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diff --git a/old/14338.txt b/old/14338.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d680ab6 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/14338.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8667 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Books and Habits from the Lectures of +Lafcadio Hearn, by Lafcadio Hearn + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Books and Habits from the Lectures of Lafcadio Hearn + +Author: Lafcadio Hearn + +Release Date: December 13, 2004 [EBook #14338] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BOOKS AND HABITS *** + + + + +Produced by Ted Garvin, Barbara Tozier and the PG Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. + + + + + + +BOOKS AND HABITS + +_from the lectures of_ + +LAFCADIO HEARN + + + +_Selected and Edited with an Introduction by_ + +JOHN ERSKINE + +_Professor of English Columbia University_ + + + +1922 + +London: William Heinemann + + + + + [Transcriber's note: Contents moved to precede the Introduction.] + +CONTENTS + + INTRODUCTION + I THE INSUPERABLE DIFFICULTY + II ON LOVE IN ENGLISH POETRY + III THE IDEAL WOMAN IN ENGLISH POETRY + IV NOTE UPON THE SHORTEST FORMS OF ENGLISH POETRY + V SOME FOREIGN POEMS ON JAPANESE SUBJECTS + VI THE BIBLE IN ENGLISH LITERATURE + VII THE "HAVAMAL" + VIII BEYOND MAN + IX THE NEW ETHICS + X SOME POEMS ABOUT INSECTS + XI SOME FRENCH POEMS ABOUT INSECTS + XII NOTE ON THE INFLUENCE OF FINNISH POETRY IN ENGLISH LITERATURE + XIII THE MOST BEAUTIFUL ROMANCE OF THE MIDDLE AGES + XIV "IONICA" + XV OLD GREEK FRAGMENTS + INDEX + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + +These chapters, for the most part, are reprinted from Lafcadio Hearn's +"Interpretations of Literature," 1915, from his "Life and Literature," +1916, and from his "Appreciations of Poetry," 1917. Three chapters appear +here for the first time. They are all taken from the student notes of +Hearn's lectures at the University of Tokyo, 1896-1902, sufficiently +described in the earlier volumes just mentioned. They are now published in +this regrouping in response to a demand for a further selection of the +lectures, in a less expensive volume and with emphasis upon those papers +which illustrate Hearn's extraordinary ability to interpret the exotic in +life and in books. + +It should be remembered that these lectures were delivered to Japanese +students, and that Hearn's purpose was not only to impart the information +about Western literature usually to be found in our histories and +text-books, but much more to explain to the Oriental mind those +peculiarities of our civilization which might be hard to understand on the +further side of the Pacific Ocean. The lectures are therefore unique, in +that they are the first large attempt by a Western critic to interpret us +to the East. That we shall be deeply concerned in the near future to +continue this interpretation on an even larger scale, no one of us doubts. +We wish we might hope for another genius like Hearn to carry on the work. + +The merit of the chapters printed or reprinted in the present volume seems +to me their power to teach us to imagine our familiar traditions as +foreign and exotic in the eyes of other peoples. We are accustomed, like +every one else, to think of our literature as the final product of other +literatures--as a terminal in itself, rather than as a channel through +which great potentialities might flow. Like other men, we are accustomed +to think of ourselves as native, under all circumstances, and of other +people at all times as foreign. While we were staying in their country, +did we not think of the French as foreigners? In these chapters, not +originally intended for us, we have the piquant and salutary experience of +seeing what we look like on at least one occasion when we are the +foreigners; we catch at least a glimpse of what to the Orient seems exotic +in us, and it does us no harm to observe that the peculiarly Western +aspects of our culture are not self-justifying nor always justifiable when +looked at through eyes not already disposed in their favour. Hearn was one +of the most loyal advocates the West could possibly have sent to the East, +but he was an honest artist, and he never tried to improve his case by +trimming a fact. His interpretation of us, therefore, touches our +sensitiveness in regions--and in a degree--which perhaps his Japanese +students were unconscious of; we too marvel as well as they at his skill +in explaining, but we are sensitive to what he found necessary to explain. +We read less for the explanation than for the inventory of ourselves. + +Any interpretation of life which looks closely to the facts will probably +increase our sense of mystery and of strangeness in common things. If on +the other hand it is a theory of experience which chiefly interests us, we +may divert our attention somewhat from the experience to the theory, +leaving the world as humdrum as it was before we explained it. In that +case we must seek the exotic in remote places and in exceptional +conditions, if we are to observe it at all. But Lafcadio Hearn cultivated +in himself and taught his students to cultivate a quick alertness to those +qualities of life to which we are usually dulled by habit. Education as he +conceived of it had for its purpose what Pater says is the end of +philosophy, to rouse the human spirit, to startle it into sharp and eager +observation. It is a sign that dulness is already spreading in us, if we +must go far afield for the stimulating, the wondrous, the miraculous. The +growing sensitiveness of a sound education would help us to distinguish +these qualities of romance in the very heart of our daily life. To have so +distinguished them is in my opinion the felicity of Hearn in these +chapters. When he was writing of Japan for European or American readers, +we caught easily enough the exotic atmosphere of the island +kingdom--easily enough, since it was the essence of a world far removed +from ours. The exotic note is quite as strong in these chapters. We shall +begin to appreciate Hearn's genius when we reflect that here he finds for +us the exotic in ourselves. + +The first three chapters deal from different standpoints with the same +subject--the characteristic of Western civilization which to the East is +most puzzling, our attitude toward women. Hearn attempted in other essays +also to do full justice to this fascinating theme, but these illustrations +are typical of his method. To the Oriental it is strange to discover a +civilization in which the love of husband and wife altogether supersedes +the love of children for their parents, yet this is the civilization he +will meet in English and in most Western literatures. He can understand +the love of individual women, as we understand the love of individual men, +but he will not easily understand our worship of women as a sex, our +esteem of womankind, our chivalry, our way of taking woman as a religion. +How difficult, then, will he find such a poem as Tennyson's "Princess," or +most English novels. He will wonder why the majority of all Western +stories are love stories, and why in English literature the love story +takes place before marriage, whereas in French and other Continental +literatures it usually follows marriage. In Japan marriages are the +concern of the parents; with us they are the concern of the lovers, who +must choose their mates in competition more or less open with other +suitors. No wonder the rivalries and the precarious technique of +love-making are with us an obsession quite exotic to the Eastern mind. But +the Japanese reader, if he would understand us, must also learn how it is +that we have two ways of reckoning with love--a realistic way, which +occupies itself in portraying sex, the roots of the tree, as Hearn says, +and the idealistic way, which tries to fix and reproduce the beautiful +illusion of either happy or unhappy passion. And if the Japanese reader +has learned enough of our world to understand all this, he must yet +visualize our social system more clearly perhaps than most of us see it, +if he would know why so many of our love poems are addressed to the woman +we have not yet met. When we begin to sympathize with him in his efforts +to grasp the meaning of our literature, we are at last awakened ourselves +to some notion of what our civilization means, and as Hearn guides us +through the discipline, we realize an exotic quality in things which +formerly we took for granted. + +Lecturing before the days of Imagism, before the attention of many +American poets had been turned to Japanese art, Hearn recognized the +scarcity in our literature of those short forms of verse in which the +Greeks as well as the Japanese excel. The epigram with us is--or was until +recently--a classical tradition, based on the brief inscriptions of the +Greek anthology or on the sharp satires of Roman poetry; we had no native +turn for the form as an expression of our contemporary life. Since Hearn +gave his very significant lecture we have discovered for ourselves an +American kind of short poem, witty rather than poetic, and few verse-forms +are now practised more widely among us. Hearn spoke as a prophet or as a +shrewd observer--which is the same thing--when he pointed out the +possibility of development in this field of brevity. He saw that Japan was +closer to the Greek world in this practice than we were, and that our +indifference to the shorter forms constituted a peculiarity which we could +hardly defend. He saw, also, in the work of Heredia, how great an +influence Japanese painting might have on Western literature, even on +those poets who had no other acquaintance with Japan. In this point also +his observation has proved prophetic; the new poets in America have +adopted Japan, as they have adopted Greece, as a literary theme, and it is +somewhat exclusively from the fine arts of either country that they draw +their idea of its life. + +The next chapters which are brought together here, consider the origin and +the nature of English and European ethics. Hearn was an artist to the +core, and as a writer he pursued with undivided purpose that beauty which, +as Keats reminded us, is truth. In his creative moments he was a +beauty-lover, not a moralist. But when he turned critic he at once +stressed the cardinal importance of ethics in the study of literature. The +art which strives to end in beauty will reveal even more clearly than more +complex forms of expression the personality of the artist, and personality +is a matter of character, and character both governs the choice of an +ethical system and is modified by it. Literary criticism as Hearn +practised it is little interested in theology or in the system of morals +publicly professed; it is, however, profoundly concerned with the ethical +principles upon which the artist actually proceeds, the directions in +which his impulses assert themselves, the verdicts of right and wrong +which his temperament pronounces unconsciously, it may be. Here is the +true revelation of character, Hearn thinks, even though our habitual and +instinctive ethics may differ widely from the ethics we quite sincerely +profess. Whether we know it or not, we are in such matters the children of +some educational or philosophical system, which, preached at our ancestors +long ago, has come at last to envelop us with the apparent naturalness of +the air we breathe. It is a spiritual liberation of the first order, to +envisage such an atmosphere as what it truly is, only a system of ethics +effectively inculcated, and to compare the principles we live by with +those we thought we lived by. Hearn was contriving illumination for the +Japanese when he made his great lecture on the "Havamal," identifying in +the ancient Northern poem those precepts which laid down later qualities +of English character; for the Oriental reader it would be easier to +identify the English traits in Thackeray or Dickens or Meredith if he +could first consider them in a dogmatic precept. But the lecture gives us, +I think, an extraordinary insight into ourselves, a power of +self-criticism almost disconcerting as we realize not only the persistence +of ethical ideals in the past, but also the possible career of new ethical +systems as they may permeate the books written to-day. To what standard +will the reader of our contemporary literature be unconsciously moulded? +What account will be given of literature a thousand years from now, when a +later critic informs himself of our ethics in order to understand more +vitally the pages in which he has been brought up? + +Partly to inform his Japanese students still further as to our ethical +tendencies in literature, and partly I think to indulge his own +speculation as to the morality that will be found in the literature of the +future, Hearn gave his remarkable lectures on the ant-world, following +Fabre and other European investigators, and his lecture on "The New +Ethics." When he spoke, over twenty years ago, the socialistic ideal had +not gripped us so effectually as it has done in the last decade, but he +had no difficulty in observing the tendency. Civilization in some later +cycle may wonder at our ambition to abandon individual liberty and +responsibility and to subside into the social instincts of the ant; and +even as it wonders, that far-off civilization may detect in itself +ant-like reactions which we cultivated for it. With this description of +the ant-world it is illuminating to read the two brilliant chapters on +English and French poems about insects. Against this whole background of +ethical theory, I have ventured to set Hearn's singularly objective +account of the Bible. + +In the remaining four chapters Hearn speaks of the "Kalevala," of the +mediaeval romance "Amis and Amile," of William Cory's "Ionica," and of +Theocritus. These chapters deal obviously with literary influences which +have become part and parcel of English poetry, yet which remain exotic to +it, if we keep in mind the Northern stock which still gives character, +ethical and otherwise, to the English tradition. The "Kalevala," which +otherwise should seem nearest to the basic qualities of our poetry, is +almost unique, as Hearn points out, in the extent of its preoccupation +with enchantments and charms, with the magic of words. "Amis and Amile," +which otherwise ought to seem more foreign to us, is strangely close in +its glorification of friendship; for chivalry left with us at least this +one great ethical feeling, that to keep faith in friendship is a holy +thing. No wonder Amicus and Amelius were popular saints. The story implies +also, as it falls here in the book, some illustration of those unconscious +or unconsidered ethical reactions which, as we saw in the chapter on the +"Havamal," have a lasting influence on our ideals and on our conduct. + +Romanticist though he was, Hearn constantly sought the romance in the +highway of life, the aspects of experience which seem to perpetuate +themselves from age to age, compelling literature to reassert them under +whatever changes of form. To one who has followed the large mass of his +lectures it is not surprising that he emphasized those ethical positions +which are likely to remain constant, in spite of much new philosophy, nor +that he constantly recurred to such books as Cory's "Ionica," or Lang's +translation of Theocritus, in which he found statements of enduring human +attitudes. To him the Greek mind made a double appeal. Not only did it +represent to him the best that has yet been thought or said in the world, +but by its fineness and its maturity it seemed kindred to the spirit he +found in ancient Japan. Lecturing to Japanese students on Greek poetry as +it filters through English paraphrases and translations, he must have felt +sometimes as we now feel in reading his lectures, that in his teaching the +long migration of the world's culture was approaching the end of the +circuit, and that the earliest apparition of the East known to most of us +was once more arriving at its starting place, mystery returning to +mystery, and its path at all points mysterious if we rightly observe the +miracle of the human spirit. + + + + + +BOOKS AND HABITS + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE INSUPERABLE DIFFICULTY + + +I wish to speak of the greatest difficulty with which the Japanese +students of English literature, or of almost any Western literature, have +to contend. I do not think that it ever has been properly spoken about. A +foreign teacher might well hesitate to speak about, it--because, if he +should try to explain it merely from the Western point of view, he could +not hope to be understood; and if he should try to speak about it from the +Japanese point of view, he would be certain to make various mistakes and +to utter various extravagances. The proper explanation might be given by a +Japanese professor only, who should have so intimate an acquaintance with +Western life as to sympathize with it. Yet I fear that it would be +difficult to find such a Japanese professor for this reason, that just in +proportion as he should find himself in sympathy with Western life, in +that proportion he would become less and less able to communicate that +sympathy to his students. The difficulties are so great that it has taken +me many years even to partly guess how great they are. That they can be +removed at the present day is utterly out of the question. But something +may be gained by stating them even imperfectly. At the risk of making +blunders and uttering extravagances, I shall make the attempt. I am +impelled to do so by a recent conversation with one of the cleverest +students that I ever had, who acknowledged his total inability to +understand some of the commonest facts in Western life,--all those facts +relating, directly or indirectly, to the position of woman in Western +literature as reflecting Western life. + +Let us clear the ground it once by putting down some facts in the plainest +and lowest terms possible. You must try to imagine a country in which the +place of the highest virtue is occupied, so to speak, by the devotion of +sex to sex. The highest duty of the man is not to his father, but to his +wife; and for the sake of that woman he abandons all other earthly ties, +should any of these happen to interfere with that relation. The first duty +of the wife may be, indeed, must be, to her child, when she has one; but +otherwise her husband is her divinity and king. In that country it would +be thought unnatural or strange to have one's parents living in the same +house with wife or husband. You know all this. But it does not explain for +you other things, much more difficult to understand, especially the +influence of the abstract idea of woman upon society at large as well as +upon the conduct of the individual. The devotion of man to woman does not +mean at all only the devotion of husband to wife. It means actually +this,--that every man is bound by conviction and by opinion to put all +women before himself, simply because they are women. I do not mean that +any man is likely to think of any woman as being his intellectual and +physical superior; but I do mean that he is bound to think of her as +something deserving and needing the help of every man. In time of danger +the woman must be saved first. In time of pleasure, the woman must be +given the best place. In time of hardship the woman's share of the common +pain must be taken voluntarily by the man as much as possible. This is not +with any view to recognition of the kindness shown. The man who assists a +woman in danger is not supposed to have any claim upon her for that +reason. He has done his duty only, not to her, the individual, but to +womankind at large. So we have arrived at this general fact, that the +first place in all things, except rule, is given to woman in Western +countries, and that it is given almost religiously. + +Is woman a religion? Well, perhaps you will have the chance of judging for +yourselves if you go to America. There you will find men treating women +with just the same respect formerly accorded only to religious dignitaries +or to great nobles. Everywhere they are saluted and helped to the best +places; everywhere they are treated as superior beings. Now if we find +reverence, loyalty and all kinds of sacrifices devoted either to a human +being or to an image, we are inclined to think of worship. And worship it +is. If a Western man should hear me tell you this, he would want the +statement qualified, unless he happened to be a philosopher. But I am +trying to put the facts before you in the way in which you can best +understand them. Let me say, then, that the all-important thing for the +student of English literature to try to understand, is that in Western +countries woman is a cult, a religion, or if you like still plainer +language, I shall say that in Western countries woman is a god. + +So much for the abstract idea of woman. Probably you will not find that +particularly strange; the idea is not altogether foreign to Eastern +thought, and there are very extensive systems of feminine pantheism in +India. Of course the Western idea is only in the romantic sense a feminine +pantheism; but the Oriental idea may serve to render it more +comprehensive. The ideas of divine Mother and divine Creator may be +studied in a thousand forms; I am now referring rather to the sentiment, +to the feeling, than to the philosophical conception. + +You may ask, if the idea or sentiment of divinity attaches to woman in the +abstract, what about woman in the concrete--individual woman? Are women +individually considered as gods? Well, that depends on how you define the +word god. The following definition would cover the ground, I think:--"Gods +are beings superior to man, capable of assisting or injuring him, and to +be placated by sacrifice and prayer." Now according to this definition, I +think that the attitude of man towards woman in Western countries might be +very well characterized as a sort of worship. In the upper classes of +society, and in the middle classes also, great reverence towards women is +exacted. Men bow down before them, make all kinds of sacrifices to please +them, beg for their good will and their assistance. It does not matter +that this sacrifice is not in the shape of incense burning or of temple +offerings; nor does it matter that the prayers are of a different kind +from those pronounced in churches. There is sacrifice and worship. And no +saying is more common, no truth better known, than that the man who hopes +to succeed in life must be able to please the women. Every young man who +goes into any kind of society knows this. It is one of the first lessons +that he has to learn. Well, am I very wrong in saying that the attitude of +men towards women in the West is much like the attitude of men towards +gods? + +But you may answer at once,--How comes it, if women are thus reverenced as +you say, that men of the lower classes beat and ill-treat their wives in +those countries? I must reply, for the same reason that Italian and +Spanish sailors will beat and abuse the images of the saints and virgins +to whom they pray, when their prayer is not granted. It is quite possible +to worship an image sincerely and to seek vengeance upon it in a moment of +anger. The one feeling does not exclude the other. What in the higher +classes may be a religion, in the lower classes may be only a +superstition, and strange contradictions exist, side by side, in all forms +of superstition. Certainly the Western working man or peasant does not +think about his wife or his neighbour's wife in the reverential way that +the man of the superior class does. But you will find, if you talk to +them, that something of the reverential idea is there; it is there at +least during their best moments. + +Now there is a certain exaggeration in what I have said. But that is only +because of the somewhat narrow way in which I have tried to express a +truth. I am anxious to give you the idea that throughout the West there +exists, though with a difference according to class and culture, a +sentiment about women quite as reverential as a sentiment of religion. +This is true; and not to understand it, is not to understand Western +literature. + +How did it come into existence? Through many causes, some of which are so +old that we can not know anything about them. This feeling did not belong +to the Greek and Roman civilization but it belonged to the life of the old +Northern races who have since spread over the world, planting their ideas +everywhere. In the oldest Scandinavian literature you will find that women +were thought of and treated by the men of the North very much as they are +thought of and treated by Englishmen of to-day. You will find what their +power was in the old sagas, such as the Njal-Saga, or "The Story of Burnt +Njal." But we must go much further than the written literature to get a +full knowledge of the origin of such a sentiment. The idea seems to have +existed that woman was semi-divine, because she was the mother, the +creator of man. And we know that she was credited among the Norsemen with +supernatural powers. But upon this Northern foundation there was built up +a highly complex fabric of romantic and artistic sentiment. The Christian +worship of the Virgin Mary harmonized with the Northern belief. The +sentiment of chivalry reinforced it. Then came the artistic resurrection +of the Renaissance, and the new reverence for the beauty of the old Greek +gods, and the Greek traditions of female divinities; these also coloured +and lightened the old feeling about womankind. Think also of the effect +with which literature, poetry and the arts have since been cultivating and +developing the sentiment. Consider how the great mass of Western poetry is +love poetry, and the greater part of Western fiction love stories. + +Of course the foregoing is only the vaguest suggestion of a truth. Really +my object is not to trouble you at all about the evolutional history of +the sentiment, but only to ask you to think what this sentiment means in +literature. I am not asking you to sympathize with it, but if you could +sympathize with it you would understand a thousand things in Western books +which otherwise must remain dim and strange. I am not expecting that you +can sympathize with it. But it is absolutely necessary that you should +understand its relation to language and literature. Therefore I have to +tell you that you should try to think of it as a kind of religion, a +secular, social, artistic religion, not to be confounded with any national +religion. It is a kind of race feeling or race creed. It has not +originated in any sensuous idea, but in some very ancient superstitious +idea. Nearly all forms of the highest sentiment and the highest faith and +the highest art have had their beginnings in equally humble soil. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +ON LOVE IN ENGLISH POETRY + + +I often imagine that the longer he studies English literature the more the +Japanese student must be astonished at the extraordinary predominance +given to the passion of love both in fiction and in poetry. Indeed, by +this time I have begun to feel a little astonished at it myself. Of +course, before I came to this country it seemed to me quite natural that +love should be the chief subject of literature; because I did not know +anything about any other kind of society except Western society. But +to-day it really seems to me a little strange. If it seems strange to me, +how much more ought it to seem strange to you! Of course, the simple +explanation of the fact is that marriage is the most important act of +man's life in Europe or America, and that everything depends upon it. It +is quite different on this side of the world. But the simple explanation +of the difference is not enough. There are many things to be explained. +Why should not only the novel writers but all the poets make love the +principal subject of their work? I never knew, because I never thought, +how much English literature was saturated with the subject of love until I +attempted to make selections of poetry and prose for class use--naturally +endeavouring to select such pages or poems as related to other subjects +than passion. Instead of finding a good deal of what I was looking for, I +could find scarcely anything. The great prose writers, outside of the +essay or history, are nearly all famous as tellers of love stories. And it +is almost impossible to select half a dozen stanzas of classic verse from +Tennyson or Rossetti or Browning or Shelley or Byron, which do not contain +anything about kissing, embracing, or longing for some imaginary or real +beloved. Wordsworth, indeed, is something of an exception; and Coleridge +is most famous for a poem which contains nothing at all about love. But +exceptions do not affect the general rule that love is the theme of +English poetry, as it is also of French, Italian, Spanish, or German +poetry. It is the dominant motive. + +So with the English novelists. There have been here also a few +exceptions--such as the late Robert Louis Stevenson, most of whose novels +contain little about women; they are chiefly novels or romances of +adventure. But the exceptions are very few. At the present time there are +produced almost every year in England about a thousand new novels, and all +of these or nearly all are love stories. To write a novel without a woman +in it would be a dangerous undertaking; in ninety-nine cases out of a +hundred the book would not sell. + +Of course all this means that the English people throughout the world, as +readers, are chiefly interested in the subject under discussion. When you +find a whole race interested more in one thing than in anything else, you +may be sure that it is so because the subject is of paramount importance +in the life of the average person. You must try to imagine then, a society +in which every man must choose his wife, and every woman must choose her +husband, independent of all outside help, and not only choose but obtain +if possible. The great principle of Western society is that competition +rules here as it rules in everything else. The best man--that is to say, +the strongest and cleverest--is likely to get the best woman, in the sense +of the most beautiful person. The weak, the feeble, the poor, and the ugly +have little chance of being able to marry at all. Tens of thousands of men +and women can not possibly marry. I am speaking of the upper and middle +classes. The working people, the peasants, the labourers, these marry +young; but the competition there is just the same--just as difficult, and +only a little rougher. So it may be said that every man has a struggle of +some kind in order to marry, and that there is a kind of fight or contest +for the possession of every woman worth having. Taking this view of +Western society not only in England but throughout all Europe, you will +easily be able to see why the Western public have reason to be more +interested in literature which treats of love than in any other kind of +literature. + +But although the conditions that I have been describing are about the same +in all Western countries, the tone of the literature which deals with love +is not at all the same. There are very great differences. In prose they +are much more serious than in poetry; because in all countries a man is +allowed, by public opinion, more freedom in verse than in prose. Now these +differences in the way of treating the subject in different countries +really indicate national differences of character. Northern love stories +and Northern poetry about love are very serious; and these authors are +kept within fixed limits. Certain subjects are generally forbidden. For +example, the English public wants novels about love, but the love must be +the love of a girl who is to become somebody's wife. The rule in the +English novel is to describe the pains, fears, and struggles of the period +before marriage--the contest in the world for the right of marriage. A man +must not write a novel about any other point of love. Of course there are +plenty of authors who have broken this rule but the rule still exists. A +man may represent a contest between two women, one good and one bad, but +if the bad woman is allowed to conquer in the story, the public will +growl. This English fashion has existed since the eighteenth century. +since the time of Richardson, and is likely to last for generations to +come. + +Now this is not the rule at all which governs making of novels in France. +French novels generally treat of the relations of women to the world and +to lovers, after marriage; consequently there is a great deal in French +novels about adultery, about improper relations between the sexes, about +many things which the English public would not allow. This does not mean +that the English are morally a better people than the French or other +Southern races. But it does mean that there are great differences in the +social conditions. One such difference can be very briefly expressed. An +English girl, an American girl, a Norwegian, a Dane, a Swede, is allowed +all possible liberty before marriage. The girl is told, "You must be able +to take care of yourself, and not do wrong." After marriage there is no +more such liberty. After marriage in all Northern countries a woman's +conduct is strictly watched. But in France, and in Southern countries, the +young girl has no liberty before marriage. She is always under the guard +of her brother, her father, her mother, or some experienced relation. She +is accompanied wherever she walks. She is not allowed to see her betrothed +except in the presence of witnesses. But after marriage her liberty +begins. Then she is told for the first time that she must take care of +herself. Well, you will see that the conditions which inspire the novels, +in treating of the subjects of love and marriage, are very different in +Northern and in Southern Europe. For this reason alone the character of +the novel produced in England could not be the same. + +You must remember, however, that there are many other reasons for this +difference--reasons of literary sentiment. The Southern or Latin races +have been civilized for a much longer time than the Northern races; they +have inherited the feelings of the ancient world, the old Greek and Roman +world, and they think still about the relation of the sexes in very much +the same way that the ancient poets and romance writers used to think. And +they can do things which English writers can not do, because their +language has power of more delicate expression. + +We may say that the Latin writers still speak of love in very much the +same way that it was considered before Christianity. But when I speak of +Christianity I am only referring to an historical date. Before +Christianity the Northern races also thought about love very much in the +same way that their best poets do at this day. The ancient Scandinavian +literature would show this. The Viking, the old sea-pirate, felt very much +as Tennyson or as Meredith would feel upon this subject; he thought of +only one kind of love as real--that which ends in marriage, the affection +between husband and wife. Anything else was to him mere folly and +weakness. Christianity did not change his sentiment on this subject. The +modern Englishman, Swede, Dane, Norwegian, or German regards love in +exactly that deep, serious, noble way that his pagan ancestors did. I +think we can say that different races have differences of feeling on +sexual relations, which differences are very much older than any written +history. They are in the blood and soul of a people, and neither religion +nor civilization can utterly change them. + +So far I have been speaking particularly about the differences in English +and French novels; and a novel is especially a reflection of national +life, a kind of dramatic narration of truth, in the form of a story. But +in poetry, which is the highest form of literature, the difference is much +more observable. We find the Latin poets of to-day writing just as freely +on the subject of love as the old Latin poets of the age of Augustus, +while Northern poets observe with few exceptions great restraint when +treating of this theme. Now where is the line to be drawn? Are the Latins +right? Are the English right? How are we to make a sharp distinction +between what is moral and good and what is immoral and bad in treating +love-subjects? + +Some definition must be attempted. + +What is meant by love? As used by Latin writers the word has a range of +meanings, from that of the sexual relation between insects or animals up +to the highest form of religious emotion, called "The love of God." I need +scarcely say that this definition is too loose for our use. The English +word, by general consent, means both sexual passion and deep friendship. +This again is a meaning too wide for our purpose. By putting the adjective +"true" before love, some definition is attempted in ordinary conversation. +When an Englishman speaks of "true love," he usually means something that +has no passion at all; he means a perfect friendship which grows up +between man and wife and which has nothing to do with the passion which +brought the pair together. But when the English poet speaks of love, he +generally means passion, not friendship. I am only stating very general +rules. You see how confusing the subject is, how difficult to define the +matter. Let us leave the definition alone for a moment, and consider the +matter philosophically. + +Some very foolish persons have attempted even within recent years to make +a classification of different kinds of love--love between the sexes. They +talk about romantic love, and other such things. All that is utter +nonsense. In the meaning of sexual affection there is only one kind of +love, the natural attraction of one sex for them other; and the only +difference in the highest for of this attraction and the lowest is this, +that in the nobler nature a vast number of moral, aesthetic, and ethical +sentiments are related to the passion, and that in lower natures those +sentiments are absent. Therefore we may say that even in the highest forms +of the sentiment there is only one dominant feeling, complex though it be, +the desire for possession. What follows the possession we may call love if +we please; but it might better be called perfect friendship and sympathy. +It is altogether a different thing. The love that is the theme of poets in +all countries is really love, not the friendship that grows out of it. + +I suppose you know that the etymological meaning of "passion" is "a state +of suffering." In regard to love, the word has particular significance to +the Western mind, for it refers to the time of struggle and doubt and +longing before the object is attained. Now how much of this passion is a +legitimate subject of literary art? + +The difficulty may, I think, be met by remembering the extraordinary +character of the mental phenomena which manifest themselves in the time of +passion. There is during that time a strange illusion, an illusion so +wonderful that it has engaged the attention of great philosophers for +thousands of years; Plato, you know, tried to explain it in a very famous +theory. I mean the illusion that seems to charm, or rather, actually does +charm the senses of a man at a certain time. To his eye a certain face has +suddenly become the most beautiful object in the world. To his ears the +accents of one voice become the sweetest of all music. Reason has nothing +to do with this, and reason has no power against the enchantment. Out of +Nature's mystery, somehow or other, this strange magic suddenly +illuminates the senses of a man; then vanishes again, as noiselessly as it +came. It is a very ghostly thing, and can not be explained by any theory +not of a very ghostly kind. Even Herbert Spencer has devoted his reasoning +to a new theory about it. I need not go further in this particular than to +tell you that in a certain way passion is now thought to have something to +do with other lives than the present; in short, it is a kind of organic +memory of relations that existed in thousands and tens of thousands of +former states of being. Right or wrong though the theories may be, this +mysterious moment of love, the period of this illusion, is properly the +subject of high poetry, simply because it is the most beautiful and the +most wonderful experience of a human life. And why? + +Because in the brief time of such passion the very highest and finest +emotions of which human nature is capable are brought into play. In that +time more than at any other hour in life do men become unselfish, +unselfish at least toward one human being. Not only unselfishness but +self-sacrifice is a desire peculiar to the period. The young man in love +is not merely willing to give away everything that he possesses to the +person beloved; he wishes to suffer pain, to meet danger, to risk his life +for her sake. Therefore Tennyson, in speaking of that time, beautifully +said: + + Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might, + Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, pass'd in music out of sight. + +Unselfishness is, of course, a very noble feeling, independently of the +cause. But this is only one of the emotions of a higher class when +powerfully aroused. There is pity, tenderness--the same kind of tenderness +that one feels toward a child--the love of the helpless, the desire to +protect. And a third sentiment felt at such a time more strongly than at +any other, is the sentiment of duty; responsibilities moral and social are +then comprehended in a totally new way. Surely none can dispute these +facts nor the beauty of them. + +Moral sentiments are the highest of all; but next to them the sentiment of +beauty in itself, the artistic feeling, is also a very high form of +intellectual and even of secondary moral experience. Scientifically there +is a relation between the beautiful and the good, between the physically +perfect and the ethically perfect. Of course it is not absolute. There is +nothing absolute in this world. But the relation exists. Whoever can +comprehend the highest form of one kind of beauty must be able to +comprehend something of the other. I know very well that the ideal of the +love-season is an illusion; in nine hundred and ninety-nine cases out of +the thousand the beauty of the woman is only imagined. But does that make +any possible difference? I do not think that it does. To imagine beauty is +really to see it--not objectively, perhaps, but subjectively beyond all +possibility of doubt. Though you see the beauty only in your mind, in your +mind it is; and in your mind its ethical influence must operate. During +the time that a man worships even imaginary bodily beauty, he receives +some secret glimpse of a higher kind of beauty--beauty of heart and mind. +Was there ever in this world a real lover who did not believe the woman of +his choice to be not only the most beautiful of mortals, but also the best +in a moral sense? I do not think that there ever was. + +The moral and the ethical sentiments of a being thus aroused call into +sudden action all the finer energies of the man--the capacities for +effort, for heroism, for high-pressure work of any sort, mental or +physical, for all that requires quickness in thought and exactitude in +act. There is for the time being a sense of new power. Anything that makes +strong appeal to the best exercise of one's faculties is beneficent and, +in most cases, worthy of reverence. Indeed, it is in the short season of +which I am speaking that we always discover the best of everything in the +character of woman or of man. In that period the evil qualities, the +ungenerous side, is usually kept as much out of sight as possible. + +Now for all these suggested reasons, as for many others which might be +suggested, the period of illusion in love is really the period which poets +and writers of romance are naturally justified in describing. Can they go +beyond it with safety, with propriety? That depends very much upon whether +they go up or down. By going up I mean keeping within the region of moral +idealism. By going down I mean descending to the level of merely animal +realism. In this realism there is nothing deserving the highest effort of +art of any sort. + +What is the object of art? Is it not, or should it not be, to make us +imagine better conditions than that which at present exist in the world, +and by so imagining to prepare the way for the coming of such conditions? +I think that all great art has done this. Do you remember the old story +about Greek mothers keeping in their rooms the statue of a god or a man, +more beautiful than anything real, so that their imagination might be +constantly influenced by the sight of beauty, and that they might perhaps +be able to bring more beautiful children into the world? Among the Arabs, +mothers also do something of this kind, only, as they have no art of +imagery, they go to Nature herself for the living image. Black luminous +eyes are beautiful, and wives keep in their tents a little deer, the +gazelle, which is famous for the brilliancy and beauty of its eyes. By +constantly looking at this charming pet the Arab wife hopes to bring into +the world some day a child with eyes as beautiful as the eyes of the +gazelle. Well, the highest function of art ought to do for us, or at least +for the world, what the statue and the gazelle were expected to do for +Grecian and Arab mothers--to make possible higher conditions than the +existing ones. + +So much being said, consider again the place and the meaning of the +passion of love in any human life. It is essentially a period of idealism, +of imagining better things and conditions than are possible in this world. +For everybody who has been in love has imagined something higher than the +possible and the present. Any idealism is a proper subject for art. It is +not at all the same in the case of realism. Grant that all this passion, +imagination, and fine sentiment is based upon a very simple animal +impulse. That does not make the least difference in the value of the +highest results of that passion. We might say the very same thing about +any human emotion; every emotion can be evolutionally traced back to +simple and selfish impulses shared by man with the lower animals. But, +because an apple tree or a pear tree happens to have its roots in the +ground, does that mean that its fruits are not beautiful and wholesome? +Most assuredly we must not judge the fruit of the tree from the unseen +roots; but what about turning up the ground to look at the roots? What +becomes of the beauty of the tree when you do that? The realist--at least +the French realist--likes to do that. He likes to bring back the attention +of his reader to the lowest rather than to the highest, to that which +should be kept hidden, for the very same reason that the roots of a tree +should be kept underground if the tree is to live. + +The time of illusion, then, is the beautiful moment of passion; it +represents the artistic zone in which the poet or romance writer ought to +be free to do the very best that he can. He may go beyond that zone; but +then he has only two directions in which he can travel. Above it there is +religion, and an artist may, like Dante, succeed in transforming love into +a sentiment of religious ecstasy. I do not think that any artist could do +that to-day; this is not an age of religious ecstasy. But upwards there is +no other way to go. Downwards the artist may travel until he finds himself +in hell. Between the zone of idealism and the brutality of realism there +are no doubt many gradations. I am only indicating what I think to be an +absolute truth, that in treating of love the literary master should keep +to the period of illusion, and that to go below it is a dangerous +undertaking. And now, having tried to make what are believed to be proper +distinctions between great literature on this subject and all that is not +great, we may begin to study a few examples. I am going to select at +random passages from English poets and others, illustrating my meaning. + +Tennyson is perhaps the most familiar to you among poets of our own time; +and he has given a few exquisite examples of the ideal sentiment in +passion. One is a concluding verse in the beautiful song that occurs in +the monodrama of "Maud," where the lover, listening in the garden, hears +the steps of his beloved approaching. + + She is coming, my own, my sweet, + Were it ever so airy a tread, + My heart would hear her and beat, + Were it earth in an earthy bed; + My dust would hear her and beat, + Had I lain for a century dead; + Would start and tremble under her feet, + And blossom in purple and red. + +This is a very fine instance of the purely idea emotion--extravagant, if +you like, in the force of the imagery used, but absolutely sincere and +true; for the imagination of love is necessarily extravagant. It would be +quite useless to ask whether the sound of a girl's footsteps could really +waken a dead man; we know that love can fancy such things quite naturally, +not in one country only but everywhere. An Arabian poem written long +before the time of Mohammed contains exactly the same thought in simpler +words; and I think that there are some old Japanese songs containing +something similar. All that the statement really means is that the voice, +the look, the touch, even the footstep of the woman beloved have come to +possess for the lover a significance as great as life and death. For the +moment he knows no other divinity; she is his god, in the sense that her +power over him has become infinite and irresistible. + +The second example may be furnished from another part of the same +composition--the little song of exaltation after the promise to marry has +been given. + + O let the solid ground + Not fail beneath my feet + Before my life has found + What some have found so sweet; + Then let come what come may, + What matter if I go mad, + I shall have had my day. + + Let the sweet heavens endure, + Not close and darken above me + Before I am quite, quite sure + That there is one to love me; + Then let come what come may + To a life that has been so sad, + I shall have had my day. + +The feeling of the lover is that no matter what happens afterwards, the +winning of the woman is enough to pay for life, death, pain, or anything +else. One of the most remarkable phenomena of the illusion is the supreme +indifference to consequences--at least to any consequences which would not +signify moral shame or loss of honour, Of course the poet is supposed to +consider the emotion only in generous natures. But the subject of this +splendid indifference has been more wonderfully treated by Victor Hugo +than by Tennyson--as we shall see later on, when considering another phase +of the emotion. Before doing that, I want to call your attention to a very +charming treatment of love's romance by an American. It is one of the most +delicate of modern compositions, and it is likely to become a classic, as +it has already been printed in four or five different anthologies. The +title is "Atalanta's Race." + +First let me tell you the story of Atalanta, so that you will be better +able to see the fine symbolism of the poem. Atalanta, the daughter of a +Greek king, was not only the most beautiful of maidens, but the swiftest +runner in the world. She passed her time in hunting, and did not wish to +marry. But as many men wanted to marry her, a law was passed that any one +who desired to win her must run a race with her. If he could beat her in +running, then she promised to marry him, but if he lost the race, he was +to be killed. Some say that the man was allowed to run first, and that the +girl followed with a spear in her hand and killed him when she overtook +him. There are different accounts of the contest. Many suitors lost the +race and were killed. But finally young man called Hippomenes obtained +from the Goddess of Love three golden apples, and he was told that if he +dropped these apples while running, the girl would stop to pick them up, +and that in this way he might be able to win the race. So he ran, and when +he found himself about to be beaten, he dropped one apple. She stopped to +pick it up and thus he gained a little. In this way he won the race and +married Atalanta. Greek mythology says that afterwards she and her husband +were turned into lions because they offended the gods; however, that need +not concern us here. There is a very beautiful moral in the old Greek +story, and the merit of the American composition is that its author, +Maurice Thompson, perceived this moral and used it to illustrate a great +philosophical truth. + + When Spring grows old, and sleepy winds + Set from the South with odours sweet, + I see my love, in green, cool groves, + Speed down dusk aisles on shining feet. + She throws a kiss and bids me run, + In whispers sweet as roses' breath; + I know I cannot win the race, + And at the end, I know, is death. + + But joyfully I bare my limbs, + Anoint me with the tropic breeze, + And feel through every sinew run + The vigour of Hippomenes. + + O race of love! we all have run + Thy happy course through groves of Spring, + And cared not, when at last we lost, + For life or death, or anything! + +There are a few thoughts here requiring a little comment. You know that +the Greek games and athletic contests were held in the fairest season, and +that the contestants were stripped. They were also anointed with oil, +partly to protect the skin against sun and temperature and partly to make +the body more supple. The poet speaks of the young man as being anointed +by the warm wind of Spring, the tropic season of life. It is a very pretty +fancy. What he is really telling us is this: + +"There are no more Greek games, but the race of love is still run to-day +as in times gone by; youth is the season, and the atmosphere of youth is +the anointing of the contestant." + +But the moral of the piece is its great charm, the poetical statement of a +beautiful and a wonderful fact. In almost every life there is a time when +we care for only one person, and suffer much for that person's sake; yet +in that period we do not care whether we suffer or die, and in after life, +when we look back at those hours of youth, we wonder at the way in which +we then felt. In European life of to-day the old Greek fable is still +true; almost everybody must run Atalanta's race and abide by the result. + +One of the delightful phases of the illusion of love is the sense of old +acquaintance, the feeling as if the person loved had been known and loved +long ago in some time and place forgotten. I think you must have observed, +many of you, that when the senses of sight and hearing happen to be +strongly stirred by some new and most pleasurable experience, the feeling +of novelty is absent, or almost absent. You do not feel as if you were +seeing or hearing something new, but as if you saw or heard something that +you knew all about very long ago. I remember once travelling with a +Japanese boy into a charming little country town in Shikoku--and scarcely +had we entered the main street, than he cried out: "Oh, I have seen this +place before!" Of course he had not seen it before; he was from Osaka and +had never left the great city until then. But the pleasure of his new +experience had given him this feeling of familiarity with the unfamiliar. +I do not pretend to explain this familiarity with the new--it is a great +mystery still, just as it was a great mystery to the Roman Cicero. But +almost everybody that has been in love has probably had the same feeling +during a moment or two--the feeling "I have known that woman before," +though the where and the when are mysteries. Some of the modern poets have +beautifully treated this feeling. The best example that I can give you is +the exquisite lyric by Rossetti entitled "Sudden Light." + + I have been here before, + But when or how I cannot tell: + I know the grass beyond the door, + The sweet keen smell, + The sighing sound, the lights around the shore. + + You have been mine before,-- + How long ago I may not know: + But just when at that swallow's soar + Your neck turn'd so, + Some veil did fall,--I knew it all of yore. + + Has this been thus before? + And shall not thus time's eddying flight + Still with our lives our loves restore + In death's despite, + And day and night yield one delight once more? + +I think you will acknowledge that this is very pretty; and the same poet +has treated the idea equally well in other poems of a more complicated +kind. But another poet of the period was haunted even more than Rossetti +by this idea--Arthur O'Shaughnessy. Like Rossetti he was a great lover, +and very unfortunate in his love; and he wrote his poems, now famous, out +of the pain and regret that was in his heart, much as singing birds born +in cages are said to sing better when their eyes are put out. Here is one +example: + + Along the garden ways just now + I heard the flowers speak; + The white rose told me of your brow, + The red rose of your cheek; + The lily of your bended head, + The bindweed of your hair: + Each looked its loveliest and said + You were more fair. + + I went into the woods anon, + And heard the wild birds sing + How sweet you were; they warbled on, + Piped, trill'd the self-same thing. + Thrush, blackbird, linnet, without pause + The burden did repeat, + And still began again because + You were more sweet. + + And then I went down to the sea, + And heard it murmuring too, + Part of an ancient mystery, + All made of me and you: + How many a thousand years ago + I loved, and you were sweet-- + Longer I could not stay, and so + I fled back to your feet. + +The last stanza especially expresses the idea that I have been telling you +about; but in a poem entitled "Greater Memory" the idea is much more fully +expressed. By "greater memory" you must understand the memory beyond this +life into past stages of existence. This piece has become a part of the +nineteenth century poetry that will live; and a few of the best stanzas +deserve to be quoted, + + In the heart there lay buried for years + Love's story of passion and tears; + Of the heaven that two had begun + And the horror that tore them apart; + When one was love's slayer, but one + Made a grave for the love in his heart. + + The long years pass'd weary and lone + And it lay there and changed there unknown; + Then one day from its innermost place, + In the shamed and ruin'd love's stead, + Love arose with a glorified face, + Like an angel that comes from the dead. + + It uplifted the stone that was set + On that tomb which the heart held yet; + But the sorrow had moulder'd within + And there came from the long closed door + A dear image, that was not the sin + Or the grief that lay buried before. + + * * * * * + + There was never the stain of a tear + On the face that was ever so dear; + 'Twas the same in each lovelier way; + 'Twas old love's holier part, + And the dream of the earliest day + Brought back to the desolate heart. + + It was knowledge of all that had been + In the thought, in the soul unseen; + 'Twas the word which the lips could not say + To redeem or recover the past. + It was more than was taken away + Which the heart got back at the last. + + The passion that lost its spell, + The rose that died where it fell, + The look that was look'd in vain, + The prayer that seemed lost evermore, + They were found in the heart again, + With all that the heart would restore. + +Put into less mystical language the legend is this: A young man and a +young woman loved each other for a time; then they were separated by some +great wrong--we may suppose the woman was untrue. The man always loved her +memory, in spite of this wrong which she had done. The two died and were +buried; hundreds and hundreds of years they remained buried, and the dust +of them mixed with the dust of the earth. But in the perpetual order of +things, a pure love never can die, though bodies may die and pass away. So +after many generations the pure love which this man had for a bad woman +was born again in the heart of another man--the same, yet not the same. +And the spirit of the woman that long ago had done the wrong, also found +incarnation again; and the two meeting, are drawn to each other by what +people call love, but what is really Greater Memory, the recollection of +past lives. But now all is happiness for them, because the weaker and +worse part of each has really died and has been left hundreds of years +behind, and only the higher nature has been born again. All that ought not +to have been is not; but all that ought to be now is. This is really an +evolutionary teaching, but it is also poetical license, for the immoral +side of mankind does not by any means die so quickly as the poet supposes. +It is perhaps a question of many tens of thousands of years to get rid of +a few of our simpler faults. Anyway, the fancy charms us and tempts us +really to hope that these things might be so. + +While the poets of our time so extend the history of a love backwards +beyond this life, we might expect them to do the very same thing in the +other direction. I do not refer to reunion in heaven, or anything of that +sort, but simply to affection continued after death. There are some very +pretty fancies of the kind. But they can not prove to you quite so +interesting as the poems which treat the recollection of past life. When +we consider the past imaginatively, we have some ground to stand on. The +past has been--there is no doubt about that. The fact that we are at this +moment alive makes it seem sufficiently true that we were alive thousands +or millions of years ago. But when we turn to the future for poetical +inspiration, the case is very different. There we must imagine without +having anything to stand upon in the way of experience. Of course if born +again into a body we could imagine many things; but there is the ghostly +interval between death and birth which nobody is able to tell us about. +Here the poet depends upon dream experiences, and it is of such an +experience that Christina Rossetti speaks in her beautiful poem entitled +"A Pause." + + They made the chamber sweet with flowers and leaves, + And the bed sweet with flowers on which I lay, + While my soul, love-bound, loitered on its way. + I did not hear the birds about the eaves, + Nor hear the reapers talk among the sheaves: + Only my soul kept watch from day to day, + My thirsty soul kept watch for one away:-- + Perhaps he loves, I thought, remembers, grieves. + + At length there came the step upon the stair, + Upon the lock the old familiar hand: + Then first my spirit seemed to scent the air + Of Paradise; then first the tardy sand + Of time ran golden; and I felt my hair + Put on a glory, and my soul expand. + +The woman is dead. In the room where her body died, flowers have been +placed, offerings to the dead. Also there are flowers upon the bed. The +ghost of the woman observes all this, but she does not feel either glad or +sad because of it; she is thinking only of the living lover, who was not +there when she died, but far away. She wants to know whether he really +loved her, whether he will really be sorry to hear that she is dead. +Outside the room of death the birds are singing; in the fields beyond the +windows peasants are working, and talking as they work. But the ghost does +not listen to these sounds. The ghost remains in the room only for love's +sake; she can not go away until the lover comes. At last she hears him +coming. She knows the sound of the step; she knows the touch of the hand +upon the lock of the door. And instantly, before she sees him at all, she +first feels delight. Already it seems to her that she can smell the +perfume of the flowers of heaven; it then seems to her that about her +head, as about the head of an angel, a circle of glory is shaping itself, +and the real heaven, the Heaven of Love, is at hand. + +How very beautiful this is. There is still one line which requires a +separate explanation--I mean the sentence about the sands of time running +golden. Perhaps you may remember the same simile in Tennyson's "Locksley +Hall": + + Love took up the glass of Time, and turn'd it in His glowing hands; + Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands. + +Here time is identified with the sand of the hour glass, and the verb "to +run" is used because this verb commonly expresses the trickling of the +sand from the upper part of the glass into the lower. In other words, fine +sand "runs" just like water. To say that the sands of time run golden, or +become changed into gold, is only a poetical way of stating that the time +becomes more than happy--almost heavenly or divine. And now you will see +how very beautiful the comparison becomes in this little poem about the +ghost of the woman waiting for the coming step of her lover. + +Several other aspects of the emotion may now be considered separately. One +of these, an especially beautiful one, is memory. Of course, there are +many aspects of love's memories, some all happiness, others intensely +sorrowful--the memory of a walk, a meeting, a moment of good-bye. Such +memories occupy a very large place in the treasure house of English love +poems. I am going to give three examples only, but each of a different +kind. The first poet that I am going to mention is Coventry Patmore. He +wrote two curious books of poetry, respectively called "The Angel in the +House" and "The Unknown Eros." In the first of these books he wrote the +whole history of his courtship and marriage--a very dangerous thing for a +poet to do, but he did it successfully. The second volume is +miscellaneous, and contains some very beautiful things. I am going to +quote only a few lines from the piece called "Amelia." This piece is the +story of an evening spent with a sweetheart, and the lines which I am +quoting refer to the moment of taking the girl home. They are now rather +famous: + + ... To the dim street + I led her sacred feet; + And so the Daughter gave, + Soft, moth-like, sweet, + Showy as damask-rose and shy as musk, + Back to her Mother, anxious in the dusk. + And now "Good Night!" + +Why should the poet speak of the girl in this way? Why does he call her +feet sacred? She has just promised to marry him; and now she seems to him +quite divine. But he discovers very plain words with which to communicate +his finer feelings to the reader. The street is "dim" because it is night; +and in the night the beautifully dressed maiden seems like a splendid +moth--the name given to night butterflies in England. In England the moths +are much more beautiful than the true butterflies; they have wings of +scarlet and purple and brown and gold. So the comparison, though +peculiarly English, is very fine. Also there is a suggestion of the +soundlessness of the moth's flight. Now "showy as damask rose" is a +striking simile only because the damask-rose is a wonderfully splendid +flower--richest in colour of all roses in English gardens. "Shy as musk" +is rather a daring simile. "Musk" is a perfume used by English as well as +Japanese ladies, but there is no perfume which must be used with more +discretion, carefulness. If you use ever so little too much, the effect is +not pleasant. But if you use exactly the proper quantity, and no more, +there is no perfume which is more lovely. "Shy as musk" thus refers to +that kind of girlish modesty which never commits a fault even by the +measure of a grain--beautiful shyness incapable of being anything but +beautiful. Nevertheless the comparison must be confessed one which should +be felt rather than explained. + +The second of the three promised quotations shall be from Robert Browning. +There is one feeling, not often touched upon by poets, yet peculiar to +lovers, that is here treated--the desire when you are very happy or when +you are looking at anything attractive to share the pleasure of the moment +with the beloved. But it seldom happens that the wish and the conditions +really meet. Referring to this longing Browning made a short lyric that is +now a classic; it is among the most dainty things of the century. + + Never the time and the place + And the loved one all together! + This path--how soft to pace! + This May--what magic weather! + Where is the loved one's face? + In a dream that loved one's face meets mine, + But the house is narrow, the place is bleak + Where, outside, rain and wind combine + With a furtive ear, if I try to speak, + With a hostile eye at my flushing cheek, + With a malice that marks each word, each sign! + +Never can we have things the way we wish in this world--a beautiful day, a +beautiful place, and the presence of the beloved all at the same time. +Something is always missing; if the place be beautiful, the weather +perhaps is bad. Or if the weather and the place both happen to be perfect, +the woman is absent. So the poet finding himself in some very beautiful +place, and remembering this, remembers also the last time that he met the +woman beloved. It was a small dark house and chilly; outside there was +rain and storm; and the sounds of the wind and of the rain were as the +sounds of people secretly listening, or sounds of people trying to look in +secretly through the windows. Evidently it was necessary that the meeting +should be secret, and it was not altogether as happy as could have been +wished. + +The third example is a very beautiful poem; we must content ourselves with +an extract from it. It is the memory of a betrothal day, and the poet is +Frederick Tennyson. I suppose you know that there were three Tennysons, +and although Alfred happened to be the greatest, all of them were good +poets. + + It is a golden morning of the spring, + My cheek is pale, and hers is warm with bloom, + And we are left in that old carven room, + And she begins to sing; + + The open casement quivers in the breeze, + And one large musk-rose leans its dewy grace + Into the chamber, like a happy face, + And round it swim the bees; + + * * * * * + + I know not what I said--what she replied + Lives, like eternal sunshine, in my heart; + And then I murmured, Oh! we never part, + My love, my life, my bride! + + * * * * * + + And silence o'er us, after that great bliss, + Fell like a welcome shadow--and I heard + The far woods sighing, and a summer bird + Singing amid the trees; + + The sweet bird's happy song, that streamed around, + The murmur of the woods, the azure skies, + Were graven on my heart, though ears and eyes + Marked neither sight nor sound. + + She sleeps in peace beneath the chancel stone, + But ah! so clearly is the vision seen, + The dead seem raised, or Death has never been, + Were I not here alone. + +This is great art in its power of picturing a memory of the heart. Let us +notice some of the beauties. The lover is pale because he is afraid, +anxious; he is going to ask a question and he does not know how she may +answer him. All this was long ago, years and years ago, but the strong +emotions of that morning leave their every detail painted in remembrance, +with strange vividness After all those years the man still recollects the +appearance of the room, the sunshine entering and the crimson rose looking +into the room from the garden, with bees humming round it. Then after the +question had been asked and happily answered, neither could speak for joy; +and because of the silence all the sounds of nature outside became almost +painfully distinct. Now he remembers how he heard in that room the sound +of the wind in far-away trees, the singing of a bird--he also remembers +all the colours and the lights of the day. But it was very, very long ago, +and she is dead. Still, the memory is so clear and bright in his heart +that it is as if time had stood still, or as if she had come back from the +grave. Only one thing assures him that it is but a memory--he is alone. + +Returning now to the subject of love's illusion in itself, let me remind +you that the illusion does not always pass away--not at all. It passes +away in every case of happy union, when it has become no longer necessary +to the great purposes of nature. But in case of disappointment, loss, +failure to win the maiden desired, it often happens that the ideal image +never fades away, but persistently haunts the mind through life, and is +capable thus of making even the most successful life unhappy. Sometimes +the result of such disappointment may be to change all a man's ideas about +the world, about life, about religion; and everything remains darkened for +him. Many a young person disappointed in love begins to lose religious +feeling from that moment, for it seems to him, simply because he happens +to be unfortunate, that the universe is all wrong. On the other hand the +successful lover thinks that the universe is all right; he utters his +thanks to the gods, and feels his faith in religion and human nature +greater than before. I do not at this moment remember any striking English +poem illustrating this fact; but there is a pretty little poem in French +by Victor Hugo showing well the relation between successful love and +religious feeling in simple minds. Here is an English translation of it. +The subject is simply a walk at night, the girl-bride leaning upon the arm +of her husband; and his memory of the evening is thus expressed: + + The trembling arm I pressed + Fondly; our thoughts confessed + Love's conquest tender; + God filled the vast sweet night, + Love filled our hearts; the light + Of stars made splendour. + + Even as we walked and dreamed, + 'Twixt heaven and earth, it seemed + Our souls were speaking; + The stars looked on thy face; + Thine eyes through violet space + The stars were seeking. + + And from the astral light + Feeling the soft sweet night + Thrill to thy soul, + Thou saidst: "O God of Bliss, + Lord of the Blue Abyss, + Thou madest the whole!" + + And the stars whispered low + To the God of Space, "We know, + God of Eternity, + Dear Lord, all Love is Thine, + Even by Love's Light we shine! + Thou madest Beauty!" + +Of course here the religious feeling itself is part of the illusion, but +it serves to give great depth and beauty to simple feeling. Besides, the +poem illustrates one truth very forcibly--namely, that when we are +perfectly happy all the universe appears to be divine and divinely +beautiful; in other words, we are in heaven. On the contrary, when we are +very unhappy the universe appears to be a kind of hell, in which there is +no hope, no joy, and no gods to pray to. + +But the special reason I wished to call attention to Victor Hugo's lyric +is that it has that particular quality called by philosophical critics +"cosmic emotion." Cosmic emotion means the highest quality of human +emotion. The word "cosmos" signifies the universe--not simply this world, +but all the hundred millions of suns and worlds in the known heaven. And +the adjective "cosmic" means, of course, "related to the whole universe." +Ordinary emotion may be more than individual in its relations. I mean that +your feelings may be moved by the thought or the perception of something +relating not only to your own life but also to the lives of many others. +The largest form of such ordinary emotion is what would be called national +feeling, the feeling of your own relation to the whole nation or the whole +race. But there is higher emotion even than that. When you think of +yourself emotionally not only in relation to your own country, your own +nation, but in relation to all humanity, then you have a cosmic emotion of +the third or second order. I say "third or second," because whether the +emotion be second or third rate depends very much upon your conception of +humanity as One. But if you think of yourself in relation not to this +world only but to the whole universe of hundreds of millions of stars and +planets--in relation to the whole mystery of existence--then you have a +cosmic emotion of the highest order. Of course there are degrees even in +this; the philosopher or the metaphysician will probably have a finer +quality of cosmic emotion than the poet or the artist is able to have. But +lovers very often, according to their degree of intellectual culture, +experience a kind of cosmic emotion; and Victor Hugo's little poem +illustrates this. Night and the stars and the abyss of the sky all seem to +be thrilling with love and beauty to the lover's eyes, because he himself +is in a state of loving happiness; and then he begins to think about his +relation to the universal life, to the supreme mystery beyond all Form and +Name. + +A third or fourth class of such emotion may be illustrated by the +beautiful sonnet of Keats, written not long before his death. Only a very +young man could have written this, because only a very young man loves in +this way--but how delightful it is! It has no title. + + Bright star! would I were steadfast as thou art-- + Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night + And watching, with eternal lids apart, + Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite, + The moving waters at their priest-like task + Of pure ablution round earth's human shores, + Or gazing on new soft-fallen mask + Of snow upon the mountains and the moors-- + + No--yet still steadfast, still unchangeable, + Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast, + To feel forever its soft fall and swell, + Awake forever in a sweet unrest, + Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, + And so live ever--or else swoon to death. + +Tennyson has charmingly represented a lover wishing that he were a +necklace of his beloved, or her girdle, or her earring; but that is not a +cosmic emotion at all. Indeed, the idea of Tennyson's pretty song was +taken from old French and English love songs of the peasants--popular +ballads. But in this beautiful sonnet of Keats, where the lover wishes to +be endowed with the immortality and likeness of a star only to be forever +with the beloved, there is something of the old Greek thought which +inspired the beautiful lines written between two and three thousand years +ago, and translated by J.A. Symonds: + + Gazing on stars, my Star? Would that I were the welkin, + Starry with myriad eyes, ever to gave upon thee! + +But there is more than the Greek beauty of thought in Keats's sonnet, for +we find the poet speaking of the exterior universe in the largest +relation, thinking of the stars watching forever the rising and the +falling of the sea tides, thinking of the sea tides themselves as +continually purifying the world, even as a priest purifies a temple. The +fancy of the boy expands to the fancy of philosophy; it is a blending of +poetry, philosophy, and sincere emotion. + +You will have seen by the examples which we have been reading together +that English love poetry, like Japanese love poetry, may be divided into +many branches and classified according to the range of subject from the +very simplest utterance of feeling up to that highest class expressing +cosmic emotion. Very rich the subject is; the student is only puzzled +where to choose. I should again suggest to you to observe the value of the +theme of illusion, especially as illustrated in our examples. There are +indeed multitudes of Western love poems that would probably appear to you +very strange, perhaps very foolish. But you will certainly acknowledge +that there are some varieties of English love poetry which are neither +strange nor foolish, and which are well worth studying, not only in +themselves but in their relation to the higher forms of emotional +expression in all literature. Out of love poetry belonging to the highest +class, much can be drawn that would serve to enrich and to give a new +colour to your own literature of emotion. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE IDEAL WOMAN IN ENGLISH POETRY + + +As I gave already in this class a lecture on the subject of love poetry, +you will easily understand that the subject of the present lecture is not +exactly love. It is rather about love's imagining of perfect character and +perfect beauty. The part of it to which I think your attention could be +deservedly given is that relating to the imagined wife of the future, for +this is a subject little treated of in Eastern poetry. It is a very pretty +subject. But in Japan and other countries of the East almost every young +man knows beforehand whom he is likely to marry. Marriage is arranged by +the family: it is a family matter, indeed a family duty and not a romantic +pursuit. At one time, very long ago, in Europe, marriages were arranged in +much the same way. But nowadays it may be said in general that no young +man in England or America can even imagine whom he will marry. He has to +find his wife for himself; and he has nobody to help him; and if he makes +a mistake, so much the worse for him. So to Western imagination the wife +of the future is a mystery, a romance, an anxiety--something to dream +about and to write poetry about. + +This little book that I hold in my hand is now very rare. It is out of +print, but it is worth mentioning to you because it is the composition of +an exquisite man of letters, Frederick Locker-Lampson, best of all +nineteenth century writers of society verse. It is called "Patchwork." +Many years ago the author kept a kind of journal in which he wrote down or +copied all the most beautiful or most curious things which he had heard or +which he had found in books. Only the best things remained, so the value +of the book is his taste in selection. Whatever Locker-Lampson pronounced +good, the world now knows to have been exactly what he pronounced, for his +taste was very fine. And in this book I find a little poem quoted from Mr. +Edwin Arnold, now Sir Edwin. Sir Edwin Arnold is now old and blind, and he +has not been thought of kindly enough in Japan, because his work has not +been sufficiently known. Some people have even said his writings did harm +to Japan, but I want to assure you that such statements are stupid lies. +On the contrary, he did for Japan whatever good the best of his talent as +a poet and the best of his influence as a great journalist could enable +him to do. But to come back to our subject: when Sir Edwin was a young +student he had his dreams about marriage like other young English +students, and he put one of them into verse, and that verse was at once +picked out by Frederick Locker-Lampson for his little book of gems. Half a +century has passed since then; but Locker-Lampson's judgment remains good, +and I am going to put this little poem first because it so well +illustrates the subject of the lecture. It is entitled "A Ma Future." + + Where waitest thou, + Lady, I am to love? Thou comest not, + Thou knowest of my sad and lonely lot-- + I looked for thee ere now! + + It is the May, + And each sweet sister soul hath found its brother, + Only we two seek fondly each the other, + And seeking still delay. + + Where art thou, sweet? + I long for thee as thirsty lips for streams, + O gentle promised angel of my dreams, + Why do we never meet? + + Thou art as I, + Thy soul doth wait for mine as mine for thee; + We cannot live apart, must meeting be + Never before we die? + + Dear Soul, not so, + For time doth keep for us some happy years, + And God hath portioned us our smiles and tears, + Thou knowest, and I know. + + Therefore I bear + This winter-tide as bravely as I may, + Patiently waiting for the bright spring day + That cometh with thee, Dear. + + 'Tis the May light + That crimsons all the quiet college gloom, + May it shine softly in thy sleeping room, + And so, dear wife, good night! + +This is, of course, addressed to the spirit of the unknown future wife. It +is pretty, though it is only the work of a young student. But some one +hundred years before, another student--a very great student, Richard +Crashaw,--had a fancy of the same kind, and made verses about it which are +famous. You will find parts of his poem about the imaginary wife in the +ordinary anthologies, but not all of it, for it is very long. I will quote +those verses which seem to me the best. + + +WISHES + + Whoe'er she be, + That not impossible She, + That shall command my heart and me; + + Where'er she lie, + Locked up from mortal eye, + In shady leaves of Destiny; + + Till that ripe birth + Of studied Fate stand forth, + And teach her fair steps to our earth; + + Till that divine + Idea take a shrine + Of crystal flesh, through which to shine; + + Meet you her, my wishes, + Bespeak her to my blisses, + And be ye called my absent kisses. + +The poet is supposing that the girl whom he is to marry may not as yet +even have been born, for though men in the world of scholarship can marry +only late in life, the wife is generally quite young. Marriage is far away +in the future for the student, therefore these fancies. What he means to +say in short is about like this: + +"Oh, my wishes, go out of my heart and look for the being whom I am +destined to marry--find the soul of her, whether born or yet unborn, and +tell that soul of the love that is waiting for it." Then he tries to +describe the imagined woman he hopes to find: + + I wish her beauty + That owes not all its duty + To gaudy 'tire or glist'ring shoe-tie. + + Something more than + Taffeta or tissue can; + Or rampant feather, or rich fan. + + More than the spoil + Of shop or silk worm's toil, + Or a bought blush, or a set smile. + + A face that's best + By its own beauty drest + And can alone command the rest. + + A face made up + Out of no other shop + Than what nature's white hand sets ope. + + A cheek where grows + More than a morning rose + Which to no box his being owes. + + * * * * * + + Eyes that displace + The neighbor diamond and outface + That sunshine by their own sweet grace. + + Tresses that wear + Jewels, but to declare + How much themselves more precious are. + + Smiles, that can warm + The blood, yet teach a charm + That chastity shall take no harm. + + * * * * * + + Life, that dares send + A challenge to his end, + And when it comes, say "Welcome, friend!" + +There is much more, but the best of the thoughts are here. They are not +exactly new thoughts, nor strange thoughts, but they are finely expressed +in a strong and simple way. + +There is another composition on the same subject--the imaginary spouse, +the destined one. But this is written by a woman, Christina Rossetti. + + +SOMEWHERE OR OTHER + + Somewhere or other there must surely be + The face not seen, the voice not heard, + The heart that not yet--never yet--ah me! + Made answer to my word. + + Somewhere or other, may be near or far; + Past land and sea, clean out of sight; + Beyond the wondering moon, beyond the star + That tracks her night by night. + + Somewhere or other, may be far or near; + With just a wall, a hedge between; + With just the last leaves of the dying year, + Fallen on a turf grown green. + +And that turf means of course the turf of a grave in the churchyard. This +poem expresses fear that the destined one never can be met, because death +may come before the meeting time. All through the poem there is the +suggestion of an old belief that for every man and for every woman there +must be a mate, yet that it is a chance whether the mate will ever be +found. + +You observe that all of these are ghostly poems, whether prospective or +retrospective. Here is another prospective poem: + + +AMATURUS + + Somewhere beneath the sun, + These quivering heart-strings prove it, + Somewhere there must be one + Made for this soul, to move it; + Someone that hides her sweetness + From neighbors whom she slights, + Nor can attain completeness, + Nor give her heart its rights; + Someone whom I could court + With no great change of manner, + Still holding reason's fort + Though waving fancy's banner; + A lady, not so queenly + As to disdain my hand, + Yet born to smile serenely + Like those that rule the land; + Noble, but not too proud; + With soft hair simply folded, + And bright face crescent-browed + And throat by Muses moulded; + + Keen lips, that shape soft sayings + Like crystals of the snow, + With pretty half-betrayings + Of things one may not know; + Fair hand, whose touches thrill, + Like golden rod of wonder, + Which Hermes wields at will + Spirit and flesh to sunder. + Forth, Love, and find this maid, + Wherever she be hidden; + Speak, Love, be not afraid, + But plead as thou art bidden; + And say, that he who taught thee + His yearning want and pain, + Too dearly dearly bought thee + To part with thee in vain. + +These lines are by the author of that exquisite little book "Ionica"--a +book about which I hope to talk to you in another lecture. His real name +was William Cory, and he was long the head-master of an English public +school, during which time he composed and published anonymously the +charming verses which have made him famous--modelling his best work in +close imitation of the Greek poets. A few expressions in these lines need +explanation. For instance, the allusion to Hermes and his rod. I think you +know that Hermes is the Greek name of the same god whom the Romans called +Mercury,--commonly represented as a beautiful young man, naked and running +quickly, having wings attached to the sandals upon his feet. Runners used +to pray to him for skill in winning foot races. But this god had many +forms and many attributes, and one of his supposed duties was to bring the +souls of the dead into the presence of the king of Hades. So you will see +some pictures of him standing before the throne of the king of the Dead, +and behind him a long procession of shuddering ghosts. He is nearly always +pictured as holding in his hands a strange sceptre called the _caduceus_, +a short staff about which two little serpents are coiled, and at the top +of which is a tiny pair of wings. This is the golden rod referred to by +the poet; when Hermes touched anybody with it, the soul of the person +touched was obliged immediately to leave the body and follow after him. So +it is a very beautiful stroke of art in this poem to represent the touch +of the hand of great love as having the magical power of the golden rod of +Hermes. It is as if the poet were to say: "Should she but touch me, I know +that my spirit would leap out of my body and follow after her." Then there +is the expression "crescent-browed." It means only having beautifully +curved eyebrows--arched eyebrows being considered particularly beautiful +in Western countries. + +Now we will consider another poem of the ideal. What we have been reading +referred to ghostly ideals, to memories, or to hopes. Let us now see how +the poets have talked about realities. Here is a pretty thing by Thomas +Ashe. It is entitled "Pansie"; and this flower name is really a corruption +of a French word "Penser," meaning a thought. The flower is very +beautiful, and its name is sometimes given to girls, as in the present +case. + + +MEET WE NO ANGELS, PANSIE? + + Came, on a Sabbath noon, my sweet, + In white, to find her lover; + The grass grew proud beneath her feet, + The green elm-leaves above her:-- + Meet we no angels, Pansie? + + She said, "We meet no angels now;" + And soft lights stream'd upon her; + And with white hand she touch'd a bough; + She did it that great honour:-- + What! meet no angels, Pansie? + + O sweet brown hat, brown hair, brown eyes, + Down-dropp'd brown eyes, so tender! + Then what said I? Gallant replies + Seem flattery, and offend her:-- + But--meet no angels, Pansie? + +The suggestion is obvious, that the maiden realizes to the lover's eye the +ideal of an angel. As she comes he asks her slyly,--for she has been to +the church--"Is it true that nobody ever sees real angels?" She answers +innocently, thinking him to be in earnest, "No--long ago people used to +see angels, but in these times no one ever sees them." He does not dare +tell her how beautiful she seems to him; but he suggests much more than +admiration by the tone of his protesting response to her answer: "What! +You cannot mean to say that there are no angels now?" Of course that is +the same as to say, "I see an angel now"--but the girl is much too +innocent to take the real and flattering meaning. + +Wordsworth's portrait of the ideal woman is very famous; it was written +about his own wife though that fact would not be guessed from the poem. +The last stanza is the most famous, but we had better quote them all. + + She was a phantom of delight + When first she gleamed upon my sight; + A lovely apparition, sent + To be a moment's ornament; + Her eyes as stars of twilight fair; + Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair; + But all things else about her drawn + From May-time and the cheerful dawn; + A dancing shape, an image gay, + To haunt, to startle, and waylay. + + I saw her upon nearer view, + A Spirit, yet a Woman too! + Her household motions light and free, + And steps of virgin liberty; + A countenance in which did meet + Sweet records, promises as sweet; + A creature not too bright or good + For human nature's daily food; + For transient sorrows, simple wiles, + Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and smiles. + + And now I see with eye serene + The very pulse of the machine; + A being breathing thoughtful breath, + A traveller betwixt life and death; + The reason firm, the temperate will, + Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; + A perfect woman, nobly plann'd, + To warn, to comfort and command; + And yet a Spirit still, and bright + With something of angelic light. + +I quoted this after the Pansie poem to show you how much more deeply +Wordsworth could touch the same subject. To him, too, the first apparition +of the ideal maiden seemed angelic; like Ashe he could perceive the +mingled attraction of innocence and of youth. But innocence and youth are +by no means all that make up the best attributes of woman; character is +more than innocence and more than youth, and it is character that +Wordsworth studies. But in the last verse he tells us that the angel is +always there, nevertheless, even when the good woman becomes old. The +angel is the Mother-soul. + +Wordsworth's idea that character is the supreme charm was expressed very +long before him by other English poets, notably by Thomas Carew. + + He that loves a rosy cheek, + Or a coral lip admires, + Or from star-like eyes doth seek + Fuel to maintain his fires: + As old Time makes these decay, + So his flames must waste away. + + But a smooth and steadfast mind, + Gentle thoughts and calm desires, + Hearts with equal love combined, + Kindle never-dying fires. + Where these, are not, I despise + Lovely cheeks or lips or eyes. + +For about three hundred years in English literature it was the fashion--a +fashion borrowed from the Latin poets--to speak of love as a fire or +flame, and you must understand the image in these verses in that +signification. To-day the fashion is not quite dead, but very few poets +now follow it. + +Byron himself, with all his passion and his affected scorn of ethical +convention, could and did, when he pleased, draw beautiful portraits of +moral as well as physical attraction. These stanzas are famous; they paint +for us a person with equal attraction of body and mind. + + She walks in beauty, like the night + Of cloudless climes and starry skies; + And all that's best of dark and bright + Meet in her aspect and her eyes: + Thus mellow'd to that tender light + Which heaven to gaudy day denies. + + One shade the more, one ray the less, + Had half impair'd the nameless grace + Which waves in every raven tress, + Or softly lightens o'er her face; + Where thoughts serenely sweet express + How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. + + And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, + So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, + The smiles that win, the tints that glow, + But tell of days in goodness spent, + A mind at peace with all below, + A heart whose love is innocent! + +It is worth noticing that in each of the last three poems, the physical +beauty described is that of dark eyes and hair. This may serve to remind +you that there are two distinct types, opposite types, of beauty +celebrated by English poets; and the next poem which I am going to quote, +the beautiful "Ruth" of Thomas Hood, also describes a dark woman. + + She stood breast-high amid the corn, + Clasp'd by the golden light of morn, + Like the sweetheart of the sun, + Who many a glowing kiss had won. + + On her cheek an autumn flush, + Deeply ripen'd;--such a blush + In the midst of brown was born, + Like red poppies grown with corn. + + Round her eyes her tresses fell, + Which were blackest none could tell, + But long lashes veil'd a light, + That had else been all too bright. + + And her hat, with shady brim, + Made her tressy forehead dim; + Thus she stood among the stooks, + Praising God with sweetest looks:-- + + Sure, I said, Heav'n did not mean, + Where I reap thou shouldst but glean, + Lay thy sheaf adown and come, + Share my harvest and my home. + +We might call this the ideal of a peasant girl whose poverty appeals to +the sympathy of all who behold her. The name of the poem is suggested +indeed by the Bible story of Ruth the gleaner, but the story in the poem +is only that of a rich farmer who marries a very poor girl, because of her +beauty and her goodness. It is just a charming picture--a picture of the +dark beauty which is so much admired in Northern countries, where it is +less common than in Southern Europe. There are beautiful brown-skinned +types; and the flush of youth on the cheeks of such a brown girl has been +compared to the red upon a ripe peach or a russet apple--a hard kind of +apple, very sweet and juicy, which is brown instead of yellow, or reddish +brown. But the poet makes the comparison with poppy flowers and wheat. +That, of course, means golden yellow and red; in English wheat fields red +poppy flowers grow in abundance. The expression "tressy forehead" in the +second line of the fourth stanza means a forehead half covered with +falling, loose hair. + +The foregoing pretty picture may be offset by charming poem of Browning's +describing a lover's pride in his illusion. It is simply entitled "Song," +and to appreciate it you must try to understand the mood of a young man +who believes that he has actually realized his ideal, and that the woman +that he loves is the most beautiful person in the whole world. The fact +that this is simply imagination on his part does not make the poem less +beautiful--on the contrary, the false imagining is just what makes it +beautiful, the youthful emotion of a moment being so humanly and frankly +described. Such a youth must imagine that every one else sees and thinks +about the girl just as he does, and he expects them to confess it. + + Nay but you, who do not love her, + Is she not pure gold, my mistress? + Holds earth aught--speak truth--above her? + Aught like this tress, see, and this tress, + And this last fairest tress of all, + So fair, see, ere I let it fall? + + Because you spend your lives in praising; + To praise, you search the wide world over; + Then why not witness, calmly gazing, + If earth holds aught--speak truth--above her? + Above this tress, and this, I touch + But cannot praise, I love so much! + +You see the picture, I think,--probably some artist's studio for a +background. She sits or stands there with her long hair loosely flowing +down to her feet like a river of gold; and her lover, lifting up some of +the long tresses in his hand, asks his friend, who stands by, to notice +how beautiful such hair is. Perhaps the girl was having her picture +painted. One would think so from the question, "Since your business is to +look for beautiful things, why can you not honestly acknowledge that this +woman is the most beautiful thing in the whole world?" Or we might imagine +the questioned person to be a critic by profession as well as an artist. +Like the preceding poem this also is a picture. But the next poem, also by +Browning, is much more than a picture--it is very profound indeed, simple +as it looks. An old man is sitting by the dead body of a young girl of +about sixteen. He tells us how he secretly loved her, as a father might +love a daughter, as a brother might love a sister. But he would have +wished, if he had not been so old, and she so young, to love her as a +husband. He never could have her in this world, but why should he not hope +for it in the future world? He whispers into her dead ear his wish, and he +puts a flower into her dead hand, thinking, "When she wakes up, in another +life, she will see that flower, and remember what I said to her, and how +much I loved her." That is the mere story. But we must understand that the +greatness of the love expressed in the poem is awakened by an ideal of +innocence and sweetness and goodness, and the affection is of the +soul--that is to say, it is the love of beautiful character, not the love +of a beautiful face only, that is expressed. + + +EVELYN HOPE + + Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead! + Sit and watch by her side an hour. + That is her book-shelf, this her bed; + She plucked that piece of geranium-flower, + Beginning to die too, in the glass; + Little has yet been changed, I think: + The shutters are shut, no light can pass + Save two long rays through the hinge's chink. + + Sixteen years old when she died! + Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name; + It was not her time to love; beside, + Her life had many a hope and aim, + Duties enough and little cares, + And now was quiet, now astir, + Till God's hand beckoned unawares,-- + And the sweet white brow is all of her. + + Is it too late, then, Evelyn Hope? + What, your soul was pure and true, + The good stars met in your horoscope, + Made you of spirit, fire and dew-- + And just because I was thrice as old + And our paths in the world diverged so wide, + Each was naught to each, must I be told? + We were fellow mortals, naught beside? + + No, indeed! for God above, + Is great to grant, as mighty to make, + And creates the love to reward the love: + I claim you still, for my own love's sake! + Delayed it may be for more lives yet, + Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few: + Much is to learn, much to forget, + Ere the time be come for taking you. + + But the time will come,--at last it will, + When, Evelyn Hope, what meant (I shall say) + In the lower earth, in the years long still, + That body and soul so pure and gay? + Why your hair was amber, I shall divine, + And your mouth of your own geranium's red-- + And what you would do with me, in fine, + In the new life come in the old one's stead. + + I have lived (I shall say) so much since then, + Given up myself so many times, + Gained me the gains of various men, + Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes; + Yet one thing, one, in my soul's full scope, + Either I missed or itself missed me: + And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope! + What is the issue? let us see! + + I loved you, Evelyn, all the while! + My heart seemed full as it could hold; + There was space and to spare for the frank young smile, + And the red young mouth, and the hair's young gold. + So, hush,--I will give you this leaf to keep: + See, I shut it inside the sweet cold hand! + There, that is our secret: go to sleep! + You will wake, and remember, and understand. + +No other poet has written so many different kinds of poems on this subject +as Browning; and although I can not quote all of them, I must not neglect +to make a just representation of the variety. Here is another example: the +chief idea is again the beauty of truthfulness and fidelity, but the +artistic impression is quite different. + + A simple ring with a single stone, + To the vulgar eye no stone of price: + Whisper the right word, that alone-- + Forth starts a sprite, like fire from ice. + And lo, you are lord (says an Eastern scroll) + Of heaven and earth, lord whole and sole + Through the power in a pearl. + + A woman ('tis I this time that say) + With little the world counts worthy praise: + Utter the true word--out and away + Escapes her soul; I am wrapt in blaze, + Creation's lord, of heaven and earth + Lord whole and sole--by a minute's birth-- + Through the love in a girl! + +Paraphrased, the meaning will not prove as simple as the verses: Here is a +finger ring set with one small stone, one jewel. It is a very +cheap-looking stone to common eyes. But if you know a certain magical +word, and, after putting the ring on your finger, you whisper that magical +word over the cheap-looking stone, suddenly a spirit, a demon or a genie, +springs from that gem like a flash of fire miraculously issuing from a +lump of ice. And that spirit or genie has power to make you king of the +whole world and of the sky above the world, lord of the spirits of heaven +and earth and air and fire. Yet the stone is only--a pearl--and it can +make you lord of the universe. That is the old Arabian story. The word +scroll here means a manuscript, an Arabian manuscript. + +But what is after all the happiness of mere power? There is a greater +happiness possible than to be lord of heaven and earth; that is the +happiness of being truly loved. Here is a woman; to the eye of the world, +to the sight of other men, she is not very beautiful nor at all remarkable +in any way. She is just an ordinary woman, as the pearl in the ring is to +all appearances just a common pearl. But let the right word be said, let +the soul of that woman be once really touched by the magic of love, and +what a revelation! As the spirit in the Arabian story sprang from the +stone of the magical ring, when the word was spoken, so from the heart of +this woman suddenly her soul displays itself in shining light. And the man +who loves, instantly becomes, in the splendour of that light, verily the +lord of heaven and earth; to the eyes of the being who loves him he is a +god. + +The legend is the legend of Solomon--not the Solomon of the Bible, but the +much more wonderful Solomon of the Arabian story-teller. His power is said +to have been in a certain seal ring, upon which the mystical name of +Allah, or at least one of the ninety and nine mystical names, was +engraved. When he chose to use this ring, all the spirits of air, the +spirits of earth, the spirits of water and the spirits of fire were +obliged to obey him. The name of such a ring is usually "Talisman." + +Here is another of Browning's jewels, one of the last poems written +shortly before his death. It is entitled "Summum Bonum,"--signifying "the +highest good." The subject is a kiss; we may understand that the first +betrothal kiss is the mark of affection described. When the promise of +marriage has been made, that promise is sealed or confirmed by the first +kiss. But this refers only to the refined classes of society. Among the +English people proper, especially the country folk, kissing the girls is +only a form of showing mere good will, and has no serious meaning at all. + + All the breath and the bloom of the year in the bag of one bee: + All the wonder and wealth of the mine in the heart of one gem: + In the core of one pearl all the shade and the shine of the sea: + Breath and bloom, shade and shine,--wonder, wealth, and--how far + above them-- + Truth, that's brighter than gem, + Trust, that's purer than pearl,-- + Brightest truth, purest trust in the universe--all were for me + In the kiss of one girl. + +There is in this a suggestion of Ben Jonson, who uses almost exactly the +same simile without any moral significance. The advantage of Browning is +that he has used the sensuous imagery for ethical symbolism; here he +greatly surpasses Jonson, though it would be hard to improve upon the +beauty of Jonson's verses, as merely describing visual beauty. Here are +Jonson's stanzas: + + +THE TRIUMPH + + See the Chariot at hand here of Love, + Wherein my Lady rideth! + Each that draws is a swan or a dove, + And well the car Love guideth. + As she goes, all hearts do duty + Unto her beauty; + And enamoured do wish, so they might + But enjoy such a sight, + That they still were to run by her side, + Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride. + + Do but look on her eyes, they do light + All that Love's world compriseth! + Do but look on her hair, it is bright + As love's star when it riseth! + Do but mark, her forehead's smoother + Than words that soothe her; + And from her arch'd brows such a grace + Sheds itself through the face, + As alone there triumphs to the life + All the gain, all the good, of the elements' strife. + + Have you seen but a bright lily grow + Before rude hands have touched it? + Have you mark'd but the fall of the snow + Before the soil hath smutch'd it? + Have you felt the wool of beaver + Or swan's down ever? + Or have smelt o' the bud o' the brier, + Or the nard in the fire? + Or have tasted the bag of the bee? + O so white, O so soft, O so sweet is she! + +The first of the above stanzas is a study after the Roman poets; but the +last stanza is Jonson's own and is very famous. You will see that Browning +was probably inspired by him, but I think that his verses are much more +beautiful in thought and feeling. + +There is one type of ideal woman very seldom described in poetry--the old +maid, the woman whom sorrow or misfortune prevents from fulfilling her +natural destiny. Commonly the woman who never marries is said to become +cross, bad tempered, unpleasant in character. She could not be blamed for +this, I think; but there are old maids who always remain as unselfish and +frank and kind as a girl, and who keep the charm of girlhood even when +their hair is white. Hartley Coleridge, son of the great Samuel, attempted +to describe such a one, and his picture is both touching and beautiful. + + +THE SOLITARY-HEARTED + + She was a queen of noble Nature's crowning, + A smile of hers was like an act of grace; + She had no winsome looks, no pretty frowning, + Like daily beauties of the vulgar race: + But if she smiled, a light was on her face, + A clear, cool kindliness, a lunar beam + Of peaceful radiance, silvering o'er the stream + Of human thought with unabiding glory; + Not quite a waking truth, not quite a dream, + A visitation, bright and transitory. + + But she is changed,--hath felt the touch of sorrow, + No love hath she, no understanding friend; + O grief! when Heaven is forced of earth to borrow + What the poor niggard earth has not to lend; + But when the stalk is snapt, the rose must bend. + The tallest flower that skyward rears its head + Grows from the common ground, and there must shed + Its delicate petals. Cruel fate, too surely + That they should find so base a bridal bed, + Who lived in virgin pride, so sweet and purely. + + She had a brother, and a tender father, + And she was loved, but not as others are + From whom we ask return of love,--but rather + As one might love a dream; a phantom fair + Of something exquisitely strange and rare, + Which all were glad to look on, men and maids, + Yet no one claimed--as oft, in dewy glades, + The peering primrose, like a sudden gladness, + Gleams on the soul, yet unregarded fades;-- + The joy is ours, but all its own the sadness. + + 'Tis vain to say--her worst of grief is only + The common lot, which all the world have known + To her 'tis more, because her heart is lonely, + And yet she hath no strength to stand alone,-- + Once she had playmates, fancies of her own, + And she did love them. They are past away + As fairies vanish at the break of day; + And like a spectre of an age departed, + Or unsphered angel woefully astray, + She glides along--the solitary-hearted. + +Perhaps it is scarcely possible for you to imagine that a woman finds it +impossible to marry because of being too beautiful, too wise, and too +good. In Western countries it is not impossible at all. You must try to +imagine entirely different social conditions--conditions in which marriage +depends much more upon the person than upon the parents, much more upon +inclination than upon anything else. A woman's chances of marriage depend +very much upon herself, upon her power of pleasing and charming. Thousands +and tens of thousands can never get married. Now there are cases in which +a woman can please too much. Men become afraid of her. They think, "She +knows too much, I dare not be frank with her"--or, "She is too beautiful, +she never would accept a common person like me"--or, "She is too formal +and correct, she would never forgive a mistake, and I could never be happy +with her." Not only is this possible, but it frequently happens. Too much +excellence makes a misfortune. I think you can understand it best by the +reference to the very natural prejudice against over-educated women, a +prejudice founded upon experience and existing in all countries, even in +Japan. Men are not attracted to a woman because she is excellent at +mathematics, because she knows eight or nine different languages, because +she has acquired all the conventions of high-pressure training. Men do not +care about that. They want love and trust and kindliness and ability to +make a home beautiful and happy. Well, the poem we have been reading is +very pathetic because it describes a woman who can not fulfil her natural +destiny, can not be loved--this through no fault of her own, but quite the +reverse. To be too much advanced beyond one's time and environment is even +a worse misfortune than to be too much behind. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +NOTE UPON THE SHORTEST FORMS OF ENGLISH POETRY + + +Perhaps there is an idea among Japanese students that one general +difference between Japanese and Western poetry is that the former +cultivates short forms and the latter longer ones, gut this is only in +part true. It is true that short forms of poetry have been cultivated in +the Far East more than in modern Europe; but in all European literature +short forms of poetry are to be found--indeed quite as short as anything +in Japanese. Like the Japanese, the old Greeks, who carried poetry to the +highest perfection that it has ever attained, delighted in short forms; +and the Greek Anthology is full of compositions containing only two or +three lines. You will find beautiful translations of these in Symonds's +"Studies of Greek Poets," in the second volume. Following Greek taste, the +Roman poets afterwards cultivated short forms of verse, but they chiefly +used such verse for satirical purposes, unfortunately; I say, +unfortunately, because the first great English poets who imitated the +ancients were chiefly influenced by the Latin writers, and they also used +the short forms for epigrammatic satire rarely for a purely esthetic +object. Ben Jonson both wrote and translated a great number of very short +stanzas--two lines and four lines; but Jonson was a satirist in these +forms. Herrick, as you know, delighted in very short poems; but he was +greatly influenced by Jonson, and many of his couplets and of his +quatrains are worthless satires or worthless jests. However, you will find +some short verses in Herrick that almost make you think of a certain class +of Japanese poems. After the Elizabethan Age, also, the miniature poems +were still used in the fashion set by the Roman writers,--then the +eighteenth century deluged us with ill-natured witty epigrams of the like +brief form. It was not until comparatively modern times that our Western +world fully recognized the value of the distich, triplet or quatrain for +the expression of beautiful thoughts, rather than for the expression of +ill-natured ones. But now that the recognition has come, it has been +discovered that nothing is harder than to write a beautiful poem of two or +four lines. Only great masters have been truly successful at it. Goethe, +you know, made a quatrain that has become a part of world-literature: + + Who ne'er his bread in sorrow ate,-- + Who ne'er the lonely midnight hours, + Weeping upon his bed has sate, + He knows ye not, ye Heavenly Powers! + +--meaning, of course, that inspiration and wisdom come to us only through +sorrow, and that those who have never suffered never can be wise. But in +the universities of England a great deal of short work of a most excellent +kind has been done in Greek and Latin; and there is the celebrated case of +an English student who won a prize by a poem of a single line. The subject +given had been the miracle of Christ's turning water into wine at the +marriage feast; and while other scholars attempted elaborate composition +on the theme, this student wrote but one verse, of which the English +translation is + + The modest water saw its Lord, and blushed. + +Of course the force of the idea depends upon the popular conception of +wine being red. The Latin and Greek model, however, did not seem to +encourage much esthetic effort in short poems of English verse until the +time of the romantic movement. Then, both in France and England, many +brief forms of poetry made their appearance. In France, Victor Hugo +attempted composition in astonishingly varied forms of verse--some forms +actually consisting of only two syllables to a line. With this +surprisingly short measure begins one of Hugo's most remarkably early +poems, "Les Djins," representing the coming of evil spirits with a storm, +their passing over the house where a man is at prayer, and departing into +the distance again. Beginning with only two syllables to the line, the +measure of the poem gradually widens as the spirits approach, becomes very +wide, very long and sonorous as they reach the house, and again shrinks +back to lines of two syllables as the sound of them dies away. In England +a like variety of experiments has been made; but neither in France nor in +England has the short form yet been as successfully cultivated as it was +among the Greeks. We have some fine examples; but, as an eminent English +editor observed a few years ago, not enough examples to make a book. And +of course this means that there are very few; for you can make a book of +poetry very well with as little as fifty pages of largely and widely +printed text. However, we may cite a few modern instances. + +I think that about the most perfect quatrains we have are those of the +extraordinary man, Walter Savage Landor, who, you know, was a rare Greek +scholar, all his splendid English work being very closely based upon the +Greek models. He made a little epitaph upon himself, which is matchless of +its kind: + + I strove with none, for none was worth my strife; + Nature I loved, and next to Nature, Art; + I warmed both hands before the fire of life: + It sinks; and I am ready to depart. + +You know that Greeks used the short form a great deal for their exquisite +epitaphs, and that a considerable part of the anthology consists of +epitaphic literature. But the quatrain has a much wider range than this +funereal limitation, and one such example of epitaph will suffice. + +Only one English poet of our own day, and that a minor one, has attempted +to make the poem of four lines a specialty--that is William Watson. He has +written a whole volume of such little poems, but very few of them are +successful. As I said before, we have not enough good poems of this sort +for a book; and the reason is not because English poets despise the short +form, but because it is supremely difficult. The Greeks succeeded in it, +but we are still far behind the Greeks in the shaping of any kind of +verse. The best of Watson's pieces take the form of philosophical +suggestions; and this kind of verse is particularly well adapted to +philosophical utterance. + + Think not thy wisdom can illume away + The ancient tanglement of night and day. + Enough to acknowledge both, and both revere; + They see not clearliest who see all things clear. + +That is to say, do not think that any human knowledge will ever be able to +make you understand the mystery of the universe with its darkness and +light, its joy and pain. It is best to revere the powers that make both +good and evil, and to remember that the keenest, worldly, practical minds +are not the minds that best perceive the great truths and mysteries of +existence. Here is another little bit, reminding us somewhat of Goethe's +quatrain, already quoted. + + Lives there whom pain hath evermore passed by + And sorrow shunned with an averted eye? + Him do thou pity,--him above the rest, + Him, of all hapless mortals most unblessed. + +That needs no commentary, and it contains a large truth in small space. +Here is a little bit on the subject of the artist's ambition, which is +also good. + + The thousand painful steps at last are trod, + At last the temple's difficult door we win, + But perfect on his pedestal, the God + Freezes us hopeless when we enter in. + +The higher that the artist climbs by effort, the nearer his approach to +the loftier truth, the more he understands how little his very best can +achieve. It is the greatest artist, he who veritably enters the presence +of God--that most feels his own weakness; the perception of beauty that +other men can not see, terrifies him, freezes him motionless, as the poet +says. + +Out of all of Watson's epigrams I believe these are the best. The rest +with the possible exception of those on the subject of love seem to me +altogether failures. Emerson and various American poets also attempted the +quatrain--but Emerson's verse is nearly always bad, even when his thought +is sublime. One example of Emerson will suffice. + + Thou canst not wave thy staff in air, + Or dip thy paddle in the lake, + But it carves the bow of beauty there, + And the ripples in rhyme the oar forsake. + +The form is atrociously bad; but the reflection is grand--it is another +way of expressing the beautiful old Greek thought that "God _geometrizes_ +everywhere"--that is, that all motion is in geometrical lines, and full of +beauty. You can pick hundreds of fine things in very short verse out of +Emerson, but the verse is nearly always shapeless; the composition of the +man invariably makes us think of diamonds in the rough, jewels uncut. So +far as form goes a much better master of quatrain is the American poet +Aldrich, who wrote the following little thing, entitled "Popularity." + + Such kings of shreds have wooed and won her, + Such crafty knaves her laurel owned, + It has become almost an honour + Not to be crowned. + +This is good verse. The reference to "a king of shreds and patches"--that +is, a beggar king--you will recognize as Shakespearean. But although this +pretty verse has in it more philosophy than satire, it approaches the +satiric class of epigrams. Neither America nor England has been able to do +very much in the sort of verse that we have been talking about. Now this +is a very remarkable thing,--because at the English universities beautiful +work has been done in Greek or Latin--in poems of a single line, of two +lines, of three lines and other very brief measures. Why can it not be +done in English? I suspect that it is because our English language has not +yet become sufficiently perfect, sufficiently flexible, sufficiently +melodious to allow of great effect with a very few words. We can do the +thing in Greek or in Latin because either Greek or Latin is a more perfect +language. + +So much for theory. I should like to suggest, however, that it is very +probable many attempts at these difficult forms of poetry will be +attempted by English poets within the next few years. There is now a +tendency in that direction. I do not know whether such attempts will be +successful; but I should like you to understand that for Western poets +they are extremely difficult and that you ought to obtain from the +recognition of this fact a new sense of the real value of your own short +forms of verse in the hands of a master. Effects can be produced in +Japanese which the Greeks could produce with few syllables, but which the +English can not. Now it strikes me that, instead of even thinking of +throwing away old forms of verse in order to invent new ones, the future +Japanese poets ought rather to develop and cultivate and prize the forms +already existing, which belong to the genius of the language, and which +have proved themselves capable of much that no English verse or even +French verse could accomplish. Perhaps only the Italian is really +comparable to Japanese in some respects; you can perform miracles with +Italian verse. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +SOME FOREIGN POEMS ON JAPANESE SUBJECTS + + +The Western poet and writer of romance has exactly the same kind of +difficulty in comprehending Eastern subjects as you have in comprehending +Western subjects. You will commonly find references to Japanese love poems +of the popular kind made in such a way as to indicate the writer's belief +that such poems refer to married life or at least to a courtship relation. +No Western writer who has not lived for many years in the East, could +write correctly about anything on this subject; and even after a long stay +in the country he might be unable to understand. Therefore a great deal of +Western poetry written about Japan must seem to you all wrong, and I can +not hope to offer you many specimens of work in this direction that could +deserve your praise. Yet there is some poetry so fine on the subject of +Japan that I think you would admire it and I am sure that you should know +it. A proof of really great art is that it is generally true--it seldom +falls into the misapprehensions to which minor art is liable. What do you +think of the fact that the finest poetry ever written upon a Japanese +subject by any Western poet, has been written by a man who never saw the +land? But he is a member of the French Academy, a great and true lover of +art, and without a living superior in that most difficult form of poetry, +the sonnet. In the time of thirty years he produced only one very small +volume of sonnets, but so fine are these that they were lifted to the very +highest place in poetical distinction. I may say that there are now only +three really great French poets--survivals of the grand romantic school. +These are Leconte de Lisle, Sully-Prudhomme, and Jose Maria de Heredia. It +is the last of whom I am speaking. As you can tell by his name, he is not +a Frenchman either by birth or blood, but a Spaniard, or rather a Spanish +Creole, born in Cuba. Heredia knows Japan only through pictures, armour, +objects of art in museums, paintings and carvings. Remembering this, I +think that you will find that he does wonderfully well. It is true that he +puts a woman in one of his pictures, but I think that his management of +his subject is very much nearer the truth than that of almost any writer +who has attempted to describe old Japan. And you must understand that the +following sonnet is essentially intended to be a picture--to produce upon +the mind exactly the same effect that a picture does, with the addition of +such life as poetry can give. + + +LE SAMOURAI + + D'un doigt distrait frolant la sonore biva, + A travers les bambous tresses en fine latte, + Elle a vu, par la plage eblouissante et plate, + S'avancer le vainqueur que son amour reva. + + C'est lui. Sabres au flanc, l'eventail haut, il va. + La cordeliere rouge et le gland ecarlate + Coupent l'armure sombre, et, sur l'epaule, eclate + Le blazon de Hizen ou de Tokungawa. + + Ce beau guerrier vetu de lames et de plaques, + Sous le bronze, la soie et les brillantes laques, + Semble un crustace noir, gigantesque et vermeil. + + Il l'a vue. Il sourit dans la barbe du masque, + Et son pas plus hatif fait reluire au soleil + Les deux antennes d'or qui tremblent a son casque. + +"Lightly touching her _biva_ with heedless finger, she has perceived, +through the finely woven bamboo screen, the conqueror, lovingly thought +of, approach over the dazzling level of the beach. + +"It is he. With his swords at his side he advances, holding up his fan. +The red girdle and the scarlet tassel appear in sharply cut relief against +the dark armour; and upon his shoulder glitters a crest of Hizen or of +Tokungawa. + +"This handsome warrior sheathed with his scales and plates of metal, under +his bronze, his silk and glimmering lacquer, seems a crustacean, gigantic, +black and vermilion. + +"He has caught sight of her. Under the beaver of the war mask he smiles, +and his quickened step makes to glitter in the sun the two antennae of gold +that quiver upon his helmet." + +The comparison of a warrior in full armour to a gigantic crab or lobster, +especially lobster, is not exactly new. Victor Hugo has used it before in +French literature, just as Carlyle has used it in English literature; +indeed the image could not fail to occur to the artist in any country +where the study of armour has been carried on. But here the poet does not +speak of any particular creature; he uses only the generic term, +crustacean, the vagueness of which makes the comparison much more +effective. I think you can see the whole picture at once. It is a Japanese +colour-print,--some ancient interior, lighted by the sun of a great summer +day; and a woman looking through a bamboo blind toward the seashore, where +she sees a warrior approaching. He divines that he is seen; but if he +smiles, it is only because the smile is hidden by his iron mask. The only +sign of any sentiment on his part is that he walks a little quicker. Still +more amazing is a companion picture, containing only a solitary figure: + + +LE DAIMIO (Matin de bataille) + + Sous le noir fouet de guerre a quadruple pompon, + L'etalon belliqueux en hennissant se cabre, + Et fait bruire, avec de cliquetis de sabre, + La cuirasse de bronze aux lames du jupon. + + Le Chef vetu d'airain, de laque et de crepon, + Otant le masque a poils de son visage glabre, + Regarde le volcan sur un ciel de cinabre + Dresser la neige ou rit l'aurore du Nippon. + + Mais il a vu, vers l'Est eclabousse d'or, l'astre, + Glorieux d'eclairer ce matin de desastre, + Poindre, orbe eblouissant, au-dessus de la mer; + + Et pour couvrir ses yeux dont pas un cil ne bouge, + Il ouvre d'un seul coup son eventail de fer, + Ou dans le satin blanc se leve un Soleil rouge. + +"Under the black war whip with its quadruple pompon the fierce stallion, +whinnying, curvets, and makes the rider's bronze cuirass ring against the +plates of his shirt of mail, with a sound like the clashing of sword +blades. + +"The Chief, clad in bronze and lacquer and silken crape, removing the +bearded masque from his beardless face, turns his gaze to the great +volcano, lifting its snows into the cinnabar sky where the dawn of Nippon +begins to smile. + +"Nay! he has already seen the gold-spattered day star, gloriously +illuminating the morning of disaster, rise, a blinding disk, above the +seas. And to shade his eyes, on both of which not even a single eyelash +stirs, he opens with one quick movement his iron fan, wherein upon a field +of white satin there rises a crimson sun." + +Of course this hasty translation is very poor; and you can only get from +it the signification and colour of the picture--the beautiful sonority and +luminosity of the French is all gone. Nevertheless, I am sure that the +more you study the original the more you will see how fine it is. Here +also is a Japanese colour print. We see the figure of the horseman on the +shore, in the light of dawn; behind him the still dark sky of night; +before him the crimson dawn, and Fuji white against the red sky. And in +the open fan, with its red sun, we have a grim suggestion of the day of +blood that is about to be; that is all. But whoever reads that sonnet will +never forget it; it burns into the memory. So, indeed, does everything +that Heredia writes. Unfortunately he has not yet written anything more +about Japan. + +I have quoted Heredia because I think that no other poet has even +approached him in the attempt to make a Japanese picture--though many +others have tried; and the French, nearly always, have done much better +than the English, because they are more naturally artists. Indeed one must +be something of an artist to write anything in the way of good poetry on a +Japanese subject. If you look at the collection "Poems of Places," in the +library, you will see how poorly Japan is there represented; the only +respectable piece of foreign work being by Longfellow, and that is only +about Japanese vases. But since then some English poems have appeared +which are at least worthy of Japanese notice. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE BIBLE IN ENGLISH LITERATURE + + +It is no exaggeration to say that the English Bible is, next to +Shakespeare, the greatest work in English literature, and that it will +have much more influence than even Shakespeare upon the written and spoken +language of the English race. For this reason, to study English literature +without some general knowledge of the relation of the Bible to that +literature would be to leave one's literary education very incomplete. It +is not necessary to consider the work from a religious point of view at +all; indeed, to so consider it would be rather a hindrance to the +understanding of its literary excellence. Some persons have ventured to +say that it is only since Englishmen ceased to believe in the Bible that +they began to discover how beautiful it was. This is not altogether true; +but it is partly true. For it is one thing to consider every word of a +book as the word of God or gods, and another thing to consider it simply +as the work of men like ourselves. Naturally we should think it our duty +to suppose the work of a divine being perfect in itself, and to imagine +beauty and truth where neither really exists. The wonder of the English +Bible can really be best appreciated by those who, knowing it to be the +work of men much less educated and cultivated than the scholars of the +nineteenth century, nevertheless perceive that those men were able to do +in literature what no man of our own day could possibly do. + +Of course in considering the work of the translators, we must remember the +magnificence of the original. I should not like to say that the Bible is +the greatest of all religious books. From the moral point of view it +contains very much that we can not to-day approve of; and what is good in +it can be found in the sacred books of other nations. Its ethics can not +even claim to be absolutely original. The ancient Egyptian scriptures +contain beauties almost superior in moral exaltation to anything contained +in the Old Testament; and the sacred books of other Eastern nations, +notably the sacred books of India, surpass the Hebrew scriptures in the +highest qualities of imagination and of profound thought. It is only of +late years that Europe, through the labour of Sanskrit and Pali scholars, +has become acquainted with the astonishing beauty of thought and feeling +which Indian scholars enshrined in scriptures much more voluminous than +the Hebrew Bible; and it is not impossible that this far-off literature +will some day influence European thought quite as much as the Jewish +Bible. Everywhere to-day in Europe and America the study of Buddhist and +Sanskrit literature is being pursued not only with eagerness but with +enthusiasm--an enthusiasm which sometimes reaches to curious extremes. I +might mention, in example, the case of a rich man who recently visited +Japan on his way from India. He had in New Zealand a valuable property; he +was a man of high culture, and of considerable social influence. One day +he happened to read an English translation of the "Bhagavad-Gita." Almost +immediately he resolved to devote the rest of his life to religious study +in India, in a monastery among the mountains; and he gave up wealth, +friends, society, everything that Western civilization could offer him, in +order to seek truth in a strange country. Certainly this is not the only +instance of the kind; and while such incidents can happen, we may feel +sure that the influence of religious literature is not likely to die for +centuries to come. + +But every great scripture, whether Hebrew, Indian, Persian, or Chinese, +apart from its religious value will be found to have some rare and special +beauty of its own; and in this respect the original Bible stands very high +as a monument of sublime poetry and of artistic prose. If it is not the +greatest of religious books as a literary creation, it is at all events +one of the greatest; and the proof is to be found in the inspiration which +millions and hundreds of millions, dead and living, have obtained from its +utterances. The Semitic races have always possessed in a very high degree +the genius of poetry, especially poetry in which imagination plays a great +part; and the Bible is the monument of Semitic genius in this regard. +Something in the serious, stern, and reverential spirit of the genius +referred to made a particular appeal to Western races having certain +characteristics of the same kind. Themselves uncultivated in the time that +the Bible was first made known to them, they found in it almost everything +that they thought and felt, expressed in a much better way than they could +have expressed it. Accordingly the Northern races of Europe found their +inspiration in the Bible; and the enthusiasm for it has not yet quite +faded away. + +But the value of the original, be it observed, did not make the value of +the English Bible. Certainly it was an inspiring force; but it was nothing +more. The English Bible is perhaps a much greater piece of fine +literature, altogether considered, than the Hebrew Bible. It was so for a +particular reason which it is very necessary for the student to +understand. The English Bible is a product of literary evolution. + +In studying English criticisms upon different authors, I think that you +must have sometimes felt impatient with the critics who told you, for +example, that Tennyson was partly inspired by Wordsworth and partly by +Keats and partly by Coleridge; and that Coleridge was partly inspired by +Blake and Blake by the Elizabethans, and so on. You may have been tempted +to say, as I used very often myself to say, "What does it matter where the +man got his ideas from? I care only for the beauty that is in his work, +not for a history of his literary education." But to-day the value of the +study of such relations appears in quite a new light. Evolutional +philosophy, applied to the study of literature as to everything else, has +shown us conclusively that man is not a god who can make something out of +nothing, and that every great work of genius must depend even less upon +the man of genius himself than upon the labours of those who lived before +him. Every great author must draw his thoughts and his knowledge in part +from other great authors, and these again from previous authors, and so on +back, till we come to that far time in which there was no written +literature, but only verses learned by heart and memorized by all the +people of some one tribe or place, and taught by them to their children +and to their grandchildren. It is only in Greek mythology that the +divinity of Wisdom leaps out of a god's head, in full armour. In the world +of reality the more beautiful a work of art, the longer, we may be sure, +was the time required to make it, and the greater the number of different +minds which assisted in its development. + +So with the English Bible. No one man could have made the translation of +1611. No one generation of men could have done it. It was not the labour +of a single century. It represented the work of hundreds of translators +working through hundreds of years, each succeeding generation improving a +little upon the work of the previous generation, until in the seventeenth +century the best had been done of which the English brain and the English +language was capable. In no other way can the surprising beauties of style +and expression be explained. No subsequent effort could improve the Bible +of King James. Every attempt made since the seventeenth century has only +resulted in spoiling and deforming the strength and the beauty of the +authorized text. + +Now you will understand why, from the purely literary point of view, the +English Bible is of the utmost importance for study. Suppose we glance for +a moment at the principal events in the history of this evolution. + +The first translation of the Bible into a Western tongue was that made by +Jerome (commonly called Saint Jerome) in the fourth century; he translated +directly from the Hebrew and other Arabic languages into Latin, then the +language of the Empire. This translation into Latin was called the +Vulgate,--from _vulgare_, "to make generally known." The Vulgate is still +used in the Roman church. The first English translations which have been +preserved to us were made from the Vulgate, not from the original tongues. +First of all, John Wycliffe's Bible may be called the foundation of the +seventeenth century Bible. Wycliffe's translation, in which he was helped +by many others, was published between 1380 and 1388. So we may say that +the foundation of the English Bible dates from the fourteenth century, one +thousand years after Jerome's Latin translation. But Wycliffe's version, +excellent as it was, could not serve very long: the English language was +changing too quickly. Accordingly, in the time of Henry VIII Tyndale and +Coverdale, with many others, made a new translation, this time not from +the Vulgate, but from the Greek text of the great scholar Erasmus. This +was the most important literary event of the time, for "it coloured the +entire complexion of subsequent English prose,"--to use the words of +Professor Gosse. This means that all prose in English written since Henry +VIII has been influenced, directly or indirectly, by the prose of +Tyndale's Bible, which was completed about 1535. Almost at the same time a +number of English divines, under the superintendence of Archbishop +Cramner, gave to the English language a literary treasure scarcely +inferior to the Bible itself, and containing wonderful translations from +the Scriptures,--the "Book of Common Prayer." No English surpasses the +English of this book, still used by the Church; and many translators have +since found new inspiration from it. + +A revision of this famous Bible was made in 1565, entitled "The Bishops' +Bible." The cause of the revision was largely doctrinal, and we need not +trouble ourselves about this translation farther than to remark that +Protestantism was reshaping the Scriptures to suit the new state religion. +Perhaps this edition may have had something to do with the determination +of the Roman Catholics to make an English Bible of their own. The Jesuits +began the work in 1582 at Rheims, and by 1610 the Roman Catholic version +known as the Douay (or Douai) version--because of its having been made +chiefly at the Catholic College of Douai in France--was completed. This +version has many merits; next to the wonderful King James version, it is +certainly the most poetical; and it has the further advantage of including +a number of books which Protestantism has thrown out of the authorized +version, but which have been used in the Roman church since its +foundation. But I am speaking of the book only as a literary English +production. It was not made with the help of original sources; its merits +are simply those of a melodious translation from the Latin Vulgate. + +At last, in 1611, was made, under the auspices of King James, the famous +King James version; and this is the great literary monument of the English +language. It was the work of many learned men; but the chief worker and +supervisor was the Bishop of Winchester, Lancelot Andrews, perhaps the +most eloquent English preacher that ever lived. He was a natural-born +orator, with an exquisite ear for the cadences of language. To this +natural faculty of the Bishop's can be attributed much of the musical +charm of the English in which the Bible was written. Still, it must not be +supposed that he himself did all the work, or even more than a small +proportion of it. What he did was to tone it; he overlooked and corrected +all the text submitted to him, and suffered only the best forms to +survive. Yet what magnificent material he had to choose from! All the +translations of the Bible that had been made before his time were +carefully studied with a view to the conservation of the best phrases, +both for sound and for form. We must consider the result not merely as a +study of literature in itself, but also as a study of eloquence; for every +attention was given to those effects to be expected from an oratorical +recitation of the text in public. + +This marks the end of the literary evolution of the Bible. Everything that +has since been done has only been in the direction of retrogression, of +injury to the text. We have now a great many later versions, much more +scholarly, so far as correct scholarship is concerned, than the King James +version, but none having any claim to literary importance. Unfortunately, +exact scholars are very seldom men of literary ability; the two faculties +are rarely united. The Bible of 1870, known as the Oxford Bible, and now +used in the Anglican state-church, evoked a great protest from the true +men of letters, the poets and critics who had found their inspirations in +the useful study of the old version. The new version was the work of +fourteen years; it was made by the united labour of the greatest scholars +in the English-speaking world; and it is far the most exact translation +that we have. Nevertheless the literary quality has been injured to such +an extent that no one will ever turn to the new revision for poetical +study. Even among the churches there was a decided condemnation of this +scholarly treatment of the old text; and many of the churches refused to +use the book. In this case, conservatism is doing the literary world a +service, keeping the old King James version in circulation, and insisting +especially upon its use in Sunday schools. + +We may now take a few examples of the differences between the revised +version and the Bible of King James. Professor Saintsbury, in an essay +upon English prose, published some years ago, said that the most perfect +piece of English prose in the language was that comprised in the sixth and +seventh verses of the eighth chapter of the Song of Songs: + + Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine + arm: for love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave; + the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement + flame. + + Many waters can not quench love, neither can the floods drown it: + if a man would give all the substance of his house for love, it + would utterly be condemned. + +I should not like to say that the Professor is certainly right in calling +this the finest prose in the English language; but he is a very great +critic, whose opinion must be respected and considered, and the passage is +certainly very fine. But in the revised version, how tame the same text +has become in the hands of the scholarly translators! + + The flashes thereof are flashes of fire, a very flame of the Lord. + +Now as a description of jealousy, not to speak of the literary execution +at all, which is the best? What, we may ask, has been gained by calling +jealousy "a flame of the Lord" or by substituting the word "flashes" for +"coals of fire"? All through the new version are things of this kind. For +example, in the same Song of Songs there is a beautiful description of +eyes, like "doves by the rivers of waters, washed with milk, and fitly +set." By substituting "rivers" only for "rivers of waters" the text may +have gained in exactness, but it has lost immeasurably, both in poetry and +in sound. Far more poetical is the verse as given in the Douai version: +"His eyes are as doves upon brooks of waters, which are washed with milk, +and sit beside the beautiful streams." + +It may even be said without any question that the mistakes of the old +translators were often much more beautiful than the original. A splendid +example is given in the verse of Job, chapter twenty-six, verse thirteen: +"By his spirit he hath garnished the heavens; his hand hath formed the +crooked serpent." By the crooked serpent was supposed to be signified the +grand constellation called _Draco_, or the Dragon. And the figure is +sublime. It is still more sublime in the Douai translation. "His obstetric +hand hath brought forth the Winding Serpent." This is certainly a grand +imagination--the hand of God, like the hand of a midwife, bringing forth a +constellation out of the womb of the eternal night. But in the revised +version, which is exact, we have only "His hand hath pierced the Swift +Serpent!" All the poetry is dead. + +There are two methods for the literary study of any book--the first being +the study of its thought and emotion; the second only that of its +workmanship. A student of literature should study some of the Bible from +both points of view. In attempting the former method he will do well to +consider many works of criticism, but for the study of the text as +literature, his duty is very plain--the King James version is the only one +that ought to form the basis of his study, though he should look at the +Douai version occasionally. Also he should have a book of references, such +as Cruden's Concordance, by help of which he can collect together in a few +moments all the texts upon any particular subject, such as the sea, the +wind, the sky, human life, the shadows of evening. The study of the Bible +is not one which I should recommend to very young Japanese students, +because of the quaintness of the English. Before a good knowledge of +English forms is obtained, the archaisms are apt to affect the students' +mode of expression. But for the advanced student of literature, I should +say that some knowledge of the finest books in the Bible is simply +indispensable. The important books to read are not many. But one should +read at least the books of Genesis, Exodus, Ruth, Esther, the Song of +Songs, Proverbs,--and, above all, Job. Job is certainly the grandest book +in the Bible; but all of those which I have named are books that have +inspired poets and writers in all departments of English literature to +such an extent that you can scarcely read a masterpiece in which there is +not some conscious or unconscious reference to them. Another book of +philosophical importance is Ecclesiastes, where, in addition to much +proverbial wisdom, you will find some admirable world-poetry--that is, +poetry which contains universal truth about human life in all times and +all ages. Of the historical books and the law books I do not think that it +is important to read much; the literary element in these is not so +pronounced. It is otherwise with the prophetic books, but here in order to +obtain a few jewels of expression, you have to read a great deal that is +of little value. Of the New Testament there is very little equal to the +Old in literary value; indeed, I should recommend the reading only of the +closing book--the book called the Revelation, or the Apocalypse, from +which we have derived a literary adjective "apocalyptic," to describe +something at once very terrible and very grand. Whether one understands +the meaning of this mysterious text makes very little difference; the +sonority and the beauty of its sentences, together with the tremendous +character of its imagery, can not but powerfully influence mind and ear, +and thus stimulate literary taste. At least two of the great prose writers +of the nineteenth century, Carlyle and Ruskin, have been vividly +influenced by the book of the Revelation. Every period of English +literature shows some influence of Bible study, even from the old +Anglo-Saxon days; and during the present year, the study has so little +slackened that one constantly sees announcements of new works upon the +literary elements of the Bible. Perhaps one of the best is Professor +Moulton's "Modern Reader's Bible," in which the literary side of the +subject receives better consideration than in any other work of the kind +published for general use. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE "HAVAMAL" + +OLD NORTHERN ETHICS OF LIFE + + Then from his lips in music rolled + The Havamal of Odin old, + With sounds mysterious as the roar + Of billows on a distant shore. + + +Perhaps many of you who read this little verse in Longfellow's "Saga of +King Olaf" have wished to know what was this wonderful song that the ghost +of the god sang to the king. I am afraid that you would be very +disappointed in some respects by the "Havamal." There is indeed a magical +song in it; and it is this magical song especially that Longfellow refers +to, a song of charms. But most of the "Havamal" is a collection of ethical +teaching. All that has been preserved by it has been published and +translated by Professors Vigfusson and Powell. It is very old--perhaps the +oldest Northern literature that we have. I am going to attempt a short +lecture upon it, because it is very closely related to the subject of +Northern character, and will help us, perhaps better than almost anything +else, to understand how the ancestors of the English felt and thought +before they became Christians. Nor is this all. I venture to say that the +character of the modern English people still retains much more of the +quality indicated by the "Havamal" than of the quality implied by +Christianity. The old Northern gods are not dead; they rule a very great +part of the world to-day. + +The proverbial philosophy of a people helps us to understand more about +them than any other kind of literature. And this sort of literature is +certainly among the oldest. It represents only the result of human +experience in society, the wisdom that men get by contact with each other, +the results of familiarity with right and wrong. By studying the proverbs +of a people, you can always make a very good guess as to whether you could +live comfortably among them or not. + +Froude, in one of his sketches of travel in Norway, made the excellent +observation that if we could suddenly go back to the time of the terrible +sea-kings, if we could revisit to-day the homes of the old Northern +pirates, and find them exactly as they were one thousand or fifteen +hundred years ago, we should find them very much like the modern +Englishmen--big, simple, silent men, concealing a great deal of shrewdness +under an aspect of simplicity. The teachings of the "Havamal" give great +force to this supposition. The book must have been known in some form to +the early English--or at least the verses composing it (it is all written +in verse); and as I have already said, the morals of the old English, as +well as their character, differed very little from those of the men of the +still further North, with whom they mingled and intermarried freely, both +before and after the Danish conquest, when for one moment England and +Sweden were one kingdom. + +Of course you must remember that Northern society was a very terrible +thing in some ways. Every man carried his life in his hands; every farmer +kept sword and spear at his side even in his own fields; and every man +expected to die fighting. In fact, among the men of the more savage +North--the men of Norway in especial--it was considered a great disgrace +to die of sickness, to die on one's bed. That was not to die like a man. +Men would go out and get themselves killed, when they felt old age or +sickness coming on. But these facts must not blind us to the other fact +that there was even in that society a great force of moral cohesion, and +sound principles of morality. If there had not been, it could not have +existed; much less could the people who lived under it have become the +masters of a great part of the world, which they are at the present day. +There was, in spite of all that fierceness, much kindness and good nature +among them; there were rules of conduct such as no man could find fault +with--rules which still govern English society to some extent. And there +was opportunity enough for social amusement, social enjoyment, and the +winning of public esteem by a noble life. + +Still, even in the "Havamal," one is occasionally startled by teachings +which show the darker side of Northern life, a life of perpetual vendetta. +As in old Japan, no man could live under the same heaven with the murderer +of his brother or father; vengeance was a duty even in the case of a +friend. On the subject of enemies the "Havamal" gives not a little curious +advice: + + A man should never step a foot beyond his weapons; for he can + never tell where, on his path without, he may need his spear. + + A man, before he goes into a house, should look to and espy all + the doorways (_so that he can find his way out quickly again_), + for he can never know where foes may be sitting in another man's + house. + +Does not this remind us of the Japanese proverb that everybody has three +enemies outside of his own door? But the meaning of the "Havamal" teaching +is much more sinister. And when the man goes into the house, he is still +told to be extremely watchful--to keep his ears and eyes open so that he +may not be taken by surprise: + + The wary guest keeps watchful silence; he listens with his ears + and peers about with his eyes; thus does every wise man look about + him. + +One would think that men must have had very strong nerves to take comfort +under such circumstances, but the poet tells us that the man who can enjoy +nothing must be both a coward and a fool. Although a man was to keep watch +to protect his life, that was not a reason why he should be afraid of +losing it. There were but three things of which a man should be +particularly afraid. The first was drink--because drink often caused a man +to lose control of his temper; the second was another man's +wife--repeatedly the reader is warned never to make love to another man's +wife; and the third was thieves--men who would pretend friendship for the +purpose of killing and stealing, The man who could keep constant watch +over himself and his surroundings was, of course, likely to have the +longest life. + +Now in all countries there is a great deal of ethical teaching, and always +has been, on the subject of speech. The "Havamal" is full of teaching on +this subject--the necessity of silence, the danger and the folly of +reckless talk. You all know the Japanese proverb that "the mouth is the +front gate of all misfortune." The Norse poet puts the same truth into a +grimmer shape: "The tongue works death to the head." Here are a number of +sayings on this subject: + + He that is never silent talks much folly; a glib tongue, unless it + be bridled, will often talk a man into trouble. + + Do not speak three angry words with a worse man; for often the + better man falls by the worse man's sword. + + Smile thou in the face of the man thou trusteth not, and speak + against thy mind. + +This is of course a teaching of cunning; but it is the teaching, however +immoral, that rules in English society to-day. In the old Norse, however, +there were many reasons for avoiding a quarrel whenever possible--reasons +which must have existed also in feudal Japan. A man might not care about +losing his own life; but he had to be careful not to stir up a feud that +might go on for a hundred years. Although there was a great deal of +killing, killing always remained a serious matter, because for every +killing there had to be a vengeance. It is true that the law exonerated +the man who killed another, if he paid a certain blood-price; murder was +not legally considered an unpardonable crime. But the family of the dead +man would very seldom be satisfied with a payment; they would want blood +for blood. Accordingly men had to be very cautious about quarreling, +however brave they might personally be. + +But all this caution about silence and about watchfulness did not mean +that a man should be unable to speak to the purpose when speech was +required. "A wise man," says the "Havamal," "should be able both to ask +and to answer." There is a proverb which you know, to the effect that you +can not shut the door upon another man's mouth. So says the Norse poet: +"The sons of men can keep silence about nothing that passes among men; +therefore a man should be able to take his own part, prudently and +strongly." Says the "Havamal": "A fool thinks he knows everything if he +sits snug in his little corner; but he is at a loss for words if the +people put to him a question." Elsewhere it is said: "Arch dunce is he who +can speak nought, for that is the mark of a fool." And the sum of all this +teaching about the tongue is that men should never speak without good +reason, and then should speak to the point strongly and wisely. + +On the subject of fools there is a great deal in the "Havamal"; but you +must understand always by the word fool, in the Northern sense, a man of +weak character who knows not what to do in time of difficulty. That was a +fool among those men, and a dangerous fool; for in such a state of society +mistakes in act or in speech might reach to terrible consequences. See +these little observations about fools: + + Open-handed, bold-hearted men live most happily, they never feel + care; but a fool troubles himself about everything. The niggard + pines for gifts. + + A fool is awake all night, worrying about everything; when the + morning comes he is worn out, and all his troubles are just the + same as before. + + A fool thinks that all who smile upon him are his friends, not + knowing, when he is with wise men, who there may be plotting + against him. + + If a fool gets a drink, all his mind is immediately displayed. + +But it was not considered right for a man not to drink, although drink was +a dangerous thing. On the contrary, not to drink would have been thought a +mark of cowardice and of incapacity for self-control. A man was expected +even to get drunk if necessary, and to keep his tongue and his temper no +matter how much he drank. The strong character would only become more +cautious and more silent under the influence of drink; the weak man would +immediately show his weakness. I am told the curious fact that in the +English army at the present day officers are expected to act very much +after the teaching of the old Norse poet; a man is expected to be able on +occasion to drink a considerable amount of wine or spirits without showing +the effects of it, either in his conduct or in his speech. "Drink thy +share of mead; speak fair or not at all"--that was the old text, and a +very sensible one in its way. + +Laughter was also condemned, if indulged in without very good cause. "The +miserable man whose mind is warped laughs at everything, not knowing what +he ought to know, that he himself has no lack of faults." I need scarcely +tell you that the English are still a very serious people, not disposed to +laugh nearly so much as are the men of the more sympathetic Latin races. +You will remember perhaps Lord Chesterfield's saying that since he became +a man no man had ever seen him laugh. I remember about twenty years ago +that there was published by some Englishman a very learned and very +interesting little book, called "The Philosophy of Laughter," in which it +was gravely asserted that all laughter was foolish. I must acknowledge, +however, that no book ever made me laugh more than the volume in question. + +The great virtue of the men of the North, according to the "Havamal," was +indeed the virtue which has given to the English race its present great +position among nations,--the simplest of all virtues, common sense. But +common sense means much more than the words might imply to the Japanese +students, or to any one unfamiliar with English idioms. Common sense, or +mother-wit, means natural intelligence, as opposed to, and independent of, +cultivated or educated intelligence. It means inherited knowledge; and +inherited knowledge may take even the form of genius. It means foresight. +It means intuitive knowledge of other people's character. It means cunning +as well as broad comprehension. And the modern Englishman, in all times +and in all countries, trusts especially to this faculty, which is very +largely developed in the race to which he belongs. No Englishman believes +in working from book learning. He suspects all theories, philosophical or +other. He suspects everything new, and dislikes it, unless he can be +compelled by the force of circumstances to see that this new thing has +advantages over the old. Race-experience is what he invariably depends +upon, whenever he can, whether in India, in Egypt, or in Australia. His +statesmen do not consult historical precedents in order to decide what to +do: they first learn the facts as they are; then they depend upon their +own common sense, not at all upon their university learning or upon +philosophical theories. And in the case of the English nation, it must be +acknowledged that this instinctive method has been eminently successful. +When the "Havamal" speaks of wisdom it means mother-wit, and nothing else; +indeed, there was no reading or writing to speak of in those times: + + No man can carry better baggage on his journey than wisdom. + + There is no better friend than great common sense. + +But the wise man should not show himself to be wise without occasion. He +should remember that the majority of men are not wise, and he should be +careful not to show his superiority over them unnecessarily. Neither +should be despise men who do not happen to be as wise as himself: + + No man is so good but there is a flaw in him, nor so bad as to be + good for nothing. + + Middling wise should every man be; never overwise. Those who know + many things rarely lead the happiest life. + + Middling wise should every man be; never overwise. No man should + know his fate beforehand; so shall he live freest from care. + + Middling wise should every man be, never too wise. A wise man's + heart is seldom glad, if its owner be a true sage. + +This is the ancient wisdom also of Solomon "He that increases wisdom +increases sorrow." But how very true as worldly wisdom these little +Northern sentences are. That a man who knows a little of many things, and +no one thing perfectly, is the happiest man--this certainly is even more +true to-day than it was a thousand years ago. Spencer has well observed +that the man who can influence his generation, is never the man greatly in +advance of his time, but only the man who is very slightly better than his +fellows. The man who is very superior is likely to be ignored or disliked. +Mediocrity can not help disliking superiority; and as the old Northern +sage declared, "the average of men is but moiety." Moiety does not mean +necessarily mediocrity, but also that which is below mediocrity. What we +call in England to-day, as Matthew Arnold called it, the Philistine +element, continues to prove in our own time, to almost every superior man, +the danger of being too wise. + +Interesting in another way, and altogether more agreeable, are the old +sayings about friendship: "Know this, if thou hast a trusty friend, go and +see him often; because a road which is seldom trod gets choked with +brambles and high grass." + + Be not thou the first to break off from thy friend. Sorrow will + eat thy heart if thou lackest the friend to open thy heart to. + + Anything is better than to be false; he is no friend who + only speaks to please. + +Which means, of course, that a true friend is not afraid to find fault +with his friend's course; indeed, that is his solemn duty. But these +teachings about friendship are accompanied with many cautions; for one +must be very careful in the making friends. The ancient Greeks had a +terrible proverb: "Treat your friend as if he should become some day your +enemy; and treat your enemy as if he might some day become your friend." +This proverb seems to me to indicate a certain amount of doubt in human +nature. We do not find this doubt in the Norse teaching, but on the +contrary, some very excellent advice. The first thing to remember is that +friendship is sacred: "He that opens his heart to another mixes blood with +him." Therefore one should be very careful either about forming or about +breaking a friendship. + + A man should be a friend to his friend's friend. But no man should + be a friend of his friend's foe, nor of his foe's friend. + + A man should be a friend with his friend, and pay back gift with + gift; give back laughter for laughter (to his enemies), and lesing + for lies. + + Give and give back makes the longest friend. Give not overmuch at + one time. Gift always looks for return. + +The poet also tells us how trifling gifts are quite sufficient to make +friends and to keep them, if wisely given. A costly gift may seem like a +bribe; a little gift is only the sign of kindly feeling. And as a mere +matter of justice, a costly gift may be unkind, for it puts the friend +under an obligation which he may not be rich enough to repay. Repeatedly +we are told also that too much should not be expected of friendship. The +value of a friend is his affection, his sympathy; but favours that cost +must always be returned. + + I never met a man so open-hearted and free with his food, but that + boon was boon to him--nor so generous as not to look for return if + he had a chance. + +Emerson says almost precisely the same thing in his essay on +friendship--showing how little human wisdom has changed in all the +centuries. Here is another good bit of advice concerning visits: + + It is far away to an ill friend, even though he live on one's + road; but to a good friend there is a short cut, even though he + live far out. + + Go on, be not a guest ever in the same house. The welcome becomes + wearisome if he sits too long at another's table. + +This means that we must not impose on our friends; but there is a further +caution on the subject of eating at a friend's house. You must not go to +your friend's house hungry, when you can help it. + + A man should take his meal betimes, before he goes to his + neighbour--or he will sit and seem hungered like one starving, and + have no power to talk. + +That is the main point to remember in dining at another's house, that you +are not there only for your own pleasure, but for that of other people. +You are expected to talk; and you can not talk if you are very hungry. At +this very day a gentleman makes it the rule to do the same thing. +Accordingly we see that these rough men of the North must have had a good +deal of social refinement--refinement not of dress or of speech, but of +feeling. Still, says the poet, one's own home is the best, though it be +but a cottage. "A man is a man in his own house." + +Now we come to some sentences teaching caution, which are noteworthy in a +certain way: + + Tell one man thy secret, but not two. What three men know, all the + world knows. + + Never let a bad man know thy mishaps; for from a bad man thou + shalt never get reward for thy sincerity. + +I shall presently give you some modern examples in regard to the advice +concerning bad men. Another thing to be cautious about is praise. If you +have to be careful about blame, you must be very cautious also about +praise. + + Praise the day at even-tide; a woman at her burying; a sword when + it has been tried; a maid when she is married; ice when + you have crossed over it; ale when it is drunk. + +If there is anything noteworthy in English character to-day it is the +exemplification of this very kind of teaching. This is essentially +Northern. The last people from whom praise can be expected, even for what +is worthy of all praise, are the English. A new friendship, a new ideal, a +reform, a noble action, a wonderful poet, an exquisite painting--any of +these things will be admired and praised by every other people in Europe +long before you can get Englishmen to praise. The Englishman all this time +is studying, considering, trying to find fault. Why should he try to find +fault? So that he will not make any mistakes at a later day. He has +inherited the terrible caution of his ancestors in regard to mistakes. It +must be granted that his caution has saved him from a number of very +serious mistakes that other nations have made. It must also be +acknowledged that he exercises a fair amount of moderation in the opposite +direction--this modern Englishman; he has learned caution of another kind, +which his ancestors taught him. "Power," says the "Havamal," "should be +used with moderation; for whoever finds himself among valiant men will +discover that no man is peerless." And this is a very important thing for +the strong man to know--that however strong, he can not be the strongest; +his match will be found when occasion demands it. Not only Scandinavian +but English rulers have often discovered this fact to their cost. Another +matter to be very anxious about is public opinion. + + Chattels die; kinsmen pass away; one dies oneself; but I know + something that never dies--the name of the man, for good or bad. + +Do not think that this means anything religious. It means only that the +reputation of a man goes to influence the good or ill fortune of his +descendants. It is something to be proud of, to be the son of a good man; +it helps to success in life. On the other hand, to have had a father of +ill reputation is a very serious obstacle to success of any kind in +countries where the influence of heredity is strongly recognized. + +I have nearly exhausted the examples of this Northern wisdom which I +selected for you; but there are two subjects which remain to be +considered. One is the law of conduct in regard to misfortune; and the +other is the rule of conduct in regard to women. A man was expected to +keep up a brave heart under any circumstances. These old Northmen seldom +committed suicide; and I must tell you that all the talk about +Christianity having checked the practice of suicide to some extent, can +not be fairly accepted as truth. In modern England to-day the suicides +average nearly three thousand a year; but making allowance for +extraordinary circumstances, it is certainly true that the Northern races +consider suicide in an entirely different way from what the Latin races +do. There was very little suicide among the men of the North, because +every man considered it his duty to get killed, not to kill himself; and +to kill himself would have seemed cowardly, as implying fear of being +killed by others. In modern ethical training, quite apart from religious +considerations a man is taught that suicide is only excusable in case of +shame, or under such exceptional circumstances as have occurred in the +history of the Indian mutiny. At all events, we have the feeling still +strongly manifested in England that suicide is not quite manly; and this +is certainly due much more to ancestral habits of thinking, which date +back to pagan days, than to Christian doctrine. As I have said, the pagan +English would not commit suicide to escape mere pain. But the Northern +people knew how to die to escape shame. There is an awful story in Roman +history about the wives and daughters of the conquered German tribes, +thousands in number, asking to be promised that their virtue should be +respected, and all killing themselves when the Roman general refused the +request. No Southern people of Europe in that time would have shown such +heroism upon such a matter. Leaving honour aside, however, the old book +tells us that a man should never despair. + + Fire, the sight of the sun, good health, and a blameless + life these are the goodliest things in this world. + + Yet a man is not utterly wretched, though he have bad health, or + be maimed. + + The halt may ride a horse; the handless may drive a herd; the deaf + can fight and do well; better be blind than buried. A corpse is + good for naught. + +On the subject of women there is not very much in the book beyond the +usual caution in regard to wicked women; but there is this little +observation: + + Never blame a woman for what is all man's weakness. Hues charming + and fair may move the wise and not the dullard. Mighty love turns + the son of men from wise to fool. + +This is shrewd, and it contains a very remarkable bit of esthetic truth, +that it requires a wise man to see certain kinds of beauty, which a stupid +man could never be made to understand. And, leaving aside the subject of +love, what very good advice it is never to laugh at a person for what can +be considered a common failure. In the same way an intelligent man should +learn to be patient with the unintelligent, as the same poem elsewhere +insists. + +Now what is the general result of this little study, the general +impression that it leaves upon the mind? Certainly we feel that the life +reflected in these sentences was a life in which caution was above all +things necessary--caution in thought and speech and act, never ceasing, by +night or day, during the whole of a man's life. Caution implies +moderation. Moderation inevitably develops a certain habit of justice--a +justice that might not extend outside of the race, but a justice that +would be exercised between man and man of the same blood. Very much of +English character and of English history is explained by the life that the +"Havamal" portrays. Very much that is good; also very much that is +bad--not bad in one sense, so far as the future of the race is concerned, +but in a social way certainly not good. The judgment of the Englishman by +all other European peoples is that he is the most suspicious, the most +reserved, the most unreceptive, the most unfriendly, the coldest hearted, +and the most domineering of all Western peoples. Ask a Frenchman, an +Italian, a German, a Spaniard, even an American, what he thinks about +Englishmen; and every one of them will tell you the very same thing. This +is precisely what the character of men would become who had lived for +thousands of years in the conditions of Northern society. But you would +find upon the other hand that nearly all nations would speak highly of +certain other English qualities--energy, courage, honour, justice (between +themselves). They would say that although no man is so difficult to make +friends with, the friendship of an Englishman once gained is more strong +and true than any other. And as the battle of life still continues, and +must continue for thousands of years to come, it must be acknowledged that +the English character is especially well fitted for the struggle. Its +reserves, its cautions, its doubts, its suspicions, its brutality--these +have been for it in the past, and are still in the present, the best +social armour and panoply of war. It is not a lovable nor an amiable +character; it is not even kindly. The Englishman of the best type is much +more inclined to be just than he is to be kind, for kindness is an +emotional impulse, and the Englishman is on his guard against every kind +of emotional impulse. But with all this, the character is a grand one, and +its success has been the best proof of its value. + +Now you will have observed in the reading of this ancient code of social +morals that, while none of the teaching is religious, some of it is +absolutely immoral from any religious standpoint. No great religion +permits us to speak what is not true, and to smile in the face of an enemy +while pretending to be his friend. No religion teaches that we should "pay +back lesing for lies." Neither does a religion tell us that we should +expect a return for every kindness done; that we should regard friendship +as being actuated by selfish motives; that we should never praise when +praise seems to be deserved. In fact, when Sir Walter Scott long ago made +a partial translation of the "Havamal," he thought himself obliged to +leave out a number of sentences which seemed to him highly immoral, and to +apologize for others. He thought that they would shock English readers too +much. + +We are not quite so squeamish to-day; and a thinker of our own time would +scarcely deny that English society is very largely governed at this moment +by the same kind of rules that Sir Walter Scott thought to be so bad. But +here we need not condemn English society in particular. All European +society has been for hundreds of years conducting itself upon very much +the same principles; for the reason that human social experience has been +the same in all Western countries. I should say that the only difference +between English society and other societies is that the hardness of +character is very much greater. Let us go back even to the most Christian +times of Western societies in the most Christian country of Europe, and +observe whether the social code was then and there so very different from +the social code of the old "Havamal." Mr. Spencer observes in his "Ethics" +that, so far as the conduct of life is concerned, religion is almost +nothing and practice is everything. We find this wonderfully exemplified +in a most remarkable book of social precepts written in the seventeenth +century, in Spain, under the title of the "Oraculo Manual." It was +composed by a Spanish priest, named Baltasar Gracian, who was born in the +year 1601 and died in 1658; and it has been translated into nearly all +languages. The best English translation, published by Macmillan, is called +"The Art of Worldly Wisdom." It is even more admired to-day than in the +seventeenth century; and what it teaches as to social conduct holds as +good to-day of modern society as it did of society two hundred years ago. +It is one of the most unpleasant and yet interesting books ever +published--unpleasant because of the malicious cunning which it often +displays--interesting because of the frightful perspicacity of the author. +The man who wrote that book understood the hearts of men, especially the +bad side. He was a gentleman of high rank before he became a priest, and +his instinctive shrewdness must have been hereditary. Religion, this man +would have said, teaches the best possible morals; but the world is not +governed by religion altogether, and to mix with it, we must act according +to its dictates. + +These dictates remind us in many ways of the cautions and the cunning of +the "Havamal." The first thing enjoined upon a man both by the Norse +writer and by the Spanish author is the art of silence. Probably this has +been the result of social experience in all countries. "Cautious silence +is the holy of holies of worldly wisdom," says Gracian. And he gives many +elaborate reasons for this statement, not the least of which is the +following: "If you do not declare yourself immediately, you arouse +expectation, especially when the importance of your position makes you the +object of general attention. Mix a little mystery with everything, and the +very mystery arouses veneration." A little further on he gives us exactly +the same advice as did the "Havamal" writer, in regard to being frank with +enemies. "Do not," he says, "show your wounded finger, for everything will +knock up against it; nor complain about it, for malice always aims where +weakness can be injured.... Never disclose the source of mortification or +of joy, if you wish the one to cease, the other to endure." About secrets +the Spaniard is quite as cautious as the Norseman. He says, "Especially +dangerous are secrets entrusted to friends. He that communicates his +secret to another makes himself that other man's slave." But after a great +many such cautions in regard to silence and secrecy, he tells us also that +we must learn how to fight with the world. You remember the advice of the +"Havamal" on this subject, how it condemns as a fool the man who can not +answer a reproach. The Spaniard is, however, much more malicious in his +suggestions. He tells as that we must "learn to know every man's +thumbscrew." I suppose you know that a thumbscrew was an instrument of +torture used in old times to force confessions from criminals. This advice +means nothing less than that we should learn how to be be able to hurt +other men's feelings, or to flatter other men's weaknesses. "First guess +every man's ruling passion, appeal to it by a word, set it in motion by +temptation, and you will infallibly give checkmate to his freedom of +will." The term "give checkmate" is taken from the game of chess, and must +here be understood as meaning to overcome, to conquer. A kindred piece of +advice is "keep a store of sarcasms, and know how to use them." Indeed he +tells us that this is the point of greatest tact in human intercourse. +"Struck by the slightest word of this kind, many fall away from the +closest intimacy with superiors or inferiors, which intimacy could not be +in the slightest shaken by a whole conspiracy of popular insinuation or +private malevolence." In other words, you can more quickly destroy a man's +friendship by one word of sarcasm than by any amount of intrigue. Does not +this read very much like sheer wickedness? Certainly it does; but the +author would have told you that you must fight the wicked with their own +weapons. In the "Havamal" you will not find anything quite so openly +wicked as that; but we must suppose that the Norsemen knew the secret, +though they might not have put it into words. As for the social teaching, +you will find it very subtly expressed even in the modern English novels +of George Meredith, who, by the way, has written a poem in praise of +sarcasm and ridicule. But let us now see what the Spanish author has to +tell us about friendship and unselfishness. + +The shrewd man knows that others when they seek him do not seek "him," but +"their advantage in him and by him." That is to say, a shrewd man does not +believe in disinterested friendship. This is much worse than anything in +the "Havamal." And it is diabolically elaborated. What are we to say about +such teaching as the following: "A wise man would rather see men needing +him than thanking him. To keep them on the threshold of hope is +diplomatic; to trust to their gratitude is boorish; hope has a good +memory, gratitude a bad one"? There is much more of this kind; but after +the assurance that only a boorish person (that is to say, an ignorant and +vulgar man) can believe in gratitude, the author's opinion of human nature +needs no further elucidation. The old Norseman would have been shocked at +such a statement. But he might have approved the following: "When you hear +anything favourable, keep a tight rein upon your credulity; if +unfavourable, give it the spur." That is to say, when you hear anything +good about another man, do not be ready to believe it; but if you hear +anything bad about him, believe as much of it as you can. + +I notice also many other points of resemblance between the Northern and +the Spanish teaching in regard to caution. The "Havamal" says that you +must not pick a quarrel with a worse man than yourself; "because the +better man often falls by the worse man's sword." The Spanish priest gives +a still shrewder reason for the same policy. "Never contend," he says, +"with a man who has nothing to lose; for thereby you enter into an unequal +conflict. The other enters without anxiety; having lost everything, +including shame, he has no further loss to fear." I think that this is an +immoral teaching, though a very prudent one; but I need scarcely to tell +you that it is still a principle in modern society not to contend with a +man who has no reputation to lose. I think it is immoral, because it is +purely selfish, and because a good man ought not to be afraid to denounce +a wrong because of making enemies. Another point, however, on which the +"Havamal" and the priest agree, is more commendable and interesting. "We +do not think much of a man who never contradicts us; that is no sign he +loves us, but rather a sign that he loves himself. Original and +out-of-the-way views are signs of superior ability." + +I should not like you to suppose, however, that the whole of the book from +which I have been quoting is of the same character as the quotations. +There is excellent advice in it; and much kindly teaching on the subject +of generous acts. It is a book both good and bad, and never stupid. The +same man who tells you that friendship is seldom unselfish, also declares +that life would be a desert without friends, and that there is no magic +like a good turn--that is, a kind act. He teaches the importance of +getting good will by honest means, although he advises us also to learn +how to injure. I am sure that nobody could read the book without benefit. +And I may close these quotations from it with the following paragraph, +which is the very best bit of counsel that could be given to a literary +student: + + Be slow and sure. Quickly done can be quickly undone. To last an + eternity requires an eternity of preparation. Only excellence + counts. Profound intelligence is the only foundation for + immortality. Worth much costs much. The precious metals are the + heaviest. + +But so far as the question of human conduct is concerned, the book of +Gracian is no more of a religious book than is the "Havamal" of the +heathen North. You would find, were such a book published to-day and +brought up to the present time by any shrewd writer, that Western morality +has not improved in the least since the time before Christianity was +established, so far as the rules of society go. Society is not, and can +not be, religious, because it is a state of continual warfare. Every +person in it has to fight, and the battle is not less cruel now because it +is not fought with swords. Indeed, I should think that the time when every +man carried his sword in society was a time when men were quite as kindly +and much more honest than they are now. The object of this little lecture +was to show you that the principles of the ancient Norse are really the +principles ruling English society to-day; but I think you will be able to +take from it a still larger meaning. It is that not only one form of +society, but all forms of society, represent the warfare of man and man. +That is why thinkers, poets, philosophers, in all ages, have tried to find +solitude, to keep out of the contest, to devote themselves only to study +of the beautiful and the true. But the prizes of life are not to be +obtained in solitude, although the prizes of thought can only there be +won. After all, whatever we may think about the cruelty and treachery of +the social world, it does great things in the end. It quickens judgment, +deepens intelligence, enforces the acquisition of self-control, creates +forms of mental and moral strength that can not fail to be sometimes of +vast importance to mankind. But if you should ask me whether it increases +human happiness, I should certainly say "no." The "Havamal" said the same +thing,--the truly wise man can not be happy. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +BEYOND MAN + + +It seems to me a lecturer's duty to speak to you about any remarkable +thought at this moment engaging the attention of Western philosophers and +men of science,--partly because any such new ideas are certain, sooner or +later, to be reflected in literature, and partly because without a +knowledge of them you might form incorrect ideas in relation to utterances +of any important philosophic character. I am not going to discourse about +Nietzsche, though the title of this lecture is taken from one of his +books; the ideas about which I am going to tell you, you will not find in +his books. It is most extraordinary, to my thinking, that these ideas +never occurred to him, for he was an eminent man of science before writing +his probably insane books. I have not the slightest sympathy with most of +his ideas; they seem to me misinterpretations of evolutional teachings; +and if not misinterpretations, they are simply undeveloped and +ill-balanced thinking. But the title of one of his books, and the idea +which he tries always unsuccessfully to explain,--that of a state above +mankind, a moral condition "beyond man," as he calls it,--that is worth +talking about. It is not nonsense at all, but fact, and I think that I can +give you a correct idea of the realities in the case. Leaving Nietzsche +entirely alone, then, let us ask if it is possible to suppose a condition +of human existence above morality,--that is to say, more moral than the +most moral ideal which a human brain can conceive? We may answer, it is +quite possible, and it is not only possible, but it has actually been +predicted by many great thinkers, including Herbert Spencer. + +We have been brought up to think that there can be nothing better than +virtue, than duty, than strictly following the precepts of a good +religion. However, our ideas of goodness and of virtue necessarily imply +the existence of the opposite qualities. To do a good thing because it is +our duty to do it, implies a certain amount of resolve, a struggle against +difficulty. The virtue of honesty is a term implying the difficulty of +being perfectly honest. When we think of any virtuous or great deed, we +can not help thinking of the pain and obstacles that have to be met with +in performing that deed. All our active morality is a struggle against +immorality. And I think that, as every religion teaches, it must be +granted that no human being has a perfectly moral nature. + +Could a world exist in which the nature of all the inhabitants would be so +moral that the mere idea of what is immoral could not exist? Let me +explain my question more in detail. Imagine a society in which the idea of +dishonesty would not exist, because no person could be dishonest, a +society in which the idea of unchastity could not exist, because no person +could possibly be unchaste, a world in which no one could have any idea of +envy, ambition or anger, because such passions could not exist, a world in +which there would be no idea of duty, filial or parental, because not to +be filial, not to be loving, not to do everything which we human beings +now call duty, would be impossible. In such a world ideas of duty would be +quite useless; for every action of existence would represent the constant +and faultless performance of what we term duty. Moreover, there would be +no difficulty, no pain in such performance; it would be the constant and +unfailing pleasure of life. With us, unfortunately, what is wrong often +gives pleasure; and what is good to do, commonly causes pain. But in the +world which I am asking you to imagine there could not be any wrong, nor +any pleasure in wrong-doing; all the pleasure would be in right-doing. To +give a very simple illustration--one of the commonest and most pardonable +faults of young people is eating, drinking, or sleeping too much. But in +our imaginary world to eat or to drink or to sleep in even the least +degree more than is necessary could not be done; the constitution of the +race would not permit it. One more illustration. Our children have to be +educated carefully in regard to what is right or wrong; in the world of +which I am speaking, no time would be wasted in any such education, for +every child would be born with full knowledge of what is right and wrong. +Or to state the case in psychological language--I mean the language of +scientific, not of metaphysical, psychology--we should have a world in +which morality would have been transmuted into inherited instinct. Now +again let me put the question: can we imagine such a world? Perhaps you +will answer, Yes, in heaven--nowhere else. But I answer you that such a +world actually exists, and that it can be studied in almost any part of +the East or of Europe by a person of scientific training. The world of +insects actually furnishes examples of such a moral transformation. It is +for this reason that such writers as Sir John Lubbock and Herbert Spencer +have not hesitated to say that certain kinds of social insects have +immensely surpassed men, both in social and in ethical progress. + +But that is not all that it is necessary to say here. You might think that +I am only repeating a kind of parable. The important thing is the opinion +of scientific men that humanity will at last, in the course of millions of +years, reach the ethical conditions of the ants. It is only five or six +years ago that some of these conditions were established by scientific +evidence, and I want to speak of them. They have a direct bearing upon +important ethical questions; and they have startled the whole moral world, +and set men thinking in entirely new directions. + +In order to explain how the study of social insects has set moralists of +recent years thinking in a new direction, it will be necessary to +generalize a great deal in the course of so short a lecture. It is +especially the social conditions of the ants which has inspired these new +ideas; but you must not think that any one species of ants furnishes us +with all the facts. The facts have been arrived at only through the study +of hundreds of different kinds of ants by hundreds of scientific men; and +it is only by the consensus of their evidence that we get the ethical +picture which I shall try to outline for you. Altogether there are +probably about five thousand different species of ants, and these +different species represent many different stages of social evolution, +from the most primitive and savage up to the most highly civilized and +moral. The details of the following picture are furnished by a number of +the highest species only; that must not be forgotten. Also, I must remind +you that the morality of the ant, by the necessity of circumstance, does +not extend beyond the limits of its own species. Impeccably ethical within +the community, ants carry on war outside their own borders; were it not +for this, we might call them morally perfect creatures. + +Although the mind of an ant can not be at all like to the mind of the +human being, it is so intelligent that we are justified in trying to +describe its existence by a kind of allegorical comparison with human +life. Imagine, then, a world full of women, working night and +day,--building, tunnelling, bridging,--also engaged in agriculture, in +horticulture, and in taking care of many kinds of domestic animals. (I may +remark that ants have domesticated no fewer than five hundred and +eighty-four different kinds of creatures.) This world of women is +scrupulously clean; busy as they are, all of them carry combs and brushes +about them, and arrange themselves several times a day. In addition to +this constant work, these women have to take care of myriads of +children,--children so delicate that the slightest change in the weather +may kill them. So the children have to be carried constantly from one +place to another in order to keep them warm. + +Though this multitude of workers are always gathering food, no one of them +would eat or drink a single atom more than is necessary; and none of them +would sleep for one second longer than is necessary. Now comes a +surprising fact, about which a great deal must be said later on. These +women have no sex. They are women, for they sometimes actually give birth, +as virgins, to children; but they are incapable of wedlock. They are more +than vestals. Sex is practically suppressed. + +This world of workers is protected by an army of soldiers. The soldiers +are very large, very strong, and shaped so differently from the working +females that they do not seem at first to belong to the same race. They +help in the work, though they are not able to help in some delicate kinds +of work--they are too clumsy and strong. Now comes the second astonishing +fact: these soldiers are all women--amazons, we might call them; but they +are sexless women. In these also sex has been suppressed. + +You ask, where do the children come from? Most of the children are born of +special mothers--females chosen for the purpose of bearing offspring, and +not allowed to do anything else. They are treated almost like empresses, +being constantly fed and attended and served, and being lodged in the best +way possible. Only these can eat and drink at all times--they must do so +for the sake of their offspring. They are not suffered to go out, unless +strongly attended, and they are not allowed to run any risk of danger or +of injury The life of the whole race circles about them and about their +children, but they are very few. + +Last of all are the males, the men. One naturally asks why females should +have been specialized into soldiers instead of men. It appears that the +females have more reserve force, and all the force that might have been +utilized in the giving of life has been diverted to the making of +aggressive powers. The real males are very small and weak. They appear to +be treated with indifference and contempt. They are suffered to become the +bridegrooms of one night, after which they die very quickly. By contrast, +the lives of the rest are very long. Ants live for at least three or four +years, but the males live only long enough to perform their solitary +function. + +In the foregoing little fantasy, the one thing that should have most +impressed you is the fact of the suppression of sex. But now comes the +last and most astonishing fact of all: this suppression of sex is not +natural, but artificial--I mean that it is voluntary. It has been +discovered that ants are able, by a systematic method of nourishment, to +suppress or develop sex as they please. The race has decided that sex +shall not be allowed to exist except in just so far as it is absolutely +necessary to the existence of the race. Individuals with sex are tolerated +only as necessary evils. Here is an instance of the most powerful of all +passions voluntarily suppressed for the benefit of the community at large. +It vanishes whenever unnecessary; when necessary after a war or a calamity +of some kind, it is called into existence again. Certainly it is not +wonderful that such a fact should have set moralists thinking. Of course +if a human community could discover some secret way of effecting the same +object, and could have the courage to do it, or rather the unselfishness +to do it, the result would simply be that sexual immorality of any kind +would become practically impossible The very idea of such immorality would +cease to exist. + +But that is only one fact of self-suppression and the ant-world furnishes +hundreds. To state the whole thing in the simplest possible way, let me +say the race has entirely got rid of everything that we call a selfish +impulse. Even hunger and thirst allow of no selfish gratification. The +entire life of the community is devoted to the common good and to mutual +help and to the care of the young. Spencer says it is impossible to +imagine that an ant has a sense of duty like our own,--a religion, if you +like. But it does not need a sense of duty, it does not need religion. Its +life is religion in the practical sense. Probably millions of years ago +the ant had feelings much more like our own than it has now. At that time, +to perform altruistic actions may have been painful to the ant; to perform +them now has become the one pleasure of its existence. In order to bring +up children and serve the state more efficiently these insects have +sacrificed their sex and every appetite that we call by the name of animal +passion. Moreover they have a perfect community, a society in which nobody +could think of property, except as a state affair, a public thing, or as +the Romans would say a _res publica_. In a human community so organized, +there could not be ambition, any jealousy, any selfish conduct of any +sort--indeed, no selfishness at all. The individual is said to be +practically sacrificed for the sake of the race; but such a supposition +means the highest moral altruism. Therefore thinkers have to ask, "Will +man ever rise to something like the condition of ants?" + +Herbert Spencer says that such is the evident tendency. He does not say, +nor is it at all probable, that there will be in future humanity such +physiological specialization as would correspond to the suppression of sex +among ants, or to the bringing of women to the dominant place in the human +world, and the masculine sex to an inferior position. That is not likely +ever to happen, for reasons which it would take very much too long to +speak of now. But there is evidence that the most selfish of all human +passions will eventually be brought under control--under such control that +the present cause of wellnigh all human suffering, the pressure of +population, will be practically removed. And there is psychological +evidence that the human mind will undergo such changes that wrong-doing, +in the sense of unkindly action, will become almost impossible, and that +the highest pleasure will be found not in selfishness but in +unselfishness. Of course there are thousands of things to think about, +suggested by this discovery of the life of ants. I am only telling the +more important ones. What I have told you ought at least to suggest that +the idea of a moral condition much higher than all our moral conditions of +today is quite possible,--that it is not an idea to be laughed at. But it +was not Nietzsche who ever conceived this possibility. His "Beyond Man" +and the real and much to be hoped for "beyond man," are absolutely +antagonistic conceptions. When the ancient Hebrew writer said, thousands +of years ago, "Go to the ant, thou sluggard, consider her ways," he could +not have imagined how good his advice would prove in the light of +twentieth century science. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE NEW ETHICS + + +Before leaving the subject of these latter-day intellectual changes, a +word must be said concerning the ethical questions involved. Of course +when a religious faith has been shaken to its foundation, it is natural to +suppose that morals must have been simultaneously affected. The relation +of morals to literature is very intimate; and we must expect that any +change of ideas in the direction of ethics would show themselves in +literature. The drama, poetry, romance, the novel, all these are +reflections of moral emotion in especial, of the eternal struggle between +good and evil, as well as of the temporary sentiments concerning right and +wrong. And every period of transition is necessarily accompanied by +certain tendencies to disintegration. Contemporary literature in the West +has shown some signs of ethical change. These caused many thinkers to +predict a coming period of demoralization in literature. But the alarm was +really quite needless. These vagaries of literature, such as books +questioning the morality of the marriage relation, for example, were only +repetitions of older vagaries, and represented nothing more than the +temporary agitation of thought upon all questions. The fact seems to be +that in spite of everything, moral feeling was never higher at any time in +Western social history than it is at present. The changes of thought have +indeed been very great, but the moral experience of mankind remains +exactly as valuable as it was before, and new perceptions of that value +have been given to us by the new philosophy. + +It has been wisely observed by the greatest of modern thinkers that +mankind has progressed more rapidly in every other respect than in +morality. Moral progress has not been rapid simply because the moral ideal +has always been kept a little in advance of the humanly possible. +Thousands of years ago the principles of morality were exactly the same as +those which rule our lives to-day. We can not improve upon them; we can +not even improve upon the language which expressed them. The most learned +of our poets could not make a more beautiful prayer than the prayer which +Egyptian mothers taught to their little children in ages when all Europe +was still a land of savages. The best of the moral philosophy of the +nineteenth century is very little of improvement upon the moral philosophy +of ancient India or China. If there is any improvement at all, it is +simply in the direction of knowledge of causes and effects. And that is +why in all countries the common sense of mankind universally condemns any +attempt to interfere with moral ideas. These represent the social +experience of man for thousands and thousands of years; and it is not +likely that the wisdom of any one individual can ever better them. If +bettered at all it can not be through theory. The amelioration must be +effected by future experience of a universal kind. We may improve every +branch of science, every branch of art, everything else relating to the +work of human heads and hands; but we can not improve morals by invention +or by hypothesis. Morals are not made, but grow. + +Yet, as I have said, there is what may be called a new system of ethics. +But this new system of ethics means nothing more than a new way of +understanding the old system of ethics. By the application of evolutional +science to the study of morals, we have been enabled to trace back the +whole history of moral ideas to the time of their earliest inception,--to +understand the reasons of them, and to explain them without the help of +any supernatural theory. And the result, so far from diminishing our +respect for the wisdom of our ancestors, has immensely increased that +respect. There is no single moral teaching common to different +civilizations and different religions of an advanced stage of development +which we do not find to be eternally true. Let us try to study this view +of the case by the help of a few examples. + +In early times, of course, men obeyed moral instruction through religious +motives. If asked why they thought it was wrong to perform certain actions +and right to perform others, they could have answered only that such was +ancestral custom and that the gods will it so. Not until we could +understand the laws governing the evolution of society could we understand +the reason of many ethical regulations. But now we can understand very +plainly that the will of the gods, as our ancestors might have termed it, +represents divine laws indeed, for the laws of ethical evolution are +certainly the unknown laws shaping all things--suns, worlds, and human +societies. All that opposes itself to the operation of those universal +laws is what we have been accustomed to call bad, and everything which +aids the operation of those laws is what we have been accustomed to think +of as good. The common crimes condemned by all religions, such as theft, +murder, adultery, bearing false witness, disloyalty, all these are +practices which directly interfere with the natural process of evolution; +and without understanding why, men have from the earliest times of real +civilisation united all their power to suppress them. I think that we need +not dwell upon the simple facts; they will at once suggest to you all that +is necessary to know. I shall select for illustration only one less +familiar topic, that of the ascetic ideal. + +A great many things which in times of lesser knowledge we imagined to be +superstitious or useless, prove to-day on examination to have been of +immense value to mankind. Probably no superstition ever existed which did +not have some social value; and the most seemingly repulsive or cruel +sometimes turn out to have been the most precious. To choose one of these +for illustration, we must take one not confined to any particular +civilization or religion, but common to all human societies at a certain +period of their existence; and the ascetic ideal best fits our purpose. +From very early times, even from a time long preceding any civilization, +we find men acting under the idea that by depriving themselves of certain +pleasures and by subjecting themselves to certain pains they could please +the divine powers and thereby obtain strength. Probably there is no people +in the world among whom this belief has not had at some one time or +another a very great influence. At a later time, in the early +civilizations, this idea would seem to have obtained much larger sway, and +to have affected national life more and more extensively. In the age of +the great religions the idea reaches its acme, an acme often represented +by extravagances of the most painful kind and sacrifices which strike +modern imagination as ferocious and terrible. In Europe asceticism reached +its great extremes as you know during the Middle Ages, and especially took +the direction of antagonism to the natural sex-relation. Looking back +to-day to the centuries in which celibacy was considered the most moral +condition, and marriage was counted as little better than weakness, when +Europe was covered with thousands of monasteries, and when the best +intellects of the age deemed it the highest duty to sacrifice everything +pleasurable for the sake of an imaginary reward after death, we can not +but recognize that we are contemplating a period of religious insanity. +Even in the architecture of the time, the architecture that Ruskin devoted +his splendid talent to praise, there is a grim and terrible something that +suggests madness. Again, the cruelties of the age have an insane +character, the burning alive of myriads of people who refused to believe +or could not believe in the faith of their time; the tortures used to +extort confessions from the innocent; the immolation of thousands charged +with being wizards or witches; the extinction of little centres of +civilization in the South of France and elsewhere by brutal +crusades--contemplating all this, we seem to be contemplating not only +madness but furious madness. I need not speak to you of the Crusades, +which also belonged to this period. Compared with the Roman and Greek +civilizations before it, what a horrible Europe it was! And yet the +thinker must recognize that it had a strength of its own, a strength of a +larger kind than that of the preceding civilizations. It may seem +monstrous to assert that all this cruelty and superstition and contempt of +learning were absolutely necessary for the progress of mankind; and yet we +must so accept them in the light of modern knowledge. The checking of +intellectual development for hundreds of years is certainly a fact that +must shock us; but the true question is whether such a checking had not +become necessary. Intellectual strength, unless supported by moral +strength, leads a people into the ways of destruction. Compared with the +men of the Middle Ages, the Greeks and Romans were incomparably superior +intellectually; compared with them morally they were very weak. They had +conquered the world and developed all the arts, these Greeks and Romans; +they had achieved things such as mankind has never since been able to +accomplish, and then, losing their moral ideal, losing their simplicity, +losing their faith, they were utterly crushed by inferior races in whom +the principles of self-denial had been intensely developed. And the old +instinctive hatred of the Church for the arts and the letters and the +sciences of the Greek and Roman civilizations was not quite so much of a +folly as we might be apt to suppose. The priests recognized in a vague way +that anything like a revival of the older civilizations would signify +moral ruin. The Renaissance proves that the priests were not wrong. Had +the movement occurred a few hundred years earlier, the result would +probably have been a universal corruption I do not mean to say that the +Church at any time was exactly conscious of what she was doing; she acted +blindly under the influence of an instinctive fear. But the result of all +that she did has now proved unfortunate. What the Roman and Greek +civilizations had lost in moral power was given back to the world by the +frightful discipline of the Middle Ages. For a long series of generations +the ascetic idea was triumphant; and it became feeble only in proportion +as men became strong enough to do without it. Especially it remodelled +that of which it first seemed the enemy, the family relation. It created a +new basis for society, founded upon a new sense of the importance to +society of family morals. Because this idea, this morality, came through +superstition, its value is not thereby in the least diminished. +Superstitions often represent correct guesses at eternal truth. To-day we +know that all social progress, all national strength, all national vigour, +intellectual as well as physical, depend essentially upon the family, upon +the morality of the household, upon the relation of parents to children. +It was this fact which the Greeks and Romans forgot, and lost themselves +by forgetting. It was this fact which the superstitious tyranny of the +Middle Ages had to teach the West over again, and after such a fashion +that it is not likely ever to become forgotten. So much for the mental +history of the question. Let us say a word about the physical aspects of +it. + +No doubt you have read that the result of macerating the body, of +depriving oneself of all comfort, and even of nourishing food, is not an +increase of intellectual vigour or moral power of any kind. And in one +sense this is true. The individual who passes his life in +self-mortification is not apt to improve under that regime. For this +reason the founder of the greatest of Oriental religions condemned +asceticism on the part of his followers, except within certain fixed +limits. But the history of the changes produced by a universal idea is not +a history of changes in the individual, but of changes brought about by +the successive efforts of millions of individuals in the course of many +generations. Not in one lifetime can we perceive the measure of ethical +force obtained by self-control; but in the course of several hundreds of +years we find that the result obtained is so large as to astonish us. This +result, imperceptibly obtained, signifies a great increase of that nervous +power upon which moral power depends; it means an augmentation in strength +of every kind; and this augmentation again represents what we might call +economy. Just as there is a science of political economy, there is a +science of ethical economy; and it is in relation to such a science that +we should rationally consider the influence of all religions teaching +self-suppression. So studying, we find that self-suppression does not mean +the destruction of any power, but only the economical storage of that +power for the benefit of the race As a result, the highly civilized man +can endure incomparably more than the savage, whether of moral or physical +strain. Being better able to control himself under all circumstances, he +has a great advantage over the savage. + +That which is going on in the new teaching of ethics is really the +substitution of a rational for an emotional morality. But this does not +mean that the value of the emotional element in morality is not +recognized. Not only is it recognized, but it is even being +enlarged--enlarged, however, in a rational way. For example, let us take +the very emotional virtue of loyalty. Loyalty, in a rational form, could +not exist among an uneducated people; it could only exist as a feeling, a +sentiment. In the primitive state of society this sentiment takes the +force and the depth of a religion. And the ruler, regarded as divine, +really has in relation to his people the power of a god. Once that people +becomes educated in the modern sense, their ideas regarding their ruler +and their duties to their ruler necessarily undergo modification. But does +this mean that the sentiment is weakened in the educated class? I should +say that this depends very much upon the quality of the individual mind. +In a mind of small capacity, incapable of receiving the higher forms of +thought, it is very likely that the sentiment may be weakened and almost +destroyed. But in the mind of a real thinker, a man of true culture, the +sense of loyalty, although changed, is at the same time immensely +expanded. In order to give a strong example, I should take the example not +from a monarchical country but from a republican one. What does the +President of the United States of America, for example, represent to the +American of the highest culture? He appears to him in two entirely +different capacities. First he appears to him merely as a man, an ordinary +man, with faults and weaknesses like other ordinary men. His private life +is apt to be discussed in the newspapers. He is expected to shake hands +with anybody and with everybody whom he meets at Washington; and when he +ceases to hold office, he has no longer any particular distinction from +other Americans. But as the President of the United States, he is also +much more than a man. He represents one hundred millions of people; he +represents the American Constitution; he represents the great principles +of human freedom laid down by that Constitution; he represents also the +idea of America, of everything American, of all the hopes, interests, and +glories of the nation. Officially he is quite as sacred as a divinity +could be. Millions would give their lives for him at an instant's notice; +and thousands capable of making vulgar jokes about the man would hotly +resent the least word spoken about the President as the representative of +America. The very same thing exists in other Western countries, +notwithstanding the fact that the lives of rulers are sometimes attempted. +England is a striking example. The Queen has really scarcely any power; +her rule is little more than nominal. Every Englishman knows that England +is a monarchy only in name. But the Queen represents to every Englishman +more than a woman and more than a queen: she represents England, English +race feeling, English love of country, English power, English dignity; she +is a symbol, and as a symbol sacred. The soldier jokingly calls her "the +Widow"; he makes songs about her; all this is well and good. But a soldier +who cursed her a few years ago was promptly sent to prison for twenty +years. To sing a merry song about the sovereign as a woman is a right +which English freedom claims; but to speak disrespectfully of the Queen, +as England, as the government, is properly regarded as a crime; because it +proves the man capable of it indifferent to all his duties as an +Englishman, as a citizen, as a soldier. The spirit of loyalty is far from +being lost in Western countries; it has only changed in character, and it +is likely to strengthen as time goes on. + +Broad tolerance in the matter of beliefs is necessarily a part of the new +ethics. It is quite impossible in the present state of mankind that all +persons should be well educated, or that the great masses of a nation +should attain to the higher forms of culture. For the uneducated a +rational system of ethics must long remain out of the question and it is +proper that they should cling to the old emotional forms of moral +teaching. The observation of Huxley that he would like to see every +unbeliever who could not get a reason for his unbelief publicly put to +shame, was an observation of sound common sense. It is only those whose +knowledge obliges them to see things from another standpoint than that of +the masses who can safely claim to base their rule of life upon +philosophical morality. The value of the philosophical morality happens to +be only in those directions where it recognizes and supports the truth +taught by common morality, which, after all, is the safest guide. +Therefore the philosophical moralist will never mock or oppose a belief +which he knows to exercise a good influence upon human conduct. He will +recognize even the value of many superstitions as being very great; and he +will understand that any attempt to suddenly change the beliefs of man in +any ethical direction must be mischievous. Such changes as he might desire +will come; but they should come gradually and gently, in exact proportion +to the expanding capacity of the national mind. Recognizing this +probability, several Western countries, notably America, have attempted to +introduce into education an entirely new system of ethical +teaching--ethical teaching in the broadest sense, and in harmony with the +new philosophy. But the result there and elsewhere can only be that which +I have said at the beginning of this lecture,--namely, the enlargement of +the old moral ideas, and the deeper comprehension of their value in all +relations of life. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +SOME POEMS ABOUT INSECTS + + +One of the great defects of English books printed in the last century is +the want of an index. The importance of being able to refer at once to any +subject treated of in a book was not recognized until the days when exact +scholarship necessitated indexing of the most elaborate kind. But even now +we constantly find good books severely criticized because of this +deficiency. All that I have said tends to show that even to-day in Western +countries the immense importance of systematic arrangement in literary +collections is not sufficiently recognized. We have, of course, a great +many English anthologies,--that is to say, collections of the best typical +compositions of a certain epoch in poetry or in prose. But you must have +observed that, in Western countries, nearly all such anthologies are +compiled chronologically--not according to the subject of the poems. To +this general rule there are indeed a few exceptions. There is a collection +of love poetry by Watson, which is famous; a collection of child poetry by +Patmore; a collection of "society verse" by Locker-Lampson; and several +things of that sort. But even here the arrangement is not of a special +kind; nor is it ever divided according to the subject of each particular +poem. I know that some books have been published of late years with such +titles as "Poems of the Sea," "Poems of Nature"--but these are of no +literary importance at all and they are not compiled by competent critics. +Besides, the subject-heads are always of much too general a kind. The +French are far in advance of the English in the art of making anthologies; +but even in such splendid anthologies as those of Crepet and of Lemerre +the arrangement is of the most general kind,--chronological, and little +more. + +I was reminded to tell you this, because of several questions recently +asked me, which I found it impossible to answer. Many a Japanese student +might suppose that Western poetry has its classified arrangements +corresponding in some sort to those of Japanese poetry. Perhaps the +Germans have something of the kind, but the English and French have not. +Any authority upon the subject of Japanese literature can, I have been +told, inform himself almost immediately as to all that has been written in +poetry upon a particular subject. Japanese poetry has been classified and +sub-classified and double-indexed or even quadruple-indexed after a manner +incomparably more exact than anything English anthologies can show. I am +aware that this fact is chiefly owing to the ancient rules about subjects, +seasons, contrasts, and harmonies, after which the old poets used to +write. But whatever be said about such rules, there can be no doubt at all +of the excellence of the arrangements which the rules produced. It is +greatly to be regretted that we have not in English a system of +arrangement enabling the student to discover quickly all that has been +written upon a particular subject--such as roses, for example, or pine +trees, or doves, or the beauties of the autumn season. There is nobody to +tell you where to find such things; and as the whole range of English +poetry is so great that it takes a great many years even to glance through +it, a memorized knowledge of the subjects is impossible for the average +man. I believe that Macaulay would have been able to remember almost any +reference in the poetry then accessible to scholars,--just as the +wonderful Greek scholar Porson could remember the exact place of any text +in the whole of Greek literature, and even all the variations of that +text. But such men are born only once in hundreds of years; the common +memory can not attempt to emulate their feats. And it is very difficult at +the present time for the ordinary student of poetry to tell you just how +much has been written upon any particular subject by the best English +poets. + +Now you will recognize some difficulties in the way of a lecturer in +attempting to make classifications of English poetry after the same manner +that Japanese classification can be made of Japanese poetry. One must read +enormously merely to obtain one's materials, and even then the result is +not to be thought of as exhaustive. I am going to try to give you a few +lectures upon English poetry thus classified, but we must not expect that +the lectures will be authoritatively complete. Indeed, we have no time for +lectures of so thorough a sort. All that I can attempt will be to give you +an idea of the best things that English poets have thought and expressed +upon certain subjects. + +You know that the old Greeks wrote a great deal of beautiful poetry about +insects,--especially about musical insects, crickets, cicadas, and other +insects such as those the Japanese poets have been writing about for so +many hundreds of years. But in modern Western poetry there is very little, +comparatively speaking, about insects. The English poets have all written +a great deal about birds, and especially about singing birds; but very +little has been written upon the subject of insects--singing insects. One +reason is probably that the number of musical insects in England is very +small, perhaps owing to the climate. American poets have written more +about insects than English poets have done, though their work is of a much +less finished kind. But this is because musical insects in America are +very numerous. On the whole, we may say that neither in English nor in +French poetry will you find much about the Voices of rickets, locusts, or +cicadae. I could not even give you a special lecture upon that subject. We +must take the subject "insect" in a rather general signification; and if +we do that we can edit together a nice little collection of poetical +examples. + +The butterfly was regarded by the Greeks especially as the emblem of the +soul and therefore of immortality. We have several Greek remains, +picturing the butterfly as perched upon a skull, thus symbolizing life +beyond death. And the metamorphosis of the insect is, you know, very often +referred to in Greek philosophy. We might expect that English poets would +have considered the butterfly especially from this point of view; and we +do have a few examples. Perhaps the best known is that of Coleridge. + + The butterfly the ancient Grecians made + The soul's fair emblem, and its only name-- + But of the soul, escaped the slavish trade + Of earthly life! For in this mortal frame + Ours is the reptile's lot, much toil, much blame, + Manifold motions making little speed, + And to deform and kill the things whereon we feed. + +The allusion to the "name" is of course to the Greek word, _psyche_, which +signifies both soul and butterfly. Psyche, as the soul, was pictured by +the Greeks as a beautiful girl, with a somewhat sad face, and butterfly +wings springing from her shoulders. Coleridge tells us here that although +the Greeks likened the soul to the butterfly, we must remember what the +butterfly really is,--the last and highest state of insect-being--"escaped +the slavish trade of earthly life." What is this so-called slavish trade? +It is the necessity of working and struggling in order to live--in order +to obtain food. The butterfly is not much of an eater; some varieties, +indeed, do not eat at all. All the necessity for eating ended with the +life of the larva. In the same manner religion teaches that the soul +represents the changed state of man. In this life a man is only like a +caterpillar; death changes him into a chrysalis, and out of the chrysalis +issues the winged soul which does not have to trouble itself about such +matters as eating and drinking. By the word "reptile" in this verse, you +must understand caterpillar. Therefore the poet speaks of all our human +work as manifold motions making little speed; you have seen how many +motions a caterpillar must make in order to go even a little distance, and +you must have noticed the manner in which it spoils the appearance of the +plant upon which it feeds. There is here an allusion to the strange and +terrible fact, that all life--and particularly the life of man--is +maintained only by the destruction of other life. In order to live we must +kill--perhaps only plants, but in any case we must kill. + +Wordsworth has several poems on butterflies, but only one of them is +really fine. It is fine, not because it suggests any deep problem, but +because with absolute simplicity it pictures the charming difference of +character in a little boy and a little girl playing together in the +fields. The poem is addressed to the butterfly. + + Stay near me--do not take thy flight! + A little longer stay in sight! + Much converse do I find in thee, + Historian of my infancy! + Float near me; do not yet depart! + Dead times revive in thee: + Thou bring'st, gay creature as thou art! + A solemn image to my heart, + My father's family. + + Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days, + The time, when, in our childish plays, + My sister Emmeline and I + Together chased the butterfly! + A very hunter did I rush + Upon the prey: with leaps and springs + I followed on from brake to bush; + But she, God love her, feared to brush + The dust from off its wings. + +What we call and what looks like dust on the wings of a butterfly, English +children are now taught to know as really beautiful scales or featherlets, +but in Wordsworth's time the real structure of the insect was not so well +known as now to little people. Therefore to the boy the coloured matter +brushed from the wings would only have seemed so much dust. But the little +girl, with the instinctive tenderness of the future mother-soul in her, +dreads to touch those strangely delicate wings; she fears, not only to +spoil, but also to hurt. + +Deeper thoughts than memory may still be suggested to English poets by the +sight of a butterfly, and probably will be for hundreds of years to come. +Perhaps the best poem of a half-metaphorical, half-philosophical thought +about butterflies is the beautiful prologue to Browning's "Fifine at the +Fair," which prologue is curiously entitled "Amphibian"--implying that we +are about to have a reference to creatures capable of living in two +distinctive elements, yet absolutely belonging neither to the one nor to +the other. The poet swims out far into the sea on a beautiful day; and, +suddenly, looking up, perceives a beautiful butterfly flying over his +head, as if watching him. The sight of the insect at once suggests to him +its relation to Greek fancy as a name for the soul; then he begins to +wonder whether it might not really be the soul, or be the symbol of the +soul, of a dead woman who loved him. From that point of the poem begins a +little metaphysical fantasy about the possible condition of souls. + + The fancy I had to-day, + Fancy which turned a fear! + I swam far out in the bay, + Since waves laughed warm and clear. + + I lay and looked at the sun, + The noon-sun looked at me: + Between us two, no one + Live creature, that I could see. + + Yes! There came floating by + Me, who lay floating too, + Such a strange butterfly! + Creature as dear as new: + + Because the membraned wings + So wonderful, so wide, + So sun-suffused, were things + Like soul and nought beside. + +So much for the conditions of the poet's revery. He is swimming in the +sea; above his face, only a few inches away, the beautiful butterfly is +hovering. Its apparition makes him think of many things--perhaps first +about the dangerous position of the butterfly, for if it should only touch +the water, it is certain to be drowned. But it does not touch the water; +and he begins to think how clumsy is the man who moves in water compared +with the insect that moves in air, and how ugly a man is by comparison +with the exquisite creature which the Greeks likened to the soul or ghost +of the man. Thinking about ghosts leads him at once to the memory of a +certain very dear ghost about which he forthwith begins to dream. + + What if a certain soul + Which early slipped its sheath, + And has for its home the whole + Of heaven, thus look beneath, + + Thus watch one who, in the world, + Both lives and likes life's way, + Nor wishes the wings unfurled + That sleep in the worm, they say? + + But sometimes when the weather + Is blue, and warm waves tempt + To free oneself of tether, + And try a life exempt + + From worldly noise and dust, + In the sphere which overbrims + With passion and thought,--why, just + Unable to fly, one swims! + +This is better understood by paraphrase: "I wonder if the soul of a +certain person, who lately died, slipped so gently out of the hard sheath +of the perishable body--I wonder if she does not look down from her home +in the sky upon me, just as that little butterfly is doing at this moment. +And I wonder if she laughs at the clumsiness of this poor swimmer, who +finds it so much labour even to move through the water, while she can move +through whatever she pleases by the simple act of wishing. And this man, +strangely enough, does not want to die, and to become a ghost. He likes to +live very much; he does not yet desire those soul-wings which are supposed +to be growing within the shell of his body, just as the wings of the +butterfly begin to grow in the chrysalis. He does not want to die at all. +But sometimes he wants to get away from the struggle and the dust of the +city, and to be alone with nature; and then, in order to be perfectly +alone, he swims. He would like to fly much better; but he can not. +However, swimming is very much like flying, only the element of water is +thicker than air." + +However, more than the poet's words is suggested here. We are really told +that what a fine mind desires is spiritual life, pure intellectual +life--free from all the trammels of bodily necessity. Is not the swimmer +really a symbol of the superior mind in its present condition? Your best +swimmer can not live under the water, neither can he rise into the +beautiful blue air. He can only keep his head in the air; his body must +remain in the grosser element. Well, a great thinker and poet is ever +thus--floating between the universe of spirit and the universe of matter. +By his mind he belongs to the region of pure mind,--the ethereal state; +but the hard necessity of living keeps him down in the world of sense and +grossness and struggle. On the other hand the butterfly, freely moving in +a finer element, better represents the state of spirit or soul. + +What is the use of being dissatisfied with nature? The best we can do is +to enjoy in the imagination those things which it is not possible for us +to enjoy in fact. + + Emancipate through passion + And thought, with sea for sky, + We substitute, in a fashion, + For heaven--poetry: + + Which sea, to all intent, + Gives flesh such noon-disport, + As a finer element + Affords the spirit-sort. + +Now you see where the poet's vision of a beautiful butterfly has been +leading his imagination. The nearest approach which we can make to the act +of flying, in the body, is the act of swimming. The nearest approach that +we can make to the heavenly condition, mentally, is in poetry. Poetry, +imagination, the pleasure of emotional expression--these represent our +nearest approach to paradise. Poetry is the sea in which the soul of man +can swim even as butterflies can swim in the air, or happy ghosts swim in +the finer element of the infinite ether. The last three stanzas of the +poem are very suggestive: + + And meantime, yonder streak + Meets the horizon's verge; + That is the land, to seek + If we tire or dread the surge: + + Land the solid and safe-- + To welcome again (confess!) + When, high and dry, we chafe + The body, and don the dress. + + Does she look, pity, wonder + At one who mimics flight, + Swims--heaven above, sea under, + Yet always earth in sight? + +"Streak," meaning an indistinct line, here refers to the coast far away, +as it appears to the swimmer. It is just such a word as a good Japanese +painter ought to appreciate in such a relation. In suggesting that the +swimmer is glad to return to shore again and get warm, the poet is telling +us that however much we may talk about the happiness of spirits in +heaven--however much we may praise heaven in poetry--the truth is that we +are very fond of this world, we like comfort, we like company, we like +human love and human pleasures. There is a good deal of nonsense in +pretending that we think heaven is a better place than the world to which +we belong. Perhaps it is a better place, but, as a matter of fact, we do +not know anything about it; and we should be frightened if we could go +beyond a certain distance from the real world which we do know. As he +tells us this, the poet begins again to think about the spirit of the dead +woman. Is she happy? Is she looking at him--and pitying him as he swims, +taking good care not to go too far away from the land? Or is she laughing +at him, because in his secret thoughts he confesses that he likes to +live--that he does not want to become a pure ghost at the present time? + +Evidently a butterfly was quite enough, not only to make Browning's mind +think very seriously, but to make that mind teach us the truth and +seriousness which may attach to very small things--incidents, happenings +of daily life, in any hour and place. I believe that is the greatest +English poem we have on the subject of the butterfly. + +The idea that a butterfly might be, not merely the symbol of the soul, but +in very fact the spirit of a dead person, is somewhat foreign to English +thought; and whatever exists in poetry on the subject must necessarily be +quite new. The idea of a relation between insects, birds, or other living +creatures, and the spirits of the dead, is enormously old in Oriental +literature;--we find it in Sanskrit texts thousands of years ago. But the +Western mind has not been accustomed to think of spiritual life as outside +of man; and much of natural poetry has consequently remained undeveloped +in Western countries. A strange little poem, "The White Moth," is an +exception to the general rule that I have indicated; but I am almost +certain that its author, A.T. Quiller-Couch, must have read Oriental +books, or obtained his fancy from some Eastern source. As the knowledge of +Indian literature becomes more general in England, we may expect to find +poetry much influenced by Oriental ideas. At the present time, such a +composition as this is quite a strange anomaly. + + _If a leaf rustled, she would start: + And yet she died, a year ago. + How had so frail a thing the heart + To journey where she trembled so? + And do they turn and turn in fright, + Those little feet, in so much night?_ + + The light above the poet's head + Streamed on the page and on the cloth, + And twice and thrice there buffeted + On the black pane a white-winged moth: + 'Twas Annie's soul that beat outside, + And "Open, open, open!" cried: + + "I could not find the way to God; + There were too many flaming suns + For signposts, and the fearful road + Led over wastes where millions + Of tangled comets hissed and burned-- + I was bewildered and I turned. + + "Oh, it was easy then! I knew + Your window and no star beside. + Look up and take me back to you!" + --He rose and thrust the window wide. + 'Twas but because his brain was hot + With rhyming; for he heard her not. + + But poets polishing a phrase + Show anger over trivial things; + And as she blundered in the blaze + Towards him, on ecstatic wings, + He raised a hand and smote her dead; + Then wrote "_That I had died instead!_" + +The lover, or bereaved husband, is writing a poem of which a part is given +in the first stanza--which is therefore put in italics. The action proper +begins with the second stanza. The soul of the dead woman taps at the +window in the shape of a night-butterfly or moth--imagining, perhaps, that +she has still a voice and can make herself heard by the man that she +loves. She tells the story of her wandering in space--privileged to pass +to heaven, yet afraid of the journey. Now the subject of the poem which +the lover happens to be writing inside the room is a memory of the dead +woman--mourning for her, describing her in exquisite ways. He can not hear +her at all; he does not hear even the beating of the little wings at the +window, but he stands up and opens the window--because he happens to feel +hot and tired. The moth thinks that he has heard her, that he knows; and +she flies toward him in great delight. But he, thinking that it is only a +troublesome insect, kills her with a blow of his hand; and then sits down +to continue his poem with the words, "Oh, how I wish I could have died +instead of that dear woman!" Altogether this is a queer poem in English +literature, and I believe almost alone of its kind. But it is queer only +because of its rarity of subject. As for construction, it is very good +indeed. + +I do not know that it is necessary to quote any more poems upon +butterflies or moths. There are several others; but the workmanship and +the thought are not good enough or original enough to justify their use +here as class texts. So I shall now turn to the subject of dragon-flies. +Here we must again be very brief. References to dragon-flies are common +throughout English poetry, but the references signify little more than a +mere colourless mention of the passing of the insect. However, it so +happens that the finest modern lines of pure description written about any +insect, are about dragon-flies. And they also happen to be by Tennyson. +Naturalists and men of science have greatly praised these lines, because +of their truth to nature and the accuracy of observation which they show. +You will find them in the poem entitled "The Two Voices." + + To-day I saw the dragon-fly + Come from the wells where he did lie. + + An inner impulse rent the veil + Of his old husk; from head to tail + Came out clear plates of sapphire mail. + + He dried his wings; like gauze they grew; + Thro' crofts and pastures wet with dew + A living rush of light he flew. + +There are very few real poems, however, upon the dragon-fly in English, +and considering the extraordinary beauty and grace of the insect, this may +appear strange to you. But I think that you can explain the strangeness at +a later time. The silence of English poets on the subject of insects as +compared with Japanese poets is due to general causes that we shall +consider at the close of the lecture. + +Common flies could scarcely seem to be a subject for poetry--disgusting +and annoying creatures as they are. But there are more poems about the +house-fly than about the dragon-fly. Last year I quoted for you a +remarkable and rather mystical composition by the poet Blake about +accidentally killing a fly. Blake represents his own thoughts about the +brevity of human life which had been aroused by the incident. It is +charming little poem; but it does not describe the fly at all. I shall not +quote it here again, because we shall have many other things to talk +about; but I shall give you the text of a famous little composition by +Oldys on the same topic. It has almost the simplicity of Blake,--and +certainly something of the same kind of philosophy. + + Busy, curious, thirsty fly, + Drink with me and drink as I; + Freely welcome to my cup, + Couldst thou sip and sip it up: + Make the most of life you may, + Life is short and wears away. + + Both alike are mine and thine + Hastening quick to their decline: + Thine's a summer, mine's no more, + Though repeated to threescore. + Threescore summers, when they're gone, + Will appear as short as one! + +The suggestion is that, after all, time is only a very relative affair in +the cosmic order of things. The life of the man of sixty years is not much +longer than the life of the insect which lives but a few hours, days, or +months. Had Oldys, who belongs to the eighteenth century, lived in our own +time, he might have been able to write something very much more curious on +this subject. It is now known that time, to the mind of an insect, must +appear immensely longer than it appears to the mind of a man. It has been +calculated that a mosquito or a gnat moves its wings between four and five +hundred times a second. Now the scientific dissection of such an insect, +under the microscope, justifies the opinion that the insect must be +conscious of each beat of the wings--just as a man feels that he lifts his +arm or bends his head every time that the action is performed. A man can +not even imagine the consciousness of so short an interval of time as the +five-hundredth part of one second. But insect consciousness can be aware +of such intervals; and a single day of life might well appear to the gnat +as long as the period of a month to a man. Indeed, we have reason to +suppose that to even the shortest-lived insect life does not appear short +at all; and that the ephemeral may actually, so far as felling is +concerned, live as long as a man--although its birth and death does occur +between the rising and the setting of the sun. + +We might suppose that bees would form a favourite subject of poetry, +especially in countries where agriculture is practised upon such a scale +as in England. But such is not really the case. Nearly every English poet +makes some reference to bees, as Tennyson does in the famous couplet-- + + The moan of doves in immemorial elms, + And murmuring of innumerable bees. + +But the only really remarkable poem addressed to a bee is by the American +philosopher Emerson. The poem in question can not be compared as to mere +workmanship with some others which I have cited; but as to thinking, it is +very interesting, and you must remember that the philosopher who writes +poetry should be judged for his thought rather than for the measure of his +verse. The whole is not equally good, nor is it short enough to quote +entire; I shall only give the best parts. + + Burly, dozing humble-bee, + Where thou art is clime for me. + + * * * * * + + Zigzag steerer, desert cheerer, + Let me chase thy waving lines; + Keep me nearer, me thy hearer, + Singing over shrubs and vines. + + Insect lover of the sun, + Joy of thy dominion! + Sailor of the atmosphere; + Swimmer through the waves of air; + Voyager of light and noon; + Epicurean of June; + Wait, I prithee, till I come + Within earshot of thy hum,-- + All without is martyrdom. + + * * * * * + + Thou, in sunny solitudes, + Rover of the underwoods, + The green silence dost displace + With thy mellow, breezy bass. + + * * * * * + + Aught unsavory or unclean + Hath my insect never seen; + + * * * * * + + Wiser far than human seer, + Yellow-breeched philosopher! + Seeing only what is fair, + Sipping only what is sweet, + Thou dost mock at fate and care, + Leave the chaff, and take the wheat. + +This is really the poetry of the bee--visiting only beautiful flowers, and +sucking from them their perfumed juices--always healthy, happy, and +surrounded by beautiful things. A great rover, a constant wanderer is the +bee--visiting many different places, seeing many different things, but +stopping only to enjoy what is beautiful to the sight and sweet to the +taste. Now Emerson tells us that a wise man should act like the bee--never +stopping to look at what is bad, or what is morally ugly, but seeking only +what is beautiful and nourishing for the mind. It is a very fine thought; +and the manner of expressing it is greatly helped by Emerson's use of +curious and forcible words--such as "burly," "zigzag," and the famous +expression "yellow-breeched philosopher"--which has passed almost into an +American household phrase. The allusion of course is to the thighs of the +bee, covered with the yellow pollen of flowers so as to make them seem +covered with yellow breeches, or trousers reaching only to the knees. + +I do not of course include in the lecture such child songs about insects +as that famous one beginning with the words, "How doth the little busy bee +improve each shining hour." This is no doubt didactically very good; but I +wish to offer you only examples of really fine poetry on the topic. +Therefore leaving the subject of bees for the time, let us turn to the +subject of musical insects--the singers of the fields and +woods--grasshoppers and crickets. + +In Japanese poetry there are thousands of verses upon such insects. +Therefore it seems very strange that we have scarcely anything on the +subject in English. And the little that we do have is best represented by +the poem of Keats on the night cricket. The reference is probably to what +we call in England the hearth cricket, an insect which hides in houses, +making itself at home in some chink of the brickwork or stonework about a +fireplace, for it loves the warmth. I suppose that the small number of +poems in English about crickets can be partly explained by the scarcity of +night singers. Only the house cricket seems to be very well known. But on +the other hand, we can not so well explain the rarity of composition in +regard to the day-singers--the grasshoppers and locusts which can be +heard, though somewhat faintly, in any English country place after sunset +during the warm season. Another queer thing is that the example set by +Keats has not been imitated or at least followed even up to the present +time. + + The poetry of earth is never dead: + When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, etc. + +In this charming composition you will have noticed the word "stove"; but +you must remember that this is not a stove as we understand the term now, +and signifies only an old-fashioned fireplace of brick or tile. In Keats's +day there were no iron stoves. Another word which I want to notice is the +word "poetry" in the first line. By the poetry of nature the poet means +the voices of nature--the musical sounds made by its idle life in woods +and fields. So the word "poetry" here has especially the meaning of song, +and corresponds very closely to the Japanese word which signifies either +poem or song, but perhaps more especially the latter. The general meaning +of the sonnet is that at no time, either in winter or in summer, is nature +silent. When the birds do not sing, the grasshoppers make music for us; +and when the cold has killed or banished all other life, then the house +cricket begins with its thin sweet song to make us think of the dead +voices of the summer. + +There is not much else of note about the grasshopper and the cricket in +the works of the great English poets. But perhaps you do not know that +Tennyson in his youth took up the subject and made a long poem upon the +grasshopper, but suppressed it after the edition of 1842. He did not think +it good enough to rank with his other work. But a few months ago the poems +which Tennyson suppressed in the final edition of his works have been +published and carefully edited by an eminent scholar, and among these +poems we find "The Grasshopper." I will quote some of this poem, because +it is beautiful, and because the fact of its suppression will serve to +show you how very exact and careful Tennyson was to preserve only the very +best things that he wrote. + + Voice of the summer wind, + Joy of the summer plain, + Life of the summer hours, + Carol clearly, bound along, + No Tithon thou as poets feign + (Shame fall 'em, they are deaf and blind), + But an insect lithe and strong + Bowing the seeded summer flowers. + Prove their falsehood and thy quarrel, + Vaulting on thine airy feet + Clap thy shielded sides and carol, + Carol clearly, chirrups sweet. + Thou art a mailed warrior in youth and strength complete; + Armed cap-a-pie, + Full fair to see; + Unknowing fear, + Undreading loss, + A gallant cavalier, + _Sans peur et sans reproche_. + In sunlight and in shadow, + The Bayard of the meadow. + +The reference to Tithonus is a reference of course to a subject afterwards +beautifully elaborated in another poem by Tennyson, the great poem of +"Tithonus." The Bayard here referred to was the great French model of +perfect chivalry, and is sometimes called the last of the feudal knights. +He was said to be without fear and without blame. You may remember that he +was killed by a ball from a gun--it was soon after the use of artillery in +war had been introduced; and his dying words were to the effect that he +feared there was now an end of great deeds, because men had begun to fight +from a distance with machines instead of fighting in the old knightly and +noble way with sword and spear. The grasshopper, covered with green plates +and bearing so many little sharp spines upon its long limbs, seems to have +suggested to Tennyson the idea of a fairy knight in green armour. + +As I said before, England is poor in singing insects, while America is +rich in them--almost, perhaps, as rich as Japan, although you will not +find as many different kinds of singing insects in any one state or +district. The singing insects of America are peculiar to particular +localities. But the Eastern states have perhaps the most curious insect of +this kind. It is called the Katydid. This name is spelt either Katydid, or +Catydid--though the former spelling is preferable. Katy, or Katie, is the +abbreviation of the name Catherine; very few girls are called by the full +name Catherine, also spelt Katherine; because the name is long and +unmusical, their friends address them usually as Katy, and their +acquaintances, as Kate. Well, the insect of which I am speaking, a kind of +_semi_, makes a sound resembling the sound of the words "Katie did!" Hence +the name--one of the few corresponding to the names given to the Japanese +_semi_, such as _tsuku-tsuku-boshi_, or _minmin-semi_. The most +interesting composition upon this cicada is by Oliver Wendell Holmes, but +it is of the lighter sort of verse, with a touch of humour in it. I shall +quote a few verses only, as the piece contains some allusions that would +require explanation at considerable length. + + I love to hear thine earnest voice, + Wherever thou art hid, + Thou testy little dogmatist, + Thou pretty Katydid! + Thou mindest me of gentlefolks,-- + Old gentlefolks are they,-- + Thou say'st an undisputed thing + In such a solemn way. + + * * * * * + + Oh tell me where did Katy live, + And what did Katy do? + And was she very fair and young, + And yet so wicked, too? + Did Katy love a naughty man, + Or kiss more cheeks than one? + I warrant Katy did no more + Than many a Kate has done. + + * * * * * + + Ah, no! The living oak shall crash, + That stood for ages still, + The rock shall rend its mossy base + And thunder down the hill, + Before the little Katydid + Shall add one word, to tell + The mystic story of the maid + Whose name she knows so well. + +The word "testy" may be a little unfamiliar to some of you; it is a good +old-fashioned English term for "cross," "irritable." The reference to the +"old gentlefolks" implies the well-known fact that in argument old persons +are inclined to be much more obstinate than young people. And there is +also a hint in the poem of the tendency among old ladies to blame the +conduct of young girls even more severely than may be necessary. There is +nothing else to recommend the poem except its wit and the curiousness of +the subject. There are several other verses about the same creature, by +different American poets; but none of them is quite so good as the +composition of Holmes. However, I may cite a few verses from one of the +earlier American poets, Philip Freneau, who flourished in the eighteenth +century and the early part of the nineteenth. He long anticipated the +fancy of Holmes; but he spells the word Catydid. + + In a branch of willow hid + Sings the evening Catydid: + From the lofty locust bough + Feeding on a drop of dew, + In her suit of green arrayed + Hear her singing in the shade-- + Catydid, Catydid, Catydid! + + While upon a leaf you tread, + Or repose your little head + On your sheet of shadows laid, + All the day you nothing said; + Half the night your cheery tongue + Revelled out its little song,-- + Nothing else but Catydid. + + * * * * * + + Tell me, what did Caty do? + Did she mean to trouble you? + Why was Caty not forbid + To trouble little Catydid? + Wrong, indeed, at you to fling, + Hurting no one while you sing,-- + Catydid! Catydid! Catydid! + +To Dr. Holmes the voice of the cicada seemed like the voice of an old +obstinate woman, an old prude, accusing a young girl of some fault,--but +to Freneau the cry of the little creature seemed rather to be like the cry +of a little child complaining--a little girl, perhaps, complaining that +somebody had been throwing stones at her, or had hurt her in some way. +And, of course, the unfinished character of the phrase allows equally well +either supposition. + +Before going back to more serious poetry, I want--while we are speaking of +American poets--to make one reference to the ironical or satirical poetry +which insects have inspired in some minds, taking for example the poem by +Charlotte Perkins Stetson about a butterfly. This author is rather a +person of note, being a prominent figure in educational reforms and the +author of a volume of poems of a remarkably strong kind in the didactic +sense. In other words, she is especially a moral poet; and unless moral +poetry be really very well executed, it is scarcely worth while classing +it as literature. I think, however, that the symbolism in the following +verses will interest you--especially when we comment upon them. The +composition from which they are taken is entitled "A Conservative." + +The poet, walking in the garden one morning, sees a butterfly, very +unhappy, and gifted with power to express the reason of its unhappiness. +The butterfly says, complaining of its wings, + + "My legs are thin and few + Where once I had a swarm! + Soft fuzzy fur--a joy to view-- + Once kept my body warm, + Before these flapping wing-things grew, + To hamper and deform!" + + At that outrageous bug I shot + The fury of mine eye; + Said I, in scorn all burning hot, + In rage and anger high, + "You ignominious idiot! + Those wings are made to fly!" + + "I do not want to fly," said he, + "I only want to squirm!" + And he drooped his wings dejectedly, + But still his voice was firm: + "I do not want to be a fly! + I want to be a worm!" + + O yesterday of unknown lack! + To-day of unknown bliss! + I left my fool in red and black, + The last I saw was this,-- + The creature madly climbing back + Into his chrysalis. + +Of course the wings here represent the powers of the mind--knowledge, +reason, will. Men ought to use these in order to reach still nobler and +higher states of life. But there are men who refuse to use their best +faculties for this end. Such men are like butterflies who do not want to +take the trouble to fly, but prefer the former condition of the +caterpillar which does nothing but eat and sleep. As applied to certain +forms of conservatism the satire is strong. + +Something may now be said as to poems about spiders. But let me remind you +that a spider is not an insect. Scientifically it has no relation to the +great family of true insects; it belongs to the very distinct family of +the arthropoda or "joint-footed" animals. But as it is still popularly +called an insect in most European countries, we may be excused for +including it in the subject of the present lecture. I suppose you know +that one of the scientific names for this whole class of creatures is +Arachnida,--a name derived from the Greek name Arachne. The story of +Arachne is interesting, and everybody studying natural history ought to +know it. Arachne was a young girl, according to the Greek story, who was +very skilful at weaving. She wove cloths of many different colours and +beautiful patterns, and everybody admired her work. This made her vain--so +vain that at last she said that even the goddess of weaving could not +weave better than she. Immediately after she had said that, the terrible +goddess herself--Pallas Athena--entered the room. Pallas Athena was not +only the goddess of wisdom, you know, but especially the goddess of young +girls, presiding over the chastity, the filial piety, and the domestic +occupations of virgins; and she was very angry at the conceit of this +girl. So she said to her, "You have boasted that you can weave as well as +I can; now let me see you weave!" So Arachne was obliged to sit down at +her loom and weave in the presence of the goddess; and the goddess also +wove, far surpassing the weaving of Arachne. When the weaving was done, +the goddess asked the girl, "Now see! which is the better, my work or +yours?" And Arachne was obliged to confess that she had been defeated and +put to shame. But the goddess was not thoroughly satisfied; to punish +Arachne, she touched her lightly with the distaff, saying, "Spin forever!" +and thereupon Arachne was changed into a spider, which forever spins and +weaves perishable films of perishable shiny thread. Poetically we still +may call a spider Arachne. + +I have here a little poem of a touching character entitled "Arachne," by +Rose Terry Cooke,--one of the symbolic poems which are becoming so +numerous in these days of newer and deeper philosophy. I think that you +will like it: a spinster, that is, a maiden passed the age of girlhood, is +the speaker. + + I watch her in the corner there, + As, restless, bold, and unafraid, + She slips and floats along the air + Till all her subtile house is made. + + Her home, her bed, her daily food, + All from that hidden store she draws; + She fashions it and knows it good, + By instinct's strong and sacred laws. + + No tenuous threads to weave her nest, + She seeks and gathers there or here; + But spins it from her faithful breast, + Renewing still, till leaves are sere. + + Then, worn with toil, and tired of life, + In vain her shining traps are set. + Her frost hath hushed the insect strife + And gilded flies her charm forget. + + But swinging in the snares she spun, + She sways to every wintry wind: + Her joy, her toil, her errand done, + Her corse the sport of storms unkind. + +The symbolism of these verses will appear to you more significant when I +tell you that it refers especially to conditions in New England in the +present period. The finest American population--perhaps the finest +Anglo-Saxons ever produced--were the New Englanders of the early part of +the century. But with the growth of the new century, the men found +themselves attracted elsewhere, especially westward; their shrewdness, +their energies, their inventiveness, were needed in newer regions. And +they wandered away by thousands and thousands, never to come back again, +and leaving the women behind them. Gradually the place of these men was +taken by immigrants of inferior development--but the New England women had +nothing to hope for from these strangers. The bravest of them also went +away to other states; but myriads who could not go were condemned by +circumstances to stay and earn their living by hard work without any +prospect of happy marriage. The difficulty which a girl of culture may +experience in trying to live by the work of her hands in New England is +something not easily imagined. But it is getting to be the same in most +Western countries. Such a girl is watching a spider weaving in the corner +of the same room where she herself is weaving; and she thinks, "Am I not +like that spider, obliged to supply my every need by the work of my own +hands, without sympathy, without friends? The spider will spin and catch +flies until the autumn comes; then she will die. Perhaps I too must +continue to spin until the autumn of my own life--until I become too old +to work hard, and die of cold and of exhaustion." + + Poor sister of the spinster clan! + I too from out my store within + My daily life and living plan, + My home, my rest, my pleasure spin. + + I know thy heart when heartless hands + Sweep all that hard-earned web away; + Destroy its pearled and glittering bands, + And leave thee homeless by the way. + + I know thy peace when all is done. + Each anchored thread, each tiny knot, + Soft shining in the autumn sun; + A sheltered, silent, tranquil lot. + + I know what thou hast never known,-- + Sad presage to a soul allowed-- + That not for life I spin, alone, + But day by day I spin my shroud. + +The reference to the sweeping away of the spider's web, of course, implies +the pain often caused to such hardworking girls by the meanness of men who +employ them only to cheat them--shopkeepers or manufacturers who take +their work without justly paying for it, and who criticize it as bad in +order to force the owner to accept less money than it is worth. Again a +reference may be intended to the destruction of the home by some legal +trick--some unscrupulous method of cheating the daughter out of the +property bequeathed to her by her parents. + +Notice a few pretty words here. The "pearled" as applied to the spider's +thread gives an intimation of the effect produced by dew on the thread, +but there is also the suggestion of tears upon the thread work woven by +the hands of the girl. The participle "anchored" is very pretty in its use +here as an adjective, because this word is now especially used for +rope-fastening, whether the rope be steel or hemp; and particularly for +the fastening of the cables of a bridge. The last stanza might be +paraphrased thus: "Sister Spider, I know more than you--and that knowledge +makes me unhappy. You do not know, when you are spinning your little web, +that you are really weaving your own shroud. But I know this, my work is +slowly but surely killing me. And I know it because I have a soul--at +least a mind made otherwise than yours." + +The use of the word "soul" in the last stanza of this poem, brings me back +to the question put forth in an earlier part of the lecture--why European +poets, during the last two thousand years, have written so little upon the +subject of insects? Three thousand, four thousand years ago, the most +beautiful Greek poetry--poetry more perfect than anything of English +poetry--was written upon insects. In old Japanese literature poems upon +insects are to be found by thousands. What is the signification of the +great modern silence in Western countries upon this delightful topic? I +believe that Christianity, as dogma, accounts for the long silence. The +opinions of the early Church refused soul, ghost, intelligence of any sort +to other creatures than man. All animals were considered as automata--that +is, as self-acting machines, moved by a something called instinct, for +want of a better name. To talk about the souls of animals or the spirits +of animals would have been very dangerous in the Middle Ages, when the +Church had supreme power; it would indeed have been to risk or to invite +an accusation of witchcraft, for demons were then thought to take the +shape of animals at certain times. To discuss the _mind_ of an animal +would have been for the Christian faith to throw doubt upon the existence +of human souls as taught by the Church; for if you grant that animals are +able to think, then you must acknowledge that man is able to think without +a soul, or you must acknowledge that the soul is not the essential +principle of thought and action. Until after the time of Descartes, who +later argued philosophically that animals were only machines, it was +scarcely possible to argue rationally about the matter in Europe. + +Nevertheless, we shall soon perceive that this explanation will not cover +all the facts. You will naturally ask how it happens that, if the question +be a question of animal souls, birds, horses, dogs, cats, and many other +animals have been made the subject of Western poems from ancient times. +The silence is only upon the subject of insects. And, again, Christianity +has one saint--the most beautiful character in all Christian +hagiography--who thought of all nature in a manner that, at first sight, +strangely resembles Buddhism. This saint was Francis of Assisi, born in +the latter part of the twelfth century, so that he may be said to belong +to the very heart of the Middle Ages,--the most superstitious epoch of +Christianity. Now this saint used to talk to trees and stones as if they +were animated beings. He addressed the sun as "my brother sun"; and he +spoke of the moon as his sister. He preached not only to human beings, but +also to the birds and the fishes; and he made a great many poems on these +subjects, full of a strange and childish beauty. For example, his sermon +to the doves, beginning, "My little sisters, the doves," in which he +reminds them that their form is the emblem or symbol of the Holy Ghost, is +a beautiful poem; and has been, with many others, translated into nearly +all modern languages. But observe that neither St. Francis nor any other +saint has anything to say on the subject of insects. + +Perhaps we must go back further than Christianity to guess the meaning of +these distinctions. Among the ancient races of Asia, where the Jewish +faith arose, there were strange and sinister beliefs about insects--old +Assyrian superstitions, old Babylonian beliefs. Insects seemed to those +early peoples very mysterious creatures (which they really are); and it +appears to have been thought that they had a close relation to the world +of demons and evil spirits. I suppose you know that the name of one of +their gods, Beelzebub, signifies the Lord of Flies. The Jews, as is shown +by their Talmudic literature, inherited some of these ideas; and it is +quite probable that they were passed on to the days of Christianity. +Again, in the early times of Christianity in Northern Africa the Church +had to fight against superstitions of an equally strange sort derived from +old Egyptian beliefs. Among the Egyptians, certain insects were sacred and +became symbols of divinity,--such as the beetle. Now I imagine that for +these reasons the subject of insects became at an early time a subject +which Christianity thought dangerous, and that thereafter a kind of +hostile opinion prevailed regarding any literature upon this topic. + +However, to-day things are very different. With the development of +scientific studies--especially of microscopic study--it has been found +that insects, far from being the lowliest of creatures, are the most +highly organized of all beings; that their special senses are incomparably +superior to our own; and that in natural history, from the evolutional +standpoint, they have to be given first place. This of course renders it +impossible any longer to consider the insect as a trifling subject. +Moreover, the new philosophy is teaching the thinking classes in all +Western countries the great truth of the unity of life. With the +recognition of such unity, an insect must interest the philosophers--even +the man of ordinary culture--quite as much as the bird or any other +animal. + +Nearly all the poems which I have quoted to you have been poems of very +modern date--from which we may infer that interest in the subject of +insects has been developing of late years only. In this connection it is +interesting to note that a very religious poet, Whittier, gave us in the +last days of his life a poem upon ants. This would have seemed strange +enough in a former age; it does not seem strange to-day, and it is +beautiful. The subject is taken from old Jewish literature. + + +KING SOLOMON AND THE ANTS + + Out from Jerusalem + The King rode with his great + War chiefs and lords of state, + And Sheba's queen with them; + + Comely, but black withal, + To whom, perchance, belongs + That wondrous Song of Songs, + Sensuous and mystical, + + Whereto devout souls turn + In fond, ecstatic dream, + And through its earth-born theme + The Love of Loves discern. + + Proud in the Syrian sun, + In gold and purple sheen, + The dusky Ethiop queen + Smiled on King Solomon. + + Wisest of men, he knew + The languages of all + The creatures great or small + That trod the earth or flew. + + Across an ant-hill led + The king's path, and he heard + Its small folk, and their word + He thus interpreted: + + "Here comes the king men greet + As wise and good and just, + To crush us in the dust + Under his heedless feet." + +The king, understanding the language of insects, turns to the queen and +explains to her what the ants have just said. She advises him to pay no +attention to the sarcasm of the ants--how dare such vile creatures speak +thus about a king! But Solomon thinks otherwise: + + "Nay," Solomon replied, + "The wise and strong should seek + The welfare of the weak," + And turned his horse aside. + + His train, with quick alarm, + Curved with their leader round + The ant-hill's peopled mound, + And left it free from harm. + + The jewelled head bent low; + "Oh, king!" she said, "henceforth + The secret of thy worth + And wisdom well I know. + + "Happy must be the State + Whose ruler heedeth more + The murmurs of the poor + Than flatteries of the great." + +The reference to the Song of Songs--also the Song of Solomon and Canticle +of Canticles--may require a little explanation. The line "Comely but black +withal," is borrowed from a verse of this song--"I am black but beautiful, +oh, ye daughters of Jerusalem, as the tents of Kedar, as the curtains of +Solomon." In another part of the song the reason of this blackness is +given: "I am black, because the sun hath looked upon me." From which we +can see that the word black only means dark, brown, tanned by the sun. +Perhaps you do not know that as late as the middle of the eighteenth +century it was still the custom in England to speak of a person with black +hair and eyes as "a black man"--a custom which Charles Lamb had reason to +complain of even at a later day. The tents referred to in the text were +probably tents made of camel-skin, such as the Arabs still make, and the +colour of these is not black but brown. Whether Solomon wrote the +so-called song or not we do not know; but the poet refers to a legend that +it was written in praise of the beauty of the dark queen who came from +Sheba to visit the wisest man of the world. Such is not, however, the +opinion of modern scholars. The composition is really dramatic, although +thrown into lyrical form, and as arranged by Renan and others it becomes a +beautiful little play, of which each act is a monologue. "Sensuous" the +poet correctly calls it; for it is a form of praise of woman's beauty in +all its details, as appears in such famous verses as these: "How beautiful +are thy feet in shoes, O prince's daughter; the joints of thy thighs are +like jewels, the work of the hands of a cunning workman. Thy two breasts +are like two young roes that are twins which feed among the lilies." But +Christianity, instead of dismissing this part of the Bible, interpreted +the song mystically--insisting that the woman described meant the Church, +and the lover, Christ. Of course only very pious people continue to +believe this; even the good Whittier preferred the legend that it was +written about the Queen of Sheba. + +I suppose that I ought to end this lecture upon insect poetry by some +quotation to which a moral or philosophical meaning can be attached. I +shall end it therefore with a quotation from the poet Gray. The poetry of +insects may be said to have first appeared in English literature during +the second half of the eighteenth century, so that it is only, at the +most, one hundred and fifty years old. But the first really fine poem of +the eighteenth century relating to the subject is quite as good as +anything since composed by Englishmen upon insect life in general. Perhaps +Gray referred especially to what we call May-flies--those delicate ghostly +insects which hover above water surfaces in fine weather, but which die on +the same day that they are born. He does not specify May-flies, however, +and we may consider the moral of the poem quite apart from any particular +kind of insect. You will find this reference in the piece entitled "Ode on +the Spring," in the third, fourth, and fifth stanzas. + + Still is the toiling hand of care: + The panting herds repose: + Yet hark, how through the peopled air + The busy murmur glows! + The insect youth are on the wing, + Eager to taste the honied spring, + And float amid the liquid noon: + Some lightly o'er the current skim, + Some show their gaily-gilded trim + Quick-glancing to the sun. + + To Contemplation's sober eye + Such is the race of man: + And they that creep, and they that fly, + Shall end where they began. + Alike the Busy and the Gay + But flutter through life's little day, + In fortune's varying colours dressed: + Brushed by the hand of rough Mischance, + Or chilled by Age, their airy dance + They leave, in dust to rest. + + Methinks I hear in accents low + The sportive kind reply: + Poor moralist! and what art thou? + A solitary fly! + Thy joys no glittering female meets, + No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets, + No painted plumage to display: + On hasty wings thy youth is flown; + Thy sun is set; thy spring is gone-- + We frolic, while 'tis May. + +The poet Gray was never married, and the last stanza which I have quoted +refers jocosely to himself. It is an artistic device to set off the moral +by a little mockery, so that it may not appear too melancholy. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +SOME FRENCH POEMS ABOUT INSECTS + + +Last year I gave a lecture on the subject of English poems about insects, +with some reference to the old Greek poems on the same subject. But I did +not then have an opportunity to make any reference to French poems upon +the same subject, and I think that it would be a pity not to give you a +few examples. + +Just as in the case of English poems about insects, nearly all the French +literature upon this subject is new. Insect poetry belongs to the newer +and larger age of thought, to the age that begins to perceive the great +truth of the unity of life. We no longer find, even in natural histories, +the insect treated as a mere machine and unthinking organism; on the +contrary its habits, its customs and its manifestation both of +intelligence and instinct are being very carefully studied in these times, +and a certain sympathy, as well as a certain feeling of respect or +admiration, may be found in the scientific treatises of the greatest men +who write about insect life. So, naturally, Europe is slowly returning to +the poetical standpoint of the old Greeks in this respect. It is not +improbable that keeping caged insects as pets may again become a Western +custom, as it was in Greek times, when cages were made of rushes or straw +for the little creatures. I suppose you have heard that the Japanese +custom is very likely to become a fashion in America. If that should +really happen, the fact would certainly have an effect upon poetry. I +think that it is very likely to happen. + +The French poets who have written pretty things about insects are nearly +all poets of our own times. Some of them treat the subject from the old +Greek standpoint--indeed the beautiful poem of Heredia upon the tomb of a +grasshopper is perfectly Greek, and reads almost like a translation from +the Greek. Other poets try to express the romance of insects in the form +of a monologue, full of the thought of our own age. Others again touch the +subject of insects only in connection with the subject of love. I will +give one example of each method, keeping the best piece for the last, and +beginning with a pretty fancy about a dragonfly. + + +MA LIBELLULE + + En te voyant, toute mignonne, + Blanche dans ta robe d'azure, + Je pensais a quelque madone + Drapee en un pen de ciel pur. + + Je songeais a ces belles saintes + Que l'on voyait au temps jadis + Sourire sur les vitres peintes, + Montrant d'un doigt le paradis: + + Et j'aurais voulu, loin du monde + Qui passait frivole entre nous, + Dans quelque retraite profonde + T'adorer seul a deux genoux. + +This first part of the poem is addressed of course to a beautiful child, +some girl between the age of childhood and womanhood: + +"Beholding thee, Oh darling one, all white in thy azure dress, I thought +of some figure of the Madonna robed in a shred of pure blue sky. + +"I dreamed of those beautiful figures of saints whom one used to see in +olden times smiling in the stained glass of church windows, and pointing +upward to Paradise. + +"And I could have wished to adore you alone upon my bended knees in some +far hidden retreat, away from the frivolous world that passed between us." + +This little bit of ecstasy over the beauty and purity of a child is +pretty, but not particularly original. However, it is only an +introduction. Now comes the pretty part of the poem: + + Soudain un caprice bizarre + Change la scene et le decor, + Et mon esprit au loin s'egare + Sur des grands pres d'azure et d'or + + Ou, pres de ruisseaux muscules + Gazouillants comme des oiseaux, + Se poursuivent les libellules, + Ces fleurs vivantes des roseaux. + + Enfant, n'es tu pas l'une d'elles + Qui me poursuit pour consoler? + Vainement tu caches tes ailes; + Tu marches, mais tu sais voler. + + Petite fee au bleu corsage, + Que j'ai connu des mon berceau, + En revoyant ton doux visage, + Je pense aux joncs de mon ruisseau! + + Veux-tu qu'en amoureux fideles + Nous revenions dans ces pres verts? + Libellule, reprends tes ailes; + Moi, je brulerai tous mes vers! + + Et nous irons, sous la lumiere, + D'un ciel plus frais et plus leger + Chacun dans sa forme premiere, + Moi courir, et toi voltiger. + +"Suddenly a strange fancy changes for me the scene and the scenery; and my +mind wanders far away over great meadows of azure and gold. + +"Where, hard by tiny streams that murmur with a sound like voices of +little birds, the dragon-flies, those living flowers of the reeds, chase +each other at play. + +"Child, art thou not one of those dragon-flies, following after me to +console me? Ah, it is in vain that thou tryest to hide thy wings; thou +dost walk, indeed, but well thou knowest how to fly! + +"O little fairy with the blue corsage whom I knew even from the time I was +a baby in the cradle; seeing again thy sweet face, I think of the rushes +that border the little stream of my native village! + +"Dost thou not wish that even now as faithful lovers we return to those +green fields? O dragon-fly, take thy wings again, and I--I will burn all +my poetry, + +"And we shall go back, under the light of the sky more fresh and pure than +this, each of us in the original form--I to run about, and thou to hover +in the air as of yore." + +The sight of a child's face has revived for the poet very suddenly and +vividly, the recollection of the village home, the green fields of +childhood, the little stream where he used to play with the same little +girl, sometimes running after the dragon-fly. And now the queer fancy +comes to him that she herself is so like a dragon-fly--so light, graceful, +spiritual! Perhaps really she is a dragon-fly following him into the great +city, where he struggles to live as a poet, just in order to console him. +She hides her wings, but that is only to prevent other people knowing. Why +not return once more to the home of childhood, back to the green fields +and the sun? "Little dragon-fly," he says to her, "let us go back! do you +return to your beautiful summer shape, be a dragon-fly again, expand your +wings of gauze; and I shall stop trying to write poetry. I shall burn my +verses; I shall go back to the streams where we played as children; I +shall run about again with the joy of a child, and with you beautifully +flitting hither and thither as a dragon-fly." + +Victor Hugo also has a little poem about a dragon-fly, symbolic only, but +quite pretty. It is entitled "La Demoiselle"; and the other poem was +entitled, as you remember, "Ma Libellule." Both words mean a dragon-fly, +but not the same kind of dragon-fly. The French word "demoiselle," which +might be adequately rendered into Japanese by the term _ojosan_, refers +only to those exquisitely slender, graceful, slow-flitting dragon-flies +known to the scientist by the name of Calopteryx. Of course you know the +difference by sight, and the reason of the French name will be poetically +apparent to you. + + Quand la demoiselle doree + S'envole au depart des hivers, + Souvent sa robe diapree, + Souvent son aile est dechiree + Aux mille dards des buissons verts. + + Ainsi, jeunesse vive et frele, + Qui, t'egarant de tous cotes, + Voles ou ton instinct t'appele, + Souvent tu dechires ton aile + Aux epines des voluptes. + +"When, at the departure of winter, the gilded dragon-fly begins to soar, +often her many-coloured robe, often her wing, is torn by the thousand +thorns of the verdant shrubs. + +"Even so, O frail and joyous Youth, who, wandering hither and thither, in +every direction, flyest wherever thy instinct calls thee--even so thou +dost often tear thy wings upon the thorns of pleasure." + +You must understand that pleasure is compared to a rose-bush, whose +beautiful and fragrant flowers attract the insects, but whose thorns are +dangerous to the visitors. However, Victor Hugo does not use the word for +rose-bush, for obvious reasons; nor does he qualify the plants which are +said to tear the wings of the dragon-fly. I need hardly tell you that the +comparison would not hold good in reference to the attraction of flowers, +because dragon-flies do not care in the least about flowers, and if they +happen to tear their wings among thorn bushes, it is much more likely to +be in their attempt to capture and devour other insects. The merit of the +poem is chiefly in its music and colour; as natural history it would not +bear criticism. The most beautiful modern French poem about insects, +beautiful because of its classical perfection, is I think a sonnet by +Heredia, entitled "Epigramme Funeraire"--that is to say, "Inscription for +a Tombstone." This is an exact imitation of Greek sentiment and +expression, carefully studied after the poets of the anthology. Several +such Greek poems are extant, recounting how children mourned for pet +insects which had died in spite of all their care. The most celebrated one +among these I quoted in a former lecture--the poem about the little Greek +girl Myro who made a tomb for her grasshopper and cried over it. Heredia +has very well copied the Greek feeling in this fine sonnet: + + Ici git, Etranger, la verte sauterelle + Que durant deux saisons nourrit la jeune Helle, + Et dont l'aile vibrant sous le pied dentele. + Bruissait dans le pin, le cytise, ou l'airelle. + + Elle s'est tue, helas! la lyre naturelle, + La muse des guerets, des sillons et du ble; + De peur que son leger sommeil ne soit trouble, + Ah, passe vite, ami, ne pese point sur elle. + + C'est la. Blanche, au milieu d'une touffe de thym, + Sa pierre funeraire est fraichement posee. + Que d'hommes n'ont pas eu ce supreme destin! + + Des larmes d'un enfant la tombe est arrosee, + Et l'Aurore pieuse y fait chaque matin + Une libation de gouttes de rosee. + +"Stranger, here reposes the green grasshopper that the young girl Helle +cared for during two seasons,--the grasshopper whose wings, vibrating +under the strokes of its serrated feet, used to resound in the pine, the +trefoil and the whortleberry. + +"She is silent now, alas! that natural lyre, muse of the unsown fields, of +the furrows, and of the wheat. Lest her light sleep should be disturbed, +ah! pass quickly, friend! do not be heavy upon her. + +"It is there. All white, in the midst of a tuft of thyme, her funeral +monument is placed, in cool shadow; how many men have not been able to +have this supremely happy end! + +"By the tears of a child the insect's tomb is watered; and the pious +goddess of dawn each morning there makes a libation of drops of dew." + +This reads very imperfectly in a hasty translation; the original charm is +due to the perfect art of the form. But the whole thing, as I have said +before, is really Greek, and based upon a close study of several little +Greek poems on the same kind of subject. Little Greek girls thousands of +years ago used to keep singing insects as pets, every day feeding them +with slices of leek and with fresh water, putting in their little cages +sprigs of the plants which they liked. The sorrow of the child for the +inevitable death of her insect pets at the approach of winter, seems to +have inspired many Greek poets. With all tenderness, the child would make +a small grave for the insect, bury it solemnly, and put a little white +stone above the place to imitate a grave-stone. But of course she would +want an inscription for this tombstone--perhaps would ask some of her +grown-up friends to compose one for her. Sometimes the grown-up friend +might be a poet, in which case he would compose an epitaph for all time. + +I suppose you perceive that the solemnity of this imitation of the Greek +poems on the subject is only a tender mockery, a playful sympathy with the +real grief of the child. The expression, "pass, friend," is often found in +Greek funeral inscriptions together with the injunction to tread lightly +upon the dust of the dead. There is one French word to which I will call +attention,--the word "guerets." We have no English equivalent for this +term, said to be a corruption of the Latin word "veractum," and meaning +fields which have been ploughed but not sown. + +Not to dwell longer upon the phase of art indicated by this poem, I may +turn to the subject of crickets. There are many French poems about +crickets. One by Lamartine is known to almost every French child. + + Grillon solitaire, + Ici comme moi, + Voix qui sors de terre, + Ah! reveille-toi! + J'attise la flamme, + C'est pour t'egayer; + Mais il manque une ame, + Une ame au foyer. + + Grillon solitaire, + Voix qui sors de terre, + Ah! reveille-toi + Pour moi. + + Quand j'etais petite + Comme ce berceau, + Et que Marguerite + Filait son fuseau, + Quand le vent d'automne + Faisait tout gemir, + Ton cri monotone + M'aidait a dormir. + + Grillon solitaire, + Voix qui sors de terre, + Ah! reveille-toi + Pour moi. + + Seize fois l'annee + A compte mes jours; + Dans la cheminee + Tu niches toujours. + Je t'ecoute encore + Aux froides saisons. + Souvenir sonore + Des vieilles maisons. + + Grillon solitaire, + Voix qui sors de terre, + Ah! reveille-toi + Pour moi. + +It is a young girl who thus addresses the cricket of the hearth, the house +cricket. It is very common in country houses in Europe. This is what she +says: + +"Little solitary cricket, all alone here just like myself, little voice +that comes up out of the ground, ah, awake for my sake! I am stirring up +the fires, that is just to make you comfortable; but there lacks a +presence by the hearth; a soul to keep me company. + +"When I was a very little girl, as little as that cradle in the corner of +the room, then, while Margaret our servant sat there spinning, and while +the autumn wind made everything moan outside, your monotonous cry used to +help me to fall asleep. + +"Solitary cricket, voice that issues from the ground, awaken, for my sake. + +"Now I am sixteen years of age and you are still nestling in the chimneys +as of old. I can hear you still in the cold season,--like a +sound--memory,--a sonorous memory of old houses. + +"Solitary cricket, voice that issues from the ground, awaken, O awaken for +my sake." + +I do not think this pretty little song needs any explanation; I would only +call your attention to the natural truth of the fancy and the feeling. +Sitting alone by the fire in the night, the maiden wants to hear the +cricket sing, because it makes her think of her childhood, and she finds +happiness in remembering it. + +So far as mere art goes, the poem of Gautier on the cricket is very much +finer than the poem of Lamartine, though not so natural and pleasing. But +as Gautier was the greatest master of French verse in the nineteenth +century, not excepting Victor Hugo, I think that one example of his poetry +on insects may be of interest. He was very poor, compared with Victor +Hugo; and he had to make his living by writing for newspapers, so that he +had no time to become the great poet that nature intended him to be. +However, he did find time to produce one volume of highly finished poetry, +which is probably the most perfect verse of the nineteenth century, if not +the most perfect verse ever made by a French poet; I mean the "Emaux et +Camees." But the little poem which I am going to read to you is not from +the "Emaux et Camees." + + Souffle, bise! Tombe a flots, pluie! + Dans mon palais tout noir de suie, + Je ris de la pluie et du vent; + En attendant que l'hiver fuie, + Je reste au coin du feu, revant. + + C'est moi qui suis l'esprit de l'atre! + Le gaz, de sa langue bleuatre, + Leche plus doucement le bois; + La fumee en filet d'albatre, + Monte et se contourne a ma voix. + + La bouilloire rit et babille; + La flamme aux pieds d'argent sautille + En accompagnant ma chanson; + La buche de duvet s'habille; + La seve bout dans le tison. + + * * * * * + + Pendant la nuit et la journee + Je chante sous la cheminee; + Dans mon langage de grillon + J'ai, des rebuts de son ainee, + Souvent console Cendrillon. + + * * * * * + + Quel plaisir? Prolonger sa veille, + Regarder la flamme vermeille + Prenant a deux bras le tison, + A tous les bruits preter l'oreille, + Entendre vivre la maison. + + Tapi dans sa niche bien chaude, + Sentir l'hiver qui pleure et rode, + Tout bleme, et le nez violet, + Tachant de s'introduire en fraude + Par quelque fente du volet! + +This poem is especially picturesque, and is intended to give us the +comfortable sensations of a winter night by the fire, and the amusement of +watching the wood burn and of hearing the kettle boiling. You will find +that the French has a particular quality of lucid expression; it is full +of clearness and colour. + +"Blow on, cold wind! pour down, O rain. I, in my soot-black palace, laugh +at both rain and wind; and while waiting for winter to pass I remain in my +corner by the fire dreaming. + +"It is I that am really the spirit of the hearth! The gaseous flame licks +the wood more softly with its bluish tongue when it hears me; and the +smoke rises up like an alabaster thread, and curls itself about (or +twists) at the sound of my voice. + +"The kettle chuckles and chatters; the golden-footed flame leaps, dancing +to the accompaniment of my song (or in accompaniment to my song); the +great log covers itself with down, the sap boils in the wooden embers +("duvet," meaning "down," refers to the soft fluffy white ash that forms +upon the surface of burning wood). + +"All night and all day I sing below the chimney. Often in my +cricket-language, I have consoled Cinderella for the snubs of her elder +sister. + +"Ah, what pleasure to sit up at night, and watch the crimson flames +embracing the wood (or hugging the wood) with both arms at once, and to +listen to all the sounds and to hear the life of the house! + +"Nestling in one's good warm nook, how pleasant to hear Winter, who weeps +and prowls round about the house outside, all wan and blue-nosed with +cold, trying to smuggle itself inside some chink in the shutter!" + +Of course this does not give us much about the insect itself, which +remains invisible in the poem, just as it really remains invisible in the +house where the voice is heard. Rather does the poem express the feelings +of the person who hears the cricket. + +When we come to the subject of grasshoppers, I think that the French poets +have done much better than the English. There are many poems on the field +grasshopper; I scarcely know which to quote first. But I think you would +be pleased with a little composition by the celebrated French painter, +Jules Breton. Like Rossetti he was both painter and poet; and in both arts +he took for his subjects by preference things from country life. This +little poem is entitled "Les Cigales." The word "cigales," though really +identical with our word "cicala," seldom means the same thing. Indeed the +French word may mean several different kinds of insects, and it is only by +studying the text that we can feel quite sure what sort of insect is +meant. + + Lorsque dans l'herbe mure ancun epi ne bouge, + Qu'a l'ardeur des rayons crepite le frement, + Que le coquelicot tombe languissament + Sous le faible fardeau de sa corolle rouge, + + Tous les oiseaux de l'air out fait taire leur chants; + Les ramiers paresseux, au plus noir des ramures, + Somnolents, dans les bois, out cesse leurs murmures + Loin du soleil muet incendiant les champs. + + Dans le ble, cependant, d'intrepides cigales + Jetant leurs mille bruits, fanfare de l'ete, + Out frenetiquement et sans treve agite + Leurs ailes sur l'airaine de leurs folles cymbales. + + Tremoussantes, deboutes sur les longs epis d'or, + Virtuoses qui vont s'eteindre avant l'automne, + Elles poussent au del leur hymne monotone + Que dans I'ombre des nuits retentisse encore. + + Et rien n'arretera leurs cris intarissables; + Quand on les chassera de l'avoine et des bles. + Elles emigreront sur les buissons brules + Qui se meurent de soif dans les deserts de sable. + + Sur l'arbuste effeuille, sur les chardons fletris + Qui laissent s'envoler leur blanche chevelure, + On reverra l'insecte a la forte encolure, + Pleine d'ivresse, toujours s'exalter dans ses cris. + + Jusqu'a ce qu'ouvrant l'aile en lambeaux arrachee, + Exaspere, brulant d'un feu toujours plus pur, + Son oeil de bronze fixe et tendu vers l'azur, + II expire en chantant sur la tige sechee. + +For the word "encolure" we have no English equivalent; it means the line +of the neck and shoulder--sometimes the general appearance of shape of the +body. + +"When in the ripening grain field not a single ear of wheat moves; when in +the beaming heat the corn seems to crackle; when the poppy languishes and +bends down under the feeble burden of its scarlet corolla, + +"Then all the birds of the air have hushed their songs; even the indolent +doves, seeking the darkest part of the foliage in the tree, have become +drowsy in the woods, and have ceased their cooing, far from the fields, +which the silent sun is burning. + +"Nevertheless, in the wheat, the brave grasshoppers uttering their +thousand sounds, a trumpet flourish of summer, have continued furiously +and unceasingly to smite their wings upon the brass of their wild cymbal. + +"Quivering as they stand upon the long gold ears of the grain, master +musicians who must die before the coming of Fall, they sound to heaven +their monotonous hymn, which re-echoes even in the darkness of the night. + +"And nothing will check their inexhaustible shrilling. When chased away +from the oats and from the wheat, they will migrate to the scorched bushes +which die of thirst in the wastes of sand. + +"Upon the leafless shrubs, upon the dried up thistles, which let their +white hair fall and float away, there the sturdily-built insect can be +seen again, filled with enthusiasm, even more and more excited as he +cries, + +"Until, at last, opening his wings, now rent into shreds, exasperated, +burning more and more fiercely in the frenzy of his excitement, and with +his eyes of bronze always fixed motionlessly upon the azure sky, he dies +in his song upon the withered grain." + +This is difficult to translate at all satisfactorily, owing to the +multitude of images compressed together. But the idea expressed is a fine +one--the courage of the insect challenging the sun, and only chanting more +and more as the heat and the thirst increase. The poem has, if you like, +the fault of exaggeration, but the colour and music are very fine; and +even the exaggeration itself has the merit of making the images more +vivid. + +It will not be necessary to quote another text; we shall scarcely have the +time; but I want to translate to you something of another poem upon the +same insect by the modern French poet Jean Aicard. In this poem, as in the +little poem by Gautier, which I quoted to you, the writer puts his thought +in the mouth of the insect, so to say--that is, makes the insect tell its +own story. + +"I am the impassive and noble insect that sings in the summer solstice +from the dazzling dawn all the day long in the fragrant pine-wood. And my +song is always the same, regular as the equal course of the season and of +the sun. I am the speech of the hot and beaming sun, and when the reapers, +weary of heaping the sheaves together, lie down in the lukewarm shade, and +sleep and pant in the ardour of noonday--then more than at any other time +do I utter freely and joyously that double-echoing strophe with which my +whole body vibrates. And when nothing else moves in all the land round +about, I palpitate and loudly sound my little drum. Otherwise the sunlight +triumphs; and in the whole landscape nothing is heard but my cry,--like +the joy of the light itself. + +"Like a butterfly I take up from the hearts of the flowers that pure water +which the night lets fall into them like tears. I am inspired only by the +almighty sun. Socrates listened to me; Virgil made mention of me. I am the +insect especially beloved by the poets and by the bards. The ardent sun +reflects himself in the globes of my eyes. My ruddy bed, which seems to be +powdered like the surface of fine ripe fruit, resembles some exquisite +key-board of silver and gold, all quivering with music. My four wings, +with their delicate net-work of nerves, allow the bright down upon my +black back to be seen through their transparency. And like a star upon the +forehead of some divinely inspired poet, three exquisitely mounted rubies +glitter upon my head." + +These are fair examples of the French manner of treating the interesting +subject of insects in poetry. If you should ask me whether the French +poets are better than the English, I should answer, "In point of feeling, +no." The real value of such examples to the student should be emotional, +not descriptive. I think that the Japanese poems on insects, though not +comparable in point of mere form with some of the foreign poems which I +have quoted, are better in another way--they come nearer to the true +essence of poetry. For the Japanese poets have taken the subject of +insects chiefly for the purpose of suggesting human emotion; and that is +certainly the way in which such a subject should be used. Remember that +this is an age in which we are beginning to learn things about insects +which could not have been even imagined fifty years ago, and the more that +we learn about these miraculous creatures, the more difficult does it +become for us to write poetically about their lives, or about their +possible ways of thinking and feeling. Probably no mortal man will ever be +able to imagine how insects think or feel or hear or even see. Not only +are their senses totally different from those of animals, but they appear +to have a variety of special senses about which we can not know anything +at all. As for their existence, it is full of facts so atrocious and so +horrible as to realize most of the imaginations of old about the torments +of hell. Now, for these reasons to make an insect speak in poetry--to put +one's thoughts, so to speak, into the mouth of an insect--is no longer +consistent with poetical good judgment. No; we must think of insects +either in relation to the mystery of their marvellous lives, or in +relation to the emotion which their sweet and melancholy music makes +within our minds. The impressions produced by hearing the shrilling of +crickets at night or by hearing the storm of cicadae in summer woods--those +impressions indeed are admirable subjects for poetry, and will continue to +be for all time. + +When I lectured to you long ago about Greek and English poems on insects, +I told you that nearly all the English poems on the subject were quite +modern. I still believe that I was right in this statement, as a general +assertion; but I have found one quaint poem about a grasshopper, which +must have been written about the middle of the seventeenth century or, +perhaps, a little earlier. The date of the author's birth and death are +respectively 1618 and 1658. His name, I think, you are familiar +with--Richard Lovelace, author of many amatory poems, and of one +especially famous song, "To Lucasta, on Going to the Wars"--containing the +celebrated stanza-- + + Yet this inconstancy is such + As you too shall adore; + I could not love thee, Dear, so much, + Loved I not honour more. + +Well, as I said, this man wrote one pretty little poem on a grasshopper, +which antedates most of the English poems on insects, if not all of them. + + +THE GRASSHOPPER + + O Thou that swing'st upon the waving ear + Of some well-filled oaten beard, + Drunk every night with a delicious tear + Dropt thee from heaven, where now th'art rear'd! + + The joys of earth and air are thine entire, + That with thy feet and wings dost hop and fly; + And when thy poppy works, thou dost retire + To thy carved acorn-bed to lie. + + Up with the day, the Sun thou welcom'st then, + Sport'st in the gilt plaits of his beams, + And all these merry days mak'st merry men + Thyself, and melancholy streams. + +A little artificial, this poem written at least two hundred and fifty +years ago; but it is pretty in spite of its artifice. Some of the conceits +are so quaint that they must be explained. By the term "oaten beard," the +poet means an ear of oats; and you know that the grain of this plant is +furnished with very long hair, so that many poets have spoken of the +bearded oats. You may remember in this connection Tennyson's phrase "the +bearded barley" in the "Lady of Shalott," and Longfellow's term "bearded +grain" in his famous poem about the Reaper Death. When a person's beard is +very thick, we say in England to-day "a full beard," but in the time of +Shakespeare they used to say "a well filled beard"--hence the phrase in +the second line of the first stanza. + +In the third line the term "delicious tear" means dew,--which the Greeks +called the tears of the night, and sometimes the tears of the dawn; and +the phrase "drunk with dew" is quite Greek--so we may suspect that the +author of this poem had been reading the Greek Anthology. In the third +line of the second stanza the word "poppy" is used for sleep--a very +common simile in Elizabethan times, because from the poppy flower was +extracted the opiate which enables sick persons to sleep. The Greek +authors spoke of poppy sleep. "And when thy poppy works," means, when the +essence of sleep begins to operate upon you, or more simply, when you +sleep. Perhaps the phrase about the "carved acorn-bed" may puzzle you; it +is borrowed from the fairy-lore of Shakespeare's time, when fairies were +said to sleep in little beds carved out of acorn shells; the simile is +used only by way of calling the insect a fairy creature. In the second +line of the third stanza you may notice the curious expression about the +"gilt plaits" of the sun's beams. It was the custom in those days, as it +still is in these, for young girls to plait their long hair; and the +expression "gilt plaits" only means braided or plaited golden hair. This +is perhaps a Greek conceit; for classic poets spoke of the golden hair of +the Sun God as illuminating the world. I have said that the poem is a +little artificial, but I think you will find it pretty, and even the +whimsical similes are "precious" in the best sense. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +NOTE ON THE INFLUENCE OF FINNISH POETRY IN ENGLISH LITERATURE + + +The subject of Finnish poetry ought to have a special interest for the +Japanese student, if only for the reason that Finnish poetry comes more +closely in many respects to Japanese poetry than any other form of Western +poetry. Indeed it is supposed that the Finnish race is more akin to the +Tartar races, and therefore probably to the Japanese, than the races of +Europe proper. Again, through Longfellow, the value of Finnish poetry to +English poetry was first suggested, and I think you know that Longfellow's +Indian epic, "The Song of Hiawatha," was modelled entirely upon the +Finnish "Kalevala." + +But a word about the "Kalevala," which has a very interesting history. I +believe you know that at the beginning of the nineteenth century, the +"Kalevala" was not known to exist. During the first half of the century, +Finnish scholars in the University of Helsingfors (where there is now a +great and flourishing university) began to take literary interest in the +popular songs of Finland. For years the people had been singing +extraordinary songs full of a strange beauty and weirdness quite unlike +any other popular songs of Europe; and for centuries professional singers +had been wandering about the country teaching these songs to the +accompaniment of a kind of _biwa_ called Kantela. The scholars of the +University began to collect these songs from the mouths of the peasants +and musicians--at first with great difficulty, afterwards with much +success. The difficulty was a very curious one. In Finland the ancient +pagan religion had really never died; the songs of the peasants were full +of allusions to the old faith and the old gods, and the orthodox church +had often attempted in vain to prevent the singing of these songs, because +they were not Christian. So the peasants at first thought that the +scholars who wanted to copy the songs were government spies or church +spies who wanted evidence to justify punishments. When the fears of the +people had been removed and when they came to understand that the +questioners were only scholars interested in literary beauty, all the +secret stores of songs were generously opened, and an immense collection +of oral literature was amassed in the University at Helsingfors. + +The greatest of the scholars engaged in the subsequent work of arranging +and classifying was Doctor Loennrot. While examining the manuscript of +these poems he was struck by the fact that, put together in a particular +order, they naturally made one great continuous story or epic. Was it +possible that the Finnish people had had during all these centuries an +epic unknown to the world of literature? Many persons would have ridiculed +the idea. But Loennrot followed up that idea, and after some years' study +he disengaged from all that mass of song something in the shape of a +wonderful epic, the epic of the "Kalevala." Loennrot was probably, almost +certainly, the only one who had even understood the idea of an epic of +this kind. The peasants did not know. They only had the fragments of the +whole; parts of the poem existed in one province, parts in another; no +Finnish musician had ever known the whole. The whole may have been made +first by Loennrot. At all events he was the Homer of the "Kalevala," and it +was fortunate for Finland that he happened to be himself both a scholar +and a poet--qualifications seldom united in the same person. + +What is the "Kalevala" as we now possess it? It is an epic, but not like +any other epic in the world, for the subject of it is Magic. We might call +it the Epic of Magic. It is the story of how the world and the heaven and +the sun and the moon and the stars, the elements and the races of living +creatures and all other things were created by magic; also how the first +inhabitants of the world lived, and loved, and fought. But there is +another thing to be said in a general was about this magic. The magic of +"Kalevala" is not like anything else known by that name in European +literature. The magic of "Kalevala" is entirely the magic of words. These +ancient people believed in the existence of words, by the utterance of +which anything might be accomplished. Instead of buying wood and hiring +carpenters, you might build a house by uttering certain magical words. If +you had no horse and wanted to travel rapidly, you could make a horse for +yourself out of bits of bark and old sticks by uttering over them certain +magical words. But this was not all. Beings of intellect, men and women, +whole armies of men, in fact, might be created in a moment by the +utterance of these mystical words. There is the real subject of the +"Kalevala." + +I told you that the epic is not like anything else in European literature +and not like anything else in the world as to the subject. But this is not +the case as regards the verse. The verse is not like Japanese verse, +indeed, but it comes nearer to it than any other European verse does. Of +course even in Finnish verse, accents mean a great deal, and accent means +nothing at all in Japanese verse. But I imagine something very much like +Finnish verse might be written in Japanese, provided that in reciting it a +slight stress is thrown on certain syllables. Of course you know something +about Longfellow's "Hiawatha"--such lines as these: + + And the evening sun descending + Set the clouds on fire with redness, + Burned the broad sky like a prairie, + Left upon the level water + One long track and trail of splendour, + Down whose stream, as down a river, + Westward, westward Hiawatha + Sailed into the fiery sunset, + Sailed into the purple vapours, + Sailed into the dusk of evening. + +You will observe this is verse of eight syllables with four trochees to a +line. Now it is perhaps as near to Finnish verse as English verse can be +made. But the Finnish verse is more musical, and it is much more flexible, +and the rules of it can be better carried out than in English. There is +much more to be thought about than the placing of four trochaic feet to a +line. Not only must the verse be trochaic, it must also be alliterative, +and it must also be, to some extent, rhymed verse--a matter which +Longfellow did not take into consideration. That would have doubled his +difficulty. To make verse trochaic, alliterative and rhymed, is very +difficult indeed--that is, to do it well. Only one liberty is allowed; it +is not necessary that the rhyme shall be regular and constant; it is +necessary only that it should be occasional. But the interest of Finnish +verse does not end here. I have not yet mentioned the most important law +of Finnish poetry--the law of parallelism or repetition. Parallelism is +the better word. It means the repetition of a thought in a slightly +modified way. It is parallelism especially that makes so splendid the +English translation of the Bible, and the majesty of such passages in the +Book of Common Prayer as the Funeral Service. So that Finnish poetry is +anything but very simple. We may now sum it up thus--trochaic verse of +eight syllables, with alliteration and rhyme, a caesura in the same part +of every line, and every line reiterated in parallelism. + +A little above I mentioned the English of the Bible. Long ago I explained +why that English is so beautiful and so strong. But remember that much of +the best of the Bible, in the original Hebrew, was not prose but verse, +and that the fine effects have been produced by translating the verse into +musical prose. The very effect can be produced by translating the +"Kalevala" into prose. Occasionally the passages are of surprising beauty, +and they are always of surprising strangeness. + +It is in parallelism especially that Finnish poetry offers a contrast to +Japanese, but there is no reason whatever why, in the longer poems of +Japanese poetry, parallelism could not be used. All things have value +according to place and time, and this has value--provided that it has a +special effect on a special occasion. All through the "Kalevala," all +through five hundred pages, large pages, the parallelism is carried on, +and yet one never gets tired. It is not monotonous. But that is because +the subject is so well adapted to this form of poetry. See how the poem +opens, when the poet begins to talk about what he is going to sing: + +"Anciently my father sang me these words in hewing the handle of his ax; +anciently my mother taught me these words as she turned her spindle. In +that time I was only a child, a little child at the breast,--a useless +little being creeping upon the floor at the feet of its nurse, its cheek +bedaubed with milk. And there are other words which I drew from the spring +of knowledge, which I found by the wayside, which I snatched from the +heart of the thickets, which I detached from the branches of the trees, +which I gathered at the edges of the pastures--when, In my infancy, I used +to go to guard the flocks, in the midst of the honey-streaming meadows, +upon the gold-shining hills, behind the black Murikki, behind the spotted +Kimmo, my favourite cows. + +"Also the cold sang the songs, the rain sang me verses, the winds of +heaven, the waves of the sea made me hear their poems, the birds +instructed me with their melodies, the long-haired trees invited me to +their concerts. And all the songs I gathered together, I rolled them up in +a skin, I carried them away in my beautiful little holiday sledge, I +deposited them in the bottom of a chest of brass, upon the highest shelf +of my treasure house." + +Now when a poem opens that way we may be sure that there are great things +in it; and some of these great things we shall read about presently. The +"Kalevala" is full of wonderful stories, But in the above quotation, I +want you to see how multiple it is, and yet it is beautiful. Now there is +a very interesting thing yet to tell you about this parallelism. Such +poems as those of the "Kalevala" have always to be sung not by one singer +but by two. The two singers straddle a bench facing each other and hold +each other's hands. Then they sing alternately, each chanting one line, +rocking back and forward, pulling each other to and fro as they sing--so +that it is like the motion of rowing. One chants a line and pulls +backward, then the other chants the next line and pulls in the opposite +direction. Not to be able to answer at once would be considered a great +disgrace; and every singer has to be able to improvise as well as to sing. +And that is the signification of the following verse: + +"Put thy hand to my hand--place thy fingers between my fingers--that we +may sing of the things which are." + +The most beautiful story in this wonderful book is the story of Kullervo. +It was after reading this story that Longfellow imagined his story of the +Strong Man Kwasind. Kullervo is born so strong that as an infant he breaks +his cradle to pieces, and as a boy he can not do any work, for all the +tools and instruments break in his grasp. Therefore he gives a great deal +of trouble at home and has to go out into the world to seek his fortune. +In the world, of course, he has just the same trouble; for nobody will +employ him very long. However, the story of Kullervo's feats of strength, +though interesting, need not now concern us. The great charm of this +composition is in the description of a mother's love which it contains. +Kullervo brought misfortune everywhere simply by his strength and by his +great passions--at last committing a terrible crime, causing the death of +his own sister, whom he does not recognize. He goes back home in +desperation and remorse; and there everybody regards him with horror, +except only his mother. She alone tries to console him; she alone tells +him that repentance may bring him rest. He then proposes to go away and +amend his wrong-doing in solitude. But first he bids them all goodbye, and +the episode is characteristic. + +Kullervo, the son of Kalervo, gets him ready to depart; he goes to his old +father and says: "Farewell now, O my dear father. Wilt thou regret me +bitterly, when thou shalt learn that I am dead?--that I have disappeared +from among the multitude of the living?--that I no longer am one of the +members of thy family?" The father answered: "No, certainly I will not +regret thee when I shall hear that thou art dead. Another son perchance +will be born to me--a son who will grow up better and wiser than thou." + +Kullervo, son of Kalervo, answered: "And I also will not be sorry if I +hear that thou art dead. Without any trouble I can find me such a father +as thou--a stone-hearted father, a clay-mouthed father, a berry-eyed +father, a straw-bearded father, a father whose feet are made of the roots +of the willow tree, a father whose flesh is decaying wood." Why does +Kullervo use these extraordinary terms? It is a reference to magic--out of +stone and clay and straw, a phantom man can be made, and Kullervo means to +say that his father is no more to him than a phantom father, an unreal +father, a father who has no fatherly feeling. His brothers and sisters all +questioned in turn if they will be sorry to hear that he is dead, make the +same cruel answer; and he replies to them with the same angry words. But +it is very different when he speaks to his mother. + +For to his mother he said--"Oh my sweet mother, my beautiful nurse, my +loved protectress, wilt thou regret me bitterly when thou shalt learn that +I am dead, that I have disappeared from the multitude of the living, that +I am no longer one of the members of thy family?" + +The mother made answer: "Thou does not comprehend the soul of the +mother--thou canst not understand the heart of the mother. Assuredly will +I regret thee most bitterly when I shall learn that thou art dead, that +thou hast disappeared, from among the multitude of the living, that thou +hast ceased to be one of the members of my family. Floods of tears shall I +weep in my chamber. The waves of tears will overflow on the floor. And +upon the stairway lamentably shall I weep; and in the stable loudly shall +I sorrow. Upon the icy ways the snow shall melt under my tears--under my +tears the earth of the roads shall melt away; under my tears new meadow +grass shall grow up, green sprouting, and through that grass little +streams shall murmur away." To this mother, naturally, Kullervo says no +unkind words. He goes away, able at least to feel that there is one person +in the world who loves him and one person in the world whom he loves. But +how much his mother really loves him he does not yet know; he will know +that later--it forms the most beautiful part of the poem. + +"Kullervo directed his steps once more to the home of his fathers. +Desolate he found it, desolate and deserted; no person advanced to salute +him, no person came to press his hand, to give him welcome. + +"He drew near to the hearth: the embers were extinguished. By that he knew +that his mother had ceased to be. + +"He drew near to the fire-place, and the stones of the fire-place were +cold. By that he knew that his father had ceased to be. + +"He turned his eyes upon the floor of his home; the planks of the floor +were covered with dirt and rubbish. By that he knew that his sister had +ceased to be. + +"To the shore of the sea he went; the boat that used to be there was there +no longer. By that he knew that his brother had ceased to be. + +"Then he began to weep. For a whole day he wept, for two whole days he +wept; then he cried aloud: 'O my mother, O my sweet mother, what didst +thou leave thy son yet in the world? Alas! now thou canst hear me no +longer; and it is in vain that I stand above thy tomb, that I sob over the +place of thine eyebrows, over the place of thy temples; it is in vain that +I cry out my grief above thy dead forehead.' + +"The mother of Kullervo awakened in her tomb, and out of the depth of the +dust she spake to him: 'I have left the dog Mastif, in order that thou +mayst go with him to the chase. Take therefore the faithful dog, and go +with him into the wild forest, into the dark wilderness, even to the +dwelling place, far away, of the blue-robed Virgins of the wood, and there +thou wilt seek thy nourishment, thou wilt ask for the game that is +necessary to thy existence.'" + +It was believed that there was a particular forest god, who protected the +trees and the wild things of the wood. The hunter could be successful in +the chase only upon condition of obtaining his favour and permission to +hunt. This explains the reference to the abode of the forest god. But +Kullervo can not go far; his remorse takes him by the throat. + +"Kullervo, son of Kalervo, took his faithful dog, and directed his steps +toward the wild forest, toward the dark wilderness. But when he had gone +only a little way he found himself at the very place where he had outraged +the young girl, where he had dishonoured the child of his mother. And all +things there mourned for her--all things; the soft grass and the tender +foliage, and the little plants, and the sorrowful briars. The grass was no +longer green, the briars no longer blossomed, the leaves and the plants +hung withered and dry about the spot where the virgin had been +dishonoured, where the brother had dishonoured his sister. + +"Kullervo drew forth his sword, his sharpedged sword; a long time he +looked at it, turning it in his hand, and asking it whether it would feel +no pleasure in eating the flesh of the man thus loaded with infamy, in +drinking the blood of the man thus covered with crime. + +"And the sword knew the heart of the man: it understood the question of +the hero. And it made answer to him saying: 'Why indeed should I not +gladly devour the flesh of the man who is loaded with infamy? Why indeed +should I not drink with pleasure the blood of the man who is burdened with +crime? For well I devoured even the flesh of the innocent man, well can I +drink even the blood of the man who is free from crime.' + +"Then Kullervo fixed his sword in the earth, with the handle downwards and +the point upwards, and he threw himself upon the point, and the point +passed through all the depth of his breast. + +"This was the end of all, this was the cruel destiny of Kullervo, the +irrevocable end of the son of the heroes--the death of the 'Man of +Misfortune.'" + +You can see how very much unlike other Western poetry this poetry is. The +imagination indeed is of another race and another time than those to whose +literary productions we have become accustomed. But there is beauty here; +and the strangeness of it indicates a possible literary value by which any +literature may be more or less enriched. Many are the particular episodes +which rival the beauty and strangeness of the episode of Kullervo; and I +wish that we could have time to quote them. But I can only refer to them. +There is, for example, the legend of the invention of music, when the hero +Wainamoinen (supposed to represent the Spirit of the Wind, and the sound +of the name indicates the wailing of the wind) invents the first musical +instrument. In no other literature is there anything quite like this +except in the Greek story of Orpheus. Even as the trees bent down their +heads to listen to the song of Orpheus, and as the wild beasts became +tamed at the sound, and as the very stones of the road followed to the +steps of the musician, so is it in the "Kalevala." But the Finnish Orpheus +is the greater magician. To hear him, the sun and moon come nearer to the +earth, the waves of the sea stop short, bending their heads; the cataracts +of the rivers hang motionless and silent; the fish raise their heads above +the water. And when he plays a sad melody, all nature weeps with him, even +the trees and the stones and the little plants by the wayside. And his own +tears in falling become splendid pearls for the crowns of kings. + +Then very wonderful too is the story of the eternal smith, Ilmarinen, who +forged the foundations of the world, forged the mountains, forged the blue +sky, so well forging them that nowhere can be seen the marks of the +pincer, the marks of the hammer, the heads of the nails. Working in his +smithy we see him all grime and black; upon his head there is one yard +deep of iron firing, upon his shoulders there is one fathom deep of +soot--the soot of the forge; for he seldom has time to bathe himself. But +when the notion takes him to get married, for the first time he bathes +himself, and dresses himself handsomely, then he becomes the most +beautiful of men. In order to win his wife he is obliged to perform +miracles of work; yet after he wins her she is killed by wild beasts. Then +he sets to work to forge himself a wife, a wife of silver, a bride of +gold. Very beautiful she is, but she has no heart, and she is always cold, +and there is no comfort in her; even all the magic of the world-maker can +not give her a warm heart. But the work is so beautiful that he does not +like to destroy it. So he takes the wife of silver, the bride of gold, to +the wisest of heroes, Wainamoinen, and offers her to him as a gift. But +the hero will have no such gift, "Throw her back into your forged fire, O +Ilmarinen," the hero makes answer--"What greater folly, what greater +sorrow can come upon man than to love a wife of silver, a bride of gold?" + +This pretty story needs no explanation; the moral is simply "Never marry +for money." + +Then there is the story of Lemminkainen (this personality suggested the +Pau-puk-keewis of Longfellow)--the joyous, reckless, handsome, mischievous +pleasure-lover,--always falling into trouble, because he will not follow +his mother's advice, but always loved by her in spite of his follies. The +mother of Lemminkainen is a more wonderful person than the mother of +Kullervo. Her son has been murdered, thrown into a river--the deepest of +all rivers, the river of the dead, the river of hell. And his mother goes +out to find him. She asks the trees in the forest to tell her where her +son is, and she obliges them to answer. But they do not know. She asks the +grass, the plants, the animals, the birds; she obliges even the road upon +which he walked to talk to her, she talks to the stars and the moon and +the sun. Only the sun knows, because he sees everything and he answers, +"Your son is dead, torn to pieces; he has been thrown into the river of +Tuoni, the river of hell, the river of the dead." But the mother does not +despair. Umarinen, the eternal smith, must make for her a rake of brass +with teeth long enough to reach into the world of the dead, into the +bottom of the abyss; and out of the abyss she brings up the parts of the +torn body of her son; she puts them together; she sings over them a magic +song; she brings her son to life again, and takes him home. But for a long +time he is not able to remember, because he has been dead. After a long +time he gets back his memory--only to get into new mischief out of which +his mother must help him afresh. + +The names of the three heroes quoted to you represent also the names of +three great stories, out of the many stories contained in the epics. But +in this epic, as in the Indian epics (I mean the Sanskrit epic), there is +much more than stories. There are also chapters of moral instruction of a +very curious kind--chapters about conduct, the conduct of the parents, the +conduct of the children, the conduct of the husband, the conduct of the +bride. The instructions to the bride are contained in the twenty-third +Rune; there are altogether fifty Runes in the book. This appears to me +likely to interest you, for it is written in relation to a family system +not at all like the family system of the rest of Europe. I think you will +find in it not a little that may remind you of Chinese teaching on the +same subject--the conduct of the daughter-in-law. But there are of course +many differences, and the most pleasing difference is the tone of great +tenderness in which the instructions are given. Let us quote some of them: + +"O young bride, O my young sister, O my well beloved and beautiful young +flower, listen to the words which I am going to speak to you, harken to +the lesson which I am going to teach you. You are going now very far away +from us, O beautiful flower!--you are going to take a long journey, O my +wild-strawberry fruit! you are about to fly away from us, O most delicate +down! you are about to leave us forever, O velvet tissue--far away from +this habitation you must go, far away from this beautiful house, to enter +another house, to enter into a strange family. And in that strange house +your position will be very different. There you will have to walk about +with care, to conduct yourself with prudence, to conduct yourself with +thoughtfulness. There you will not be able, as in the house of your +father, as in the dwelling of your mother, to run about where you please, +to run singing through the valleys, to warhle out your songs upon the +roadway. + +"New habits you must now learn, and forget all the old. You must abandon +the love of your father and content yourself with the love of your +father-in-law; you must bow very low, you must learn to be generous in the +use of courteous words. You must give up old habits and form new ones; you +must resign the love of your mother and content yourself with the love of +your step-mother: lower must you bow, and you must learn to be lavish in +the use of kindly words. + +"New habits you must learn and forget the old: you must leave behind you +the friendship of your brother, and content yourself with the friendship +of your brother-in-law; you must bow lower than you do now; you must learn +to be lavish of kindly words. + +"New habits you must acquire and forget the old ones; you must leave +behind you the friendship of your sister, and be satisfied with the +friendship of your sister-in-law; you must learn to make humble reverence, +to bow low, to be generous in kindly words. + +"If the old man in the corner be to you even like a wolf, if the old woman +in her corner be to you even as a she-bear in the house, if the +brother-in-law be to you even as a serpent upon the threshold, if the +sister-in-law be to you even as a sharp nail, none the less you must show +them each and all exactly the same respect and the same obedience that you +have been accustomed to display to your father, to display to your mother, +under the roof of your childhood home." + +Then follows a really terrible list of the duties that she must perform +every day from early morning until late at night; to mention them all +would take too long. I quote only a few, enough to show that the position +of a Finnish wife was by no means an easy one. + +"So soon as the cock crows in the morning you must be quick to rise; you +must keep your ears awake to hear the cry of the cock. And if there be no +cock, or the cock does not crow, then let the moon be as a cock for you, +let the constellation of the great Bear tell you when it is time to rise. +Then you must quickly make the fire, skilfully removing the ashes, without +sprinkling them upon the floor. Then quickly go to the stable, clean the +stable, take food to the cattle, feed all the animals on the farm. For +already the cow of your mother-in-law will be lowing for food; the horse +of your father-in-law will be whinnying; the milch cow of your +sister-in-law will be straining at her tether; the calf of your +brother-in-law will be bleating; for all will be waiting for her whose +duty it is to give them hay, whose duty it is to give them food." + +Like instructions are given about feeding the younger animals and the +fowls and the little pigs. But she must not forget the children of the +house at the same time: + +"When you have fed the animals and cleaned the stables come back quickly, +quickly as a snow-storm. For in the chamber the little child has awakened +and has begun to cry in his cradle. He cannot speak, poor little one; he +cannot tell you, if he be hungry or if he be cold, or if anything +extraordinary has happened to him, before someone that he knows has come +to care for him, before he hears the voice of his own mother." + +After enumerating and inculcating in the same manner all the duties of the +day, the conduct to be observed toward every member of the +family--father-in-law, mother-in-law, sister, and brother-in-law, and the +children of them--we find a very minute code of conduct set forth in +regard to neighbours and acquaintances. The young wife is especially +warned against gossip, against listening to any stories about what happens +in other people's houses, and against telling anybody what goes on within +her own. One piece of advice is memorable. If the young wife is asked +whether she is well fed, she should reply always that she has the best of +everything which a house can afford, this even if she should have been +left without any proper nourishment for several days. Evidently the +condition of submission to which Finnish women were reduced by custom was +something much less merciful than has ever been known in Eastern +countries. Only a very generous nature could bear such discipline; and we +have many glimpses in the poem of charming natures of this kind. + +You have seen that merely as a collection of wonderful stories the +Kalevala is of extraordinary interest, that it is also of interest as +describing the social ethics of a little known people--finally that it is +of interest, of very remarkable interest, merely as natural poetry--poetry +treating of wild nature, especially rivers and forests and mountains, of +the life of the fisher and hunter and wood-cutter. Indeed, so far as this +kind of poetry is concerned, the "Kalevala" stands alone among the older +productions of European poetry. You do not find this love of nature in +Scandinavian poetry, nor in Anglo-Saxon poetry, nor in old German poetry, +much less in the earlier form of French, Italian, or Spanish poetry. The +old Northern poetry comes nearest to it; for in Anglo-Saxon composition we +can find at least wonderful descriptions of the sea, of stones, of the +hard life of sailors. But the dominant tone in Northern poetry is war; it +is in descriptions of battle, or in accounts of the death of heroes, that +the ancient English or ancient Scandinavian poets excelled In Finnish +poetry, on the other hand, there is little or nothing about war. These +peaceful people never had any warlike history; their life was agricultural +for the most part, with little or no violence except such as the +excitement of hunting and fishing could produce. Therefore they had plenty +of time to think about nature, to love nature and to describe it as no +other people of the same period described it. Striking comparisons have +been made between the Anglo-Saxon Runes, or charm songs, and Finnish songs +of the same kind, which fully illustrate this difference. Like the Finns, +the early English had magical songs to the gods of nature--songs for the +healing of wounds and the banishing of sickness. But these are very +commonplace. Not one of them can compare as poetry with the verses of the +Finnish on the same subject. Here are examples in evidence. The first is a +prayer said when offering food to the Spirit of the forest, that he might +aid the hunter in his hunting. + +"Look, O Kuntar, a fat cake, a cake with honey, that I may propitiate the +forest, that I may propitiate the forest, that I may entice the thick +forest for the day of my hunting, when I go in search of prey. Accept my +salt, O wood, accept my porridge, O Tapio, dear king of the wood with the +hat of leaves, with the beard of moss." + +And here is a little prayer to the goddess of water repeated by a sick man +taking water as a medicine. + +"O pure water, O Lady of the Water, now do thou make me whole, lovely as +before! for this beg thee dearly, and in offering I give thee blood to +appease thee, salt to propitiate thee!" + +Or this: + +"Goddess of the Sea, mistress of waters, Queen of a hundred caves, arouse +the scaly flocks, urge on the fishy-crowds forth from their hiding places, +forth from the muddy shrine, forth from the net-hauling, to the nets of a +hundred fishers! Take now thy beauteous shield, shake the golden water, +with which thou frightenest the fish, and direct them toward the net +beneath the dark level, above the borders black." + +Yet another: + +"O vigorous mistress of the wild beasts, sweet lady of the earth, come +with me, be with me, where I go. Come thou and good luck bring me, to +happy fortune help me. Make thou to move the foliage, the fruit tree to be +shaken, and the wild beasts drive thither, the largest and the smallest, +with their snouts of every kind, with their paws of fur of all kinds!" + +Now when you look at these little prayers, when you read them over and +observe how pretty they are, you will also observe that they make little +pictures in the mind. Can not you see the fish gliding over the black +border under the dark level of the water, to the net of a hundred fishers? +Can you not see the "dear king of the wood," with his hat of leaves and +his beard of moss? Can you not also see in imagination the wild creatures +of the forest with their snouts of many shapes, with their fur of all +kinds? But in Anglo-Saxon poetry you will not find anything like that. +Anglo-Saxon Rune songs create no images. It is this picturesqueness, this +actuality of imagery that is distinctive in Finnish poetry. + +In the foregoing part of the lecture I have chiefly tried to interest you +in the "Kalevala." But aside from interesting you in the book itself as a +story, as a poem, I hope to direct your attention to a particular feature +in Finnish poetry which is most remote from Japanese poetry. I have spoken +of resemblances as to structure and method; but it is just in that part of +the method most opposed to Japanese tradition that the greatest interest +lies. I do not mean only the use of natural imagery; I mean much more the +use of parallelism to reinforce that imagery. That is the thing especially +worthy of literary study. Indeed, I think that such study might greatly +help towards a new development, a totally new departure in Japanese verse. +In another lecture I spoke as sincerely as I could of the very high merit +in the epigrammatic forms of Japanese poetry. These brief forms of poetry +have been developed in Japan to perfection not equalled elsewhere in +modern poetry, perhaps not surpassed, in some respects, even by Greek +poetry of the same kind. But there can be no doubt of this fact, that a +national literature requires many other forms of expression than the +epigrammatic form. Nothing that is good should ever be despised or cast +aside; but because of its excellences, we should not be blind to the +possibility of other excellences. Now Japanese literature has other forms +of poetry--forms in which it is possible to produce poems of immense +length, but the spirit of epigrammatic poetry has really been controlling +even these to a great degree. + +I mean that so far as I am able to understand the subject, the tendency of +all Japanese poetry is to terse expression. Were it not well therefore to +consider at least the possible result of a totally opposite +tendency,--expansion of fancy, luxuriance of expression? Terseness of +expression, pithiness, condensation, are of vast importance in prose, but +poetry has other methods, and the "Kalevala" is one of the best possible +object lessons in the study of such methods, because of the very +simplicity and naturalness with which they are followed. + +Of course there was parallelism in Western poetry, and all arts of +repetition, before anybody knew anything about the "Kalevala." The most +poetical part of Bible English, as I said, whether in the Bible itself or +in the Book of Common Prayer, depends almost entirely for its literary +effect upon parallelism, because the old Hebrews, like the old Finns, +practised this art of expression. Loosely and vaguely it was practised +also by many poets almost unconsciously, who had been particularly +influenced by the splendour of the scriptural translation. It had figured +in prose-poetry as early as the time of Sir Thomas Browne. It had +established quite a new idea of poetry even in America, where the great +American poet Poe introduced it into his compositions before Longfellow +studied the "Kalevala." I told you that the work of Poe, small as it is, +had influenced almost every poet of the great epoch, including Tennyson +and the Victorian masters. But the work even of Poe was rather instinctive +than the result of any systematic idea. The systematic idea was best +illustrated when the study of the "Kalevala" began. + +Let us see how Longfellow used the suggestion; but remember that he was +only a beginner, dealing with something entirely new--that he did not have +the strength of Tennyson nor the magical genius of Swinburne to help him. +He worked very simply, and probably very rapidly. There is a good deal of +his song of "Hiawatha" that is scarcely worthy of praise, and it is +difficult to quote effectively from it, because the charm of the thing +depends chiefly upon its reading as a whole. Nevertheless there are parts +which so well show or imitate the Finnish spirit, that I must try to quote +them. Take for instance the teaching of the little Indian child by his +grandmother--such verses as these, where she talks to the little boy about +the milky way in the sky: + + Many things Nokomis taught him + Of the stars that shine in heaven; + Showed him Ishkoodah, the comet, + Ishkoodah, with fiery tresses; + Showed the Death-Dance of the spirits, + Warriors with their plumes and war-clubs, + Flaring far away to northward + In the frosty nights of Winter; + Showed the broad, white road in heaven, + Pathway of the ghosts, the shadows, + Running straight across the heavens, + Crowded with the ghosts, the shadows. + +Or take again the story of the origin of the flower commonly called +"Dandelion": + + In his life he had one shadow, + In his heart one sorrow had he. + Once, as he was gazing northward, + Far away upon a prairie + He beheld a maiden standing, + Saw a tall and slender maiden + All alone upon a prairie; + Brightest green were all her garments + And her hair was like the sunshine. + Day by day he gazed upon her, + Day by day he sighed with passion, + Day by day his heart within him + Grew more hot with love and longing + For the maid with yellow tresses. + +Observe how the repetition served to represent the growing of the lover's +admiration. The same repetition can be used much more effectively in +describing weariness and pain, as In the lines about the winter famine: + + Oh, the long and dreary Winter! + Oh, the cold and cruel Winter! + Ever thicker, thicker, thicker + Froze the ice on lake and river, + Ever deeper, deeper, deeper + Fell the snow o'er all the landscape, + Fell the covering snow, and drifted + Through the forest, round the village. + Hardly from his buried wigwam + Could the hunter force a passage; + With his mittens and his snow-shoes + Vainly walked he through the forest, + Sought for bird or beast and found none, + Saw no track of deer or rabbit, + In the snow beheld no footprints, + In the ghastly, gleaming forest + Fell, and could not rise from weakness, + Perished there from cold and hunger. + Oh, the famine and the fever! + Oh, the wasting of the famine! + Oh, the blasting of the fever! + Oh, the wailing of the children! + Oh, the anguish of the women! + All the earth was sick and famished; + Hungry was the air around them, + Hungry was the sky above them, + And the hungry stars in heaven + Like the eyes of wolves glared at them! + +This is strong, emotionally strong, though it is not great poetry; but it +makes the emotional effect of great poetry by the use of the same means +which the Finnish poets used. The best part of the poem is the famine +chapter, and the next best is the part entitled "The Ghosts." However, the +charm of a composition can be fully felt only by those who understand +something of the American Indian's life and the wild northwestern country +described. That is not the immediate matter to be considered, +notwithstanding. The matter to be considered is whether this method of +using parallelism and repetition and alliteration can give new and great +results. I believe that it can, and that a greater Longfellow would have +brought such results into existence long ago. Of course, the form is +primitive; it does not follow that an English poet or a Japanese poet +should attempt only a return to primitive methods of poetry in detail. The +detail is of small moment; the spirit is everything. Parallelism means +simply the wish to present the same idea under a variety of aspects, +instead of attempting to put it forward in one aspect only. Everything +great in the way of thought, everything beautiful in the way of idea, has +many sides. It is merely the superficial which we can see from the front +only; the solid can be perceived from every possible direction, and +changes shape according to the direction looked at. + +The great master of English verse, Swinburne is also a poet much given to +parallelism; for he has found it of incomparable use to him in managing +new forms of verse. He uses it in an immense variety of ways--ways +impossible to Japanese poets or to Finnish poets; and the splendour of the +results can not be imitated in another language. But his case is +interesting. The most primitive methods of Finnish poetry, and of ancient +poetry in general, coming into his hands, are reproduced into music. I +propose to make a few quotations, in illustration. Here are some lines +from "Atalanta in Calydon"; they are only parallelisms, but how +magnificent they are! + + When thou dravest the men + Of the chosen of Thrace, + None turned him again, + Nor endured he thy face + Close round with the blush of the battle, with light from a + terrible place. + +Look again at the following lines from "A Song in Time of Revolution": + + There is none of them all that is whole; their lips gape open for + breath; + They are clothed with sickness of soul, and the shape of the shadow + of death. + + The wind is thwart in their feet; it is full of the shouting of mirth; + As one shaketh the sides of a sheet, so it shaketh the ends of the earth. + + The sword, the sword is made keen; the iron has opened its mouth; + The corn is red that was green; it is bound for the sheaves of the south. + + The sound of a word was shed, the sound of the wind as a breath, + In the ears of the souls that were dead, in the dust of the deepness + of death. + + Where the face of the moon is taken, the ways of the stars undone, + The light of the whole sky shaken, the light of the face of the sun. + + * * * * * + + Where the sword was covered and hidden, and dust had grown in its side, + A word came forth which was bidden, the crying of one that cried: + + The sides of the two-edged sword shall be bare, and its mouth shall + be red, + For the breath of the face of the Lord that is felt in the bones of + the dead. + +All this is indeed very grand compared with anything in the "Kalevala" or +in Longfellow's rendering; but do you not see that the grandeur is also +the grandeur of parallelism? Here is proof of what a master can do with a +method older than Western civilization. But what is the inference? Is it +not that the old primitive poetry contains something of eternal value, a +value ranging from the lowest even to the highest, a value that can lend +beauty equally to the song of a little child or to the thunder of the +grandest epic verse? + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE MOST BEAUTIFUL ROMANCE OF THE MIDDLE AGES + + +The value of romantic literature, which has been, so far as the Middle +Ages are concerned, unjustly depreciated, does not depend upon beauty of +words or beauty of fact. To-day the immense debt of modern literature to +the literature of the Middle Ages is better understood; and we are +generally beginning to recognize what we owe to the imagination of the +Middle Ages, in spite of the ignorance, the superstition and the cruelty +of that time. If the evils of the Middle Ages had really been universal, +those ages could not have imparted to us lessons of beauty and lessons of +nobility having nothing to do with literary form in themselves, yet +profoundly affecting modern poetry of the highest class. No; there was +very much of moral goodness as well as of moral badness in the Middle +Ages; and what was good happened to be very good indeed. Commonly it used +to be said (though I do not think any good critic would say it now) that +the fervid faith of the time made the moral beauty. Unless we modify this +statement a great deal, we can not now accept it at all. There was indeed +a religious beauty, particularly mediaeval, but it was not that which +created the romance of the period. Indeed, that romantic literature was +something of a reaction against the religious restraint upon imagination. +But if we mean by mediaeval faith only that which is very much older than +any European civilization, and which does not belong to the West any more +than to the East--the profound belief in human moral experience--then I +think that the statement is true enough. At no time in European history +were men more sincere believers in the value of certain virtues than +during the Middle Ages--and the very best of the romances are just those +romances which illustrate that belief, though not written for a merely +ethical purpose. + +But I can not better illustrate what I mean than by telling a story, which +has nothing to do with Europe, or the Middle Ages, or any particular form +of religious belief. It is not a Christian story at all; and it could not +be told you exactly as written, for there are some very curious pages in +it. But it is a good example of the worth that may lie in a mere product +of imagination. + +There was a king once, in Persia or Arabia, who, at the time of his +accession to power, discovered a wonderful subterranean hall under the +garden of his palace. In one chamber of that hall stood six marvellous +statues of young girls, each statue being made out of a single diamond. +The beauty as well as the cost of the work was beyond imagination. But in +the midst of the statues, which stood in a circle, there was an empty +pedestal, and on that pedestal was a precious casket containing a letter +from the dead father of the king. The letter said: + +"O my son, though these statues of girls are indeed beyond all praise, +there is yet a seventh statue incomparably more precious and beautiful +which I could not obtain before I died. It is now your duty, O my son, to +obtain that statue, that it may be placed upon the seventh pedestal. Go, +therefore, and ask my favourite slave, who is still alive, how you are to +obtain it." Then the young king went in all haste to that old slave, who +had been his father's confidant, and showed him the letter. And the old +man said, "Even now, O master, I will go with you to find that statue. But +it is in one of the three islands in which the genii dwell; and it is +necessary, above all things, that you do not fear, and that you obey my +instructions in all things. Also, remember that if you make a promise to +the Spirits of that land, the promise must be kept." + +And they proceeded upon their journey through a great wilderness, in which +"nothing existed but grass and the presence of God." I can not try now to +tell you about the wonderful things that happened to them, nor about the +marvellous boat, rowed by a boatman having upon his shoulders the head of +an elephant. Suffice it to say that at last they reached the palace of the +king of the Spirits; and the king came to meet them in the form of a +beautiful old man with a long white beard. And he said to the young king, +"My son, I will gladly help you, as I helped your father; and I will give +you that seventh statue of diamond which you desire. But I must ask for a +gift in return. You must bring to me here a young girl of about sixteen +years old; and she must be very intelligent; and she must be a true +maiden, not only as to her body, but as to her soul, and heart, and all +her thoughts." The young king thought that was a very easy thing to find, +but the king of the Spirits assured him that it was not, and further told +him this, "My son, no mortal man is wise enough to know by his own wisdom +the purity that is in the heart of a young girl. Only by the help of this +magical mirror, which I now lend you, will you be able to know. Look at +the reflection of any maiden in this mirror, and then, if her heart is +perfectly good and pure, the mirror will remain bright. But if there be +any fault in her, the mirror will grow dim. Go now, and do my bidding." + +You can imagine, of course, what happened next. Returning to his kingdom, +the young king had brought before him many beautiful girls, the daughters +of the noblest and highest in all the cities of the land. But in no case +did the mirror remain perfectly clear when the ghostly test was applied. +For three years in vain the king sought; then in despair he for the first +time turned his attention to the common people. And there came before him +on the very first day a rude man of the desert, who said, "I know of just +such a girl as you want." Then he went forth and presently returned with a +simple girl from the desert, who had been brought up in the care of her +father only, and had lived with no other companion than the members of her +own family and the camels and horses of the encampment. And as she stood +in her poor dress before the king, he saw that she was much more beautiful +than any one whom he had seen before; and he questioned her, only to find +that she was very intelligent; and she was not at all afraid or ashamed of +standing before the king, but looked about her with large wondering eyes, +like the eyes of a child; and whoever met that innocent gaze, felt a great +joy in his heart, and could not tell why. And when the king had the mirror +brought, and the reflection of the girl was thrown upon it, the mirror +became much brighter than before, and shone like a great moon. + +There was the maid whom the Spirit-king wished for. The king easily +obtained her from her parents; but he did not tell her what he intended to +do with her. Now it was his duty to give her to the Spirits; but there was +a condition he found very hard to fulfil. By the terms of his promise he +was not allowed to kiss her, to caress her, or even to see her, except +veiled after the manner of the country. Only by the mirror had he been +able to know how fair she was. And the voyage was long; and on the way, +the girl, who thought she was going to be this king's bride, became +sincerely attached to him, after the manner of a child with a brother; and +he also in his heart became much attached to her. But it was his duty to +give her up. At last they reached the palace of the Spirit-king; and the +figure of the old man came forth and said, "My son, you have done well and +kept your promise. This maiden is all that I could have wished for; and I +accept her. Now when you go back to your palace, you will find on the +seventh pedestal the statue of the diamond which your father desired you +to obtain." And, with these words, the Spirit-king vanished, taking with +him the girl, who uttered a great and piercing cry to heaven at having +been thus deceived. Very sorrowfully the young king then began his journey +home. All along the way he kept regretting that girl, and regretting the +cruelty which he had practised in deceiving her and her parents. And he +began to say to himself, "Accursed be the gift of the king of the Spirits! +Of what worth to me is a woman of diamond any more than a woman of stone? +What is there in all the world half so beautiful or half so precious as a +living girl such as I discovered? Fool that I was to give her up for the +sake of a statue!" But he tried to console himself by remembering that he +had obeyed his dead father's wish. + +Still, he could not console himself. Reaching his palace, he went to his +secret chamber to weep alone, and he wept night and day, in spite of the +efforts of his ministers to comfort him. But at last one of them said, "O +my king, in the hall beneath your garden there has appeared a wonderful +statue upon the seventh pedestal; perchance if you go to see it, your +heart will become more joyful." + +Then with great reluctance the king properly dressed himself, and went to +the subterranean hall. + +There indeed was the statue, the gift of the Spirit-king; and very +beautiful it was. But it was not made of diamond, and it looked so +strangely like the girl whom he had lost, that the king's heart leapt in +his breast for astonishment. He put out his hand and touched the statue, +and found it warm with life and youth. And a sweet voice said to him, +"Yes, it is really I--have you forgotten?" + +Thus she was given back to him; and the Spirit-king came to their wedding, +and thus addressed the bridegroom, "O my son, for your dead father's sake +I did this thing. For it was meant to teach you that the worth of a really +pure and perfect woman is more than the price of any diamond or any +treasure that the earth can yield." + +Now you can see at once the beauty of this story; and the moral of it is +exactly the same as that of the famous verse, in the Book of Proverbs, +"Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies." But it +is simply a story from the "Arabian Nights"--one of those stories which +you will not find in the ordinary European translations, because it is +written in such a way that no English translator except Burton would have +dared to translate it quite literally. The obscenity of parts of the +original does not really detract in the least from the beauty and +tenderness of the motive of the story; and we must remember that what we +call moral or immoral in style depends very much upon the fashion of an +age and time. + +Now it is exactly the same kind of moral charm that distinguishes the best +of the old English romances--a charm which has nothing to do with the +style, but everything to do with the feeling and suggestion of the +composition. But in some of the old romances, the style too has a very +great charm of quaintness and simplicity and sincerity not to be imitated +to-day. In this respect the older French romances, from which the English +made their renderings, are much the best. And the best of all is said to +be "Amis and Amile," which the English rendered as "Amicus and Amelius." +Something of the story ought to interest you. + +The whole subject of this romance is the virtue of friendship, though this +of course involves a number of other virtues quite as distinguished. Amis +and Amile, that is to say Amicus and Amelius, are two young knights who at +the beginning of their career become profoundly attached to each other. +Not content with the duties of this natural affection, they imposed upon +themselves all the duties which chivalry also attached to the office of +friend. The romance tells of how they triumphed over every conceivable +test to which their friendship was subjected. Often and often the +witchcraft of woman worked to separate them, but could not. Both married, +yet after marriage their friendship was just as strong as before. Each has +to fight many times on account of the other, and suffer all things which +it is most hard for a proud and brave man to bear. But everything is +suffered cheerfully, and the friends are such true knights that, in all +their trials, neither does anything wrong, or commits the slightest fault +against truth--until a certain sad day. On that day it is the duty of Amis +to fight in a trial by battle. But he is sick, and can not fight; then to +save his honour his friend Amile puts on the armour and helmet of Amis, +and so pretending to be Amis, goes to the meeting place, and wins the +fight gloriously. But this was an act of untruthfulness; he had gone into +battle under a false name, and to do anything false even for a good motive +is bad. So heaven punishes him by afflicting him with the horrible disease +of leprosy. + +The conditions of leprosy in the Middle Ages were of a peculiar kind. The +disease seems to have been introduced into Europe from Asia--perhaps by +the Crusaders. Michelet suggests that it may have resulted from the +European want of cleanliness, brought about by ascetic teachings--for the +old Greek and Roman public bath-houses were held in horror by the mediaeval +Church. But this is not at all certain. What is certain is that in the +thirteenth, fourteenth and fifteenth centuries leprosy became very +prevalent. The disease was not then at all understood; it was supposed to +be extremely contagious, and the man afflicted by it was immediately +separated from society, and not allowed to live in any community under +such conditions as could bring him into contact with other inhabitants. +His wife or children could accompany him only on the terrible condition of +being considered lepers. Every leper wore a kind of monk's dress, with a +hood covering the face; and he had to carry a bell and ring it constantly +to give notice of his approach. Special leper-houses were built near every +town, where such unfortunates might obtain accommodation. They were +allowed to beg, but it was considered dangerous to go very near them, so +that in most cases alms or food would be thrown to them only, instead of +being put into their hands. + +Now when the victim of leprosy in this romance is first afflicted by the +disease, he happens to be far away from his good friend. And none of his +own family is willing to help him; he is regarded with superstitious as +well as with physical horror. There is nothing left for him to do but to +yield up his knighthood and his welfare and his family, to put on the +leper's robe, and to go begging along the roads, carrying a leper's bell. +And this he does. For long, long months he goes begging from town to town, +till at last, by mere chance, he finds his way to the gate of the great +castle where his good friend is living--now a great prince, and married to +the daughter of the king. And he asks at the castle gate for charity and +for food. + +Now the porter at the gate observes that the leper has a very beautiful +cup, exactly resembling a drinking cup belonging to his master, and he +thinks it his duty to tell these things to the lord of the castle. And the +lord of the castle remembers that very long ago he and his friend each had +a cup of this kind, given to them by the bishop of Rome. So, hearing the +porter's story, he knew that the leper at the gate was the friend who "had +delivered him from death, and won for him the daughter of the King of +France to be his wife." Here I had better quote from the French version of +the story, in which the names of the friends are changed, but without +changing the beauty of the tale itself: + +"And straightway he fell upon him, and began to weep greatly, and kissed +him. And when his wife heard that, she ran out with her hair in disarray, +weeping and distressed exceedingly--for she remembered that it was he who +had slain the false Ardres. And thereupon they placed him in a fair bed, +and said to him, 'Abide with us until God's will be accomplished in thee, +for all that we have is at thy service.' So he abode with them." + +You must understand, by the allusion to "God's will," that leprosy was in +the Middle Ages really considered to be a punishment from heaven--so that +in taking a leper into his castle, the good friend was not only offending +against the law of the land, but risking celestial punishment as well, +according to the notions of that age. His charity, therefore, was true +charity indeed, and his friendship without fear. But it was going to be +put to a test more terrible than any ever endured before. To comprehend +what followed, you must know that there was one horrible superstition of +the Middle Ages--the belief that by bathing in human blood the disease of +leprosy might be cured. Murders were often committed under the influence +of that superstition. I believe you will remember that the "Golden Legend" +of Longfellow is founded upon a mediaeval story in which a young girl +voluntarily offers up her life in order that her blood may cure the +leprosy of her king. In the present romance there is much more tragedy. +One night while sleeping in his friend's castle, the leper was awakened by +an angel from God--Raphael--who said to him: + +"I am Raphael, the angel of the Lord, and I am come to tell thee how thou +mayst be healed. Thou shalt bid Amile thy comrade that he slay his two +children and wash thee in their blood, and so thy body shall be made +whole." And Amis said to him, "Let not this thing be, that my comrade +should become a murderer for my sake." But the angel said, "It is +convenient that he do this." And thereupon the angel departed. + +The phrase, "it is convenient," must be understood as meaning, "it is +ordered." For the mediaeval lord used such gentle expressions when issuing +his commands; and the angel talked like a feudal messenger. But in spite +of the command, the sick man does not tell his friend about the angel's +visit, until Amile, who has overheard the voice, forces him to acknowledge +whom he had been talking with during the night. And the emotion of the +lord may be imagined, though he utters it only in the following gentle +words--"I would have given to thee my man servants and my maid servants +and all my goods--and thou feignest that an angel hath spoken to thee that +I should slay my two children. But I conjure thee by the faith which there +is between me and thee and by our comradeship, and by the baptism we +received together, that thou tell me whether it was man or angel said that +to thee." + +Amis declares that it was really an angel, and Amile never thinks of +doubting his friend's word. It would be a pity to tell you the sequel in +my own words; let me quote again from the text, translated by Walter +Pater. I think you will find it beautiful and touching: + +"Then Amile began to weep in secret, and thought within himself, 'If this +man was ready to die before the King for me, shall I not for him slay my +children? Shall I not keep faith with him who was faithful to me even unto +death?' And Amile tarried no longer, but departed to the chamber of his +wife, and bade her go to hear the Sacred Office. And he took a sword, and +went to the bed where the children were lying, and found them asleep. And +he lay down over them and began to weep bitterly and said, 'Has any man +yet heard of a father who of his own will slew his children? Alas, my +children! I am no longer your father, but your cruel murderer.' + +"And the children awoke at the tears of their father, which fell upon +them; and they looked up into his face and began to laugh. And as they +were of age about three years, he said, 'Your laughing will be turned into +tears, for your innocent blood must now be shed'; and therewith he cut off +their heads. Then he laid them back in the bed, and put the heads upon the +bodies, and covered them as though they slept; and with the blood which he +had taken he washed his comrade, and said, 'Lord Jesus Christ! who hast +commanded men to keep faith on earth, and didst heal the leper by Thy +word! cleanse now my comrade, for whose love I have shed the blood of my +children.'" And of course the leper is immediately and completely cured. +But the mother did not know anything about the killing of the children; we +have to hear something about her share in the tragedy. Let me again quote, +this time giving the real and very beautiful conclusion-- + +"Now neither the father nor the mother had yet entered where the children +were, but the father sighed heavily because they were dead, and the mother +asked for them, that they might rejoice together; but Amile said, 'Dame! +let the children sleep.' And it was already the hour of Tierce. And going +in alone to the children to weep over them, he found them at play in the +bed; only, in the place of the sword-cuts about their throats was, as it +were, a thread of crimson. And he took them in his arms and carried them +to his wife and said, 'Rejoice greatly! For thy children whom I had slain +by the commandment of the angel, are alive, and by their blood is Amis +healed.'" + +I think you will all see how fine a story this is, and feel the emotional +force of the grand moral idea behind it. There is nothing more to tell +you, except the curious fact that during the Middle Ages, when it was +believed that the story was really true, Amis and Amile--or Amicus and +Amelius--were actually considered by the Church as saints, and people used +to pray to them. When anybody was anxious for his friend, or feared that +he might lose the love of his friend, or was afraid that he might not have +strength to perform his duty as friend--then he would go to church to +implore help from the good saints Amicus and Amelius. But of course it was +all a mistake--a mistake which lasted until the end of the seventeenth +century! Then somebody called the attention of the Church to the +unmistakable fact that Amicus and Amelius were merely inventions of some +mediaeval romancer. Then the Church made investigation, and greatly +shocked, withdrew from the list of its saints those long-loved names of +Amicus and Amelius--a reform in which I cannot help thinking the Church +made a very serious mistake. What matter whether those shadowy figures +represented original human lives or only human dreams? They were +beautiful, and belief in them made men think beautiful thoughts, and the +imagined help from them had comforted many thousands of hearts. It would +have been better to have left them alone; for that matter, how many of the +existent lives of saints are really true? Nevertheless the friends are not +dead, though expelled from the heaven of the Church. They still live in +romance; and everybody who reads about them feels a little better for +their acquaintance. + +What I read to you was from the French version--that is much the more +beautiful of the two. You will find some extracts from the English version +in the pages of Ten Brink. But as that great German scholar pointed out, +the English story is much rougher than the French. For example, in the +English story, the knight rushes out of his castle to beat the leper at +the gate, and to accuse him of having stolen the cup. And he does beat him +ferociously, and abuses him with very violent terms. In fact, the English +writer reflected too much of mediaeval English character, in trying to +cover, or to improve upon, the French story, which was the first. In the +French story all is knightly smooth, refined as well as simple and strong. +And where did the mediaeval imagination get its material for the story? +Partly, perhaps, from the story of Joseph in the Bible, partly from the +story of Abraham; but the scriptural material is so admirably worked over +that the whole thing appears deliciously original. That was the great art +of the Middle Ages--to make old, old things quite new by the magic of +spiritual imagination. Men then lived in a world of dreams. And that world +still attracts us, for the simple reason that happiness chiefly consists +in dreams. Exact science may help us a great deal no doubt, but +mathematics do not make us any happier. Dreams do, if we can believe them. +The Middle Ages could believe them; we, at the best, can only try. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +"IONICA" + + +I am going now to talk about a very rare kind of poetry in a very rare +little book, like fine wine in a small and precious flask. The author +never put his name to the book--indeed for many years it was not known who +wrote the volume. We now know that the author was a school teacher called +William Johnson who, later in life, coming into a small fortune, changed +his name to William Cory. He was born sometime about 1823, and died in +1892. He was, I believe, an Oxford man and was assistant master of Eton +College for a number of years. Judging from his poems, he must have found +pleasure in his profession as well as pain. There is a strange sadness +nearly always, but this sadness is mixed with expressions of love for the +educational establishment which he directed, and for the students whose +minds he helped to form. He must have been otherwise a very shy man. +Scarcely anything seems to be known about him after his departure from +educational circles, although everybody of taste now knows his poems. I +wish to speak of them because I think that literary graduates of this +university ought to be at least familiar with the name "Ionica." At all +events you should know something about the man and about the best of his +poems. If you should ask why so little has yet been said about him in +books on English literature, I would answer that in the first place he was +a very small poet writing in the time of giants, having for competitors +Tennyson, Browning and others. He could scarcely make his small pipe heard +in the thunder of those great organ tones. In the second place his verses +were never written to please the public at all. They were written only for +fine scholars, and even the titles of many of them cannot be explained by +a person devoid of some Greek culture. So the little book, which appeared +quite early in the Victorian Age, was soon forgotten. Being forgotten it +ran out of print and disappeared. Then somebody remembered that it had +existed. I have told you that it was like the tone of a little pipe or +flute as compared with the organ music of the larger poets. But the little +pipe happened to be a Greek pipe--the melody was very sweet and very +strange and old, and people who had heard it once soon wanted to hear it +again. But they could not get it. Copies of the first edition fetched +extraordinary sums. Some few years ago a new edition appeared, but this +too is now out of print and is fetching fancy prices. However, you must +not expect anything too wonderful from this way of introducing the +subject. The facts only show that the poems are liked by persons of +refinement and wealth. I hope to make you like some of them, but the +difficulties of so doing are considerable, because of the extremely +English character of some pieces and the extremely Greek tone of others. +There is also some uneven work. The poet is not in all cases successful. +Sometimes he tried to write society verse, and his society verse must be +considered a failure. The best pieces are his Greek pieces and some +compositions on love subjects of a most delicate and bewitching kind. + +Of course the very name "Ionica" suggests Greek work, a collection of +pieces in Ionic style. But you must not think that this means only +repetitions of ancient subjects. This author brings the Greek feeling back +again into the very heart of English life sometimes, or makes an English +fact illustrate a Greek fable. Some delightful translations from the Greek +there are, but less than half a dozen in all. + +I scarcely know how to begin--what piece to quote first. But perhaps the +little fancy called "Mimnermus in Church" is the best known, and the one +which will best serve to introduce us to the character of Cory. Before +quoting it, however, I must explain the title briefly. Mimnermus was an +old Greek philosopher and poet who thought that all things in the world +are temporary, that all hope of a future life is vain, that there is +nothing worth existing for except love, and that without affection one +were better dead. There are, no doubt, various modern thinkers who tell +you much the same thing, and this little poem exhibits such modern feeling +in a Greek dress. I mean that we have here a picture of a young man, a +young English scholar, listening in church to Christian teaching, but +answering that teaching with the thought of the old Greeks. There is of +course one slight difference; the modern conception of love is perhaps a +little wider in range than that of the old Greeks. There is more of the +ideal in it. + + +MIMNERMUS IN CHURCH + + You promise heavens free from strife, + Pure truth, and perfect change of will; + But sweet, sweet is this human life, + So sweet, I fain would breathe it still; + Your chilly stars I can forego, + This warm kind world is all I know. + + You say there is no substance here, + One great reality above: + Back from that void I shrink in fear + And child-like hide myself in love; + Show me what angels feel. Till then + I cling, a mere weak man, to men. + + You bid me lift my mean desires + From faltering lips and fitful veins + To sexless souls, ideal choirs, + Unwearied voices, wordless strains; + My mind with fonder welcome owns + One dear dead friend's remembered tones. + + Forsooth the present we must give + To that which cannot pass away; + All beauteous things for which we live + By laws of time and space decay. + But oh, the very reason why + I clasp them, is because they die. + +The preacher has been talking to his congregation about the joys of +Heaven. There, he says, there will be no quarrelling, no contest, no +falsehood, and all evil dispositions will be entirely changed to good. The +poet answers, "This world and this life are full of beauty and of joy for +me. I do not want to die, I want to live. I do not wish to go to that cold +region of stars about which you teach. I only know this world and I find +in it warm hearts and precious affection. You say that this world is a +phantom, unsubstantial, unreal, and that the only reality is above, in +Heaven. To me that Heaven appears but as an awful emptiness. I shrink from +it in terror, and like a child seek for consolation in human love. It is +no use to talk to me about angels until you can prove to me that angels +can feel happier than men. I prefer to remain with human beings. You say +that I ought to wish for higher things than this world can give, that here +minds are unsteady and weak, hearts fickle and selfish, and you talk of +souls without sex, imaginary concerts of perfect music, tireless singing +in Heaven, and the pleasure of conversation without speech. But all the +happiness that we know is received from our fellow beings. I remember the +voice of one dead friend with deeper love and pleasure than any images of +Heaven could ever excite in my mind." + +The last stanza needs no paraphrasing, but it deserves some comment, for +it is the expression of one great difference between the old Greek feeling +in regard to life and death, and all modern religious feeling on the same +subject. You can read through hundreds of beautiful inscriptions which +were placed over the Greek tombs. They are contained in the Greek +Anthology. You will find there almost nothing about hope of a future life, +or about Heaven. They are not for the most part sad; they are actually +joyous in many cases. You would say that the Greek mind thought thus about +death--"I have had my share of the beauty and the love of this world, and +I am grateful for this enjoyment, and now it is time to go to sleep." +There is actually an inscription to the effect, "I have supped well of the +banquet of life." The Eastern religions, including Christianity, taught +that because everything in the world is uncertain, impermanent, +perishable, therefore we ought not to allow our minds to love worldly +things. But the Greek mind, as expressed by the old epigraphy in the +cemeteries, not less than by the teaching of Mimnermus, took exactly the +opposite view. "O children of men, it is because beauty and pleasure and +love and light can last only for a little while, it is exactly because of +this that you should love them. Why refuse to enjoy the present because it +can not last for ever?" And at a much later day the Persian poet Omar +took, you will remember, precisely the same view. You need not think that +it would be wise to accept such teaching for a rule of life, but it has a +certain value as a balance to the other extreme view, that we should make +ourselves miserable in this world with the idea of being rewarded in +another, concerning which we have no positive knowledge. The lines with +which the poem concludes at least deserve to be thought about-- + + But oh, the very reason why + I clasp them, is because they die. + +We shall later on take some of the purely Greek work of Cory for study, +but I want now to interest you in the more modern part of it. The charm of +the following passage you will better feel by remembering that the writer +was then a schoolmaster at Eton, and that the verses particularly express +the love which he felt for his students--a love the more profound, +perhaps, because the circumstances of the teacher's position obliged him +to appear cold and severe, obliged him to suppress natural impulses of +affection and generosity. The discipline of the masters in English public +schools is much more severe than the discipline to which the students are +subjected. The boys enjoy a great deal of liberty. The masters may be said +to have none. Yet there are men so constituted that they learn to greatly +love the profession. The title of this poem is "Reparabo," which means "I +will atone." + + The world will rob me of my friends, + For time with her conspires; + But they shall both, to make amends, + Relight my slumbering fires. + + For while my comrades pass away + To bow and smirk and gloze, + Come others, for as short a stay; + And dear are these as those. + + And who was this? they ask; and then + The loved and lost I praise: + "Like you they frolicked; they are men; + Bless ye my later days." + + Why fret? The hawks I trained are flown; + 'Twas nature bade them range; + I could not keep their wings half-grown, + I could not bar the change. + + With lattice opened wide I stand + To watch their eager flight; + With broken jesses in my hand + I muse on their delight. + + And oh! if one with sullied plume + Should droop in mid career, + My love makes signals,--"There is room, + O bleeding wanderer, here." + +This comparison of the educator to a falconer, and of the students to +young hawks eager to break their jesses seems to an Englishman +particularly happy in reference to Eton, from which so many youths pass +into the ranks of the army and navy. The line about bowing, smirking and +glozing, refers to the comparative insincerity of the higher society into +which so many of the scholars must eventually pass. "Smirking" suggests +insincere smiles, "glozing" implies tolerating or lightly passing over +faults or wrongs or serious matters that should not be considered lightly. +Society is essentially insincere and artificial in all countries, but +especially so in England. The old Eton master thinks, however, that he +knows the moral character of the boys, the strong principles which make +its foundation, and he trusts that they will be able in a general way to +do only what is right, in spite of conventions and humbug. + +As I told you before, we know very little about the personal life of Cory, +who must have been a very reserved man; but a poet puts his heart into his +verses as a general rule, and there are many little poems in this book +that suggest to us an unhappy love episode. These are extremely pretty and +touching, the writer in most cases confessing himself unworthy of the +person who charmed him; but the finest thing of the kind is a composition +which he suggestively entitled "A Fable"--that is to say, a fable in the +Greek sense, an emblem or symbol of truth. + + An eager girl, whose father buys + Some ruined thane's forsaken hall, + Explores the new domain and tries + Before the rest to view it all. + +I think you have often noted the fact here related; when a family moves to +a new house, it is the child, or the youngest daughter, who is the first +to explore all the secrets of the new residence, and whose young eyes +discover things which the older folks had not noticed. + + Alone she lifts the latch, and glides, + Through many a sadly curtained room, + As daylight through the doorway slides + And struggles with the muffled gloom. + + With mimicries of dance she wakes + The lordly gallery's silent floor, + And climbing up on tiptoe, makes + The old-world mirror smile once more. + + With tankards dry she chills her lips, + With yellowing laces veils the head, + And leaps in pride of ownership + Upon the faded marriage bed. + + A harp in some dark nook she sees + Long left a prey to heat and frost, + She smites it; can such tinklings please? + Is not all worth, all beauty, lost? + + Ah, who'd have thought such sweetness clung + To loose neglected strings like those? + They answered to whate'er was sung, + And sounded as a lady chose. + + Her pitying finger hurried by + Each vacant space, each slackened chord; + Nor would her wayward zeal let die + The music-spirit she restored. + + The fashion quaint, the timeworn flaws, + The narrow range, the doubtful tone, + All was excused awhile, because + It seemed a creature of her own. + + Perfection tires; the new in old, + The mended wrecks that need her skill, + Amuse her. If the truth be told, + She loves the triumph of her will. + + With this, she dares herself persuade, + She'll be for many a month content, + Quite sure no duchess ever played + Upon a sweeter instrument. + + And thus in sooth she can beguile + Girlhood's romantic hours, but soon + She yields to taste and mood and style, + A siren of the gay saloon. + + And wonders how she once could like + Those drooping wires, those failing notes, + And leaves her toy for bats to strike + Amongst the cobwebs and the motes. + + But enter in, thou freezing wind, + And snap the harp-strings, one by one; + It was a maiden blithe and kind: + They felt her touch; their task is done. + +In this charming little study we know that the harp described is not a +harp; it is the loving heart of an old man, at least of a man beyond the +usual age of lovers. He has described and perhaps adored some beautiful +person who seemed to care for him, and who played upon his heart, with her +whims, caresses, smiles, much as one would play upon the strings of a +harp. She did not mean to be cruel at all, nor even insincere. It is even +probable that she really in those times thought that she loved the man, +and under the charms of the girl the man became a different being; the +old-fashioned mind brightened, the old-fashioned heart exposed its hidden +treasures of tenderness and wisdom and sympathy. Very much like playing +upon a long forgotten instrument, was the relation between the maiden and +the man--not only because he resembled such an instrument in the fact of +belonging emotionally and intellectually to another generation, but also +because his was a heart whose true music had long been silent, unheard by +the world. Undoubtedly the maiden meant no harm, but she caused a great +deal of pain, for at a later day, becoming a great lady of society, she +forgot all about this old friendship, or perhaps wondered why she ever +wasted her time in talking to such a strange old-fashioned professor. Then +the affectionate heart is condemned to silence again, to silence and +oblivion, like the harp thrown away in some garret to be covered with +cobwebs and visited only by bats. "Is it not time," the old man thinks, +"that the strings should be broken, the strings of the heart? Let the cold +wind of death now come and snap them." Yet, after all, why should he +complain? Did he not have the beautiful experience of loving, and was she +not in that time at least well worthy of the love that she called forth +like music? + +There are several other poems referring to what would seem to be the same +experience, and all are beautiful, but one seems to me nobler than the +rest, expressing as it does a generous resignation. It is called +"Deteriora," a Latin word signifying lesser, inferior, or deteriorated +things--not easy to translate. Nor would you find the poem easy to +understand, referring as it does to conditions of society foreign to +anything in Japanese experience. But some verses which I may quote you +will like. + + If fate and nature screen from me + The sovran front I bowed before, + And set the glorious creature free, + Whom I would clasp, detain, adore,-- + If I forego that strange delight, + Must all be lost? Not quite, not quite. + + _Die, Little Love, without complaint, + Whom honour standeth by to shrive: + Assoiled from all selfish taint, + Die, Love, whom Friendship will survive. + Not hate nor folly gave thee birth; + And briefness does but raise thy worth._ + +This is the same thought which Tennyson expressed in his famous lines, + + 'Tis better to have loved and lost + Than never to have loved at all. + +But it is still more finely expressed to meet a particular personal mood. +One must not think the world lost because a woman has been lost, he says, +and such a love is not a thing for any man to be ashamed of, in spite of +the fact that it has been disappointed. It was honourable, unselfish, not +inspired by any passion or any folly, and the very brevity of the +experience only serves to make it more precious. Observe the use of the +words "shrive" and "assoiled." These refer to the old religious custom of +confession; to "shrive" signifies to forgive, to free from sin, as a +priest is supposed to do, and "assoiled" means "purified." + +If this was a personal experience, it must have been an experience of +advanced life. Elsewhere the story of a boyish love is told very prettily, +under the title of "Two Fragments of Childhood." This is the first +fragment: + + When these locks were yellow as gold, + When past days were easily told, + Well I knew the voice of the sea, + Once he spake as a friend to me. + Thunder-rollings carelessly heard, + Once that poor little heart they stirred, + Why, Oh, why? + Memory, memory! + She that I wished to be with was by. + + Sick was I in those misanthrope days + Of soft caresses, womanly ways; + Once that maid on the stair I met + Lip on brow she suddenly set. + Then flushed up my chivalrous blood, + Like Swiss streams in a mid-summer flood. + Then, Oh, then, + Imogen, Imogen! + Hadst thou a lover, whose years were ten. + +This is evidently the charming memory of a little sick boy sent to the +seaside for his health, according to the English custom, and unhappy +there, unable to play about like stronger children, and obliged to remain +under the constant care of nurses and female relatives. But in the same +house there is another family with a beautiful young daughter, probably +sixteen or eighteen years old. The little boy wishes, wishes so much that +the beautiful lady would speak to him and play with him, but he is shy, +afraid to approach her--only looks at her with great admiring loving eyes. +But one day she meets him on the stairs, and stoops down and kisses him on +the forehead. Then he is in Heaven. Afterward no doubt she played with +him, and they walked up and down by the shore of the sea together, and +now, though an old man, whenever he hears the roar of the sea he remembers +the beautiful lady who played with him and caressed him, when he was a +little sick child. How much he loved her! But she was a woman, and he was +only ten years old. The reference to "chivalrous blood" signifies just +this, that at the moment when she kissed him he would have given his life +for her, would have dared anything or done anything to show his devotion +to her. No prettier memory of a child could be told. + +We can learn a good deal about even the shyest of the poets through a +close understanding of his poetry. From the foregoing we know that Cory +must have been a sickly child; and from other poems referring to school +life we can not escape the supposition that he was not a strong lad. In +one of his verses he speaks of being unable to join in the hearty play of +his comrades; and in the poem which touches on the life of the mature man +we find him acknowledging that he believed his life a failure--a failure +through want of strength. I am going to quote this poem for other reasons. +It is a beautiful address either to some favourite student or to a beloved +son--it is impossible to decide which. But that does not matter. The title +is "A New Year's Day." + + Our planet runs through liquid space, + And sweeps us with her in the race; + And wrinkles gather on my face, + And Hebe bloom on thine: + Our sun with his encircling spheres + Around the central sun careers; + And unto thee with mustering years + Come hopes which I resign. + + 'Twere sweet for me to keep thee still + Reclining halfway up the hill; + But time will not obey the will, + And onward thou must climb: + 'Twere sweet to pause on this descent, + To wait for thee and pitch my tent, + But march I must with shoulders bent, + Yet further from my prime. + + _I shall not tread thy battlefield, + Nor see the blazon on thy shield; + Take thou the sword I could not wield, + And leave me, and forget. + Be fairer, braver, more admired; + So win what feeble hearts desired; + Then leave thine arms, when thou art tired, + To some one nobler yet._ + +How beautiful this is, and how profoundly sad! + +I shall return to the personal poetry of Cory later on, but I want now to +give you some examples of his Greek work. Perhaps the best of this is +little more than a rendering of Greek into English; some of the work is +pure translation. But it is the translation of a very great master, the +perfect rendering of Greek feeling as well as of Greek thought. Here is an +example of pure translation: + + They told me, Heraclitus, they told me you were dead, + They brought me bitter news to hear and bitter tears to shed. + I wept, as I remembered, how often you and I + Had tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky. + And now that thou art lying, my dear old Carian guest, + A handful of grey ashes, long, long ago at rest, + Still are thy pleasant voices, thy nightingales, awake; + For Death, he taketh all away, but them he cannot take. + +What are "thy pleasant voices, thy nightingales"? They are the songs which +the dear dead poet made, still sung in his native country, though his body +was burned to ashes long ago--has been changed into a mere handful of grey +ashes, which, doubtless, have been placed in an urn, as is done with such +ashes to-day in Japan. Death takes away all things from man, but not his +poems, his songs, the beautiful thoughts which he puts into musical verse. +These will always be heard like nightingales. The fourth line in the first +stanza contains an idiom which may not be familiar to you. It means only +that the two friends talked all day until the sun set in the West, and +still talked on after that. Tennyson has used the same Greek thought in a +verse of his poem, "A Dream of Fair Women," where Cleopatra says, + + "We drank the Libyan sun to sleep." + +The Greek author of the above poem was the great poet Callimachus, and the +English translator does not think it necessary even to give the name, as +he wrote only for folk well acquainted with the classics. He has another +short translation which he accompanies with the original Greek text; it is +very pretty, but of an entirely different kind, a kind that may remind you +of some Japanese poems. It is only about a cicada and a peasant girl, and +perhaps it is twenty-four or twenty-five hundred years old. + + A dry cicale chirps to a lass making hay, + "Why creak'st thou, Tithonus?" quoth she. "I don't play; + It doubles my toil, your importunate lay, + I've earned a sweet pillow, lo! Hesper is nigh; + I clasp a good wisp and in fragrance I lie; + But thou art unwearied, and empty, and dry." + +How very human this little thing is--how actually it brings before us the +figure of the girl, who must have become dust some time between two and +three thousand years ago! She is working hard in the field, and the +constant singing of the insect prompts her to make a comical protest. "Oh, +Tithonus, what are you making that creaking noise for? You old dry thing, +I have no time to play with you, or to idle in any way, but you do nothing +but complain. Why don't you work, as I do? Soon I shall have leave to +sleep, because I have worked well. There is the evening star, and I shall +have a good bed of hay, sweet-smelling fresh hay, to lie upon. How well I +shall sleep. But you, you idle noisy thing, you do not deserve to sleep. +You have done nothing to tire you. And you are empty, dry and thirsty. +Serves you right!" Of course you recognize the allusion to the story of +Tithonus, so beautifully told by Tennyson. The girl's jest has a double +meaning. The word "importunate" has the signification of a wearisome +repetition of a request, a constant asking, impossible to satisfy. +Tithonus was supposed to complain because he was obliged to live although +he wanted to die. That young girl does not want to die at all. And she +says that the noise of the insect, supposed to repeat the complaint of +Tithonus, only makes it more tiresome for her to work. She was feeling, no +doubt, much as a Japanese student would feel when troubled by the singing +of _semi_ on some very hot afternoon while he is trying to master some +difficult problem. + +That is pure Greek--pure as another mingling of the Greek feeling with the +modern scholarly spirit, entitled "An Invocation." Before quoting from it +I must explain somewhat; otherwise you might not be able to imagine what +it means, because it was written to be read by those only who are +acquainted with Theocritus and the Greek idylists. Perhaps I had better +say something too, about the word idyl, for the use of the word by +Tennyson is not the Greek use at all, except in the mere fact that the +word signifies a picturing, a shadowing or an imagining of things. +Tennyson's pictures are of a purely imaginative kind in the "Idyls of the +King." But the Greek poets who first invented the poetry called idyllic +did not attempt the heroic works of imagination at all; they only +endeavoured to make perfectly true pictures of the common life of peasants +in the country. They wrote about the young men and young girls working on +the farms, about the way they quarrelled or rejoiced or made love, about +their dances and their songs, about their religious festivals and their +sacrifices to the gods at the parish temple. Imagine a Japanese scholar of +to-day who, after leaving the university, instead of busying himself with +the fashionable studies of the time, should go out into the remoter +districts or islands of Japan, and devote his life to studying the +existence of the commoner people there, and making poems about it. This +was exactly what the Greek idylists did,--that is, the best of them. They +were great scholars and became friends of kings, but they wrote poetry +chiefly about peasant life, and they gave all their genius to the work. +The result was so beautiful that everybody is still charmed by the +pictures or idyls which they made. + +Well, after this disgression, to return to the subject of Theocritus, the +greatest of the idylists. He has often introduced into his idyls the name +of Comatas. Who was Comatas? Comatas was a Greek shepherd boy, or more +strictly speaking a goatherd, who kept the flocks of a rich man. It was +his duty to sacrifice to the gods none of his master's animals, without +permission; but as his master was a very avaricious person, Comatas knew +that it would be of little use to ask him. Now this Comatas was a very +good singer of peasant songs, and he made many beautiful poems for the +people to sing, and he believed that it was the gods who had given him +power to make the songs, and the Muses had inspired him with the capacity +to make good verse. In spite of his master's will, Comatas therefore +thought it was not very bad to take the young kids and sacrifice to the +gods and the Muses. When his master found out what had been done with the +animals, naturally he became very angry, and he put Comatas into a great +box of cedar-wood in order to starve him to death--saying, as he closed +and locked the lid, "Now, Comatas, let us see whether the gods will feed +you!" In that box Comatas was left for a year without food or drink, and +when the master, at the end of the year, opened the box, he expected to +find nothing but the bones of the goatherd. But Comatas was alive and +well, singing sweet songs, because during the year the Muses had sent bees +to feed him with honey. The bees had been able to enter the box through a +very little hole. I suppose you know that bees were held sacred to the +Muses, and that there is in Greek legend a symbolic relation between bees +and poetry. + +If you want to know what kind of songs Comatas sang and what kind of life +he represented, you will find all this exquisitely told by Theocritus; and +there is a beautiful little translation in prose of Theocritus, Bion and +Moschus, made by Andrew Lang, which should delight you to read. Another +day I shall give you examples of such translations. Then you will see what +true idyllic poetry originally signified. These Greeks, although trained +scholars and philosophers, understood not only that human nature in itself +is a beautiful thing, but also that the best way to study human nature is +to study the life of the peasants and the common people. It is not to the +rich and leisurely, not to rank and society, that a poet must go for +inspiration. He will not find it there. What is called society is a world +in which nobody is happy, and in which pure human nature is afraid to show +itself. Life among the higher classes in all countries is formal, +artificial, theatrical; poetry is not there. Of course no kind of human +community is perfectly happy, but it is among the simple folk, the country +folk, who do not know much about evil and deceit, that the greater +proportion of happiness can be found. Among the youths of the country +especially, combining the charm of childhood with the strength of adult +maturity, the best possible subjects for fine pure studies of human nature +can be found. May I not here express the hope that some young Japanese +poet, some graduate of this very university, will eventually attempt to do +in Japan what Theocritus and Bion did in ancient Sicily? A great deal of +the very same kind of poetry exists in our own rural districts, and +parallels can be found in the daily life of the Japanese peasants for +everything beautifully described in Theocritus. At all events I am quite +sure of one thing, that no great new literature can possibly arise in this +country until some scholarly minds discover that the real force and truth +and beauty and poetry of life is to be found only in studies of the common +people--not in the life of the rich and the noble, not in the shadowy life +of books. + +Well, our English poet felt with the Greek idylists, and in the poem +called "An Invocation" he beautifully expresses this sympathy. All of us, +he says, should like to see and hear something of the ancient past if it +were possible. We should like, some of us, to call back the vanished gods +and goddesses of the beautiful Greek world, or to talk to the great souls +of that world who had the experience of life as men--to Socrates, for +example, to Plato, to Phidias the sculptor, to Pericles the statesman. +But, as a poet, my wish would not be for the return of the old gods nor of +the old heroes so much as for the return to us of some common men who +lived in the Greek world. It is Comatas, he says, that he would most like +to see, and to see in some English park--in the neighbourhood of Cambridge +University, or of Eton College. And thus he addresses the spirit of +Comatas: + + O dear divine Comatas, I would that thou and I + Beneath this broken sunlight this leisure day might lie; + Where trees from distant forests, whose names were strange to thee, + Should bend their amorous branches within thy reach to be, + And flowers thine Hellas knew not, which art hath made more fair, + Should shed their shining petals upon thy fragrant hair. + + Then thou shouldst calmly listen with ever-changing looks + To songs of younger minstrels and plots of modern books, + And wonder at the daring of poets later born, + Whose thoughts are unto thy thoughts as noontide is to morn; + And little shouldst them grudge them their greater strength of soul, + Thy partners in the torch-race, though nearer to the goal. + + * * * * * + + Or in thy cedarn prison thou waitest for the bee: + Ah, leave that simple honey and take thy food from me. + My sun is stooping westward. Entranced dreamer, haste; + There's fruitage in my garden that I would have thee taste. + Now lift the lid a moment; now, Dorian shepherd, speak; + Two minds shall flow together, the English and the Greek. + +A few phrases of these beautiful stanzas need explanation. "Broken +sunlight" refers, of course, to the imperfect shade thrown by the trees +under which the poet is lying. The shadow is broken by the light passing +through leaves, or conversely, the light is broken by the interposition of +the leaves. The reference to trees from distant forests no doubt intimates +that the poet is in some botanical garden, a private park, in which +foreign trees are carefully cultivated. The "torch race" is a simile for +the pursuit of knowledge and truth. Greek thinkers compare the +transmission of knowledge from one generation to another, to the passing +of a lighted torch from hand to hand, as in the case of messengers +carrying signals or athletes running a mighty race. As a runner runs until +he is tired, or until he reaches the next station, and then passes the +torch which he has been carrying to another runner waiting to receive it, +so does each generation pass on its wisdom to the succeeding generation, +and disappear. "My sun is stooping westward" is only a beautiful way of +saying, "I am becoming very old; be quick, so that we may see each other +before I die." And the poet suggests that it is because of his age and his +experience and his wisdom that he could hope to be of service to the dear +divine Comatas. The expression, "there is fruitage in my garden," refers +to no material garden, but to the cultivated mind of the scholar; he is +only saying, "I have strange knowledge that I should like to impart to +you." How delightful, indeed, it would be, could some university scholar +really converse with a living Greek of the old days! + +There is another little Greek study of great and simple beauty entitled +"The Daughter of Cleomenes." It is only an historical incident, but it is +so related for the pleasure of suggesting a profound truth about the +instinct of childhood. Long ago, when the Persians were about to make an +attack upon the Greeks, there was an attempt to buy off the Spartan +resistance, and the messenger to the Spartan general found him playing +with his little daughter, a child of six or seven. The conference was +carried on in whispers, and the child could not hear what was being said; +but she broke up the whole plot by a single word. I shall quote a few +lines from the close of the poem, which contain its moral lessons. The +emissary has tried to tempt him with promises of wealth and power. + + He falters; for the waves he fears, + The roads he cannot measure; + But rates full high the gleam of spears + And dreams of yellow treasure. + He listens; he is yielding now; + Outspoke the fearless child: + "Oh, Father, come away, lest thou + Be by this man beguiled." + Her lowly judgment barred the plea, + So low, it could not reach her. + _The man knows more of land and sea, + But she's the truer teacher._ + +All the little girl could know about the matter was instinctive; she only +saw the cunning face of the stranger, and felt sure that he was trying to +deceive her father for a bad purpose--so she cried out, "Father, come away +with me, or else that man will deceive you." And she spoke truth, as her +father immediately recognized. + +There are several more classical studies of extraordinary beauty; but your +interest in them would depend upon something more than interest in Greek +and Roman history, and we can not study all the poems. So I prefer to go +back to the meditative lyrics, and to give a few splendid examples of +these more personal compositions. The following stanzas are from a poem +whose Latin title signifies that Love conquers death. In this poem the +author becomes the equal of Tennyson as a master of language. + + The plunging rocks, whose ravenous throats + The sea in wrath and mockery fills, + The smoke that up the valley floats, + The girlhood of the growing hills; + + The thunderings from the miners' ledge, + The wild assaults on nature's hoard, + The peak that stormward bares an edge + Ground sharp in days when Titans warred; + + Grim heights, by wandering clouds embraced + Where lightning's ministers conspire, + Grey glens, with tarns and streamlet laced, + Stark forgeries of primeval fire. + + These scenes may gladden many a mind + Awhile from homelier thoughts released, + And here my fellow men may find + A Sabbath and a vision-feast. + + _I bless them in the good they feel; + And yet I bless them with a sigh; + On me this grandeur stamps the seal + Of tyrannous mortality._ + + _The pitiless mountain stands so sure. + The human breast so weakly heaves, + That brains decay while rocks endure. + At this the insatiate spirit grieves._ + + But hither, oh ideal bride! + For whom this heart in silence aches, + Love is unwearied as the tide, + Love is perennial as the lakes. + + Come thou. The spiky crags will seem + One harvest of one heavenly year, + And fear of death, like childish dream, + Will pass and flee, when thou art here. + +Very possibly this charming meditation was written on the Welsh coast; +there is just such scenery as the poem describes, and the grand peak of +Snowdon would well realize the imagination of the line about the girlhood +of the growing hills. The melancholy of the latter part of the composition +is the same melancholy to be found in "Mimnermus in Church," the first of +Cory's poems which we read together. It is the Greek teaching that there +is nothing to console us for the great doubt and mystery of existence +except unselfish affection. All through the book we find the same +philosophy, even in the beautiful studies of student life and the memories +of childhood. So it is quite a melancholy book, though the sadness be +beautiful. I have given you examples of the sadness of doubt and of the +sadness of love; but there is yet a third kind of sadness--the sadness of +a childless man, wishing that he could have a child of his own. It is a +very pretty thing, simply entitled "Scheveningen Avenue"--probably the +name of the avenue where the incident occurred. The poet does not tell us +how it occurred, but we can very well guess. He was riding in a street +car, probably, and a little girl next to him, while sitting upon her +nurse's lap, fell asleep, and as she slept let her head fall upon his +shoulder. This is a very simple thing to make a poem about, but what a +poem it is! + + Oh, that the road were longer + A mile, or two, or three! + So might the thought grow stronger + That flows from touch of thee. + + _Oh little slumbering maid, + If thou wert five years older, + Thine head would not be laid + So simply on my shoulder!_ + + _Oh, would that I were younger, + Oh, were I more like thee, + I should not faintly hunger + For love that cannot be._ + + A girl might be caressed + Beside me freely sitting; + A child on knee might rest, + And not like thee, unwitting. + + Such honour is thy mother's, + Who smileth on thy sleep, + Or for the nurse who smothers + Thy cheek in kisses deep. + + And but for parting day, + And but for forest shady, + From me they'd take away + The burden of their lady. + + Ah thus to feel thee leaning + Above the nursemaid's hand, + Is like a stranger's gleaning + Where rich men own the land; + + Chance gains, and humble thrift, + With shyness much like thieving, + No notice with the gift, + No thanks with the receiving. + + Oh peasant, when thou starvest + Outside the fair domain, + Imagine there's a harvest + In every treasured grain. + + Make with thy thoughts high cheer, + Say grace for others dining, + And keep thy pittance clear + From poison of repining. + +There is an almost intolerable acuity of sadness in the last two mocking +verses, but how pretty and how tender the whole thing is, and how +gentle-hearted must have been the man who wrote it! The same tenderness +reappears in references to children of a larger growth, the boys of his +school. Sometimes he very much regrets the necessity of discipline, and +advocates a wiser method of dealing with the young. How very pretty is +this little verse about the boy he loves. + + Sweet eyes, that aim a level shaft, + At pleasure flying from afar, + Sweet lips, just parted for a draught + Of Hebe's nectar, shall I mar + By stress of disciplinal craft + The joys that in your freedom are? + +But a little reflection further on in the same poem reminds us how +necessary the discipline must be for the battle of life, inasmuch as each +of those charming boys will have to fight against evil-- + + yet shall ye cope + With worlding wrapped in silken lies, + With pedant, hypocrite, and pope. + +One might easily lecture about this little volume for many more days, so +beautiful are the things which fill it. But enough has been cited to +exemplify its unique value. If you reread these quotations, I think you +will find each time new beauty in them. And the beauty is quite peculiar. +Such poetry could have been written only under two conditions. The first +is that the poet be a consummate scholar. The second is that he must have +suffered, as only a great mind and heart could suffer, from want of +affection. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +OLD GREEK FRAGMENTS + + +The other day when we were reading some of the poems in "Ionica," I +promised to speak in another short essay of Theocritus and his songs or +idyls of Greek peasant life, but in speaking of him it will be well also +to speak of others who equally illustrate the fact that everywhere there +is truth and beauty for the mind that can see. I spoke last week about +what I thought the highest possible kind of literary art might become. But +the possible becoming is yet far away; and in speaking of some old Greek +writers I want only to emphasize the fact that modern literary art as well +as ancient literary art produced their best results from a close study of +human nature. + +Although Theocritus and others who wrote idyls found their chief +inspiration in the life of the peasants, they sometimes also wrote about +the life of cities. Human nature may be studied in the city as well as in +the country, provided that a man knows how to look for it. It is not in +the courts of princes nor the houses of nobles nor the residences of the +wealthy that such study can be made. These superior classes have found it +necessary to show themselves to the world very cautiously; they live by +rule, they conceal their emotions, they move theatrically. But the +ordinary, everyday people of cities are very different; they speak their +thoughts, they keep their hearts open, and they let us see, just as +children do, the good or the evil side of their characters. So a good poet +and a good observer can find in the life of cities subjects of study +almost as easily as in the country. Theocritus has done this in his +fifteenth idyl. This idyl is very famous, and it has been translated +hundreds of times into various languages. Perhaps you may have seen one +version of it which was made by Matthew Arnold. But I think that the +version made by Lang is even better. + +The scene is laid in Alexandria, probably some two thousand years ago, and +the occasion is a religious holiday--a _matsuri_, as we call it in Japan. +Two women have made an appointment to go together to the temple, to see +the festival and to see the people. The poet begins his study by +introducing us to the chamber of one of the women. + +GORGO. "Is Praxinoe at home?" + +PRAXINOE. "Dear Gorgo, how long is it since you have been here! She is at +home. The wonder is that you have got here at last! Eunoe, come and see +that she has a chair and put a cushion on it!" + +G. "It does most charmingly as it is." + +P. "Do sit down." + +How natural this is. There is nothing Greek about it any more than there +is Japanese; it is simply human. It is something that happens in Tokyo +every day, certainly in houses where there are chairs and where it is a +custom to put a cushion on the chair for the visitor. But remember, this +was two thousand years ago. Now listen to what the visitor has to say. + +"I have scarcely got to you at all, Praxinoe! What a huge crowd, what +hosts of carriages! Everywhere cavalry boots, everywhere men in uniform! +And the road is endless; yes, you really live too far away!" + +Praxinoe answers: + +"It is all for that mad man of mine. Here he came to the ends of the earth +and took a hall, not a house, and all that we might not be neighbours. The +jealous wretch, always the same, ever for spite." + +She is speaking half in jest, half in earnest; but she forgets that her +little boy is present, and the visitor reminds her of the fact: + +"Don't talk of your husband like that, my dear girl, before the little +boy,--look how he is staring at you!--Never mind, Zaphyrion, sweet child, +she is not speaking about papa." + +P. "Our Lady! (Persephone) The child takes notice!" + +Then the visitor to comfort the child says "Nice papa," and the +conversation proceeds. The two talk about their husbands, about their +dresses, about the cost of things in the shops; but in order to see the +festival Praxinoe must dress herself quickly, and woman, two thousand +years ago, just as now, takes a long time to dress. Hear Praxinoe talking +to her maid-servant while she hurries to get ready: + +"Eunoe, bring the water and put it down in the middle of the room,--lazy +creature that you are. Cat-like, always trying to sleep soft! Come, +bustle, bring the water; quicker! I want water first,--and how she carries +it! Give it me all the same;--don't pour out so much, you extravagant +thing! Stupid girl! Why are you wetting my dress? There, stop, I have +washed my hands as heaven would have it. Where is the key of the big +chest? Bring it here." + +This is life, natural and true; we can see those three together, the +girlish young wife hurrying and scolding and chattering naturally and half +childishly, the patient servant girl smiling at the hurry of her mistress, +and the visitor looking at her friend's new dress, wondering how much it +cost and presently asking her the price. At last all is ready. But the +little boy sees his mother go out and he wants to go out too, though it +has been decided not to take him, because the crowd is too rough and he +might be hurt. Here the mother first explains, then speaks firmly: + +"No, child, I don't mean to take you. Boo! Bogies! There is a horse that +bites! Cry as much as you please, but I cannot have you maimed." + +They go out, Praxinoe and Gorgo and the maid-servant Eunoe. The crowd is +tremendous, and they find it very hard to advance. Sometimes there are +horses in the way, sometimes wagons, occasionally a legion of cavalry. We +know all this, because we hear the chatter of the women as they make their +way through the press. + +"Give me your hand, and you, Eunoe, catch hold of Eutychis,--for fear lest +you get lost.... Here come the kings on horses! My dear man, don't trample +on me. Eunoe, you fool-hardy girl, will you never keep out of the way? Oh! +How tiresome, Gorgo, my muslin veil is torn in two already.... For +heaven's sake, sir, if you ever wish to be fortunate, take care of my +shawl!" + +STRANGER. "I can hardly help myself, but for all that I will be as helpful +as I can." + +The strange man helps the women and children through the pushing crowd, +and they thank him very prettily, praying that he may have good fortune +all his life. But not all the strangers who come in contact with them +happen to be so kind. They come at last into that part of the temple +ground where the image of Adonis is displayed; the beauty of the statue +moves them, and they utter exclamations of delight. This does not please +some of the male spectators, one of whom exclaims, "You tiresome women, do +cease your endless cooing talk! They bore one to death with their eternal +broad vowels!" + +They are country women, and their critic is probably a purist--somebody +who has studied Greek as it is pronounced and spoken in Athens. But the +women bravely resent this interference with their rights. + +GORGO. "Indeed! And where may this person come from? What is it to you if +we are chatterboxes? Give orders to your own servants, sir. Do you pretend +to command the ladies of Syracuse? If you must know, we are Corinthians by +descent, like Bellerophon himself, and we speak Peloponnesian. Dorian +women may lawfully speak Doric, I presume." + +This is enough to silence the critic, but the other young woman also turns +upon him, and we may suppose that he is glad to escape from their tongues. +And then everybody becomes silent, for the religious services begin. The +priestess, a comely girl, chants the psalm of Adonis, the beautiful old +pagan hymn, more beautiful and more sensuous than anything uttered by the +later religious poets of the West; and all listen in delighted stillness. +As the hymn ends, Gorgo bursts out in exclamation of praise: + +"Praxinoe! The woman is cleverer than we fancied! Happy woman to know so +much!--Thrice happy to have so sweet a voice! Well, all the same, it is +time to be making for home; Diocleides has not had his dinner, and the man +is all vinegar,--don't venture near him when he is kept waiting for +dinner. Farewell, beloved Adonis--may you find us glad at your next +coming." + +And with this natural mingling of the sentimental and the commonplace the +little composition ends. It is as though we were looking through some +window into the life of two thousand years ago. Read the whole thing over +to yourselves when you have time to find the book in the library, and see +how true to human nature it is. There is nothing in it except the +wonderful hymn, which does not belong to to-day as much as to the long +ago, to modern Tokyo as much as to ancient Greece. That is what makes the +immortality of any literary production--not simply truth to the life of +one time, but truth to the life of every time and place. + +Not many years ago there was discovered a book by Herodas, a Greek writer +of about the same period. It is called the "Mimes," a series of little +dramatic studies picturing the life of the time. One of these is well +worthy of rank with the idyl of Theocritus above mentioned. It is the +study of a conversation between a young woman and an old woman. The young +woman has a husband, who left her to join a military expedition and has +not been heard of for several years. The old woman is a go-between, and +she comes to see the young person on behalf of another young man, who +admires her. But as soon as she states the nature of her errand, the young +lady becomes very angry and feigns much virtuous indignation. There is a +quarrel. Then the two become friends, and we know that the old woman's +coming is likely to bring about the result desired. Now the wonder of this +little study also is the play of emotion which it reveals. Such emotions +are common to all ages of humanity; we feel the freshness of this +reflection as we read, to such a degree that we cannot think of the matter +as having happened long ago. Yet even the city in which these episodes +took place has vanished from the face of the earth. + +In the case of the studies of peasant life, there is also value of another +kind. Here we have not only studies of human nature, but studies of +particular social conditions. The quarrels of peasants, half good natured +and nearly always happily ending; their account of their sorrows; their +gossip about their work in the fields--all this might happen almost +anywhere and at almost any time. But the song contest, the prize given for +the best composition upon a chosen subject, this is particularly Greek, +and has never perhaps existed outside of some place among the peasant +folk. It was the poetical side of this Greek life of the peasants, as +recorded by Theocritus, which so much influenced the literatures of the +seventeenth and eighteenth centuries in France and in England. But neither +in France nor in England has there ever really been, at any time, any life +resembling that portrayed by Theocritus; to-day nothing appears to us more +absurd than the eighteenth century habit of picturing the Greek shepherd +life in English or French landscapes. What really may have existed among +the shepherds of the antique world could not possibly exist in modern +times. But how pretty it is! I think that the tenth idyl of Theocritus is +perhaps the prettiest example of the whole series, thirty in number, which +have been preserved for us. The plan is of the simplest. Two young +peasants, respectively named Battus and Milon, meeting together in the +field, talk about their sweethearts. One of them works lazily and is +jeered by the other in consequence. The subject of the jeering +acknowledges that he works badly because his mind is disturbed--he has +fallen in love. Then the other expresses sympathy for him, and tells him +that the best thing he can do to cheer himself up will be to make a song +about the girl, and to sing it as he works. Then he makes a song, which +has been the admiration of the world for twenty centuries and lifts been +translated into almost every language possessing a literature. + +"They all call thee a gipsy, gracious Bombyca, and lean, and +sunburnt;--'tis only I that call thee honey-pale. + +"Yea, and the violet is swart and swart the lettered hyacinth; but yet +these flowers are chosen the first in garlands. + +"The goat runs after cytisus, the wolf pursues the goat, the crane follows +the plough,--but I am wild for love of thee. + +"Would it were mine, all the wealth whereof Croesus was lord, as men tell! +Then images of us, all in gold, should be dedicated to Aphrodite, thou +with thy flute, and a rose, yea, or an apple, and I in fair attire and new +shoon of Amyclae on both my feet. + +"Ah, gracious Bombyca, thy feet are fashioned like carven ivory, thy voice +is drowsy sweet, and thy ways--I can not tell of them." + +Even through the disguise of an English prose translation, you will see +how pretty and how simple this little song must have been in the Greek, +and how very natural is the language of it. Our young peasant has fallen +in love with the girl who is employed to play the flute for the reapers, +as the peasants like to work to the sound of music. His comrades do not +much admire Bombyca; one calls her "a long grasshopper of a girl"; another +finds her too thin; a third calls her a gipsy, such a dark brown her skin +has become by constant exposure to the summer sun. And the lover, looking +at her, is obliged to acknowledge in his own mind that she is long and +lean and dark and like a gipsy; but he finds beauty in all these +characteristics, nevertheless. What if she is dark? The sweetest honey is +darkish, like amber, and so are beautiful flowers, the best of all +flowers, flowers given to Aphrodite; and the sacred hyacinth on whose +leaves appear the letters of the word of lamentation "Ai! Ai!"--that is +also dark like Bombyca. Her darkness is that of honey and flowers. What a +charming apology! He cannot deny that she is long and lean, and he remains +silent on these points, but here we must all sympathize with him. He shows +good taste. It is the tall slender girl that is really the most beautiful +and the most graceful, not the large-limbed, strong-bodied peasant type +that his companions would prefer. Without knowing it, he has fallen in +love like an artist. And he is not blind to the, grace of slenderness and +of form, though he cannot express it in artistic language. He can only +compare the shape of the girl's feet to the ivory feet of the divinities +in the temples--perhaps he is thinking of some ivory image of Aphrodite +which he has seen. But how charming an image does he make to arise before +us! Beautiful is the description of the girl's voice as "drowsy sweet." +But the most exquisite thing in the whole song is the final despairing +admission that he can not describe her at all--"and thy ways, I can not +tell of them"! This is one of the most beautiful expressions in any poem +ancient or modern, because of its supreme truth. What mortal ever could +describe the charm of manner, voice, smile, address, in mere words? Such +things are felt, they can not be described; and the peasant boy reaches +the highest height of true lyrical poetry when he cries out "I can not +tell of them." The great French critic Sainte-Beuve attempted to render +this line as follows--"_Quant a ta maniere, je ne puis la rendre!"_ This +is very good; and you can take your choice between it and any English +translation. But good judges say that nothing in English of French equals +the charm of the original. + +You will find three different classes of idyls in Theocritus; the idyl +which is a simple song of peasant life, a pure lyric expressing only a +single emotion; the idyl which is a little story, usually a story about +the gods or heroes; and lastly, the idyl which is presented in the form of +a dialogue, or even of a conversation between three or four persons. All +these forms of idyl, but especially the first and the third, were +afterward beautifully imitated by the Roman poets; then very imperfectly +imitated by modern poets. The imitation still goes on, but the very best +English poets have never really been able to give us anything worthy of +Theocritus himself. + +However, this study of the Greek model has given some terms to English +literature which every student ought to know. One of these terms is +amoebaean,--amoebaean poetry being dialogue poetry composed in the form of +question and reply. The original Greek signification was that of alternate +speaking. Please do not forget the word. You may often find it in critical +studies in essays upon contemporary literature; and when you see it again, +remember Theocritus and the school of Greek poets who first introduced the +charm of amoebaean poetry. I hope that this little lecture will interest +some of you in Theocritus sufficiently to induce you to read him carefully +through and through. But remember that you can not get the value of even a +single poem of his at a single reading. We have become so much accustomed +to conventional forms of literature that the simple art of poetry like +this quite escapes us at first sight. We have to read it over and over +again many times, and to think about it; then only we feel the wonderful +charm. + + + + +INDEX + + [Transcriber's note: Page numbers have been converted to chapter + numbers in this index.] + + "A dry cicale chirps to a lass making hay," 14 + Aicard, Jean, 11 + Aldrich, Thomas Bailey, 4 + "Along the garden ways just now," 2 + "Amaturus," 3 + "A Ma Future," 3 + "Amelia," 2 + "Amis and Amile," Introduction, 13 + "Amphibian," 10 + Andrews, Bishop Lancelot, 6 + "Angel in the House, The," 2 + "An Invocation," 14 + "Appreciations of Poetry," Introduction + "Arabian Nights, The," 13 + "Arachne," 10 + Arnold, Sir Edwin, 3 + Arnold, Matthew, 7, 15 + "Art of Worldly Wisdom, The," 7 + Ashe, Thomas, 3 + "A simple ring with a simple stone," 3 + "Atalanta in Calydon," 12 + "Atalanta's Race," 2 + + "Bhagavad-Gita, The," 6 + Bible, The, Introduction, 3, 6, 12, 13 + Bion, 14 + Blake, William, 6, 10 + Book of Common Prayer, The, 12 + Breton, Jules, 11 + "Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art," 2 + Browning, Robert, 2, 3, 10, 14 + "Burly, dozing humble bee," 10 + "Busy, curious thirsty fly," 10 + Byron, George Gordon, Lord, 2, 3 + + Carew, Thomas, 3 + Carlyle, Thomas, 5, 6 + Chesterfield, Philip Dormer Stanhope, Fourth Earl of, 7 + Cicero, Marcus Tullius, 2 + Coleridge, Hartley, 3 + Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 2, 6, 10 + "Conservative, A," 10 + Cooke, Rose Terry, 10 + Cory, William, Introduction, 3, 14 + Crashaw, Richard, 3 + + Dante Alighieri, 2 + "Daughter of Cleomenes, The," 14 + Descartes, Rene, 10 + "Deteriora," 14 + Dickens, Charles, Introduction + "Djins, Les," 4 + "Dream of Fair Women, A," 14 + + "Emaux et Camees," 11 + Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 4, 10 + "Epigramme Funeraire," 11 + "Evelyn Hope," 3 + + "Fable, A," 14 + "Fifine at the Fair," 10 + Francis of Assisi, Saint, 10 + Freneau, Philip, 10 + + Gautier, Theophile, 11 + "Gazing on stars, my star?" 2 + Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von, 4 + "Golden Legend, The," 13 + Gracian, Baltasar, 7 + "Grasshopper, The," 11 + Gray, Thomas, 10 + "Greater Memory," 2 + Greek Anthology, Introduction, 4, 14 + "Grillon solitaire," 11 + + "Havamal, The," Introduction, 6 + Hearn, Lafcadio, Introduction + Heredia, Jose, Maria de, Introduction, 5, 11 + Herodas, 15 + Herrick, Robert, 4 + "He that loves a rosy cheek," 3 + Holmes, Oliver Wendell, 10 + Hood, Thomas, 3 + Hugo, Victor, 2, 2, 4, 5, 11 + + "Idyls of the King," 14 + "I love to hear thine earnest voice," 10 + "In a branch of willow hid," 10 + "Interpretations of Literature," Introduction + "Ionica," Introduction, 3 + "I strove with none, for none was worth my strife," 4 + "It is a golden morning of the spring," 2 + + Jonson, Ben, 3, 4 + + "Kalevala, The," Introduction, 12 + Keats, John, Introduction, 2, 6, 10 + "King Solomon and the Ants," 10 + + "La Demoiselle," 11 + "Lady of Shalott, The," 11 + Landor, Walter Savage, 4 + Lang, Andrew, Introduction, 15 + Lamartine, 11 + Lamb, Charles, 10 + "Le Daimio," 5 + Lemerre, Alphonse, 10 + "Le Samourai," 5 + "Les Cigales," 11 + "Life and Literature," Introduction + de Lisle, Leconte, 87 + "Lives there whom pain has evermore passed by," 4 + Locker-Lampson, Frederic, 3, 10 + "Locksley Hall," 2 + Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth, 5, 7, 11, 12, 13 + Loennrot, 12 + Lovelace, Richard, 11 + Lubbock, Sir John, 8 + + Macaulay, Thomas Babington, 10 + "Ma Libellule," 11 + "Maud," 2 + Meredith, George, Introduction, 7 + "Mimes," 15 + "Mimnermus in church," 14 + Moschus, 14 + + "Nay but you, who do not love her," 3 + "Never the time and the place," 2 + "New Ethics, The," Introduction + "New Year's Day, A," 14 + Nietzsche, Friedrich Wilhelm, 8 + "Njal-Saga, The." 1 + + "Ode on the Spring," 10 + Oldys, William, 10 + O'Shaughnessy, Arthur, 2 + + "Pansie," 3 + "Patchwork," 3 + Pater, Walter, Introduction, 13 + Patmore, Coventry, 2, 10 + "Pause, A," 2 + Plato, 2 + Poe, Edgar Allan, 12 + "Poems of Places," 5 + Porson, Richard, 10 + Powell, Frederick York, 7 + "Princess, The," Introduction + + Quiller-Couch, Sir Arthur Thomas, 10 + + "Reparabo," 14 + Rossetti, Christina, 2, 3 + Rossetti, Dante Gabriel, 2, 11 + Ruskin, John, 6, 9 + "Ruth," 3 + + "Saga of King Olaf, The," 7 + Sainte-Beuve, 15 + Saintsbury, Professor George, 6 + "Scheveningen Avenue," 14 + Scott, Sir Walter, 7 + Shakespeare, William, 11 + Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 2 + "She walks in beauty, like the night," 3 + "She was a phantom of delight," 3 + "Solitary-Hearted, The," 3 + "Somewhere or other," 3 + "Song in time of Revolution, A," 12 + "Song of Hiawatha, The," 12 + "Song of Songs," 10 + Spencer, Herbert, 2, 7, 8 + "Stay near me, do not take thy flight" 10 + Stetson, Charlotte Perkins, 10 + Stevenson, Robert Louis, 2 + "Story of Burnt Njal, The," 1 + "Studies in Greek Poets," 4 + "Such Kings of shreds have wooed and won her," 4 + "Sudden Light," 2 + Sully-Prudhomme, Rene, Francois Armande, 5 + "Summum Bonum," 3 + Swinburne, Algernon Charles, 12 + Symonds, John Addington, 2, 4 + + Ten Brink, Bernhard Egidius Konrad, 13 + Tennyson, Alfred, Lord, Introduction, 2, 6, 10, 11, 12, 14 + Tennyson, Frederick, 2 + Thackeray, William Makepeace, Introduction + "The butterfly the ancient Grecians made," 10 + Theocritus, Introduction, 14, 15 + "The poetry of earth is never dead," 10 + "The thousand painful steps at last are trod," 4 + "The trembling arm I pressed," 2 + "They told me, Heraclitus, they told me you were dead," 14 + "Think not thy wisdom can illume away," 4 + Thompson, Maurice, 2 + "Thou canst not wave thy staff in air," 4 + "To Lucasta, on Going to the Wars," 11 + "Two Fragments of Childhood," 14 + "Two Voices, The," 10 + + "Unknown Eros, The," 2 + + Vigfusson, Gudbrandt, 7 + "Voice of the summer wind," 10 + + Watson, William, 4, 10 + "When spring grows old," 2 + "White Moth, The," 10 + Whittier, John Greenleaf, 10 + "Wishes to the Supposed Mistress + Wordsworth, William, 2, 3, 6, 10 + Wycliffe, John, 6 + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Books and Habits from the Lectures of 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