Early Christianity in England; Tuesday Bells 🔔; Saints and Chronicles; et Villette

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:00

Hello, hello, hello. It's uh Tuesday morning, it's sun is shining, it's about eight o'clock, and I'm walking through long grass with puppy ahead of me. Hello puppy, and looking happy, all the birds happy, and the it's so lovely to have the sun after a few oh wind after a few cold days. And what did you think of um Claire yesterday? What did you think of her story? She's um amazing, isn't she? Uh I mean she probably doesn't want to be called amazing just because she suffered, because she probably would say it's not something she chose, therefore there's nothing amazing about coping with it, but but but surely but by being able to carry on, I suppose, that that that's amazing. I mean, I sort of jokingly said about you know, do you ever have days where you want to hunker down and drink two bottles of vodka? But you know, that is how some some people might have responded, that's how I might have responded to to losing a child. I it just it's absolutely horrendous to then to then go and lose another. But the the great joy about that family that we're getting to know well um is how astonishingly lovely their two daughters are. The they are beautiful human beings that stand out which truly from their peers, and you know, have done it since I first met them for just being kind, sunny, and reasonably consistent. You know, I'm not saying they don't have bad days, they they do, but but still they're polite, still they're uh they're kind and still they they they have generosity of spirit and as does she. Um I admire that so much and um and I I I look to I I look to people who are who can sort of sell me something, you know. I what I mean is that they could be gurus to me because it's something that I feel that I lack sometimes, you know. When I'm feeling low, I you know, do I have a complete generosity of spirit to other people? Well, maybe not as much as I wish I did have. So yeah, you you look to people, don't you, who who perhaps have qualities that you you aspire to have more of, and that's I think a good thing because you you want to grow yourself, and what a privilege for me to meet her and have her as a friend, and it's lovely that my my daughter's so close to her younger daughter, their friendship is super close. There's actually one school year difference between them, but my daughter stands head and shoulders over her daughter. My daughter's about five foot eight. I don't know if in America you do feet and inches, I don't think so. And I'm five foot five and a half, and little her little girl, I don't even think is five foot, she's tiny, and she's got the biggest smile, golden hair, the sweetest face, and it's lovely because they my daughter and her spent a lot of time together, and they've just got a very trusting, loving, honest relationship, and it's a joy to see, particularly with all the difficulties that my daughter's had at the school recently. So the good news is she went back to school yesterday. One of the girls who's having problems with was there, and it wasn't amazing, but it it was fine, and she's gone back to school today, and another one of the girls has returned from a trip. So it's good actually, they're sort of coming in and dribs and drabs, and a funny, funny phrase, isn't it? Drib and drab. I'm gonna look into that. Where does dribs and drabs come from? And as we speak, little puppy's having a little scratch. I've put a new collar on her. You know these collars from Kenya that are beaded and bright and look really pretty, and I've put that on her, and she seems to just accept it. And uh it's one of the things I quite like about her. She just whatever you do to her, she just gets on with it. A hysterical little little hound. And what are you up to? How are you? Are you just doing your usual routine? Is that what you do? Do you have the same routine seven days a week? Do you have a routine that's five days a week and then it's different at the weekend? Do you have weekends or is is your life such that it's weekends aren't relevant to you? Do you try and take trips at the weekend, or do you go out of your hometown once a week to see something new, or are you happy just to be where you are? Do you take daily walks to take uh do you go down to the sea or do you go fishing? I'd love to know these sorts of things about you. You know, what what do you do to brighten your life, or do is your life brightened just by your daily activities? Do you do something every day that you hate, like a job, or maybe looking after an elderly relative that's really difficult? Yeah, tell tell me anything you want and let me know if I can share it. I've had a lovely I I'm go I said before that I'll assume that I can share things, and I had a lovely email from a lady, I'll just call D, and let me see if I can find that. Right, I've got to zip across the apps to to bring it up, but here it is. Dear Gretel, I was pleased and surprised to get your package. I have been ill, so I've just come back to life and found your parcel. I love everything you do or and read on the podcast. It's all so interesting. And these days I need a distraction from the crazy antics of our fearless leader here in America. You keep me from jumping off a bridge when I listen to the news. Bless you, my dear. So thank you very much for that email I got yesterday. It cheered me up and it was lovely to receive. And I look forward to receiving more emails. I do enjoy reading them and I it makes me feel connected to you. So wherever you are, whatever you're doing, do uh send me an email and don't don't be afraid to write the most mundane of things. I'm I'm a great believer that uh we can we can get the most nourishment from from what seems maybe you think from to from another person's point of view as the most mundane of things. You know, I talk about my endlessly about my pots of tea, don't I? And it's just the tiny things that we do that sometimes can can make us feel happy. So, yes, let me know. And in the meantime, I send you my love. And I don't if you can hear the birds, I'll be quiet a minute and see what you can hear. The wren's very noisy. Annoyingly, the cars are too. Who needs cars, eh? Let's get rid of them. I can hear you all shouting, we need cars. Yeah, no, of course we do, but they are noisy, aren't they? And now back in my garden, I want to celebrate two saints today. So we have Saint Columba, he's the main saint we celebrate, very well known to you by now, I think. He lived around five two one to five nine five. So what's that seventy-six years? A lovely long life in the sixth century. Born in Ireland, Columba, meaning dove of the church or Column Keely, was of noble Gallic Gaelic lineage. After disputes connected with a copied manuscript and growing political tensions, he left Ireland with twelve companions and settled on the island of Iona in five six three. There he founded a monastery that became one of the great centres of Celtic Christianity. From Iona he and his monks evangelized the Picts and established daughter houses throughout Scotland and Northern England. Columba was remembered as a man of prayer, scholarship, hospitality and missionary zeal. His life, written by Adam Nan, is filled with stories of visions, healings, and prophetic insight. He died peacefully at Iona in five ninety seven after blessing the monastery and continuing his nightly prayers. Then we have Saint Ephraim the Syrian three hundred six to three hundred seventy three, so that's what sixty seven years. Again, a pretty good long life in the fourth century, really early on. Ephraim was born in Nisibis, modern day Turkey, and became a deacon rather than a priest, dedicating his life to teaching and serving the church. Forced forced into exile by war, he settled in Edessa, where he became renowned for his biblical commentaries, sermons, and especially his hymns. He used poetry and music to teach orthodox doctrine and to combat heresy, earning him the title Harp of the Holy Spirit. His writings are rich in imagery and wonder, dwelling on the incarnation, paradise, Mary, and the mystery of Christ. Unlike many theologians, Ephraim preferred poetry to abstract argument, believing that divine truths were better approached through symbols and praise. During a famine he organized relief for the poor and he died in 373. He was declared a doctor of the church in 1920. And now we continue our history of the English Church by William Hunt, and just to remind you, this was written a long time ago, and it doesn't mean I necessarily agree with any comments made or anything like that. It might be a bit old fashioned, but I think we enjoy things written a long time ago, I hope. So we're right at the beginning of the church in in England. I I I'll do one paragraph overlap. York, the chief military centre of Roman Britain, and the residence of Severus and of Constantius, the father of Constantine, was naturally chosen as the head of the Northern Province, and London, already the chief commercial city of the island, seemed to the Pope not less suited to the be the metropolitan city of the South. London, however, did not become a metropolitan city. When the Pope's letter arrived it was still heathen, and though a church was planted there before Augustine's death, it was not firmly established, and he had good reason for acting in accordance with his own wish, not to leave the place and church, which must have been dear to him. I think not just dear to him, but of course, you know, he had this the king there, and I think he was basically given a palace, and because of the because of the Queen he he just I mean he he would have been almost like a little princeling, wouldn't he? And you know, he's only human. Why why wouldn't he have wanted to live there rather than in London where there was no such setup and he would have been sort of on his own. I mean he did make it clear right from the start that he wasn't particularly keen on the whole trip to England. Shortly after his death, London again did become heathen, and by the time that its people were finally converted to Christianity, the primacial sea had become so firmly established at Canterbury that no one thought of removing him. I suspect a few people did. Along with these letters, Gregory sent Augustine everything that was needful of public worship for public worship, secret vessels, vestments, relics, and many books. Although what would Jesus say all that was needful for public worship was would be, I don't know, a full heart. After Laurentius and his company had proceeded some way on their journey, Gregory sent a messenger after them. He was anxious to hear how they were prospering, for he had received no tidings of them, and he had something further to say for the guidance of the newly planted church, just a reminder in case you'd forgotten, that tide and time are cognate, so when you hear no tidings, it's sort of no timings, it's it's they were very closely linked. His messenger brought a letter from him to Meletus, in which he alters his directions with reference to the heathen temples. This was so important because it meant meant there would have been a time gap, just a little time window where it would have been acceptable from the Pope's point of view to destroy the heathen temples, but after that not. And we don't know now, I don't think we've we've got any idea in that time window how many were destroyed. And and who would have destroyed them, you know, would if they'd been monks or people that they just paid as part of their I don't know, entourage. They were, he says, in this letter not to be destroyed, but if well built were to be purified and turned into churches. You could imagine Saint Gregory chatting to his advisers back in Rome, saying, Oh yes, I've told them to destroy those awful heathen temples, and then maybe someone taking him to one side saying, Now, Gregory, may I just have a word and then say, Look, you know, we've we've got experience of this in Rome, and we what we found is when we go to places like like Aquisulis and Bath, and when we did all that hundreds of years ago and other places, actually we we were better off using the temples because you know, why destroy the brick bricks and water for something that can be reused? And also those ridiculous locals would be more inclined to pray at something that had some meaning for them already, and Gregory sipping on his on his wine or warm milk would have said, Yeah, yeah, you're right. Okay, just stop but fanning me for an instant, let me just g write right put all this in a letter. So his messenger sent the letter, so they were not to be destroyed, but if well built, were to be purified and turned into churches, nor would he have the people deprived of the festivals that they had hitherto kept with heathen rites. They too were to be made aides to Christian worship, for he would have kept on the dedication days of churches or in memory of the holy martyrs. So again, it's important to remember that, you know, when there's discussions on say the rest is history and they're all discussing whether Christian festivals were just pagan festivals. It's important to remember this that actually Gregory specifically said, look, let's use the same f the festival dates. And yeah, I think do you think people have forgotten that when they have the modern conversations? I've I've listened to all these debates. I don't think I've heard any one of them refer back to St. Gregory's letter. It's almost impossible for anyone living now to ever imagine that they would write a letter so pivotal, so important as the as these series of letters from Gregory, and every single letter had huge impact. Really extraordinary. I mean, I suppose there is a book just called Gregory's Letters and Their Impacts, but it's he handled it all so well, and Augustine in return handled it reasonably well too, and between the two of them they it was just sort of clever work that they sort of sewed up in just a matter of a few years. Nor would he have the people deprived of the festivals that they had hitherto kept with heathen rites, they too were to be made aides to Christian worship, for he would have kept on the dedication days of churches, or in memory of the holy martyrs. At the seasons at which the people were wont to sacrifice their oxen to idols, they were to come to the same buildings as of old, which would no longer be heathen temples but Christian churches. So I know I keep interrupting, but so imagine people who don't don't really know about the the Christ what's happened in Canterbury, and so every year they come to sacrifice uh their oxen at this a particular building, and you know, Sue and and Arnold come with their oxen, and Sue and Arnold say, Hello, here we are again, and they're greeted instead of by the usual people, by someone in long cloaks, and they say, Yeah, but you can still you can still you know sacrifice your oxen here, you'll still be given a little bit of money. Here we are, Sue, here we are, Arnold. But actually, you're doing it for Christ and for Jesus. And Arnold says, Well, as long as we still get what we usually get, we you know, we don't really care. And then Sue says, Oh, tell me about this Jesus, and Arnold says, No, no, don't listen to any of that modern tomfoolery. And so they get their they get their money and they're off they go for a year back to back to their lives. And they gave thanks to God, the giver of all things, and so arose the Whitson and Church ailes, the May games and other festivities of past times, and so it came about that the Paschal Feast was called, Bede says, after the goddess Eostra, for it usually fell in her month, and some of the heathen customs of the feasts held at the two solstices were transferred to Christmas, which took the place of the Teutonic Yule tide, and to the Eve and Day of St. John the Baptist. There is much to admire in the tenderness of heart which led Gregory to seek to make Christianity attractive to the new converts, and his idea of causing the church to enter on the heritage of the heathen, beautifying and sanctifying to the service of God things that originally belonged to the worship of idols, what it was either tenderness of heart or cleverness, quickness of brain. On the other that was me, of course, on the other hand, it seems probable that the heathenish and superstitious practices against which the church had to struggle so long in this as other as in other Teutonic lands would have died out more rapidly if the missionaries had from the very first insisted that their converts should forsake everything connected with their former paganism. This is all so brilliant, I I absolutely love it. Now in our Sherborne Garden at the moment there is there are a series of wars going on, and the wars are between Mr Mag Magpie, Mr. Cheeky, aggressive, noisy magpie, and uh Puppy, Puppy Scout. Puppy Scout uses as her tactics sitting quietly on the a lawn, looking up at the roof and then barking angrily. Mr Magpie uses as his tactics a flick of the tail in disgust, standing on the uh chimney pot, shouting out You can't get me and going about his business nevertheless. Now there's a footnote here, so let's see what William Hunt says here. The main authority for the history of the Church of England to the year seven three one is Bede's beautiful and trustworthy narrative. Okay, so we agree it's beautiful, and we agree it's trustworthy, but we would add in brackets up to a point, wouldn't we? In his Historia Ecclesiastica, Gentis and Glorum. And of course we've read the whole of this, haven't we, dear lovely friend? Of which there are many editions. It may be studied to most advantage in Mr Plummer's Baeda Opera Historica, Oxford 1896, two volumes, an admirable edition. Canterbury traditions will be found in Gosselin's De Vita Translation Sant Augustini and etc etc let's just see if it becomes useful. Canonbright's chapters of the early Church of History, 1878, which goes down to 709, is full of learning and should be read by all students. It would be difficult to express the extent to which this book is indebted indebted to the works of Bishops Stubbs, Cannonbright, and Mr. Plummer. Bede's notices of Gregory the Great seem partly founded on an old life by an English monk, discovered by Paul Ewell and printed in his Historisch Auf Satze dem Andan and Gwaltz Gerwidnet eighteen eighty six. Extracts are printed by Mr Plummer in his Bede Lives of Gregory in his Bede. There's also Lives of Gregory by Paul the Deacon of the eighth century and John the Deacon ninth century, and his letters are in the Benedictine edition of Gregory's opera etc. So it just carries on like that of which I'm I imagine all of it is meaningful to you. Now it goes on to chapter two. We could stop there, but we we seem to read it so sporadically that I'm tempted to start, partly because I love this era, this is my f favourite era, but also I think let's keep a bit of momentum going. Are you up for it? And oh I can see you shaking your head. Do you want to give it a go? Okay? You want to go and get a cup of tea? Okay, let me pause it for you while you just go and get a cup of tea. Alright. Chapter three The Church in Kent Soon after Melatus and his companions arrived in England, perhaps at the end of six oh one, Augustine determined to ascertain whether the British Church would acknowledge the authority over it with which Gregory had invested him, for he was anxious to obtain its help in his mission to the English. Through Ethelbert's influence a meeting was arranged on the borders of the lands of the West Saxons and the Howickers, who had settled in the present Gloucestershire and Worcestershire. The meeting place was at an oak long afterwards called Augustine's Oak, probably a landmark, and it may be an ancient oak which had received superstitious reverence alike from the earlier inhabitants of Britain and from the conquering race. Where it stood is not known, probably near the southern bank of the Severn. Aost, as an AUST, near Chepstow, has been suggested as the place of meeting, and though it was called after the Emperor Augustus, it may nevertheless have been the scene of Augustine's conference, and if so its name would have a twofold significance. To this oak came a party of British bishops and learned men from South Wales. They entered the land from which their countrymen had been driven to meet one who had come to them as archbishop of the people whom they hated, demanding the submission of their church, and their help in preaching the gospel to the fierce to their fierce conquerors. Augustine asked them whether they would have Catholic concord with him and would join him in his work of evangelization. His question referred to the points on which their church differed from Rome, i. e. the date of Easter and the rest. The British bishops declared that they would keep their own traditions and refused to listen to the prayers and reproaches which he and his companions addressed to them. At last Augustine closed the debate by proposing that they should join in asking God for a sign as to which tradition was the way that led to heaven. At that point they all sat quietly, awkwardly looking up to the sky. Bede, who tells the story as it was told to him a century and a half later, says that the Britons assented unwillingly, and that an Englishman who had become blind was brought forward. In vain the Britons tried to heal him. Then Augustine knelt down and prayed, and the blind man received his sight. But who was it that brought the blind man forward? Which side? Convinced by this significant miracle the Britons owned that Augustine's way was the right one, but said that they could not desert their own traditions without the consent of their people. A second synod was, therefore, arranged at which the British Church might be more largely represented. So all this is going to be super familiar with those of you who diligently listened to the history of the English by Bede. But what's great about this is obviously it sums it up in beautiful old, you know, nice English that we can listen to as a narrative, so I'm really enjoying it and I I hope you are too. Seven British bishops, it is said, and a great number of learned men, many of them from the then famous monastery of Bangor Ishgood, near Chester, agreed to attend the second conference with Augustine. So what's fascinating to think is how much behind the scenes stuff is going on. I mean you can see it now, can't you, with I'm not going to mention awful names, but you know, heads of state meeting to arrange something, you know, most of the time, perhaps, people going ahead of the conference, you know, minions to say, okay, you know, what are your red lines? What are you what what are the things you're trying to achieve? What are you prepared to concede on? And there would be all that scurrying about. And of course the key things that the huge things that St. Augustine could offer were connection to Rome and the wealth that could come from Rome, acceptance, things like vestments and books and all those kind of things that would be so impressive, not only to the leaders, but also to the to the people under the leaders that would have to have been persuaded. So there would have been an awful lot to be said, and you can just imagine huge arguments among the Britons, because some of them would have been the uh the pure ones not wanting to we would and they would have seen perhaps all this as being uh s as a threat, seeing their pure religion threatened and dip and jeopardized and stained maybe even, and there would have been others saying, look, come on, let's just be realistic, it's gonna happen anyway. Why don't we just play ball, ask as f and and play as hard as we can and get as much as we can from it, but at the same time accept that we're gonna concede to their main points in the end, and I think a whole s trilogy of novels set around this time about the British Church and how they interacted would be wonderful. And so seven British bishops, it is said, and a great number of learned men, many of them from the then famous monastery of Bangor Ishkawad, and that means I think it means under the wood, near Chester agreed to attend the second conference. Before setting out they consulted a hermit named Dinut, or Dinord, of high repute for wisdom and holiness as to whether they should accept Augustine's teaching. He answered that if Augustine was a man of God, they should follow him. How can we know whether he is so they asked? He told them that if he was meek and lowly of heart, they might know that he had taken on him the yoke of Christ and was offering it to them, and that they should not refuse to accept it, but that if he was overbearing and proud, he could not be a man of God. They asked how they could judge this, and he bade them contrive that Augustine should first be at the place of meeting, and if he rose at their approach they might know him to be a servant of Christ, and should therefore obey him, but if he did not rise to receive them, he would show that he despised them, and they might treat him with contempt. They did as he said, and when they came to the place of meeting, they found Augustine sitting on a seat, and he did not rise when they approached him, for he had come to assert his authority over them, and they, seeing that he remained seated, were offended and set themselves to contradict all he said. And we'll leave it there for the moment. This book at one point, by the way, was owned by the College of St. Boniface in Warminster. It's got one of those lovely old library stickers. See if it's been owned by anyone else we can see. And now we go to London and it's the twenty second of january sixteen sixty four, so we're at three hundred and fifty years ago thereabouts, and we're in the diaries of a course of Samuel Peeps, and it's the day after the hanging of Turner. And if you remember he was hung by near to where the robbery was done, and I suppose it was thought that that was the right place to carry out an execution, as though to say, look, you know, if you're going to rob or commit a crime, then right way you've done that act, you're going to have your life taken away. twenty second up, and it being a brave morning, by water with a galley to Woolwich, and there, both at the rope yard and the other yard, did much business, and thence to Greenwich to see Mr Pett and others value the carved work of the Henrietta, God knows in an ill manner for the king, and so to Deptford, and there viewed Sir William Petty's vessel, which had that odd appearance, but not such as people do make of it. Actually we've read that day, so twenty third, up into the office where we sat all the morning, at noon home to dinner where Hawley came to see us and dined with us, and after we had dined came Mr Mallard, and after he had eaten something, I brought down my vial, which he played on, the first maester that ever touched her yet, and she proves very well and will be, I think, an admirable instrument. He played some very fine things of his own, but I was afeard to enter too far in their commendation, for fear he should co offer to copy them for me out, and so I be forced to give or lend him something. That's interesting. And so to the office in the evening, with a Mr Commander came to me, and we discoursed about my will, which I am resolved to perfect the next week by grace of God, he being gone, I to write letters and other business late, and so home to supper and to bed. twenty fourth, Lord's Day, lay long in bed, and then up, and being desirous to perform my vows that I lately made, among others to be performed this month, I did go to my office and there fell on entering out of a by book part of my second journal book, which hath laid this these two years and more unentered. Upon this work till dinner, and after dinner to it again till night, and then home to supper, and after supper to read a lecture to my wife upon the globes, and so to my prayers and to bed. This evening also I drew up a rough draught of my last will to my mind, will end on the twenty seventh of January, up unto the office and at noon to the coffee house, where I sat with Sir George Ask and Sir William Petty, who, in discourse, is methinks one of the most rational men that ever I heard speak with a tongue, having all his notions the most distinct and clear, among other things saying that in all his life these three books oops, the page is turned in the wind, these three books were the most esteemed and generally cried up for wit in the world Religio Medici, Osborne's advice to a son, and Hudibras, thence to the change, and after doing much business home, taking Commissioner Pet thence with me, and all alone dined together. He was mightily serious with me in discourse about the consequence of Sir William Petty's boat as the most dangerous thing in the world if it should be practised in the world by end so I just wondered if I use too many worlds, but that is correct, by endangering our loss of the command of the seas and the trade while the Turks and others shall get the use of them, which, without doubt, by bearing more sail, will go faster than any other ships, and not being of burden. Our merchants cannot have the use of them, and so will be at the mercy of their enemies, so that I perceive he is afeard that the honour of his trade will down, though, which is a truth, he pretends this consideration to hinder the growth of this invention. I don't quite follow it all, but it I mean what what is clear is the close relationship between the Royal Navy and the merchants, and the merchants turning to the and turning to the government really as though to say what can be done to protect us against enemies. He being gone, my wife and I took coach and to Covent Garden to buy a mask at the French house, Madame Charret's for my wife, in the way observing the street full of coaches at the new play, the Indian Queen, which forged which for show they say exceeds Henry VIII, thence back to Mrs. Turner's and sat awhile with them, talking of plays and I know not what. We've just been joined by Mr Kat. I feel a bit sorry for him. He he definitely doesn't have as much of a comfortable life now that we've got the puppy. He has to be more wary. He wants to sit on my lap. You do, don't you? But you can't. I've got this book on my lap. Oh dear. I've got a little chair for him, but okay, he's gonna sit on my lap. Come on then, come on then. Oh my lifting up the very heavy book on Oh dear. Book on peeps. And he's once he know once he's on my lap he knows he's sort of safe because no one can get him, but he does molt a lot of hairs and it's difficult for me to then do much else, but come on then, you settle down. Right, let's carry on. Thence back to Mrs. Turner's and sat awhile with them talking of plays and I know not what. And so called to see Tom, but not at home, though they say he is in a deep consumption. I wonder if that's his brother, Tom. And Mrs. Turner and Dyke and they say he will not live two months to an end. I dn well I don't think that could be his brother then. So home and to the office, and then to supper and bed. Look, I'm just gonna finish the month 'cause we're just two days off and I I feel that we haven't had momentum for a while. thirtieth up and a sorry sermon of a young fellow I knew at Cambridge, but the day kept solemnly for the king's murder. Of course they have to call it a murder, don't they? As in Henry Charles I. And I all day within doors making up my Brampton papers. It's almost like at the bank holiday, isn't it? No one's allowed to do anything on the day of the King's murder. And in the evening Mr Commander came, and we made perfect and signed and sealed my last will and testament, which is to my s which is so to my mind, and I hope to the liking of God almighty, that I take great joy in myself that it is done, and by that means my mind is in a good condition of quiet, at night to supper and to bed. This evening, being in a humour of making all things even and clear in the world, I tore some old papers, among them a romance, which under the title of Love a Cheat, I begun ten years ago at Cambridge, and what a shame it was destroyed, and at this time reading it over tonight I liked it very well, and wondered a little at myself, at my vein at that time when I wrote it, doubting that I cannot do so well now if I would try. It's like I I read an essay that I wrote, and I I remember th I thought I was going to read it and think it was going to be completely babyish, but actually it was really good and and like him I thought I wonder if I could do that now. It's funny to look back at our own selves and admire admire ourselves. And then we finished on the thirty first of January, Lord's Day, up and in my chamber all day long, but a little at dinner, settling all my Brampton accounts, remember that's where his sort of homeland is, up in, I think Suffolk, isn't it? To this day in very good order, I having obliged myself by oath that to do so and other things within this month, I did also perfectly prepare a state of my estate and annexed it to my last will and testament, which is now perfect, and lastly I did make up my last month's accounts, and find that I have gained above fifty pounds clear this month, and so I am worth eight hundred and fifty pounds clear, which is the greatest sum I ever yet was maester of, and also read over my usual vows as I do so every Lord's day, but with greater seriousness than ordinary, and I do hope that every day I shall see more and more the pleasure of looking after my business and laying up of money, and blessed be to God for what I have already been enabled by his grace to do. And the next time it'll be February, February the first, and it starts to Whitehall, where in the Duke's chamber the king came and stayed an hour or two laughing at Sir William Petty and now surrounded by all the animals sitting in the garden in the fading sun, birds all about and nice and peaceful. Let's continue with the Anglo Saxon Chronicles. AD nine forty seven this year came King Edred to Tabin's Hill Cliff, and there Archbishop Wolstan and all the council of the Northumbrians bound themselves to an allegiance with the king, and within a little space they abandoned all, both allegiance and oaths. So what happened there? AD nine forty eight this year King Adred overran all Northumberland, because they had taken Eric for their king, and in the pursuit of plunder was that large minster at Ripon set on fire, which Saint Wilfirth bought, built. As the king returned homeward he overtook the enemy at York, but his main army was behind at Chesterford. There was great slaughter made, and the king was so wroth that he would fain return with his force, and lay waste the land withal, but when the council of the Northumbrians understood that, they then abandoned Eric and compromised the deed with King Adred. nine forty nine. This year came Anlaf Curran to the land of the Northumbrians nine five one. This year died Elfey, Bishop of Winchester, on St. Gregory's Mass Day. nine five two. This year the Northumbrians expelled King Anlaf and received Eric the son of Harold. This year also King Edred ordered Archbishop Wolfstan to be brought into prison at Jedba because he was oft berrayed before the king, and the same year the king ordered a great slaughter to be made in the town of Thetford, in revenge of the abbot whom they had formerly slain. Nine five four This year the Northumbrians expelled Eric, and King Adred took to the government of the Northumbrians. This year also Archbishop Wolfstan received a bishopric again at Dorchester. nine fifty five. This year died King Edred on St. Clement's Mass Day at Fruim. He reigned nine years and a half, and he rests in the old Minster. Then succeeded Edwin, the son of King Edmund to the government of the West Saxons, and Edgar Athling, his brother, succeeded to the government of the Mercians. They were the sons of King Edmund and of St. Algiva. nine fifty five and Edwin succeeded to the kingdom of the West Saxons, and Edgar his brother, succeeded to the kingdom of the Mercians, and they were the sons of King Edmund and of St. Algiva. That's obviously you know the repeat as we know because it's come from more than one manuscript. nine five six this year died Wolfstan, Archbishop of York on the seventeenth day before the Calends of January, and he was buried at Aundel. In the same year was Abbot Dunstan driven out of this land oversea. nine five eight this year Archbishop Oda separated King Edwin and Elgiva because they were too nearly related. And will end on this AD nine fifty nine. This year died King Edwin on the Calends of October, and Edgar his brother took to the government of the West Saxons, Mercians, and Northumbrians. He was then sixteen years old. It was in this year he sent after Dunstan and gave him the bishopric of Worcester, and afterwards the Bishopric of London. In his days it prospered well, and God him gave that he dwelt in peace the while that he lived. Whatever he did, whatever he planned, he earned his thrift. He also reared God's glory wide and God's law loved, with peace to man, above the kings that went before in man's remembrance. God so him sped, that kings and earls to all his claims submissive bowed, and to his will without a blow, he willeded all as pleased himself. Esteemed he willed. He was both far and wide in distant lands, because he prized the name of God, and God's law traced, God's glory reared both far and wide on every side. Wisely he sought in counsel oft his people's good before his God, before the world. One misdeed he did, too much, however, that foreign tastes he loved too much, and heathen modes into this land he brought too fast. That's interesting. Outlandish men hither enticed, and to this earth attracted crowds of vicious men. But God him grant that his good deeds be weightier far than his misdeeds, and to his soul soul's redemption on the judgment day. He was known as Edgar the Good, very important king in our history, but I wonder what he means by that, whether he brought in, I don't know, slave musicians from Africa or something. Maybe it's worth finding out. Okay, I've just done a little bit of light research, and it seems like what it's referring to is that he employed Edgar employed Scandinavian mercenaries and sailors, many of whom were still heathens or, you know, just recently baptized, probably just in a token way, and that he sort of maintained a powerful fleet of them, probably as a kind of I d you you know what it would have been like at that time, just s subsidiary power. And that did help preserve the peace, but uh a bit like inviting Saxons over to help in the long run. It meant that the m that bit by bit the Vikings had more and more of a stake in the country and more and more of a sense of what was to be gained here. So in the long run it was seen as a bad b a bad thing. And now we finish today's episode by reading Villette. Before we do that, I just want you to start thinking about I know it's early, but I'm excited to think about what will be our main Christmas read uh book, and by that I mean a book that we finish reading on Christmas Day, and so we have to start reading it in September, and I'd like to start reading it I I think on September the first, and that gives us September, October, November, three clear months, and then I'll pace it out in December so that it ends on Christmas Day. And this has now become a little bit of a tradition, it just the third year we'll have done it. I want to read something I I always would like to read Hardy, but you know, I don't want to run out of the books to read, and also, you know, a lot of his books were a little bit depressing. So for example, Tessa the Dird Braves, I'm sure you know, doesn't have the best of endings, but you know, it's worth reading for all the passages of wonder and brilliance within them. I mean, we could also read something like Great Expectations, but it has very long passages uh that are for I think for many people just difficult to get through. So do we read something lighter like Map and Lucia? It would be good to read a book similar to the month in the countr month in the country that I shouldn't have read, but was so lovely, wasn't it? About the paintings and the church. So I'm doing some research on books that can be read and I've already proposed some on Twitter, but I haven't put that on uh Blue Sky yet, and I know some of you don't have Twitter, but if you have any thoughts then do start letting me know and then we'll do a little bit of a vote in August and I'll go with whatever you think. So there we are. And before I read Villette, I just want to send you my love and hope hope you are well. Things aren't amazing here, but I'm just trying to do my best one day at a time. Chapter twenty three Vashti To wonder sadly did I say No, a new influence began to act upon my life, and sadness for a certain space was held at bay. Conceive a dell deep hollowed in forest secrecy. It lies in dimness and mist, its turf is dank, its herbage pale and humid. A storm or an axe makes a wide gap amongst the oak trees, the breeze sweeps in, the sun looks down, the sad, cold dell becomes a deep cup of lustre. High summer pours her blue glory and her golden light out of that beauteous sky, which till now the starved hollow never saw, a new creed became mine, a belief in happiness. It was three weeks since the adventure of the garret, and I possessed, in that case, box, drawer upstairs, casketed with that first letter, four companions like to it, traced by the same firm pen, sealed with the same clear seal, full of the same vital comfort. Vital comfort it seemed to me then. I read them in after years. They were kind letters enough, pleasing letters, because composed by one well pleased. In the last two there were three or four closing lines, half gay, half tender, by feeling touched but not subdued. Time, dear reader, mellowed them to a beverage of this mild quality, but when I first tasted their elixir, fresh from the fount so honoured, it seemed juice of a divine vintage, a draught which Hebe might fill, and the very gods approve. Does the reader, remembering what was said some pages back, care to ask how I answered these letters, whether under the dry stinting check of reason, or according to the full liberal impulse of feeling? To speak truth, I compromise matters. Oh the bells are starting, it's Tuesday bell night, I'm so pleased. I'm feeling a little low, and my son's gone off to Salisbury to see friends. My daughter's gone out to do some volunteering commitments, and I'm alone here in the garden, and there's just been a lot of testing things going on, and I just feel a bit worn out with it all and feel like I the gradient's been a bit too steep, and I just want a bit of a downward a downward stint, and sometimes it just takes a few nice things to happen, like the sun shining on your cheek like it's doing now, and the bells ringing and the animals on my lap, and oh I start to feel I start to feel I can relax. Shall I tell you? I might tell you no. I there's something I might share with you, but I I'm not gonna share with it sh share you with it share it with you now. To speak truth, I compromised matters and I served two masters. What I'll do in a minute when I finished Villette is I'll take the microphone off because it's stopping you from hearing the bells, and I'll just let you enjoy the bells. I love hearing them so much. I bowed the knee in the house of Rimon and lifted the heart at another shrine. I wrote to these letters two answers, one for my own relief, the other for Graham's perusal. To begin with, feeling and I turned reason out of doors, drew against her bar and bolt, then we sat down, oop too windy, spread our paper, dipped in the ink and eager pen, and with deep enjoyment poured out our sincere heart, when we had done, when two sheets were covered with the language of a strongly adherent affection. A rooted and active gratitude, once for all, in this parenthesis, I declaim with the utmost scorn every sneaking suspicion of what are called warmer feelings. Women do not entertain these warmer feelings, where from the commencement through the whole progress of an acquaintance they have never once been cheated of the conviction that to do so would be to commit a moral absurdity. Nobody ever launches into love unless he has seen or dreamed the rising of hope's star over love's troubled waters. When then I had given expression to a closely clinging and deeply honouring attachment, an attachment that wanted to attract to itself and take into its own lot all that was painful in the destiny of its object, that would, if it could, have absorbed and conducted away all storms and lightnings from an existence viewed with a passion of solicitude. Then, just at that moment, the doors of my heart would shake, bolt, and bar would yield, reason would leap in, vigorous and revengeful, snatch the full sheets, read, sneer, erase, tear up, rewrite, fold, seal, direct, and send a terse, curt missive of a page. She did write. I did not live on letters only. I was visited, I was looked after. Once a week I was taken out to La Terras, always I was made much of. Dr Breton failed not to tell me why he was so kind. He was determined so windy, to dispute with her her prey. He had taken, he declared, a thorough dislike to her, chiefly on account of that white face cloth and those cold grey eyes. The moment he heard of those odious particulars, he affirmed, consummate disgust had incited him to oppose her, and he was determined to try whether he or she was the cleverest, and he only wished she would once more look in upon me when he was present, but that she never did. In short, he regarded me scientifically in the light of a patient, and at once exercised his professional skill and gratified his natural benevolence by a course of cordial and attentive treatment. One evening, the first in December, I was walking by myself in the carre, and it was six o'clock. The class doors were closed, but within the pupils rampant in the license of evening recreation, were counterfeiting a miniature chaos. The garret was quite dark except a red light shining under and about the stove. The wide glass doors and the long windows were frosted over, a crystal sparkle of starlight here and there spangling this blanched winter veil, and breaking with scattered brilliance the paleness of its embroidery, proved it a clear night, though moonless, that I should dare to remain thus alone in the darkness showed that my nerves were regaining a healthy tone. I thought of the nun but hardly feared her, though the staircase was behind me leading up through blind, black night, from landing to landing, to the haunted crenier. Yet I own my heart quaked, my pulse leaped when I suddenly heard breathing and rustling, and turning saw in the deep shadow of the steps a deeper shadow still, a shape that moved and descended. It paused awhile at the class door and then it glided before me. Simultaneously came a clanger of the distant doorbell. Lifelike sounds bring lifelike feelings. This shape was too round and low for my gaunt nun. Ah, there go the bells. I don't know if you can hear them because of the microphone. It was only Madame Beck on duty. Mademoiselle Lucy cried Rosine, bursting in, lamp in hand from the corridor. On lap vos salon. Madame saw me, I saw Madame. Rosine saw us both. There was no mutual recognition. I made straight for the salon. There I found what I had anticipated I should find, doctor Breton, but he was in evening dress. The carriage is at the door, said he. My mother has sent it to take you to the theatre. She was going herself, but an arrival has prevented her. She immediately said Take Lucy in my place. Will you go? Just now I am not dressed, cried I, glancing despairingly at my dark merino. You have half an hour to dress. I should have given you notice, but I only determined on going since five o'clock, when I heard there was to be a genuine regal in the presence of a great actress. And he mentioned a name that thrilled me, a name that in those days could thrill Europe. It is hushed now, its once restless echoes are all still. She who bore it went twenty years ago to her rest. Night and oblivion long since closed above her, but then her day, a day of Sirius, stood at its full height, light and fervour. I'll go, I'll be ready in ten minutes, I vowed, and away I flew, never once checked reader by the thought which perhaps at this moment checks you, namely that to go anywhere with Graham and without Mrs. Breton could be objectionable. I could not have conceived, much less have expressed to Graham such a thought, such scruple, without risk of exciting a tyrannous self-contempt, a kindling an inward fire of shame so quenchless and so devouring that I think it would soon have licked up the very life in my vein. Besides, my godmother, knowing her son and knowing me, would as soon have thought of chaperoning a sister with a brother as of keeping me anxious guard over our incomings and outgoings. The present was of no occasion for showing array. My dun missed crepe would suffice, and I sought the same in a great oak wardrobe in the dormitory, where hung no less than forty dresses. But there had been changes and reforms, and some innovating hand had pruned this same crowded wardrobe and carried diverse garments to the Grenier, my crepe among the rest. I must fetch it. I got the key and went aloft, fearless, almost thoughtless. I unlocked the door, I plunged in. The reader may believe it or not, but when I thus suddenly entered, the garret was not wholly dark as it should have been. From one point there shone a solemn light like a star, but broader. So plainly it shone that it revealed the deep alcove, with a portion of the tarnished scarlet curtain drawn over it. Instantly, silently, before my eyes it vanished. So did the curtain and alcove. All that end of the garret became black as night. I ventured no research. I had not time nor will. Snatching my dress which hung on the wall, happily near the door, I rushed out, re locked the door with convulsed haste, and darted downwards to the dormitory. But I trembled too much to dress myself. Impossible to arrange hair or fasten, hooks and eyes with such fingers, so I called Rosine and bribed her to help me. Rosine liked a bribe, so she did her best, smoothed and plaited my hair, as well as a coffee would have done, placed the lace collar mathematically straight, tied the neck ribbon accurately, in short, did her work like the neat handed Phyllis she could be when she chose. Having given me my handkerchief and gloves, she took the candle and lighted me downstairs. After all I had forgotten my shawl, she ran back to fetched it, and I stood with Dr. John in the vestibule waiting. What is this, Lucy? said he, looking down at me narrowly. Here's the old excitement. Ha, the nun again? But I utterly denied the charge. I was vexed to be suspected of a second illusion. He was sceptical. She has been as sure as I live, said he. Her figure crossing your eyes leaves on them a peculiar gleam and expression not to be mistaken. She has not been, I persisted, for indeed I could deny her apparition with truth. The old symptoms are there, he affirmed. A particular pale and what the Scotch call a raised look. He was so obstinate. I thought it better to tell him what I really had seen. Of course with him it was held to be another effect of the same cause. It was an optical illusion, nervous malady, and so on. Not one bit did I believe him, but I dared not contradict. Doctors are so self opinionated, so immovable in their dry materialist views. Rosine brought the shawl and I was bundled into the carriage. The theatre was full, crammed to its roof, royal and noble were there. Palace and hotel had emptied their inmates into those tears so thronged and hushed. Deeply did I feel myself privileged in having a place before that stage. I longed to see a being of whose powers I had heard reports which made me conceive peculiar anticipations. I wondered if she would justify her renown. With strange curiosity, with feelings severe and austere, yet of riveted interest I waited. She was a study of such nature as had not encountered my eyes yet, a great and new planet she was, but in what state? I waited her rising. She rose at nine that December night. Above the horizon I saw her come. She could shine yet with pale grandeur and steady might, but that star verged already on its judgment day. Seen near it was a chaos, hollow, half consumed, an orb perish or perishing, half lava, half glow. I had heard this woman termed plain, and I expected bony harshness and grimness, something large, angular, sallow. What I saw was the shadow of a royal vashti, a queen, fair as the day once, turned pale now like twilight, and wasted like wax in flame. For a while, a long while I thought it was only a woman, though a unique woman, who moved in, might and grace before this multitude. By and by I recognised my mistake. Behold, I found upon her something neither of woman nor of man. In each of her eyes sat a devil. These evil forces bore her through the tragedy, kept up her feeble strength, for she was but a frail creature, and as the action rose and the stir deepened, how wildly they shook her with their passions of the pit. They wrote hell on her straight, haughty brow. They turned her voice to the note of torment. They writhed her legal her regal face to a dim demoniac mask. Hate and murder and madness incarnate, she stood. Oh the bells are so lovely, and I've got a warm cat on my lap, and I've got a pretty dog next to me. It was a marvellous sight, a mighty revelation. It was a spectacle, low, horrible, immoral. Swordsmen thrust through and dying in their blood on the arena sand. Bulls goring, horses disemboweled make a meeker version for the public eye, a milder condiment for people's palate, than Vashti torn by seven devils, devils which cried sore and rent the tenement they haunted, but still refused to be exercised. Suffering had struck that stage empress, and she stood before her audience, neither yielding to, nor enduring, nor in finite measure resenting it. She stood locked in struggle, rigid in resistance. She stood not dressed, but draped in pale antique folds, long and regular. Like sculpture, a background and an entourage and flooring of deepest crimson threw her out, white like alabaster, like silver, rather be it said, like death. Where was the artist of the Cleopatra? Let him come and sit down and study this different version. Let him seek here the mighty brawn, the muscle, the abounding blood, the full fled full fed flesh she worshipped. Let all materialists draw nigh and look on. I have said that she does not resent her grief. No, the weakness of that word would make it a lie. To her what hurts become a becomes immediately embodied. She looks on it as a thing that could be attacked, worried down and torn in shreds. Scarcely a substance herself, she grapples to conflict with abstractions. Before calamity she is a tigress. She rends her woes, shivers them in convulsed abhorrence. Pain for her has no resulting good, tears, water, no harvest of wisdom. On sickness, on death itself, she looks with the eye of a rebel. Wicked perhaps she is, but she is also strong. And her strength has conquered beauty, has overcome grace and bound both at her side, captives peerlessly fair, and docile as fair. Even in the uttermost frenzy of energy, is each maned movement royally, imperially, incedingly upborne. Her hair flung loose in revel or war, is still an angel's hair and glorious under hail under a halo, fallen, insurgent, banished, she remembers the heaven where she rebelled. Heaven's light, following her exile, pierces its confines and discloses their forlorn remoteness. Place now the Cleopatra or any other slug before her as an obstacle and see her cut through the pulpy mass as the scimitar of Saladin clove the down cushion. Let Paul Peter Rubens wake from the dead, let him rise out of his ceremony, and bring into this presence all the army of his fat women, the Magian power or prophet virtue gifting that slight rod of Moses could at one waft release and remingle a sea spell parted, whelming the heavy host with the downrush of overthrown sea ramparts. Vashti was not good, I was told, and I have said she did not look good. Though a spirit she was a spirit out of Toffit. Well, if so much of unholy force can arise from below, may not an equal efflux of sacred essence descend one day from above? What thought Dr. Graham of this being? For long intervals I forgot to look how he demeaned himself, or to question what he thought. The strong magnetism of genius drew my heart out of its wonted orbit. The sunflower turned from the south to a fierce light, not solar, a rushing red cometary light, hot on vision and to sensation. I had seen acting before, but never anything like this, never anything which astonished hope and hushed desire, which outstripped impulse and paled conception, which instead of merely irritating imagination with the thought of what might be done, at the same time fevering the nerves because it was not done, disclosed power like a deep, swollen winter river, thundering in a cataract, and bearing the soul like a leaf, on the steady and steep and steely sweep of its descent. Miss Fanshaw, with her usual ripeness of judgment, pronounced Dr. Breton a serious, impassioned man, too grave and too impress impressible. Not in such light did I ever see him. No such faults could I lay to his charge. His natural attitude was not the meditative, nor his natural mood the sentimental. Impressionable he was as dimpling water, but almost as water, unimpressible. The breeze, the sun moved him. Metal could not grave nor fire brand. Dr. John could think and think well, but he was rather a man of action than of thought. He could feel and feel vividly in his way, but his heart had no cord for enthusiasm, to bright, soft, sweet influences, his eyes and lips gave bright, soft, sweet welcome, beautiful to see as dyes of rose and silver, pear and purple, imbuing summer clouds, for what belonged to storm, what was wild and intense, dangerous, sudden and flaming, he had no sympathy, and held with it no communion. When I took time and regained inclination to glance at him, it amused and enlightened me to discover that he was watching that sinister and sovereign Vashti, not with wonder nor worship, nor yet dismay, but simply with intense curiosity. Her agony did not pain him, her wild moan, worse than a shriek, did not much move him. Her fury revolted him somewhat, but not to the point of horror. Cool young Britain, the pale cliffs of his own England do not look down on the tides of the channel more calmly than he watched the Pythian inspiration of that night. Looking at his face I longed to know his exact opinions, and at last I put a question tending to elicit them. At the sound of my voice he awoke as if out of a dream, for he had been thinking and very intently thinking his own thoughts after his own manner. How did he like Vashti? I wished to know. Hum was the first scarce, articulate, but expressive answer, and then such a strange smile went wandering around his lips, a smile so critical, so almost callous. I suppose that for natures of that order his sympathies were callous. In a few terse phrases he told me his opinion of and feelings towards the actress. He judged her as a woman, not an artist. It was a branding judgment. That night was already marked in my book of life, not with white, but with a deep red cross, but I had yet not done with it, and other memoranda were destined to be set down in characters of tint indelible. Towards midnight when the deepening tragedy blackened to the death scene, and all held their breath, and even Graham bit in his underlip and knit his brow, and sat still and struck when the whole theatre was hushed, when the vision of all eyes centred in one point, when all ears listened towards one quarter, nothing being seen but the white form sunk on a seat, quivering in conflict with her last, her worst hated, her visibly conquering foe, nothing heard but her throes, her gaspings, breathing yet of mutiny, panting still defiance when, as it seemed, an inordinate will, convulsing a perishing, mortal frame, bent it to battle with doom and death, fought every inch of ground, sold dear every drop of blood, resisted to the latest the rape of every faculty, would see, would hear, would breathe, would live up to, within, well nigh, beyond the moment when death says to all sense and all being, thus far and no further. Just then a stir, pregnant with omen, rustled behind the scenes, feet ran, voices spoke. What was it? demanded the whole house. A flame? A smell of smoke replied. Fire rang through the gallery. Fire was repeated, re echoed, yelled forth, and then and faster the pen, can set it down, came panic, rushing, crushing, a blind, selfish, cruel chaos, and Dr. John, reader I see him yet, with his look of comely courage and cordial calm. Lucy will sit still, I know, said he, glancing down at me with the same serene goodness, the same repose of firmness that I have seen in him when, sitting at his side, amid the secure peace of his mother's hearth, yet, thus adjured, I think I would have sat still under a rocking crag, but indeed to sit still in actual circumstances was my instinct, and at the price of my very life I would not have moved to give him trouble, thwart his will, or make demands on his attention. We were in the stools, and for a few minutes there was a most terrible, ruthless pressure about us. How terrified are the women, said he, but if the men were not almost equally so, order might be maintained. This is a sorry scene. I see fifty selfish brutes at this moment, each of whom, if I were near, I would conscientiously knock down. I see some women braver than some men. There is one yonder. Good god. While Graham was speaking, a young girl, who had been very quietly and steadily clinging to a gentleman standing before us, was suddenly struck from her protector's arms by a big butcherly intruder and hurled under the feet of the crowd. Scarce two seconds lasted her disappearance. Graham rushed forward. He and the gentleman, a powerful man, though grey haired, united their strength to thrust back the throng. Her head and long hair fell back over his shoulder. She seemed unconscious. Trust her with me, I am a medical man, said Dr. John. If you have no lady with you, be it so was the answer. Hold her and I will force a passage. We must get her to the air. I have a lady, said Graham, but she will be neither hindrance nor encumbrance. He summoned me with his eye. We were separated. Resolute, however, to join him, I penetrated the living barrier, creeping under, where I could not go between or over. Fasten on me and don't leave go, he said, and I obeyed him. Our pioneer proved strong and adroit. He opened the dense mass like a wedge. With patience and toil, he at last bored through the flesh and blood rock, so solid, hot and suffocating, and brought us to the fresh, freezing night. I'm going inside now because it's getting a bit chilly, but before I do, I'm just going to pause this quite intense chapter with Sherborne Bows practising. Now imagine the scene. I'm standing looking I'm at the end of my garden, so I can see another cottage, and on its chimney pot there is a pigeon. And it's not I think it's bigger than a jackdaw. I think it might be a rook. It looks rather large, and I think it might be because I put some bird's feed down, but anyway, I'll be quiet so you can hear the bells You are an Englishman, says he, turning shortly on Dr. Breton when we got into the street. An Englishman, and I speak to a countryman, was the reply. Oh I I used the wrong accent. Right. Be good enough to stand here two minutes whilst I find my carriage. Papa I'm not hurt, said a girlish voice. Am I with papa? You are with a friend, and your father is close at hand. Tell him I am not hurt except just in my shoulder. Oh my shoulder they trod just here. Dislocation, perhaps, muttered the doctor. Let us hope there is no worse injury done. Lucy, lend a hand one instance. And I assisted while he made some arrangements of drapery and position for the ease of his suffering burden. She suppressed a moan and lay in his arms quietly and patiently. She is very light, said Graham, like a child, and he asked in my ear, is she a child, Lucy? Did you notice her age? I'm not a child, I'm a person of seventeen, responded the patient demurely, and with dignity. Then directly after, tell papa to come, I get anxious. The carriage drove up. Her father relieved Graham, but in the exchange from one bearer to another, she was hurt and moaned again. Oh my darling, said the father tenderly. Then turning to Graham, you said, sir, you are a medical man. I am, doctor Breton of La Terras. Good. Will you step into my carriage? My own carriage is here, I will seek it and accompany you. Be pleased then to follow us, and he named his address The Hotel Crescy, in the Rue Crescy. We followed, the carriage drove fast. Myself and Graham were silent. This seemed like an adventure. Can you hear squeak in the background? By the way, that's puppy squeaking a toy, I hope it's not annoying. Some little time being lost in seeking our own equipage, we reached the hotel, perhaps about ten minutes after these strangers. It was an hotel in the foreign sense, a collection of dwelling houses, not an inn, a vast, lofty pile, with a huge arch to its street door, leading through a vaulted covered way into a square all built round. We all alighted, passed up a wide, handsome public staircase, and stopped at numeraux de on the second landing, the first floor comprising the abode of I know not what Prince Rus, as Graham informed me. On ringing the bell at a second great door we were admitted to a suite of very handsome apartments. Announced by a servant in livery, we entered a drawing room whose hearth glowed with an English fire, and whose walls gleamed with foreign mirrors. Near the hearth appeared a little group, a slight form sunk in a deep armchair, one or two women busy about it, the iron grey gentleman anxiously looking on. Where is Harriet? I wish Harriet would come to me, said the girlish voice faintly. Where is Miss Hur Mrs Hearst? demanded the gentleman impatiently and somewhat sternly of the manservant who had admitted us. I'm sorry to say that she has gone out of town, sir. My young lady gave her leave till tomorrow. Yes, I did, I did. She has gone to see her sister. I said she might go, I remember now, interposed the young lady. But I'm so sorry for Manon and Louison cannot understand a word I say, and they hurt me without meaning to do so. Dr. John and the gentleman now interchanged greetings, and while they passed a few minutes in consultation, I approached the easy chair, and seeing what the faint and sinking girl wished to have done, I did it for her. I was still occupied in the arrangements when Graham drew near. He was no less skilled in surgery than medicine, and on examination found that no further advice than his own was necessary to the treatment of the present case. He ordered her to be carried to her chamber, and whispered to me Go with the women, Lucy, they seem but dull. You can at least direct their movements and thus spare her some pain. She must be touched very tenderly. The chamber was a room shadowy with pale blue hangings, vaporous with curtained curtainings and veilings of muslin. The beds seemed to me like snowdrift and mist, spotless, soft and gauzy. Making the women stand apart, I undressed their mistress without their well meaning but clumsy aid. I was not in a sufficiently collected mood to note with separate distinctness every detail of the attire I removed, but I received a general impression of refinement, delicacy, and perfect personal cultivation, which in a period of afterthought offered in my reflections a singular contrast to notes retained of Miss Ginevre Fanchel's appointments. This girl was herself a small, delicate creature, but made like a model. As I folded back her plentiful yet fine hair, so shining and soft, and so exquisitely tended, I had under my observation a young, pale, weary, but high bred face. The brow was smooth and clear, the eyebrows were distinct, but soft and melting to a mere trace at the temples. The eyes were a rich gift of nature, fine and full, large, deep, seeming to hold dominion over the slighter subordinate features, capable probably of much significance at another hour and other other circumstances than the present, but now languid and suffering. Her skin was perfectly fair, the neck and hands veined finely like the petals of a flower. A thin glazing of the ice of pride polished this delicate exterior, and her lip wore a curl, I doubt not inherent and unconscious, but which, if I had seen it first with the accompaniments of health and state, would have struck me as unwarranted and proving in the little lady a quite mistaken view of life under her own consequence. Her demeanour under the doctor's hands at first excited a smile. It was not puerile, rather on the whole patient and firm, but yet once or twice she addressed him with suddenness and sharpness, saying that he hurt her and must contrive to give her less pain. I saw her large eyes too, settle on his face like the solemn eyes of some pretty wondering child. I know not whether Graham felt this examination. If he did, he was cautious not to check or discomfort it by any retaliatory look. I think he performed his work with extreme care and gentleness, sparing her what pain he could, and she acknowledged as much, when he had done, by the words Thank you, doctor, and good night, very gratefully, pronounced as she uttered them, however, it was with a repetition of the serious, direct gaze I thought peculiar in its gravity and intentness. Her injuries, it seemed, were not dangerous, an assurance which her father received with a smile that almost made one his friend. It was so glad and gratified. He now expressed his obligations to Graham with as much earnestness as was befitting an Englishman, addressing one who has served him, but is yet a stranger. He also begged him to call the next day. Papa, said a voice from the veiled couch, thank the lady too. Is she there? I opened the curtain with a smile and looked in at her. She lay now at comparative ease. She looked pretty, though pale. Her face was delicately designed, and if at first it appeared proud, I believe custom might prove it to be soft. I thank the lady very sincerely, said her father. I fancy she has been very good to my child. I think we scarcely tell, dare tell Mrs. Hearst, who has been her substitute and done her work, she will feel at once ashamed and jealous. And thus in the most friendly spirit, parting greetings were interchanged, and refreshment having been hospitably offered, but by us, as it was late refused, we withdrew from the hotel Cressi. On our way back we were past the theatre. All was silence and darkness, the roaring, rushing crowd all vanished and gone, the lamps as well as the incipient fire extinct and forgotten. Next morning papers explained that it was but some loose drapery on which a spark had fallen, and which had blazed up and been quenched in a moment. Good night.