South Wind(Fiscle Part-3), Norman Douglas [most important books of all time .TXT] 📗

Never Discovered,  For He Seems To Have

Kept His Brother Monks In Ignorance Of The Whole Affair. From That Time

Onward His Conduct Changed. He Grew Restless And Desirous Of Converting

The Heathen. He Set Sail For Lybia,  Suffered Shipwreck In The Greater

Syrtis,  And Narrowly Escaped With His Life. Thence He Passed Onward,

Preaching To Black Nations As He Moved Along,  And Converting Tribes

Innumerable. For Three-And-Thirty Years He Wandered Till,  One Evening,

He Saw The Moon Rise On The Right Side Of His Face.

 

He Had Entered The Land Of The Crotalophoboi,  Cannibals And

Necromancers Who Dwelt In A Region So Hot,  And With Light So Dazzling,

That Their Eyes Grew On The Soles Of Their Feet. Here He Laboured For

Eighty Years,  Redeeming Them To Christianity From Their Magical And

Bloodthirsty Practices. In Recompense Whereof They Captured Him At The

Patriarchal Age Of 132,  Or Thereabouts,  And Bound Him With Ropes

Between Two Flat Boards Of Palmwood. Thus They Kept The Prisoner,

Feeding Him Abundantly,  Until That Old Equinoctial Feast Drew Near. On

The Evening Of That Day They Sawed The Whole,  Superstitiously,  Into

Twelve Separate Pieces,  One For Each Month Of The Year; And Devoured Of

The Saint What Was To Their Liking.

 

During This Horrid Banquet A Femur Or Thigh-Bone Was Accidentally Cast

Upon A Millstone Which Lay By The Shore,  Having Been Borrowed By The

Crotalophoboi From The Neighbouring Tribe Of Garimanes A Good Many

Years Previously And Never Returned To Them By Reason,  They Declared,

Of Its Excessive Weight. There It Remained Till,  One Day,  During A

Potent Sirocco Tempest,  The Stone Was Uplifted By The Force Of The

Waters,  And Miraculously Wafted Over The Sea To Nepenthe. Forthwith A

Chapel Was Built On The Spot,  To Commemorate The Event And Preserve The

Sacred Relic Which Soon Began Working Wonders For The Good Of The

Island,  Such As Warding Off Saracenic Invasions,  Procuring Plentiful

Vintages,  And Causing Sterile Cattle To Produce Offspring.

 

In Later Years The Main Church Was Dedicated To Saint Dodekanus And The

Relic Moved Thither And Enclosed Within That Silver Statue Of The Saint

Which Is Carried Abroad In Procession At His Annual Festival,  Or On Any

Particular Occasion When His Help Is To Be Invoked. And All Through

Succeeding Ages The Cult Of The Saint Waxed In Pomp And Splendour.

Nobody,  Probably,  Has Done More To Foster Pious Feelings Towards Their

Island-Patron Than The Good Duke Alfred Who,  Among Other Things,  Caused

A Stately Frieze To Be Placed In The Church,  Picturing In Twelve Marble

Tablets The Twelve Chief Episodes In The Life Of The Saint--One For Each

Month Of The Year. This Frieze Indeed Was Admired So Unreservedly,  So

Recklessly,  That The Good Duke Felt It His Duty To Remove The

Sculptor's Eyes And (On Second Thoughts) His Hands As Well,  In Order

That No Other Sovereign Should Possess Works By So Consummate A Master

Of Stonecraft. There The Disciplinary Measures Ended. He Did His Best

To Console The Gifted Artist Who Was Fed,  Henceforward,  On Lobsters,

Decorated With The Order Of The Golden Vine,  And Would Doubtless Have

Been Ennobled After Death,  Had The Prince Not Predeceased The Sculptor.

 

Such,  Briefly,  Is The History Of Saint Dodekanus,  And The Origin Of His

Cult On Nepenthe.

 

Legends Galore,  Often Contradictory To This Account And To One Another,

Have Clustered Round His Name,  As Was Inevitable. He Is Supposed To

Have Preached In Asia Minor; To Have Died As A Young Man,  In His

Convent; To Have Become A Hermit,  A Cobbler,  A Bishop (Of Nicomedia),  A

Eunuch,  A Politician. Two Volumes Of Mediocre Sermons In The Byzantine

Tongue Have Been Ascribed To Him. These And Other Crudities May Be

Dismissed As Apocryphal. Even His Name Has Given Rise To Controversy,

Although Its Origin From The Greek Word Dodeka,  Signifying Twelve And

Alluding To The Twelve Morsels Into Which His Body Was Superstitiously

Divided,  Is As Self-Evident As Well Can Be. Thus A Worthy Young Canon

Of The Church Of Nepenthe,  Giacinto Mellino,  Who Has Lately Written A

Life Of Saint Eulalia,  The Local Patroness Of Sailors--Her Festival

Occurs Twelve Days After That Of Saint Dodekanus--Takes Occasion,  In

This Otherwise Commendable Pamphlet,  To Scoff At The Old-Established

Derivation Of The Name And To Propose An Alternative Etymology. He Lays

It Down That Then Pagan Inhabitants Of The Island,  Desirous Of Sharing

In The Benefits Of Christianity Which Had Already Reached The Mainland

But Left Untouched Their Lonely Rock,  Sent A Missive To The Bishop

Containing The Two Words Do Dekanus: Give Us A Deacon! The Grammar Is

At Fault,  He Explains,  Because Of Their Rudimentary Knowledge Of The

Latin Tongue; They Had Only Learnt,  Hitherto,  The First Person Singular

And The Nominative Case--So He Says; And Then Proceeds To Demonstrate,

With Unanswerable Arguments,  That Greek Was The Spoken Language Of

Nepenthe At This Period. Several Scholars Have Been Swayed By His

Specious Logic To Abandon The Older And Sounder Interpretation. There

Are Yet Other Conjectures About The Word Dodekanus,  All More Or Less

Fanciful. . . .

 

If The Crotalophoboi Had Not Devoured The Missionary Dodekanus,  We

Should Assuredly Never Have Heard Of Monsignor Perrelli,  The Learned

And Genial Historian Of Nepenthe. It Was That Story,  He Expressly Tells

Us,  Which Inflamed Him,  A Mere Visitor To The Place,  With A Desire To

Know More About The Island. A People Like The Nepentheans,  Who Could

Cherish In Their Hearts A Tale Of Such Beauty,  Must Be Worthy,  He

Concluded,  "Of The Closest And Most Sympathetic Scrutiny." Thus,  One

Thing Leading To Another,  As Always Happens Where Local Researches Are

Concerned,  He Soon Found Himself Collecting Other Legends,  Traditions,

Historical Data,  Statistics Of Agriculture And Natural Productions,  And

So Forth. The Result Of These Labours Was Embodied In The Renowned

Antiquities Of Nepenthe.

 

This Book,  A Model Of Its Kind,  Is Written In Latin. It Seems To Have

Been The Author's Only Work,  And Has Gone Through Several Editions; The

Last One--By No Means The Best As Regards Typography--Being That Of 1709.

The Crotalophoboi Therefore,  Who Procured The Sanctification Of

Dodekanus By Methods Hardly Commendable To Decent Folks,  Can Be Said To

Have Done Some Good In The World,  If The Creation Of A Literary

Masterpiece Like These Antiquities,  For Which They Are Indirectly

Responsible,  May Be Classed Under That Head.

 

It Is A Pity We Know So Little Of The Life Of This Monsignor Perrelli.

He Is Disappointingly Reticent About Himself. We Learn That He Was A

Native Of The Mainland; That He Came Here,  As A Youth,  Afflicted With

Rheumatic Troubles; That These Troubles Were Relived By An Application

Of Those Health-Giving Waters Which He Lived To Describe In One Of The

Happiest Sections Of His Work,  And Which Were To Become Famous To The

World At Large Through Certain Classical Experiments Carried Out Under

His Contemporary,  The Good Duke Alfred--A Potentate Who,  By The Way,

Does Not Seem To Have Behaved Very Prettily To Our Scholar. And That Is

Absolutely All We Know About Him. The Most Painstaking Enquiries On The

Part Of Mr. Eames Have Failed To Add A Single Item Of Positive

Information To Our Knowledge Of The Historian Of Nepenthe. We Cannot

Tell When,  Or Where,  He Died. He Seems To Have Ended In Regarding

Himself As A Native Of The Place. The Wealth Of Material Incorporated

In The Book Leads To The Supposition That He Must Have Spent Long Years

On The Island. We May Further Presume,  From His Title,  That He Belonged

To The Church; It Was The Surest Path Of Advancement For A Young Man Of

Quality In Those Days.

 

A Perfunctory Glance Into His Pages Will Suffice To Prove That He

Lacked What Is Called The Ecclesiastical Bent Of Mind. Reading Between

The Lines,  One Soon Discovers That His Is Not So Much A Priest As A

Statesman And Philosopher,  A Student Curious In The Lore Of Mankind And

Of Nature--Alert,  Sagacious,  Discriminating. He Tells Us,  For Example,

That This Legend Of The Visions And Martyrdom Of Saint Dodekanus,  Which

He Was The First To Disentangle From Its Heterogeneous Accretions,  Was

Vastly To His Liking. Why? Because Of Its Churchly Flavour? Not So; But

Because He Detected Therein "Truth And Symbol. It Is A Tale Of

Universal Applicability; The Type,  As It Were,  Of Every Great Man's

Life,  Endeavour,  And Reward." The Introduction To These Antiquities,

Setting Forth His Maxims For The Writing Of History,  Might Have Been

Composed Not Three Centuries Ago,  But Yesterday--Or Even To-Morrow; So

Modern Is Its Note.

 

Hearken To These Weighty Words:

 

"Portraiture Of Characters And Events Should Take The Form Of One

Gentleman Conversing With Another,  In The Easy Tone Of Good Society.

The Author Who Sets Out To Address A Crowd Defeats His Own Object; He

Eliminates The Essence Of Good Writing--Frankness. You Cannot Be Frank

With Men Of Low Condition. You Must Presuppose A Refined And Congenial

Listener,  A Man Or Woman Whom You Would Not Hesitate To Take By The

Hand And Lead Into The Circle Of Your Own Personal Friends. If This

Applies To Literature Of Every Kind,  It Applies To History In A

Peculiar Degree.

 

"History Deals With Situations And Figures Not Imaginary But Real. It

Demands Therefore A Combination Of Qualities Unnecessary To The Poet Or

Writer Of Romance--Glacial Judgment Coupled With Fervent Sympathy. The

Poet May Be An Inspired Illiterate,  The Romance-Writer An Uninspired

Hack. Under No Circumstances Can Either Of Them Be Accused Of Wronging

Or Deceiving The Public,  However Incongruous Their Efforts. They Write

Well Or Badly,  And There The Matter Ends. The Historian,  Who Fails In

His Duty,  Deceives The Reader And Wrongs The Dead. A Man Weighted With

Such Responsibilities Is Deserving Of An Audience More Than Usually

Select--An Audience Of His Equals,  Men Of The World. No Vulgarian Can Be

Admitted To Share Those Confidences. . . .

 

"The Greeks Figured Forth A Muse Of History; They Dared Express Their

Opinions. Genesis,  That Ancient Barrier,  Did Not Exist For Them. It

Stands In The Way Of The Modern Historian; It Involves Him In A

Ceaseless Conflict With His Own Honesty. If He Values His Skin,  He Must

Accommodate Himself To Current Dogmas And Refrain From Truthful

Comments And Conclusions. He Has The Choice Of Being A Chronologer Or A

Ballad-Monger-Obsolete And Unimportant Occupations. Unenviable Fate Of

Those Who Aspire To Be Teachers Of Mankind,  That They Themselves Should

Be Studied With A Kind Of Antiquarian Interest,  Stimulating Thought Not

Otherwise Than As Warning Examples! Clio Has Fallen From Her Pedestal.

That Radiant Creature,  In Identifying Her Interests With Those Of

Theocracy,  Has Become The Hand-Maiden Of A Withered And Petulant

Mistress,  A Mercenary Slut. So Things Will Remain,  Till Mankind Has

Acquired A Fresh Body Of Ethics,  Corresponding To Modern Needs. It Is

Useless,  It Is Dangerous,  To Pour New Wine Into Old Bottles. . . ."

 

He Carries Out His Theory. The Work Of Monsignor Perrelli Is,  Above All

Things,  A Human Document--The Revelation Of A Personality Cultured And

Free From Prejudice. Indeed,  When One Considers The Religious Situation

Of Those Days,  He Seems To Be Sailing Perilously Near The Wind In Some

Of His Theological Reflections; So Much So,  That Mr. Eames Often

Wondered Whether This Might Not Account For Our Ignorance Of His Later

Life And The Manner Of His Death. He Held It Possible That The Scholar

May Have Fallen Into The Clutches Of The Inquisition,  Never Again To

Return To The Surface Of Society. It Would Explain Why The First

Edition Of The Antiquities Is So Extremely Rare,  And Why The Two

Subsequent Ones Were Issued,  Respectively,  At Amsterdam And Bale.

 

Incidentally,  The Book Contains In Its Nine Hundred Pages All That

Could Possibly Interest A Contemporary Student About The History And

Natural Products Of Nepenthe. It Is Still A Mine Of Antiquarian

Information,  Though Large Sections Of The Work Have Inevitably Become

Obsolete. To Bring The Antiquities Up To Date By Means Of A Revised And

Enlarged Version Enriched With Footnotes,  Appendixes And Copious

Illustrations,  Was The Ambition,  The Sole Ambition,  Of Mr. Ernest

Eames,  R.A. . . .

 

It Was Not True To Say Of This Gentleman That He Fled From England To

Nepenthe Because He Forged His Mother's Will,  Because He Was Arrested

While Picking The Pockets Of A Lady At Tottenham Court Road Station,

Because He Refused To Pay For The Upkeep Of His Seven Illegitimate

Children,  Because He Was Involved In A Flamboyant Scandal Of

Unmentionable Nature And Unprecedented Dimensions,  Because He Was

Detected While Trying To Poison The Rhinoceros At The Zoo With An

Arsenical Bun,  Because He Strangled His Mistress,  Because He Addressed

An Almost Disrespectful Letter To The Primate Of England Beginning "My

Good Owl"--Or For Any Suchlike Reason; And That He Now Remained On The

Island Only Because Nobody Was Fool Enough To Lend Him The Ten Pounds

Requisite For A Ticket Back Again.

 

He Came There Originally To Save Money; And He Stayed There Originally

Because,  If He Had Happened To Die On His Homeward Journey,  There Would

Not Have Been Enough Coppers In