Notes
In
the middle of the night truly? In the middle of the Dark Ages, when
what with Mahomedan Conquests, what with Christian Crusadings,
Destructions of Constantinople, Discoveries of America, the
Time-River was indeed swoln to overflowing; and the Ignes
Fatui
(of Elegant Culture, of Literature,) must needs feel in haste to get
ever into Existence, being much wanted; and apply to the Priesthood
(respectable old Ferryman, roused out of sleep thereby!) who
willingly introduced them, mischievous ungrateful imps as they were.
— D. T.
What
could this be! To ask whither their next road lay? It was useless to
ask there: the respectable old Priesthood “did not hear
them.”
— D. T.
Thought,
Understanding. roused from her long sleep by the first produce of
modern Belles Lettres: which she eagerly devours. — D.
T.
“True
enough: Thought cannot fly and dance, as your wildfire of Belles
Lettres may,” she proceeds in the systole-diastole,
up-and-down method; and must ever “bead her head to the earth
again” (in the way of Baconian Experiment), or she will not
stir from the spot. — D. T.
Is
not Superstition strongest when the sun is low? with body,
powerless; with shadow, omnipotent? — D. T.
Primitive
employments, and attainments, of Thought, in this dark den whither
it is sent to dwell. For many long ages, it discerns “nothing
but irregular productions of Nature;” having indeed to
pick material bed and board out of Nature and her irregular
productions. — D. T.
Poetic
Light, celestial Reason! — D. T. [NNN] Let the reader, in one
word, attend well to these four Kings: much annotation from D. T. is
here necessarily swept out. — O. Y.
What
is wholly dark. Understanding precedes Reason: modern Science is
come; modern Poesy is still but coming, — in Goethe (and whom
else!). — D. T.
Consider
these Kings as Eras of the World’s History; no, not as Eras,
but as Principles which jointly or severally rule Eras. Alas, poor
we, in this chaotic soft-soldered “transitionary age,”
are so unfortunate as to live under the Fourth King. — D.
T.
Reader,
hast thou any glimpse of the “open secret?” I fear, not.
— D. T. — Writer, art thou a goose? I fear, yes. —
O. Y.
In
Illuminated Ages, the Age of Miracles is said to cease, but it is
only we that cease to see it, for we are still “refreshed by
it.” — D. T.
Poor
old Practical Endeavour! Listen to many an
Encyclopédie-Diderot,
humanised Philosophe, didactic singer, march-of-intellect
man, and other “impudent varlets” (that would never put
their own finger to the work), and hear what
“compliments”
they uttered. — D. T.
Why
so? Is it because with “lifeless things” (with inanimate
machinery) all goes like clock-work, which it is, and
“the
basket hovers aloft;” while with living things (were it but
the culture of forest-trees) poor Endeavour has more difficulty!
—
D. T. — Or, is it chiefly because a Tale must he a Tale?
—
O. Y.
Very
proper in the huge Loggerhead Superstition, to bathe himself
in the element of Time, and get refreshment thereby. — D.
T.
A
dangerous thing to pledge yourself to the Time-River; — as
many a National Debt, and the like, blackening, bewitching the
“beautiful hand” of Endeavour, can witness. — D.
T. — Heavens! — O. Y.
If
aught can overspend the Time-River, then what but Understanding, but
Thought, in its moment of plenitude, in its favourable noon-moment?
— D. T.
In
SUPERNATURALISM, truly, what is there either of flower or of fruit?
Nothing that will (altogether) content the greedy Time-River.
Stupendous, funereal sacred-groves, “in a soil that otherwise
is barren!” — D. T.
Who
are these three? Faith, Hope, and Charity, or others of that kin?
—
D. T. Faith, Hope, and Fiddlestick! — O.Y.
Does
not man’s soul rest by Faith, and look in the mirror
of Faith? Does not Hope, “decorate rather than
conceal”?
Is not Charity (Love) the beginning of music? — Behold too how
the Serpent, in this great hour, has made herself a
Serpent-of-Eternity; and (even as genuine THOUGHT, in our age, has
to do for so much) preserves the seeming-dead within her folds, that
suspended animation issue not in noisome, horrible, irrevocable
dissolution! — D. T.
What
are the Hawk and this Canary-bird, which here prove so destructive
to one another? Ministering servants, implements, of these two
divided Halves of the Human Soul; name them I will not; more is not
written. — D. T.
Have
not your march-of-intellect Literators always expressed themselves
particularly ravished with any glitter from a veil of Hope;
with “progress of the species,” and the like? — D.
T.
Too
true: dost thou not hear it, Reader? In this our Revolutionary
“twelfth hour of the night,” all persons speak aloud
(some of them by cannon and drums!) “declaring what they have
to do;” and Faith, Hope, and Charity (after a few passing
compliments from the Belles Lettres Department), thou seest, have
fallen asleep! — D. T.
Well
he might, worthy old man; as Pope Pius, for example, did, when he
lived in Fontainbleau! — D. T. — As our Bishops when
voting for the Reform Bill? — O. Y.
So!
Your Logics, mechanical Philosophies, Polities, Sciences, your whole
modern System of THOUGHT, is to decease; and old ENDEAVOUR,”
grasping at her basket,” shall “come against” the
inanimate remains, and “only a bright ring of luminous
jewels”
shall be left there! Mark well, however, what next becomes of it.
—
D. T.
Good!
The old Church, shaken down “in disordered combination,”
is admitted, in this way, into the new perennial Temple of the
Future; and, clarified into enduring silver, by the Lamp, becomes an
Altar worthy to stand there. The Ferryman too is not forgotten.
—
D. T.
Dost
thou note this, O Reader; and look back with new clearness on former
things! A gold King, a silver, and a brazen King: WISDOM, dignified
APPEARANCE, STRENGTH; these three harmoniously united bear rule:
disharmoniously cobbled together in sham-union (as in the
foolish composite King of our foolish “transition-era”),
they once the Gold (or wisdom) is all out of them, “very
awkwardly plump down.” — D. T.
As,
for example, does not Charles X (one of the poor fractional
composite Realities emblemed herein) rest, even now,
“shapelessly
enough sunk together,” at Holyrood, in the city of Edinburgh?
— D. T.
March-of-intellect
Lights were well capable of such a thing. — D.
T.
It
fashions (bildet), or educates. —
O.Y.
Honour
to her indeed! The Mechanical Philosophy, tho’ dead, has not
died and lived in vain; but her works are there: “upon these
she” (THOUGHT, newborn in glorified shape) “has
built herself and will maintain herself;” and the Natural and
Supernatural shall henceforth, thereby, be one. — D.
T.
Mark
what comes of bathing in the TIME-RIVER, at the entrance of a New
Era! — D. T.
And
so REASON and ENDEAVOUR, being once more married, and in the
honeymoon, need we wish them joy! — D. T.
Thou
rememberest the Catholic Relief Bill; witnessest the Irish
Education Bill? Hast heard, five hundred times, that the
“Church” was “in Danger,” and now at length
believest it? — D. T. — Is D. T. of the Fourth Estate,
and Popish-Infidel, then? — O.Y.
Bravo!
— D. T.
Now
first; when the beast of a SUPERSTITION-Giant has got his quietus.
Right! — D. T.
It
is the Temple of the whole civilized earth. Finally, may I take
leave to consider this Mährchen as the deepest Poem of
its sort in existence; as the only true Prophecy emitted for who
knows how many centuries? — D. T. — Certainly: England
is a free country. — O.Y.
|