And Parson and Clerk and the Devil and all
—with hosts of other lines which dignify the vast storehouse of the English lyric.
Of the modern masterpieces there is one—the best known of all, perhaps—where "and" does an enormous amount of work, which is the poem of Innisfree. It gives the rhythm as well as the mystery. I should like to see what the fools who are for cutting out "and" would make of that poem.
But the most sublime use of "and," alas! we have not. It is the "and" disjunctive; on which turned one of the great moments of history.
For you must know that when the second Council of Nicea finally condemned the monstrosities of the Iconoclasts, a saintly bishop from Cyprus wrote his opinion in Greek saying, "I revere, I embrace the sacred images, και [Greek: kai] I give worship to the Life-giving Trinity"—which is as much as to say, that he would be polite enough to an image, but his worship he reserved for the only true object of worship.
Now, this pronouncement was carried to a Council of the West, sitting at Frankfort, where there were bishops of the Pyrenees, of Gaul, of the Rhine Valley, of the Low Countries, of the Burgundian Hills, of the Swiss Mountains—indeed of all parts whatsoever that owed allegiance to Charlemagne.
At that moment Charlemagne was already wishing to be an emperor in the West. Those who served him were only too glad to find the Empire of the East—which claimed to be universal—making a howler. But the swarm of holy and unholy men at Frankfort were abominably ignorant of Greek. They did not understand the disjunctive value of και [Greek: kai]. They thought it a mere barbaric "and." They translated this famous phrase "I jumble up in one worship God and images." They rushed out with some fury against such a doctrine. They registered their hatred of it. On this point also Gibbon has (as one might expect) abominably falsified history.... But no matter.
The Bishops of Frankfort said what they had to say. In vain did those of Rome, who were acquainted with Greek, tell them that they had taken the sentence exactly upside down—that it meant "I do not worship the images. I distinguish the observance I give them from the worship I offer to That which alone is worthy of worship." They still clung to their primitive error. With difficulty were they led back into the right fold.
What great consequences their ignorance might have had! We might to-day be deprived of the Bambino. We might have lost Brou (but not Santiago, I think; for the Spaniards, and in particular the Galicians, are of a temper which will stand no nonsense. Though 1462 General Councils had condemned images, the Spaniard would have had them all the same: in which I praise him. Honour to the Pilar!).
Now, though it does not concern the little word "and," yet I am reminded (by this mention of the Second Council of Nicea) of a certain story which, as you may not previously have heard it, I will now proceed to relate. With that story I shall conclude; nor will your prayers and entreaties, however loud and passionate, move me to continue. I will tell you the story; then I will have done.