth therefore fruits worthy of penance,” (v. 8).  The fruits of penance are worthy when they correspond to the offense.

Now we shall see how the offense against God was committed, from which flowed to mankind all perdition and all evil, from which we are “exiles in this valley of tears.” (from the hymn Salve Regina).  Was it not from the theft (ex furto) of a certain apple, contrary to an expressed commandment?  Therefore restitution, reparation, or amends ought to happen by the fruit being  restored to the tree.  Therefore Christ the redeemer of all, our fruit, about whom it is said to the Virgin Mary, “Blessed is the fruit of thy womb,”(cf. Lk 1:42), chose by the tree of the cross, that the fruit of infinite worth be restored to the tree.  An ancient Greek history says that the wood of the cross was from that same tree of which Adam received the fruit.  Therefore when Christ was placed on the cross, the fruit was restored to the tree.

About this David in the person of Christ says, “My enemies are grown strong who have wrongfully persecuted me: then did I pay that which I took not away.” (Ps  68:5). Note, here two things are touched upon in this verse of David, namely the evil intention of the Jewish enemies of Christ who were not intending satisfaction, but the persecution of Christ.  Therefore he said,  “My enemies are grown strong who have wrongfully persecuted me.”  Second, the intention of Christ is touched upon.  So he says, “then did I pay, etc.”

The teaching then is clear, because although Christ had other ways of redeeming us, nevertheless this way, through the cross, was appropriate, in which the satisfaction corresponded to the offense.  This the Holy Mother the Church touches in the Preface (of the Mass) saying, “You decreed that man would be saved through the wood of the cross. The tree of man’s defeat became his tree of victory; where life was lost, there life has been restored through Christ our Lord.”  It is clear therefore that an appropriate manner of our redemption was through the cross.  Therefore the theme says, “He was made obedient for us” not for himself, not only for the Father, but also for the judges and crucifiers, “even unto death, etc.”  The theme is clear.  I am preaching on this material.  The theme says, “He became obedient even unto death.”  And it adds, “Death on a cross,” not by another death.

I find that Christ was in danger of death five times, and chose to accept only the cross.

 

    First he was in danger of death from the sword.

    Second in danger of being hurled down.

    Third in danger of stoning

    Fourth in danger of poisoning.

    Fifth, in danger of crucifixion.

 

And he chose this one, about which the theme states: “He became obedient unto death, even to the death of the cross.” (Phil 2:8).

THE SWORD - First I say, etc. and this immediately when he was born, from Herod the king, who when he heard of the signs and miracles surrounding the birth of Christ: of the angels singing, “Glory to God in the highest,” of the brightness of the night, the visit of the shepherds, the adoration of the animals, the star and the arrival of the three kings, etc., and the prophecy of Anna and holy Simeon that he was the true Messiah, Herod thought to kill him, lest he lose his kingdom, for he was a foreigner and he was afraid that one day the Jews would rise up against him..  On this account he sent armed men into the town of Bethlehem to kill all the children, because he did not know who this Jesus was.  But Christ willed to flee into Egypt.

About this there is a prophecy.  Job in the person of Christ said, “[They] slew the servants [pueros, children] with the sword, and I alone have escaped …” (Job 1:15)  The question is this. Why did Christ choose not to die this kind of death?  Because if he had wished, even this death would have been for the salvation of those believing in and obedient to him.  The literal reason  has already been said, because the satisfaction ought to correspond to the offense, therefore he willed not to die in such a way, but on the cross.  The moral reason is, that he might instruct us to flee death by the sword of St. Peter, abut which John 18:  “Simon Peter, having a sword, drew it, and struck the servant of the high priest, and cut off his right ear.” (Jn 18:10)  This sword is the sentence of excommunication, which when it is used, cuts one off from the body of the Church.  And just as a member cut off from the body received none of its influence, so no one excommunicated has any part in the divine works which take place in the Church.

See how this death is to be fled.  I choose to die even more quickly,  than to be excommunicated for an hour, not to say for a year, because there is nothing worse for a member than to be cut off from the body  Note. when he says, “Simon Peter having a sword,” he implies that the sentence of excommunication should not be given except by a prelate, because Peter was a  prelate. Second, when he says he “drew it,” he hints that the sentence ought not be given except by a prelate as if by waving the sword saying, “Beware, beware,” even through a third warning, because otherwise it would mean nothing, not strike you with the blow. [quia alias nihil valeret, te not faceret ictum.]   Third when he said, “And he struck the servant of the high priest,” he implies that the prelate ought to serve excommunication only on his subjects, because a bishop cannot excommunicate in another diocese.   Fourth when he says, “And he cut off his right ear, ”  The right signifies spiritual things, the left, temporal.  It is indicated that the judgment of excommunication ought not be given except against disobedience in spiritual things, that if a husband or wife does not wish to remain with him or with her, unless they have a legitimate reason, the prelate can excommunicate them and so for the rest. This sword strikes so strongly, that it can kill the soul with eternal death.  “Flee then from the face of the sword, for the sword is the revenger of iniquities,” (Job 19:29).

HURLED DOWN - Second, I say that Christ was in the danger of being hurled down, as is found in Luke 4.  It is told how Christ was dwelling in Nazareth, where he was living in a most holy way,  yet he was not well known.  Nicholas of Lyra says that he worked the craft of his putative father Joseph, who was a carpenter, and later went to Capharnum where he preached and worked many miracles, and then returned to Nazareth.  And the rulers and magistrates of the town said to him, “…as great things as we have heard done in Capharnum, do also here in thy own country,” (Lk 4:23).  Christ replied insinuating that because of their unbelief and derision, because they were skeptical of him [truffabant de eo], as Mark has, ch. 6, “Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary, the brother of James, and Joseph, and Jude, and Simon? are not also his sisters here with us? (Mk 6:3). See, he preaches and yet he did not study.”

Then he pointed out that they were not worthy, because miracles require a disposition, and not vain glory.  For this reason Mark 6 says, ” And he could not do any miracles there, only that he cured a few that were sick, laying his hands upon them.” (Mk 6:5).  It is told how they, indignant, led him out with a crowd to the brow of the hill and they wanted to throw him down.  Jesus, however, ” passing through their midst, went his way.” (Lk 4:30).

Think here about the Virgin Mary who was present in the town, when she beheld her son being led to the cliff, how much sorrow she had, etc.  The question is.  Why did he choose not to die in this way, because if he had wished…etc?  The literal reason has been told. The moral reason is so that we might be warned lest we die through falling, having ascended the mountain of pride.  For the devil seeing that those who walk simply and humbly, go straight to heaven.  “O,” the devil says, “I shall make all ascend to the heights.”  Which is to say, the religious who lives simply, keeps his rule, the vows and customs, such takes a straight road to paradise.  But the devil speaking to their imagination says, ”If you wish to live such, you will never rise! Why do you not work that you might be a master [of theology], you can yet be the confessor of a king or a bishop,” and when he is high, he loses all devotion and suddenly falls and dies and is hurled into hell.

The same for the simple priest, because at the instigation of the devil he ascends.  Same for the laity. They demand interest so that they might get ahead.  Also that he might gain public office, binds himself with others directly or indirectly, and they do well because of the wealth of the community, and when they are in office, they steal, they do this and that so that they might keep their hand in office.  O how many are they by this ascent.  Of this David says to the devil  “For deceits,” namely yours, “you have put it to them:” that is this imagination of ascending, “when they were lifted up you have cast them down.” (Ps 72:18)  Same for the women living simply, caring for the home, for children and family, these rightly go straight to paradise.  But the demon says, “You have taken to your husband as such, therefore why to you not do as others do, give to him a bad dinner and supper.”

Beware therefore, and walk simply, and plainly, because when a man falls from a higher place, so much more the fall is more dangerous.  So Job in the person of a sinner speaking to the devil says, “You have lifted me up, and set me as it were upon the wind, and you have mightily dashed me. I know that you will deliver me to death,” (Job 30:22-23).

STONING - Third, I say that he was in danger of death by stoning, as is clear in John 8, when Christ was preaching to the Jews and declared to them his divinity saying, “Amen, amen I say to you: If any man keep my word, he shall not see death for ever. (v. 51) Abraham, …and the prophets are dead. Whom do you make thyself?” (v. 53)   Christ was speaking of the death of hell and the Jews were thinking of bodily death.  And Christ speaking more clearly of divinity said, “Amen, amen I say to you, before Abraham was made, I am, ” (v.58)  “I am” is the name of the divinity. “I AM WHO AM,” (Ex 3:14).  The Jews hearing that he said that he was God, wished to stone him.  The text says that Christ hid himself, that is, he made himself to be invisible to them, and they searched for him asking “Where is he?”  But the Virgin Mary and the Apostles, seeing him followed.

Question, why did he not wish to die in this way?  Because it was etc.  The moral reason is that we might be warned from the death of stoning from the sin of avarice, because an avaricious person is hard like stone, and cold.   Hard, because he offers no sweetness to his debtors, but hard and harsh he demands payment and interest etc.  Cold, because he is without the fire of charity.  Seeing the poor dying of starvation he does not care to rescue them – and he has the money – and the jailed, the enslaved and the poor girls are not able to receive any benefits.  Thus Job speaking morally of the avaricious says, “His heart shall be as hard as a stone, and as firm as a smith’s anvil,” (Job 41:15)

The stones of avarice are the species of avarice.  One stone is the one which is called robbery [rapina], and this stone strikes the head of the lords.  Another stone is called simony of the church officials [prelates], giving benefices or sacraments for money.  This stone strikes the heart.  Another is called usury, which breaks the arms, that is, the workers.  It is said in defense of this notion of avarice, usury, “If this person or community takes my money, why am I not able to receive something for its use [proper carentiam]?”  This argument includes an error not only in its conclusion but in its premise.  When he says “My money, ” he speaks falsely, because the lord is now bound to render an account to another, and you are bound, even to Christ, because “The earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof, etc.” (Ps 23:1)  The rich are only the administrators.  “Let a man so account of us as of the ministers of Christ, and the dispensers of the mysteries of God,” (1 Cor 4:1).  Christ is like the king appointing treasurers, that they might minister first in to his necessities, not vanities.  Second in giving or lending to the poor, because God wishes such.  It is wrong if they dispense against the will of the Lord.  He knows how to punish.  Thus the conclusion is erroneous, by saying that usury is not a mortal sin.  Another species, to connive to buy things for a lesser price, or to sell for more than the usual profit, because it is usury.  Another is the withholding of salaries from servants, etc., secret theft.  It is said against those who believe that secret theft of produce [furtum secretum fructuum] is not a sin, “you dash your  foot against a stone.” (Ps 90:12)  And, “Go not in the way of ruin, and you shall not stumble against the stones,” (Sir 32:25)

POISONING - I say fourth that he was in danger of death by poisoning.  The evangelists do not clearly say this, but for this there are arguments both from reason and prophecy.  The reason is this, because while Christ went about preaching, he did not preach for money, but after preaching [on Palm Sunday], “looking around about,” no one invited him, “and he return to Bethany,” as is found in Mark 11:11.  The Gloss says that he looked around, to see if someone might invite him to dinner saying, “Lord since you have given good spiritual food to us, come and we shall give you dinner,” etc.  Now someone who had so many enemies as Christ, might accept every invitation, even that of his enemies. Think how they could set forward potions, and this reason might dictate.

And about this is the prophecy, “But thou, O Lord, have shown me, and I have known: then you showed me their doings. And I was as a meek lamb, that is carried to be a victim: and I knew not that they had devised counsels against me, saying: Let us put wood on his bread, and cut him off from the land of the living, and let his name be remembered no more,” (Jer 11:18-19)  And the prophet speaks in the person of Christ.  But Christ chose not to die in this way.  Practically speaking when he was eating, first they gave him fruit or figs, and soups are offered, and sweet foods, and good wines, and he did not eat, keeping to his modest diet. Even if he had eaten, he took care not to harm himself.

Why did he choose not to die this way, because even that death would have been sufficient for redemption?  Moral reason, that we might avoid the deadly poison of lust.  For just as a poison is placed in sweet foods, so also does the devil, that the food of lust might seem sweet to us and yet in it is the poison of mortal sin.  For a man and woman joined in matrimony do not sin in keeping the manner etc. but in all others, whomsoever, there is lust, and there is mortal sin and damnation  follows.  It is believed that the greatest number of the damned are made so by the sin of lust.

So it is necessary to avoid such a death and to restrain the body through abstinence, by mortifying its inclinations,  avoiding occasions of sin, and by prayer.  Otherwise, St. Bernard says, that it would be a greater miracle to live chastely than to raise the dead.  Therefore the whole world is corrupt.  “All have turned out of the way; they have become unprofitable together: there is none that does good,”  that is, of chastity, “there is not so much as one,” namely, of adults, etc.  So a wise man says, “Look not upon the wine when it is yellow, when the color thereof shines in the glass: it goes in pleasantly, but in the end, it will bite like a snake, and will spread abroad poison like a basilisk,” (Prov 23:31-32).  And he declares in the next verse “Your eyes shall behold strange women,” because it is good to look upon your own wives, “and  your heart shall utter perverse things,” (v. 33).  Note. It is not understood as the color of wine but of beautiful women, “in the glass,” in the weaker glass of the body.  Reason, because it “goes in pleasantly” that is evil in thought, saying ” O how much a comfort it would be,” etc.  and in the end, namely when man consents, “it will bite like a snake, and like a basilisk,” which poisons by sight and vision, etc.  Not so the other serpents.  Behold the sin of lust, because by sight alone does a woman…  With this poison David was poisoned and killed, but God raised him through repentance.  Thus Job 6, ” …or can a man taste that which when tasted brings death?” (v. 6)  No one howsoever hungry would eat food which he knew to be poisoned, rather he would permit himself to die naturally, because then he would not have killed himself, nor would he drink poisoned drink however thirsty he was.  So neither should the lustful taste because unless he were an unbeliever, he would know that this food is poisoned unto death.

CRUCIFIXION - Fifth I say that he was in danger of death by crucifixion.  This is the death he chose.  So the Jews said in counsel, “This man Jesus cannot die by the sword, nor by being thrown down, nor etc.  Therefore we shall see whether we can kill him on a cross.”  And when Christ was in Galilee, the Jews readied the cross in Jerusalem.  Christ knowing this called out to his disciples and said to them, “Behold we go up to Jerusalem, and the Son of man shall be betrayed to the chief priests and the scribes, and they shall condemn him to death. And shall deliver him to the Gentiles to be mocked, and scourged, and crucified,” (Mt 20:18-19).  He fled from the other deaths, but he came promptly to this one.  And in the garden he went out to the Jews saying “Whom do you seek?” which is to say “You may take me, because this death pleases me.”  Again when sentence was passed on him to be crucified, “And bearing his own cross, he went forth to that place…,” (Jn 19:17) as if to say,  “I do not appeal, rather this death pleases me,”  and he received the cross.  It is said how he was obedient on the mount of Calvary, when he was asked to undress himself, and more like that.  Behold the love for the death of the cross, as if he were saying, ” But God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of our Lord,” (Gal 6:14).

The literal reason why he chose this death has been said in the introduction. But the moral reason is this.  Other deaths which Christ fled, signified bad deaths, which we should flee.  But this death of the cross signifies a good death which we should choose.  The inestimable pain of Christ hanging on the cross signifies contrition, which we should have for sins, by inclining the head in contrition which ought to be made with a bowed head and not face to face.  It is said how the penitent ought to be uncovered, and the confessor covered, for modesty, and the danger of the confessor looking on a young woman.  His right hand pierced signifies that from good justice you should give alms.  The left for returning usuries and theft etc.  Two feet nailed signify two feet by which we walk and are sustained, the right is nailed with devotion, the left with abstinence.  The opening of the side signifies the opening of the heart, for forgiving injuries and sparing enemies and those sinning against you.  See the moral reasons why he wished to die on a cross.  So the Apostle says, “They that are Christ’s, have crucified their flesh, with the vices and concupiscences, “(Gal 5:24), and that this was necessary is clear because Christ says, “And whosoever does not carry his cross,” which is said from crucifying, behold penitence, “and come after me, cannot be my disciple,” (Lk 14:27)  See why the Theologian says, “He became,” for us, that is for our redemption and moral instruction, “obedient, unto death,” not of the sword, not by being hurled down, nor by stoning nor by poisoning, but “to the death of the cross.”

Tuesday, 24 September 2024

Tuesday's Serial: “Lavengro” by George Borrow (in English) - XXXIV

 

Chapter 66

trepidations—subtle principle—perverse imagination—are they mine?—another book—how hard!—agricultural dinner—incomprehensible actions—inmost bosom—give it up—rascally newspaper

 

'An author,' said I, addressing my host; 'is it possible that I am under the roof of an author?'

'Yes,' said my host, sighing, 'my name is so and so, and I am the author of so and so; it is more than probable that you have heard both of my name and works. I will not detain you much longer with my history; the night is advancing, and the storm appears to be upon the increase. My life since the period of my becoming an author may be summed briefly as an almost uninterrupted series of doubts, anxieties, and trepidations. I see clearly that it is not good to love anything immoderately in this world, but it has been my misfortune to love immoderately everything on which I have set my heart. This is not good, I repeat—but where is the remedy? The ancients were always in the habit of saying, "Practise moderation," but the ancients appear to have considered only one portion of the subject. It is very possible to practise moderation in some things, in drink and the like—to restrain the appetites—but can a man restrain the affections of his mind, and tell them, so far you shall go, and no farther? Alas, no! for the mind is a subtle principle, and cannot be confined. The winds may be imprisoned; Homer says that Odysseus carried certain winds in his ship, confined in leathern bags, but Homer never speaks of confining the affections. It were but right that those who exhort us against inordinate affections, and setting our hearts too much upon the world and its vanities, would tell us how to avoid doing so.

'I need scarcely tell you that no sooner did I become an author than I gave myself up immoderately to my vocation. It became my idol, and, as a necessary consequence, it has proved a source of misery and disquietude to me, instead of pleasure and blessing. I had trouble enough in writing my first work, and I was not long in discovering that it was one thing to write a stirring and spirited address to a set of county electors, and another widely different to produce a work at all calculated to make an impression upon the great world. I felt, however, that I was in my proper sphere, and by dint of unwearied diligence and exertion I succeeded in evolving from the depths of my agitated breast a work which, though it did not exactly please me, I thought would serve to make an experiment upon the public; so I laid it before the public, and the reception which it met with was far beyond my wildest expectations. The public were delighted with it, but what were my feelings? Anything, alas! but those of delight. No sooner did the public express its satisfaction at the result of my endeavours, than my perverse imagination began to conceive a thousand chimerical doubts; forthwith I sat down to analyse it; and my worst enemy, and all people have their enemies, especially authors—my worst enemy could not have discovered or sought to discover a tenth part of the faults which I, the author and creator of the unfortunate production, found or sought to find in it. It has been said that love makes us blind to the faults of the loved object—common love does, perhaps—the love of a father to his child, or that of a lover to his mistress, but not the inordinate love of an author to his works, at least not the love which one like myself bears to his works: to be brief, I discovered a thousand faults in my work, which neither public nor critics discovered. However, I was beginning to get over this misery, and to forgive my work all its imperfections, when—and I shake when I mention it—the same kind of idea which perplexed me with regard to the hawks and the gipsy pony rushed into my mind, and I forthwith commenced touching the objects around me, in order to baffle the evil chance, as you call it; it was neither more nor less than a doubt of the legality of my claim to the thoughts, expressions, and situations contained in the book; that is, to all that constituted the book. How did I get them? How did they come into my mind? Did I invent them? Did they originate with myself? Are they my own, or are they some other body's? You see into what difficulty I had got; I won't trouble you by relating all that I endured at that time, but will merely say that after eating my own heart, as the Italians say, and touching every object that came in my way for six months, I at length flung my book, I mean the copy of it which I possessed, into the fire, and began another.

'But it was all in vain; I laboured at this other, finished it, and gave it to the world; and no sooner had I done so, than the same thought was busy in my brain, poisoning all the pleasure which I should otherwise have derived from my work. How did I get all the matter which composed it? Out of my own mind, unquestionably; but how did it come there—was it the indigenous growth of the mind? And then I would sit down and ponder over the various scenes and adventures in my book, endeavouring to ascertain how I came originally to devise them, and by dint of reflecting I remembered that to a single word in conversation, or some simple accident in a street or on a road, I was indebted for some of the happiest portions of my work; they were but tiny seeds, it is true, which in the soil of my imagination had subsequently become stately trees, but I reflected that without them no stately trees would have been produced, and that, consequently, only a part in the merit of these compositions which charmed the world—for they did charm the world—was due to myself. Thus, a dead fly was in my phial, poisoning all the pleasure which I should otherwise have derived from the result of my brain-sweat. "How hard!" I would exclaim, looking up to the sky, "how hard! I am like Virgil's sheep, bearing fleeces not for themselves." But, not to tire you, it fared with my second work as it did with my first; I flung it aside, and, in order to forget it, I began a third, on which I am now occupied; but the difficulty of writing it is immense, my extreme desire to be original sadly cramping the powers of my mind; my fastidiousness being so great that I invariably reject whatever ideas I do not think to be legitimately my own. But there is one circumstance to which I cannot help alluding here, as it serves to show what miseries this love of originality must needs bring upon an author. I am constantly discovering that, however original I may wish to be, I am continually producing the same things which other people say or write. Whenever, after producing something which gives me perfect satisfaction, and which has cost me perhaps days and nights of brooding, I chance to take up a book for the sake of a little relaxation, a book which I never saw before, I am sure to find in it something more or less resembling some part of what I have been just composing. You will easily conceive the distress which then comes over me; 'tis then that I am almost tempted to execrate the chance which, by discovering my latent powers, induced me to adopt a profession of such anxiety and misery.

'For some time past I have given up reading almost entirely, owing to the dread which I entertain of lighting upon something similar to what I myself have written. I scarcely ever transgress without having almost instant reason to repent. To-day, when I took up the newspaper, I saw in a speech of the Duke of Rhododendron, at an agricultural dinner, the very same ideas, and almost the same expressions which I had put into the mouth of an imaginary personage of mine, on a widely different occasion; you saw how I dashed the newspaper down—you saw how I touched the floor; the touch was to baffle the evil chance, to prevent the critics detecting any similarity between the speech of the Duke of Rhododendron at the agricultural dinner and the speech of my personage. My sensibility on the subject of my writings is so great that sometimes a chance word is sufficient to unman me, I apply it to them in a superstitious sense; for example, when you said some time ago that the dark hour was coming on, I applied it to my works—it appeared to bode them evil fortune; you saw how I touched, it was to baffle the evil chance; but I do not confine myself to touching when the fear of the evil chance is upon me. To baffle it I occasionally perform actions which must appear highly incomprehensible; I have been known, when riding in company with other people, to leave the direct road, and make a long circuit by a miry lane to the place to which we were going. I have also been seen attempting to ride across a morass, where I had no business whatever, and in which my horse finally sank up to its saddle-girths, and was only extricated by the help of a multitude of hands. I have, of course, frequently been asked the reason of such conduct, to which I have invariably returned no answer, for I scorn duplicity; whereupon people have looked mysteriously, and sometimes put their fingers to their foreheads. “And yet it can't be,” I once heard an old gentleman say; “don't we know what he is capable of?” and the old man was right; I merely did these things to avoid the evil chance, impelled by the strange feeling within me; and this evil chance is invariably connected with my writings, the only things at present which render life valuable to me. If I touch various objects, and ride into miry places, it is to baffle any mischance befalling me as an author, to prevent my books getting into disrepute; in nine cases out of ten to prevent any expressions, thoughts, or situations in any work which I am writing from resembling the thoughts, expressions, and situations of other authors, for my great wish, as I told you before, is to be original.

'I have now related my history, and have revealed to you the secrets of my inmost bosom. I should certainly not have spoken so unreservedly as I have done, had I not discovered in you a kindred spirit. I have long wished for an opportunity of discoursing on the point which forms the peculiar feature of my history with a being who could understand me; and truly it was a lucky chance which brought you to these parts; you who seem to be acquainted with all things strange and singular, and who are as well acquainted with the subject of the magic touch as with all that relates to the star Jupiter or the mysterious tree at Upsal.'

Such was the story which my host related to me in the library, amidst the darkness, occasionally broken by flashes of lightning. Both of us remained silent for some time after it was concluded.

'It is a singular story,' said I, at last, 'though I confess that I was prepared for some part of it. Will you permit me to ask you a question?'

'Certainly,' said my host.

'Did you never speak in public?' said I.

'Never.'

'And when you made this speech of yours in the dining-room, commencing with Mr. Speaker, no one was present?'

'None in the world, I double-locked the door; what do you mean?'

'An idea came into my head—dear me how the rain is pouring—but, with respect to your present troubles and anxieties, would it not be wise, seeing that authorship causes you so much trouble and anxiety, to give it up altogether?'

'Were you an author yourself,' replied my host, 'you would not talk in this manner; once an author, ever an author—besides, what could I do? return to my former state of vegetation? no, much as I endure, I do not wish that; besides, every now and then my reason tells me that these troubles and anxieties of mine are utterly without foundation; that whatever I write is the legitimate growth of my own mind, and that it is the height of folly to afflict myself at any chance resemblance between my own thoughts and those of other writers, such resemblance being inevitable from the fact of our common human origin. In short—'

'I understand you,' said I; 'notwithstanding your troubles and anxieties you find life very tolerable; has your originality ever been called in question?'

'On the contrary, every one declares that originality constitutes the most remarkable feature of my writings; the man has some faults, they say, but want of originality is certainly not one of them. He is quite different from others—a certain newspaper, it is true, the —— I think, once insinuated that in a certain work of mine I had taken a hint or two from the writings of a couple of authors which it mentioned; it happened, however, that I had never even read one syllable of the writings of either, and of one of them had never even heard the name; so much for the discrimination of the ——. By the bye, what a rascally newspaper that is!'

'A very rascally newspaper,' said I.

 

 

Chapter 67

disturbed slumbers—the bed-post—two wizards—what can i do?—real library—the rev. mr. platitude—toleration to dissenters—paradox—sword of st. peter—enemy to humbug—high principles—false concord—the damsel—what religion?—the further conversation—that would never do!

 

During the greater part of that night my slumbers were disturbed by strange dreams. Amongst other things, I fancied that I was my host; my head appeared to be teeming with wild thoughts and imaginations, out of which I was endeavouring to frame a book. And now the book was finished and given to the world, and the world shouted; and all eyes were turned upon me, and I shrank from the eyes of the world. And, when I got into retired places, I touched various objects in order to baffle the evil chance. In short, during the whole night, I was acting over the story which I had heard before I went to bed.

At about eight o'clock I awoke. The storm had long since passed away, and the morning was bright and shining; my couch was so soft and luxurious that I felt loth to quit it, so I lay some time, my eyes wandering about the magnificent room to which fortune had conducted me in so singular a manner; at last I heaved a sigh; I was thinking of my own homeless condition, and imagining where I should find myself on the following morning. Unwilling, however, to indulge in melancholy thoughts, I sprang out of bed and proceeded to dress myself, and, whilst dressing, I felt an irresistible inclination to touch the bed-post.

I finished dressing and left the room, feeling compelled, however, as I left it, to touch the lintel of the door. Is it possible, thought I, that from what I have lately heard the long-forgotten influence should have possessed me again? but I will not give way to it; so I hurried downstairs, resisting as I went a certain inclination which I occasionally felt to touch the rail of the banister. I was presently upon the gravel walk before the house: it was indeed a glorious morning. I stood for some time observing the golden fish disporting in the waters of the pond, and then strolled about amongst the noble trees of the park; the beauty and freshness of the morning—for the air had been considerably cooled by the late storm—soon enabled me to cast away the gloomy ideas which had previously taken possession of my mind, and, after a stroll of about half an hour, I returned towards the house in high spirits. It is true that once I felt very much inclined to go and touch the leaves of a flowery shrub which I saw at some distance, and had even moved two or three paces towards it; but, bethinking myself, I manfully resisted the temptation. 'Begone!' I exclaimed, 'ye sorceries, in which I formerly trusted—begone for ever vagaries which I had almost forgotten; good luck is not to be obtained, or bad averted, by magic touches; besides, two wizards in one parish would be too much, in all conscience.'

I returned to the house, and entered the library; breakfast was laid on the table, and my friend was standing before the portrait which I have already said hung above the mantelpiece; so intently was he occupied in gazing at it that he did not hear me enter, nor was aware of my presence till I advanced close to him and spoke, when he turned round and shook me by the hand.

'What can possibly have induced you to hang up that portrait in your library? it is a staring likeness, it is true, but it appears to me a wretched daub.'

'Daub as you call it,' said my friend, smiling, 'I would not part with it for the best piece of Rafael. For many a happy thought I am indebted to that picture—it is my principal source of inspiration; when my imagination flags, as of course it occasionally does, I stare upon those features, and forthwith strange ideas of fun and drollery begin to flow into my mind; these I round, amplify, or combine into goodly creations, and bring forth as I find an opportunity. It is true that I am occasionally tormented by the thought that, by doing this, I am committing plagiarism; though, in that case, all thoughts must be plagiarisms, all that we think being the result of what we hear, see, or feel. What can I do? I must derive my thoughts from some source or other; and, after all, it is better to plariarise from the features of my landlord than from the works of Butler and Cervantes. My works, as you are aware, are of a serio-comic character. My neighbours are of opinion that I am a great reader, and so I am, but only of those features—my real library is that picture.'

'But how did you obtain it?' said I.

'Some years ago a travelling painter came into this neighbourhood, and my jolly host, at the request of his wife, consented to sit for his portrait; she highly admired the picture, but she soon died, and then my fat friend, who is of an affectionate disposition, said he could not bear the sight of it, as it put him in mind of his poor wife. I purchased it of him for five pounds—I would not take five thousand for it; when you called that picture a daub, you did not see all the poetry of it.'

We sat down to breakfast; my entertainer appeared to be in much better spirits than on the preceding day; I did not observe him touch once; ere breakfast was over a servant entered—'The Reverend Mr. Platitude, sir,' said he.

A shade of dissatisfaction came over the countenance of my host. 'What does the silly pestilent fellow mean by coming here?' said he, half to himself; 'let him come in,' said he to the servant.

The servant went out, and in a moment reappeared, introducing the Reverend Mr. Platitude. The Reverend Mr. Platitude, having what is vulgarly called a game leg, came shambling into the room; he was about thirty years of age, and about five feet three inches high; his face was of the colour of pepper, and nearly as rugged as a nutmeg-grater; his hair was black; with his eyes he squinted, and grinned with his lips, which were very much apart, disclosing two very irregular rows of teeth; he was dressed in the true Levitical fashion, in a suit of spotless black, and a neckerchief of spotless white.

The Reverend Mr. Platitude advanced winking and grinning to my entertainer, who received him politely but with evident coldness; nothing daunted, however, the Reverend Mr. Platitude took a seat by the table, and, being asked to take a cup of coffee, winked, grinned, and consented.

In company I am occasionally subject to fits of what is generally called absence; my mind takes flight and returns to former scenes, or presses forward into the future. One of these fits of absence came over me at this time—I looked at the Reverend Mr. Platitude for a moment, heard a word or two that proceeded from his mouth, and saying to myself, 'You are no man for me,' fell into a fit of musing—into the same train of thought as in the morning, no very pleasant one—I was thinking of the future.

I continued in my reverie for some time, and probably should have continued longer, had I not been suddenly aroused by the voice of Mr. Platitude raised to a very high key. 'Yes, my dear sir,' said he, 'it is but too true; I have it on good authority—a gone church—a lost church—a ruined church—a demolished church is the Church of England. Toleration to Dissenters!—oh, monstrous!'

'I suppose,' said my host, 'that the repeal of the Test Acts will be merely a precursor of the emancipation of the Papists?'

'Of the Catholics,' said the Reverend Mr. Platitude. 'Ahem. There was a time, as I believe you are aware, my dear sir, when I was as much opposed to the emancipation of the Catholics as it was possible for any one to be; but I was prejudiced, my dear sir, labouring under a cloud of most unfortunate prejudice; but I thank my Maker I am so no longer. I have travelled, as you are aware. It is only by travelling that one can rub off prejudices; I think you will agree with me there. I am speaking to a traveller. I left behind all my prejudices in Italy. The Catholics are at least our fellow-Christians. I thank Heaven that I am no longer an enemy to Catholic emancipation.'

'And yet you would not tolerate Dissenters?'

'Dissenters, my dear sir; I hope you would not class such a set as the Dissenters with Catholics?'

'Perhaps it would be unjust,' said my host, 'though to which of the two parties is another thing; but permit me to ask you a question: Does it not smack somewhat of paradox to talk of Catholics, whilst you admit there are Dissenters? If there are Dissenters, how should there be Catholics?'

'It is not my fault that there are Dissenters,' said the Reverend Mr. Platitude; 'if I had my will I would neither admit there were any, nor permit any to be.'

'Of course you would admit there were such as long as they existed; but how would you get rid of them?'

'I would have the Church exert its authority.'

'What do you mean by exerting its authority?'

'I would not have the Church bear the sword in vain.'

'What, the sword of St. Peter? You remember what the founder of the religion which you profess said about the sword, "He who striketh with it . . ." I think those who have called themselves the Church have had enough of the sword. Two can play with the sword, Mr. Platitude. The Church of Rome tried the sword with the Lutherans: how did it fare with the Church of Rome? The Church of England tried the sword, Mr. Platitude, with the Puritans: how did it fare with Laud and Charles?'

'Oh, as for the Church of England,' said Mr. Platitude, 'I have little to say. Thank God, I left all my Church of England prejudices in Italy. Had the Church of England known its true interests, it would long ago have sought a reconciliation with its illustrious mother. If the Church of England had not been in some degree a schismatic church, it would not have fared so ill at the time of which you are speaking; the rest of the Church would have come to its assistance. The Irish would have helped it, so would the French, so would the Portuguese. Disunion has always been the bane of the Church.'

Once more I fell into a reverie. My mind now reverted to the past; methought I was in a small comfortable room wainscoted with oak; I was seated on one side of a fireplace, close by a table on which were wine and fruit; on the other side of the fire sat a man in a plain suit of brown, with the hair combed back from his somewhat high forehead; he had a pipe in his mouth, which for some time he smoked gravely and placidly, without saying a word; at length, after drawing at the pipe for some time rather vigorously, he removed it from his mouth, and, emitting an accumulated cloud of smoke, he exclaimed in a slow and measured tone, 'As I was telling you just now, my good chap, I have always been an enemy to humbug.'

When I awoke from my reverie the Reverend Mr. Platitude was quitting the apartment.

'Who is that person?' said I to my entertainer, as the door closed behind him.

'Who is he?' said my host; 'why, the Reverend Mr. Platitude.'

'Does he reside in this neighbourhood?'

'He holds a living about three miles from here; his history, as far as I am acquainted with it, is as follows. His father was a respectable tanner in the neighbouring town, who, wishing to make his son a gentleman, sent him to college. Having never been at college myself, I cannot say whether he took the wisest course; I believe it is more easy to unmake than to make a gentleman; I have known many gentlemanly youths go to college, and return anything but what they went. Young Mr. Platitude did not go to college a gentleman, but neither did he return one: he went to college an ass, and returned a prig; to his original folly was superadded a vast quantity of conceit. He told his father that he had adopted high principles, and was determined to discountenance everything low and mean; advised him to eschew trade, and to purchase him a living. The old man retired from business, purchased his son a living, and shortly after died, leaving him what remained of his fortune. The first thing the Reverend Mr. Platitude did, after his father's decease, was to send his mother and sister into Wales to live upon a small annuity, assigning as a reason that he was averse to anything low, and that they talked ungrammatically. Wishing to shine in the pulpit, he now preached high sermons, as he called them, interspersed with scraps of learning. His sermons did not, however, procure him much popularity; on the contrary, his church soon became nearly deserted, the greater part of his flock going over to certain dissenting preachers, who had shortly before made their appearance in the neighbourhood. Mr. Platitude was filled with wrath, and abused Dissenters in most unmeasured terms. Coming in contact with some of the preachers at a public meeting, he was rash enough to enter into argument with them. Poor Platitude! he had better have been quiet, he appeared like a child, a very infant, in their grasp; he attempted to take shelter under his college learning, but found, to his dismay, that his opponents knew more Greek and Latin than himself. These illiterate boors, as he had supposed them, caught him at once in a false concord, and Mr. Platitude had to slink home overwhelmed with shame. To avenge himself he applied to the ecclesiastical court, but was told that the Dissenters could not be put down by the present ecclesiastical law. He found the Church of England, to use his own expression, a poor, powerless, restricted Church. He now thought to improve his consequence by marriage, and made up to a rich and beautiful young lady in the neighbourhood; the damsel measured him from head to foot with a pair of very sharp eyes, dropped a curtsey, and refused him. Mr. Platitude, finding England a very stupid place, determined to travel; he went to Italy; how he passed his time there he knows best, to other people it is a matter of little importance. At the end of two years he returned with a real or assumed contempt for everything English, and especially for the Church to which he belongs, and out of which he is supported. He forthwith gave out that he had left behind him all his Church of England prejudices, and, as a proof thereof, spoke against sacerdotal wedlock and the toleration of schismatics. In an evil hour for myself he was introduced to me by a clergyman of my acquaintance, and from that time I have been pestered, as I was this morning, at least once a week. I seldom enter into any discussion with him, but fix my eyes on the portrait over the mantelpiece, and endeavour to conjure up some comic idea or situation, whilst he goes on talking tomfoolery by the hour about Church authority, schismatics, and the unlawfulness of sacerdotal wedlock; occasionally he brings with him a strange kind of being, whose acquaintance he says he made in Italy; I believe he is some sharking priest who has come over to proselytise and plunder. This being has some powers of conversation and some learning, but carries the countenance of an arch villain; Platitude is evidently his tool.'

'Of what religion are you?' said I to my host.

'That of the Vicar of Wakefield—good, quiet, Church of England, which would live and let live, practises charity, and rails at no one; where the priest is the husband of one wife, takes care of his family and his parish—such is the religion for me, though I confess I have hitherto thought too little of religious matters. When, however, I have completed this plaguy work on which I am engaged, I hope to be able to devote more attention to them.'

After some further conversation, the subjects being, if I remember right, college education, priggism, church authority, tomfoolery, and the like, I rose and said to my host, 'I must now leave you.'

'Whither are you going?'

'I do not know.'

'Stay here, then—you shall be welcome as many days, months, and years as you please to stay.'

'Do you think I would hang upon another man? No, not if he were Emperor of all the Chinas. I will now make my preparations, and then bid you farewell.'

I retired to my apartment and collected the handful of things which I carried with me on my travels.

'I will walk a little way with you,' said my friend on my return.

He walked with me to the park gate; neither of us said anything by the way. When we had come upon the road, I said, 'Farewell now; I will not permit you to give yourself any further trouble on my account. Receive my best thanks for your kindness; before we part, however, I should wish to ask you a question. Do you think you shall ever grow tired of authorship?'

'I have my fears,' said my friend, advancing his hand to one of the iron bars of the gate.

'Don't touch,' said I, 'it is a bad habit. I have but one word to add: should you ever grow tired of authorship follow your first idea of getting into Parliament; you have words enough at command; perhaps you want manner and method; but, in that case, you must apply to a teacher, you must take lessons of a master of elocution.'

'That would never do!' said my host; 'I know myself too well to think of applying for assistance to any one. Were I to become a parliamentary orator, I should wish to be an original one, even if not above mediocrity. What pleasure should I take in any speech I might make, however original as to thought, provided the gestures I employed and the very modulation of my voice were not my own? Take lessons, indeed! why, the fellow who taught me, the professor, might be standing in the gallery whilst I spoke; and, at the best parts of my speech, might say to himself, “That gesture is mine—that modulation is mine.” I could not bear the thought of such a thing.'

'Farewell,' said I, 'and may you prosper. I have nothing more to say.'

I departed. At the distance of twenty yards I turned round suddenly; my friend was just withdrawing his finger from the bar of the gate.

'He has been touching,' said I, as I proceeded on my way; 'I wonder what was the evil chance he wished to baffle.'

Saturday, 21 September 2024

Saturday Good Reading: letter from Robert Ervin Howard to Emil Petaja (in English)

 

Dear Mr. Petaja:

 

Thank you very much for the splendid sonnet. I feel deeply honored that a poem of such fine merit should be dedicated to me. You seem to grasp the motif of my stories, the compelling idea-force behind them which is the only excuse for their creation, more completely than any one I have yet encountered. This fine sonnet reveals your understanding of the abstractions I have tried to embody in these tales.

In response to your request for an ms. copy, I am sure I can find something of the sort, when I rearrange my files, which are at the present in a chaotic state. In the meantime I am enclosing a so far unpublished bit of verse, "Cimmeria", for your notebook. Hope you like it.

Thanking you again for the splendid sonnet, I am,

 

Cordially,

 

Robert E. Howard

Friday, 20 September 2024

Friday's Sung Word: "Voltei pro Morro" by Vicente Paiva and Luiz Peixoto (in Potuguese)

Voltei pro morro
Onde está o meu cachorro
Meu cachorro viralata
Minha cuíca, meu ganzá
Voltei pro morro
Onde está o meu moreno
Chamem ele pro sereno
Porque se eu não me esbaldar eu morro
Voltei pro morro
Onde estão minhas chinelas
Que eu quero sambar com elas
Vendo as luzes da cidade
Voltei, voltei, voltei
Ai se eu não mato esta saudade eu morro
Voltei pro morro, voltei

Voltando ao berço do samba
Que em outras terras cantei
Pela luz que me alumia
Eu juro
Que sem a nossa melodia
E a cadência dos pandeiros
Muitas vezes eu chorei, chorei
Eu também senti saudade
Quando esse morro deixei
É por isso que eu voltei, voltei

 

You can listen "Voltei pro Morro" sung by Carmen Miranda here.