G.P.R. James – författare

The rise and fall of the feudal system comprises one of the most important periods of human history. During this time, magnificent upheavals occurred: an organised system of oppression gave way to rational liberty, bloody wars resulted in the refinement of society, and wanton aggression produced limitations of power. No life would seem more illustrative of the peculiarities of these times than that of King Richard I. In this work, the author sets out to analyse the life of Richard and its relation to the feudalistic and chivalrous societies in which Richard lived. The feudal system in England, chivalry and knighthood and the Crusades are among the major themes of this defining text.

The rise and fall of the feudal system comprises one of the most important periods of human history. During this time, magnificent upheavals occurred: an organised system of oppression gave way to rational liberty, bloody wars resulted in the refinement of society, and wanton aggression produced limitations of power. No life would seem more illustrative of the peculiarities of these times than that of King Richard I. In this work, the author sets out to analyse the life of Richard and its relation to the feudalistic and chivalrous societies in which Richard lived. The feudal system in England, chivalry and knighthood and the Crusades are among the major themes of this defining text.

This is a romantic fiction written by 19th century writer G.P.R. James, a well-known British writer during the Victorian Era. This is one of his most famous works, and here is an excerpt from the intro:Picking up a novel by the historical novelist G. P. R. James, with Virginia as subject and "The Old Dominion" for title, one inevitably expects a romance about Elizabethan adventures and noble savages, something after the manner of Fenimore Cooper, with an air of greater antiquity. What, then, is our surprise to find that the veteran romancer has given us a novel of recent history, with facetious sketches of Yankee oddities, a plot based on a legal imbroglio, and a painstaking study of that perennial problem, the negro question. "The Old Dominion" is, in fact, James''s "American Notes" and "Martin Chuzzlewit," though the portraiture is altogether kindly, and the satire of the mildest kind. He has observed the life and manners of the country where he resided as British Consul with the same minute care as that which he lavishes on his historical studies. Without Dickens''s virulent and entertaining comedy, the picture of life in Virginia in the thirties is probably far truer because of this scrupulous accuracy, and because of the moderation and patient endeavour to decide justly upon disputed points. Years before "Uncle Tom''s Cabin," James gave the English public this thoughtful picture of slavery. He is not one-sided. He rather discloses at once the evils of slavery and the difficulties of emancipation in a purely imaginative way without pleading strongly for a remedy. He shows powerfully what a terrible retribution has been brought upon the land by those who introduced slavery. The negro''s insane ferocity when freed from control, and the peril of a small white population at the mercy of a host of revolted slaves, are brought out in the history of the negro insurrection, which is traced from its origin in the preaching of McGrubber and the misguided brooding of Nat Turner, down to its repression. The hero and heroine and the love romance, with its profusion of obstacles to happiness, are the familiar ones, with a modern instead of a medi[ae]val environment. But the vivacity of the style is quite unusual. Mr. Byles is epigrammatic with his three distinctions between the North and the South. "In the South they fight duels whenever they can, have slaves for their servants, and grow tobacco and corn. In New England they never fight if they can help it, are slaves to their own servants, and make wooden clocks and wooden nutmegs." And our serious romancer even ventures on a broad joke quite frequently.

This is a romantic fiction written by 19th century writer G.P.R. James, a well-known British writer during the Victorian Era. This is one of his most famous works, and a table of contents is included.

This is a romantic fiction that purports to be a biography of Arabella Stuart of the Stuart royal line that ruled Great Britain. From the foreword:“In depicting the characters of the various persons who appear upon the scene, however, I have had a more difficult task to perform, being most anxious to represent them as they really were, and not on any account to distort and caricature them. The rudeness of the age,--the violent passions that were called into action,--the bold and erratic disregard which thus reigned of all those principles which have now been universally recognised for many years, rendered it not easy to give the appearance of truth and reality to events that did actually happen, and to personages who have indeed existed; for to the age of James I. may well be applied the often repeated maxim, that "Truth is stranger than Fiction."Difficulties as great, and many others of a different description, have been overcome in the extraordinary romance called "Ferrers;" but it is not every one who possesses the powers of vigorous delineation which have been displayed by the Author of that remarkable work; and I have been obliged to trust to the reader''s knowledge of history, to justify me in the representation which I have given of characters and scenes, which might seem overstrained and unnatural, to those who have been only accustomed to travel over the railroad level of modern civilization.The character of James I. himself has been portrayed by Sir Walter Scott with skill to which I can in no degree pretend--but with a very lenient hand. He here appears under a more repulsive aspect, as a cold, brutal, vain, frivolous tyrant. Nevertheless, every act which I have attributed to him blackens the page of history, with many others, even more dark and foul, which I have not found necessary to introduce. Indeed, I would not even add one deed which appeared to me in the least degree doubtful; for I do believe that we have no right to charge the memory of the dead with anything that is not absolutely proved against them. We must remember, that we try them in a court where they cannot plead, before a jury chosen by ourselves, and pronounce a sentence against which they can make no appeal: and I should be as unwilling to add to the load of guilt which weighs down the reputation of a bad man, as to detract from the high fame and honour of a great and good one. My conviction, however, is unalterable, that James I. was at once one of the most cruel tyrants, and one of the most disgusting men, that ever sat upon a throne.In the account I have given of Lady Essex, I shall probably be accused of having drawn an incarnate fiend; but I reply, that I have not done it. Her character is traced in the same colours by the hand of History. Fortunately, it so happens that few have ever been like her; for wickedness is generally a plant of slow growth, and we rarely find that extreme youth is totally devoid of virtues, though it may be stained with many vices. Such as I have found her, so have I painted her; suppressing, indeed, many traits and many actions which were unfit for the eye of a part, at least, of my readers. Dark as her character was, however, its introduction into this tale afforded me a great advantage, by the contrast it presented to that of Arabella Stuart herself; bringing out the brightness of that sweet lady''s mind, and the gentleness of her heart, in high relief; and I hope and trust, tending to impress upon the minds of those who peruse these pages, the excellence of virtue and the deformity of vice.”

This book was written over a century ago. The descriptions of the shoreline of Kent all in non-sophisticated but very distinctive English are music to ears and imagination. To this add a great depiction of England''s not-so-underground society -- at the time... Great book. (Goodreads)

Excerpt: "The house was a neat, though a lowly one. It bore traces of newness, for the bark on the trunks which supported the little veranda had not yet mouldered away. Nevertheless, it was not built by the owner''s own hands ; for when he came there he had much to learn in the rougher arts of life ; but with a carpenter from a village some nine miles off, he had aided to raise the building and directed the construction by his own taste. The result was satisfactory to him ; and, what was more, in his eyes, was satisfactory to the two whom he loved best at least, it seemed satisfactory to them, although those who knew them, even not so well as he did, might have doubted, and yet loved them all the better."

A stranger rides across the Kentish countryside when his attention is called to a cottage where violence is being done to an elderly couple. The knight, for such he appears to be, rushes to their aid. Soon after, the strange and prophetic Sir Cesar appears on the scene and foretells of danger ahead.

Excerpt: "It was an awfully dark and tempestuous night; the wind howled in fury through the trees, and round the towers; the large drops of rain dashed against the casements, the small lozenges of glass rattled and clattered in their leaden frames, and the thick boards of the oaken floor heaved and shivered under the force of the tempest. From time to time a keen blue streak of lightning crossed the descending deluge, and for an instant the great black masses of the forest, and the high and broken rocks around, appeared like spectres of a gone-by world, and sank into Egyptian darkness again, almost as soon as seen; and then the roar of the thunder was added to the scream of the blast, seeming to shake the whole building to its foundation."

Excerpt: "It was an hour past midnight - the sentries had just been relieved upon the castle wall - and Hugh de Monthermer sat by the window, looking out into the depth of night, and gazing at the far twinkling of the stars. The mind was occupied in the same manner as the body, for it was looking forth into the dark night of death, and marking the small bright shining lights from heaven, that tell of other worlds beyond."

The story is really about one Jean Charost, who enters into the service of the Duke of Orleans in the early 1400''s, and proves himself worthy. It has lots of sword fights and sieges and dungeons and fleeing by night, in the good tradition of a swashbuckler. (Goodreads)

Excerpt: "The night was as black as ink; not a solitary twinkling star looked out through that wide expanse of shadow, which our great Poet has called the "blanket of the dark;" clouds covered the heaven; the moon had not risen to tinge them even with grey, and the sun had too long set to leave one faint streak of purple upon the edge of the western sky. Trees, houses, villages, fields, and gardens, all lay in one profound obscurity, and even the course of the high-road itself required eyes well-accustomed to night-travelling to be able to distinguish it, as it wandered on through a rich part of Hampshire, amidst alternate woods and meadows."

Excerpt: "e;It was a dark and stormy night,-a very dark night indeed. No dog's mouth, whether terrier, mastiff, or Newfoundland, was ever so dark as that night. The hatches had been battened down, and every aperture but one, by which any of the great, curly-pated, leaping waves could jump into the vessel, had been closed. What vessel? the reader may perhaps inquire."e;

Excerpt: "Among the minor trials of faith, few, perhaps, are more difficult to contend against than that growing conviction, which, commencing very soon after the holiday happiness of youth has been first tasted, becomes stronger every year, as experience unfolds to us the great, dark secrets of the world in which we are placed--the conviction of the general worthlessness of our fellow-men."

Excerpt: "In giving this book to the public I have but little to explain. The reader who takes it up may expect to find something respecting the Princess Honoria. He will, however, find nothing. All that we know of her history is uninteresting, except to those who love to dwell upon the pruriencies of a degraded state of society :all that we know of her character is disgusting to such as love purity and dignity of mind. It would be tedious to the reader to explain why the author has thought fit to alter several names of the persons acting prominent parts in the story of Attila. In so doing he has consulted principally his own ear; and in a few other deviations which he has made from the course of that great monarchs history, he has consulted his own convenience."

Excerpt: "Let me take you into an old-fashioned country house, built by architects of the early reign of James the First. It had all the peculiarities--I might almost say the oddities--of that particular epoch in the building art. Chimneys innumerable had it. Heaven only knows what rooms they ventilated; but their name must have been legion. The windows were not fewer in number, and much more irregular: for the chimneys were gathered together in some sort of symmetrical arrangement, while the windows were scattered all over the various faces of the building, with no apparent arrangement at all."

Excerpt: "In a small high room of the oldest part of St. John''s College, Cambridge, in a warm and glowing day of the early spring, and at about seven o''clock in the morning, there sat a young man with his cheek leaning on his hand, and his eyes fixed upon the page of an open book. There were many others closed and unclosed upon the table around him, as well as various pieces of paper, traced with every sort of curious figure which geometrical science ever discovered or measured. The page, too, on which his eyes were bent, was well nigh as full of ciphers as of words, and it was evident, from everything around, that the studies of the tenant of that chamber were of a very abstruse character."

Excerpt: "Not many years ago, as the writer of this work was returning on horseback to Castellamare, from a visit to the Lactarian Hills, he overtook, just under the chestnut trees on the slope, which every one who has visited that part of Italy must remember, two gentlemen with their guide, who were on their way home after some expedition of a kind similar to his own. As the indefinable something told him at once that they were Englishmen, he turned, as usual under such circumstances, to examine them more critically in passing, and in one of them recollected a person whom he had met more than once in London. He hesitated whether he should claim the acquaintance; as, when he had before seen him, the traveller had appeared to great disadvantage. A man of rank and fortune, flattered, caressed, single, and set at, he had borne a sort of sneering indifference on his countenance, which certainly did not recommend him to a person who neither sought his friendship nor feared his contempt. A few traits, indeed, had casually appeared, which seemed to betray a better spirit beneath this kind of supercilious exterior; but still the impression was unfavourable".

Excerpt: "Of all the hard-working people on the earth, there are none so serviceable to her neighbours as the moon. She lights lovers and thieves. She keeps watch-dogs waking. She is a constant resource to poets and romance-writers. She helps the compounders of almanacks amazingly. She has something to do with the weather, and the tides, and the harvest; and in short she has a finger in every man''s pie, and probably more or less effect upon every man''s brain. She is a charming creature in all her variations. Her versatility is not the offspring of caprice; and she is constant in the midst of every change."

Excerpt: "At that time in the world''s history when watches, in their decline from the fat comeliness of the turnip to the scanty meagreness of the half-crown, had arrived at the intermediate form of a biffin--when the last remnant of a chivalrous spirit instigated men to wear swords every day, and to take purses on horseback--when quadrupeds were preferred to steam, and sails were necessary to a ship--when Chatham and Blackstone appeared in the senate and at the bar, and Goldsmith, Johnson, and Burke, Cowper, Reynolds, Robertson Hume, and Smollett, were just beginning to cumber the highways of arts and sciences--at that period of the dark ages, the events which are about to be related undoubtedly took place, in a county which shall be nameless."

Excerpt: ""Names, indeed, are nothing," said the other with a smile. "What I have got to say, sir, is this, that I have undoubted reason to know that the life of the High Personage we refer to is in hourly danger; that there are persons in this realm who have not only designed to kill him, but have laid with skill and accuracy their schemes for effecting that purpose. I have heard that he is very apt--for I have never seen the royal hunt--to go out to the chase nearly alone, or rather, I should say, very slightly attended; and I came to tell Lord Portland that if this were continued, that High Personage''s life could not be counted upon from day to day. Let him be well guarded."

Excerpt: "I wrote to you, my dear sister, from the pretty little town of Baltimore; and I hope you have received my letter. Although this so speedily follows it, my only motives for writing are, to occupy idle time, and to relieve your mind from apprehension regarding my safety during my passage through all the terrors of Chesapeake Bay: "that long and dreadful inlet," as you call it, "in which uncle Richard was shipwrecked twenty or thirty years ago." Believe me, all these dangers are imaginary. This Chesapeake Bay is a very calm, pleasant sheet of water, which may have its storms sometimes; but, sheltered from the full force of the ocean by what is called the eastern shore, has no terrors after passing the Atlantic."

Excerpt: "A solitary room at midnight: a single wax candle lighted on the table: the stiff dull crimson silken curtains of the bed close drawn: half a dozen phials and two or three glasses. Is it the chamber of a sick man? He must sleep sound if it be, for there is no noise—not even a breath; and all without is as still as death. There is awe in the silence; the candle sheds gloom, not light, the damask hanging sucks up the rays, and gives nothing back: they sink into the dark wood furniture: one could hear a mouse creep over the thick carpet; but there is no sound! Is it the chamber of the dead? But where is the watcher?—Away! and what matters it here? No one will come to disturb the rest of that couch: no brawling voices, no creaking doors will make vibrate the dull cold ear of death. Watch ye the living! The dead need no watching: the sealed eyes and the clayed ears have sleep that cannot be broken. But is it the watcher who comes back again through that slowly opening door? No, that is a man; and we give all the more sad and solemn tasks of life to women."