Get Faith, Hope and Carnage 1st Edition Nick Cave PDF Full Chapter
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temperament—their restored King’s virtues might have outshone his
shortcomings.
To the moderate-minded the typical Royalist and Puritanic
extremes of the civil war days could only have been vexatious to a
degree. It is curious to observe how many scholars and writers of the
middle of the seventeenth century make no allusion to what was
passing around them. Take only the one instance of Isaac Walton,
who at least lived in the very thick of the fray, in that pargeted and
latticed-casemented old house of his at the corner of Chancery
Lane. Truly, in his lives of the worthies and divines of the time, he
alludes frequently to the religious and political divisions of the
country, as indeed his themes entailed; but in his immortal volume,
whose secondary title is the significant one of “The Contemplative
Man’s Recreation,” scarce a shadow of the gloom of the times
darkens its equable, sunshiny humour. Soberly, but with intense
enjoyment, Master Isaac Walton takes his way from Fleet Street,
and, stretching his legs over Tottenham Hill—no short stretch neither
—he falls in with his hunter and falconer, gossips along the road to
Ware, whither he is bound that “fine, fresh May morning”; and so the
three trudge on together in genial discourse to the text that “good
company makes the way to seem shorter.” How thoroughly the
wayfarers enjoy the freshness of the country and the green beauty of
the “new livery’d year”! How they delight in the milkmaid’s song, and
luxuriate in the “honest alehouse with its cleanly room, lavender in
the windows, and twenty ballads stuck about the wall”!
Last, not least, in the general intellectual and mental life of
England in Charles’s reign, comes the band of poets, a goodly train,
Cavalier or Puritan, or not greatly concerned for either, but writing in
“numbers,
Since the numbers came.”
9. Noble Authors.
CHAPTER VII
MANX LAND. THE SON OF LEIR. ST. PATRICK. PREHISTORIC MAN. KING
ORRY AND HIS HIGH-ROAD. THE HOUSE OF KEYS. PUBLIC PENANCE IN
MANX LAND. A FORTUNATE FILE. BREAST LAWS AND DEEMSTERS. THE
LITTLE PEOPLE. A HAUNTED CASTLE. A THOROUGH BAD DOG. CATS’
TAILS. “A SHIP IN HER RUFF.” A CONTESTED PRIZE. THE THREE LEGS.
THE LORD OF MAN
Of the Isle of Man, one chronicler tells us that its early history is
“more than ordinarily obscured in the mists of the past;” another, that
“the Isle of Man is almost the only place where there is any chance
of seeing a fairy;” a third, that “nowhere in the same area are there
so many relics of an unknown past.”
The fact that the island owns no ancient literature, its laws being
unwritten, and that it maintained scarcely any intercourse with other
nations, renders it impossible to disentangle from myth and tradition
any authentic chronicle of the little dominion which at a later period
was to come under the rule of the Stanleys.
To “begin at the beginning” of Manx history, the precise date of the
reign of Mannanen Beg Mac-y-Leir—which, being interpreted, is
Little Mannanen, the son of Leir, and who is the mythic hero of Man
—is somewhat difficult to determine, seeing that he is said to have
reigned any time between thirteen centuries before Christ and four
centuries after. As another name for him was Angus Oge, “The
Immortal,” this Mannanen may have lived to a good old age; but
seventeen centuries is a far cry.
His parentage is further variously attributed to Scottish and to Irish
kings; and he was the first law-maker of the island. Also, besides
being a warrior, navigator, and trader, he was a skilful forger of
weapons, and a mighty necromancer and magician, having the
power to hide his dominions in mist at the approach of the enemy.
If Mannanen was killed by St Patrick, and his subjects were driven
by that apostle to the alternative of becoming Christians or of being
exterminated—for, saith the chronicler, “of the seed of the conjurer,
there were none but what the saint destroyed”—the founder of Man
necessarily is a comparatively modern personage of sixth-century
days. Something like an air of reality is spread over this tradition of
Mannanen and St Patrick by the traditions of St Maughold, whose
name appears in the English, Scotch, and Irish calendars, and who
gives his name to the headland near Ramsey. This Maughold or
Macguil appears to have been a wild Irish chieftain who designed to
murder St Patrick. The saint however filled Maughold with awe by
exercising a miracle, and restoring to life one of his band of ruffian
followers. This deed, more marvellous than useful, converted
Maughold on the spot to the Christian faith, and he offered to do any
penance St Patrick thought fit to impose.
The saint having considered awhile, bade the penitent to repair to
the seashore, and there, entering a little coracle, have his hands and
feet bound, and then let himself drift over the trackless waters till
they should bring him to land once more; and so he was brought to
the foot of the rocks eastward of the Isle of Man. Here he was
welcomed by the Christian missionaries whom St Patrick had left in
charge of the island; and after a long life spent in pious prayers and
deeds and many austerities, and, in his turn, miracles, he died, and
was buried in the church which afterwards bore his canonised name
and stood in the midst of the city which he had founded on that rock.
After all this, it is cruel to find that the most laborious and learned
seekers into the lives of the saints and early apostles of Christianity
can discover not the slightest evidence of this visit of St Patrick to
the Isle of Man, nor of any episcopate left there by him. The monkish
compilers of the “Chronicles of Man” give their summing-up of this
tradition to the same effect, in the fourteenth century:—
“Suffice it to say we are entirely ignorant who or what bishops existed
before the time of Goddard Crovan, Captain of William I., because we
have not found it written, nor have we learned it by certain report of the
elders.”
10. Walpole.
Hitherto, since his marriage, Lord Strange had spent his time
almost entirely upon his estates, devoting himself to the welfare of
his own people and tenantry, and enjoying the pleasures of a country
life and the interchange of stately though simple hospitalities. Of
Lady Strange, little is recorded during these years. “Happy,” says the
old axiom, “are the people who have no history.” The daily events in
the life of this great lady, in whom discreetness and simplicity are
such leading characteristics, were as the ripples upon a calm ocean,
upon whose horizon for a long time little clouds scarce bigger than a
man’s hand threatened. Suddenly, after fifteen years of this
comparative peace and tranquillity, the clouds gathered thick,
lowering till the storm broke upon the Buckinghamshire plains.
The Parliamentarians were commanded by Lord Essex.
Southwards lay the vale of the Red Horse, the famous charger cut
into the red rock in memory of that ancestral kinsman of Lord
Strange, who killed his horse, vowing to share the perils of the
meanest of his soldiers. The Puritans called this figure “the Red
Horse of the Lord, which He caused to ride about furiously to the ruin
of the enemy.”
Above the village of Radway, the King’s tent was pitched in the
midst of his redcoats. The royal standard, borne by Sir Edmund
Verney, floated in the morning breeze. The position of the Royal
army was very strong, and, had it remained to await the attack of the
enemy, complete victory for the King could hardly have been
doubtful; but in spite of brave old Lord Lindsay’s counsel, the King
consented to the pushing forward of his impatient soldiers, and met
the attack half way.
The King rode along in front of his troops, clad as Vandyck has
presented him, a stately figure in full armour, with the ribbon of the
Garter across his breastplate, and its star on his mantle of black
velvet. In his tent he addressed his principal officers: “If this day
shine prosperous for us, we shall all be happy in a glorious victory.
Your King is both your cause, your quarrel, and your captain. The foe
is in sight. The best encouragement I can give you is this: that come
life or death, your King will bear you company, and ever keep this
field, this place, and this day’s service in his grateful remembrance.”
Major-General Sir Jacob Astley’s prayer is as memorable: “O Lord,
Thou knowest how busy I must be this day. If I forget Thee, do not
Thou forget me.... March on, boys.”
That some spirits no stress of circumstances can attune to war,
the case of William Harvey, the discoverer of the circulation of the
blood, will attest. Sir Edward Hyde and Harvey had charge of the two
young princes, Charles and James, during the battle. In the heat of
the thunder of cannon, and the rain of shot, Harvey was found
seated comfortably under a hedge, reading Virgil; though he
consented, when urged, to retire into a place of greater safety. The
result of that day is well known. Both sides claimed the victory; but
the advantage, in absolute fact, was to the Royalists.
The ghosts of the slain in that day’s fight are still said to haunt the
old scene of battle; and some three months after the event,
“apparitions and sundry noyses of war and battels” are recorded to
have been seen and heard on Edgehill. The faces of Sir Edmund
Verney, the King’s standard-bearer, and of many of the other
“incorporeal substances,” destroyed in the flesh, were recognised.