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Publicatio  ns
There have been many publications produced concerning the plot. They all try to put the facts in order and some do quite well. One thing all such publications do is to convey reassessments based upon the time- reflections based upon the context of the writer. They are as ripples sent out by the plot itself. (see also Prayers/Prayerbooks) From 1606 to the present day we hope to trace those ripples of the plot in later works that refer to it or to the celebration of the 5th. Do you have one? We would love to hear about it! Send us e.mail click here! (Image above- From Broadside printers boys in Boston [1768]. see below.) See also our pages specifically focusing on Charles Dickens-click here Sonnet 124 If my dear love were but the child of state, It might for Fortune's bastard be unfathered, As subject to Time's love or to Time's hate, Weeds among weeds or flowers with flowers gathered. No, it was builded far from accident, It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls Under the blow of thralléd discontent, Whereto the inviting time our fashion calls. It fears not policy, that heretic, Which works on leases of short-numbered hours, But all alone stands hugely politic, That it nor grows with heat nor drowns with showers. To this I witness call the fools of time, Which die for goodness, who have lived for crime. by William Shakespeare (1564-1616) Here Shakespeare refers to the Gunpowder plot. Parliament= "nor falls Under the blow of thralled discontent" Plotters: "the fools of time which die for goodness, who have lived for crime" Perhaps..... 1606-1631 Other “non-official” publications also were popular at the local level: John Rhodes wrote: “Fawkes at midnight, and by torchligh, there was found With long matches and devices, underground.- - A brief Summe of the Treason intended against the King & State, when they should have been assembled in Parliament, November 5, 1605. Fit for to instruct the simple and gnorant herin: that they be not seduced any longer by Papists.(London 1606) Francis Herring- Popish Pietie, or the first part of the history of that horrible and barbarous conspiracie, commonly called the Poweder-treason (1610) Latin Poem (113 stanzas) Dedicated to Princess Elizabeth (a target of the plot) “The Powder treason that monstrous birth of the Romish Harlot, cannot be forotten without great impiety and injury to ourselves...We shall be guilty of horrible ingratitude, the foulest of all vices, if we do not emprace all means of perpetuation the memory of so great, so gracious, and wonderful a preservation.”...”The quintessnce of Satan’s Policy, the furthest reach and stain of human mailice and cruelty, not to be paralleled among the savage Turks, the barbarous Indians, nor, as I am persuaded among the more brutish cannibals.” -(Francis Herring., Popish Piete, or the first part of the Historie of that horrible and barbarous conspiracie, commonly called the Powder-treason (London,1610) John Vicars wrote Mischeefes Mysterie:or, Treasons Master-peece. The Powder Plot (London 1617) which is based upon the work of Herring (see above) Vicars also wrote “England’s hallelu-jah; or, Great Britaines Retribution” (London, 1631) which describes the people of Britain as: “English Israelites...ingrafted on onld Israel’s stock” Samuel Garey 1618- the plot meant “the general martyrdom of the kingdom”...”Amphitheatrum scelurum: or the transcedent of treason, the day of a most admirable deliverance of our king, queen, prince, royal progeny , the spiritual and temporal peers and pillars of the church and state, together with the honorable assembly of the representative body of the kingdom in general , from that most horrible and hellsh project of the Gunpowder Treason” the plot was: “the quintessence of all impiety and confection of all villainy” the celebration was to be kept as: “holy feast unto the Lord throught the generations”....”How unworthy shall we be of future favours if so unthankful for past blessings? And truly herein the land is faulty in forgetting these benefits.”....”a few years being past, they began to slacken this duty, and are cold in praising God for so blessed a deliverance.” People should: “awaken our slumbering affections to this perpetual service of thankful rejoicing” to “to “imprint an eternal memento in the calendar of our hearst forever, of the marvellous mercy of God in keeping us from that intended destruction.” One could recite the narrative of the plot: “to rouse up and revive the languishing spirits of the land, with the renewed remembrance of so joyful a work.” As Garey notes : the retelling of the story of the plot was an integral part of observances. -Samuel Garey,Great Brittans little Calendar; or, Triple Diarie, in remembrance of three dates (London, 1618), Amphitheatrum Scelerum; or the Transcedent of Treason:For the Fifth of November (London 1618) John Wilson 1626 From: A Song of Deliverance From the Lasting Remembrance of Gods Wonderful Works Full twenty years agoe it was one thousand six hundred five, When papists, zealous for the Masse in England did contrive, The King, Queen, Peer, and noble Peers the Prelate, Judge, and Knight, And Burgesses, with powder fire/all at a clap to smite. . . . And if their strength be not enough to bring about the matter, Then Dagger, Dag, Fig, Powder stuffe [shall?] stab, shoot, poison, scatter. Thus were their heads and hands at work our State to overthrow, Supposing all the while to lurke under some [saifer?] show. -John Wilson, A Song or Story, for the Lasting Remembrance of Divers Famous Works, Which God Hath Done in Our Time (London: X, 1626): [15-19, 23-25?] John Taylor 1630 Now treason plotted in th’infernal den, Hell’s mischief masterpiece began to work, Assisted by unnatural Englishmen, And Jesuits, that within this land did lurk. These would Saint Peter to saltpetre turn, And make our kingdom caper in the air, At one blast, prince and peers and commons burn, And fill the land with murder and despair. No treason e’re might be compared to this, Such an escape the church had ne’re before: The glory’s God’s, the victory is his, Not unto us, to him be praise therefore. Our church is his, her foes may understand, That he defends her with his mighty hand. -John Taylor, “Gods Manifold Mercies,” All the Works of John Taylor (London: John Beale, et al., 1630), 2: 145. Almanacs 1608-1695 The Plot is also commemorated in Almanacs Edward Pond New Almanacke for this Present Yeare of our Lord 1608 lists the Papists Conspiracy as a red letter day.-(London, 1608) Henry Alleyn, Alleyns Almanacke or a Double diarie & Prognostication for 1608 notes for November 5:“King James Preserved.” Richard Allestree almanacs of 1620-30s marked November 5 as a red letter day.-(London 1628,1632,1640) John Booker in Telescopium Uranicum 1665 notes: “The Powder was papish, was it not? Yea, and an act made ne’re to be forgot.” (London, 1665) Poor Robin’s Almanac 1695 records: “Let Papists now with bluishing cheks remember, What they were practicing this month November, When as by powder they did vaunt and vapour, To make king, prince and lords i’th’ air to caper What’s ere’s forgot, the memory o’ the Powder Plot will hardly die. - (Poor Robin., An Almanack After the Old and New Fashion.,London, 1695) Diaries 1617-1623 Diary writers of the time also recorded the date for the celebration of the plot: Nicholas Asherton from Lancashire notes on Nov. 5, 1617 “Gunpowder treason, twelve years since, should have been’ but God’s mercy and goodness delivered us from the snare of devilish invention. To church; parson preached; dined parsonage.” -F.R. Raine (ed.) The Journal of Nicholas Assheton. (Chetham Society, 1848) Simonds D’Ewes a student at the Middle Temple wrote on Nov. 5 1622: “This is the memorable day upon which the papists had decreed to have blown up the parliament God delivered this land. At night preached Mr. Crashaw and made an excellent discourse of it” On Nov 5, 1623 he recorded: Wednesday being the fifth of November, the memorial of that act and shame of popery was celebrated, the Gunpowder....At night we had a sermon in memory of it.” -Elisabeth Bourcier (ed.). The Diary of Sir Simonds D’Ewes 1622-1624.(Paris, 1974) The Celebration of the 5th of November became an important one, however it was not a day off work but rather a day for prayer and meditiation and thanksgiving. As the 17th century progressed the celebrations became excuses for mischief. Michael Sparke wrote in the 1620’s: “Let us and our prosterity after us with bonfires trumpets, shawms and psalms laud and praise thy holy name on the fifth of november yearly and forever.” -Thankful Remembrance of God’s Wonderfull Deliverances of this Land (London 1628) Broadside and Writings 1640-41 1640 Broadside Hail happy hour, wherein that Hellish Plot Was found, which, had it prosper’d, might have shot At the Celestial Throne, at whose dread stroke Atlas had reel’d, and both the Poles had shoke: . . . Strange, sure, had been th’ Effects; it would have sped Our lawful King and left the Pope instead. . . . But didst thou think, thou mitred Man of Rome, Who bellowest threatnings and thy dreadful Doom, . . . At one sad stroke to massacre a Land, And make them fall whom heav’n ordained to stand. . . . As comes from thence: Our Nation need not fear Dark Lanterns, whilst God’s Candlestick is here. -”The Muse Fire Works Upon the F ifthy of November: or, The Protestants Remembrancr of the Bloody Designs of the Papists in the Never-to-be-forgotten Powder Plot (London 1640) John Vicars November 1641- addresses his work to “all loyal-hearted English Protestants which sincerely relish the power and purity of Christ’s gospel, and zealously detest the damnable doctrine of Antichrist.”-John Vicars “The Quintessence of Cruelty or Master-piece of Treachery, the Popish Powder-Plot -(London 1640) 1642 Arise, arise . . . ye members of the honourable houses . . . [A]ct something this day . . . worthy of this day . . . Root out not only popery but all that is popish. Let this day add something towards the perfection of that word. -Matthew Newcomen, The Craft and Cruelty of the Churches Adversaries Discovered in a Sermon Preached at St. Margarets in Westminster . . . Novemb. 5, 1642 (London: Printed for Peter Cole, 1643), 20, 31, 33. Press and Pamphlets c.1644-47 1644, The Fifth of November, a royalist pamphlet printed at Oxford University Religion is made the stalking horse to rebellion by both parties. The Jesuited [party] and the Anabaptized party row with the same oars, [and] sail by the same wind and compass, though their coats [boats?] be as far distant as Amsterdam and Rome. -Anonymous, The Fifth of November, or the Popish and Schismaticall Rebels, With Their Horrid Plots, Fair Pretences, and Bloudy Practices, Weighed One Against Another (Oxford: Printed for H. Hall and W. Webb, 1644), The Gunpowder Celebration was to be reserved for the king and not Parliament.-”The Fifth of November, or The Popish and Schismatical Rebels. With their Horrid Plots, Fair Pretences, and Bloudy Practices, Weighte One Against Another” (Oxford, 1644) Royalist Broadsheet 19 November 1647: November was “red in ink, redder in wine”-November (London,1647)Thomason collection, 669. F.11/93, collected 6 November 1647. Mercurius Elencticus 5-12 Nov. 1647 “If it shall please God (as who shall doubt it) to stop the issue of blood in this k ingdom, and to confound the plots and devices of the enemies thereof, restore the king to his crown, and the languishing subjects to his liberty, posterity will undoubtedly set apart the day, whereon to commemorate...so universal and unspeakable a deliverance of his majesty, and the howle kingdom, from the most destructive and d amnable conspiracies of a mad and bloody parliament”- Mercurius Elencticus 5-12 Nov. 1647 John Milton- 1645 & 1673 In Quintum Novembris JAm pius extremâ veniens Jäcobus ab arcto Teucrigenas populos, latéque patentia regna Albionum tenuit, jamque inviolabile foedus Sceptra Caledoniis conjunxerat Anglica Scotis: Pacificusque novo felix divesque sedebat In solio, occultique doli securus & hostis: Cum ferus ignifluo regnans Acheronte tyrannus, Eumenidum pater, æthereo vagus exul Olympo, Forte per immensum terrarum erraverat orbem, Dinumerans sceleris socios, vernasque fideles, Participes regni post funera moesta futuros; Hic tempestates medio ciet aëre diras, Illic unanimes odium struit inter amicos, Armat & invictas in mutua viscera gentes; Regnaque olivifera vertit florentia pace, Et quoscunque videt puræ virtutis amantes, Hos cupit adjicere imperio, fraudumque magister Tentat inaccessum sceleri corrumpere pectus, Insidiasque locat tacitas, cassesque latentes Tendit, ut incautos rapiat, se Caspia Tigris Insequitur trepidam deserta per avia prædam Nocte sub illuni, & somno nictantibus astris. Talibus infestat populos Summanus & urbes Cinctus cæruleæ fumanti turbine flammæ. Jamque fluentisonis albentia rupibus arva Apparent, & terra Deo dilecta marino, Cui nomen dederat quondam Neptunia proles Amphitryoniaden qui non dubitavit atrocem Æquore tranato furiali poscere bello, Ante expugnatæ crudelia sæcula Troiæ. At simul hanc opibusque & festâ pace beatam Aspicit, & pingues donis Cerealibus agros, Quodque magis doluit, venerantem numina veri Sancta Dei populum, tandem suspiria rupit Tartareos ignes & luridum olentia sulphur. Qualia Trinacriâ trux ab Jove clausus in Ætna Efflat tabifico monstrosus ab ore Tiphoeus. Ignescunt oculi, stridetque adamantius ordo Dentis, ut armorum fragor, ictaque cuspide cuspis. Atque pererrato solum hoc lacrymabile mundo Inveni dixit, gens hæc mihi sola rebellis, Contemtrixque jugi, nostrâque potentior arte. Illa tamen, mea si quicquam tentamina possunt, Non feret hoc impune diu, non ibit inulta, Hactenus; & piceis liquido natat aëre pennis; Quà volat, adversi præcursant agmine venti, Densantur nubes, & crebra tonitrua fulgent. Jamque pruinosas velox superaverat alpes, Et tenet Ausoniæ fines, à parte sinistrâ Nimbifer Appenninus erat, priscique Sabini, Dextra veneficiis infamis Hetruria, nec non Te furtiva Tibris Thetidi videt oscula dantem; Hinc Mavortigenæ consistit in arce Quirini. Reddiderant dubiam jam sera crepuscula lucem, Cum circumgreditur totam Tricoronifer urbem, Panificosque Deos portat, scapulisque virorum Evehitur, præeunt summisso poplite reges, Et mendicantum series longissima fratrum; Cereaque in manibus gestant funalia cæci, Cimmeriis nati in tenebris, vitamque trahentes. Templa dein multis subeunt lucentia tædis (Vesper erat sacer iste Petro) fremitúsque canentum Sæpe tholos implet vacuos, & inane locorum. Qualiter exululat Bromius, Bromiique caterva, Orgia cantantes in Echionio Aracyntho, Dum tremit attonitus vitreis Asopus in undis, Et procul ipse cavâ responsat rupe Cithæron. His igitur tandem solenni more peractis, Nox senis amplexus Erebi taciturna reliquit, Præcipitesque impellit equos stimulante flagello, Captum oculis Typhlonta, Melanchætemque ferocem, Atque Acherontæo prognatam patre Siopen Torpidam, & hirsutis horrentem Phrica capillis. Interea regum domitor, Phlegetontius hæres Ingreditur thalamos (neque enim secretus adulter Producit steriles molli sine pellice noctes) At vix compositos somnus claudebat ocellos, Cum niger umbrarum dominus, rectorque silentum, Prædatorque hominum falsâ sub imagine tectus Astitit, assumptis micuerunt tempora canis, Barba sinus promissa tegit, cineracea longo Syrmate verrit humum vestis, pendetque cucullus Vertice de raso, & ne quicquam desit ad artes, Cannabeo lumbos constrinxit fune salaces, Tarda fenestratis figens vestigia calceis. Talis uti fama est, vastâ Franciscus eremo Tetra vagabatur solus per lustra ferarum, Sylvestrique tulit genti pia verba salutis Impius, atque lupos domuit, Lybicosque leones. Subdolus at tali Serpens velatus amictu Solvit in has fallax ora execrantia voces; Dormis nate? Etiamne tuos sopor opprimit artus? Immemor O fidei, pecorumque oblite tuorum, Dum cathedram venerande tuam, diadmaque triplex Ridet Hyperboreo gens barbara nata sub axe, Dumque pharetrati spernunt tua jura Britanni: Surge, age, surge piger, Latius quem Cæsar adorat, Cui reserata patet convexi janua cæli, Turgentes animos, & fastus frange procaces, Sacrilegique sciant, tua quid maledictio possit, Et quid Apostolicæ possit custodia clavis; Et memor Hesperiæ disjectam ulciscere classem, Mersaque Iberorum lato vexilla profundo, Sanctorumque cruci tot corpora fixa probrosæ, Thermodoontéa nuper regnante puella. At tu si tenero mavis torpescere lecto Crescentesque negas hosti contundere vires, Tyrrhenum implebit numeroso milite pontum, Signaque Aventino ponet fulgentia colle: Relliquias veterum franget, flammisque cremabit, Sacraque calcabit pedibus tua colla profanis, Cujus gaudebant soleïs dare basia reges. Nec tamen hunc bellis & aperto Marte lacesses, Irritus ille labor, tu callidus utere fraude, Quælibet hæreticis disponere retia fas est; Jamque ad consilium extremis rex magnus ab oris Patricios vocat, & procerum de stirpe creatos, Grandeævosque patres trabeâ, canisque verendos; Hos tu membratim poteris conspergere in auras, Atque dare in cineres, nitrati pulveris igne Ædibus injecto, quà convenere, sub imis. Protinus ipse igitur quoscumque habet Anglia fidos Propositi, factique mone, quisquámne tuorum Audebit summi non jussa facessere Papæ. Perculsosque metu subito, casúque stupentes Invadat vel Gallus atrox, vel sævus Iberus Sæcula sic illic tandem Mariana redibunt, Tuque in belligeros iterum dominaberis Anglos. Et nequid timeas, divos divasque secundas Accipe, quotque tuis celebrantur numina fastis. Dixit & adscitos ponens malefidus amictus Fugit ad infandam, regnum illætabile, Lethen. Jam rosea Eoas pandens Tithonia portas Vestit inauratas redeunti lumine terras; Mæstaque adhuc nigri deplorans funera nati Irrigat ambrosiis montana cacumina guttis; Cum somnos pepulit stellatæ janitor aulæ Nocturnos visus, & somnia grata revolvens. Est locus æternâ septus caligine noctis Vasta ruinosi quondam fundamina tecti, Nunc torvi spelunca Phoni, Prodotæque bilinguis Effera quos uno peperit Discordia partu. Hic inter cæmenta jacent semifractaque saxa, Ossa inhumata virûm, & trajecta cadavera ferro; Hic Dolus intortis semper fedet ater ocellis, Jurgiaque, & stimulis armata Calumnia fauces, Et Furor, atque viæ moriendi mille videntur Et Timor, exanguisque locum circumvolat Horror, Perpetuoque leves per muta silentia Manes Exululant, tellus & sanguine conscia stagnat. Ipsi etiam pavidi latitant penetralibus antri Et Phonos, & Prodotes, nulloque sequente per antrum Antrum horrens, scopulosum, atrum feralibus umbris Diffugiunt sontes, & retrò lumina vortunt, Hos pugiles Romæ per sæcula longa fideles Evocat antistes Babylonius, atque ita fatur. Finibus occiduis circumfusum incolit æquor Gens exosa mihi, prudens natura negavit Indignam penitus nostro conjungere mundo: Illuc, sic jubeo, celeri contendite gressu, Tartareoque leves difflentur pulvere in auras Et rex & pariter satrapæ, scelerata propago Et quotquot fidei caluere cupidine veræ Consilii socios adhibete, operisque ministros. Finierat, rigidi cupidè paruere gemelli. Interea longo flectens curvamine caelos Despicit æthereâ dominus qui fulgurat arce, Vanaque perversæ ridet conamina turbæ, Atque sui causam populi volet ipse tueri. Esse ferunt spatium, quà distat ab Aside terra Fertilis Europe, & spectat Mareotidas undas; Hic turris posita est Titanidos ardua Famæ Ærea, lata, sonans, rutilis vicinior astris Quàm superimpositum vel Athos vel Pelion Ossæ Mille fores aditusque patent, totidemque fenestræ, Amplaque per tenues translucent atria muros; Excitat hic varios plebs agglomerata susurros; Qualiter instrepitant circum mulctralia bombis Agmina muscarum, aut texto per ovilia junco, Dum Canis æstivum coeli petit ardua culmen Ipsa quidem summâ sedet ultrix matris in arce, Auribus innumeris cinctum caput eminet olli, Queis sonitum exiguum trahit, atque levissima captat Murmura, ab extremis patuli confinibus orbis. Nec tot Aristoride servator inique juvencæ Isidos, immiti volvebas lumina vultu, Lumina non unquam tacito nutantia somno, Lumina subjectas late spectantia terras. Istis illa solet loca luce carentia sæpe Perlustrare, etiam radianti impervia soli. Millenisque loquax auditaque visaque linguis Cuilibet effundit temeraria, veráque mendax Nunc minuit, modò confictis sermonibus auget. Sed tamen a nostro meruisti carmine laudes Fama, bonum quo non aliud veracius ullum, Nobis digna cani, nec te memorasse pigebit Carmine tam longo, servati scilicet Angli Officiis vaga diva tuis, tibi reddimus æqua. Te Deus æternos motu qui temperat ignes, Fulmine preæmisso alloquitur, terrâque tremente: Fama siles? an te latet impia Papistarum Conjurata cohors in meque meosque Britannos, Et nova sceptrigero cædes meditata Jäcobo: Nec plura, illa statim sensit mandata Tonantis, Et satis antè fugax stridentes induit alas, Induit & variis exilia corpora plumis; Dextra tubam gestat Temesæo ex ære sonoram. Nec mora jam pennis cedentes remigat auras, Atque parum est cursu celeres preævertere nubes, Jam ventos, jam solis equos poft terga reliquit: Et primò Angliacas solito de more per urbes Ambiguas voces, incertaque murmura spargit, Mox arguta dolos, & detestabile vulgat Proditionis opus, nec non facta horrida dictu, Authoresque addit sceleris, nec garrula cæcis Insidiis loca structa silet; stupuere relatis, Et pariter juvenes, partier tremuere puellæ, Effætique senes pariter, tanteæque ruinæ Sensus ad ætatem subitò penetraverat omnem Attamen interea populi miserescit ab alto Æthereus pater, & crudelibus obstitit ausis Papicolûm; capti poenas raptantur ad acres; At pia thura Deo, & grati solvuntur honores; Compita læta focis genialibus omnia fumant; Turba choros juvenilis agit: Quintoque Novembris Null Dies toto occurrit celebratior anno.- Ioannis Miltoni Londinensis Poemata, quorum pleraque intra Annum aetatis Vigesimum Conscripsit, Nunc primum Edita (printed at London by R. R. Prostant in 1645); 1673 (reprinted) , Ioannis Miltoni Londinensis Poemata, quorum pleraque intra Annum aetatis Vigesimum Conscripsit, Nunc primum Edita (printed at London by W. R. in 1673). Translation: On the Fifth of November Age 17 Now pious James, coming from the extreme North, possessed the Teucer-born peoples and the widespread realms of the folk of Albion, and now an inviolable pact conjoined English scepters to the Caledonian Scots, and James sat as a peacemaker and a prosperous man on his new throne, secure from hidden wiles and any foe, when the savage tyrant of Acheron, flowing with fire, the father of the Eumenides, the vagrant exile from celestial Olympus, chanced to be wandering through the world, counting his allies in crime, his loyal servants, destined to be partners in his kingdom after their sad demise. Here he stirred up great storms in mid-air, there he sowed hatred between like-minded friends, armed unconquered nations against each others’ vitals, overturned kingdoms flourishing in peace that bears the olive branch, and whoever he saw to be enamored of pure virtue, these he craved to add to his empire. The master of deceits tried to corrupt the inaccessible heart with evil, setting stealthy snares, stretching his hidden nets, that he might capture the unwary, as the Caspian tigress follows her prey through the trackless wastes under a moonless night sky and stars winking in slumber. With such things Summanus attacks people and cities, wreathed in a smoky whirlwind of blue fire. And now the fields white with their booming cliffs appeared, that land dear to the sea-god, to which his son had once lent his name, a man who did not shrink from crossing over the sea and challenging Amphitryon’s violent son to furious combat, before the cruel age which saw the storming of Troy. But as soon as he saw that Albion was blessed with wealth and festive peace, her fields rich with the bounty of Ceres, and (which vexed him the more) her people worshipping the sacred divinity of the true God, at length he heaved sighs stinking of Tartarus’ fires and yellow sulphur, sighs such as grim and monstrous Typhoeus emits from his corrosive mouth, shut up by Jove in Sicilian Aetna. His eyes blazed, his row of adamantine teeth gnashed like the clash of arms, like the sound of spear beating against spear. And he said, "I have wandered all the world, and have found this one thing to be lamentable, this single race is rebellious towards me, scornful of my yoke, stronger than my art. But if my endeavors have any power, she will not long experience this with impunity, she will not go scot-free." So much he spoke, and swam through the liquid air on pitch-black wings. And where he flew, unfriendly winds ran before him in a battle-line, the clouds gathered, much lightning flashed. Now he swiftly passed the frosty Alps and gained the Ausonian land. On his left were the misty Apennines and the ancient Sabines, on the right Tuscany, notorious for its poisoners, and he saw you too, Tiber, giving furtive kisses to Thetis. Next he landed on the citadel of Mars-born Quirinus. Now the dusk was making the light uncertain, while the wearer of the triple tiara was traveling throughout the city, bearing his gods made of baked bread, borne on the shoulders of men. Kings preceded him on their knees and a lengthy file of mendicant friars, holding waxen candles, blind, born and living out their lives in Cimmerian darkness. Then they entered shrines glowing with many tapers (the evening was that consecrated to Peter), and the bawling of the choirs filled the hollow vaults, the empty spaces, just as Dionysus and his throng howl, singing at their orgies on Echionian Arachynthus, as Asopus quakes in his pellucid waters and Cithaeron echoes at a distance with its crannied cliffs. These things finally accomplished with solemnity, Night silently quit the embrace of old man Erebus and drove her horses headlong, her whip lashing them onward: blind Typhlon, fierce Melanchaetes, sluggish Siope born of an Acherontean sire, and Phrix bristling with a shaggy mane. Meanwhile the master of kings and heir of Phelegethon entered his marriage-chamber (for this furtive adulterer spends no loveless nights without a soft mistress), but sleep had scarcely closed his eyes when the black lord of the shades, ruler of the silent, that predator on mankind, stood by him, clad in disguise. His temples gleamed with false white locks, a long beard covered his breast, an ash-colored garment swept the ground with its hem, a cowl hung from his tonsured head, and, lest anything be lacking from his artfulness, he girded his lusty loins with a hempen rope and wore open sandals on his slow-moving feet. Such is Francis supposed to have been in the vast wilderness, as he used to wander alone in the harsh haunts of wild beasts, bringing pious words of salvation to the denizens of the wood (though impious himself), taming the wolves and the Libyan lions. The crafty serpent, concealed by such a rig, deceitfully opened his hateful mouth and said: "Are you sleeping, my son? Even now does slumber overwhelm your limbs, oh you who are unmindful of the Faith and forgetful of your flock, while a barbarian nation born beneath the Hyperborean pole, the quiver-bearing British mock your see, venerable one, and your triple tiara? Come, awake, rise up, you lazy fellow worshipped by Latin Caesar, a Father for whom the portals of arching heaven lie open. Shatter their swollen spirits, their bold disdain, let these blasphemers learn the power of your curse, the power of the holder of the apostolic key. Gain vengeance, mindful of the devastation of the Spanish fleet, their pennants sunk in the vast deep, and so many Saints’ bodies nailed to the shameful cross during the recent reign of the Thermodontean maiden. But if you prefer to wallow in your soft bed, and refuse to smite our enemy’s growing powers, he will fill the Tyrrhenian Sea with a multitude of soldiers, and plant his bright banners on the Aventine hill; he will shatter the remains of antiquity and set them aflame, he will plant his profane feet on your sacred neck, though kings used to delight in kissing your feet. But do not attempt to assail him with warfare and open contention, for that is a fruitless effort; employ deceit cleverly, it is permitted to spread any nets at all against heretics. And now their great King is summoning leading men from farflung regions to a council, and also Peers blessed in their lineage, and aged fathers venerable for their gowns and hoary heads. You will be able to scatter them in the air, dismembered, and reduce them to ashes by throwing gunpowder’s fire beneath the building in which they are convened. Further, you must warn whomever of the faithful England still possess of your intention and of the deed. Will none of your countrymen dare carry out the mandates of the supreme Pope? When they are stricken by sudden terror and amazed at their misfortune, either the cruel Frenchman or the fierce Spaniard will invade. Thus at length the Marian centuries will return there, and you will gain mastery of the warlike English. Have no fear, know that the gods and goddesses are well disposed, and all the divinities you adore on holy days." Thus the Treacherous One spoke and, putting off his borrowed attire, fled to unspeakable Lethe, his gloomy realm. Now Tithonia, throwing open the gates of the dawn, clothed the golden land with her returning light and, still mourning her swarthy son’s sad fate, she shed her ambrosial drops on the mountain tops, when the doorkeeper of night’s starry court banished sleep, rolling away nocturnal visions and welcome dreams. There is a place surrounded by night’s eternal mist, once the proud foundations of structures now ruined, now the caverns of brutal Murder and two-tongued Betrayal, whelped at the same time by wild Discord. Here amidst rubble and half-broken stones lie men’sunburied bones and bodies run through with steel. Here black Guile always sits with her eyes askew, and Quarrels, and Libel, armed with fangs in her jaws, and Madness, here can be seen a thousand manners of death, and Fear; bloodless Horror always circles the place, ghosts constantly howl in the mute silence, and the guilty earth pools with blood. Murder and Betrayal themselves lurk in terror in the bowels of the cave, though nobody pursues them through the cavern, the shadowy cave, craggy, dark with wild shadows. They flee in guilt, rolling back their eyes. The Babylonian bishop summoned these weapons, loyal to Rome for long centuries, and spoke thus: "A nation hateful to me inhabits the waters pouring around the western ends of the earth, prudent Nature refused to join them to our world, being unworthy. I command you to hasten there on swift feet, and let them be blown into thin air by Hellish powder, both the King and his Lords, and also his wicked offspring; and as many men as have been burning with zeal for the true Faith you must make partners in your plan and the agents of our work." He made an end, and the unbending twins obeyed. Meanwhile He who bends the heavens in their long curve looked down, the Lord Who hurls lightning from His citadel in the skies, laughed at the vain endeavors of this perverse gang, and chose to defend in Person the cause of His people. They say there is a place where fertile Europe parts from Asia and looks at the waters of Lake Maeotis. Here is built the lofty tower of Rumor, daughter of a Titaness, brazen, broad, resonant, nearer to the gleaming stars than Athos or Pelion piled atop Ossa. A thousand doors and portals lie open, and a like number of windows, and through its thin walls the rooms within can be seen. Here a rabble congregation emits sundry whispers, as do swarms of flies with their buzzings as they circle a milk-pail, or fly though the sheep pen made of woven wicker, when the Dogstar seeks the heights of heaven, its summer high-point. Rumor herself sits atop her citadel, her mother’s avenger; her head is held aloft, encircled by a thousand ears by which she receives the smallest sound, the lightest murmur of an undertaking, from the farthest ends of the widespread world. Not even you rolled so many eyes in your pitiless face, son of Arestor, wrongful guardian of the Isis-cow, eyes that never lowered in quiet slumber, eyes gazing wide over the outspread earth. With these Rumor is often wont to examine places that are lacking in light, even places impervious to the radiant sun. Then, babbling with her thousand tongues, she wantonly pours forth the things she has heard and seen to anyone at all, now lyingly diminishing the truth, now exaggerating it with invented tales. But you deserve my song’s praise, Rumor, for the good you did (nothing ever more truthful). You deserve to be sung of by me, nor shall I be ashamed to have mentioned you in such a lengthy song, and we English, wandering goddess, saved by your offices, repay you in equal measure. For God Who governs the eternal fires in their movement first sent forth a lightning bolt, and as the earth trembled then said: "Are you silent, Rumor? Or does that Papist crew escape your notice, conspiring against Me and My British? Do you not know of the novel murder being planned against scepter-wielding James?" He said no more, she immediately understood the Thunderer’s injunctions and (though she had been swift enough before) she put on whirring wings and clothed her slender body with particolored feathers. In her right hand she bore a ringing trumpet of Temesaean brass. Without delay she traversed the air that yielded to her pinions; it was a trifle to outrun the scudding clouds &endash; now she left the winds and the horses of the sun behind her and at first, in her usual way, spread enigmatic words and uncertain whispers through the cities of England. Soon she denounced the schemes and published the hateful work of treason, and also deeds horrible to describe, adding the names of the architects of the crime, nor in her prattle did she remain silent about places arranged for their secret treacheries. People were astounded by her revelations, both young men and girls shivered, as did feeble old men, awareness of so great a collapse quickly penetrated to every age. But in the meantime our heavenly Father took pity on the people from on high, and checked the Papists’ cruel attempts. But pious incense and grateful honors are paid to God, our happy streets are all smoking with joyous bonfires, the youthful throng goes a-dancing: in the whole year no day is celebrated more than the Fifth of November.-Source: www. author name absent. In proditionem Bombardicam- Milton Cum simul in regem nuper satrapasque Britannos Ausus es infandum perfide Fauxe nefas, Fallor? an & mitis voluisti ex parte videri, Et pensare malâ cum pietate scelus; Scilicet hos alti missurus ad atria cæli, Sulphureo curru flammivolisque rotis. Qualiter ille feris caput inviolabile Parcis Liquit Jördanios turbine raptus agros. In proditionem Bombardicam. [On the Gunpowder Plot] Treacherous Fawkes, when you plotted your unspeakable crime against the King and the British nobles, did you-- and correct me if I am wrong-- wish to seem merciful as if your crime was pious in some wicked way? No doubt you meant to blow them up to the highest circles of heaven in their sulphur chariot with wheels aflame, just like the untouchable man, whom Parcae could not harm, caught up from the banks of the Jordan in a whirlwind. Commemorative Poem 1654 1654- John Turner: “A Commemoration or a Calling to Minde of the Great and Eminent Deliverance from the Powder-Plot” ”England alas almost hath quite forgot The great deliverance from the Powder Plot... The mercies all that now we do enjoy. We owe unto the mercy of that day”... So dealt our good and gracious God with us; But he may say, Do you requite me thus? Was the mercy I showed you worth no more? That you by it do set no greater store? Sure we have cause for ever to remember The mercy show’d the fifth day of November. -John Turner, A commemoration or a Calling to Minde of the Great and Eminent Deliverance from the Powder-Plot (London, 1654), pp. 1,5. 1647 Thou hast out-slander’d slander, and prevail’d, And every railing rogue thou hast out-rail’d. . . . Thus shalt thou no good entertainment lack, And brave Guy Faux with famous Ravilliack [the assassin of Henry IV of France], Shall wait on thee from boord unto thy bed, And each of them shall be thy Ganimed [the cupbearer of the gods of ancient Greece] -Sir Francis Wortley, Mercurius Britanicus His Welcome to Hell; With the Devills Blessing to Britanicus (London: Printed for W. Ley, 1647), 6 1654 So dealt our good and gracious God with us; But he may say, Do you requite me thus? Was the mercy I showed you worth no more? That you by it do set no greater store? Sure we have cause for ever to remember The mercy show’d the fifth day of November. -John Turner, A Commemoration, or A Calling to Minde of the Great and Eminent Deliverance From the Powder-Plot. A Mercie Never to Be Forgotten by the People of god, Who Have Been, Still Are, and Ever Will Be, the Greatest Sharers In It, and the Best Imp[r]overs of It . . . (London: J. B., 1654), 1, 5. The Emergence of the explanation of Cecil’s Scheme 1670’s Early in Charles II’s reign- The story that the plot was a scheme devised by Sir Robert Cecil to entrap the innocent emerged. 1670s- publicatios used the Latin work of French Catholic Jacques Auguste de Thou against the Jesuits and the explanation fo Cecil’s scheme. Translated into English as: “Popish Policies and Practices” or”A narration of that Horrible Conspiracy against King James”-Jacobus Augustus Thauanus (De Thou), Popish Policies and Practices Represented in the Histories of the Parisian massacre; Gunpowder Treason; Conspracies Against Queen Elizabeth (London, 1674) Analysis of the Plot /Publications c.1670-1680 Edward Stephens- edits a history of the Catholic Plots and Conspiracies and states: “we are still in danger”-”A discourse concerning the Original of the Powder-Plot: Together with a relation of the Conspiracies against Queen Elizabeth, and the Persecutions of the Protestasnts in France (London 1674) 1678- November-Thomas Barlow, Bishop of Lincoln- Has “an authentic history” of the plot republished as parliament: “did diligently seek after the book...found it not” and that the conspiracies of 1605 and 1678 were: “hatched and hammered in the same popish forge”. 1679- reprinted was: “A History of The Gunpowder Treason” - by John Williams 1679- reprinted was: “The Gunpowder Treason: with a discourse of its discovery; and a perfect relation of the proceedings against the conspirators (first published 1609) 1680- reprinted was: “Song or story for the lasting remembrance of divers famous works which God hath done in our time” (first published London 1626) warns of: “fell and furious rage” of the Catholics. 1671-1679 Reprinted three times was: “ England’s Remembrancer, containing a true and full narrative of those two never to be forgotten deliverances: the one from the Spanish invasion in eighty- eight: the other from the hellish Powder Plot, November 5 1605.” By Samuel Clarke (originally puiblished London 1657).- (David Cressy.,Bonfires and Bells.”National Memory and the Protestant Calendar in Elizabethan and Stuart England.,University of California Press, Berkeley,1989 pp.176-177.) 1679- Dealer near Stationers’ Hall advertizes: “a pack of cards, price one shilling, forming a history of all the popish plots from those in Queen Elizabeth’s time...with the manner of Sir Edmundburry Godfrey’s murder”-”Archaeological Journal, 11 (1854), p.180. See: J.R.S. Whiting, “A Handfull Of History (London 1978) for reproduction of the cards. 1680- A verse pamphlet published: “Faux’s Ghost: or, Advice to Papists”-(London, 1680) November 3-7 1681: The Domestick Intelligence “there is lately published the history of the life, bloody reign and death of Queen Mary....and other popish cruelties...seasonably published for a caution against popery, illustrated with pictures...”-”The Domestick Intelligence, 3-7 November 1681. 1700?(1894) The National Anthem of Britain National Anthem Both the music and words were composed by Dr. Henry Carey in 1740. However, in Antwerp cathedral is a MS. copy of it which affirms that the words and music were by Dr. John Bull; adding that it was composed on the occasion of the discovery of Gunpowder Plot, to which the words ``frustrate their knavish tricks'' especially allude.-THE DICTIONARY OF PHRASE AND FABLE BY E. COBHAM BREWER FROM THE NEW AND ENLARGED EDITION OF 1894 U.S.A. South end forever [cut] North end forever. Extraordinary verses on Pope-night. or, A commemoration the fifth of November, giving a history of the attempt, made by the papishes, to blow up king and Parliament, A. D. 1588. Together with some account of the Pope himself, and his wife Joan: with several other things worthy of notice, too tedious to mention. Sold by the printers boys in Boston [1768]. 1. HUZZA! brave Boys, behold the Pope, Pretender and Old-Nick, How they together lay their Heads, To plot a poison Trick? 2. To blow up KING and PARLIAMENT To Flitters, rent and torn: --Oh! blund'ring Poet, Since the Plot, Was this Pretender born.-- 3. Yet, sure upon this famous Stage, He's got together now; And had he then, he'd been a Rogue As bad as t'other two. 4. Come on, brave Youths, drag on your Pope Let's see his frightful Phiz: Let's view his Features rough and fierce, That Map of Ugliness! 5. Distorted Joints, so huge and broad! So horribly drest up! 'Twould puzzle Newton's Self to tell, The D--l from the Pope. 6. See I how He Shakes his tot'ring Head And knocks his palsy Knees; A Proof He is the Scarlet Whore, And got the soul Disease. 7. Most terrible for to behold, He Stinks much worse then Rum: Here, you behold the Pope, and here Old Harry in his Rome. 8. D'ye ask why Satan Stands behind? Before he durst not go, Because his Pride won't let him Stoop, To kiss the Pope's great Toe. 9. Old Boys, and young, be Sure observe The Fifth Day of November; What tho' it is a Day apast? You still can it remember. 10. The little Popes, they go out First, With little teney Boys: In Frolicks they are full of Gale And laughing make a Noise. 11. The Girls run out to fee the Sight, The Boys eke ev'ry one; Along they are a dragging them, With Granadier's Caps on. 12. The great Ones next go out, and meet With many a Smart Rebuf: They're hall'd along from Street to Street And call hard Names enough. 13. "A Pagan, Jew, Mahometan, Turk, Strumpet, Wizzard, Witch;" In short the Number of his Name's, Six Hundred Sixty six. 14. "How dreadful do his Features show? "How fearful is his Grin? "Made up of ev'ry Thing that's bad; He is the Man of Sin. 15. If that his deeden Self could see Himself so turn'd to Fun: In Rage He'd tear out His Pope's Eyes, And scratch his Rev'rend Bum. 16. He'd kick his tripple Crown about, And weary of his Life, He'd curse the Rabble, and away He'd run to tell his Wife. 17. [Some Wits begin to cavil here And laughing seem to query, "How Pope should have a Wife, and yet, The Clergy never marry." 18. Laugh if you please, yet still I'm sure If false I'm not alone; Pray Critic, did you never hear Not read of fair Pope-Joan.] 19. "Help Joan! see how I'm drag'd and bounc'd, "Pursu'd, surrounded, -- Wife! "And when I'm bang'd to Death, I shall "Be barbacu'd alive." 20. Joan cry's, "Why in this Passion, Sir? "And why so raving mad? "You surely must mistake the Case, "It cannot be so bad." 21. "You Fool! I saw it with my Eyes, "I cannot be deceiv'd." "Yes, but You told me t'other Day, "Sight! must not be believ'd." 22. A sham'd, inrag'd, and mad, and vex'd, He mutters ten Times more. "I'll make a Bull, and my He-Cow "Shall bellow, grunt and rear." 23. Oh! Pope, we pity thy sad Case, So dismal and forlorn! We know that thou a Cuckold art, For thou hast many an Horn. 24. And eke sev'n Heads he has also. Tho' but one on him flicks: Ten Horns he in his Pocket puts, And Heads no less than six. 25. His Pockets full of Heads and Horns, In's Hand he holds his Keys; So down He bends beneath their Weight, With Age, Shame and Disease. 26. His End so near, each Cardinal Quite old himself would feign: He tries to stoop and cough that he Might his Successor reign. 27. And now, their Frolick to compleat, They to the Mill-Dam go, Burn Him to Nothing first, and then Plunge Him the Waves into. 28. But to conclude, from what we've heard, With Pleasure serve that King: Be not Pretenders, Papishes, Nor Pope, nor t'other Thing. Sold by the Printers Boys in Boston. Thomas Hardy Describes a Bonfire 3 - The Custom of the Country Had a looker-on been posted in the immediate vicinity of the barrow, he would have learned that these persons were boys and men of the neighbouring hamlets. Each, as he ascended the barrow, had been heavily laden with furze faggots, carried upon the shoulder by means of a long stake sharpened at each end for impaling them easily--two in front and two behind. They came from a part of the heath a quarter of a mile to the rear, where furze almost exclusively prevailed as a product. Every individual was so involved in furze by his method of carrying the faggots that he appeared like a bush on legs till he had thrown them down. The party had marched in trail, like a travelling flock of sheep; that is to say, the strongest first, the weak and young behind. The loads were all laid together, and a pyramid of furze thirty feet in circumference now occupied the crown of the tumulus, which was known as Rainbarrow for many miles round. Some made themselves busy with matches, and in selecting the driest tufts of furze, others in loosening the bramble bonds which held the faggots together. Others, again, while this was in progress, lifted their eyes and swept the vast expanse of country commanded by their position, now lying nearly obliterated by shade. In the valleys of the heath nothing save its own wild face was visible at any time of day; but this spot commanded a horizon enclosing a tract of far extent, and in many cases lying beyond the heath country. None of its features could be seen now, but the whole made itself felt as a vague stretch of remoteness. While the men and lads were building the pile, a change took place in the mass of shade which denoted the distant landscape. Red suns and tufts of fire one by one began to arise, flecking the whole country round. They were the bonfires of other parishes and hamlets that were engaged in the same sort of commemoration. Some were distant, and stood in a dense atmosphere, so that bundles of pale straw-like beams radiated around them in the shape of a fan. Some were large and near, glowing scarlet-red from the shade, like wounds in a black hide. Some were Maenades, with winy faces and blown hair. These tinctured the silent bosom of the clouds above them and lit up their ephemeral caves, which seemed thenceforth to become scalding caldrons. Perhaps as many as thirty bonfires could be counted within the whole bounds of the district; and as the hour may be told on a clock-face when the figures themselves are invisible, so did the men recognize the locality of each fire by its angle and direction, though nothing of the scenery could be viewed. The first tall flame from Rainbarrow sprang into the sky, attracting all eyes that had been fixed on the distant conflagrations back to their own attempt in the same kind. The cheerful blaze streaked the inner surface of the human circle--now increased by other stragglers, male and female--with its own gold livery, and even overlaid the dark turf around with a lively luminousness, which softened off into obscurity where the barrow rounded downwards out of sight. It showed the barrow to be the segment of a globe, as perfect as on the day when it was thrown up, even the little ditch remaining from which the earth was dug. Not a plough had ever disturbed a grain of that stubborn soil. In the heath's barrenness to the farmer lay its fertility to the historian. There had been no obliteration, because there had been no tending. It seemed as if the bonfire-makers were standing in some radiant upper story of the world, detached from and independent of the dark stretches below. The heath down there was now a vast abyss, and no longer a continuation of what they stood on; for their eyes, adapted to the blaze, could see nothing of the deeps beyond its influence. Occasionally, it is true, a more vigorous flare than usual from their faggots sent darting lights like aides-de-camp down the inclines to some distant bush, pool, or patch of white sand, kindling these to replies of the same colour, till all was lost in darkness again. Then the whole black phenomenon beneath represented Limbo as viewed from the brink by the sublime Florentine in his vision, and the muttered articulations of the wind in the hollows were as complaints and petitions from the "souls of mighty worth" suspended therein. It was as if these men and boys had suddenly dived into past ages, and fetched therefrom an hour and deed which had before been familiar with this spot. The ashes of the original British pyre which blazed from that summit lay fresh and undisturbed in the barrow beneath their tread. The flames from funeral piles long ago kindled there had shone down upon the lowlands as these were shining now. Festival fires to Thor and Woden had followed on the same ground and duly had their day. Indeed, it is pretty well known that such blazes as this the heathmen were now enjoying are rather the lineal descendants from jumbled Druidical rites and Saxon ceremonies than the invention of popular feeling about Gunpowder Plot. Moreover to light a fire is the instinctive and resistant act of man when, at the winter ingress, the curfew is sounded throughout Nature. It indicates a spontaneous, Promethean rebelliousness against that fiat that this recurrent season shall bring foul times, cold darkness, misery and death. Black chaos comes, and the fettered gods of the earth say, Let there be light. The brilliant lights and sooty shades which struggled upon the skin and clothes of the persons standing round caused their lineaments and general contours to be drawn with Dureresque vigour and dash. Yet the permanent moral expression of each face it was impossible to discover, for as the nimble flames towered, nodded, and swooped through the surrounding air, the blots of shade and flakes of light upon the countenances of the group changed shape and position endlessly. All was unstable; quivering as leaves, evanescent as lightning. Shadowy eye-sockets, deep as those of a death's head, suddenly turned into pits of lustre: a lantern-jaw was cavernous, then it was shining; wrinkles were emphasized to ravines, or obliterated entirely by a changed ray. Nostrils were dark wells; sinews in old necks were gilt mouldings; things with no particular polish on them were glazed; bright objects, such as the tip of a furze-hook one of the men carried, were as glass; eyeballs glowed like little lanterns. Those whom Nature had depicted as merely quaint became grotesque, the grotesque became preternatural; for all was in extremity. ---Source: Return of the Native, by Thomas Hardy Dickens Invokes the Plot and Fawkes There was, within a few years, in the possession of a highly respectable and in every way credible and unimpeachable member of the Chuzzlewit Family (for his bitterest enemy never dared to hint at his being otherwise than a wealthy man), a dark lantern of undoubted antiquity; rendered still more interesting by being, in shape and pattern, extremely like such as are in use at the present day. Now this gentleman, since deceased, was at all times ready to make oath, and did again and again set forth upon his solemn asseveration, that he had frequently heard his grandmother say, when contemplating this venerable relic, 'Aye, aye! This was carried by my fourth son on the fifth of November, when he was a Guy Fawkes.' These remarkable words wrought (as well they might) a strong impression on his mind, and he was in the habit of repeating them very often. The just interpretation which they bear, and the conclusion to which they lead, are triumphant and irresistible. The old lady, naturally strong-minded, was nevertheless frail and fading; she was notoriously subject to that confusion of ideas, or, to say the least, of speech, to which age and garrulity are liable. The slight, the very slight, confusion apparent in these expressions is manifest, and is ludicrously easy of correction. 'Aye, aye,' quoth she, and it will be observed that no emendation whatever is necessary to be made in these two initiative remarks, 'Aye, aye! This lantern was carried by my forefather'--not fourth son, which is preposterous--'on the fifth of November. And HE was Guy Fawkes.' Here we have a remark at once consistent, clear, natural, and in strict accordance with the character of the speaker. Indeed the anecdote is so plainly susceptible of this meaning and no other, that it would be hardly worth recording in its original state, were it not a proof of what may be (and very often is) affected not only in historical prose but in imaginative poetry, by the exercise of a little ingenious labour on the part of a commentator. -Source Life And Adventures Of Martin Chuzzlewit by Charles Dickens I have said that the company were all gone; but I ought to have excepted Uriah, whom I don't include in that denomination, and who had never ceased to hover near us. He was close behind me when I went downstairs. He was close beside me, when I walked away from the house, slowly fitting his long skeleton fingers into the still longer fingers of a great Guy Fawkes pair of gloves.- Charles Dickens, David Coperfield, Chapter 25. Blackwoods Edinbugh Magazine Vol. 76 (470) Dec 1854 Page 715 Peace and War Shall we forget the immortal Fifth, dear to urchins, a small part of whose associations to Them is made up of treasons and plots, and a large part of fun and fireworks? Surely the poor fanatic Guy would have kept his principles in his pocket, and his tinder-box out of it, if he had known that his very name was to become a source of annual and perrennial delight to yet unborn generations of heretics; or the most he would have done would have been to turn Irish agitator, and “blow up” the three estates at monster meetings, or meetings of monsters. IN the present year, Guy Fawkes day fell on a Sunday, and therefore was either postponed or anticipated, according to the impatience or the luxurious patience of its celebrators. But the evening of Sunday, the 5th of November, is remembered by the writer of this, as illustrating the frequent beauty of the season. The evening ari was rather cold, the sun had gone to rest wrapped up in robes of purple, and in the west was that sweet green ting which, mixing into the cool blue-grey of the heaven, creates an appearance and feeling best expressed by the term “weird.” And the full moon rose large, and of a deep gold colour, over a hill which stood between the spectator and London. And as she rose, Or rather stood, suddenly up, there was a faint redness round her in the air, perhaps partly produced by the smoke of the metropolis; at all events, it had the effect of a blush, as the pure queen of night, who had justl left her bower in unveiled beauty, sailed over the great bad town, so that the air seemed flushing with consciousness, as it did when the Lady Godiva had to run the gauntlet of the unholy eyes of Coventry. This evening, in particular was full of calm and sprituality, nad, in general, the month abounds with a soothing melancholy, which is very good for the heart and soul. When fine, it is like the peaceful and natural death of the year, which passes away like: “A being breathing thoughtful breath, A traveller betwixt life and death.” Such a death as all good people would wish to die. . THE’ FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. ‘ THE’ FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. ‘TWAS the fifth of old November, I pray you, love, remember, The merry fires were glancing on the gray hill- side; When, spite of wind and weather, Far down among the heather, Midst the ferns and mountain gorses, you won me for your bride. Now remember, love, remember, Ever since that old November, When the earth was lit with glory, and the heavens smiled above, We have vowed to keep it sol ly As a joy, to memory holy, And from an old dead custom draw a living fount of love. Let us forth at Nature’s summons To the wild, wood-skirted commons There we ‘11 kindle every withered bough that drops around our way; With our children gathered round us, We will bless the fate that found us Down among the reddened gorses in the dying of the day. And remember, love, remember, When around each dying ember We Watch their glad young faces, bright with artless mirth and fun, What it is to feel the glow Of the loving hearts we know Will ne’er with life desert us till the dark day’s done! We may weep or we may smile, Ay, do all things but revile; We may rue the bitter louring of the cold world’s frown; But while simple pleasures please us, Winter’s self shall never freeze us — We can wait with patient faces till the storm dies down. Leave we the dear old door For the heath and upland moor; Let us tread them, love, together, while the ways seem fair: By and by the dimness—lameness, When all things shall wear a sameness, But to-day for hope and gladness, and for God’s blest air! Let my willing arm sustain you: Does your wound of battle pain you? Does the rugged pathway shake you? So—lean heavy on my breast; There is health and vigor coming Where the swollen streams are humming, And the lights of autumn playing, on the wild bird’s crest. Remember, love, remember, How soon comes blest December, With its precious gifts of spirit, and its happy household cheer Though the leaves are dropping fast, love, And the flowers have bloomed their last,: love, When our days are at their darkest, then a glory shall be near! E. L. HERVEY. — Chambers’ Journal.. In: LITTELL’S LIVING AGE.—No. 658.—3 JANUARY, 1857. ECCLESIASTICAL SONNETS-Wordsworth IN SERIES, 1821-22. PART II.XLII. GUNPOWDER PLOTFEAR hath a hundred eyes that all agree To plague her beating heart; and there is one (Nor idlest that!) which holds communion With things that were not, yet were 'meant' to be. Aghast within its gloomy cavity That eye (which sees as if fulfilled and done Crimes that might stop the motion of the sun) Beholds the horrible catastrophe Of an assembled Senate unredeemed From subterraneous Treason's darkling power: 10 Merciless act of sorrow infinite! Worse than the product of that dismal night, When gushing, copious as a thunder-shower, The blood of Huguenots through Paris streamed. Wordsworth, William. 1888. Complete Poetical Works. Abraham Lincoln Using the Plot as an example of Rebellion Cooper Institute Address, 27 February 1860 I do not think a general, or even a very extensive, slave insurrection is possible. The indispensable concert of action cannot be attained. The slaves have no means of rapid communication; nor can incendiary freemen, black or white, supply it. The explosive materials are everywhere in parcels; but there neither are, nor can be supplied, the indispensable connecting trains. 44 Much is said by Southern people about the affection of slaves for their masters and mistresses; and a part of it, at least, is true. A plot for an uprising could scarcely be devised and communicated to twenty individuals before some one of them, to save the life of a favorite master or mistress, would divulge it. This is the rule; and the slave revolution in Hayti was not an exception to it, but a case occurring under peculiar circumstances. The gunpowder plot of British history, though not connected with slaves, was more in point. In that case only about twenty were admitted to the secret; and yet one of them, in his anxiety to save a friend, betrayed the plot to that friend, and, by consequence, averted the calamity. Occasional poisonings from the kitchen and open or stealthy assassinations in the field, and local revolts extending to a score or so, will continue to occur as the natural results of slavery; but no general insurrection of slaves, as I think, can happen in this country for a long time. Whoever much fears, or much hopes, for such an event, will be alike disappointed. In the language of Mr. Jefferson, uttered many years ago, "It is still in our power to direct the process of emancipation and deportation peaceably, and in such slow degrees, as that the evil will wear off insensibly; and their places be, pari passu, filled up by free white laborers. If, on the contrary, it is left to force itself on, human nature must shudder at the prospect held up." WADE HAMPTON TALKS IN CAUCUS IN HIS SLEEP. Which the Confederate Brigadiers tried to sing to "Coronation," but couldn't, owing to the blankness of the verse; so they made oratorio of it, and hummed it in a minor key. The Summer sunshine settled on the head Of that renowned Confederate Brigadier, Wade Hampton, son of Calhoun's noble State. He slumbered in the caucus: Proctor Knott Was speaking, and his arms, revolving, churned The impure air in that vicinity. Sudden he paused, and Hampton, moved upon By some eccentric impulse of the soul, Arose (though still within the Morphean chains), And thus to speech addressed himself: "Guy Fawkes! Guy Fawkes shall be my theme; for history Repeats its hero-song from age to age. [Cox wakened, shook himself and gazed around.] You will remember that about ten years After Guy Fawkes had fixed that powder-plot To blow up all the British Parliament, The King, the Commons, and the House of Lords, And send them where the woodbine twineth--there Or thereabouts [here Eaton woke and yawned] Guy was induced to take the modified oath, Forgive the King and run for Parliament. [Hill woke, and feigned he had not been asleep.] Some called him 'traitor' underneath their breath, And some a 'wicked fellow' and a 'knave,' But England's yeomanry elected Fawkes, Remarking 'Pooh! he'll ne'er rebel again-- There is no better patriot than he!' Fawkes was elected--also all his pals; The men who furnished money for the job, The seven conspirators who dug the mine, The merry scamps who wheeled the powder in, The ardent laborer who lit the torch, And all the host who honored Mr. Fawkes, Till lo! Reform had carried Parliament-- The Fawkesites had a clear majority! [Applause upon the Democratic side.] Ah, then the Fawkesites mended England's laws! Swift they enacted that a cave should be Dug out beneath the House of Parliament And there maintained; that powder should be free; That whechug powder was a sacred right; That all the hirelings who arrested Guy Should be turned out of office, and their place Given to the friends of Tilden and Reform! Brethren! This is a noble precedent!" [Applause and hisses.] Thurman rose in wrath And said: ldquo;He sleeps! O, shake him! Wake him up! This is indeed a drivelling Brigadier, Worse than the Okolona idiot! The hero, Fawkes, is dead as Julius Cæsar-- Dead as a door-nail--deader than a herring! They never let him run for Parliament! Let us shed tears--he died as martyrs die-- Was hanged and drawn and quartered--then was burnt. He died for his convictions. Let us strew Some sentimental posies on his grave." They seized Wade Hampton, and him up they shook Till he remarked: "I am--I am awake! How strange is this! I must have had a trance!"-Bourbon ballads. Written for the New York Tribune by W.A. Croffut. Extra No. 52.,1879. S. Spender, 1955 Dylan Thomas Explained using the Plot and Celebration DYLAN THOMAS (November 1953) In November of Catherine Wheels and rockets This roaring ranter, man and boy, Proved Guy Fawkes true, and burned on a real fire. His rhymes that stuffed his body were the straw, His poems he shed out of his pockets, Were squibs and sweets and string and wire, The crackling gorse crowned with spiked joy. Where he sang, burning, round his neck a cup Begged: 'Pennies, penies, for the Guy!' And every coin from passer by When it was melted, he drank fiery up. And all his sins, before his voice that spoke, Shot angels skywards. Now, that he should die Proves the fire was the centre of his joke. - S. Spender. Collected Poems. London, Faber, 1955 John Lennon Remember from "Plastic Ono Band", December 1970. Remember-by- John Lennon Remember when you were young? How the hero was never hung Always got away Remember how the man Used to leave you empty handed? Always, always let you down If you ever change your mind About leaving it all behind Remember, remember, today And don't feel sorry The way it's gone And don't you worry 'Bout what you've done Just remember when you were small How people seemed so tall Always had their way Do you remember your Ma and Pa Just wishing for movie stardom Always, always playing a part If you ever feel so sad And the whole world is driving you mad Remember, remember, today And don't feel sorry 'Bout the way it's gone And don't you worry 'Bout what you've done No, no, remember, remember The fifth of November _blue touch paper_ (November 4th and 5th, Sheffield and Tel Aviv) by Hugh Waterhouse All weekend our neighbours have built a bonfire, close to living trees, we are worried that they’ll catch and fall in flames onto our back gardens, set the whole street off. Scraps of broken furniture, brushwood, elms that died on verges, (sliced like salami), cardboard, packing, bills and tax returns. After dark we’ll see it all burning. Keep your fireworks safe in a box and watch for people who, through carelessness, drink, or malice, represent a danger, if they should get their hands on explosives. Stitched from rags, an effigy perches high on top of bed springs: Fawkes, the assassin, caught and dragged here from the street where he earns small children hatfulls of pennies. Someone splashes paraffin, scrapes at brimstone; twigs and papers roar like a blow-lamp, flames as high as houses threaten to burn a hole in Cassiopeia. Looking up, my back to the heat I watch for embers falling onto our wooden gutters. Televisions flicker in windows, showing always the same man. Rockets, whizz-bangs, Catherine wheels: tonight the Isle is full of noises, and who would know if those were shots that crackle across the road to bloody the pavement. Is it news or only reflection ?, Guy or someone else I see in the glass, now falling sideways; crowds of on-lookers, watching oaks and sycamores blazing. Flan O' Brien 1962 The Hard Life Chapter 10 "-Now listen her, Father. Listen carefully. This is the first part of November. In the year 1605 in England, KIing James the First was persecuting the Catholics, throwing them into prison and plundering their property. It was diabolical, worse than in Elizabeth's time. The R.C.s were treated like dogs, and their priests like pigs. It would put you in mind of the Roman emperors, except that a thullabawn like Nero could at least boast that he was providing public entertainment. Well, what happened? - James was a very dispicable monarch, Father Fahrt said slowly. -I will tell you what happened. A man named Robert Catesby thinks to himself that we've had as much of this sort of carry-on as we're going to take. And he thought of the same plan as Mrs. Flaherty. He planned to blow up the parliamnet house and annihilate the whole bloody lot of the bosthoons, his Majesty included. I know the thanks you'd get if you told him to busy himeslf with elections and votes. He'd slap your face and give you a knee in the belly. Remember, remember the Fifth of November. -they lived in another age, of course, Father Fahrt answered. -Right nad wrong don't change with the times and you know that very well, Father. Catesby got Guy Fawkes on his side, a brave man that was fighting in Flanders. And Grant and Keyes and the two Winters, any God's amount of sound men, Romans all. Fawkes was the kingpin and the head bottle washer of the whole outfit. He managed to get a ton and a half of gunpowder stuffed into a cellar under the House of Lords. But there were two other men lending a good hand all the time and saying Glod bless the work. I mean Greenway and Garnet. Know who they were, Father? -I think I do. -Of course you do. They were Jesuits. Hah? -My dear man, Jesuits also can make mistakes. They can err in judgement. They are human. -Faith then they didn't err in judgement when Guy Fawkes was found out. They scooted lik greased lightning and Father Greenway and another priest managed to get to a healthier country. Father Garnet was not so alive to himself. He got caught and for his pains he got a length of hempen tope for himself, on the gallows high. -A martyr for the Faith, of course, Father Fahrt said evenly. -And Fawkes. They gave him tortures you wouldn't see outsie hell itself to make him give the names of the others. Be damn but he wouldn't. But when he hard that Catesby and a crowd of his segocias had been chased, caught and killed, he broke down and made some class of a confession. But do you know what? When this rigamore was put before him for signagture, believe it or not but he couldn't sign it. The torture had him banjaxed altogether. His hands were all broken be the thumb screws. Waht's your opinion of that? -The torture Fawkes so heroically endured, Father Fahrt said, was admittedly appalling and terrifying, the worst torture that the head of man could think of. It was called per gradus ad ima. He was very brave. -I needen't tell you he and several others goth the high jump. But Lord save us, poor Fawkes couldn't climb up the ladder to the gallows, he was so badly bet and broken up in the torture. He had to be carried up. And hewas hanged outside the building he tried to blow up for the greater glory of god. -I suppose that's true enough, Father Fahrt said meekly. -For the greater glory of God. How's this you put Latin on that? -Ad majorem Dei gloriam. It is our own Society's watchword. -Quite right A.M.D.G. Many a time I've heard it. But if blowing up councillors is band and sinful as you said, how do you account for two jesuits maybe three, being guilty of that particular transaction, waging war on the civil power? Isn't Mrs. Flaherty in the same boat as Mr. Fawkes? -I have pointed out, Collopy, that events and opinions vary drastically from one era to another. People are infouenced by quite different things in dissimilar ages. It is difficult even impossible, for the people of today to assess the stresses and atmosphere of Fawke's day. Cicero was a wise and honest man and yet he kept slaves. The Greeks were the most sophisticated and civilized people of antiquity, but morally a great many of them were lepers. With thm sins of the flesh was a nefarious preoccupation. But that does not invalidate the wisdom and beauty of things many of them left behind them. Art, poetry, literature, architecture, philosophy and political systems, these were forumlated and developed in the midst of debaucherey. I have -ah ha- sometimes thought that a degraded social climate is essential to inspire greate men to achievement in the arts. Mr. Collopy put down his glass and spoke somewhat sternly, wagging a finger. -Now look here, Father Fahrt, he said, I'm going to say something i've said in other ways before. Bedamn but I don't know that I can atrust you men at all. Ye are forever trimming and adjudicating yourselves to the new winds that do blow. In case of doubt, send for a Jesuit. For your one doubt he will give you twenty new ones and his talk is always full of "ifs" and "buts", rawmaish and pseudo-theology. The world I have heard used for that sorth of thing is casuistry. Isn't that right? Casuistry. -there is such a word but it's not true in this case. -Oh now, you can always trust a Jesuit to make mischief and complicate simple things........ -Flan O' Brien, The Hard Life, An Exegesis of Squalor., Pantheon Books, New York,1962, pp 75-84. Plays from the Lord Chamberlain's Plays Collection at the British Library Vol LXVIII ff 849 Oct-Nov 1835 (21)Harlequin and Guy Fawkes or the 5th of November', ff 558-564 b. Vol CLXXIII ff. 1099) Sept-Nov 1851 (32) The Life and Death Of Guy Fawkes or Gunpowder Treason by C.A. Somerset ff. 909-931 Vol.CLIV (ff 960) April-May 1849 (5) Guy Fawkes or a Match for a King by A.R. Smith ff. 102-135 Vol. XCII (ff.872) June-Sept 1840 (27) Guido Fawkes by E. Stirling Licence refused(cf.art28) ff. 742-755) b. (28) Guido Fawkes (Guido Fawkes or the Prophetess of Ordsall Cave).By. E. Stirling. A revised version of art 27 ff. 756-775)  Explore all of our Guy Fawkes Pages click hereCopyright © 1996,2012 Center For Fawkesian Pursuits |