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curious how clearly they in- the Wars of the Roses. One dicate the general trend of is the grant of a croft of arable monasticism at that period. land, which is given by nine There is no longer any sign donors to the Prior and of growth or progress, no con- brothers, on condition of their stant flow of gifts great or praying for the happy estate small, no dedication of new of Richard, Duke of York, and buildings, but a suggestion of the safety of the donors. The difficulties and failing power. unusual wording of the deed There is a curious instance of might pass unnoticed were it the custom of "sanctuary" not for the fact that it was which illustrates the manner signed within a month of the in which the Church and the declaration of the Wars of the civil authorities adapted them- Roses, and it seems only reasonselves to each other when they able to consider that the gift were at variance. was made by a little group of Yorkists just before they started to join their leader on his march to St Albans. the following year the Prior and convent received a general pardon from King Henry VI. "of all offences committed before the 9th of July last past. The offences are not enumerated, but as the Yorkists and Lancastrians had just patched up a temporary peace, it seems not unlikely that the King was forgiving the Friars of Clare for their partisanship with the Duke of York. But if this was the case it probably did not prevent their sympathies from remaining with the Yorkists, neither did it prevent the writing of the poem described before, which, if it was not actually written by a Friar of Clare as seems most probable, must at least have received inspiration from the House of Friars. The poem was written, it will be remembered, five years after war had broken out between the Yorkists and Lancastrians, and in the actual year (1460) when Richard, Duke of York,

A fugitive named Thomas Foster had taken refuge at Clare Priory, and the King's Coroner, John Bambury, had threatened to break the sanctuary of the Priory and remove him. The Bishop of London was appealed to, and issued an admonition that John Bambury will incur the penalty of the greater excommunication to be proclaimed in the Convent Church of Clare and the neighbouring churches. The King's Coroner evidently did not dare to face the "greater excommunication," but he did not hesitate, first to extract a confession of his crime from Thomas Foster by fear of violence, next to bind him by oath not to leave the cloister for forty days, and, finally, to warn the Prior in the name of King Henry VI. to be responsible for his custody. "All which things are derogatory to the Liberty of the Church," as the deed explains.

There are two deeds which, from their dates and contents, seem closely connected with

laid formal claim to the throne as the descendant of Lionel, Duke of Clarence.

After this date there is little of interest to record. The friars had had their day, and the Lollards were now the newcomers and reformers who caught the ear of the people. In all probability Clare Priory gradually fell into decay, like many another religious house, in the end of the fifteenth and beginning of the sixteenth centuries. In the reign of Henry VIII. the House was suppressed, and an account of its condition and value is preserved in a letter from Richard Ingworth, Suffragan Bishop of Dover, to Thomas Cromwell, dated 1538. In this letter Ingworth says that he has delivered the House and its implements to Richard Frende, but that the value of the latter did not suffice to pay the debts,

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and at the same time save the lead and plate for the King. There were 38 acres of land, and 15 or 16 fothers of lead on the church roof, and the house, which was tiled, was in much decay. In the following year Henry VIII. granted “the house, site, soil, circuit and compass of the late House or Priory of Augustine Friars of Clare, in such ample manner and form as John Haly bred late Prior had held and enjoyed all," to Richard Frende, "in consideration of the good, true and faithful service which . . . he has rendered to us before this time and intends to render to us henceforth during his life." As to Prior John Haly bred and the brothers of his day there is no saying what happened to them. They slip away from our knowledge like ghosts in the night, and are gone for ever.

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IBSEN IN 1876-81.

"SUPPOSE we made a little tour and looked up Ibsen?" “Ibsen! Henrik Ibsen ?” "Yes; why not? He's at Gossensass. Half-a-day's journey will put us there."

The suggestion was made by Grieg to his young friend and travelling companion, John Paulsen, at Bayreuth in August 1876, after the first performances of the Nibelungenring. Paulsen, a hero-worshipper and hunter of celebrities, if ever there was one, accepted at once. Here was compensation indeed for the way he had just been baulked of an introduction to Wagner and Liszt. And yet, if he had known it, the chances that anything would come from the visit were very slight. Ibsen was reputed to be one of the most inaccessible men living: why should Paulsen succeed where so many had failed? But the gods were favourable both to him and to us. It is to this casual suggestion of Grieg that we owe almost the only picture we have of Ibsen at this stage in his career. The poet, as it happened, took quite kindly to Paulsen, thought well of his abilities, and saw much of him between this August 1876 and June 1881. Nearly twenty years later, checking his memory by referring to the letters he had written home to Bergen during his absence, Paulsen began publishing volumes of Recollec

tions. These volumes are of unequal merit, the later ones especially tending to diffuseness and repetition. They do not pretend to do more than treat in a readable way of a number of people and places. But there are good things scattered about in them. As far as Ibsen is concerned, what is said of him in the first two volumes, published during the poet's lifetime, is the freshest. But the rest are also necessary in order to construct a fairly continuous record of him at this time.

To return now to our travellers. While they had been crossing the Brenner there had been a deluge of rain at Gossensass, and when they arrived there in the late afternoon, though the rain had stopped, everything was soaking and the mountains blotted out in mist. Near the station they chanced on the young Sigurd Ibsen, who took them off to find his father. Before reaching the inn they met Ibsen himself,

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When he had made his own greeting, Grieg introduced his friend, and the ordinary civilities were exchanged. 'Ibsen's face expressed neither gladness nor displeasure at seeing us; it was absolutely passive. I quietly studied his marked physiognomy-the small leaden-grey eyes behind the gold spectacles, the high and unusually broad thoughtful brow, the long whiskers sprent with grey, the fine compressed mouth forming a line thin as a knifeblade; but I could not at the moment discover what it was that gave character to the face, nor could I define in a word what was its effect upon me.' Such was the Ibsen they had disturbed in his reverie a solitary student living in a world of his own, at work just as truly in these hours spent walking as when he sat at his writing-table.

But there were two Ibsens, and it was not long before Paulsen saw something of the other one. It should be mentioned that there was also staying at the inn Prof. Lorenz Dietrichson with his wife and daughter. Whatever they may have seen of each other during the day, the little Norwegian colony supped and spent the evenings together. Like Paulsen, Fru Ibsen was a native of Bergen, and they found plenty of common topics for talk. Ibsen for a time would remain silent, though not unobservant. Then gradually, under the sunny influence of his two old friends, Grieg and the Pro

an

fessor, there thawed out quite another man. During the rest of the evening, to the accompaniment of his own chuckling laughter, there followed endless outpouring of fun and wit and story and anecdote. This was the other Ibsen, the Ibsen that might have been predominant, had not the iron of privation, disappointment and opposition entered so deeply into the soul of his youth.

For a fortnight one day told another. The rest of the party might make their plans and go where they would: Ibsen took his silent walk in the valley. Oddly enough, however, he more than once invited Paulsen to join him. But they

had no sooner started than Ibsen relapsed into utter silence. And so it went on till they reached home again, when Ibsen would not fail to express his polite thanks to Paulsen for his 'pleasant company.'

The fact is, he was entirely oblivious of the actual world when brooding, as now, over a new work. It is hardly an exaggeration to say that the characters he created were for the time more real to him than the men and women about him. He studied their whole lives: worked out their history from the cradle to the very moment when he would show them to others. The play in hand just now-though not a bird of the air knew it-was "The Pillars of Society." Nothing much would be written for months yet, but the business of familiarising himself with the Consul, and Lona,

and Dina, and the rest of them, was going steadily on.

He took one "day off," and the four gentlemen went a long ramble into the hills. This expedition seems to have been as delightful as were the evenings: it was "the other Ibsen" throughout. It is worth mentioning, too, as an instance of Ibsen's genuine kindliness of heart, that he took a quiet opportunity of sounding Paulsen about his intentions and about ways and means. "You should apply for a stipendium: I will help believe me, you will get one." Next year, unbeknown to Paulsen, Ibsen made the application, and successfully, and Paulsen was able to continue his studies in Rome. Early in September snow began to fall, and Gossensass became too cold. The party now broke up, Grieg and the Dietrichsons returning home, while the Ibsens and Paulsen moved south to the warmth and vineyards of Kaltern, not far from the Italian border. Here we have a glimpse of Ibsen in quite a new light. On not a few mornings he would wake Paulsen very early and go fishing. They would be out on the lake in a boat before sunrise. Paulsen might tell us more explicitly, but I think we shall be right in conjecturing that the sport was not of a higher order than trolling. Ibsen seems to have had nearly all the luck in these expeditions, and was always hugely delighted with his catch; but already on the walk back had relapsed into silence and work.

Sigurd's term - time at the Munich gymnasium would begin again on the 1st of October, so the party retraced their steps at the end of September. Paulsen lodged not far from the Ibsens' home, and continued a frequent guest there till the middle of December. He then left for Rome, much encouraged in his own literary work by Ibsen's kindly appreciation.

As my purpose is to gather together what Paulsen has to say of Ibsen at first hand, we must now skip nearly three years, till the two met again in the autumn of 1879. For something like half this time Ibsen had remained at Munich. "The Pillars of Society" had been finished in July 1877. During part of '78 and most of '79 the Ibsens were in Italy, first at Rome and then at Amalfi, where "A Doll's House" was finished in September. In a letter dated Amalfi, September 20, 1879, Ibsen wrote to Paulsen strongly advising him to exchange Paris for Munich. An Oxford man would say that the gist of his letter was that he ought to take a thorough "Greats' course at the Munich University. Influenced more by the prospect of renewed intercourse with Ibsen than by the thought of attending lectures, Paulsen took the advice given him.

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Ibsen himself was back in Munich in October. Under pressure from the theatre management he attended many of the rehearsals of

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