Obrazy na stronie
PDF
ePub
[ocr errors]

racters of the actors is singularly graced by the poetry of Shakspeare, but the story of the deed itself is told almost in the same words by the dramatist and the historian. "Cursed Casca, what means this?" What, thou too, Brutus?" Such, Mr. Merivale tells us, were the last words of Cæsar, and we are not called upon, as is too usual, to dismiss from our minds the tale we have learned from our youth.

In the early part of this notice we quoted an observation of Mr. Merivale's, which we must here repeat in part. He says that "the imperial despotism deserves to be regarded in some respects as one of the greatest blessings vouchsafed to the human race." Of the truth of this assertion we think there can be no reasonable doubt; it will be the fitting and accepted task of our author to prove it.

"The corruption of the Roman republic into an empire," we quote from an article in the Times, Jan. 31, 1851, "though a great moral ruin, was to the eye of sense a series of magnificent fêtes.

A century of rejoicing oblite rated the glorious recollections of old Rome."

The Romans owed more to the ambition of Cæsar and skill of Augustus than magnificent fêtes; and it must be remembered that a century of popular rejoicing will be a century of popular comfort. Under the senatorial oligarchy of Rome, the Roman people, as a body, were more oppressed, and less free in action, than under the emperors. Could a Roman of the time of the Gracchi, and another, a subject of Trajan, have conversed in Elysium on the merits of their city, the imperial slave would not, we take it, have had much to envy in the life of the free citizen.

We will now, for awhile, take leave of Mr. Merivale. He has commenced a task suitable to a high ambition, in a style of which he may well be proud. We heartily congratulate him on his success, and look forward with confident expectation to the continuance of his labours.

EASTER DAY.

Carrigbawn, April 24, 1851.

VISIONS of the night! Mysterious influences, subtle, yet most potent! How and whence come ye? Are ye, as the great Grecian, the father of poesy sang, messengers from Deity, ministrants passing ever between the Eternal Spirit and his spiritual children, as the angels passed to and fro between the pillow of the benighted Hebrew wayfarer and heaven; or are ye earth-sprung, the offspring of the busy brain and subtle essences of human life? the misty memories of our waking speculations hanging around us by night, as the vapours of evening are but the moisture which the warmth of the day has kept suspended in the ether. Who shall declare your generation, who shall expound your motions? Yet, be ye of heaven or of earth, mighty magicians are ye. How do ye mock at time and space! how do ye hurry the soul to and fro, like the fabled ghosts upon the stormy winds! Thus, by turns, do ye agitate and soothe, do ye force the damp of terror to the brow, or the dew of sorrow to the eye. In sooth I know not how, but as my eyes close heavily in the darkness of night, while my mind grasps, with decreasing energy, the fading forms of my waking thoughts, I enter the portals of this visionary existence with a solemn wonder, which is, I believe, in kind though not in degree, such as man feels when passing from life to death, of which sleep has been well styled by Menander, "the lesser mysteries.”* Such, my dear Anthony, were my musings when I woke in the first of twilight from deep, yet unquiet, sleep. The dead, the dear-loved, long-lost dead,

* Ύπνος τὰ μικρα του θανατου μυστηρια.

gray

had been with me and about me. They filled my arms, they returned my caresses, they smiled and talked, and pursued the wonted avocations of old times. The feeling that they were alive filled me with a strange, solemn joy, but coexistent with it was the knowledge that they were also dead; dashing my happiness with inexpressible anguish. Who has not experienced how exquisitely painful is this converse with the dead-alive in our visions? who is there, that cannot attest the deep depression of heart, and languor of spirit, with which he awakens from a sleep in which his soul has been so occupied? All this I felt; but I struggled with such sombre thoughts, while the increasing light helped my exertions. I rose from bed, and opening my window, looked out eastward. Just at that moment a sudden flush of crimson light shot through the heavens-that total and instantaneous change by which twilight passes into day, when the first point of the sun mounts above the horizon, and a stream of level light floods in upon the earth, as waters spread over a plain when a sluice is raised. Ay, Anthony, it was a grand sight! but I fear you never saw a sun-rise, save in the city, where the sky line is the ridge poles of houses, broken by the projecting points of dormant windows, or the picturesque outlines of chimney-crocks. How will you understand, when I tell you of the distant hills, with their soft blue undulating summits, or the fantastic sprays and branches of trees standing out in such distinct tracery against the sky, that you could number every bough, and almost tell to what kind of tree it belonged; and heaven looking so pure, serene, and spiritual, and the earth so fresh and soft from her slumber; when just waking to life, she had not yet shaken off from her the solemn hush of night, or broken forth in the joyous outburst of her thousand tongues. But while I yet gazed, up sprang the lark, with rushing wing and full throat, giving one the idea of melody made visible, and then the thrush and whistling blackbird, and even the little chirping sparrow, soon joined in the concert. Hark, another sound breaks on the morning::

"Then o'er the vale, with gentle swell,

The music of the village bell

Came sweetly to the echo-giving hills."

The peal comes cheerily from the steeple of the sequestered church, that one can just see peeping above the trees that gird its little graveyard. What thoughts of childhood does every sweet clang of that old iron_tongue wake in my heart, ringing in the holy EASTER morning! How well do 1 recollect rising with the first dawn of day, and watching with curious wonder for the moment when the sun should come dancing into the heavens, in adoration of his risen Lord. Ay, and how truly for me did he dance in his course! for my faith was strong. I believed, and my belief was realised. I returned to bed, though not to sleep, for the fresh breath of morning had chased away all heaviness from my eyes, and dispelled the weight from my spirits, and I abandoned myself to a reverie, half sad, half pleasing, as the thoughts of my night visions mingled with the cheerier sentiments which the day inspired. I thought again of the dead-the dear-loved dead, not with that dreary sorrow which troubled me in the hours of darkness, but with a longing hopefulness. I thought not of them as torn from me for ever, but as withdrawn for a season; not as the living, who have died for ever, but as the dead who shall be made alive again. And so "I rejoiced with a joy unspeakable," for I remembered the glorious victory of which this day was the anniversary-the strong giant Death bound by a stronger than he, and despoiled. And I looked at the grave whence the stone was rolled aside, though sealed with a seal," and guarded by a watch, whereout the Dead-alive had risen, bringing "life and immortality to life." Let the wanderer through this world, who has sent all that are dear before him, and walks in loneliness upon his way graveward-let him, I say, cheer his heart as he draws nigh his resting-place; let him remember that the humanity of Christ rose from the dead, and that in him "shall all be made alive again."

66

They who, like you, my dear Anthony, pass their lives "in populous cities pent," lose most of the solemn beauties, natural and spiritual, in which Easter Day comes arrayed to us, who live in the midst of the green fields of the retired country. With you little else than closed shops and the frequent pealing of

bells mark the Sabbath; but beneath these is still an undercurrent of the same busy life that marks the week day. But you lose one of the holiest charms with which nature decks out Easter Day; you lose the lovely spring scene which sympathises so thoroughly with the spiritual spring, a sympathy which the early Christian writers so well understood and so felicitously developed. The earth is now awakened from her winter death-trance, and the principle of vitality is everywhere resurgent; the buried grain is putting forth its life in the tender corn blade; the flower roots shoot out, and cover the fields with bloom and beauty; the trees and shrubs are green with renewed germination: all meet emblems, which have spoken to man since first the world began her course of a spiritual resurrection from death, though man for thousands of years knew not how to read the words of hope and comfort which these oracles of God preached to him. How beautifully did the hymnologists and writers of the primitive ages of the Christian Church note and dilate upon this parallel! Of the former, I could adduce many examples; of the latter I cannot refrain from alluding to a fine Easter sermon, by Gregory of Nazianzum, in which, after a magnificent description of the physical spring, he thus concludes:-"Now is the earthly spring, and the spring that is spiritual; the spring for souls and the spring for bodies; the spring visible and the spring invisible."t

Contrast this with the despondency of pagan poets, who mark the revival of nature only to mourn that man, when he dies, knows no return of spring; and rejoice in the glorious prospects which Christianity on this day has thrown open

to our eyes.

Very pleasant was it to me, as I took my way along the pathway that led to our little church, to revolve these thoughts in my mind, while the noontide sun was beaming on the joyous landscape, and the measured tones of the bell called us to prayer. How sweet was the repose that reigned around! how fresh the breeze! how bright the hues of nascent flowers! how grateful the perfume of the violet in the hedges! how soft the blue in the sky! how tender the green of the young grass and the bursting tree sprays! Rustics, in their best array and happiest faces, doffed their hats or dropped their curtsies as they passed me, and at the porch door I met many faces that always make glad my heart, and whose hearts, I fondly think, are all the gladder at my presence. The bell has ceased, and we enter. Look around you, my dear Anthony, for the sight is something novel for a metropolitan gentleman. No lofty columns shoot up to the arched roof; no florid tracery adorns the eastern window; no gorgeously stained glass flings its mellowed and many-coloured light upon the tesselated pavement; no lengthening aisles resound with the tremulous reverberation of the deep-voiced organ. It is a pretty, simple church, without any high pretension to architectural beauty, yet far removed from those horrible edifices, half barn, half conventicle, that in many places disfigure the country and shock the taste; and as I paced up its flagged centre, and took my place in the family pew, I felt that its primitive neatness consorted well with the homely and honest faces that I saw everywhere around me. I shall not speak of the sweet voices of the children, as they sang, with a melody all the more touching that it was unartistic, the Easter Anthem, "Christ the Lord is risen to-day;" nor yet of the superhuman efforts of the ancient man who, by inheritance, filled the office of parish-clerk-how he roared down the sweet, silvery, tiny voices of the little girls-how he quavered, and flourished, and shaked, how he twisted his features out of all shape in the agony of his triumphant execution of psalmody, and looked as conceited as if he thought "the chief musician" of the Royal author of the sublime songs he was murdering was a very tyro in comparison to himself. Neither shall I linger over the homily of our dear old parson; all this you must conceive for yourself, and now stand with me once more in the porch as the service is concluded. The meeting of friends and neighbours in a country church is always a pleasant thing on a Sunday, for they rarely see each other during the week, but on a great festival the pleasure is doubled. Old people who rarely come out are now sure to be met,

* Νῦν οὐρανὸς διαυγέστερος· νῦν ἥλιος ὑψηλότερος. x. 7. 2.-Orat. XLIII. † Νῦν, ἔαρ κοσμικὸν, ἔαρ πνευματικὸν· ἔαρ ψυχαῖς, ἔαρ σωμασιν· ἔαρ όρωμενον, ἔαρ ἀέρατον.

and many hands are clasped which have not touched each other, it may be, since the Christmas preceding, and a thousand kind inquiries are made and answered. I need not tell you that Uncle Saul shines on these occasions. He is to be seen everywhere at the same moment, shaking old men by the hands, bowing to old ladies, slapping youngsters on the back, and chucking blushing girls under the chin. Nay, worse still, smacking them on the cheeks or lips, if he can contrive to suggest the remotest relationship as an excuse for the liberty. My cousins were all present, blooming and happy, and, of course, came in for their share of my uncle's notice, and I am half afraid that, in his zeal to discharge his duties, he mistook a couple of young ladies who were chatting with Abigail and Matilda, and absolutely distinguished them with a similar favour.

And now, dear Anthony, behold us all on our way to the "Hall." The ladies are placed in their vehicles, and Herbert, who ran down to spend Easter in the country, accompanies them. The parson mounts his old horse, intending to make half-a-dozen visits in the parish on his way, while my uncle and I, with my godfather, proceed on foot, the latter first taking care to "get up the steam," by lighting an enormous cigar.

An Easter dinner is, I believe, the same everywhere, so the less that is said about it the better. But how different may be the cheer that seasons it? If Time has not desolated the domestic sanctuary since last some high Christian holiday brought them all together; if the father can look around him, and smile when the survey is over, because none is wanting of those who then encircled him; if the mother can count the lambs that lie upon her bosom, and finds that none have been ravished from her; if children still see the parents' honoured forms at the board, and friend looks in the face of friend, as of old, then, indeed, is there joy in that household, and they will eat their bread with thankfulness. But if the reaper has been amongst them, if he have mowed down the over-ripe and heavy-laden head that bends to meet the stroke, or the strong stem on which the grain is yet but swelling, or it may be the soft green succulent blade that scarce raises its tender shoot above the earth; if the glance wanders about in the vain search for some loved familiar face, and returns from its bootless circuit, as did the dove to the ark, without finding that whereon it might rest, then will a shadow fall upon our brightness, and mourning will mingle with our joy as we feel that the glory is departed from our house.

On the present occasion there was nothing to mar our festal pleasure, not a cloud to dim our sunshine, and we surrendered our minds to the happy influences which present content and a hopeful future are sure to exercise.

There is a large, three-sided, bay window, projecting south-eastward from the drawing-room at the Hall, commanding a sweet prospect of the distant country. At this we were all seated some short time before sunset. The evening was mild, and uncle Saul, aided by the younger folks, notwithstanding a few faint remonstrances from the elder ladies, opened the casement, and let in the fresh air, ere yet it was damped by the dew of coming night. As we conversed pleasantly, the sinking sun came now near to the level of the horizon, diffusing a flood of soft, warm light along the heavens, and tinging the walls and furniture in the room with that rich, subdued light, which reminds one of broad day light, seen through amber curtains. All eyes at this moment involuntarily turned to the glorious sight, and no one spoke, while inch by inch we traced the great round orb sink and sink till not even the upper rim of his disk was visible.

"Gone!" at length, said the parson, continuing aloud the train of his musing, "and yet to-morrow we shall see him rise again in renewed beauty and brightness. Who could believe this had he not the experience of his senses? Yet thus it is that the Christian rises from the sleep of death, even as on this day did the great Sun of Righteousness arise from the grave. It is a remarkable fact how the character and conception of this solemn event that befals man, has undergone an entire change since the resurrection of Christ, and the promulgation of His religion. It is true that the resurrection of the dead was known dark and dimly to the patriarchs and holy men under the old dispensation; but to the Jews at large, and to the rest of the world, it was an unknown and rejected doctrine. Thus everywhere in the Old Testament Scriptures we find Death de

[ocr errors]

scribed in his dread and dismal power; the end of man, when he goeth hence, and is seen no more. For in death,' says David, there is no remembrance of Thee; in the grave who shall give Thee thanks? But in the writing of the New Testament it is remarkable that death, especially the death of the saints, is almost everywhere called sleep, the rest to the weary, the prelude to a mighty awaking, no more than the longest night's slumber in the life of an undying soul. Truly it is a mighty miracle that has put an end to six thousand years of waiting for the dead, and has substituted for it henceforth and for ever a triumphant joy over those who fall asleep in Jesus.'"

The old man relapsed into silence, which no one cared to break for many minutes. The sun-flush was now paled away to twilight, when Herbert, looking somehow at Matilda, though evidently intending to address the company at large, said

"The observations of our good friend upon the subject of death and sleep, bring to my recollection a German allegory, in which some thoughts coincident with his are put forward, and, as I think it is not unsuitable to the present solemn festival, I shall be very happy to give you an idea of the poem through the medium of my own imperfect translation."

"We shall willingly hear it, Mr. Herbert," said my uncle, answering for the rest, "provided the young ladies have no objection." And here he cast a sly glance at poor Matilda.

None in the world," said Mrs. Slingsby, either considering herself a "young lady," or assenting on the part of those to whom twenty years' juniority to her gave a legitimate title to the description.

[ocr errors]

But first, Abigail," said my godfather, "let us have tea, and a chat in the twilight, and then we shall have candles, and Mr. Herbert's Anglo-German poem.

"By the way," said I, "an Easter tale is quite in keeping with the old customs of the day. In the medieval times, the preachers of the Romish Church were in the habit of entertaining their congregations with tales, or fables, which were termed Fabulæ Paschales,' or 'Easter Tales.' From the speci mens which I have seen of these productions, I am not very favourably impressed, either as to their merits or their utility. The holiest of Scripture incidents and characters were introduced with a familiar levity that must shock every one who holds such subjects in veneration. Solemn truths were mixed up with ludicrous, and even burlesque fables, and religion and morality were arrayed in such equivocal garbs, that the effect of the whole must have been detrimental to the hearers. These were somewhat akin to the old dramatic representations and miracle-plays of the same times. Each owe their origin to the rude and uncultivated state of the laity, whom the clergy thus taught theology in pleasant doses addressed to their senses. I will give you a specimen of one of those dramatic services, observed by the English Benedictine monks previous to the Conquest :

"On Easter Day the seven canonical hours were to be sung in the manner of the canons; and in the night before matins, the sacrists (because our Lord rested in the tomb) were to put the cross in its place. Then, during a religious service, four monks robed themselves, one of whom, in an alb, as if he had somewhat to do, came stealingly to the tomb, and there, holding a palm branch, sat still till the responsory was ended; when the three others, carrying cen sers in their hands, came up to him, step by step, as if looking for something. So soon as he saw them approach, he began singing in a soft voice (dulcismè), Whom seek ye?' to which was replied by the three others, in chorus, Jesus of Nazareth.' Then was answered by the other, He is not here, he is risen.' At which words the three last, turning towards the choir, cried, Alleluia, the Lord is risen.' The other then, as if calling them back, sang, Come and see the place;' and then, rising, raised the cloth, showed them the place without the cross and linen cloths in which it was wrapped. Upon this they laid down their censers, took the clothes, extended them to show the Lord was risen, and, singing an Antiphonar, placed them upon the altar." "Here come the candles," said the parson. Herbert's poem.”

[ocr errors]

"And now, let us have Mr.

« PoprzedniaDalej »