The Cloister and the Hearth

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I do not know where I can find a book in which the highest qualities of head and of heart go together as they do in this one. [1] there was the dwarf, slit and fanged from ear to ear at his expense, and laughing like a lion. (think Victor Hugo 'The Man Who Laughs' and in turn think The Joker from Batman stories) There were always priests, monks and other clergy to be found, and they were either ascetic or corrupt – rarely anything inbetween. Women could be lewd, shrewish, strong-minded or virginal, but essentially dependent on their menfolk. Taverns and prostitutes were a-plenty. Aristocrats were noble or dishonest, not much else. Poor people were subservient and loyal.

What is more, few medieval stories do not contain aristocrats, soldiers, servants, fair maidens and clergymen. To call these clichés or tropes is almost to underestimate the importance of these fictional conventions. They are the only story of the age. They are almost literally present in any tale about medieval times, no matter who the writer or artist is. For some, this is evidence of an anti-Catholic tinge in the book. If Gerard and Margaret had embraced Protestantism, he could have married her and remained a vicar. This is true, but Reade seems to have an admiration for asceticism, and he appears to side with Gerard’s decision. There is pathos in their separation and their deaths, but there is no criticism of Gerard’s choice, or of a religious system that caused him to make it.Just some personal notes I started keeping before the eye-scorching set in. - the writer of fiction may be of use to the public—as an interpreter.

One reason the lovers are kept apart is perhaps that it is hard to imagine Gerard and Margaret living any normal life. Just as I cannot imagine Romeo and Juliet arguing over a smelly latrine, so I cannot picture Gerard and Margaret debating what colour to paint their spare room. These are idealised characters, and one whiff of reality would bring about their deaths. Not a day passes over the earth, but men and women of no note do great deeds, speak great words, and suffer noble sorrows. Of these obscure heroes, philosophers and martyrs, the greater part will never be known till that hour, when many that are great shall be small, and the small great; but of others the world's knowledge may be said to sleep: their lives and characters lie hidden from nations in the annals that record them. The general reader cannot feel them, they are presented so curtly and coldly: they are not like breathing stories appealing to his heart, but little historic hailstones striking him but to glance off his bosom: nor can he understand them; for epitomes are not narratives, as skeletons are not human figures." The courage, like the talent, of common men, runs in a narrow groove. Take them but an inch out of that, and they are done. Martin's courage was perfect as far as it went. He had met and baffled many dangers in the course of his rude life, and these familiar dangers he could face with Spartan fortitude, almost with indifference; but he had never been hunted by a bloodhound, nor had he ever seen that brute's unerring instinct baffled by human cunning. Here then a sense of the supernatural combined with novelty to ungenteel his heart. After going a few steps, he leaned on his bow, and energy and hope oozed out of him." --chapter XX Gerard is a tiresome hero. He foregoes his monastic vocation at the beginning, but he never loses his monkish personality. His virtuous and priggish manner does not make him endearing. In the book’s only piercing moment of psychological insight, he responds to news of Margaret’s possible death by descending into a life of hedonism and easily indulging in all the vices that he once deplored. The prude is generally one step away from the rake, and this proves so here, at least briefly.

CHAPTER XXVI

Here's the first passage of the book: "Not a day passes over the earth, but men and women of no note do great deeds, speak great words, and suffer noble sorrows. Of these obscure heroes, philosophers, and martyrs, the greater part will never be known till that hour when many that are great shall be small, and the small great; but of others the world's knowledge may be said to sleep: their lives and characters lie hidden from nations in the annals that record them. The general reader cannot feel them, they are presented so curtly and coldly: they are not like breathing stories appealing to his heart, but little historic hail-stones striking him but to glance off his bosom: nor can he understand them; for epitomes are not narratives, as skeletons are not human figures. Doyle compliments the quantity of minute detail giving the feeling of daily life in the 1500s, from a clean Dutch home to a slovenly medieval German Inn to conflicted pre-Renaissance Rome. He incidentally mentions clothing, hobbies, morals, attitudes, and popular outlook at the end of the Middle Ages. On the downside he mentions