Patrins: To Which Is Added an Inquirendo Into the Wit & Other Good Parts of His Late Majesty King Charles the Second

In Short

This collection of essays serves as a literary trail—or "patrin"—left by a thoughtful observer for like-minded wanderers. Comprising reflections on topics ranging from the habits of scholars and the ethics of historical judgment to the quiet majesty of London at night, the book captures the contemplative spirit of the 1890s. Its core is an extended inquiry into the character of King Charles II, blending historical portraiture with a playful, dramatic dialogue. It remains a testament to a refined, leisurely mode of criticism that values atmosphere and human complexity over dry academic record.

The Story

The collection begins with a meditation on the scholarly life, contrasting the "rabid" researcher with the "harmless" observer who prefers the timeless, pastoral joy of a figure in a tapestry to the rigid demands of duty. This sets the stage for a journey through various intellectual landscapes. The author examines how we judge historical figures, using Holbein’s portraits of Henry VIII to argue that art often captures a more damning "human document" than state papers ever could. She reflects on the delight of living an incognito life, finding freedom in being unknown, and expresses a longing for a more spacious age where one could truly savor the "elemental game" of life.

The narrative arc moves from these general reflections into the physical and temporal world. The author explores the melancholy beauty of ruins and the "dark charm" of Europe, which lures the American pilgrim across the sea to touch stones worn hollow by centuries of human feet. She turns her wit toward the "under dog" and the plight of captive animals in zoos, advocating for a deeper, more superstitious respect for all living things. Throughout these pieces, the tone shifts from sharp critique to a soft, almost reverent appreciation for "yesterday," which she views as a shared inheritance for those who walk slowly and look deeply.

The climax of the book is a lengthy, inventive inquiry into King Charles II. Departing from typical historical analysis, the author presents a dramatic scene in St. James’s Park. A modern character, Edward Clay, communes with the "Merry Monarch" while feeding ducks, surrounded by the ghosts of history. This section dissects Charles’s personality—his cynicism, his genuine love for serious music, his aversion to hard labor, and his surprising, quiet popularity among the common people. By placing the King in a modern setting, the author reconciles his reputation for profligacy with the tender, serious side of his nature. The book concludes with a return to the present day, as Clay is pulled from his reverie by the mundane intrusion of friends and the sound of church music, leaving the reader with the lingering sense that while the past is dead, its ability to haunt and enrich the present is absolute.

How It Unfolds

The scholarly temperament The author opens by contrasting the heavy responsibilities of the modern desk-bound worker with the immortal, carefree existence of the figures found in old art. This establishes a longing for a life of "sweet sensuous idleness."

The weight of history She examines how we perceive the past, using Holbein’s paintings of Henry VIII to show how visual evidence often contradicts the justifications of historians. This leads to a defense of anonymity as a way to maintain personal dignity.

The lure of the past The focus shifts to the American experience of Europe, where the pilgrim finds a "majesty and melancholy" that is absent in the new world. She argues that these ancient stones connect us to the "sunken footfall" of those who came before us.

The portrait of the King The book culminates in an experimental, dramatic sketch of Charles II. Through the eyes of a modern admirer, the King is revealed not just as a libertine, but as a complex man who appreciated virtue even while failing to live by it.

Returning to the present The final scenes break the spell of the historical inquiry, bringing the reader back to the "genial 'bus" and the bustle of nineteenth-century London. The experience ends on a note of balanced transition between the ancient, haunting past and the immediate, noisy present.

The People

The book is populated by a mix of historical figures and modern, intellectual observers. King Charles II serves as the central subject of the inquiry; he is a man of contradictions—a cynical king who finds beauty in "serious and worthy things," a sovereign who would rather chat by a hearth than rule from a throne. He wants to escape the "seared" nature of majesty and be a spectator to his own life. Standing in his way is the harsh judgment of history and his own tendency to avoid the "communion with himself."

Edward Clay is the author's surrogate in the final dramatic section. He is a dreamer who lingers in the past, finding a "genial" connection to Charles II that his contemporaries, Percy and Rhoda Wetherell, cannot fully grasp. While Clay is content to stand in a dream-world of history, the Wetherells represent the tether to the modern, pragmatic world. They are affectionate but impatient, eventually pulling Clay out of his reverie to join them for a meal. The tension between them highlights the divide between those who are haunted by the "yesterday of our race" and those who are fully anchored in the pulse of the present.

In Its Own Voice

Regarding the burden of modern existence and the desire for simpler, timeless play:

"How some of us have always meant to do just that for ever, and that only! for why not do the sole thing one can do perfectly?"

On the ability of art to reveal the true nature of a monarch:

"The perfectly square florid countenance, the little crowded features, the indomitable leer under the flat hat and feather, the expanding velvets, the sturdy calves of which their owner was vain, the whole air of an aggressive and successful personality,--these are your statistics."

On the melancholy, yet necessary, nature of visiting historical sites:

"That concave stone touches him, and makes his blood tingle: it has magic in it, of itself, without a record; for it speaks of the transit of human worth and human vices."

What It's Really About

The book explores the tension between the "indoor demon" of duty and the human desire for freedom, play, and observation. Its central argument is that we are too quick to judge the past by modern standards of productivity and morality. Instead, the author advocates for a "gentler impression," suggesting that even the most "profligate" figures possess a hidden, serious inner life. The essays pose fundamental questions about our relationship to time: how do we honor the "yesterday" of our race without becoming paralyzed by it? It posits that beauty and truth are often found not in grand, public gestures, but in the quiet, "unregarded" corners of history where we can momentarily discard our own identities.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the leisurely, digressive style of nineteenth-century essayists will find this collection particularly rewarding. If you appreciate writing that values atmosphere, precise vocabulary, and the ability to find "golden casuistry" in the smallest details of a tapestry or a street corner, you will feel at home here. The prose is warm, witty, and deeply empathetic, treating historical figures as if they were living acquaintances rather than museum pieces.

However, the book may present challenges to those accustomed to modern, fast-paced prose. The author assumes a broad familiarity with classical literature, historical figures, and European geography, and her sentences are often long, layered with clauses that require a patient, lingering reading style. Some of the period attitudes—such as the romanticization of the monarchy and the occasional, archaic academic posturing—are clearly products of the 1890s and may feel distant or even alien to a modern audience. Yet, for the reader willing to slow down, the book offers a rare experience: a quiet, contemplative dialogue with a sharp and soulful mind. It stays with you not as a collection of facts, but as a mood—a reminder that "yesterday" is always within reach if you only know how to walk the path.