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ISBN 9 7B - O - 3 9 3 - O 7 6 3 5 - 6 USA $24.95

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"JOHN A S H B E R Y HAS GIFTED US WITH AN

EXQUISITE, UNTAINTED TRANSLATION OF

RIMBAUD; A TRANSMISSION AS PURE AS

A WINGED DOVE DRIVEN BY SNOW.’’

-PATTI SMITH

First published in 1886, Arthur Rimbaud’s Illumina¬

tions—the work of a poet who had abandoned poetry

before the age of twenty-one—changed the language

of poetry Hallucinatory and feverishly hermetic, it

is an acknowledged masterpiece of world literature,

still unrivaled for its haunting blend of sensuous

detail and otherworldly astonishment. In John Ash-

bery’s translation of this notoriously elusive text, the

acclaimed poet and translator lends his inimitable

voice to a venerated classic.

W. H. Auden recognized the strong affinities

between Ashbery’s poetry and Rimbaud’s Illumina¬

tions in his 1956 introduction to Ashbery’s first book,

Some Trees, noting that “the imaginative life of the

(CONTINUED ON BACK FLAP)

* * V y. ■ * 'V

(
 ALSO BY JOHN AS H B E RY

POETRY Your Name Here

As Umbrellas Follow Rain

Turandot and Other Poems
Chinese Whispers
Some Trees

The Tennis Court Oath Where Shall I Wander

Rivers and Mountains A Wdrldly Country

The Double Dream of Spring Notes from the Air:

Selected Later Poems
Three Poems
Collected Poems, 1956—1987
The Vermont Notebook
Planisphere
Self-Portrait in a Convex Mirror

Houseboat Days FICTION

As We Know
A Nest of Ninnies
Shadow Train (with James Schuyler)

A Wave
PLAYS
Selected Poems

April Galleons Three Plays

Flow Chart
CRITICISM
Hotel Lautréamont
AND ESSAYS

And the Stars Were Shining

Reported Sightings:
Can You Hear, Bird
Art Chronicles, i^yy—i^8y
Wakefulness
Other Traditions
The Mooring of Starting Out: (The Charles Eliot
The First Five Books of Poetry Norton Lectures)

Girls on the Run Selected Prose

 % 'V

TRANSLATED WITH

A PREFACE BY JOHN
W. W. NORTON & COMPANY

NEW YORK■LONDON
 Copyright © 2011 by John Ashbery

All rights reserved

Printed in the United States of America
First Edition

For information about permission to reproduce

selections from this book, write to Permissions,
W. W. Norton & Company, Inc.,
500 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10110

For information about special discounts for bulk

purchases, please contact W. W. Norton Special Sales
at specialsales@wwnorton.com or 800-253-4830

Manufacturing by Courier Westford

Book design by Quemadura
Production manager: Julia Druskin

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Rimbaud, Arthur, 1854—1891.
[Illuminations. English & French]
Illuminations / Rimbaud ; translated with
a preface by John Ashbery. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-393-07635-6 (hardcover)

I. Ashbery, John, 1927— II. Title.

PQ2387.R51413 2011
841'.8—dc22
2010054027

W. W. Norton & Company, Inc.

500 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10110
www.wwnorton.com

W. W. Norton & Company Ltd.

Castle House, 75/76 Wells Street, London wit 3QT

1234567890
FOR OLIVIER BROSSARD

AND CLAIRE G U I L LOT

 PREFACE

What are the Illuminations? Originally an untitled, unpag¬

inated bunch of manuscript pages that Arthur Rimbaud

handed to his former lover Paul Verlaine on the occasion

of their last meeting, in Stuttgart in 1875. Verlaine had

recently been released from a term in a Belgian prison for

wounding the younger poet with a pistol in Brussels two

years earlier. Rimbaud wanted his assassin manqué to

deliver the pages to a friend, Germain Nouveau, who (he

thought) would arrange for their publication.*

This casual attitude toward what would turn out to be

one of the masterpieces of world literature is puzzling, even

in someone as unpredictable as its author. Was it just a ques¬

tion of not wanting to splurge on stamps? (Verlaine would

later complain in a letter that the package cost him “2 francs

75 in postage!!!”) More likely it was because Rimbaud had

decided already to abandon poetry for what would turn out

*The complicated history of the publication of Illuminations is

discussed at length by Enid Starkie in hex Arthur Rimbaud.

13
to be a mercantile career in Africa, trafficking in a dizzying

variety of commodities (though not, apparently, slaves, as

some have thought). He had, after all, seen his previous

book, A Season in Hell, through publication, though he had

left the bulk of the edition with its printer, whom he wasn’t

able to pay. Like Emily Dickinson, he had seen “the horses’

heads were toward eternity.” In the penultimate strophe of

“Adieu,” the last poem of A Season in Hell, he had written:

“Meanwhile, this is now the eve. Let’s welcome the influx

of strength and real tenderness. And at dawn, armed with

fiery patience, we will enter splendid cities.”

This valedictory tone as well as the difficulty of dating

the individual Illuminations led earlier critics to suppose

that A Season in Hell was Rimbaud’s farewell to poetry.

More recently it has emerged that they both preceded and

followed that poem. Some were written in London during

his stay there with Verlaine; others date from a later Lon¬

don visit with Nouveau, who copied out some of them; still

others date from a later period in France, after the horrible

adventure in Brussels. Though their final arrangement is

undoubtedly not Rimbaud’s, the first Illumination (“After

the Flood”) contradicts A Season in Hell's “Adieu” with a

vision of postdiluvian freshness, after “the notion of the

Flood” has subsided. Here, a hare says its prayer to the rain¬

bow through a spider’s web, market stalls are busy, beavers

14
build, blood and milk flow, coffee steams in cafés, and the

Splendide Hotel is built amid the chaos of ice floes and the
polar night. In other words, business as usual.

The polar night returns in the final Illumination, one of

the greatest poems ever written. Here a “genie,” a Christ-

like figure whose universal love transcends the strictures of

traditional religion, arrives to save the world from “all res¬

onant and surging suffering in more intense music.” Yet

despite this, “the clear song of new misfortunes” will also

reign. How can that be? According to André Guyaux, coed¬

itor of the Gamier edition of Rimbaud that I have used for

this translation, “This amazing expression implies that the

future will be neither idyllic nor purely happy, as ‘the abo¬

lition of all ... suffering’ might seem to indicate, but that

these ‘new misfortunes’ will ring clearer and be preferable

to the misery caused by superstition and present-day Chris¬

tian ‘charity.’ ” The genie will usher in an age of sadder but

wiser happiness, of a higher awareness than A Season in

Hell foresaw, perhaps due precisely to that work’s injunc¬

tion to be “absolutely modern.”

We tend to forget that “modern poetry” is a venerable

institution. Prose poetry (Rimbaud’s own term for what he

was writing in Illuminations) had already been produced

by Lautréamont and Baudelaire; Rimbaud mentioned to a

friend the influence of the latter’s work in the genre. Free

verse, today ubiquitous, was used by Rimbaud in two of the

Illuminations. Yet, more essentially, absolute modernity

was for him the acknowledging of the simultaneity of all

of life, the condition that nourishes poetry at every second.

The self is obsolete: In Rimbaud’s famous formulation, “ T

is someone else” (“Je est un autre"). In the twentieth cen¬

tury, the coexisting, conflicting views; of objects that the

Cubist painters cultivated, the equalizing deployment of all

notes of the scale in serial music, and the unhierarchical

progressions of bodies in motion in the ballets of Merce

Cunningham are three examples among many of this fer¬

tile destabilization. Somewhere at the root of this, the crys¬

talline jumble of Rimbaud’s Illuminations, like a disor¬

dered collection of magic lantern slides, each an “intense

and rapid dream,” in his words, is still emitting pulses. If

we are absolutely modern—and we are—it’s because Rim¬

baud commanded us to be.

JOHN AS HB BRY

16
 wmm
ÜM
liiiP
will
Xv!;X

.v.v.v.v

ip&i
 APRÈS LE DÉLUGE

Aussitôt après que l’idée du Déluge se fut rassise,

Un lièvre s’arrêta dans les sainfoins et les clochettes

mouvantes et dit sa prière à l’arc-en-ciel à travers la toile

de l’araignée.

Oh les pierres précieuses qui se cachaient,—les fleurs

qui regardaient déjà.

Dans la grande rue sale les étals se dressèrent, et l’on

tira les barques vers la mer étagée là-haut comme sur les

gravures.

Le sang coula, chez Barbe-Bleue,—aux abattoirs,—

dans les cirques, où le sceau de Dieu blêmit les fenêtres.

Le sang et le lait coulèrent.

Les castors bâtirent. Les «mazagrans» fumèrent dans

les estaminets.

Dans la grande maison de vitres encore ruisselante les

enfants en deuil regardèrent les merveilleuses images.

Une porte claqua, et sur la place du hameau, l’enfant

 AFTER THE FLOOD

No sooner had the notion of the Flood regained its com¬

posure,

Than a hare paused amid the gorse and trembling

bellflowers and said its prayer to the rainbow through the

spider’s web.

Oh the precious stones that were hiding,—the flowers

that were already peeking out.

Stalls were erected in the dirty main street, and boats

were towed toward the sea, which rose in layers above as

in old engravings.

Blood flowed in Bluebeard’s house,—in the slaughter¬

houses,—in the amphitheaters, where God’s seal turned

the windows livid. Blood and milk flowed.

The beavers built. Tumblers of coffee steamed in the

public houses.
In the vast, still-streaming house of windows, children

in mourning looked at marvelous pictures.

A door slammed, and on the village square, the child

tourna ses bras, compris des girouettes et des coqs des clo¬

chers de partout, sous 1 éclatante giboulée.

Madame xxx établit un piano dans les Alpes. La messe

et les premières communions se célébrèrent aux cent

mille autels de la cathédrale.

Les caravanes partirent. Et le Splendide Hôtel fut bâti

dans le chaos de glaces et de nuit du polie.

Depuis lors, la Lune entendit les chacals piaulant par

les déserts de thym,—et les églogues en sabots grognant

dans le verger. Puis, dans la futaie violette, bourgeon¬

nante, Eucharis me dit que c’était le printemps.

—Sourds, étang,—Ecume, roule sur le pont, et par¬

dessus les bois;—draps noirs et orgues,—éclairs et ton¬

nerre, montez et roulez;—Eaux et tristesses, montez et

relevez les Déluges.

Car depuis qu’ils se sont dissipés,—oh les pierres pré¬

cieuses s’enfouissant, et les fleurs ouvertes!—c’est un

ennui! et la Reine, la Sorcière qui allume sa braise dans

le pot de terre, ne voudra jamais nous raconter ce qu’elle

sait, et que nous ignorons.
waved his arms, understood by vanes and weathercocks

everywhere, in the dazzling shower.

Madame xxx established a piano in the Alps. Mass and

first communions were celebrated at the cathedral’s hun¬

dred thousand altars.

The caravans left. And the Splendide Hotel was built

amid the tangled heap of ice floes and the polar night.

Since then the Moon has heard jackals cheeping in

thyme deserts,—and eclogues in wooden shoes grum¬

bling in the orchard. Then, in the budding purple forest,

Eucharis told me that spring had come.

—Well up, pond,—Foam, roll on the bridge and above

the woods;—black cloths and organs,—lightning and

thunder,—rise and roll;—Waters and sorrows, rise and

revive the Floods.

For since they subsided,—oh the precious stones shov¬

eled under, and the full-blown flowers!—so boring! and

the Queen, the Witch who lights her coals in the clay pot,

will never want to tell us what she knows, and which we

do not know.
 ENFANCE

Cette idole, yeux noirs et crin jaune, sans parents ni cour,

plus noble que la fable, mexicaine et flamande; son

domaine, azur et verdure insolents, court sur des plages

nommées, par des vagues sans vaisseaux, de noms féro¬

cement grecs, slaves, celtiques.

A la lisière de la forêt—les fleurs de rêve tintent, écla¬

tent, éclairent,—la fille à lèvre d’orange, les genoux croi¬

sés dans le clair déluge qui sourd des prés, nudité qu’om¬

brent, traversent et habillent les arcs-en-ciel, la flore, la

mer.

Dames qui tournoient sur les terrasses voisines de la

mer; enfantes et géantes, superbes noires dans la mousse

vert-de-gris, bijoux debout sur le sol gras des bosquets et

des jardinets dégelés—jeunes mères et grandes sœurs

aux regards pleins de pèlerinages, sultanes, princesses de

 CHILDHOOD

This idol, black eyes and yellow mane, without family or

court, nobler than the fable, Mexican and Flemish; his

domain, insolent azure and verdure, runs along beaches

named by waves without ships, names that are fero¬

ciously Greek, Slavic, Celtic.

At the edge of the forest—dream flowers chime, burst,

lighten,—the girl with the orange lip, her knees crossed

in the clear deluge that wells up from the meadows,

nakedness shaded, crossed and clothed by the rainbows,

flora and sea.

Ladies who twirl on terraces near the sea, little girls

and giantesses, superb black women in the gray-green

moss, jewels erect on the fat soil of coppices and thawing

flower beds—young mothers and older sisters whose

eyes speak of pilgrimages, sultanas, princesses of tyran-

démarche et de costume tyranniques, petites étrangères

et personnes doucement malheureuses.

Quel ennui, l’heure du «cher corps» et «cher cœur».

Il

C’est elle, la petite morte, derrière les rosiers.—La jeune

maman trépassée descend le perron—La calèche du cou¬

sin crie sur le sable—Le petit frère—(il est aux Indes!)

là, devant le couchant, sur le pré d’œillets.—Les vieux

qu’on a enterrés tout droits dans le rempart aux giroflées.

L’essaim des feuilles d’or entoure la maison du géné¬

ral. Ils sont dans le midi.—On suit la route rouge pour

arriver à l’auberge vide. Le château est à vendre; les per¬

siennes sont détachées.—Le curé aura emporté la clef de

1 église. Autour du parc, les loges des gardes sont inha¬

bitées. Les palissades sont si hautes qu’on ne voit que les

cimes bruissantes. D’ailleurs il n’y a rien à voir là-dedans.

Les prés remontent aux hameaux sans coqs, sans

enclumes. L ecluse est levée. O les calvaires et les moulins

du désert, les îles et les meules.
nical gait and costume, little foreign women and sweetly

unhappy people.

How dull, the hour of “dear bodies” and “dear hearts.”

If

That’s her, the dead little girl, behind the rosebushes.—

The dead young mother descends the front steps—The

cousin’s open carriage squeaks on the sand—The little

brother—(he’s in India!) there, in front of the sunset,

on the meadow of carnations.—The old people buried

standing up in the rampart overgrown with wallflowers.

The swarm of golden leaves buzzes around the gen¬

eral’s house. They’re in the South.—You follow the red

highway to arrive at the empty inn. The château is for

sale; its shutters are dangling.—The vicar will have gone

off with the church key.—Around the park, the caretak¬

ers’ lodges are vacant. The palings are so high that you

can glimpse only the rustling treetops. Besides, there’s

nothing to see inside.

The meadows climb toward hamlets without roosters,

without anvils. The sluice gate is raised. O the wayside

crosses and windmills of the desert, the islands and the

haystacks.
 Des fleurs magiques bourdonnaient. Les talus le ber¬

çaient. Des bêtes d’une élégance fabuleuse circulaient.

Les nuées s’amassaient sur la haute mer faite d’une éter¬

nité de chaudes larmes.

fil

Au bois il y a un oiseau, son chant vous arrête et vous fait

rougir.

Il y a une horloge qui ne sonne pas.

Il y a une fondrière avec un nid de bêtes blanches.

Il y a une cathédrale qui descend et un lac qui monte.

Il y a une petite voiture abandonnée dans le taillis, ou

qui descend le sentier en courant, enrubannée.

Il y a une troupe de petits comédiens en costumes,

aperçus sur la route à travers la lisière du bois.

Il y a enfin, quand l’on a faim et soif, quelqu’un qui

vous chasse.

i v

Je suis le saint, en prière sur la terrasse,—comme les

bêtes pacifiques paissent jusqu’à la mer de Palestine.

26
 Magical flowers were humming. The turf slopes cra¬

dled him. Beasts of a fabulous elegance were circulating.

Storm clouds were piling up on the rising sea made of an

eternity of hot tears.

Ill

In the wood there is a bird, his song stops you and makes

you blush.

There is a clock that doesn’t strike.

There is a pit with a nest of white creatures.

There is a cathedral that sinks and a lake that rises.

There is a little carriage abandoned in the thicket, or

that hurtles down the path, trimmed with ribbons.

There is a troop of child actors in costume, seen on the

highway through the edge of the forest.

Finally, when you are hungry or thirsty, there is some¬

one who chases you away.

IV

I am the saint, at prayer on the terrace,—as meek ani¬

mals graze all the way to the sea of Palestine.

 Je suis le savant au fauteuil sombre. Les branches et la

pluie se jettent à la croisée de la bibliothèque.

Je suis le piéton de la grand’route par les bois nains;

la rumeur des écluses couvre mes pas. Je vois longtemps

la mélancolique lessive d’or du couchant.

Je serais bien l’enfant abandonné sur la jetée partie à

la haute mer, le petit valet, suivant l’allée dont le front

touche le ciel.
Les sentiers sont âpres. Les monticules se couvrent

de genêts. L’air est immobile. Que les oiseaux et les

sources sont loin! Ce ne peut être que la fin du monde, en

avançant.

Qu’on me loue enfin ce tombeau, blanchi à la chaux avec

les lignes du ciment en relief—très loin sous terre.

Je m’accoude à la table, la lampe éclaire très vivement

ces journaux que je suis idiot de relire, ces livres sans

intérêt.

A une distance énorme au-dessus de mon salon souter¬

rain, les maisons s’implantent, les brumes s’assemblent.

 I am the learned scholar in the dark armchair.

Branches and the rain hurl themselves at the library’s

casement window.

I am the walker on the great highway through dwarf

woods; the murmur of sluices muffles my steps. I gaze for

a long time at the melancholy gold laundry of the setting

sun.

I’d gladly be the abandoned child on the pier setting

out for the open sea, the young farm boy in the lane,

whose forehead grazes the sky.

The paths are harsh. The little hills are cloaked with

broom. The air is motionless. How far away the birds and

the springs are! It can only be the end of the world, as you

move forward.

Let someone finally rent me this tomb, whited with

quicklime, with lines of cement in relief—very far

below the earth.

I rest my elbows on the table, the lamp illuminates

these newspapers that I’m a fool for rereading, these

books of no interest.
At a vast distance above my underground salon, houses

29
La boue est rouge ou noire. Ville monstrueuse, nuit sans

fin!
Moins haut, sont des égouts. Aux côtés, rien que

l’épaisseur du globe. Peut-être les gouffres d azur, des

puits de feu. C’est peut-être sur ces plans que se rencon¬

trent lunes et comètes, mers et fables.

Aux heures d’amertume je m’imagine des boules de

saphir, de métal. Je suis maître du silence. Pourquoi une

apparence de soupirail blêmirait-elle au coin de la voûte?

30
take root, mists assemble. The mud is red or black. Mon¬

strous city, endless night!

Further down, the sewers. At their sides, nothing more

than the thickness of the globe. Maybe gulfs of azure,

wells of fire. Perhaps at those levels moons and comets,

seas and fables meet.

In hours of bitterness I imagine sapphire balls, metal

balls. I am the lord of silence. Why would a spectral cel¬

lar window turn livid in one corner of the vault?

 CONTE

j
Un Prince était vexé de ne s’être employé jamais qu’à la

perfection des générosités vulgaires. Il prévoyait d’éton-

nantes révolutions de l’amour, et soupçonnait ses femmes

de pouvoir mieux que cette complaisance agrémentée de

ciel et de luxe. Il voulait voir la vérité, l’heure du désir et

de la satisfaction essentiels. Que ce fût ou non une aber¬

ration de piété, il voulut. Il possédait au moins un assez

large pouvoir humain.

Toutes les femmes qui l’avaient connu furent assassi¬

nées. Quel saccage du jardin de la beauté! Sous le sabre,

elles le bénirent. Il n’en commanda point de nouvelles.—

Les femmes réapparurent.

Il tua tous ceux qui le suivaient, après la chasse ou les

libations.—Tous le suivaient.

Il s’amusa à égorger les bêtes de luxe. Il fit flamber les

palais. Il se ruait sur les gens et les taillait en pièces.—La

foule, les toits d’or, les belles bêtes existaient encore.

 TALE

A Prince was annoyed at being always occupied with per¬

fecting vulgar generosities. He foresaw amazing revolu¬

tions in love, and suspected that his wives could come up

with something better than complacency adorned with

sky and luxury. He wished to see the truth, the hour of

essential desire and satisfaction. Whether or not this was

an aberration of piety, he wanted it. He possessed at the

very least a rather broad human power.

All the women who had known him were murdered.

What wanton pillaging of the garden of beauty! Beneath

the saber, they gave him their blessing. He ordered no

ne w ones.—The women reappeared.

He killed his followers, after the hunt or after drink¬

ing.—They all followed him.

He amused himself with cutting the throats of thor¬

oughbred animals. He torched palaces. He hurled him¬

self on people and hacked them to pieces.—The crowds,

the golden roofs, the beautiful beasts still lived.

 Peut-on s’extasier dans la destruction, se rajeunir par

la cruauté! Le peuple ne murmura pas. Personne n’offrit

le concours de ses vues.

Un soir il galopait fièrement. Un Génie apparut, d’une

beauté ineffable, inavouable même. De sa physionomie

et de son maintien ressortait la promesse d’un amour

multiple et complexe! d’un bonheur indicible, insuppor¬

table même! Le Prince et le Génie s’anéantirent proba¬

blement dans la santé essentielle. Comment n’auraient-

ils pas pu en mourir? Ensemble donc ils moururent.

Mais ce Prince décéda, dans son palais, à un âge ordi¬

naire. Le prince était le Génie. Le Génie était le Prince.

La musique savante manque à notre désir.

 Is it possible to become ecstatic amid destruction, reju¬

venate oneself through cruelty! The people didn’t com¬

plain. No one offered the support of his own opinions.

One evening he was galloping fiercely. A Genie

appeared, of an ineffable, even unavowable beauty. From

his face and bearing sprang the promise of a multiple and

complex love! of an unspeakable, even unbearable love!

The Prince and the Genie probably disappeared into

essential health. How could they not die of it? So they

died together.

But this Prince passed away, in his palace, at a normal

age. The Prince was the Genie. The Genie was the Prince.

Wise music is missing from our desire.

 PARADE

i
Des drôles très solides. Plusieurs ont exploité vos mondes.

Sans besoins, et peu pressés de mettre en œuvre leurs bril¬

lantes facultés et leur expérience de vos consciences.

Quels hommes mûrs! Des yeux hébétés à la façon de

la nuit d’été, rouges et noirs, tricolores, d’acier piqué

d’étoiles d’or; des faciès déformés, plombés, blêmis, incen¬

diés; des enrouements folâtres! La démarche cruelle des

oripeaux!—Il y a quelques jeunes,—comment regarde¬

raient-ils Chérubin?—pourvus de voix effrayantes et de

quelques ressources dangereuses. On les envoie prendre

du dos en ville, affublés d’un luxe dégoûtant.

O le plus violent Paradis de la grimace enragée! Pas de

comparaison avec vos Fakirs et les autres bouffonneries

scéniques. Dans des costumes improvisés avec le goût du

mauvais rêve ils jouent des complaintes, des tragédies de

malandrins et de demi-dieux spirituels comme l’histoire

ou les religions ne l’ont jamais été. Chinois, Hottentots,

bohémiens, niais, hyènes, Molochs, vieilles démences,

 SIDESHOW

Very robust rascals. Several of them have exploited your

worlds. With no pressing needs, and in no hurry to bring

into play their brilliant faculties and their experience of

your consciences. What mature men! Their eyes glazed

like the midsummer night, red and black, tricolored, steel

pierced with gold stars; facial features deformed, leaden,

ashen, on fire; playful hoarseness! The cruel procedures

of discarded finery!—There are a few young men,—

what would they think of Cherubino?—endowed with

frightening voices and some dangerous resources. They

are sent off to be buggered in cities, swathed in disgust¬

ing luxury.
O most violent Paradise of the enraged grimace! No

comparison with your Fakirs and other theatrical buf¬

foonery. Wearing improvised costumes in nightmarish

taste they act out ballads, tragedies of thieves and demi¬

gods of a spirituality hitherto unknown to history or

religions. Chinese, Hottentots, Gypsies, nincompoops,

démons sinistres, ils mêlent les tours populaires, mater¬

nels, avec les poses et les tendresses bestiales. Ils inter¬

préteraient des pièces nouvelles et des chansons «bonnes

filles». Maîtres jongleurs, ils transforment le lieu et les

personnes, et usent de la comédie magnétique. Les yeux

flambent, le sang chante, les os s’élargissent, les larmes et

des filets rouges ruissellent. Leur raillerie ou leur terreur

dure une minute, ou des mois entiers.

J’ai seul la clef de cette parade sauvage.

hyenas, Molochs, old dementias, sinister demons, they

mingle populist, maternal tricks with bestial poses and

tenderness. They would perform new plays and “nice

girl” songs. Expert jugglers, they transform people and

places, and resort to magnetic comedy. The eyes flame,

the blood sings, the bones swell, tears and trickles of red

descend. Their raillery or their terror lasts a minute, or

entire months.
I alone know the plan of this savage sideshow.
 ANTIQUE

I
Gracieux fils de Pan! Autour de ton front couronné de

fleurettes et de baies tes yeux, des boules précieuses,

remuent. Tachées de lies brunes, tes joues se creusent.

Tes crocs luisent. Ta poitrine ressemble à une cithare, des

tintements circulent dans tes bras blonds. Ton cœur bat

dans ce ventre où dort le double sexe. Promène-toi, la

nuit, en mouvant doucement cette cuisse, cette seconde

cuisse et cette jambe de gauche.

 ANTIQUE

Graceful son of Pan! Around your forehead crowned

with small flowers and berries, your eyes, precious

spheres, are moving. Spotted with brownish wine lees,

your cheeks grow hollow. Your fangs gleam. Your chest is

like a lyre, jingling sounds circulate between your blond

arms. Your heart beats in that belly where the double sex

sleeps. Walk at night, gently moving that thigh, that sec¬

ond thigh and that left leg.

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was fought in 1429; and as there is abundant testimony of Sir John
having been in possession of the Garter and all its honors long after
that period; and, further, that his tomb in Pulham Mary, Norfolk,
represented him in gilt armor, with his crest and two escutcheons,
with the cross of St. George within the order, we may fairly conclude
that if the charge was ever made, of which there is no trace, it
assuredly never was proven.
If there were some individuals who refused to accept the honor at all,
there were others who were afraid to do so without curious inquiry.
Thus, in the reign of Henry VI. we hear of the embassador from
Frederick III. Emperor of Germany (one Sir Hertook von Clux),
stating that his master wishes to know “what it would stand him in, if
he were to be admitted into the honorable order!” Cautious Austria!
There are examples both of courtesy and sarcasm among the
Knights of the Garter. I may cite, for instance, the case of the Duke
of York, in the reign of Henry VI. a. d. 1453. The King was too ill to
preside at the Chapter; the Duke of Buckingham was his
representative; and the Duke of York, so little scrupulous in most
matters, excused himself from attending on this occasion, because,
as he said, “the sovereign having for some time been angry with him,
he durst not attend, lest he should incur his further displeasure, and
thereby aggravate the illness under which the King was suffering.”
When the same Duke came into power, he gave the Garter to the
most useful men of the York party, beheading a few Lancastrian
knights in order to make way for them. At the Chapter held for the
purpose of electing the York aspirants, honest John de Foix, Earl of
Kendal, declined to vote at all. He alleged that he was unable to
discern whether the candidates were “without reproach” or not, and
he left the decision to clearsighted people. The Earl was a
Lancastrian, and he thus evaded the disagreeable act of voting for
personal and political enemies.
But whatever the intensity of dislike one knight may have had
against another, there were occasions on which they went, hand in
hand, during the celebration of mass, to kiss that esteemable relic,
the heart of St. George. This relic had been brought to England by
the Emperor Sigismund. Anstis remarks, after alluding to the
obstinacy of those who will not believe all that St. Ambrose says
touching the facts of St. George, his slaying of the dragon, and his
rescue of a royal virgin, that “whosoever is so refractory as
obstinately to condemn every part of this story, is not to be bore
with.” He then adds: “this true martyr and excellent and valued
soldier of Christ, after many unspeakable torments inflicted on him
by an impious tyrant, when he had bent his head, and was just ready
to give up the ghost, earnestly entreated Almighty God, that
whoever, in remembrance of him, and his name, should devoutly ask
anything, might be heard, a voice instantly came from Heaven,
signifying that that was granted which he had requested.... While
living, by prayer he obtained that whoever should fly to him for his
intercession, should not pray nor cry out in vain. He ordered the
trunk of his body, which had origin from among infidels, to be sent to
them, that they whom he had not been able to serve, when living,
might receive benefit from him, when dead; that those infidels who
by any misfortune had lost their senses, by coming to him or his
chapel, might be restored to soundness of mind and judgment. His
head and other members were to be carried, some one way and
some another. But his heart, the emblem of lively love, was
bequeathed wholly to Christians, for whom he had the most fervent
affection. Not to all them in general, though Christians, but to
Englishmen alone; and not to every part of England, but only to his
own Windsor, which on this account must have been more pleasing
to the sovereigns and all other the knights of this most illustrious
order. Thus his heart, together with a large portion of his skull, is
there kept with due honor and veneration. Sigismund, Emperor of
Alemain, always august, being chosen in this honorable order,
presented this heart to the invincible Henry V., who gave orders to
have it preserved in that convenient place, where he had already
instituted for himself solemn exequies for ever, that the regard he
had for all others might be past dispute.” This is very far, indeed,
from being logical, but the fact remains that during the reign of Henry
VI., the heart seems to have been regarded with more than usual
reverence by the knights of the two factions which were rending
England. Each hoped to win St. George for a confederate.
The chapters were not invariably held at Windsor, nor in such
solemn localities as a chapel. In 1445, Henry VI., held a chapter at
the Lion Inn in Brentford. In this hostelrie the King created Sir
Thomas Hastings and Sir Alonzo d’Almade, Knights of the Garter. To
the latter, who was also made Earl of Avranches, in the best room of
a Brentford inn, the monarch also presented a gold cup. The whole
party seems to have made a night of it in the pleasant locality, and
the new chevaliers were installed the next morning—after which,
probably, mulled sack went round in the golden cup.
Shakespeare makes Richard III. swear by his George, his Garter,
and his Crown; but the George and Collar were novelties introduced
by Henry VII. The latter King held one of the most splendid chapters
which ever assembled, at York, prefacing the work there by riding
with all the knights, in their robes, to the morning mass of requiem,
and following it up by similarly riding to even-sung. This was more
decent than Henry VI.’s tavern chapter of the (Red) Lion, in
Brentford. Henry VII. was fond of the solemn splendor of
installations, at which he changed his costume like a versatile actor,
was surrounded by ladies as well as knights, and had Skelton, the
poet, near to take notes for songs and sonnets, descriptive of the
occasion. A sovereign of the order, like Henry VII., so zealous to
maintain its splendor and efficiency, merited the gift which was
conferred upon him by the Cardinal of Rouen—of the bones of one
of the legs of St. George. The saint had many legs, but it is not said
where these bones were procured, and they who beheld them, at the
chapter held in St. Paul’s Cathedral in 1505, probably little troubled
themselves as to whence the precious relics were derived. Henry, in
return, left an image of St. George, of one hundred and forty ounces,
adorned with masses of precious stones, to the College of Windsor,
“there to remain while the world shall endure, to be set upon the high
altar at all solemn feasts.” Leg bones and costly image would now be
sought for in vain. The world has outlived them, and suffers nothing
by their loss.
It was the successor of Richmond, namely Henry VIII. who granted
to these knights what may be termed a sumptuary privilege, that of
being permitted to wear woollen cloth made out of the realm. None
but a knight, save the peers, dared don a coat or mantle made of
foreign cloth. In love of splendor, Henry was equal to his
predecessor, and perhaps never was a more brilliant spectacle seen
than on the 27th of May, 1519, when the King and a glittering
cortège rode from Richmond to Windsor, and changed steeds and
drank a cup at the “Catherine’s Wheel,” in Colnbrook, by the way.
The Queen and a galaxy of ladies met them in Eton, and the usual
solemnities were followed by a gorgeous banquet, at which there
were such meat and music as had scarcely ever been so highly
enjoyed at a festival before. The middle of the hall was crowded with
spectators, but at the close of the repast, these were turned out,
when “the King was served of his void, the knights also, standing all
along”—which must have been a remarkably edifying exhibition.
Henry re-modelled the order, and framed the statutes by which it is
now chiefly governed. Among them was the one directing that no
person of mean birth should be elected, and this the King himself
very speedily broke, by electing Thomas Cromwell. The latter
returned thanks for the honor in the very humblest strain, and while
he seemed conscious that he was entirely unworthy of the
distinction, he appeared desirous to assure the sneering knights’
companions who had been compelled to give him their suffrages,
that ignoble as he was, he would imitate nobility as closely as
possible. But there were men, from the period of the institution of the
order downward to Henry’s time, who, if of higher birth than
Cromwell, were not of higher worth. Very many had forfeited their
dignity as knights by treasonable practices; and Henry decreed that
wherever these names occurred in the records, the words “Vœ
Proditor!”—Out upon the traitor—should be written against them in
the margin. The text had thus a truly Tudor comment.
Under the succeeding sovereign, Edward VI., a great portion of the
splendor of the religious ceremonies at the installation was
abolished. It was in this reign that Northumberland procured the
ejection of Lord Paget from the order, on the ground that the
meanness of his birth had always disqualified him, or as Edward VI.
says in his journal, “for divers his offences, and chiefly because he
was no gentleman of blood, neither of father-side nor mother-side.”
Lord Paget, however, was restored under Mary, and the record of his
degradation was removed from the register.
Under Mary, if there was some court servility there was also some
public spirit. When the Queen created her husband Philip a knight,
an obsequious herald, out of compliment to the “joint-sovereigns,”
took down the arms of England in the chapel at Windsor, and was
about to set up those of Spain. This, however, was forbidden “by
certain lords,” and brave men they were, for in such a display of
English spirit there was peril of incurring the ill-will of Mary, who was
never weary of heaping favors on the foreign King-consort, whom
she would have made generalissimo of her forces if she had dared.
It is a curious fact that Philip was not ejected from the order, even
when he had despatched the Spanish Armada to devastate the
dominions of the sovereign.
In illustration of the fact that the Garter never left the leg of a knight
of the order, there are some lines by the Elizabethan poet Peele,
which are very apt to the occasion. Speaking of the Earl of Bedford,
Peele says—

—“Dead is Bedford! virtuous and renowned

For arms, for honor, and religious love;
And yet alive his name in Fame’s records,
That held his Garter dear, and wore it well.
Some worthy wight but blazon his deserts:
Only a tale I thought on by the way,
As I observed his honorable name.
I heard it was his chance, o’erta’en with sleep,
To take a nap near to a farmer’s lodge.
Trusted a little with himself belike,
This aged earl in his apparel plain,
Wrapt in his russet gown, lay down to rest,
His badge of honor buckled to his leg.
Bare and naked. There came a pilfering swad
And would have preyed upon this ornament
Essayed t’ unbuckle it, thinking him asleep.
The noble gentleman, feeling what he meant—
‘Hold, foolish lad,’ quoth he, ‘a better prey:
‘This Garter is not fit for ev’ry leg,
‘And I account it better than my purse.
 The varlet ran away, the earl awaked.
And told his friends, and smiling said withal,
‘’A would not, had ’a understood the French
‘Writ on my Garter, dared t’ have stol’n the same.’
This tale I thought upon, told me for truth,
The rather for it praised the Posy,
Right grave and honorable, that importeth much—
‘Evil be to him,’ it saith, ‘that evil thinks.’”

Elizabeth was distinguished for loving to hold newly-chosen knights

in suspense, before she ratified their election by her approval. The
anniversary banquets too fell into disuse during her reign, and she
introduced the most unworthy knight that had ever stood upon the
record of the order. This was Charles IX. of France. On the other
hand she sent the Garter to Henri Quatre. He was the last French
monarch who was a companion of the order, till the reign of Louis
XVIII. On the day the latter came up from Hartwell to Stanmore, on
his way to France, at the period of the first restoration, the Prince
Regent invested him with the brilliant insignia at Carlton House. It
was on this occasion Louis XVIII. observed that he was the first King
of France who had worn the garter since the period of Henri Quatre.
Louis had erased his own name from the Golden Book of Nobility of
Venice, when he heard that the name of Bonaparte had been
inserted therein. He, perhaps, would have declined receiving the
Garter, if he could have foreseen that the royal niece of the Prince
Regent would, in after years, confer the order on the imperial
nephew of Napoleon.
The period of James is marked by some pretty quarrels among the
officials. Thus at the installation of Prince Henry, there was a feast
which was well nigh turned into a fray. At the very beginning of it, the
prebends and heralds fell to loggerheads on the delicate question of
precedency. The alms-knights mingled in the quarrel by siding with
the prebends, and claiming the next degree of precedency before
the heralds. Reference was made to the Earls of Nottingham and
Worcester. The referees adjudged the heralds to have right of
precedency before the prebends. Thereupon the proud prebends,
oblivious of Christian humility, refused to go to church at the tail of
the heralds. The latter went in exultingly without them, and the
prebends would not enter until a long time had elapsed, so that it
could not be said they followed the gentlemen of the tabard. The
delicate question was again angrily discussed, and at length referred
to the whole body of knights. The noble fraternity, after grave
deliberation, finally determined that on the next day of St. George,
being Sunday, in the procession to the church, the alms-knights
should go first, then the pursuivants of arms, then the prebends
(many of whom were doctors of divinity), and finally the heralds. The
latter were cunning rogues, and no inconsiderable authority in
matters of precedency; and they immediately declared that the
knights had decreed to them the better place, inasmuch as that in
most processions the principal personages did not walk first.
Of the knights of this reign, Grave Maurice, Prince of Orange, and
Frederick the (Goody) Palsgrave of the Rhine, were among the most
celebrated. They were installed in 1613, the Prince by proxy, and the
Palsgrave in person. A young and graceful Count Ludovic of
Nassau, was chosen at the last moment, to represent the Prince,
whose appointed representative, Count Henry, was detained in
Holland by adverse winds. “The feast,” says an eye-witness, “was in
the Great Hall, where the king dined at the upper table alone, served
in state by the Lord Gerard as Sewer, the Lord Morris as Cupbearer,
the Lord Compton as Carver; all that were of the order, at a long
cross table across the hall. The Prince by himself alone, and the
Palatine a little distance from him. But the Count Nassau was ranged
over-against my Lord Admiral, and so took place of all after the
Sovereign Princes, not without a little muttering of our Lords, who
would have had him ranged according to seniority, if the king had not
overruled it by prerogative.”
Wilson, in his history of James I., narrates a curious anecdote
respecting this Grave Maurice and the ribbon of the order. “Prince
Maurice took it as a great honor to be admitted into the Fraternity of
that Order, and wore it constantly; till afterward, some villains at the
Hague, that met the reward of their demerit (one of them, a
Frenchman, being groom of the Prince’s chamber) robbed a jeweller
of Amsterdam that brought jewels to the Prince. This groom,
tempting him into his chamber, to see some jewels, there, with his
confederates, strangled the man with one of the Prince’s Blue
Ribbons; which being afterward discovered, the Prince would never
suffer so fatal an instrument to come about his neck.”
James, by raising his favorite Buckingham, then only Sir George
Villiers, to the degree of Knight of the Garter, was considered to have
as much outraged the order as Henry VIII. had done by investing
Cromwell with the insignia. Chamberlain, in a letter to Sir Dudley
Carleton, says, “The King went away the next day after St. George’s
Feast, toward Newmarket and Thetford, the Earl of Rutland and Sir
George Villiers being that morning elected into the order of the
Garter, which seemed at first a strange choice, in regard that the wife
of the former is an open and known recusant, and he is said to have
many dangerous people about him; and the latter is so lately come
into the sight of the world, and withal it is doubted that he had not
sufficient likelihood to maintain the dignity of the place, according to
express articles of the order. But to take away that scruple, the King
hath bestowed upon him the Lord Gray’s lands, and means, they
say, to mend his grant with much more, not far distant, in the present
possession of the Earl of Somerset, if he do cadere causâ and sink
in the business now in hand.” The last passage alludes to the murder
of Overbury.
The going down to Windsor was at this time a pompous spectacle.
The riding thither of the Knights Elect is thus spoken of by a
contemporary: “On Monday,” (St. George’s day, 1615), “our Knights
of the Garter, Lord Fenton and Lord Knollys, ride to Windsor, with
great preparation to re-vie one with another who shall make the best
show. Though I am of opinion the latter will carry it by many degrees,
by reason of the alliance with the houses of the Howards, Somerset,
Salisbury, and Dorset, with many other great families that will bring
him their friends, and most part of the pensioners. Yet most are
persuaded the other will bear away the bell, as having the best part
of the court, all the bed-chamber, all the prince’s servants and
followers, with a hundred of the Guard, that have new rich coats
made on purpose, besides Sir George Villiers (the favorite), and Mr.
Secretary—whose presence had been better forborne, in my
judgment, for many reasons—but that every man abound in his own
sense.” James endeavored to suppress, in some measure, the
expensive ride of the Knights Elect to Windsor, but only with partial
success. His attempted reform, too, had a selfish aspect; he tried to
make it profitable to himself. He prohibited the giving of livery coats,
“for saving charge and avoiding emulation,” and at the same time
ordered that all existing as well as future companions should present
a piece of plate of the value of twenty pounds sterling at least for the
use of the altar in St. George’s Chapel.
Charles I. held chapters in more places in England than any other
king—now at York, now at Nottingham, now at Oxford, and in other
localities. These chapters were sometimes attended by as few as
four knights, and for the most part they were shorn of much of the
ancient ceremony. He held some brilliant chapters at Windsor,
nevertheless. At one of them, the election of the Earl of
Northumberland inspired a bard, whose song I subjoin because it is
illustrative of several incidents which are far from lacking interest.
“A brief description of the triumphant show made by the Right
Honorable Aulgernon Percie Earl of Northumberland, at his
installation and initiation into the princely fraternity of the Garter, on
the 13th of May, 1635.”
To the tune of “Quell the Pride.”

“You noble buds of Britain,

That spring from honor’s tree,
Who love to hear of high designs,
Attend awhile to me.
And I’ll (in brief) discover what
Fame bids me take in hand—
To blaze
The praise
Of great Northumberland.

“The order of the Garter,

Ere since third Edward reigned
Unto the realm of England hath
A matchless honor gained.
The world hath no society,
 Like to this princely band,
To raise
The praise
Of great Northumberland.

“The honor of his pedigree

Doth claim a high regard,
And many of his ancestors
For fame thought nothing hard.
And he, through noble qualities,
Which are exactly scanned,
Doth raise
The praise
Of great Northumberland.

“Against the day appointed,

His lordship did prepare;
To publish his magnificence
No charges he did spare.
The like within man’s memory
Was never twice in hand
To raise
The praise
Of great Northumberland.

“Upon that day it seemed

All Brittany did strive,
And did their best to honor him
With all they could contrive.
For all our high nobility
Joined in a mutual land
To blaze
The praise
Of great Northumberland.

“The common eyes were dazzled

With wonder to behold
The lustre of apparel rich,
All silver, pearl, and gold,
Which on brave coursers mounted,
Did glisten through the Strand,
To blaze
The praise
 Of great Northumberland.

“But ere that I proceed

This progress to report,
I should have mentioned the feast
Made at Salisbury Court.
Almost five hundred dishes
Did on the table stand,
To raise
The praise
Of great Northumberland.”

The Second Part, to the same tune.

“The mightiest prince or monarch

That in the world doth reign,
At such a sumptuous banquet might
Have dined without disdain,
Where sack, like conduit water,
Was free ever at command,
To blaze
The praise
Of great Northumberland.

“The famous Fleet-street conduit,

Renowned so long ago,
Did not neglect to express what love
She to my lord did owe.
For like an old proud woman
The painted face doth stand
To blaze
The praise
Of great Northumberland.

“A number of brave gallants,

Some knights and some esquires,
Attended at this triumph great,
Clad in complete attires.
The silver half-moon gloriously
Upon their sleeves doth stand,
To blaze
The praise
Of great Northumberland.
“All these on stately horses,
That ill endured the bit,
Were mounted in magnific cost,
As to the time was fit.
Their feathers white and red did show,
Like to a martial band,
To blaze
The praise
Of great Northumberland.

“The noble earls and viscounts,

And barons, rode in state:
This great and high solemnity
All did congratulate.
To honor brave Earl Percy
Each put a helping hand
To blaze
The praise
Of great Northumberland.

“King Charles, our royal sovereign,

And his renownéd Mary,
With Britain’s hope, their progeny,
All lovingly did tarry
At noble Viscount Wimbleton’s,
I’ the fairest part o’ th’ Strand,
To blaze
The praise
Of great Northumberland.

“To famous Windsor Castle,

With all his gallant train,
Earl Pearcy went that afternoon
His honor to obtain.
And there he was installed
One of St. George’s band,
To blaze
The praise
Of great Northumberland.

“Long may he live in honor,

In plenty and in peace;
For him, and all his noble friends,
 To pray I’ll never cease.
This ditty (which I now will end)
Was only ta’en in hand
To blaze
The praise
Of great Northumberland.”

This illustrative ballad bears the initials “M. P.” These, probably, do
not imply either a member of Parliament, or of the house of Percy.
Beneath the initials we have the legend, “Printed at London, for
Francis Coules, and are” (verses subaudiuntur) “to be sold at his
shop in the Old Bayley.” There are three woodcuts to illustrate the
text. The first represents the Earl on horseback; both peer and
charger are very heavily caparisoned, and the steed looks as
intelligent as the peer. In front of this stately, solid, and leisurely
pacing couple, is a mounted serving-man, armed with a stick, and
riding full gallop at nobody. The illustration to the second part
represents the Earl returning from Windsor in a carriage, which looks
very much like the Araba in the Turkish Exhibition. The new Knight
wears his hat, cloak, collar and star; his figure, broad-set to the
doorway, bears no distant resemblance to the knave of clubs, and
his aristocratic self-possession and serenity are remarkable,
considering the bumping he is getting, as implied by the wheels of
his chariot being several inches off the ground. The pace of the
steeds, two and twohalves of whom are visible, is not, however, very
great. They are hardly out of a walk. But perhaps the bareheaded
coachman and the as bareheaded groom have just pulled them up,
to allow the running footmen to reach the carriage. Two of these are
seen near the rear of the vehicle, running like the brace of
mythological personages in Ovid, who ran the celebrated match in
which the apples figured so largely. The tardy footmen have just
come in sight of their lord, who does not allow his serenity to be
disturbed by chiding them. The Percy wears as stupid an air as his
servants, and the only sign of intelligence anywhere in the group is
to be found in the off-side wheeler, whose head is turned back, with
a sneering cast in the face, as if he were ridiculing the idea of the
whole show, and was possessed with the conviction that he was
drawing as foolish a beast as himself.
The Earl appears to have ridden eastward, in the direction pointed
by his own lion’s tale, before he drove down to Windsor. The show
seems to have interested all ranks between the Crown and the
Conduit in Fleet street. Where Viscount Wimbledon’s house was, “in
the fairest part of the Strand,” I can not conjecture, and as I can not
find information on this point in Mr. Peter Cunningham’s “Hand-Book
of London,” I conclude that the site is not known.
In connection with Charles I. and his Garter, I will here cite a
passage from the third volume of Mr. Macaulay’s “History of
England,” page 165. “Louvois hated Lauzun. Lauzun was a favorite
at St. Germains. He wore the Garter, a badge of honor which has
very seldom been conferred on aliens who were not sovereign
princes. It was believed, indeed, in the French court, that in order to
distinguish him from the other knights of the most illustrious of
European orders, he had been decorated with that very George
which Charles I. had, on the scaffold, put into the hands of Juxon.”
Lauzun, I shall have to notice under the head of foreign knights. I
revert here to the George won by Charles and given to Lauzun. It
was a very extraordinary jewel, curiously cut in an onyx, set about
with twenty-one large table diamonds, in the fashion of a garter. On
the under side of the George was the portrait of Henrietta Maria,
“rarely well limned,” says Ashmole, “and set in a case of gold, the lid
neatly enamelled with goldsmith’s work, and surrounded with
another Garter, adorned with a like number of equal-sized diamonds,
as was the foresaid.” The onyx George of Charles I. was in the
possession of the late Duke of Wellington, and is the property of the
present Duke.
There is something quite as curious touching the history of the
Garter worn by Charles I., as what Mr. Macaulay tells concerning the
George. The diamonds upon it, forming the motto, were upward of
four hundred in number. On the day of the execution, this valuable
ornament fell into the hands of one of Cromwell’s captains of cavalry,
named Pearson. After one exchange of hands, it was sold to John
Ireton, sometime Lord-Mayor of London, for two hundred and five
pounds. At the Restoration, a commission was appointed to look
after the scattered royal property generally; and the commissioners
not only recovered some pictures belonging to Charles, from Mrs.
Cromwell, who had placed them in charge of a tradesman in Thames
street, but they discovered that Ireton held the Garter, and they
summoned him to deliver it up accordingly. It has been said that the
commissioners offered him the value of the jewel if he would
surrender it. This is not the case. The report had been founded on a
misapprehension of terms. Ireton did not deny that he possessed the
Garter by purchase, whereupon “composition was offered him,
according to the direction of the Commission, as in all other like
cases where anything could not be had in kind.” That is, he was
ordered to surrender the jewel, or if this had been destroyed, its
value, or some compensation in lieu thereof. Ireton refused the terms
altogether. The King, Charles II., thereupon sued him in the Court of
King’s Bench, where the royal plaintiff obtained a verdict for two
hundred and five pounds, and ten pounds costs of suit.
In February, 1652, the Parliament abolished all titles and honors
conferred by Charles I. since the 4th of January, two years
previously. This was done on the ground that the late King had
conferred such titles and honors, in order to promote his wicked and
treacherous designs against the parliament and people of England.
A fine of one hundred pounds was decreed against every offender,
whenever he employed the abolished title, with the exception of a
knight, who was let off at the cheaper rate of forty pounds. Any one
convicted of addressing a person by any of the titles thus done away
with, was liable to a fine of ten shillings. The Parliament treated with
silent contempt the titles and orders of knighthood conferred by
Charles I. As monarchy was defunct, these adjuncts of monarchy
were considered as defunct also. The Protector did not create a
single Knight of the Garter, nor of the Bath. “These orders,” says
Nicolas, “were never formally abolished, but they were probably
considered so inseparably united to the person, name, and office of
a king, as to render it impossible for any other authority to create
them.” Cromwell, however, made one peer, Howard, Viscount
Howard of Morpeth, ten baronets and knights, and conferred certain
degrees of precedency. It was seldom that he named an unworthy
person, considering the latter in the Protector’s own point of view,
but the Restoration was no sooner an accomplished fact, when to
ridicule one of Oliver’s knights was a matter of course with the
hilarious dramatic poets. On this subject something will be found
under the head of “Stage Knights.” Meanwhile, although there is
nothing to record touching Knights of the Garter, under the
Commonwealth, we may notice an incident showing that Garter
King-at-arms was not altogether idle. This incident will be sufficiently
explained by the following extract from the third volume of Mr.
Macaulay’s “History of England.” The author is speaking of the
regicide Ludlow, who, since the Restoration, had been living in exile
at Geneva. “The Revolution opened a new prospect to him. The right
of the people to resist oppression, a right which, during many years,
no man could assert without exposing himself to ecclesiastical
anathemas and to civil penalties, had been solemnly recognised by
the Estates of the realm, and had been proclaimed by Garter King-
at-arms, on the very spot where the memorable scaffold had been
set up.”
Charles II. did not wait for the Restoration in order to make or
unmake knights. He did not indeed hold chapters, but at St.
Germains, in Jersey, and other localities, he unknighted knights who
had forgotten their allegiance in the “late horrid rebellion,” as he
emphatically calls the Parliamentary and Cromwellian periods, and
authorized other individuals to wear the insignia, while he exhorted
them to wait patiently and hopefully for their installations at Windsor.
At St. Germains, he gave the Garter to his favorite Buckingham; and
from Jersey he sent it to two far better men—Montrose, and Stanley,
Earl of Derby. The worst enemies of these men could not deny their
chivalrous qualities. Montrose on the scaffold, when they hung (in
derision) from his neck the book in which were recorded his many
brave deeds, very aptly said that he wore the record of his courage
with as much pride as he ever wore the Garter. Stanley’s chivalry
was never more remarkable than in the skirmish previous to
Worcester, when in the hot affray, he received seven shots in his
breast-plate, thirteen cuts on his beaver, five or six wounds on his
arms and shoulders, and had two horses killed under him. When he
was about to die, he returned the Garter, by the hands of a faithful
servant, to the king, “in all humility and gratitude,” as he remarked,
“spotless and free from any stain, as he received it, according to the
honorable example of my ancestors.”
Charles made knights of the Garter of General Monk and Admiral
Montague. The chapter for election was held in the Abbey of St.
Augustine’s at Canterbury. It was the first convenient place which the
king could find for such a purpose after landing. “They were the only
two,” says Pepys, “for many years who had the Garter given them
before they had honor of earldom, or the like, excepting only the
Duke of Buckingham, who was only Sir George Villiers when he was
made a knight of the Garter.” The honor was offered to Clarendon,
but declined as above his deserts, and likely to create him enemies.
James, Duke of York, however, angrily attributed Clarendon’s
objection to being elected to the Garter to the fact that James himself
had asked it for him, and that the Chancellor was foolishly unwilling
to accept any honor that was to be gained by the Duke’s mediation.
Before proceeding to the next reign, let me remark that the George
and Garter of Charles II. had as many adventures or misadventures
as those of his father. In the fight at Worcester his collar and garter
became the booty of Cromwell, who despatched a messenger with
them to the Parliament, as a sign and trophy of victory. The king’s
lesser George, set with diamonds, was preserved by Colonel
Blague. It passed through several hands with much risk. It at length
fell again into the hands of the Colonel when he was a prisoner in
the Tower. Blague, “considering it had already passed so many
dangers, was persuaded it could yet secure one hazardous attempt
of his own.” The enthusiastic royalist looked upon it as a talisman
that would rescue him from captivity. Right or wrong in his sentiment,
the result was favorable. He succeeded in making his escape, and
had the gratification of restoring the George to his sovereign.
The short reign of James II. offers nothing worthy of the notice of the
general reader with respect to this decoration; and the same may be
said of the longer reign of William III. The little interest in the history
of the order under Queen Anne, is in connection with her foreign
nominations, of which due notice will be found in the succeeding
section. Small, too, is the interest connected with these matters in
the reign of George I., saving, indeed, that under him we find the last
instance of the degradation of a knight of the garter, in the person of
James, Duke of Ormund, who had been attainted of high treason.
His degradation took place on the 12th July, 1716. The elections
were numerous during this reign. The only one that seems to
demand particular notice is that of Sir Robert Walpole, First Lord of
the Treasury. He gave up the Bath on receiving the Garter in 1726,
and he was the only commoner who had received the distinction
since Sir George Monk and Sir Edward Montague were created,
sixty-six years previously.
The first circumstance worthy of record under George II. is, that the
color of the garter and ribbon was changed from light blue to dark, or
“Garter-blue,” as it is called. This was done in order to distinguish the
companions made by Brunswick from those assumed to be
fraudulently created by the Pretender Stuart. Another change was
effected, but much less felicitously. What with religious, social, and
political revolution, it was found that the knights were swearing to
statutes which they could not observe. Their consciences were
disturbed thereat—at least they said so; but their sovereign set them
at ease by enacting that in future all knights should promise to break
no statutes, except on dispensation from the sovereign! This left the
matter exactly where it had been previously.
The first circumstance worthy of attention in the reign of George III.,
was that of the election of Earl Gower, president of the council, in
1771. The sharp eye of Junius discovered that the election was a
farce, for in place of the sovereign and at least six knights being
present, as the statutes required, there were only four knights
present, the Dukes of Gloucester, Newcastle, Northumberland, and
the Earl of Hertford. The first duke too was there against his will. He
had, says Junius, “entreated, begged, and implored,” to be excused
from attending that chapter—but all in vain. The new knight seems to
have been illegally elected, and as illegally installed. The only
disagreeable result was to the poor knights of Windsor. People
interested in the subject had made remarks, and while the illegal
election of the president of the council was most properly put before
the King, representation was made to him that the poor knights had
been wickedly contravening their statutes, for a very long period.
They had for years been permitted to reside with their families
wherever they chose to fix their residence. This was pronounced
irregular, and George III., so lax with regard to Lord Gower, was very
strict with respect to these poor knights. They were all commanded
to reside in their apartments attached to Windsor Castle, and there
keep up the poor dignity of their noble order, by going to church
twice every day in full uniform. There were some of them at that
period who would as soon have gone out twice a day to meet the
dragon.
The order of the Garter was certainly ill-used by this sovereign. In
order to admit all his sons, he abolished the statute of Edward (who
had as many sons as George had when he made the absurd
innovation, but who did not care to make knights of them because
they were his sons), confining the number of companions to twenty-
five. Henceforward, the sovereign’s sons were to reckon only as over
and above that number. As if this was not sufficiently absurd, the
king subsequently decreed eligibility of election to an indefinite
number of persons, provided only that they could trace their descent
from King George II.!
No Companion so well deserved the honor conferred upon him as he
who was the most illustrious of the English knights created during
the sway of the successor of George III., as Regent; namely, the late
Duke of Wellington. Mr. Macaulay, when detailing the services and
honors conferred on Schomberg, has a passage in which he brings
the names of these two warriors, dukes, and knights of the Garter,
together. “The House of Commons had, with general approbation,
compensated the losses of Schomberg, and rewarded his services
by a grant of a hundred thousand pounds. Before he set out for
Ireland, he requested permission to express his gratitude for this
magnificent present. A chair was set for him within the bar. He took
his seat there with the mace at his right hand, rose, and in a few
graceful words returned his thanks and took his leave. The Speaker
replied that the Commons could never forget the obligation under
which they already lay to his Grace, that they saw him with pleasure
at the head of an English army, that they felt entire confidence in his
zeal and ability, and that at whatever distance he might be he would
always be, in a peculiar manner, an object of their care. The
precedent set on this interesting occasion was followed with the
utmost minuteness, a hundred and twenty-five years later, on an
occasion more interesting still. Exactly on the same spot, on which,
in July, 1689, Schomberg had acknowledged the liberality of the
nation, a chair was set in July, 1814, for a still more illustrious
warrior, who came to return thanks for a still more splendid mark of
public gratitude.”
There is nothing calling for particular notice in the history of the
Order since the election of the last-named knight. Not one on whose
shoulders has been placed “the robe of heavenly color,” earned so
hardly and so well the honor of companionship. This honor, however,
costs every knight who submits to the demand, not less than one
hundred and eight pounds sterling, in fees. It is, in itself, a heavy fine
inflicted on those who render extraordinary service to the country,
and to whom are presented the order of the Garter, and an order
from the Garter King-at-arms to pay something more than a hundred
guineas in return. The fine, however, is generally paid with alacrity;
for, though the non-payment does not unmake a knight, it has the
effect of keeping his name from the register.
I have already observed that Mr. Macaulay, in his recently-published
History, has asserted that very few foreigners, except they were
sovereign princes, were ever admitted into the companionship of the
Garter. Let us, then, look over the roll of illustrious aliens, and see
how far this assertion is correct.
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