THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH by Charles Reade Etext Notes: 1. Greek passages are enclosed in angled brackets, e.g. {methua}, and have been transliterated according to:alpha A, a beta B, b gamma G, g delta D, d epsilon E, e zeta Z, z eta Y, y theta Th, th iota I, i kappa K, k lamda L, l mu M, m nu N, n omicron O, o pi P, p rho R, r sigma S, s tau T, t phi Ph, ph chi Ch, ch psi Ps, ps xi X, x upsilon U, u omega W, w 2. All diacritics have been removed from this version 3. References for the Author's footnotes are enclosed in square brackets(e.g. (1)) and collected at the end of the chapter they occur in. 4. There are 100 chapters in the book, each starting with CHAPTER R, where R is the chapter number expressed as a Roman numeral. AUTHOR'S PREFACE A small portion of this tale appeared in Once a Week, July-September, 1859, under the title of “A Good Fight.” After writing it, I took wider views of the subject, and also felt uneasy at having deviated unnecessarily from the historical outline of a true story. These two sentiments have cost me more than a year's very hard labour, which I venture to think has not been wasted. After this plain statement I trust all who comment on this work will see that to describe it as a reprint would be unfair to the public and to me. The English language is copious, and, in any true man's hands, quite able to convey the truth--namely, that one-fifth of the present work is a reprint, and four-fifths of it a new composition. CHARLES READE CHAPTER I 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. Thus records of prime truths remain a dead letter to plain folk: the writers have left so much to the imagination, and imagination is so rare a gift. Here, then, the writer of fiction may be of use to the public--as an interpreter.