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 centuries of previous development. What, however, is most remarkable is the admirable planning of the whole palace, the bringing together, under one roof and in proper and regular intercommunication, of the numerous services, which in a palace are somewhat complicated. The palace measured about 400 ft. square, and was built round an open court, nearly 200 ft. long by 90 ft. wide; as the same arrangement was found at Phaestus, excavated by the Italian archaeologists, it may be assumed to have been the Cretan plan. It was built on the crest of a hill, and in the western or highest portion was the court entrance from the agora to the megaron or throne-room, and the halls of the officers of the state. In the lower portion facing the east (the rooms in which were two storeys below the level of the court on account of the slope of the hill) was the private suite of apartments of the king and queen. All the services of the palace were at the north end of the palace, where the entrance gateway to the central court was situated. This northern entrance, Dr Evans points out, “represents the main point of intercourse between the palace and the city on the one hand and the port on the other.” This is the only part of the palace in which there is evidence of some kind of fortification, as the road of access is dominated by a tower or bastion. Other provisions also in the plan of the western entrance suggest that its passage was guarded to some extent. In this respect the palace of Tiryns, excavated by Dr Schliemann, presents an entirely different aspect; the whole stronghold bears a singular resemblance to a fortified castle of the middle ages; a high wall from 24 to 50 ft. thick surrounded the acropolis, and the inclined paths of approach and the double gateways gave that protection at Tiryns which at Cnossus was assured, as Dr Evans remarks, by the bulwarks of the Minoan navy. The area on the spur of the hill, on which the citadel of Tiryns was placed, was very much smaller, but if we accept the forecourt at Tiryns as equivalent to the great central court at Cnossus, there are great similarities in the plans of the two palaces. The propylaea, the altar court, the portico, and the megaron are found in both, and those details which are missing in the one are found in the other. The discoveries at Cnossus have enabled Dr Evans to reconstitute the timber columns, of which the bases only were found at Tiryns, and the spur walls of the portico of the megaron and the sills of the doorways at Tiryns give some clue to the restoration of similar features at Cnossus; and if in the latter palace we find the origin of the Doric column, at Tiryns is found that of the antae and of the door linings, further substantiated by the careful analysis made by Dr Dörpfeld of the Heraeum at Olympia. The reconstruction by Dr Evans of the timber columns at Cnossus, which tapered from the top downwards, the lower diameter being about six-sevenths of the upper, has little historical importance (see ), so that we may now pass on to the next early monument of importance, the tomb of Agamemnon, the principal and the best preserved of the beehive tombs found at Mycenae and in other parts of Greece. This tomb consists of three parts, the dromos or open entrance passage, the tholos or circular portion domed over, and a smaller chamber excavated in the rock and entered from the larger one. The tomb was subterranean, the masonry being concealed beneath a large mound of earth. The domed part, 48 ft. 6 in. in diameter and 45 ft. high, is built in horizontal courses of stone, which project one over the other till they meet at the top. Subsequently the projecting edges were dressed down, so that the section through the dome is nearly that of an equilateral triangle. Notwithstanding the great thickness of the lintel (3 ft.) over the entrance doorway, the Mycenaeans left a triangular void over, to take off the superincumbent weight, subsequently (it is supposed) filled with sculpture, as in the Lions’ Gate at Mycenae. The doorway was flanked by semi-detached columns 20 ft. high, the shafts of which tapered downwards like those reconstituted at Cnossus; the shafts rested on a base of three steps, and carried a capital with echinus and abacus. These shafts carried a lintel which has now disappeared; the wall above was set back, and was at one time faced with stone slabs carved with spiral and other patterns, of which there are fragments in various museums, the most important remains being those of the shafts, of which the greater part, which was brought over to England in the beginning of the 19th century by the 2nd marquess of Sligo, was presented by the 5th marquess to the British Museum in 1905. These shafts, as also the echinus moulding of the capitals, are richly carved with the chevron and spirals, probably copied from the brass sheathing of wood columns and doorways referred to by Homer.

The Archaic Period.—The buildings just referred to belong to what is known as the prehistoric age in Greece; the dispersion of the tribes by invaders from the north about 1100 destroyed the Mycenaean civilization, and some centuries have to pass before we reach the results of the new development. Among the invaders the Dorians would seem to have been the chief leaders, who eventually became supreme. They brought with them from Olympus the worship of Apollo, so that henceforth the sanctuary of the god takes the place of the megaron of the king. From Greece the Dorians spread their colonies through the Greek islands and southern Italy. Later they passed on to Sicily and founded Syracuse, and subsequently Selinus and Agrigentum (Acragas). The prosperity of all these colonies is shown in the splendid temples which they built in stone, the remains of many of which have lasted to our day.

The earliest Greek temple of which remains have been discovered is that of the Heraeum at Olympia, ascribed to about 1000 Its plan (fig. 14) shows that the enclosure of the sanctuary and its porticoes in a peristyle had already been found necessary, if only to protect the walls of the cella, built in unburnt brick on a stone plinth; further, that the antae of the portico and the dressings of the entrance were in wood; and, following Pausanias’ statement relative to the wood column in the opisthodomos, all the columns of the peristyle were in that material, gradually replaced by stone columns as they decayed, evidenced by the character of their capitals, which in style date from the 6th century  to Roman times. The ephemeral nature of the materials employed in this and other early temples, and the risk of fire, must have naturally led to the desire to render the Greek sanctuaries more permanent by the employment of stone. But the Greeks were always timid as regards the bearing value of that material, and would seem to have imagined that unless the blocks were of megalithic dimensions it was impossible to build in stone. This may be gathered from the remains of the earliest example found, the temple of Apollo in the island of Ortygia, Syracuse, where the monolith columns had widely projecting capitals, the abaci of which were set so close together that the intercolumniation was less than one diameter of the column.

Following the temple of Apollo at Syracuse is the temple of Corinth, ascribed to 650, of which seven columns remain in situ, all monoliths, and the Olympieum at Syracuse. Nearly contemporary with the latter is one of the temples at Selinus in Sicily, 630, remarkable for the archaic nature of its sculptured metopes. Of later date there are five or six other temples in Selinus, all overthrown by earthquakes; the temple of Athena at Syracuse, which having been converted into a church is in fair preservation; an unfinished temple at Segesta; and six at Agrigentum, built on the brow of a hill facing the sea, one of which was so large that it was necessary to build in walls between the columns.

In Magna Graecia, in the acropolis at Tarentum, are the remains of a 7th century temple and three at Paestum about a century later in date. In one of these, the temple of Poseidon (figs. 15 and 16) the columns which carried the ceiling and roof over the cella are still standing; these are in two stages superimposed with an architrave between them, and although there are no traces in this instance of a gallery, they serve to render more intelligible Pausanias’ description of that which existed in the temple of Zeus at Olympia.

The temple of Assus in Asia Minor is an early example remarkable for its sculptured architrave, the only one known, and in the temple of Aphaea in (q.v.) we find the immediate predecessor of the Parthenon, if we may judge by its sculpture and the proportions of its columns.

So far we have only referred to the early temples of the Doric order; of the origin and development of those of the Ionic order far less is known. The earliest examples are those of the temple of Apollo at Naucratis in Egypt, and of the archaic temple of Diana at Ephesus, both about 560 The remains of the latter, discovered by Wood, are now in the British Museum; they consist of two capitals, one with a portion of a shaft in good preservation; the sculptured drum and the base of one of the columns, inscribed with the name of Croesus, who is known to have contributed to it;

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Rh spend, if he could help it, a farthing of whatever he might obtain. The first thing that drew his attention was a heap of coals shot out of carts on the pavement before a house. He offered himself to shovel or wheel them into the place where they were to be laid, and was employed. He received a few pence for the labor; and then, in pursuance of the saving part of his plan, requested some small gratuity of meat and drink, which was given him. He then looked out for the next thing that might chance; and went, with indefatigable industry, through a succession of servile employments in different places, of longer and shorter duration, still scrupulous in avoiding, as far as possible, the expense of a penny. He promptly seized every opportunity which could advance his design, without regarding the meanness of occupation or appearance. By this method he had gained, after a considerable time, money enough to purchase in order to sell again a few cattle, of which he had taken pains to understand the value. He speedily but cautiously turned his first gains into second advantages; retained without a single deviation his extreme parsimony; and thus advanced by degrees into larger transactions and incipient wealth. I did not hear, or have forgotten, the continued course of his life, but the final result was, that he more than recovered his lost possessions, and died an inveterate miser, worth £60,000."

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Daughters of the Rich: A One Act Play

Scene

MASTERSON: Who's there? (Turns in chair. Sees EDNA.) Oh! When did you get in, my dear?

EDNA: Daddy, how you startled me,--I just came in. (Taking another cigarette.)

MASTERSON: Must have fallen asleep over my paper. What time is it?

EDNA: Time all dads were in bed. Two o'clock.

MASTERSON: Did you have a nice time at the ball? (Rises, stretching, etc.)

EDNA: Yes. (Crosses to chair.)

MASTERSON: Danced your feet off, I suppose.

EDNA: Almost.

MASTERSON: Many there?

EDNA: Usual crowd.

MASTERSON: You sent Smithson home early. (Crosses to chair.)

EDNA: Yes. The Arnolds brought me home in their car. (Sits in chair, L.C., smoking.)

MASTERSON: I wish you wouldn't smoke those things.

EDNA: Old-fashioned Daddy. Everbody smokes. I have smoked ever since I was twelve years old--learned it in school, in fact.

MASTERSON: So that is what you learned at that expensive school?

EDNA: That--and other things. (Police whistle outside.) The police(Door bell rings) I'll go

MASTERSON: My dear, you can't go to the door at this hour. I'll answer it.

EDNA: I suppose the servants are all in bed. Let them ring. Someone has mistaken the house.

(MASTERSON exits C.D. through hall.)

POLICEMAN: (Outside) Sorry to trouble you, SirWe traced a woman to this house. She let herself in with a latch key--she had just given us the slip.

MASTERSON: You are mistaken, officer. No woman you were after could possibly have a latch key to this house.

OFFICER: She surely came in here.

MASTERSON: Nonsense! Well, don't keep me standing here in the cold. Come in, if you must see for yourself. (Comes down hall and enters C.D., followed by police officer and FRANK BURT.) Wellwellwhat's it all about?

OFFICER: Well, Sir, since this new law went into effect, we've had to keep an eye on the down-town rooming houses and restaurants. We raided a restaurant with private rooms tonight. Had orders to take everyone we found there to the station. I had this young fellow and his lady friend in tow. He stumbled and pretended to turn his foot. She cleared out and jumped into a cab. I did not see her face, she kept her fur over itbut she was a swell all right. I shoved him into another cab and we followed the young lady. She got out in the last block, we stopped a block farther down, and chased her. She came in here all right. I'll swear to that.

EDNA: You couldn't swear to it if you were on the witness stand. You simple got mixed and followed the wrong cab.

OFFICER: (Without turning head looks at EDNA, then back to BURT.): Maybe!

MASTERSON: Tut-tut, officer, this is too much! You see there is only myself and my daughter here.

OFFICER: (Looks pointedly at EDNA. To BURT) I don't suppose you ever saw that young lady before?

BURT: Never!

MASTERSON: (Crosses, sputtering with rage): You blockhead! Are you daring to insinuate that my daughter was the woman you followed? This will cost you your job--do you know whose house you are in? I am John Masterson. (Crosses, D.R.) Good God! What's the world coming to? When a man can be insulted in his own house like this.

OFFICER: (His manner changing): No insult meant, Sir. Of course it was a mistake. I did not know it was your house, Mr. Masterson. I am sorr--

BURT: Haven't we inconvenienced this lady and gentleman long enough, officer?

MASTERSON: Yes,you'll hear more of thisdragging strange men from some brothel into the homes of respectable people. A few more mistakes of this sort and you'll be in for suspension instead of promotion. (Crosses to table) Young man, this should be a lesson to you, too. Well, good-night, officer. Hope you catch the hussy, whoever she is. Take a tip from me and don't break into any more decent homes to look for her.

(OFFICER turns to go. Stops in doorway.)

OFFICER: The lady was very careless, Sir. She dropped this. (Hands jeweled pin to MASTERSON, who, crossing over, examines it.) Must have cost a pretty penny.

BURT: You can't be sure that the lady who was with me dropped that.

OFFICER: I can. Dead sure! I saw it fall from her dress. Her given name and the date are engraved on the back, you see. Pity they didn't put the last one on.

MASTERSON: H--m--m. Yes, great pity. Valuable piece too. Perhaps the lady will be more careful in the future. You have aroused my curiosity, officer. What are you going to do with this? Keep it until it is advertised for?

OFFICER: Yes sir.

MASTERSON: And then?

OFFICER: Well, after the hearing tomorrow morning nothing can bother the young lady unless it happens to get into the newspapers. I hate to think, though, that she gave me the slip. It's my duty to produce her in the police court tomorrow morning, if possible.

MASTERSON: If possible. Well, she did give you the slip and you won't find her by standing here. I did not know that the young women of position, as you seem to think this one was--er--indulged in--erslumming.

OFFICER: You'd be surprised, Sir, to see some of the swells from the Avenue who get caught in these little affairs.

MASTERSON: I am surprised. Well, well, good-night, Officer. Sorry I could not help you out. My daughter and I came home from a dance just before you rang. We saw no one. Good-night.

OFFICER: (Starts out D.C. Turns back.) The--pin--Sir.

MASTERSON: Oh! Yes--yes--the pin. (Hands it to the officer who exits after a searching look at EDNA. Masterson shows them out, then enters C.D. and stands looking down at EDNA who is quietly sobbing.)

MASTERSON: That was the pin I gave you on your birthday--where did you meet the man? (EDNA sobs.)

MASTERSON: (Crosses over to her.) Answer me.

EDNA: Here in this room.

MASTERSON: Who is he? What is he?

EDNA: He came to fix the telephone.

MASTERSON: Came to fix the telephone? Good God! What next? (Crosses C.D.) How long have you known him?

EDNA: Three months.

MASTERSON: And you have been meeting him ever since? (She sobs.)

MASTERSON: Answer me!

EDNA: Yes.

MASTERSON: It is unbelievablemy own daughter! You have been brought up like a princess. You were all I had. (Crosses D.R.) And I've worked, slaved, toiled, molled at my desk day and night like the veriest laborer for you. For you lay awake nights scheming how to make money for you. (Crosses C.) That you could disgrace me like this, never entered my head. My reward was the thought that you were happy, that you hadn't a wish ungratified. That you were envied and pointed out as the daughter of John Masterson, and heiress to untold millions. It was my ambition to combine my fortune with an old-world title for you. You were my pride and delight, and what do you do? You get into a vulgar affair with a man who comes to fix the telephone, meet him in a down-town brothel, get caught in a raid,--and are chased to your very door by a policeman. (Crosses C.P.) This may leak out at any time. If the reporters get hold of it, it will cost a fortune to hush it up. (Crosses D.C.) How could you do it?

EDNA: I wanted to live.

MASTERSON: Wanted to live? (Crosses D.R.) Haven't you been living? God knows it has cost enough.

EDNA: That's it! The cost! You think only in dollars and cents. Buy and sell. Horses, houses, land, stocks, bonds, titles, flesh and blood, your own flesh and blood. You are so busy buying and selling that you forget your women are human beings, They are instead things to hang jewels on to reflect your great success.

MASTERSON: Have you ever had a wish ungratified? (Crosses to her.)

EDNA: That is just the trouble. I have had too much of everything all my life. (Rises, crosses down to couch.) You tried to keep me in cotton-wool and you made me think I could have anything I wanted, even the moon, if I cried long enough and hard enough. (Sits on couch.) And I, like so many others, of my kind, was brought into the world with diseased nerves.

MASTERSON: Diseased nerves!

EDNA: Yes,diseased by too much indulgence before my birth, on the part of those who were responsible for me.

MASTERSON: That is some of the up-to-date twaddle you learned in school. (Crosses to her.)

EDNA: I learned it from life. (Crosses to R. and sits in chair.) I was born a neurasthenic and brought up in an expensive school with the daughters of other rich men. All of us born old, all of us tingling with curiosity, our frayed nerves crying out for new sensations, and driving us to win the mystery at the back of life.

MASTERSON: Hysteria!

EDNA: The money of our fathers meant to us only so much license. We smoked cigarettes incessantly,--we spent our pocket-money on sweets filled with alcohol, and on novels our mothers would blush to read. We told stories that you would be ashamed to tell in your club to-day, and then came out into society, still driven by our nerves. We eat and drink and dance and smoke too much in order to excite ourselves, and we dress to excite men. We listen with a laugh to unspeakable things that lecherous old men and lustful young men whisper in our ears, and all the time we are as deadly in our pursuit of out destinies as were the monkey women.

MASTERSON: That is hysterical exaggeration.

EDNA: It is the truth.

MASTERSON: (Crosses to her.) Now you who might have been a princess and are, after all, only a harlot, what are you going to do with yourself?

EDNA: No harlot, a free gift to the man I love.

MASTERSON: A common working man.

EDNA: Thank God!

MASTERSON: If you must indulge in a vulgar liaison why couldn't you select a man in your own set?

EDNA: And what then?

MASTERSON: Marriage, decency.

EDNA: I fail to see why a "vulgar liaison" ending in a marriage with another neurasthenic, like myself, necessarily means decency. I would then be, not only the envied daughter of John Masterson, but the envied wife also of Mr. Something or Other, therefore respectable, because our unholy matrimony. (Laughs hysterically. Crosses U.R.)

MASTERSON: Couldn't you remember your responsibility to society?

EDNA: I never knew I had any. In the curriculum on which all that fortune was spent to fit me for my very high place in the world, my trainers forgot to include that. (Crosses D.L.) They taught me only to gratify myself. All your millions failed to buy me a course in my responsibility to society.

MASTERSON: (Crosses to her.) I never knew you before.

EDNA: You might have known me if you had taken less time for money making. When I was a child I was always a little afraid of you.

MASTERSON: Afraid of your own father

EDNA: You were a king to me. Never by any chance a father. (MASTERSON crosses to couch.) Nurse and I used often to drive by a row of clean shing little cottages out in the suburbs with flowers in front and children playing all about. Sometimes I saw a man getting off the car, just the common street car at the corner. He picked her up and carried her on his shoulder. Then one of the little girls, about my own age, left her playmates and ran to meet him with a whoop of joy. She buried her hands in his hair and held on tight. A little woman in a simple white dress came down to the gate. He put his arm around her and they all went into one of the cottages. Oh, how I used to envy that little girl.

MASTERSON: You had no need

EDNA: Hadn't I? I could imagine her toys scattered all over the house, and her father sitting on the floor playing choo-choo cars with her. I used to beg nurse to drive me that way every day, and I made up my mind then, in my childish way, that some day I would have a little cottage like that. I used to lie on a big rug on the nursery floor, in front of the fire, such a lonely little thing--you do not know how lonely the baby of a rich man can bebut I doI do! I tried to get courage to run and meet you when you came home.

MASTERSON: Why didn't you?

EDNA: You seldom came home, and I was afraid of what the splendid butler might think. Once when I knew you were in the library, I crept down to the door and stood there, but I was afraid to go in. So I, the poor lonely little heiress to almost untold millions, stood in the great big hall with my face pressed tight, tight, against the door, desperately longing to go in and snuggle up to you, as I knew the little girl in the cottage was sitting on her father's lap at that very moment, perhaps.

MASTERSON: Edna,I never (Crosses C.)

EDNA: No, no, wait, Dadyou say you lived to gratify my every wish. And I want only one thing. (Rises.) Strip me of all this,--I don't want it. I want only my little cottage, with my mate. And I want a little girl who isn't afraid to run and meet her father. I don't know anything about my responsibility to society,I've done with it,--its shame, its pettiness, its hysterical lean-heartedness. I want no more of it. I want to live my own life in my own way, with my common working-man. It's the only clean, the only decent, the only right way.

MASTERSON: This man who took you into a brothel

EDNA: He never wanted to meet me in those places. I did not care where I met him, so long as I did meet him, and you may be sure there were others of my set there on that very night. (Crosses to him.) Dad, you must let me marry him, if he'll have me

MASTERSON: Have you? He'll jump at the chance,

EDNA: Oh, I'm not so sure of that. You must do this, Dad,

MASTERSON: Edna, child, you know I would do anything for your happiness,

EDNA: Then go quick, call up the police station. Make them let him out, now--this minute--You can fix it. You are John Masterson, you can do anything, even with the police--hurryhurry

MASTERSON: But this is impossible, this not for your happiness

EDNA: You won't do it?

MASTERSON: I can't. You are mad.

(EDNA takes cloak and starts for door.)

EDNA: If your rotten society of which you think so much is sane, then thank God, I am mad.

MASTERSON: If you do

EDNA: Well, what if I do

(Telephone rings. MASTERSON answers.)

MASTERSON: What is it? What? Shot himself? Why call me up at three in the morning to tell me that? A letter to my daughter in his pocket? Impossible! My daughter does not know him,

EDNA: Dad! Frank,killed himself

EDNA (Breaks into hysterical laughter): Now,no need to shock society,you can buy me a title. (Falls in faint, dragging portieres with her.)

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180 Let me turn now to the kind of case, the religious case, namely, that immediately concerns us. Here is one of degree, and intensely pleased with my admiration. Would give me no decided answer yes or no, and the queer thing about it was that whilst pursuing her for her hand, I secretly knew all along that she was unfit to be a wife for me, and that she never would say yes. Although for a year we took our meals at the same boarding-house, so that I saw her continually and familiarly, our closer relations had to be largely on the sly, and this fact, together with my jealousy of another one of her male admirers, and my own conscience despising me for my uncontrollable weakness, made me so nervous and sleepless that I really thought I should become insane. I understand well those young men murdering their sweethearts, which appear so often in the papers. Nevertheless I did love her passionately, and in some ways she did deserve it.

"The queer thing was the sudden and unexpected way in which it all stopped. I was going to my work after breakfast one morning, thinking as usual of her and of my misery, when, just as if some outside power laid hold of me, I found myself turning round and almost running to my room, where I immediately got out all the relics of her which I possessed, including some hair, all her notes and letters, and ambrotypes on glass. The former I made a fire of, the latter I actually crushed beneath my heel, in a sort of fierce joy of revenge and punishment. I now loathed and despised her altogether, and as for myself I felt as if a load of disease had suddenly been removed from me. That was the end. I never spoke to her or wrote to her again in all the subsequent years, and I have never had a single moment of loving thought towards one who for so many months entirely filled my heart. In fact, I have always rather hated her memory, though now I can see that I had gone unnecessarily far in that direction. At any rate, from that happy morning onward I regained possession of my own proper soul, and have never since fallen into any similar trap."

This seems to me an unusually clear example of two different levels of personality, inconsistent in their dictates, yet so well balanced against each other as for a long time to fill the life with discord and dissatisfaction. At last, not gradually, but in a sudden crisis, the unstable equilibrium is resolved, and this happens so unexpectedly that it is as if, to use the writer's words, "some outside power laid hold."

Professor Starbuck gives an analogous case, and a converse case of hatred suddenly turning into love, in his Psychology of Religion, p. 141. Compare the other highly curious instances which he gives on pp. 137-144, of sudden non-religious alterations of habit or character. He seems right in conceiving all such sudden changes as results of special cerebral functions unconsciously developing until they are ready to play a controlling part, when they make irruption into the conscious life. When we treat of sudden 'conversion,' I shall make as much use as I can of this hypothesis of subconscious incubation.


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Rh We shall erelong hear still more remarkable illustrations of subconsciously maturing processes eventuating in results of which we suddenly grow conscious. Sir William Hamilton and Professor Laycock of Edinburgh were among the first to call attention to this class of effects; but Dr. Carpenter first, unless I am mistaken, introduced the term 'unconscious cerebration,' which has since then been a popular phrase of explanation. The facts are now known to us far more extensively than he could know them, and the adjective 'unconscious,' being for many of them almost certainly a misnomer, is better replaced by the vaguer term 'subconscious' or 'subliminal.'

Of the volitional type of conversion it would be easy to give examples, For instance, C. G. Finney italicizes the volitional element: "Just at this point the whole question of Gospel salvation opened to my mind in a manner most marvelous to me at the time. I think I then saw, as clearly as I ever have in my life, the reality and fullness of the atonement of Christ. Gospel salvation seemed to me to be an offer of something to be accepted, and all that was necessary on my part was to get my own consent to give up my sins and accept Christ. After this distinct revelation had stood for some little time before my mind, the question seemed to be put, 'Will you accept it now, to-day?' I replied, 'Yes; I will accept it to-day, or I will die in the attempt! ' " He then went into the woods, where he describes his struggles. He could not pray, his heart was hardened in its pride. "I then reproached myself for having promised to give my heart to God before I left the woods. When I came to try, I found I could not. … My inward soul hung back, and there was no going out of my heart to God. The thought was pressing me, of the rashness of my promise that I would give my heart to God that day, or die in the attempt. It seemed to me as if that was binding on my soul; and yet I was going to break my vow. A great sinking and discouragement came over me, and I felt almost too weak to stand upon my knees. Just at this moment I again thought I heard some one approach me, and I opened my eyes to see whether it were so. But right there the revelation of my pride of heart, as the great difficulty that stood in the way, was distinctly shown to me. An overwhelming sense of my wickedness in being ashamed to have a human being see me on my knees before God took such powerful possession of me, that I cried at the top of my voice, and exclaimed that I would not leave that place if all the men on earth and all the devils in hell surrounded me. 'What!' I said, 'such a degraded sinner but they are as a rule less interesting


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208 than those of the self-surrender type, in which the subconscious effects are more abundant and often startling. I will therefore hurry to the latter, the more so because the difference between the two types is after all not radical. Even in the most voluntarily built-up sort of regeneration there are passages of partial self-surrender interposed; and in the great majority of all cases, when the will has done its uttermost towards bringing one close to the complete unification aspired after, it seems that the very last step must be left to other forces and performed without the help of its activity. In other words, self-surrender becomes then indispensable. "The personal will," says Dr. Starbuck, "must be given up. In many cases relief persistently refuses to come until the person ceases to resist, or to make an effort in the direction he desires to go."


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 LECTURES VI AND VII

T our last meeting, we considered the healthy-minded temperament, the temperament which has a constitutional incapacity for prolonged suffering, and in which the tendency to see things optimistically is like a water of crystallization in which the individual's character is set. We saw how this temperament may become the basis for a peculiar type of religion, a religion in which good, even the good of this world's life, is regarded as the essential thing for a rational being to attend to. This religion directs him to settle his scores with the more evil aspects of the universe by systematically declining to lay them to heart or make much of them, by ignoring them in his reflective calculations, or even, on occasion, by denying outright that they exist. Evil is a disease; and worry over disease is itself an additional form of disease, which only adds to the original complaint. Even repentance and remorse, affections which come in the character of ministers of good, may be but sickly and relaxing impulses. The best repentance is to up and act for righteousness, and forget that you ever had relations with sin.

Spinoza's philosophy has this sort of healthy-mindedness woven into the heart of it, and this has been one secret of its fascination. He whom Reason leads, according to Spinoza, is led altogether by the influence over his mind of good. Knowledge of evil is an 'inadequate' knowledge, fit only for slavish minds. So


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 LECTURE VIII

HE last lecture was a painful one, dealing as it did with evil as a pervasive element of the world we live in. At the close of it we were brought into full view of the contrast between the two ways of looking at life which are characteristic respectively of what we called the healthy-minded, who need to be born only once, and of the sick souls, who must be twice-born in order to be happy. The result is two different conceptions of the universe of our experience. In the religion of the once-born the world is a sort of rectilinear or one-storied affair, whose accounts are kept in one denomination, whose parts have just the values which naturally they appear to have, and of which a simple algebraic sum of pluses and minuses will give the total worth. Happiness and religious peace consist in living on the plus side of the account. In the religion of the twice-born, on the other hand, the world is a double-storied mystery. Peace cannot be reached by the simple addition of pluses and elimination of minuses from life. Natural good is not simply insufficient in amount and transient, there lurks a falsity in its very being. Cancelled as it all is by death if not by earlier enemies, it gives no final balance, and can never be the thing intended for our lasting worship. It keeps us from our real good, rather; and renunciation and despair of it are our first step in the direction of the truth. There are two lives, the


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 LECTURE IX

O be converted, to be regenerated, to receive grace, to experience religion, to gain an assurance, are so many phrases which denote the process, gradual or sudden, by which a self hitherto divided, and consciously wrong inferior and unhappy, becomes unified and consciously right superior and happy, in consequence of its firmer hold upon religious realities. This at least is what conversion signifies in general terms, whether or not we believe that a direct divine operation is needed to bring such a moral change about.

Before entering upon a minuter study of the process, let me enliven our understanding of the definition by a concrete example. I choose the quaint case of an unlettered man, Stephen H. Bradley, whose experience is related in a scarce American pamphlet.

I select this case because it shows how in these inner alterations one may find one unsuspected depth below another, as if the possibilities of character lay disposed in a series of layers or shells, of whose existence we have no premonitory knowledge.

Bradley thought that he had been already fully converted at the age of fourteen.

"I thought I saw the Saviour, by faith, in human shape, for about one second in the room, with arms extended, appearing


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 LECTURE X

N this lecture we have to finish the subject of Conversion, considering at first those striking instantaneous instances of which Saint Paul's is the most eminent, and in which, often amid tremendous emotional excitement or perturbation of the senses, a complete division is established in the twinkling of an eye between the old life and the new. Conversion of this type is an important phase of religious experience, owing to the part which it has played in Protestant theology, and it behooves us to study it conscientiously on that account.

I think I had better cite two or three of these cases before proceeding to a more generalized account. One must know concrete instances first; for, as Professor Agassiz used to say, one can see no farther into a generalization than just so far as one's previous acquaintance with particulars enables one to take it in. I will go back, then, to the case of our friend Henry Alline, and quote his report of the 26th of March, 1775, on which his poor divided mind became unified for good.

"As I was about sunset wandering in the fields lamenting my miserable lost and undone condition, and almost ready to sink under my burden, I thought I was in such a miserable case as never any man was before. I returned to the house, and when I got to the door, just as I was stepping off the threshold, the following impressions came into my mind like a powerful but small still voice. You have been seeking,


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 LECTURES XI, XII, AND XIII

HE last lecture left us in a state of expectancy. What may the practical fruits for life have been, of such movingly happy conversions as those we heard of? With this question the really important part of our task opens, for you remember that we began all this empirical inquiry not merely to open a curious chapter in the phenomenology of human consciousness, but rather to attain a spiritual judgment as to the total value and positive meaning of all the religious trouble and happiness which we have seen. We must, therefore, first describe the fruits of the religious life, and then we must judge them. This divides our inquiry into two distinct parts. Let us without further preamble proceed to the descriptive task.

It ought to be the pleasantest portion of our business in these lectures. Some small pieces of it, it is true, may be painful, or may show human nature in a pathetic light, but it will be mainly pleasant, because the best fruits of religious experience are the best things that history has to show. They have always been esteemed so; here if anywhere is the genuinely strenuous life; and to call to mind a succession of such examples as I have lately had to wander through, though it has been only in the reading of them, is to feel encouraged and uplifted and washed in better moral air.

The highest flights of charity, devotion, trust, patience, bravery to which the wings of human nature have spread


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 LECTURES XIV AND XV

E have now passed in review the more important of the phenomena which are regarded as fruits of genuine religion and characteristics of men who are devout. To-day we have to change our attitude from that of description to that of appreciation; we have to ask whether the fruits in question can help us to judge the absolute value of what religion adds to human life. Were I to parody Kant, I should say that a 'Critique of pure Saintliness' must be our theme.

If, in turning to this theme, we could descend upon our subject from above like Catholic theologians, with our fixed definitions of man and man's perfection and our positive dogmas about God, we should have an easy time of it. Man's perfection would be the fulfillment of his end; and his end would be union with his Maker. That union could be pursued by him along three paths, active, purgative, and contemplative, respectively; and progress along either path would be a simple matter to measure by the application of a limited number of theological and moral conceptions and definitions. The absolute significance and value of any bit of religious experience we might hear of would thus be given almost mathematically into our hands.

If convenience were everything, we ought now to grieve at finding ourselves cut off from so admirably convenient a method as this. But we did cut ourselves off from it deliberately in those remarks which you remember we


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 LECTURE XVIII

HE subject of Saintliness left us face to face with the question, Is the sense of divine presence a sense of anything objectively true? We turned first to mysticism for an answer, and found that although mysticism is entirely willing to corroborate religion, it is too private (and also too various) in its utterances to be able to claim a universal authority. But philosophy publishes results which claim to be universally valid if they are valid at all, so we now turn with our question to philosophy. Can philosophy stamp a warrant of veracity upon the religious man's sense of the divine?

I imagine that many of you at this point begin to indulge in guesses at the goal to which I am tending. I have undermined the authority of mysticism, you say, and the next thing I shall probably do is to seek to discredit that of philosophy. Religion, you expect to hear me conclude, is nothing but an affair of faith, based either on vague sentiment, or on that vivid sense of the reality of things unseen of which in my second lecture and in the lecture on Mysticism I gave so many examples. It is essentially private and individualistic; it always exceeds our powers of formulation; and although attempts to pour its contents into a philosophic mould will probably always go on, men being what they are, yet these attempts are always secondary processes which in no way add to the authority, or warrant the veracity, of the sentiments from which they derive their own stimulus


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Page:The varieties of religious experience, a study in human nature.djvu/474

 LECTURE XIX

E have wound our way back, after our excursion through mysticism and philosophy, to where we were before: the uses of religion, its uses to the individual who has it, and the uses of the individual himself to the world, are the best arguments that truth is in it. We return to the empirical philosophy: the true is what works well, even though the qualification 'on the whole' may always have to be added. In this lecture we must revert to description again, and finish our picture of the religious consciousness by a word about some of its other characteristic elements. Then, in a final lecture, we shall be free to make a general review and draw our independent conclusions.

The first point I will speak of is the part which the æsthetic life plays in determining one's choice of a religion. Men, I said awhile ago, involuntarily intellectualize their religious experience. They need formulas, just as they need fellowship in worship. I spoke, therefore, too contemptuously of the pragmatic uselessness of the famous scholastic list of attributes of the deity, for they have one use which I neglected to consider. The eloquent passage in which Newman enumerates them puts us on the track of it. Intoning them as he would intone a cathedral service, he shows how high is their æsthetic value. It enriches our bare piety to carry these exalted and mysterious verbal additions just as it enriches


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 LECTURE XX

HE material of our study of human nature is now spread before us; and in this parting hour, set free from the duty of description, we can draw our theoretical and practical conclusions. In my first lecture, defending the empirical method, I foretold that whatever conclusions we might come to could be reached by spiritual judgments only, appreciations of the significance for life of religion, taken 'on the whole.' Our conclusions cannot be as sharp as dogmatic conclusions would be, but I will formulate them, when the time comes, as sharply as I can.

Summing up in the broadest possible way the characteristics of the religious life, as we have found them, it includes the following beliefs:—

1. That the visible world is part of a more spiritual universe from which it draws its chief significance;

2. That union or harmonious relation with that higher universe is our true end;

3. That prayer or inner communion with the spirit thereof—be that spirit 'God' or 'law'—is a process wherein work is really done, and spiritual energy flows in and produces effects, psychological or material, within the phenomenal world.

Religion includes also the following psychological characteristics:—

4. A new zest which adds itself like a gift to life, and takes the form either of lyrical enchantment or of appeal to earnestness and heroism.


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 POSTSCRIPT

N writing my concluding lecture I had to aim so much at simplification that I fear that my general philosophic position received so scant a statement as hardly to be intelligible to some of my readers. I therefore add this epilogue, which must also be so brief as possibly to remedy but little the defect. In a later work I may be enabled to state my position more amply and consequently more clearly.

Originality cannot be expected in a field like this, where all the attitudes and tempers that are possible have been exhibited in literature long ago, and where any new writer can immediately be classed under a familiar head. If one should make a division of all thinkers into naturalists and supernaturalists, I should undoubtedly have to go, along with most philosophers, into the supernaturalist branch. But there is a crasser and a more refined supernaturalism, and it is to the refined division that most philosophers at the present day belong. If not regular transcendental idealists, they at least obey the Kantian direction enough to bar out ideal entities from interfering causally in the course of phenomenal events. Refined supernaturalism is universalistic supernaturalism; for the 'crasser' variety 'piecemeal' supernaturalism would perhaps be the better name. It went with that older theology which to-day is supposed to reign only among uneducated people, or to be found among the few belated professors of the dualisms which Kant is thought to have displaced. It admits miracles


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Rh –light of tragic mountebanks than of sane men inspiring us with respect. If the inner dispositions are right, we ask, what need of all this torment, this violation of the outer nature? It keeps the outer nature too important. Any one who is genuinely emancipated from the flesh will look on pleasures and pains, abundance and privation, as alike irrelevant and indifferent. He can engage in actions and experience enjoyments without fear of corruption or enslavement. As the Bhagavad-Gita says, only those need renounce worldly actions who are still inwardly attached thereto. If one be really unattached to the fruits of action, one may mix in the world with equanimity. I quoted in a former lecture Saint Augustine's antinomian saying: If you only love God enough, you may safely follow all your inclinations. "He needs no devotional practices," is one of Ramakrishna's maxims, "whose heart is moved to tears at the mere mention of the name of Hari." And the Buddha, in pointing out what he called 'the middle way' to his disciples, told them to abstain from both extremes, excessive mortification being as unreal and unworthy as mere desire and pleasure. The only perfect life, he said, is that of inner wisdom, which makes one thing as indifferent to


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Page:The varieties of religious experience, a study in human nature.djvu/286

270 part in these abrupt changes of heart, just as they do in hypnotism. Suggestive therapeutics abound in records of cure, after a few sittings, of inveterate bad habits with which the patient, left to ordinary moral and physical influences, had struggled in vain. Both drunkenness and sexual vice have been cured in this way, action through the subliminal seeming thus in many individuals to have the prerogative of inducing relatively stable change. If the grace of God miraculously operates, it probably operates through the subliminal door, then. But just how anything operates in this region is still unexplained, and we shall do well now to say good-by to the process of transformation altogether,—leaving it, if you like, a good deal of a psychological or theological mystery,—and to turn our attention to the fruits of the religious condition, no matter in what way they may have been produced.


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Rh The collective name for the ripe fruits of religion in a character is Saintliness. The saintly character is the character for which spiritual emotions are the habitual centre of the personal energy; and there is a certain composite photograph of universal saintliness, the same in all religions, of which the features can easily be traced. higher centres, whose quality of feeling is that of withinness. Another of the respondents says: 'Since then, although Satan tempts me, there is as it were a wall of brass around me, so that his darts cannot touch me.'"—Unquestionably, functional exclusions of this sort must occur in the cerebral organ. But on the side accessible to introspection, their causal condition is nothing but the degree of spiritual excitement, getting at last so high and strong as to be sovereign; and it must be frankly confessed that we do not know just why or how such sovereignty comes about in one person and not in another. We can only give our imagination a certain delusive help by mechanical analogies.

If we should conceive, for example, that the human mind, with its different possibilities of equilibrium, might be like a many-sided solid with different surfaces on which it could lie flat, we might liken mental revolutions to the spatial revolutions of such a body. As it is pried up, say by a lever, from a position in which it lies on surface A, for instance, it will linger for a time unstably halfway up, and if the lever cease to urge it, it will tumble back or 'relapse' under the continued pull of gravity. But if at last it rotate far enough for its centre of gravity to pass beyond surface A altogether, the body will fall over, on surface B, say, and abide there permanently. The pulls of gravity towards A have vanished, and may now be disregarded. The polyhedron has become immune against farther attraction from their direction.

In this figure of speech the lever may correspond to the emotional influences making for a new life, and the initial pull of gravity to the ancient drawbacks and inhibitions. So long as the emotional influence fails to reach a certain pitch of efficacy, the changes it produces are unstable, and the man relapses into his original attitude. But when a certain intensity is attained by the new emotion, a critical point is passed, and there then ensues an irreversible revolution, equivalent to the production of a new nature.


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272 They are these:—

1. A feeling of being in a wider life than that of this world's selfish little interests; and a conviction, not merely intellectual, but as it were sensible, of the existence of an Ideal Power. In Christian saintliness this power is always personified as God; but abstract moral ideals, civic or patriotic utopias, or inner visions of holiness or right may also be felt as the true lords and enlargers of our life, in ways which I described in the lecture on the Reality of the Unseen.


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Wikisource:Books/Black Beauty

by Anna Sewell

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 two other bases, and the cornice or cymatium. The treasury of the Cnidians at Delphi was Ionic, judging by the carved ornament enriching the cornice and architraves, and in the Naxian votive column we have another early example of an early voluted capital.

The tombs of Tantalais, near Smyrna, and of Alyattes, near Sardis, belong to the same date as those we shall find in Etruria. The Harpy tomb, now in the British Museum, built after 547, is the predecessor of many other Lycian tombs of the 5th and 4th centuries, to which we return. As already pointed out, in the temple of Hera at Olympia (10th century ), we find the complete plan of an hexastyle peripteral Greek temple, where columns originally in wood supported a wood architrave and superstructure protected by terra-cotta plaques and roofed over with tiles. The temple of Apollo at Syracuse, and the temple at Corinth (7th century ) represent the earliest examples in stone, and in the temple of Poseidon at Paestum (6th century) are preserved the columns of the cella which carried the ceiling and roof. The structural development therefore of the temple was completed, and no great constructional improvements reveal themselves after 550 The next century would seem to have been chiefly directed to the beautifying and refining of the features already prescribed, and it was the traditional respect for, and the conservative adherence to, the older type, which led the architects to the production of such masterpieces as the Parthenon and the Erechtheum, which would have been impossible but for the careful and logical progression of preceding centuries.

The (q.v.) at Athens represents the highest type of perfection, not only in its conception but in its realization. It is only necessary here to give a general description. It was designed by Ictinus in collaboration with Callicrates, and built on the south side of the Acropolis on a foundation carried down to the solid rock. The temple, commenced in 454 and completed in 438, was of the Doric order and raised on a stylobate of three steps; it had eight columns in front and rear and was surrounded by a peristyle, there being twenty columns on the flanks. It contained two divisions; the eastern chamber was originally known as the Hekatompedos (temple of 100 ft.), that being the dimension of the cella of the ancient temple which it was built to replace. The chamber on the western side was called the Parthenon (i.e. chamber of the virgin). All the principal lines of the building had delicate curves. The entablature rose about 3 in. in the middle to correct an optical illusion caused by the sloping lines of the pediment, which gave to the horizontal cornice the appearance of having sunk in the centre. The stylobate had therefore to be similarly curved so that the columns should be all of the same height. The columns are not all equidistant, those nearer the angle being closer together than the others, which gave a greater appearance of strength to the temple; this was increased by a slight inclination inwards of all the columns. In order to correct another optical illusion, which causes the shaft of a column, when it diminishes as it rises, and is formed with absolute straight lines, to appear hollow or concave, an increment known as the entasis was given to the column, about one-third up the shaft. The columns were not monoliths, like those of the earliest stone temples mentioned above; they were built in several drums, so closely fitted together that the joint would be imperceptible but for the slight discoloration of the marble. The setting of the lowest drum of these columns on the curved stylobate, with the slight inclination of the column, must have been a work of an extraordinary nature, only possible with such a material as Pentelic marble. The cella or naos was built to enshrine the chryselephantine statue of Athena by Pheidias. In order to carry the ceiling and roof there was a range of columns on each side of the cella returning round the end. These columns probably carried an upper range as in the temple of Poseidon at Paestum. The tympana of the two pediments and all the metopes were enriched with the finest sculpture, and were realized, designed, and executed by Pheidias and his pupils. On the upper part of the cella wall and under the peristyle was the Panathenaic frieze, of which, as also of the other sculptures, the British Museum possesses the finest examples.

The (q.v.), designed by Mnesicles and built 437–432, was the only entrance to the Acropolis. It was of the Doric order, and consisted of a portico of six columns, the two centre ones being wider apart, to allow of the road through, up which the chariots and beasts for sacrifices ascended. The columns carrying the marble ceiling of the vestibule were of the Ionic order; beyond them the wall was pierced by three doorways, and on the other side and facing east was another portico of six columns. The front entrance was flanked on the left hand by a chamber known as the Pinacotheca, and on the right by a chamber intended probably to be a replica but subsequently curtailed in size in consequence of the proximity of another temple.

The Erechtheum on the north side of the Acropolis occupied the site of three older shrines, which may account for its irregular plan. The eastern portion was the temple of Athena Polias, with a portico of six columns of the Ionic order. At a lower level on the north side was a portico of six columns (four in front and two at the sides) leading to the shrine of Erechtheus; the west front of this shrine had originally a frontispiece of four columns in antis raised on a podium; subsequently during the Roman occupation these columns were taken down and reproduced as semi-detached columns with windows between. On the west side was a court in which was the olive tree and the shrine of Pandrosus (Pandroseion). At the south-west angle was the well-known portico or tribune of the Caryatides. There was a small entrance through the podium at the side, and stairs leading down to the shrine of Erechtheus.

The only other building remaining on the Acropolis is the temple of Niké Apteros, raised on a lofty substructure south-west of the propylaea. It also was of the Ionic order, and belonged to the type known as “amphiprostyle,” with a portico of four columns in the front and rear but no peristyle. The term “apteros” applied to the temple and not to the goddess of victory.

In 430, shortly after the completion of the Parthenon, Ictinus was employed to design the temple of Apollo Epicurius, at Bassae, in Arcadia. This temple externally was of the Doric order, but, being built in local stone, no attempt was made to introduce those refinements which are found in the Parthenon. In the rear of the cella is a second sanctuary with a doorway facing east; it was probably the site of an ancient temple which had to be preserved, and this may account for the fact that the temple runs north and south. The cella is flanked by five columns of the Ionic order which are conntected by spur walls to the cella wall. These columns carry an architrave, frieze richly sculptured with figure subjects, cornice and wall above rising to the roof. There was no ceiling therefore, and the interior was probably lighted through pierced Parian marble tiles, of which three examples were found. The Corinthian capital found on the site is supposed by Cockerell to have belonged to the shaft between the two cellas.

The same architect, Ictinus, was employed in 420 to rebuild the hall of the mysteries at Eleusis on a larger scale. The hall was 185 ft. square, and its ceiling and roof were carried by seven rows of columns with six in each row. The propylaea, which gave access to the sacred enclosure at Eleusis, was copied from the propylaea at Athens. The so-called lesser propylaea had some connexion with the mysteries.

The temple of Zeus at Olympia had much in common with the Parthenon, being nearly contemporaneous, built to enshrine a second chryselephantine statue by Pheidias, and in plan having a similar arrangement of columns inside the cella; the lower range of columns (according to Pausanias) supported a gallery round, so that privileged visitors could approach nearer to the statue. The temple, however, was built in the local conglomerate stone covered with a thin coat of stucco and painted.

Of circular temples there are two examples known, the Philippeion at Olympia and the Tholos at Epidaurus. The latter had, inside the cella, a peristyle of Corinthian columns, the capitals of which are of great beauty and represent in their design the transition

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The Knickerbocker Magazine

Knickerbocker Magazine Volume 1, Issue 1 Letter From the Editor - Introduction

Misbecoming as it may be, courteous reader, to rush at once into thy presence and pour out our gratulations at meeting thee here, there is still something so cordial on the occasion, that for the life of us we connot begin by making thy acquaintance in cold and formal phrase. Dost thou observe how smilingly the sun comes in yonder window and plays upon the extended sheet, over which that ancient figure is stooping? Even so do the friendly looks which thou now bendest over out page, cheer out soul with their sunny influence. There is, too, a free and confiding expression in thy countenance, which at once banishes all distrust from our bosom; all those doubts and misgivings, which we could not but indulfe in seeking thy intimacy. We feel as if we had known thee for years, and the very chambers of our heart open of themselves as to an old acquaintance, who has the privelege of entrance without knocking. We cannot, we cannot, dear reader, while our heart is thus warming toward thee, enter upon formal explanations, or drawn up here a frigid business-like agreement, as to the footing we are hereafter to be upon together. Let our publishers and the public settle those musty matters between them, while we two, quietly after a simple fashion, talk over our affairs as if no one else were by.

And first, let us tell thee that as regards the little sketch overleaf, which the uninitiated will view with indifference, or perhaps overlook entirely, there is a mystery about it which concerns both of us mightily. Thou must know then that one day, not a great while since, as we were musing in our study upon the best method of first introducing ourselves to thy acquaintance, a circumstance, or rather a train of circumstances-a scene-occurred, so singular, if not supernatural, that we almost hesitate in this unbelieving age to recount it even to thee. As the cause of truth, however, could never be advanced did everyone shrink from relating the facts that occur under his individual observation, merely because they do not fall within the train of common events, we will detail here those strange things which have lately come within the experience of our own senses; leaving it for those idle carpers and arrant infidels, the critics and philosophers, to make what they can of this exposure of mysterious doings, shouldst thou, gentle reader, by any accident betray to such people the confidence that is here unreservedly reposed in thee.

It was in the afternoon, just before sunset, during one of those delicious ‘Indian Summer’ days, the peculiar boast of our climate, of which, the autumn passed, was more than usually bountiful, that while, as we have mentioned, meditating alone in our study upon the prospects of the new Magazine, these marvelous occurrences took place. The golden-hued smoke of out juelta was rising before our line of vision and mellowing each object, like the warm atmosphere that gives such rich repose to the pictures of Claude, when as we watched its light flakes as they floated through the open window, and mingled with the silver haze without, they seemed after a while, instead of dissipating themselves in their kindred atmosphere, to form gradually into a murky cloud, which at last filled the whole apartment. This was indeed singular; but so completely lost were we in idle reverie, that it did not strike us at the moment as strange, nor at all prepare us for the phenomena that followed its disappearance, and gradually made us conscious that a mysterious influence prevailed in the room where we were sitting. By degrees the gaudy paper hangings around us faded into dullness, and then, while their gay colors were darkening into one uniform shade of brown, slowly in their stead panels of burnished oak grew our upon the walls, and glistened in the setting sun. And now each veined spot upon the mantelpiece of variegated marble became gradually larger and more distinct in form and color, till everyone at last assuming a rectangular shape, settled into a swparate porcelain tile of smoky blue, like those one may still see ornamenting the fire-place in out old Dutch edifices. The disappearance of the grate we did not note; but it was gone, and there certainly was sufficient room where it had stood to swallow up a dozen between those yawning jams.

The most striking metamorphosis, however, was that which the furniture underwent. The slender maple chairs became gradually bloated and dropsical in their appearance, until they swelled at last into a most antiquated and preposterous size. Their backs became bread and crooked, and from their sides huge arms infolded, while hideous claws protruded from the small round knobs on which they formerly rested, and slowly sprawled upon the floor; and next, the perforated cane work which erst formed their bottoms, after swimming thick before our eyes for a moment, became gradually opaque, and then plumped up into fat and portly cushions. Nor was this all; the very table upon which our elbows rested while watching the mysterious change going forward around us, was not exempt from its influence: sensibly could we perceive-and yet not so abruptly as to startle us-sensibly could we feel its velvet cover chilling and hardening and smoothing beneath our pressure into a slab of polished marble, while the one stout central supporter severed into four slender legs, tattooed with quaint devices eavh of which quietly slipped into a socket prepared for it under the carved head of a lion that grinned at either corner. But the most remarkable of all amid these miraculous doings remains yet to be mentioned; our own figure reflected in the mirror opposite, seemed to share the general change, and after vainly trying to reorganize its lineaments in those that met our gaze, we at length observed, upon looking more narrowly, that the frame of the mirror had disappeared. The mirror itself was gone, and instead of being a reflection of ourselves, it was another figure, an actual being, though not of this world, that now sate opposite to us. Thou believest not perhaps in spirits, reader-thou believest not that the departed dead may escape from the cerements of the sepulcher, and in their bodily forms revisit the warm world again! And yet why not? The persuasion that such things be, seems almost instinctive in out nature; our earliest recollections are those of mystic fears, and the very reason upon which in after life we rely for their subjugation, cannot withstand the mass of evident to the act of apparitions having been witnessed in every age of the world. Are there not moments when the least imaginative mind, the most skeptical bosom, shudders with the apprehension of a forced communion with beings og the other world? And what, unless the prompting of some viewless spirit, that with chilling influence hovers near-what is this dim dread, this mystic fear, this vague belief that such things are, but the whispering of the soul to the senses of suggestions that come to it from heaven itself? Banish then, thinking reader, that sneer of doubt from thy features. We know that there is much to stagger thy faith in what we are now revealing; but may we entirely forfeit thy confidence in our truth, if what we have just related be not as veritable a part of our narrative as any that hath preceded it. We pray thee, reader, withdraw not yet thy confidence, but list while we proceed in this singular disclosure.

Well, there sat the phantom; and here sat we, with only the breadth of the table between us. Its position was much the same as ours, and when it first assumed a determined shape to our sight-that of a little old man clad in ancient apparel-it was gazing intently upon some loose sheets before it. It was then that a complete thought cursory examination of its features dispelled at once our rising horror at thus confronting an apparition. Benevolence was their predominant expression, and though a few satirical lines about the mouth a little disputed its ascendency, yet their effect was wholly lost upon us when the phantom, slowly raising its head, gave an opportunity for its mild blue eyes and placid brow to produce their full impression. There was, too, something so re-assuring, so almost parental, in the manner of this venerable being, when first addressing us, that colored at once, and we listened, nay, replied to the words of the specter with a composure, for which, now that the singular scene has passed, we are wholly unable to account. Perhaps we ought to add that the old gentleman, who was dressed in a coat of rusty black, a pair of olive velvet breeches, and a three cornered beaver, had a certain briskness in his appearance

title: The Knickerbocker Magazine


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text:
Hodge v. Kentucky

Cite as: 568 U. S. ____ (2012)

SUPREME COURT OF THE UNITED STATES

BENNY LEE HODGE v. KENTUCKY

ON PETITION FOR WRIT OF CERTIORARI TO THE SUPREME COURT OF KENTUCKY

No. 11–10974. Decided December 3, 2012

The petition for a writ of certiorari is denied.

title: Hodge v. Kentucky


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text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Meyer, Jeremiah


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Meyer, Philip James


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Meynell, Charles


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Meyrick, John (d.1638)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Meyrick, John (d.1659)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Meyrick, Samuel Rush


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Meyrick, William


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Miall, Edward


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Michael Blaunpayn


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Michel, John


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Michelborne, Edward (d.1611?)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Michelborne, Edward (1565-1626)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Michelborne, John


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Middiman, Samuel


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Middlemore, George


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Middleton, Charles (1640?-1719)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Middleton, Christopher (d.1770)


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Hodge v. Kentucky/Dissent Sotomayor

, dissenting from denial of certiorari.

Petitioner Benny Lee Hodge was convicted of murder. Then, after his trial counsel failed to present any mitigation evidence during the penalty phase of his trial, he was sentenced to death. In fact, counsel had not even investigated any possible grounds for mitigation. If counsel had made any effort, he would have found that Hodge, as a child, suffered what the Kentucky Supreme Court called a "most severe and unimaginable level of physical and mental abuse." No. 2009–SC–000791–MR (Aug. 25, 2011), App. to Pet for Cert. 11. The Commonwealth conceded that counsel's performance was constitutionally deficient as a result. Yet the court below concluded that Hodge would have been sentenced to death anyway because even if this evidence had been presented, it would not have "explained" his actions, and thus the jury would have arrived at the same result. Ibid. This was error. Mitigation evidence need not, and rarely could, "explai[n]" a heinous crime; rather, mitigation evidence allows a jury to make a reasoned moral decision whether the individual defendant deserves to be executed, or to be shown mercy instead. The Kentucky Supreme Court's error of law could well have led to an error in result. I would grant the petition for certiorari, summarily vacate, and remand to allow the Kentucky Supreme Court to reconsider its decision under the proper standard.

I
Hodge and two others posed as Federal Bureau of Inves-

tigation agents to gain entry to the home of a doctor. Once inside, they strangled the doctor into unconsciousness, stabbed his college-aged daughter to death, and stole around $2 million in cash, as well as jewelry and guns, from a safe. A jury convicted Hodge and a codefendant of murder and related charges. Epperson v. Commonwealth, 809 S. W. 2d 835, 837 (Ky. 1990). In advance of the penalty phase of his trial, Hodge's counsel conducted no investigation into potential mitigation evidence and presented no evidence to the jury. The Commonwealth did not put on evidence of aggravating circumstances either, beyond the facts of the crime. Instead, the parties agreed that the jury should be read this stipulation: "'Benny Lee Hodge has a loving and supportive family—a wife and three children. He has a public job work record and he lives and resides permanently in Tennessee.'" App. to Pet. for Cert. 5. After hearing argument from counsel on both sides, the jury recommended a sentence of death, which the trial court imposed.

On postconviction review in Kentucky state court, Hodge alleged that his counsel had been ineffective during the penalty phase for failing to investigate, discover, and present readily available mitigation evidence concerning his childhood, which was marked by extreme abuse. Hodge was granted an evidentiary hearing, during which he presented extensive mitigation evidence and the testimony of expert psychologists. The Commonwealth did not contest Hodge's evidence, although it did not concede that all the evidence would have been available or admissible at the time of trial. The Kentucky Supreme Court credited the evidence and found it would have been available at the time of trial. The evidence established the following:

The beatings began in utero. Hodge's father battered his mother while she carried Hodge in her womb, and continued to beat her once Hodge was born, even while she held the infant in her arms. When Hodge was a few years

older, he escaped his mother's next husband, a drunkard, by staying with his stepfather's parents, bootleggers who ran a brothel. His mother next married Billy Joe. Family members described Billy Joe as a "'monster.'" Id., at 7. Billy Joe controlled what little money the family had, leaving them to live in abject poverty. He beat Hodge's mother relentlessly, once so severely that she had a miscarriage. He raped her regularly. And he threatened to kill her while pointing a gun at her. All of this abuse occurred while Hodge and his sisters could see or hear. And following many beatings, Hodge and his sisters thought their mother was dead.

Billy Joe also targeted Hodge's sisters, molesting at least one of them. But according to neighbors and family members, as the only male in the house, Hodge bore the brunt of Billy Joe's anger, especially when he tried to defend his mother and sisters from attack. Billy Joe often beat Hodge with a belt, sometimes leaving imprints from his belt buckle on Hodge's body. Hodge was kicked, thrown against walls, and punched. Billy Joe once made Hodge watch while he brutally killed Hodge's dog. On another occasion, Billy Joe rubbed Hodge's nose in his own feces.

The abuse took its toll on Hodge. He had been an average student in school, but he began to change when Billy Joe entered his life. He started stealing around age 12, and wound up in juvenile detention for his crimes. There, Hodge was beaten routinely and subjected to frequent verbal and emotional abuse. After assaulting Billy Joe at age 16, Hodge returned to juvenile detention, where the abuse continued. Hodge remained there until he was 18. Over the 16 years between his release from juvenile detention and the murder, Hodge committed various theft crimes that landed him in prison for about 13 of those years. He twice escaped, but each time, he was recaptured.

Psychologists who testified at Hodge's evidentiary hearing, and were credited by the court below, explained that the degree of domestic violence Hodge suffered was extremely damaging to his development. The environment caused "'hypervigilance'"—a state of constant anxiety that left Hodge always "'waiting for the next shoe to fall.'" Pet. for Cert. 7. It taught him "'that the world was a hostile place and that he was not going to be able to count on anybody else to protect him'"—not his family and not society. Id., at 8. Being taken to a juvenile facility only to be beaten more likely hit Hodge as a "'double betrayal.'" Id., at 9. The result was that Hodge had posttraumatic stress disorder. Unable to control his behavior and his emotions because of PTSD, he turned to drugs and alcohol to numb his feelings. This condition could have been diagnosed at the time of his trial.

The Commonwealth conceded that counsel was deficient for failing to gather and present this evidence at the penalty phase of Hodge's trial. But it contended that Hodge would have been sentenced to death even if the evidence had been presented. Examining the evidence, the Kentucky Supreme Court had "no doubt that Hodge, as a child, suffered a most severe and unimaginable level of physical and mental abuse." App. to Pet. for Cert. 11. Yet it felt "compelled to reach the conclusion that there exists no reasonable probability that the jury would not have sentenced Hodge to death" anyway. Ibid.

The Court based its conclusion in part on the aggravating circumstances against which the jury would have had to weigh the mitigation evidence. The murder itself was "calculated and exceedingly cold-hearted." Id., at 9. Hodge stabbed the daughter "at least ten times," and he "coolly" told his codefendant that he knew the daughter "was dead because the knife had gone 'all the way through her to the floor.'" Id., at 10. Hodge's conduct after the murder was shocking as well: He and the two other rob-

bers "brazenly spent the stolen money on a lavish lifestyle and luxury goods, including a Corvette," and Hodge told a cellmate he had "sprea[d] all the money out on a bed and ha[d] sex with his girlfriend on top of it." Ibid. Moreover, had Hodge put on evidence in mitigation, the Commonwealth may have sought to introduce evidence of Hodge's "long and increasingly violent criminal history, his numerous escapes from custody, and the obvious failure of several rehabilitative efforts." Id., at 9.

The court's conclusion was also based, however, on what effect the mitigation evidence might have had:

 * "Perhaps this information may have offered insight for the jury, providing some explanation for the career criminal he later became. If it had been admitted, the PTSD diagnosis offered in mitigation might have explained Hodge's substance abuse, or perhaps even a crime committed in a fit of rage as a compulsive reaction. But it offers virtually no rationale for the premeditated, cold-blooded murder and attempted murder of two innocent victims who were complete strangers to Hodge. Many, if not most, malefactors committing terribly violent and cruel murders are the subjects of terrible childhoods. Even if the sentencing jury had this mitigation evidence before it, we do not believe, in light of the particularly depraved and brutal nature of these crimes, that it would have spared Hodge the death penalty." Id., at 11.

Accordingly, the court denied Hodge relief.

II
The Sixth Amendment guarantees capital defendants the effective assistance of counsel during the penalty phase of trial. This right includes counsel's "obligation to conduct a thorough investigation of the defendant's background," Williams v. Taylor, 529 U. S. 362, 396 (2000), so

as "to uncover and present . . . mitigating evidence" to the jury at sentencing. Wiggins v. Smith, 539 U. S. 510, 522 (2003). It is uncontested that trial counsel failed to discharge that duty here. But to establish a Sixth Amendment violation, Hodge must also demonstrate that counsel's failures prejudiced his defense. In Strickland v. Washington, 466 U. S. 668 (1984), we explained that a "defendant must show that there is a reasonable probability that, but for counsel's unprofessional errors, the result of the proceeding would have been different." Id., at 694. In the capital sentencing context, to assess prejudice, "we reweigh the evidence in aggravation against the totality of available mitigating evidence." Wiggins, 539 U. S., at 534; see also Sears v. Upton, 561 U. S. ___, ___ (2010) (per curiam) (slip op., at 10–11); Porter v. McCollum, 558 U. S. 30, 41 (2009) (per curiam); Rompilla v. Beard, 545 U. S. 374, 393 (2005). The critical question is whether "there is a reasonable probability that at least one juror would have struck a different balance" in weighing the evidence for and against sentencing the defendant to death. Wiggins, 539 U. S., at 537.

In applying this standard, the Kentucky Supreme Court properly took account of the possible evidence in aggravation. But in discounting the countervailing effect of Hodge's proposed mitigation, the court misunderstood the purpose of mitigation evidence. The court reasoned that Hodge's mitigation evidence might have altered the jury's recommendation only if it "explained" or provided some

$$At the time Hodge was sentenced, Kentucky required jury unanimity to recommend a sentence of death. Cf. Carson v. Commonwealth, 382 S. W. 2d 85, 95 (Ky. App. 1964); Ky. Rev. Stat. Ann. §532.025 (Michie 1985). The trial court was responsible for the ultimate sentencing determination, but the jury's recommendation was to "carr[y] great weight" in that decision. Gall v. Commonwealth, 607 S. W. 2d 97, 104 (Ky. 1980). See also Porter, 558 U. S., at 40, 42 (applying Wiggins to an "advisory jury").

"rationale" for his conduct. App. to Pet. for Cert. 11. We have made clear for over 30 years, however, that mitigation does not play so limited a role. In Lockett v. Ohio, 438 U. S. 586 (1978), we held that the sentencer in a capital case must be given a full opportunity to consider, as a mitigating factor, "any aspect of a defendant's character or record," in addition to "any of the circumstances of the offense that the defendant proffers as a basis for a sentence less than death." Id., at 604 (plurality opinion) (emphasis added). We emphasized the "need for treating each defendant in a capital case with that degree of respect due the uniqueness of the individual." Id., at 605. This rule "recognizes that 'justice . . . requires . . . that there be taken into account the circumstances of the offense together with the character and propensities of the offender,'" as part of deciding whether the defendant is to live or die. Eddings v. Oklahoma, 455 U. S. 104, 112 (1982) (quoting Pennsylvania ex rel. Sullivan v. Ashe, 302 U. S. 51, 55 (1937)). And it ensures that "'the sentence imposed at the penalty stage . . . reflect[s] a reasoned moral response to the defendant's background, character, and crime.'" Abdul-Kabir v. Quarterman, 550 U. S. 233, 252 (2007) (quoting California v. Brown, 479 U. S. 538, 545 (1987) (O’Connor, J., concurring)).

Thus we have consistently rejected States' attempts to limit as irrelevant evidence of a defendant's background or character that he wishes to offer in mitigation. In Skipper v. South Carolina, 476 U. S. 1 (1986), for example, we held that the exclusion of evidence regarding the defendant's good behavior in jail while awaiting trial deprived him of "his right to place before the sentencer relevant evidence in mitigation of punishment." Id., at 4. We explained that the jury "could have drawn favorable inferences . . . regarding [the defendant's] character and his probable future conduct." Ibid. Although "any such inferences would not relate specifically to [the defendant's] culpabil-

ity for the crime he committed,. . . such inferences would be 'mitigating' in the sense that they might serve 'as a basis for a sentence less than death.'" Id., at 4–5 (quoting Lockett, 438 U. S., at 604 (plurality opinion)).

Particularly instructive is Smith v. Texas, 543 U. S. 37 (2004) (per curiam). In Smith, the Texas courts withheld a mitigation instruction concerning the defendant's background, on the ground that he had offered "no evidence of any link or nexus between his troubled childhood or his limited mental abilities and this capital murder." Ex parte Smith, 132 S. W. 3d 407, 414 (Tex. Crim. App. 2004). We rejected this "nexus" requirement as one we had "never countenanced," and we reiterated that the only relevant question is whether the proposed mitigation evidence would give a jury "a reason to impose a sentence more lenient than death." 543 U. S., at 44–45.

The Kentucky Supreme Court's opinion is plainly contrary to these precedents. The evidence of Hodge's brutal upbringing need not have offered any "rationale" for the murder he committed in order for the jury to have considered it as weighty mitigation. It would be enough if there were a "reasonable probability" that, because of Hodge's tragic past, the jury's "reasoned moral response" would instead have been to spare his life and sentence him to life imprisonment instead.

More fundamentally, the Kentucky Supreme Court appears to believe that in cases involving "violent and cruel murders," it does not matter that the "malefacto[r]" had a "terrible childhoo[d]"; the jury would return a death sentence regardless. App. to Pet. for Cert. 11. That view is contrary to our cases applying Strickland's prejudice prong. In Rompilla, for example, we considered counsel's failure "to present significant mitigating evidence about Rompilla's childhood," which was as horrific as Hodge's, as well as his "mental capacity and health, and alcoholism." 545 U. S., at 378; see id., at 391–392 (describing the abuse

in Rompilla's household while he was young). We concluded that "the undiscovered mitigating evidence, taken as a whole, might well have influenced the jury's appraisal of Rompilla's culpability, and the likelihood of a different result if the evidence had gone in is sufficient to undermine confidence in the outcome actually reached at sentencing." Id., at 393 (internal quotation marks, citations, and brackets omitted). We reached this conclusion notwithstanding that Rompilla had been convicted of stabbing a man repeatedly and setting him on fire. Id., at 377. Similarly, we found prejudice in Wiggins even though the defendant had drowned a 77-year-old woman in her bathtub. 539 U. S., at 514. The evidence of "severe physical and sexual abuse" Wiggins suffered as a child was sufficiently "powerful" that "[h]ad the jury been able to place [Wiggins'] excruciating life history on the mitigating side of the scale, there [was] a reasonable probability that at least one juror would have struck a different balance." Id., at 516, 534, 537.

The Kentucky Supreme Court's brief discussion of the weight and impact of Hodge's mitigation evidence reasonably suggests that its prejudice determination flowed from its legal errors. Perhaps if the court had afforded proper consideration to the mitigation evidence, it still would have reached the same result; it might have found no "reasonable probability" that the jury would have weighed Hodge's difficult past more heavily in its moral calculation than the callous nature of the crime and Hodge's history of imprisonment and escape. But, giving full effect to the mitigation evidence, the court may well have concluded that the story of Hodge's childhood was so extraordinary, "there is a reasonable probability that at least one juror would have struck a different balance" had the jury known. Id., at 537; see also Porter, 558 U. S., at 42. A "reasonable probability" is only "a probability sufficient to undermine confidence in the outcome." Strickland, 466

U. S., at 694. Absent its errors, the Kentucky Supreme Court may have found that minimal threshold met on these facts.

We are a reviewing court, so I would leave it to the Kentucky Supreme Court to reweigh the evidence under the proper standards in the first instance. But this is a capital case, and clear errors of law such as those here should be redressed. I respectfully dissent from our failure to grant the petition for certiorari, vacate the judgment below, and remand for further consideration.

title: Hodge v. Kentucky/Dissent Sotomayor


text: Talk:Hodge v. Kentucky

title: Talk:Hodge v. Kentucky


text:
Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 4.djvu/36

10 le bonheur d'une patrie qu'il honora de son choix: dès ce moment il la chérit comme le plus zélé de ses citoyens; il la servit avec l'intrépidité d'un héros, et il écrivit son Histoire avec la naïveté d'un philosophe et la chaleur d'un patriote.

"Il dit dans le commencement de son Histoire de Genève, que, dès qu'il eut commencé de lire l'histoire des nations, il se sentit entraîné par son goût pour les Républiques, dont il épousa toujours les intérêts: c'est ce goût pour la liberté qui lui fit sans doute adopter Genève pour sa patrie....

"Bonnivard, encore jeune, s'annonca hautement comme le défenseur de Genève contre le Duc de Savoye et l'Evêque....

"En 1519, Bonnivard devient le martyr de sa patrie: Le Duc de Savoye étant entré dans Genève avec cinq cent hommes, Bonnivard craint le ressentiment du Duc; il voulut se retirer à Fribourg pour en éviter les suites; mais il fut trahi par deux hommes qui l'accompagnaient, et conduit par ordre du Prince à Grolée, où il resta prisonnier pendant deux ans. Bonnivard était malheureux dans ses voyages: comme ses malheurs n'avaient point ralenti son zèle pour Genève, il était toujours un ennemi redoutable pour ceux qui la menaçaient, et par conséquent il devait être exposé à leurs coups. Il fut rencontré en 1530 sur le Jura par des voleurs, qui le dépouillèrent, et qui le mirent encore entre les mains du Duc de Savoye: ce Prince le fit enfermer dans le Château de Chillon, où il resta sans être interrogé jusques en 1536; il fut alors delivré par les Bernois, qui s'emparèrent du Pays-de-Vaud.

"Bonnivard, en sortant de sa captivité, eut le plaisir de trouver Genève libre et réformée: la République s'empressa le lui témoigner sa reconnaissance, et de le dédommager des maux qu'il avoit soufferts; elle le reçut Bourgeois de la ville au mois de Juin, 1536; elle lui donna la maison habitée autrefois par le Vicaire-Général, et elle lui assigna une pension de deux cent écus d'or tant qu'il séjournerait à Genève. Il fut admis dans le Conseil des Deux-Cent en 1537.

"Bonnivard n'a pas fini d'être utile: après avoir


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Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 4.djvu/37

Rh travaillé à rendre Genève libre, il réussit à la rendre tolérante. Bonnivard engagea le Conseil à accorder [aux ecclésiastiques et aux paysans] un tems suffisant pour examiner les propositions qu'on leur faisait; il reússit par sa douceur: on prêche toujours le Christianisme avec succès quand on le prêche avec charité....

"Bonnivard fut savant: ses manuscrits, qui sont dans la bibliothèque publique, prouvent qu'il avait bien lu les auteurs classiques Latins, et qu'il avait approfondi la théologie et l'histoire. Ce grand homme aimait les sciences, et il croyait qu'elles pouvaient faire la gloire de Genève; aussi il ne négligea rien pour les fixer dans cette ville naissante; en 1551 il donna sa bibliothèque au public; elle fut le commencement de notre biblothèque publique; et ces livres sont en partie les rares et belles éditions du quinzième siècle qu'on voit dans notre collection. Enfin, pendant la même année, ce bon patriote institua la République son héritière, à condition qu'elle employerait ses biens à entretenir le collège dont on projettait la fondation.

"Il parait que Bonnivard mourut en 1570; mais on ne peut l'assurer, parcequ'il y a une lacune dans le Nécrologe depuis le mois de Juillet, 1570, jusques en 1571."—[Histoire Littéraire de Genève, par Jean Senebier (1741-1809), 1786, i. 131-137.]


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Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 4.djvu/39

I.

hair is grey, but not with years,

Nor grew it white

In a single night,

As men's have grown from sudden fears:

My limbs are bowed, though not with toil,

But rusted with a vile repose,

For they have been a dungeon's spoil,

And mine has been the fate of those

To whom the goodly earth and air

Are banned, and barred—forbidden fare;

But this was for my father's faith

I suffered chains and courted death;


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Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 4.djvu/40

14 That father perished at the stake

For tenets he would not forsake;

And for the same his lineal race

In darkness found a dwelling place;

We were seven—who now are one,

Six in youth, and one in age,

Finished as they had begun,

Proud of Persecution's rage;

One in fire, and two in field,

Their belief with blood have sealed,

Dying as their father died,

For the God their foes denied;—

Three were in a dungeon cast,

Of whom this wreck is left the last.

II.

There are seven pillars of Gothic mould,

In Chillon's dungeons deep and old,

There are seven columns, massy and grey,

Dim with a dull imprisoned ray,

A sunbeam which hath lost its way,


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Middleton, David


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Middleton, Erasmus


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Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 4.djvu/45

Rh And through the crevice and the cleft

Of the thick wall is fallen and left;

Creeping o'er the floor so damp,

Like a marsh's meteor lamp:

And in each pillar there is a ring,

And in each ring there is a chain;

That iron is a cankering thing,

For in these limbs its teeth remain,

With marks that will not wear away,

Till I have done with this new day,

Which now is painful to these eyes,

Which have not seen the sun so rise

For years—I cannot count them o'er,

I lost their long and heavy score

When my last brother drooped and died,

And I lay living by his side.

III.

They chained us each to a column stone,

And we were three—yet, each alone;


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Middleton, Henry (d.1587)