I am glad to see that the moderns are collecting the remains of good old George Herbert, and giving them an elegant surtout. His address to money is a jewel, and none the worse for its antique setting:
“Money! Thou bane of bliss, and source of wo!
Whence com’st thou, that thou art so fresh and fine?
I know thy parentage is base and low;
Man found thee, poor and dirty, in a mine.
“Surely thou didst so little contribute
To this great kingdom, which thou now hast got,
That he was fain, when thou wert destitute,
To dig thee out of thy dark cave and grot.
“Then, forcing thee by fire, he made thee bright;
Nay, thou hast got the face of man, for we
Have, with our stamp and seal, transferred our right;
Thou art the man, and we but dross to thee!
“Man calleth thee his wealth, who made thee rich,
And, while he digs out thee, falls in the ditch.”
The mere selfish getters of gain, who dispense it not, are, civiliter et humaniter mortui—dead as a door nail—dead dogs in the manger! I come not to bury them, at present; but, if possible, to awaken some of them with my penny trumpet; otherwise they may die in good earnest in their sins; their last breath giving evidence of their ruling passion—muttering not the tête d’armée of Napoleon, but the last words of that accomplished Israelite, who caused his gold to be counted out, before his failing eyes—per shent.
No. XXXII.
Making mourning, as an abstract phrase, is about as intelligible, as making fish. These arbitrary modes of expression have ever been well enough understood, nevertheless, by those employed in the respective operations. Making mourning, in ancient times, was assigned to that class of hired women, termed præficæ, to whom I have had occasion to refer. They are thus described, by Stephans—adhiberi solebant funeri, mercede conductæ, ut flerent, et fortia facta laudarent—they were called to funerals, and paid, to shed tears, and relate the famous actions of the defunct. Doubtless, by practice, and continual exercise of the will over the lachrymary organs, they acquired the power of forcing mechanical tears. We have a specimen of this power, in the case of Miss Sophy Streatfield, so often referred to, by Madame D’Arblay, in her account of those happy days at Mrs. Thrale’s. Making mourning, in modern times, is, with a few touching exceptions, confined to that important class, the dress-makers.
The time allowed, for mourning, was determined, by the laws of Numa. Plutarch informs us, that no mourning was allowed, for a child, that died under three years, and for all others, a month, for every year it had lived, but never to exceed ten, which was the longest term, allowed for any mourning. We often meet with the term, luctus annus, the year of mourning; but the year of Romulus contained but ten months; and, though Numa added two, to the calendar, the term of mourning remained unchanged. The howlers, or wailing women, were employed also in Greece, and in Judea. Thus in Jeremiah ix. 17, call for the mourning women, &c., and let them make haste and take up a wailing for us, that our eyes may run down with tears, &c.
By the laws of Numa, widows were required to mourn ten months or during the year of Romulus. Thus Ovid, Fast. i. 35:
Per totidem menses a funere conjugis uxor
Sustinet in vidua tristia signa domo.
Numa was rather severe upon widows. The tristia signa, spoken of by Ovid, were sufficiently mournful. According to Kirchmaun de Fun. iv. 11, they were not to stir abroad in public—to abstain entirely from all entertainments—to lay aside every kind of ornament—to dress in black—and not even to kindle a fire, in their houses. Not content with stinting and freezing these poor, lone creatures, to death, Numa forbade them to repeat the matrimonial experiment, for ten months. Indeed, it was accounted infamous, for a widow to marry, within that period. As though he were resolved to add insult to injury, he, according to Plutarch, permitted those to violate this law, who would make up their minds, to sacrifice a cow with calf. This unnatural sacrifice was intended, by Numa, to frighten the widows. Doubtless, in many instances, the legislative bugbear was effectual; but it is quite probable there were some courageous women, in those days, as there are, at present, who would have slaughtered a whole drove, rather than yield the tender point.
The Jews expressed their grief, for the death of their near friends, by weeping, and crying aloud, beating their breasts, rending their clothes, tearing their flesh, pulling their hair, and starving themselves. They neither dressed, nor made their beds, nor washed, nor saw visitors, nor shaved, nor cut their nails, and made their toilets with sackcloth and ashes. The mourning of the Jews lasted commonly seven days, and never more than thirty—quite long enough, we should think, for such an exhibition of filth and folly. The Greeks also did much of all this—they covered themselves with dust and dirt, and rolled in the mire, and beat their breasts, and tore their faces.
The color of the mourning garb, among the Romans, was originally black—from the time of Domitian, white. At present, the color of the mourning dress, in Europe is black—in China white—in Turkey blue or violet—in Egypt yellow—in Ethiopia brown. There have come down to us two admirable letters from Seneca, 63, and 99, on the subject of lamentation for the dead; the first to Lucilius, after the death of his friend, Flaccus—the second to Lucilius, communicating the letter Seneca had written to Murullus, on the death of his son. These letters must be read, cum grano salis, on account of the stoical philosophy of the writer. He admits the propriety of decent sorrow, but is opposed to violent and unmeasured lamentations—nec sicci sint occuli, amisso amico, nec fluant—shed tears, if you have lost your friend, but do not cry your eyes out—lacrimandum est, non plorandum—let there be weeping, but not wailing. He cites, for the advantage of Lucilius, the counsel of Ulysses to Achilles, whose grief, for the death of Patroclus, had become inordinate, to give one whole day to his sorrow, and have done with it. He considers it not honorable, for men, to exhibit their grief, beyond the term of two or three days. Such, upon the authority of Tacitus De Mor. Germ. 27, was the practice of the ancient Germans. Funerum nulla ambitio: … struem rogi nec vestibus, nec odoribus, cumulant: … lamenta ac lacrimas cito, dolorem et tristitiam tarde, ponunt; feminis lugere honestum est; viris meminisse: there was no pride of funereal parade; they heaped no garments, no odors, upon the pile; they speedily laid aside their tears and laments; not so their grief and sorrow. It was becoming, for women to mourn; for men to cherish in their memories.
In his letter to Lucilius, Seneca enters upon an investigation, as to the real origin of all this apparent sorrow, so freely and generally manifested, for the dead; and his sober conviction breaks forth, in the words—Nemo tristis sibi est. O infelicem stultitiam! est aliqua et doloris ambitio! No one mourns for himself alone. Oh miserable folly! There is ambition, even in our sorrow! This passage recalls Martial’s epigram, 34, De Gellia:
Amissum non flet, quum sola est Gellia, patrem;
Si quis adest, jussæ prosiliunt lacrymæ.
Non dolet hic, quisquis landari, Gellia, quærit;
Ille dolet vere, qui sine teste dolet.
Arthur Murphy, in his edition of Dr. Johnson’s works, ascribes to that great man the following extraordinary lines:
If the man, who turnips cries,
Cry not, when his father dies,
’Tis a proof, that he had rather
Have a turnip than his father.
Under the doctor’s