Jane Austen Says-

Oh my, I am unprepared to be brought into this world of fast and frenzied motion. Please forgive me but I am a simple girl from the country. Your world today could not understand the life I lived more than 200 years ago.

I am humbled that you invited me to converse with you about my stories, but even after all these years, I have no idea why they are considered great novels. Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility are merely stories to me.

I wrote with the simplicity of my rural life. As the daughter of a Reverend in a small village, I saw very little of spectacular living, except on occasion when a relative visited from London or even France.

I remember when my cousin, the widow Madame Fenilade, arrived at our humble lodging to stay for a short visit. It was not a short visit. She stayed until she married my brother.  She was the delight of the household. She taught us to speak French sufficiently. I was saddened that they moved away. It was my father who requested nothing but French be spoken in the household for a period of time. It was not long before we were all conversant in the French language.

 No one knows of my longing to go to France. I dreamed of it as I committed myself to my daily chores. Father would not allow any of us to be idle, with the exception of when I would tarry at the desk with my writing. It was accepted, for in the evening I would read the words I had written to our family and they would comment and offer suggestions.

Some of the suggestions I accepted, including them in the correct places within my rendering or not. My wonderful secret was that I, and I alone could indulge in my fantasy life and write what I pleased.

As I have mentioned, if you will pardon me for repetition, we lived a rural life in a small community. One of my delights, aside from writing, was to accompany my father on his rounds visiting the parishioners. It was when I listened to their tales told to my father, that I sensed a spirit of various identities.

As the men spoke quietly over cups of spiced tea, the baker's wife told me of the young man who first captured her heart.

She had been born into a family of wealth and prestige in London among the social gentry. She fell deeply in love with a handsome young Baron. When it became known she was with child, her parents sent her to our Village of Steventon. The babe was born out of wedlock and sent to be adopted by a family in Yorkshire. She never saw the baron after she had been banished. She never saw the child of their union. She heard from a traveler who had stopped to purchase bread that the baron died in a tragic carriage accident. Leaning towards me, she whispered how she often would imagine he was on his way to find her.

I was awed by her tale. The vivid description of her lover remained with me long after our visit. I wonder now if it might have been the seedling of the birth of one of the characters I fell in love with in my fantasy stories. I certainly do not recall any one of his style and demeanor ever visiting the Parsonage. Was he perhaps the embryo of Mr. Darcy?

I truly cannot say. It was so long ago. It was a time of simplicity and decorum. It was a time to think without distraction. It was simple to go about one’s chores with practiced hands and an imaginative mind. Sweeping the floors of the rectory, I could feel his presence awaiting the turn of my head. Stirring cream to churn butter, I could feel the warmth of his breath upon my neck. I would close my eyes, preparing for his touch. Too often my sister Cassandra would sneak up on me and startle me from my reverie. Upon occasion, the churn would be dashed to the floor. Cassandra would howl with laughter.

I was very young when I began writing, only twenty. I never planned for my stories to be published. My father wrote to several publishers, who informed him they had no desire to read the ramblings of a country girl. It was only after Papa passed that we sent my words to a gentleman who agreed to publish them. A very limited printing I might say. No one was more surprised than I when they were in demand by the public.

Two of my stories were published after I joined my departed Father. Never did I consider I could be a writer of worth. I wrote for myself, to live in a fantasy world, and to amuse my family. I am quite surprised that I have been considered a novelist of some worth.

If I were to live in your fast-paced world, I sincerely doubt that I would know how to be in quietude and retreat to my imagination. The swirling events around everyone and the noise would be intrusive, blocking any meaningful thought. Where could I retreat to capture my ideal life?

No, tis better that I lived in the long-ago time where life was simple. I might not have been in a world of grandeur, a life of splendor, except perhaps when I was at the tiny desk in the parlor. It was there I could live in a fantasy world of my imagination. It was a very good time.

The End

©2013

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Elizabeth and Robert Browning. - Lovers In Eternity

                                         

Robert: 

Ba, my sweet, I must tell the readers that had I not met and loved you, my life would never have become complete, nor would I have reached some degree of success.  You, my darling, beautiful girl, with the sweet face surrounded by the mass of curls, released someone in me I could never have been without you.

Elizabeth:  Robert, my darling, hush.  It was you who rescued me from my darkened room, raised me from my bed to go into the world.  No, no, my darling love, it is I who worship you and hold fast to your eternal love.

Before you came into my life Robert my love, I had become an invalid, sentenced to a lifetime of darkness and lying pitifully on my bed.  My father convinced me that I was ill. The Doctor agreed and I was not allowed to leave the confines of my room. It was there that I poured out my soul in verse.  Sometimes I translated into Greek to stimulate my mind.  I was bedridden; sure I would be leaving this earth in but a short time.

Robert:  

My darling Ba, how I wish I had known you before I had squandered so many years in foolishness, living off of my father’s dole.  I regret the time spent in idleness and folderol.  My sweet, for years my writing was scorned by publishers.  Potential readers claimed they could not discern my heartfelt poetry.  Even my father despaired of my future. I am indebted that he continued to support me until my sweet love, I met you.

Elizabeth:  

Robert, my dearest, we pursued our paths as the Divine conspired. Had we not lived as we did, our paths might never have crossed, and love so sublime would have been lost to the world.  Hush now my darling, I have been asked to present my early life to the readers of this work.

For a time, I lived a life of grandeur.  My father was extremely wealthy as a plantation owner in Jamaica.  His utmost desire was to live in England, where I was the first of his family to be born in his motherland.  Our home was one of elegance, run very smoothly by servants.  Alas, my poor mother was not well for many years of my life.  When she passed I tried to take on the duties of matron of the household.  My utter dismay is that I never achieved that role.  A lung condition sent me to my bed where I languished under the spell of morphine administered by a Doctor my father held in great esteem.

The servants were commanded to keep my room dark.  I was dissuaded from any attempt to remove myself from my bed.  It was the life of a prisoner.  It was a life that led me to deep depression, released only when I could pursue my love of learning.  I was still a child when I learned Hebrew. The classics entranced me and I was enthralled to be able to translate the works of the Greek masters. 

My greatest defeat was in not convincing my father of the atrocities of slavery.  His wealth was dependent on slaves working on the family plantations in Jamaica.  Could he not see the wrong committed by enslaving another?  Was it wrong for me to be secretly happy when the enslaved revolted and father was forced to sell his property at a loss?  God bless those who worked for a pittance so my father could live with great ease. I rejoiced in their freedom.

Oh but dear reader, I dare not dwell upon the sadness of my life, only the joy.  You, my darling Rob brought me my greatest joy, even more than my fame as a poet. Writing poetry was a result of my desire for love. I still remember, with a bit of trembling, when we eloped to wed.  I returned to my father’s house, fearful he would banish me back to my room.  A long terrifying week ensued before I steeled my way from the house, and we quickly embarked on our future, beginning in France.

I am saddened now to recall how short our life together was, only fifteen years.  My sweet, they were the most blissful years one could ever dream of living.  We had our son, Robert Wideman Browning, who brought us both delight.  Tis true, I was desolate that my father refused to read my letters and returned them unopened.  You held me when I wept.  You dried my tears and assured me my father loved me.  Thank you for that.

I loved our home in Florence. It gave me a sense of peace in spite of my constant turmoil over social issues like children working long hours and the oppression of women.  Oh my dearest, I tried so hard to bring attention to the plight of those denied their rights as humans. 

My concern for the rights of others diminished my popularity with those who preferred my romantic poetry.  My darling, I felt inspired to help those who could not help themselves.   

Were I to live in this age, I would continue my fight for the poor, the hungry, and the needy but only for those oppressed by others, not for those who have chosen the path of their own enslavement.

Please, my darling husband, take me from these dismal thoughts.  Present your thoughts and the tale of your life before I became your wife.

Robert:

I wish not to dwell on my life before I met you my darling.  It was not one of which I can take pride.  In my youth, I was a rebel, a fighter, and a discontent.  I was turned from school to tutor and from tutor to my mother whom I adored.  She was frail, not well.  Some have said my attraction to you in your ill condition was because you reminded me of my mother.  It matters not my darling how you came into my life under any circumstance I would have loved you as no other.

My youth was spent in idleness due to a very generous father who knew early in my young manhood I was not destined to any suggestion of labor.  It was expected that I would follow my father and grandfather into the banking business. I could not envision sitting behind a desk, wearing stogie clothes, and presenting a prim and proper attitude. No, I believed firmly in myself as a poet.  Alas, publishers did not agree.  Again my father enabled me to live my dream life.  He bought copies of my works and gave them to family and friends who decried an understanding of them.  I let that not dissuade me.  I pursued my dream, my destiny.

How fortunate I was my dear to acquire your acquaintance through a mutual friend.  He was one of the few visitors your father allowed into your room.  He believed we would benefit in our work through each other. I adored your poetry, even though it made me realize how inept mine was.  I was enthralled by your genius.  Your mind pursued the classics and yet you could reach those not endowed with a great education, such as myself.

My darling I want to continue but my life was nothing until you became one with me and gave me the bounty of your love and your genius.  I held you as you breathed your last breath and joined those who were waiting for you in the great beyond.  I was naught to let you be taken from me and dreamed only when we would be together again.

Elizabeth:  

As we are my darling Robert, as we will always be.

The End

© 2012   M.Bradley McCauley  All Rights Reserved No part of this Blog may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of M. Bradley McCauley, author, publisher. 

All photos of the 'greats' are from Wikimedia Commons unless otherwise specified

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My Favorite Philosophers, Writers, Poets, Statesmen!

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Creating this Blog about some of my favorite philosophers, writers, poets, and statesmen, has been a labor of love that began in the late '90's.  Each was written after I read about one in "Little Journeys into the Homes of the Greats". This is a collection of books written by Elbert Hubbard and published monthly starting in 1894.

1856 - 1915 

Creator/Author of Little Journeys to the Homes of the Great.

The biographies were collected and republished in a 14-volume Memorial Edition in 1916, shortly after Mr. and Mrs. Hubbard died during the sinking of the RMS Lusitania, sunk by a German submarine on May 7, 1915.

I am thrilled to have the 1928 Memorial Edition printed by the #Roycrofters. A dear friend, Barbara Jean Rowe, gave me a 14-volume set including the Little Guide Book. Each volume contains photos of the great men and women whose homes Mr. Hubbard visited and whose lives he writes about in his undeniable style.

Near the bottom of the web page is written - "but thoughts being in the air are the possession of whoever can seize them..."

I believe the thoughts of Mr. Hubbard permeated the air and instilled in me the desire to create my personal journey into the lives of the greats.

Click any Link to Read

Confucius Says

Dialog Between Socrates and Plato

Aristotle Student - Teacher

Hypatia - Martyr for Platoism

Swedenberg - Inventor 

Jane Austin - Romance Novelist

Washington - His early years

Ben Franklin - Statesman, Inventor, Bon vivant

Ralph Waldo Emerson - American Essayist, Lecturer and Poet

Henry David Thoreau - Writer - Naturalist

Harriet Beecher Stowe - Creator of Uncle Tom's Cabin

Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning - Lovers - Poets

Lord Byron - English Poet - Traveler

Garibaldi - Hero of Italian Unification - Adventurer

© 2012   M.Bradley McCauley  All Rights Reserved No part of this Blog may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of M. Bradley McCauley, author, publisher. 

All photos of the 'greats' are from Wikimedia Commons unless otherwise specified

Some of the links in this Blog may be affiliate links, which means I may receive compensation from some of the entities listed here for referrals, as their thank you for sending you their way.. 

Confucius Says....

Confucius

First, I must first tell you about my early years. I was born in China in 551 BC. My father, Heih was governor of one of the areas in China. He was in his seventies when I was born, and he died when I was three. My mother,  a beautiful woman, much younger than my father, taught me to work hard, live humbly, and serve my fellow man.

From an early age, I was taught that I was no better than any of the other children in the village. My father's status as governor was an honor he had earned, not mine, and I was made to work in the garden, tend the herds, and bring food and water.

"Let a man's labor be proportioned to his needs, for he who works beyond his strength does but add to his cares and disappointments. A man should be moderate even in his efforts."

Our life was simple. Hard work helped develop my body. Quiet times at work gave me time to think about nature. I loved the beauty of the world, especially music.

I learned to play the lute, which is similar to today's guitar.  Great happiness for me was to play and sing songs that I made up. People would come from far and near to hear my songs, and I thanked heaven for my ability to entertain them.

Because of my father's position, I was considered a 'prince'. I was what today would be called a 'pauper prince'. We owned land but not wealth in monetary terms.

As I got older, my duty was to ride throughout our state and make sure the people were living in harmony and there was no unrest. Numerous times I found herders fighting over cattle, or where the goats were to graze. I would tell them to treat each other as they wished to be treated. Today it is known as "The Golden Rule".  To me, it was a way of life.

Once when I become weary of all the fighting occurring among my people, I painted a symbol of love and friendship on a piece of wood and placed it in front of my tent. It became a flag of peace that people would carry with them in a show of friendship to strangers.

I tried to teach people that quarreling is useless. It tires the body and mind. It causes what you call stress and in the end, no one really wins since each body has been depleted by the friction.

I was considered a teacher in my time. Now I am called a philosopher. I believed that every truth has four corners and as a teacher, I give you one corner, and it is for you to find the other three. When a man has been helped around one corner of a square and cannot manage by himself to get around the other three, he is unworthy of further assistance.

Perhaps some of the things I believed in that long ago time would be useful to the people of today. Some of them I learned from a great Chinese philosopher, Lao-tsze. I present some of those thoughts to you now. Be guided by them, use them in your life, and you will create a world for yourself that brings you great happiness.

"As riches adorn a house, so does an expanded mind adorn and tranquilize the body. Hence, it is that the superior man will seek to establish his motives on correct principles."

"Beware of ever over doing that which you are likely, sooner or later, to repent of having done."

"The men of old spoke little. It would be well to imitate them, for those who talk much are sure to say something it would be better left unsaid."

"A man must reason calmly for, without reason, he would look and not see, listen and not hear."

"We should not search for love or demand it, but so live that it will flow to us."

Perhaps my thoughts and beliefs would be laughed at in your world today. It is indeed a much different world than mine, more complex, industrialized. We lived simply in my time, working the land, tending the cattle and using our hand to build without machinery.

Somehow I feel that the words and ideas can be used anytime, with any people. I hope you will consider them in the context of your world. I also hope that you will find joy in the life you live.

Love the land and all of nature. Be thoughtful of your neighbor, and work so that you feel you have always done your best. Treat yourself with kindness and treat others as you would treat yourself.

Also in this Blog:

Dialog Between Socrates and Plato

M.Bradley McCauley

© 2012 All Rights Reserved

No part of this Blog may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of M. Bradley McCauley, author, publisher.

Click a link to read another.

Confucius Says

Dialog Between Socrates and Plato

Aristotle Student - Teacher

Hypatia - Martyr for Platonism

Swedenborg - Inventor 

Jane Austin - Romance Novelist

Washington - His early years

Ben Franklin - Statesman, Inventor, Bon vivant

Ralph Waldo Emerson - American Essayist, Lecturer, and Poet

Henry David Thoreau - Writer - Naturalist

Harriet Beecher Stowe - Creator of Uncle Tom's Cabin

Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning - Lovers - Poets

Lord Byron - English Poet - Traveler

Garibaldi - Hero of Italian Unification - Adventurer

.

All photos of the 'greats' are from Public Domain unless otherwise specified

                  

                                           

 © 2012   M.Bradley McCauley  All Rights Reserved No part of this Blog may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of M. Bradley McCauley, author, publisher. 

All photos of the 'greats' are from Wikipedia Commons unless otherwise specified

George Washington Says Hello

George Washington

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 I am humbled and proud to be called the Father of this great nation. It is an honor bestowed beyond my youthful dreams and simple ambitions. I often think it would have been better served to be placed upon the author of our Declaration of Independence, my friend, and fellow Virginian, Thomas Jefferson, or any of the other framers of the Constitution. Great men all, who would well deserve the honor bestowed upon me. They held my deepest admiration, and I was honored to be among them as they founded the basic ideas for our country.

You know of my involvement as a General of the Army when we fought the British for our freedom. Much has been written of my crossing the Delaware River to do battle with Lord Cornwallis and his troops, but did you know it was the third crossing? Another occurred on Christmas Day.

I am not writing to review my life and times as a General or as the first President of the United States. I have come to give a glimpse of my time before those written in great lengths by historians throughout several generations.

I am here to show you my life, begun in simple trappings in a small community in West Moreland County Virginia. My father, Augustine Washington married my mother after his first wife died, leaving him with two sons. He was not a man of wealth and prestige; he was a simple planter. It would not be said he was a gentleman farmer, nor the lord of a plantation, but a man with some land, which he managed and earned a living for his family.

Born a year after their marriage, I was very fond of my mother, Mary Ball. She was an austere, self-disciplined woman who often seemed to lack sentimentality towards any of her six children. As the eldest, I was quite aware of her sensibility, and also aware of her loving heart, hidden beneath the veneer of her stoic courage.

 We moved from Westmoreland County twice before my father died when I was eleven, eventually settling near Fredericksburg. I am sad to report my education was quite limited. Unlike children of the gentry who could afford tutors, I was taught by my mother and my older, half-brother Lawrence, whom I greatly admired. I had some schooling in the local schoolhouse, but my formal education ended when I was fourteen.

I was not only limited in formal education but in social skills as well. I have a great indebtedness to Lawrence, who was the epitome of social graces and charm and was most anxious to teach me when I visited him at his home, Mt. Vernon.

In spite of my humble and limited education, I was quite good at mathematics and learned some of the basics of surveying. Eventually, at the age of seventeen, I became a surveyor and was quite content in that field. I was able to make a substantial living and even buy some land, hoping to someday become a gentleman farmer.

Alas, I was most saddened when my dear brother and mentor died of tuberculosis. For a long time, I was morose, in deep sorrow, grieving as I had not even grieved with the passing of my father. To ease the pain, I took on a great deal of work, neglected my personal life, and almost became a recluse. That was all turned about in two years when Lawrence’s daughter died and I inherited Mt. Vernon. I vowed I would finish the dream of my brother to embellish the home and lands and make it one of the great plantations in Virginia.

I was not granted much time to fulfill the dream. Because I had also inherited his rank as Major in the Virginia militia. In less than a year I was ordered by Governor Dimwiddle to deliver a message to the French, who were occupying the land near an area that is known today as Pittsburgh. At that time, it was part of the Virginia western frontier. It was a very long and arduous journey of 900 miles during freezing weather and many hazards.

A few months later, the Governor advanced my rank to Lt. Colonel and sent me with 150 men to do battle with the French in the Ohio territory. Sadly, and with great humiliation, I lost the battle. It has been noted in history that this skirmish was what started the French and Indian War.

Unfortunately, it was not my only defeat in battle. I regrettably recall the battle of New York City when General Howe’s army defeated us at Long Island. But, I am not here to speak of my life during those times. Historians have noted it in great detail.

I returned to Mt. Vernon after my defeat by the French, resigned my military position, and again endeavored to become a successful landowner and farmer. It was at this time I met and married Martha Dandridge Custis, a handsome and appealing widow, mother of two children who became very dear to me. The gossip-mongers insisted I married my Martha for her wealth and estate near Williamsburg. I shall give no credence to this tale.

After two defeats, I was finally elected to the Virginia House of Burgesses, a group of landowners who met regularly in Williamsburg to form laws that could be approved or not by the Governor, his council of six well-known citizens, or directors in London. At that time, we were still a colony of the English Crown.

While politics was not one of my main concerns of the day, I did enjoy the rapport and idea exchange with the likes of Jefferson and Patrick Henry. Through them, I became concerned about the increasing disputes between the Colonies and Great Britain.

I had mixed emotions. After I had resigned my commission in 1755, I volunteered to be an aide to General Edward Braddock, who was sent by the King to oust the French from the Ohio Country, if you recall, it was the area of my defeat as a military commander.

However, because of my commitment to helping send the French out of the territory, I was given command of Virginia’s entire military force, and, with a few hundred men I was dispatched to protect 350 miles of the frontier. Once the British took full command, I returned to my beloved Mt. Vernon.

It was memories of my time with the British commander that I had hesitant thoughts about breaking with our mother country. Those thoughts were eventually dispelled after I was selected to be one of the six Virginia delegates to the Continental Congress in Philadelphia.

As unrest increased among the delegates and their constituents at home, the thoughts of breaking with the King and possible war became apparent. At that time, I was commissioned to take command of the Continental Army. It was a frightening position as I had only seen battle along the frontier. Never did I feel worthy to be in this esteemed position; however, my military experience was more than any other who had been considered.

I had written to Martha telling her I did not expect the time away to last too long. It was eight years before I returned to Mt. Vernon and my family for good.

As I said earlier, I’m sure you have read or heard of my time as a military leader, eventually as president of the new United States of America. I caution you, do not believe all that you read.

Did I actually chop down the cherry tree, or was that merely a tale embellished upon by one of my first biographers, Mason Locke Weems?

Did I have wooden teeth? With your modern technology, it has been learned my teeth, which I began losing at an early age, were carved from Hippopotamus ivory.

Was I as austere, straight-laced, and serious as my mother? No, I loved to dance and much to Martha’s annoyance, I liked to pay attention to the ladies. You would call it flirting.

How about throwing the silver dollar across the Potomac? Anyone who has seen that river in our Capital knows it is impossible; however, I had a cousin who swore I threw one across the narrower Rappahannock. Actually, I don’t recall the incident.

I am hesitant to dispel any of the misguided historic tales about my life and times. I would like to leave you with this.

To serve my fellow citizens, to work the land I loved, to keep accounts of my expenditures, to be in the company of great men who formed this country, some who died for their beliefs, and to have lived a good life is what I hope you will most remember about me.

M.Bradley McCauley ã 2012 All Rights Reserved No part of this Blog may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of M. Bradley McCauley, author, publisher. 

All photos of the 'greats' are from Wikipedia Commons unless otherwise specified

Benjamin Franklin - Statesman, Inventor, Bon vivant

It amuses me that I am often remembered more for my enjoyment of the fair sex than for my inventions, writing, and statesmanship. Yes, I did enjoy the ladies, and I was often surprised that they, even the very young ones, returned my advances.

I wonder how many people know that I was born in Boston, not Philadelphia. As the youngest of fifteen children, I was quite spoiled by my mother. To bring some discipline into my life, I was apprenticed to my older brother and I learned the trade of a printer.

Not too infrequently, I wrote things and slipped them under the door of his office. He, thinking they had been written by someone more erudite than I, printed them. When he learned they were my musing, he was most unpleasant. I thought it a good idea to leave, and I sailed on a schooner to Philadelphia.

Ahh, the City of Brotherly Love, how I enjoyed the environs, especially after I made the acquaintance of Deborah Reed, whom I eventually married.

In most areas, I led a charmed and happy life. I followed my trade as a printer and did quite well. My life was most pleasant. I was a writer, a fair politician, and I invented useful items. Today people refer to the reading glasses I made as “Franklin Glasses.” That too amuses me. As you can tell, I have always been a rather jovial person, even more so when I was able to retire at the rather young age of 42.

Retiring early is what afforded me the opportunity to begin my career as a statesman. I started an organization called the Junto Club. Here, some of the learned and interesting men of Philadelphia gathered to discuss the events of the times and how we could benefit others and ourselves from them. This was the foundation for the Public Library. I suppose one could say I started the library in order for more people to have access to my writings, but that was not quite my intent.

My little experiment with the kite and key may have seemed like folly to the people of my day, but you know what has become of it. I will admit it was a bit scary standing out there in the flashing storm but so worthwhile. I proved a point, did I not?

I enjoyed several years of experimenting, but I knew the unrest that was occurring in our colonies. The people were not happy with the way they were being treated by the Crown, and in 1754 I wrote a piece determining that it would be wise for the colonies to unite. I expounded on this thesis for a time and finally, in 1757 I was sent to England as an agent to plead the cause of our fledgling country.

It was a most enjoyable five-year experience. William, the young lad I had brought back from England previously and adopted as my son, were entertained by most of the socially known and hospitable gentry. While I was considered quite a social gad-about, I was quietly making the feelings of my countrymen known. Unfortunately, those in power were not listening. They paid no heed. Most of them thought the colonists were indolent little upstarts.

I returned to my home for a short two years. The Stamp Act was most likely the crowning blow. Back I went to merry old England, but again to no avail. Only a handful of the elite heard what I was telling them over the next few years. Finally, knowing I could make no changes in what was happening, I sailed home and became one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence.

When war broke out, our little bands of men prepared to do battle with the great might of England. I went to France and entreated them to help our cause. They responded quite heartily, and I am happy to say my years in that allied country were joyfully spent. Ahh, France, how lively she was and most beautiful. But I must not remain in nostalgia, I am here to share with you my life and times. Some, of course, are not to be written in detail. Suffice to say, "Oh, France, how I enjoyed my sojourn there."

I believe my life was one of great delight. I enjoyed the things I did as a writer, statesman, inventor, and Bon vivant. I was given the opportunity to travel, to meet many great people in different countries, to be a founding father of a great nation, and to tinker with ideas that turned into successful inventions.

I always attempted to live within the dictates of my conscience. Which were, to harm no one, to be of use to others, and to enjoy my life.

By Jove, I think I did it.

                       

All photos of the 'greats' are from Wikimedia Commons unless otherwise specified

Lord Byron -English Poet

I was not lame, as has oft been told. My limp was not due to a malformation but an accident during my birth. Let that first be known and accepted. It was not an honor to be considered a lame poet. 

Also, I was not born a Lord. That distinguished honor came to me on the death of an uncle. I, being the only male heir, became Lord Bryon upon my uncle's death. I was christened George Gordon Byron. Let it be understood, I was not born into society nor raised among the more cultured class.

I was the son of an Army Captain, a rather vagabond person known to many as Black Jack Byron. My mother, whom I truly would prefer not to discuss, was his second wife and I am his second child. My stepsister, Augusta, was born two years before her mother, Baroness Conyers, died in France, after leaving her husband the Marquis of Carmarthen to live with my father. Nothing more needs to be said of this relationship except that I loved Augusta but was not in love with Augusta, as it has sometimes been mistakenly told.

I had a most unpleasant childhood. My father traveled with his regiment, most often squandering the pay before caring for his family. Augusta was more fortunate than I. After her mother died, she lived with her grandparents, who were quite well off financially and she was raised in a genteel environment. I, on the other hand, was often left to my own rearing. My mother was not skilled in parenting. She often taunted me, called me vile names, and then in bouts of remorse would embrace me until I felt I would suffocate. I both loved and hated her. The hate was because I wanted her to love me, but most of the time she chose to ignore me.

My schooling was intermittent. Sometimes I went, sometimes I didn't. It was my father's genes I believe I inherited that prompted me to act the role of a vagabond and live a life of pleasures of the flesh. Sometimes with drink, sometimes gambling, sometimes carousing.

About the time I turned sixteen I fell in love. It was far different than my youthful infatuation with Mary Duff. My love for her was the love I could not bear for my mother. She listened to my childish yearnings. She gave me respect rather than taunts, understanding rather than criticism, joy rather than sorrow. An unloved child needs someone like Mary Duff.

My first passionate love came about after my uncle's title and inheritance were bestowed upon me. My mother took us to Nottingham and Miss Chatsworth lived on a neighboring estate. I was smitten with affection as well as physical attraction though she was not what one would call a great beauty. I knew it not then, but she dallied with my attention, driving me to sublime pleasure with a glance, or deepest agony with a rebuff.

Never knowing what mood she would present in my presence, I took to expressing my feelings in little rhymes, which I thought she treasured and that she was beginning to return my heart's desire when I accidentally overheard her remarks to a servant. The words, "Don't imagine that I am such a fool as to love that lame boy," cut me deeply, wounded me, I thought, beyond healing.

Yes, yes, I will admit I had a sensitive nature. Lacking the guidance of a father or any male, I was not admonished to be a man and hide my feelings. I more often struggled with them, trying desperately not to weep upon a sorrowful occurrence in the company of peers

When I felt the need, I would retreat to my educational foundation at Harrow School, where I sauntered between studies and follies. Hoping to become manlier, for lack of another word, I studied the art of pugilism, along with perfecting the art of dalliance. It was a lackluster existence with no defined objective or a driven purpose.

Our funds dwindled and as the estate became too costly to maintain, we moved to Southwell, a small, rather dull village between Mansfield and Newark. By then I was attending Cambridge. Note, I stated, "I was attending," as I did not consider myself “studying” at Cambridge.

The one high point of living in Southwell was my association with John Pigot and his sister. They became dear friends and we spent many hours together taking long walks, idling much of our time. They were the catalysts to my becoming a writer of prose, or verse if you will, of poetry. Encouragement in any endeavor had never been placed upon me until they, dear, dear friends, delighted in my scribbling. Their glowing praise and obvious enjoyment of the words I wrote and read to them kindled my desire to do more. Eventually, they instilled in me a confidence to have my words printed, bound and titled, Juvenilia, which to my surprise sold for a sixpence.

Empowered by the success of Juvenilia, I proceeded to write and compile another printed book, which I called, Hours of Idleness. My vision of being hailed as a writer of worth was impaled by the scathing criticism of Lord Brougham in the Edinburgh Review. Crushed, daunted, exasperated beyond normal frustration, I became incensed and determined to destroy the assailant of my heartfelt words with the very weapon of his ridicule, the pen, and paper.

Anger seethed within, as I searched for vilifying words of contempt for all those critics who often destroyed the artistic endeavors of emerging talent. It was with an angry heart that I wrote and published, English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. When it was done, I retreated to my Newstead Estate, bringing along revelers who joined me in days and nights of partying and debauchery.

Leaving all that behind me, I decided it was time to take my rightful place in the House of Lords and become a gentleman. I was not welcome, unfortunately being assailed by Lord Carlisle, my guardian, with whom I had been at odds for quite some time. While not accepted by the peers, I presented myself as a member, as was my right.

In time, the life of a gentleman was not ordained for me. I soon found myself restless and anxious to be away from England. I am not ashamed to admit I was an admirer of Napoleon. Needless to say, my countrymen did not accept it.

Bored and restless, I borrowed a sum of money, recruited a friend, and my valet, Fletcher, to embark on a jolly adventure seeing other parts of the world. We toured Europe, enjoying the delights of the popular cities and the excitement of changing horizons, which encouraged my writing, Muse.

I diligently obeyed its command and wrote from city to city, from adventure to adventure, sometimes detailing encounters. One which I recall was in Athens. It was there I wrote, “Maid of Athens, ere we part, give, oh give me back my heart." As I look back upon that time, I wonder was it a fair lass of which I yearned, or was it Athens that had stolen my heart? I'm unsure.

Our two-year journey came to an end and, upon reaching the shores of England, I learned my mother had recently passed on. I was able to attend her funeral but did not remain for the burial. The pent-up emotions of our long-denied relationship burst to the surface and I could not bear to watch her interred into the ground, aware her mothering love would never be found.

I became settled and hoped to wed. In the meantime, I worked on a manuscript, a compilation of my writing during my travels. I presented it for publication. It was accepted and printed. Much to my surprise, and that of the publisher, John Murray, it became quite successful. Childe Harolds' Pilgrimage. It had a run of seven editions in four weeks.

I must here tell that I was never fond of it. I was however quite fond of the attention and social amenities it afforded me. It was quite inebriating to be a celebrity in the social strata of England.

Eventually, I wed, a young woman of some financial means. Our union lasted little beyond a year. When our babe Ada was but a few weeks old, her mother departed with her and moved back to live with her mother. This hasty, ill-thought decision aroused gossip, tales of abuse, and accusations of infidelity. I went from being a celebrity to a scourge on society. I was warned to watch where I ventured for a mob could assemble and become threatening.

I knew it would be of no use to defend myself against the scathing diatribes. It was time for me to again leave the country of my birth. With a heavy heart, I boarded a ship that would take me to Holland. I was twenty-eight, had lived a lifetime of dissatisfaction, and I was determined to be an author of merit.

My travels through Germany and Switzerland inspired me beyond anything I had anticipated. Words flowed effortlessly. I became enthused with each inspiring view. It was as if a sleeping appreciative soul had awakened. I wrote and the words were published, accepted in England, and I felt a satisfaction I had never known before.

Was it this awakened soul that led me to Greece and a quiet, caring relationship with a woman who filled my heart with the love I had never known? Our five years together were my most endearing years. Perhaps, had I known her kind of love in my youth, I would have never felt that man's greatest tragedy

 “is that he can conceive of a perfection which he cannot attain.”

 With her, I came close to that perfection.
                                        

© 2012   M.Bradley McCauley  All Rights Reserved No part of this Blog may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of M. Bradley McCauley, author, publisher. 

All photos of the 'greats' are from Wikimedia Commons unless otherwise specified

Ralph Waldo Emerson - American Essayist, Lecturer and Poet

Much ado was made at my passing from this life. Surely people knew that I was ready for the journey. Near the end, my memory failed and my mind was not as keen and agile as it had been. I no longer wrote, nor could I converse with a degree of competency. Time had taken its toll, but I was ready, and I knew I was about to embark on another journey.

It had been an easy life that I enjoyed during the early times. Life was not complex. I came from a respected family, was fortunate to receive a good education, and had the benefits of good friends of intelligence.

As a young man, I aspired to become a minister. I achieved that goal, however, in very little time I determined it was not the life for me. My philosophies were not readily acceptable to the clergy. When I left the ministry, I embarked on a trip to England where I had longed to go to meet with men of literature. In my youthful mind, I believed this young country of America had no literary masters.

In years to come, I would know men such as Carlyle, Wordsworth, Coleridge, and Dickens who became friends. I was privileged to dine with Tennyson, exchange ideas with Macaulay, admire the inventiveness of George Stephenson, and the mind of Thackeray.

As I grew older and wiser, I admired and respected my countrymen: Bronson; Alcott; Henry James: Margaret Fuller; Nathaniel Hawthorne, and my dearest friend, Henry David Thoreau, the young man I had taken into my home to assist me in my attempt at farming.

How grand and yet simple were his stories. His oneness with nature embellished all that he said and did. I recall helping him attain a scholarship to Harvard, and the joy I felt when he returned, still imbued with his love of nature, unimpressed by the classical education.

What can I say of my life? That I enjoyed the company of all people? I was equally at home with the laborer as with the socially elite. I wrote my thoughts and feelings and people invited me to speak them in public lectures. I was an admirer of the Plato philosophy and a member of the Transcendentalist Society*. My joy was exchanging ideas with anyone who cared to listen.

To be a poet of worth was my greatest aspiration, unfortunately, it was not to be. My rhyme and verse were acceptable but not of great literary value.

As a farmer, I also failed. Hawthorne once wrote that my idea of farming was to lean on a hoe while Thoreau leaned upon a rake and Alcott sat on the fence. It is somewhat true. We greatly enjoyed discourse over workhorse.

My thoughts and philosophies were not new. They had been the filtration of wisdom from earlier times. I embraced the thoughts and beliefs of masters before me and reconciled them with my own intuitive spirit.  In my essay, "Fate", I wrote:

“No one can read the history of astronomy
without perceiving that Copernicus, Newton,
Laplace. are not new men or a new kind of men,
but that Thales, Anaximenes, Hipparchus,
Pythagoras, OEnipodes, had anticipated them;”

Did  Socrates and Plato come before Immanuel Kant? And before Moses, Confucius, and Pythagoras? When people today speak of New Thought, compare it to ancient wisdom and you will find that nothing new exists under the sun that has not been envisioned by another.

How do I appraise myself as a writer? In my essay on beauty I stated:

"It is proof of high culture to say, the greatest matters in the simplest way," or

“To clothe the fiery thought,
In simple words succeeds,
For still the craft of genius is
To mask a king in weeds.”

I believe that we could learn much from the laborers who work close to nature. Watch a man build a bridge, see a woman tend her garden, observe the tin maker crafting his wares, and you see nature in her finest hours.

If we are true to our nature, open our minds to the voice of the universal spirit, allow the will of fate to guide our actions, break no law of nature, then we have lived to the fullest measure of our being. To that end, I hope I achieved a modicum of success.

Click any Link to Read

Confucius Says

Dialog Between Socrates and Plato

Aristotle Student - Teacher

Hypatia - Martyr for Platoism

Swedenberg - Inventor 

Jane Austin - Romance Novelist

Washington - His early years

Ben Franklin - Statesman, Inventor, Bon vivant

Ralph Waldo Emerson - American Essayist, Lecturer and Poet

Henry David Thoreau - Writer - Naturalist

Harriet Beecher Stowe - Creator of Uncle Tom's Cabin

Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning - Lovers - Poets

Lord Byron - English Poet - Traveler

Garibaldi - Hero of Italian Unification - Adventurer

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From Wikipedia
*Transcendentalists believed that society and its institutions—particularly organized religion and political parties—ultimately corrupted the purity of the individual. They had faith that people are at their best when truly "self-reliant" and independent. It is only from such real individuals that true community could be formed. 

© 2012   M.Bradley McCauley:
All Rights Reserved No part of this Blog may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of M. Bradley McCauley, author, publisher. 

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