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diff --git a/old/51685-0.txt b/old/51685-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 7de57b6..0000000 --- a/old/51685-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,13669 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Humanistic Studies of the University of -Kansas, Vol. 1, by De Witt Clinton Croissant and Arthur Mitchell and Pearl Hogrefe and Edmund Dresser Cressman - -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/license - - -Title: Humanistic Studies of the University of Kansas, Vol. 1 - -Author: De Witt Clinton Croissant - Arthur Mitchell - Pearl Hogrefe - Edmund Dresser Cressman - -Release Date: April 7, 2016 [EBook #51685] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HUMANISTIC STUDIES *** - - - - -Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Shirley McAleer and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - -The pagination of this book is unusual. The book consists of four -sections, each of which is page numbered within itself. Additionally, -the pages of the entire document are numbered consecutively. This -results in sections two, three, and four in the original document having -two page numbers on each page, one for the page number of the section -and one for the page number of the whole document. To aid in clarity the -pages in this eBook have been numbered consecutively for the entire -document. However, the page numbers shown in the Table of Contents for -each section and the Indexes, where they appear, have been left as they -appear in the original document. The links, of course, have been made to -the correct pages. - -Other transcriber's notes will be found at the end of this eBook, -following the Footnotes. - - - - - HUMANISTIC STUDIES - OF - THE UNIVERSITY OF KANSAS - - VOLUME I - - - LAWRENCE, KANSAS - PUBLISHED BY THE UNIVERSITY - 1915 - - - - -COMMITTEE ON HUMANISTIC STUDIES - - - FRANK HEYWOOD HODDER - FRANK WILSON BLACKMAR - EDWIN MORTIMER HOPKINS - ARTHUR TAPPAN WALKER - SELDEN LINCOLN WHITCOMB, Editor - - - - -CONTENTS - - - I. STUDIES IN THE WORK OF COLLEY CIBBER. - _By De Witt C. Croissant, Ph. D._ - - II. STUDIES IN BERGSON’S PHILOSOPHY. - _By Arthur Mitchell, Ph. D._ - - III. BROWNING AND ITALIAN ART AND ARTISTS. - _By Pearl Hogrefe, A. M._ - - IV. THE SEMANTICS OF -MENTUM, -BULUM, AND -CULUM. - _By Edmund D. Cressman, Ph. D._ - - - - - BULLETIN OF THE UNIVERSITY OF KANSAS - HUMANISTIC STUDIES - - _Vol. I_ _October 1, 1912_ _No. 1_ - - - STUDIES IN THE WORK OF - COLLEY CIBBER - - BY - - DE WITT C. CROISSANT, PH. D. - _Assistant Professor of English Language in the University of Kansas_ - - - LAWRENCE, OCTOBER, 1912 - PUBLISHED BY THE UNIVERSITY - - - - -CONTENTS - - - I - - Notes on Cibber’s Plays - - - II - - Cibber and the Development of Sentimental Comedy - - - Bibliography - - - - -PREFACE - - -The following studies are extracts from a longer paper on the life -and work of Cibber. No extended investigation concerning the life or -the literary activity of Cibber has recently appeared, and certain -misconceptions concerning his personal character, as well as his -importance in the development of English literature and the literary -merit of his plays, have been becoming more and more firmly fixed in -the minds of students. Cibber was neither so much of a fool nor so -great a knave as is generally supposed. The estimate and the judgment -of two of his contemporaries, Pope and Dennis, have been far too widely -accepted. The only one of the above topics that this paper deals with, -otherwise than incidentally, is his place in the development of a -literary mode. - -While Cibber was the most prominent and influential of the innovators -among the writers of comedy of his time, he was not the only one who -indicated the change toward sentimental comedy in his work. This -subject, too, needs fuller investigation. I hope, at some future time, -to continue my studies in this field. - -This work was suggested as a subject for a doctor’s thesis, by -Professor John Matthews Manly, while I was a graduate student at the -University of Chicago a number of years ago, and was continued later -under the direction of Professor Thomas Marc Parrott at Princeton. -I wish to thank both of these scholars, as well as Professor Myra -Reynolds, who first stimulated my interest in Restoration comedy. -The libraries of Harvard, Yale, and Columbia have been very generous -in supplying books which would otherwise have been inaccessible; but -especial gratitude is due to the Library of Congress, and to Mr. Joseph -Plass, who called my attention to material in the Library of Congress, -which would have escaped my notice but for his interest. I wish to -express my gratitude to Professor R. D. O’Leary, of the University of -Kansas, who has read these pages in manuscript and in proof, and has -offered many valuable suggestions. - - D. C. C. - - University of Kansas, - October, 1912. - - - - -STUDIES IN THE WORK OF COLLEY CIBBER - -De Witt C. Croissant - - - - -I - -NOTES ON CIBBER’S PLAYS - - -Colley Cibber’s activity was not confined to writing plays. Besides -being a leader in the development of comedy and a skilful adapter in -tragedy, he was the greatest actor of his day in comic rôles; was the -dominant personality in the triumvirate of managers of the playhouse, -so that the healthy theatrical conditions of his time were largely due -to him; was a writer of poetry, some of which is fairly good; was the -author of some of the most amusing and clever controversial pamphlets -of the time; and was the author of a most interesting autobiography. -Today he is thought of by many merely as the hero of Pope’s _Dunciad_. -In some respects he deserved Pope’s satire, but the things he did well -entitle him to more consideration than he has received. - -It is the purpose of these _Notes_ to discuss merely his plays; and to -treat these principally from the point of view of what may be called -external relations, with some discussion of dramatic technique. Under -the heading of external relations I have considered the dates of the -various plays, the circumstances of their presentation, their sources, -and their relation to the various types of the drama of the time. I -have discussed the plays in chronological order within the various -classes. - - -1. FARCES. - -Of the farces ascribed to Cibber, only two, _The Rival Queans_ and -_Bulls and Bears_, are unquestionably his, and these two are not -accessible. _The Rival Queans_, acted at the Haymarket, June 29, -1710, printed in Dublin in 1729, is without doubt by Cibber. But in -the collected edition of his plays, published in 1777, the editors -substituted a farce of the same name, which, however, deals with a -different subject and is by another writer. Cibber’s farce was a -burlesque of Lee’s _Rival Queens_; the piece that was substituted deals -with the operatic situation in England. - -An adaptation of Doggett’s _Country Wake_ (1696), called _Hob, or The -Country Wake_ (1715), has been ascribed to Cibber, but Genest[1] doubts -his authorship because it was brought out while Doggett was still on -the stage. - -_Bulls and Bears_, Cibber’s second undisputed farce, was acted at Drury -Lane, December 2, 1715, but was apparently not printed. - -_Chuck_ (1736) seems to have been ascribed to him by either the author -or the publisher without grounds, for in a list of plays “wrote by -anonymous authors in the 17th century,” appended to the fourth edition -of the _Apology_ (1756), there is a note on this play to the effect -that “the author or printer has set the name of Mr. Cibber to this -piece.” This is not proof positive that Cibber did not write the play, -for _Cinna’s Conspiracy_, which is unquestionably by him, appears in -the same list. In _The New Theatrical Dictionary_ (1742), it is stated -that “this piece [_Chuck_] is extremely puerile, yet the author has -thought proper to put Mr. Cibber’s name to it.” This again is not -necessarily convincing argument against Cibber’s authorship, for he was -capable of poor work, as his poems and some of his plays show. - -On the whole, it seems probable that _Hob_ and _Chuck_ are not by -Cibber. In any case, they are entirely without value, and it is -therefore a matter of no importance to literary history whether their -authorship is ever determined or not. - -Coffey’s _The Devil to Pay_ (1736) is stated in the catalogue of the -British Museum to have been “revised by Colley Cibber.” But the work -of revision was done by Theophilus Cibber, his son, and Cibber himself -contributed only one song.[2] - - -2. OPERAS. - -In common with many of his contemporaries, Cibber attempted operatic -pieces. His undisputed operas are _Venus and Adonis_ (1715), _Myrtillo_ -(1716), _Love in a Riddle_ (1729), and _Damon and Phillida_ (1729), -the last being merely the sub-plot of _Love in a Riddle_ acted -separately.[3] Two other operatic pieces, _The Temple of Dullness_ -(1745) and _Capochio and Dorinna_, have been ascribed to him. - -_Love in a Riddle_ (1729) seems to have been the cause of some -unpleasantness. In the _Life of Quin_ (1766) the following account of -it is given:[4] - - “This uncommon reception of _The Beggar’s Opera_ induced Colley - Cibber to attempt something the same kind the next year, under the - title of _Love in a Riddle_, but how different was its reception from - Gay’s production; it was damned to the lowest regions of infamy the - very first night, which so mortified Cibber, that it threw him into - a fever; and from this moment he resolved as soon as he conveniently - could to leave the stage, and no longer submit himself and his - talents to the capricious taste of the town. - - “It was generally thought that his jealousy of Gay, and the high - opinion he entertained of his own piece had operated so strongly as - to make him set every engine in motion to get the sequel of _The - Beggar’s Opera_, called _Polly_, suppressed in order to engross the - town entirely to _Love in a Riddle_. Whether Cibber did or did not - bestir himself in this affair, it is certain that Gay and Rich had - the mortification to see all their hopes of a succeeding harvest - blasted by the Lord Chamberlain’s absolute prohibition of it, after - it had been rehearsed and was just ready to bring out.” - -In this same volume[5] it is stated that the failure of the piece was -one of the potent causes of the dissolution of the Drury Lane company, -though this seems an exaggeration, as does also the effect on Cibber -that is ascribed to the failure. - -Cibber denies[6] that he had anything to do with the suppression of -the second part of _The Beggar’s Opera_, and gives as his reason -for writing that he thought something written in the same form, but -recommending virtue and innocence instead of vice and wickedness, -“might not have a less pretence to favor.” - -_The Temple of Dullness_ (1745), which _The Biographia Dramatica_[7] -states had been ascribed to Cibber, is in two acts of two scenes each, -the second scene of each act being the comic “interlude” of Theobald’s -_Happy Captive_ (1741). These two scenes have as their principal -characters, Signor Capochio and Signora Dorinna.[8] The other two -scenes, which give the principal title to the piece, are based, as is -stated in the preface, on the fact that Pope in _The Dunciad_ makes the -Goddess of Dullness preside over Italian operas. It is inconceivable -that either Cibber or Theobald would have based anything of the sort on -a hint from _The Dunciad_ and complacently given the credit to Pope, -after the way they had both been handled in _The Dunciad_. There is -nothing on the title page to indicate that Cibber had anything to do -with the piece. The ascription of the authorship of _The Temple of -Dullness_ to Cibber seems to be without foundation, and the probability -is that this piece was composed by a third person soon after Theobald’s -death, which occurred about four months before it was acted.[9] - -Concerning _Capochio and Dorinna_, _The Biographia Dramatica_ has the -following note: “A piece with this title, but without a date, is, in -Mr. Barker’s catalogue, ascribed to Colley Cibber. It was probably an -abridgment from _The Temple of Dullness_.” This statement concerning -the source of _Capochio and Dorinna_ would seem plausible from the -supplementary title of _The Temple of Dullness_,--_With the Humours -of Signor Capochio and Signora Dorinna_. _Capochio and Dorinna_ is no -doubt the two scenes from Theobald’s _The Happy Captive_ which had been -used in _The Temple of Dullness_, as is stated above. - -Cibber’s operatic writings belong chiefly to the English type of -pastoral drama, rather than to the type of Italian opera. In fact, they -are not operas either in the Italian or in the modern sense, but are -rather plays interspersed with songs appropriate to the characters who -sing them. They show the common characteristics of the pastoral drama -of the time.[10] They possess the court element, have the same plot -devices, and their characters belong to the same general types. It is -noticeable that Cibber here, as well as in his comedies, arrays himself -with the moralists, as is seen in his introduction of a moral purpose -in _Love in a Riddle_. These pieces are in verse of varying meters. In -_Venus and Adonis_ and _Myrtillo_ there is apparent imitation of the -versification of Dryden’s _Alexander’s Feast_; in _Love in a Riddle_ -and _Damon and Phillida_ the dialogue is in blank verse, but in neither -case is the verse inspired. - -His operas are neither intrinsically nor historically important; they -are merely representative of a vogue which was popular but which left -no permanent impress on the English drama. - - -3. TRAGEDIES. - -Cibber’s seven tragedies appeared in the following order: _Xerxes_, -1699; his adaptation of Shakspere’s _Richard III_, 1700; _Perolla and -Izadora_, 1705; the three translations of Corneille, _Ximena_, acted -1712, but not published until 1719, _Cinna’s Conspiracy_, 1713, and -_Caesar in Egypt_, 1725; and finally _Papal Tyranny_, an adaptation of -Shakspere’s _King John_, 1745. The best stage play is _Richard III_, -but those that make the most agreeable reading are the alterations of -Corneille. - -_Xerxes_ (1699), which was a failure, belongs to the type of the -tragedies of the last decade of the century, in which the material of -the heroic play is handled in blank verse, in which there is no comedy, -and in which there is in general a following of French models.[11] In -its presentation of a story of distressed womanhood, it allies itself -with the sentimental tragedy of the school of Southerne and Otway. In -its use of the supernatural, in its puerile use of claptrap, and in the -bombast and extravagance of emotion, it follows the general usage of -the tragedies of the time. - -When it was written Cibber was one of the company at Drury Lane, -but the play was refused there, and was accepted at Lincoln’s Inn -Fields only when Cibber guaranteed the expenses of the production. -Notwithstanding the fact that two such great actors as Betterton and -Mrs. Barry were in the cast, the play was a failure.[12] - -The common supposition that it was acted only once, is based on -Addison’s inventory of Rich’s theatrical paraphernalia, in which are -mentioned “the imperial robes of Xerxes, never worn but once.”[13] The -play had been acted ten years previously, and Addison is speaking of -an entirely different playhouse and manager so that this testimony, if -it does apply to this play, is probably not to be given much weight. -While the play may have been withdrawn from the stage after only one -performance, Addison’s evidence does not establish the matter one way -or the other. - -Cibber’s next venture in tragedy was more successful, for while his -adaptation of Shakspere’s _Richard III_ has not received critical -commendation, it was for over a century practically the only version -presented on the stage and is still used by many actors. - -When Cibber’s _Richard III_ was originally acted at Drury Lane in 1700, -Charles Killigrew, Master of the Revels, forbade the first act, because -the distress of Henry, introduced from Shakspere’s _Henry VI_, might -bring the exiled King James to the mind of the people; so that only -four acts could be given. The play was a comparative failure at first, -owing no doubt to the omission of so important and necessary a part of -the revision, so that Cibber’s profits from the third night, as author, -came to less than five pounds.[14] Later, when this act was restored, -the piece became a success. As has been pointed out by Dohse[15] and -Wood[16], Cibber may in making this adaptation have used the chronicles -of Hall and others, and probably was influenced by _The Mirror for -Magistrates_ and Caryl’s _English Princess_ (1667). - -In his alteration Cibber has cut down the play to a little more than -half its original length, and of this remainder only a little over a -third is found in Shakspere’s _Richard III_, while the rest is from -a number of Shakspere’s plays or is made up of original additions by -Cibber.[17] The alterations vary from the change of single words,[18] -to the addition of scenes entirely by Cibber. The omissions, such as -Anne’s spitting at Gloster, I, ii, 146, are generally happy; the -lines he has substituted are generally easier to understand, if less -aesthetically pleasing, than those of the original; and the additions -throughout are such as add clearness and theatric effectiveness. - -Richard is made the central figure, so that the play revolves more -closely about him than in Shakspere. A love story, more slightly -developed than usual in the adaptations of this period, is introduced -at the end of the play in accordance with contemporary usage. The women -are made less prominent, the lyric chorus effect of the various scenes -in which these women foretell and bewail is omitted, and the whole -action is made more simple and direct. Shakspere’s _Richard III_ is -full of this lyric element which Cibber has excised. - -With this curtailment of plot comes likewise a less highly presented -delineation of character. Not only is the number of characters -diminished, but modifications are made in those that remain. Richard -becomes less the unfeeling hypocrite, by use of asides his motives and -character are made more clear, and he is influenced more by love; his -victims are not so vividly presented, and though their weakness of -will and character is not less than in the original, the reader does -not feel it so much. Cibber’s _Richard III_, like his _King John_, is -more play than poem; in it Cibber has attempted to make everything -subservient to dramatic effectiveness. - -_Perolla and Izadora_ was acted at Drury Lane on December 3, 1705, -and published the next year. Lintot had bought the copyright November -14, 1705, a few weeks before its presentation, for thirty-six pounds, -eleven shillings, next to the largest amount that he paid Cibber for -any of his plays. Cibber explains that he omitted _Woman’s Wit_ from -the 1721 edition of his plays because it was so inferior a drama, which -was no doubt his reason for omitting _Xerxes_; but why he should not -have included _Perolla and Izadora_, which brought him a good third -and sixth day at the theatre, though it does not appear to have been -presented afterwards, is not clear, unless, as is probable, he included -in this edition only such plays as had gained a more or less permanent -place on the stage. - -Cibber shows unusual modesty in his dedication of this play, which -he founded on a part of the story of Perolla and Izadora from _The -Romance of Parthenissa_[19] (1654) by Roger Boyle, Earl of Orrery. He -“saw so many incidents in the fable, such natural and noble sentiments -in the characters, and so just a distress in the passions, that he had -little more than the trouble of blank verse to make it fit for the -theatre.”[20] Cibber has followed the events in _Parthenissa_ very -closely, making few changes or additions. However, he has Perolla and -Izadora in love before the action begins, whereas they do not meet -in the romance until after Perolla has saved the life of Blacius in -what makes the end of Cibber’s second act; and at the close of the -play he unites the lovers, while the story goes on indefinitely in -_Parthenissa_. The characters display about the same qualities; Blacius -is made perhaps a trifle more reasonable and Poluvius a little less so. -The play is much better as a play than the original is as a story. - -The play in general conforms to the French classical type; the unities -are observed, the characters are few and noble, it is written in blank -verse, and there are no humorous touches. Only in the two deaths and -the one fight on the stage does the play violate the French tradition. -In the death of the wicked, the reward of the virtuous, and the general -nature of the action, it groups itself with the heroic plays of the -preceding century, but of course it does not conform to that type in -versification. Cibber was here probably writing under the influence of -Corneille. - -_Ximena, or The Heroic Daughter_, an alteration of Corneille’s _Cid_, -was acted at Drury Lane, November 28, 1712, when it had a run of about -eight performances;[21] but it was not printed until 1719, when it -appeared in octavo after it had been revived at Drury Lane, November -1, 1718. Cibber explains that he thus delayed publishing the play -because “most of his plays had a better reception from the public when -his interest was no longer concerned in them.”[22] The dedication of -_Ximena_ brought a storm of criticism on Cibber[23] because in it he -spoke of Addison as a wren being carried by Steele as an eagle, which -figure he later applied, in his odes, to himself and the king. He had -the judgment to omit this dedication from the collected edition of his -plays. - -As in the case of _Richard III_, he added a first act to the _Cid_ in -order that the audience might understand the situation of the various -characters at the outset; a most important and necessary thing if the -audience is not familiar with the story and the situation beforehand. -In his alterations of Shakspere he followed the English method and -presented this information to his audience by action; in his alteration -of Corneille he followed the French method by having his characters -tell each other about it for the benefit of the audience. - -Cibber has discussed at length the changes he has made in the _Cid_, -and his reasons for them, in the prefatory “examen.” The main reason -seems to have been his desire to make the play less “romantic” and -the action more probable and reasonable from the point of view of the -eighteenth century Englishman, whose ideals of honor and whose general -characteristics were very different from those of the seventeenth -century Frenchman. Indeed, Cibber explains in relation to one of these -changes: “Here they seem too declamatory and romantic, which I have -endeavored to avoid, by giving a more spirited tone to the passions, -and reducing them nearer to common life.” - -_Ximena_, because of its source, would naturally have the general -characteristics of French tragedy, in which almost everything happens -off the stage, and in which the characters appear before the audience -only to tell it what they think or what has been done. It violates the -French canons by having a sub-action, though this sub-action is not -sufficiently important to distract the attention materially from the -main action, and is bound very closely to it. The blow which Don Gormaz -gives Alvarez constitutes the nearest approach to violent action; but -this blow, however, appears in the original play. - -Besides the anonymity of _Cinna’s Conspiracy_, the closeness with which -it follows Corneille’s _Cinna_ and the difference in its tone from -the rest of Cibber’s work have led to doubt as to his authorship.[24] -To see that Cibber was not always sprightly and inconsequential, -however, as he is usually supposed to be, one has but to read his -_Cicero_ and his poems. The play was presented less than three months -after _Ximena_, and to bring out another French tragedy translated -by the same hand in so short a time might have subjected Cibber to -the charge of hasty work. Though _Ximena_ apparently had a run of -eight nights, it did not receive critical approbation, and _Cinna’s -Conspiracy_, if known to be by Cibber, was likely to bring further -critical disapproval, so that Cibber may have thought it would have -better chance of success if his authorship were not known. Cibber was -ambitious to be thought wise and serious, as his prefaces and _Cicero_ -show, and the lack of success of the play together with its nearness to -_Ximena_ in time of presentation would sufficiently explain his failure -to claim the authorship. - -But there is external proof which would seem to be convincing in -support of his authorship. Defoe, according to the _Biographia -Dramatica_,[25] in a pamphlet written about 1713 ascribed the play -to Cibber; and Nichols, in _Literary Anecdotes of the Eighteenth -Century_,[26] gives an extract from a memorandum book of Lintot, -entitled _Copies when purchased_, according to which Cibber, on March -16, 1712 (O.S.), was paid thirteen pounds for _Cinna’s Conspiracy_. The -play was first acted at Drury Lane, February 19, 1713, about a month -before the purchase by Lintot. The fact that Cibber was paid for the -play so short a time after its presentation would seem to be sufficient -proof that it is by Cibber, even though he apparently made no public -claim to its authorship. - -In the alteration of Corneille’s _Cinna_, Cibber has made remarkably -few changes. There is only one of any moment, the account of the -meeting of the conspirators in the second scene of the first act. -Corneille has had Cinna give an account of this meeting to Emilie, -while Cibber presents the meeting itself. This involves the omission -of some narration and the creation of some new characters who have a -few short speeches. Cibber throughout his adaptation seeks to gain -vividness and clearness, and his handling of this incident is probably -the best example of his method in this respect. The other changes -consist merely in the omission and shortening of speeches. On the whole -_Cinna’s Conspiracy_ is almost a literal translation, though a little -free here and there. - -The testimony of the critics concerning the source of _Caesar in -Egypt_, acted at Drury Lane,[27] December 9, 1724, published in 1725, -is somewhat confusing. The _Biographia Dramatica_ finds its source in -Beaumont and Fletcher’s _The False One_; Genest[28] says: “The plan -of this tragedy is chiefly borrowed from _The False One_--that part -of it which concerns Cornelia is said to be taken from Corneille’s -_Pompée_.” Stoye,[29] while apparently oblivious of Corneille’s play, -mentions Lucan’s _Pharsalia_ in addition to _The False One_; and -Miss Canfield says:[30] “Taking Beaumont and Fletcher’s _False One_, -Corneille’s _Pompée_, and one or two ideas of his own, he stirred them -all together with such vigor, and so disguised them with his wonderful -versification, that it is an almost impossible task to distinguish the -different elements in the dish.... The general plan and construction -of the play are undoubtedly Corneille’s, many of the best speeches -are literally translated, especially some of the famous ones between -Cornelia and Caesar; and the description of Pompey’s death is taken -verbatim from the French.” This last statement of Miss Canfield’s -comes nearest to the truth, but it leaves out of account the slight -indebtedness to Lucan.[31] - -An examination of these three plays shows, in fact, how little Cibber -used _The False One_ in the construction of _Caesar in Egypt_. He was -no doubt familiar with the Beaumont and Fletcher play and used some -things from it, though very little in comparison with what he has -used from _Pompée_. He used it for hints in some particulars[32] just -as he did the _Pharsalia_, from which he apparently took the idea of -having one scene occur before the tomb of Alexander, and from which he -obtained the burning of Pharos. - -One incident, the display of Pompey’s head, well illustrates the change -that had come since the days of Beaumont and Fletcher. In _The False -One_, the head was actually brought on the stage; but in neither Cibber -nor Corneille was the head actually displayed. The actual appearance -of the head would probably have been almost as distasteful to Cibber’s -audience as to Corneille’s. - -His method of adaptation here is more like that in his alteration -of Shakspere than his method in _Ximena_ or _Cinna’s Conspiracy_. -He has crowded the incidents, has expanded the action and increased -its liveliness, has enhanced the value of the piece as a stage play, -without, however, improving its literary quality. He has a good deal -happen in one day, but manages to satisfy the technical demands of the -unity of time. - -He increases the probability by the alteration of certain passages. For -instance, whereas both the _Pharsalia_, as completed by Rowe,[33] and -_The False One_, from one of which he took the incident, have Caesar -swimming from the island of Pharos with drawn sword in one hand and -documents in the other, Cibber has him swim with only the documents. - -While this play is essentially an adaptation of Corneille, the general -atmosphere and effect are not those of French tragedy, but are rather -those of the minor Elizabethan tragicomedy. Its beginning and end have -a historical rather than a dramatic interest, so that the play produces -the effect of a love story with an impersonal enveloping action, which -is again more English than French. - -_Papal Tyranny_ was acted at Covent Garden, February 15, 1745, when -it had a run of ten nights, and was published in the same year. -Shakspere’s _King John_, which had been played in 1737 and 1738, after -Cibber’s alteration had been talked of and withdrawn, was again revived -on February 20, 1745,[34] with Garrick as King John and Mrs. Theophilus -Cibber, then at the height of her popularity, as Constance. This was no -doubt done both to profit by the publicity Cibber’s work had brought -about, and to take as much credit as possible from Cibber, by showing -the lack of originality in his work.[35] According to Victor,[36] -Cibber’s profits from _Papal Tyranny_ amounted to four hundred pounds, -which probably includes what he received from acting Pandulph as well -as his author’s profits. - -The play had been written some years before it was finally acted, -the parts had been distributed, and everything was practically ready -for the presentation in public during the season 1736-7. But so much -criticism was leveled at Cibber for daring again to alter Shakspere -that one day he quietly walked into the theatre, removed the copy of -the play from the prompter’s desk, and went away with it without a word -to any one.[37] It was finally presented, as already stated, in 1745, -when there was a threatened invasion by the Young Pretender, which made -the political and anti-Catholic elements of the play timely. - -Cibber says in the dedication that he had two reasons for altering the -play: antagonism to Catholicism, and a desire to adjust the play to -contemporary stage requirements--“to make it more like a play than he -found it in Shakspere.” His additions to the anti-Catholic elements of -the play are inconsistent with the rest of the action, and the changes -in structure have increased rather than diminished the epic quality. -He has, without being conscious that he was doing so, gone back of -Shakspere’s time in introducing the anti-popish element; a quality -of Shakspere’s source which Shakspere had omitted, but which Cibber -reintroduced to the detriment of his play as drama. - -The entire first act of Shakspere’s play is omitted, besides which -there are other shorter omissions. The point of view, too, is very -different; for in Cibber’s play Pandulph is the central figure, instead -of King John, as is indicated by the change of title from _The Life -and Death of King John_ to _Papal Tyranny in the Reign of King John_. -Various short scenes entirely by Cibber are introduced, the most -noticeable being one in the last act in which Constance attends the -funeral of Arthur at Swinestead, where King John has been brought to -die. - -The characters are more changed than the plot; all those which appear -only in the first act are omitted, besides such characters as Peter -of Pomfret, Elinor, Austria, and Chatillon. The part of the bastard -Faulconbridge is very much cut down and softened, for as Shakspere -conceived him he was too “low” and comic for a dignified tragedy -according to the views of the eighteenth century. The rôle of -Constance is much enlarged as well as that of Pandulph. - -Cibber’s tragedies are imitative; he showed no creative ability in this -field. That his _Richard III_ has held the stage until the present -is an indication that it is at least a good stage play. The other -tragedies, except _Xerxes_ and _Papal Tyranny_, do not possess any very -positive virtues or defects; they are of average merit as compared with -the work done by Cibber’s contemporaries. - -They are alterations of Shakspere or Corneille, except _Xerxes_ -and _Perolla and Izadora_. In his alterations of the French he has -anglicized some of the ideas, has had a tendency to present rather -than relate incidents, and generally has tried to make the productions -conform to English ideas. Turning them into English has not made them -romantic or altered in any essential degree their neo-classical quality. - -His alterations of Shakspere have not changed the essential -qualities; they are still characteristically English, and display the -characteristics of the originals. He has not altered Shakspere because -Shakspere is too “Gothic,” or too romantic and extravagant, for Cibber -complains that _King John_ is too restrained. - -In relation to these alterations of Shakspere one naturally thinks of -the flood of plays about this time which had Shakspere as a basis.[38] -Cibber does not, in _Richard III_ at least, follow the example of Tate -and his kind, but adheres more closely than they to the originals. -It is for this reason, principally, that Cibber’s _Richard III_ was -successful. In this he has not attempted to follow contemporary -practice in adhering to the unities, in the observance of poetic -justice, in the making of the hero virtuous, or in adding the element -of show and pageantry. His addition of a scene of violence[39] is for -the purpose of helping the spectator to understand the play. Even -his borrowing of lines from other plays by Shakspere has saved him -partially from the incongruous or weak mixture of two styles which mars -the work of other adapters. He has told the same story as Shakspere, -and has not done violence to his original either in character, plot, -or, for the most part, in language. - -His adaptation of _King John_ is handled differently. This play, -even more than Shakspere’s _King John_, is unfitted for the modern -stage; its plot is not dramatic, and its persons are not modern in -their qualities. Such a play must depend for its appeal on its poetic -qualities, and Cibber was personally incapable of altering the play and -retaining its poetic qualities. - -Although Cibber is not unaffected by the sentimental type of tragedy, -as _Xerxes_ and _Perolla and Izadora_ show, he does not seem influenced -by it to any great extent. This is remarkable in one who was in the -very forefront of the movement toward sentimental comedy; though it -is to be remarked that the two tragedies which do show traces of this -sentimental note are the only two which are not based on previous plays. - -As Thorndike[40] has pointed out, during this period two influences -are at work--the influence of the Elizabethan romantic drama, and the -influence of the French classical drama; and Cibber rather fairly -represents both of these. _Xerxes_ shows some French influence in the -construction, though it is probably more Elizabethan in the handling -of the material; but _Perolla and Izadora_ and the three plays from -Corneille conform to French usage almost entirely in material as well -as in method. The restraint in _Richard III_--for notwithstanding -Hazlitt, this play is not as brutal as Shakspere’s--is due to the -change brought about through the imitation of French tragedy. - -In accordance with contemporary usage, all these tragedies are in blank -verse; but the verse is of no great merit. Cibber’s verse for the most -part is not musical nor subtle, but it has few mannerisms. He sometimes -uses alliteration, but not to an objectionable or excessive degree, and -although his style has been called alliterative, his use of this device -in his verse is so infrequent as to make the term a misnomer. - -Cibber conforms to the custom of the time in respect to rime. -Occasionally he introduces a couplet in the midst of a scene, but -this is seldom and for no apparent reason. The exits, except those of -minor importance, are marked by rime. This device, descended from the -Elizabethan drama, where it was probably used to mark more strongly -the ends of scenes because of the lack of a curtain which concealed -the whole stage, is continued during and after the Restoration period -without any valid reason and becomes for the most part a mere -convention, which is not confined to tragedy but appears in comedy -and even in farce. Cibber shows a tendency to increase the number -of couplets with the increased importance of the exits,[41] and in -_Ximena_ and _Caesar in Egypt_ we find several scenes closing with as -many as three. - -It has perhaps been made sufficiently evident that Cibber was not a -great writer of tragedy. He lacked any deep philosophy of life, tragic -consciousness, and deep poetic feeling. He was not without power of -thought, but his thought concerned itself with the obvious and the -external, and had an element of friskiness, so that when he turned to -tragedy his work became labored and even commonplace. - -Nor does he show originality in his themes. The story of _Xerxes_ -is apparently derived from history,[42] and aside from _Perolla and -Izadora_, whose story is taken from a romance, is the only one of his -tragedies which is not based on the work of greater men than himself. -Although _Richard III_ is a better stage play than its source, the -other adaptations are inferior to the originals both as acting versions -and as pure literature. - - -4. COMEDIES. - -_Love’s Last Shift_, Cibber’s first play, was acted at Drury Lane in -January, 1696, and was published the same year, when he was a little -more than twenty-four years old. The comedy was accepted by the -managers through the good offices of Southerne, for Cibber’s standing -with the patentees was such that they were not disposed to recognize -ability in him. - -So little had been expected of the piece, and so great was its success, -that Cibber was immediately charged with plagiarism,[43] a charge which -he entirely denies in the dedication. He claims that “the fable is -entirely his own, nor is there a line or thought throughout the whole, -for which he is wittingly obliged either to the dead or the living.” -There are, however, some striking similarities in the situations and -the characters in the sub-action of _Love’s Last Shift_ and Carlile’s -_Fortune Hunters_ (1689). Carlile’s Elder Wealthy and Young Wealthy are -closely paralleled by Elder Worthy and Young Worthy, as are likewise -the young women with whom they are in love, and Carlile’s Shamtown -belongs to the same family as Sir Novelty Fashion, though he is much -more crudely portrayed. So too, the jealousy of Elder Worthy in regard -to Hillaria and Sir Novelty is very much like that of Elder Wealthy -in regard to Sophia and Shamtown. So great is the similarity that, -notwithstanding his denial, one must believe that Cibber deliberately -used the situation and characters as a basis for his own, though he did -not copy the language, and has made an entirely new and original thing -out of his source. - -So great was the failure of his second play that Cibber refuses to -mention it in his _Apology_ and omitted it from the collected edition -of his plays in 1721. _Woman’s Wit, or The Lady in Fashion_ was acted -at Drury Lane in 1697, but met with a most unfavorable reception, -though in management of the plot it is not inferior to a great many -plays whose success was much greater. - -Carlile’s _Fortune Hunters_ (1689) and Mountford’s _Greenwich Park_ -(1691) have been suggested as the sources of that part of the plot in -which Young Rakish and Major Rakish appear, but this is only partially -true. In _The Fortune Hunters_ the father and son are rivals for a -young woman, in _Woman’s Wit_ she is an elderly widow; in both, the son -has obtained five hundred pounds from the father. But notwithstanding -the fact that these situations are superficially similar the characters -and the details of the action are so different that it does not seem -possible that there can be any connection between the two plays. There -does seem to be a more valid reason for affirming the influence of -_Greenwich Park_ in the play. The likeness of Sir Thomas Reveller and -Young Reveller to Old Rakish and Young Rakish is so great that Cibber -must have had them in mind, but the differences both of character -and action are such that it seems probable that he was attempting to -portray two characters of the same type rather than trying to copy -them. In _Greenwich Park_ there is not even a superficial similarity -of situation to _Woman’s Wit_.[44] The sub-action of _Woman’s Wit_ was -separated and acted successfully at Drury Lane in 1707 as _The School -Boy_. - -_Love Makes a Man_ was acted at Drury Lane in 1701, and was published -the same year. It continued to be played until 1828. It is made from -Beaumont and Fletcher’s _The Elder Brother_ and _The Custom of the -Country_, and is an attempt on the part of Cibber merely to provide -amusement. Ost[45] points out that this play, though it has no original -literary worth, helped continue the literary tradition, and notices -it in connection with the healthful influence of Cibber’s work in the -moralizing tendency of the drama. He adds that Cibber’s plays have more -value in relation to “kulturgeschichte” than in aesthetic interest. -That is entirely true so far as this play is concerned; various parts -have a purely contemporary interest, or are an indication to us of the -state of dramatic taste, and the aesthetic value is certainly often -inconsiderable. When Cibber introduces such references as “hatchet -face” of Clodio, a term which had been applied to Cibber himself, who -played the part, and more particularly in the farcical discussion of -the two playhouses in the fourth act, he is not even attempting to -write anything but horseplay. - -By the omission and transposition of scenes, and the introduction of -some lines of his own, mainly for the purpose of gaining probability, -as Ost has pointed out, Cibber has condensed _The Elder Brother_ so -that it forms practically the first two acts, and _The Custom of the -Country_ so that it forms the last three. In the main, the plays, so -much of them as is used, are followed with very few changes, and the -whole makes a sprightly and amusing, if not particularly literary -comedy. - -The change of place and the introduction of an entirely new set of -characters with fresh plot developments are dramatically faulty; but -for the purpose for which the play was written these faults are not -particularly great. To join the plots of two separate plays end on -end without breaking the continuity of the story, and to adjust the -characters so that there is no glaring inconsistency, is surely no -slight feat. - -In the characterization Cibber has made some changes. These changes -appear particularly in Eustace, who becomes Clodio, Miramont, who -becomes Don Lewis, and Elvira, who is the sister instead of the mother -of Don Duart. It is difficult to understand how this play could have -been other than a theatrical success with Bullock to interpret the -farcical obstinacy of Antonio, Penkethman to portray the humorously -choleric Don Lewis, and Cibber as the “pert coxcomb,” Clodio. But it is -farce rather than pure comedy. - -Cibber has changed these plays from verse to prose, except in the first -scene between Carlos and Angelina, in which the romantic seriousness of -the situation leads him to write blank verse, which is however printed -as prose. - -_She Would and She Would Not_, considered by Genest as “perhaps his -best play,” was acted at Drury Lane, November 26, 1702, and continued -to be acted frequently as late as 1825.[46] The striking similarity of -the two plays has caused the suggestion that Cibber’s play is based on -Leanerd’s _The Counterfeits_ (1678). The similarity indicates a common -source, rather than that Cibber drew from _The Counterfeits_. The -source of Cibber’s play was no doubt _The Trepanner Trepanned_, which -is the third story of John Davies’s _La Picara, or The Triumphs of -Female Subtilty_, published in London in 1665.[47] - -This play is amusing, is well constructed, and while it is not of -serious import, is such as might be presented today with success. - -Cibber commenced to write _The Careless Husband_ in the summer of 1703, -but laid it aside because he despaired of finding any one to take the -part of Lady Betty Modish. In 1704 he again took up the writing of the -play, and in that year it was acted at Drury Lane on December 7; and -it was published in 1705. It was one of the best and most successful -plays of the period.[48] It was charged that Cibber received direct -assistance in writing the play, but he denied the charge, and as no -proof was offered, Cibber is no doubt to be believed. It seems to have -no literary source; but one incident, that in which the wife finds -the husband and her maid asleep in easy chairs, is said to have been -suggested to Cibber by Mrs. Brett, the reputed mother of the poet -Savage, from her own experience.[49] - -This is Cibber’s best play of the sentimental type. Its plot is -consistent, has dramatic probability, and is serious enough in interest -to have real reason for being. The characters are well conceived and -well portrayed. In style, too, Cibber is here at his best and the -dialogue approaches the finest of the period. - -The Haymarket opened the season 1706-7 under Swiney, and in order to -encourage the new venture, Lord Halifax headed a subscription for -the revival of three plays: Shakspere’s _Julius Caesar_, Beaumont -and Fletcher’s _King and No King_, and the comic scenes of Dryden’s -_Marriage à la Mode_ and _A Maiden Queen_. The last took the form of an -adaptation called _The Comical Lovers_, the adaptation being the work -of Cibber. It was acted February 4, 1707, and was published the same -year. The alteration was the result of only six days’ labor,[50] and -Cibber claims no originality in it. It met with slight success. - -_The Comical Lovers_ is another such adaptation as _Love Makes a Man_. -Cibber has merely taken the two comic threads from their serious -settings and interwoven them, first a scene from one and then a scene -from the other, with only the changes necessary to join them, and has -followed his sources almost word for word. Cibber was not under the -necessity of changing verse into prose, as he had done in _Love Makes a -Man_, for the comic sections of Dryden are in prose, according to the -changed convention of his time; and in the scene between Melantha and -her maid, Cibber has not even taken the trouble to alter a single one -of the French words, many of which must have acquired a place in the -language and been in good use by Cibber’s time. So far as Cibber’s part -is concerned, this is the least important of his plays. - -_The Double Gallant_ was acted at the Haymarket, November 1, 1707, but -was apparently not successful at its first performance. _The Biographia -Dramatica_[51] says: - - “In a letter from Booth to A. Hill we learn that the play, at - its first appearance was, as he expressed it, hounded in a most - outrageous manner. Two years after, it was revived, met with most - extravagant success, and has continued a stock play ever since.” - -Cibber says nothing about any hounding of the play, but ascribes the -failure of the piece to the fact that the Haymarket was too big for -plays; a fact that he thinks caused the lack of success of other plays -as well as his own. - -In regard to the authorship, Cibber says:[52] - - “It was made up of what was tolerable, in two, or three others, that - had no Success, and were laid aside, as so much Poetical Lumber; - but by collecting and adapting the best Parts of them all, into one - Play, the _Double Gallant_ has had a Place, every Winter, amongst - the Publick Entertainments, these Thirty Years. As I was only the - Compiler of this Piece, I did not publish it in my own Name.” - -The title would lead one to suppose that it is taken directly from -Corneille’s _Le Galant Double_, but it is a weaving together of Mrs. -Centlivre’s _Love at a Venture_, which is an adaptation of Corneille, -Burnaby’s _Ladies Visiting Day_, and the Lady Dainty action from -Burnaby’s _Reformed Wife_. In consolidating such parts of these three -plays as are used, the crudities of the first two are polished off, -and certain additions are made to the last. These additions consist in -sections of the dialogue, in the changing of Lady Dainty’s lover into -a more impetuous wooer, and in the addition of the lover’s disguise as -a Russian, by which subterfuge he wins her. The introductory scene, -taken from _Love at a Venture_, is much more lively and entertaining in -Cibber’s play than in the original, and Cibber likewise handles more -adroitly the subterfuge of the hero’s arrest, taken from the same play, -using the same device of decoy letters that he uses in _Woman’s Wit_. -In the working over of Burnaby’s adaptation of the Horner episode, -which he had taken from Wycherley’s _Country Wife_, Cibber has entirely -eliminated the unpleasant features. - -This play is the same sort of an adaptation as his working over of -other earlier plays. He has taken such scenes as he wished, changed the -names of the characters, and introduced sufficient lines of his own to -give continuity and connection to the various actions, but has made no -material additions whatever. In this case he has made an extremely -diverting play, very superior to his originals. - -_The Lady’s Last Stake_, which seems to be entirely original, was -produced at the Haymarket, December 13, 1707, when it was acted five -times; and it was published probably early in the next year. It -continued on the London stage until 1786, and was last performed at -Bath, in 1813. It is only a fair comedy, lacking the qualities of -style, the originality in the conception of the characters, and the -skilful working out of the plot that had characterized Cibber’s two -earlier plays of the sentimental type. But in whatever way the plot as -a whole may be lacking, the last act has plenty of liveliness; there -complication follows complication and humorous incidents follow serious -with great rapidity. - -_The Rival Fools_, published in quarto in 1709 and played at Drury -Lane, January 11, 1709, is an alteration of Beaumont and Fletcher’s -_Wit at Several Weapons_, and was not successful. At its first -presentation it was acted five times, and was revived only once, in -1712, when it was acted twice. _The Biographia Dramatica_[53] relates -the following incident of the first performance, the events of which -may be compared with the reception accorded Thomson’s _Sophonisba_: - - “It met, however, with bad success. There happened to be a - circumstance in it, which, being in itself rather ridiculous, gave a - part of the audience an opportunity of venting their spleen on the - author; viz: a man in one of the earlier scenes on the stage, with - a long angling rod in his hand, going to fish for Miller’s Thumbs; - on which account some of the spectators took occasion whenever - Mr. Cibber appeared, who himself played the character, to cry out - continually, ‘Miller’s Thumbs.’” - -Cibber has followed the original quite closely so far as the plot is -concerned, much more closely than would be inferred from the first -lines of the prologue: - - “From sprightly Fletcher’s loose confed’rat muse, - Th’ unfinish’d Hints of these light Scenes we chuse, - For with such careless haste his Play was writ, - So unpersued each thought of started Wit; - Each Weapon of his Wit so lamely fought - That ’twou’d as scanty on our Stage be thought, - As for a modern Belle my Grannum’s Petticoat. - So that from th’ old we may with Justice say, - We scarce could cull the Trimming of a play.” - -In spite of this statement by Cibber himself, he adds practically -nothing to the plot, and in the dialogue adds merely a touch here and -there. - -As was customary in altering these old comedies written in verse, the -verse of the original is changed into prose, and as is also customary -in all of Cibber’s alterations, the long speeches are broken into -dialogue. - -The character of Pompey Doodle is somewhat enlarged in its -transformation into Samuel Simple, and is one of the most amusing -elements in the play. The treatment is distinctly Jacobean in its -exaggeration of character, and the reception by the audience must be -attributed either to the alteration of taste on the part of the public, -or to the personal unpopularity of Cibber, for the rôle is well written -and Cibber was particularly well fitted to act the part, both by -temperament and by physical qualities. - -_The Non-Juror_ was acted at Drury Lane on December 6, 1717, with a -prologue by Nicholas Rowe, poet laureate, and was published in 1718. At -the time of its first presentation it had the comparatively long run -of twenty-three performances, and was revived at Drury Lane and Covent -Garden in 1745, when its political meaning was again pertinent. - -The play came at a time of great political stress, so that it was but -natural that its strong Whig and anti-Catholic sentiments should arouse -the greatest antagonism.[54] This antagonism was not only voiced in the -many pamphlets issued at the time, but no doubt affected the general -attitude toward Cibber in his later life. Cibber, in his first letter -to Pope, states that one of his enemies went so far as to write a -pamphlet whose purport was that _The Non-Juror_ constituted a subtle -Jacobite libel against the government. He dedicated the play to the -king when it was published, and for this he received a gift of two -hundred pounds. Cibber was not burdened in mind because he had offended -the losing party, and any inconvenience he may have felt was amply -repaid by the pension and laureateship which later came as his reward. - -_The Non-Juror_ is based directly on Molière’s _Tartuffe_, though two -plays on the same theme had previously appeared in English: Crowne’s -_English Friar_ (1689), and Medbourne’s _Tartuffe_ (1670), the latter -a direct adaptation of Molière’s play. This _Tartuffe_ was revived -during the summer season of 1718 at Lincoln’s Inn Fields, and was -published while Cibber’s play was still running, with an advertisement -that in it “may be seen the plot, characters, and most part of the -language of _The Non-Juror_.” This statement is true only in that the -two plays by Medbourne and Cibber are based on Molière, and was made to -discredit Cibber’s claim to originality in the adaptation. - -Cibber was no doubt familiar with Medbourne’s play, but he used -Molière as a basis, and owed practically nothing to any play other -than the _Tartuffe_ of Molière. Cibber may have derived the suggestion -of the reformation of Charles from the corresponding character in -Medbourne’s play, but his manner of carrying out this reformation and -the difference in the qualities of the characters in the two plays make -this part an original creation. - -In the edition of Crowne in the series of _The Dramatists of the -Restoration_, the editors maintain Cibber’s greater indebtedness to -Crowne than to Molière, in a way that makes one doubt whether they had -ever read either Molière or Cibber. So far as plot is concerned there -is absolutely no resemblance, except that in both a priest attempts -to seduce a decent woman. The characters, style, and management are -both different and inferior in Crowne, although some slight similarity -may be discovered in the attempt of Finical and Dr. Wolf to allay the -consciences of the respective objects of their attentions. As suggested -by Van Laun, Father Finical, like Dr. Wolf, is based on Tartuffe. - -Cibber has handled his sources very freely, and in some particulars -has improved both the plot and the characters. That is not to say that -_The Non-Juror_ is a greater play than Molière’s _Tartuffe_, for as a -whole it is not. The parts of Dorine, who in _Tartuffe_ is the life and -source of the humor, of Cléante, and of Madame Pernelle, are omitted, -but the part of Mariane is enlivened into one of the best coquettes -of the stage. The other characters and incidents correspond in _The -Non-Juror_ and Molière’s _Tartuffe_, though the dénouement is more -artistically handled in Cibber. - -_The Refusal_, an adaptation of Molière’s _Les Femmes Savantes_, -published in 1721, was acted at Drury Lane, February 14, 1721, and -had a run of six performances. Molière’s play had been adapted by -Wright as _The Female Virtuosoes_ in 1693, and this play was revived at -Lincoln’s Inn Fields on January 10, 1721, to anticipate _The Refusal_. -In like manner with the effort to discredit Cibber’s hand in _The -Non-Juror_, though in this case after the run of Cibber’s play was -over, Curll published, with a dedication to Cibber, “the second edition -of _No Fools Like Wits_,[55] as it was acted at Lincoln’s Inn Fields or -_The Refusal_, as it was acted at Drury Lane.” - -In his adaptation Cibber has made more changes than is usual with him, -both in plot and in character; and in the dialogue he has anglicized -the idiom to an extent not found in his adaptations of tragedies from -the French. - -Molière’s comedy is a satire on false learning in men as well as in -women, while Cibber has added some satire on business trickery, in -the same way that he added political satire in his adaptation of -_Tartuffe_. Cibber has supplied the elder daughter with a successful -suitor, and the dénouement is brought about by different, more -complicated, and more characteristically English means. In the incident -in Molière’s play in which Bélise takes the love of Clitandre to -herself, Cibber substitutes the mother for Bélise, omits the maid, -along with her impertinences, and adds some slight original incidents. - -Trissotin, the poet, becomes one of the typical would-be wits of -English comedy, and Chrysale is changed to a typical promoter. In -Molière, Chrysale is a purely humorous character, whose vacillation -and lack of force were no doubt very laughable on the stage; Sir -Gilbert, his equivalent in Cibber’s play, on the other hand, is in no -way a weakling and is in no way admirable or a source of laughter, but -embodies a satire on contemporary business practices. - -The directness and simplicity of Molière’s play, the unity of tone and -plot, give way in Cibber to complication of plot and character, in -which the whole piece loses the delightful quality of the humor of the -original. - -_The Provoked Husband_ was presented at Drury Lane, January 10, 1728, -and had a run of twenty-eight nights. There was an unsuccessful attempt -on the part of Cibber’s enemies to damn the play on the first night; -the interruptions were so great that during the fourth act the actors -were compelled to stand still until it was quiet enough for them to -be heard. On January 31, Cibber published Vanbrugh’s unfinished play -and his own completion of it. The critics, who had condemned the play -unmercifully, especially the supposed additions of Cibber, found, when -the plays were published, that it was not Cibber but Vanbrugh they had -been condemning. According to Cibber,[56] on the twenty-eighth night -the play took in one hundred and forty pounds, a greater amount than -had been taken in at the last night of any play for fifty years. - -Vanbrugh’s _Journey to London_ consists of four acts, the first two -practically complete, but the last two apparently unfinished. Cibber -has used practically all that Vanbrugh left, omitting the trip to the -theatre in the last part of Act II, and adding much of his own to the -whole play. He has interspersed his additions between the parts of -Vanbrugh’s play, and has changed very little of the Vanbrugh part, -except to “water it down” where it had been too strong for the changed -taste of the theatre goers. - -Cibber’s additions to Steele’s _Conscious Lovers_ are mentioned on a -later page of these _Studies_. - -Several of Cibber’s comedies were translated into foreign tongues: in -German _The Double Gallant_ appeared as _Der doppellte Liebhaber_, -translated by Johann Friedrich Jünger and published in Leipzig in -1786, _The Careless Husband_ as _Der sorglose Ehemann_, published in -Göttingen in 1750, and _The Provoked Husband_ as _Der erzürnte Ehemann -und der Landjunker_, published in Frankfurt in 1753; in French _The -Provoked Husband_ appeared as _Le Mari poussé à bout, ou le voyage à -Londres_, published in London, 1761. - -The adaptations, except _The Non-Juror_ and _The Refusal_, seem to have -been produced merely to furnish amusement which should be in accordance -with changed stage conditions and changed taste. They show little -originality, being merely the stringing together of scenes without -alteration, though Cibber in the prologue to _The Double Gallant_ says: - - “Nay, even alter’d Plays, like old houses mended, - Cost little less than new, before they’re ended; - At least, our author finds the experience true.” - -His method seems to have been to take two plays of an older author, -often plays which contained both a serious and a comic action, to -select such scenes as suited his purpose, and to join them into a -play, either alternating the scenes of the separate plays with link -characters, or putting the two plays end on end, as in the case of -_Love Makes a Man_. This latter method entailed much greater labor, as -many of the characters were made by consolidating two characters from -different plays. - -Cibber’s comedies, which constitute his best and most important -work, may be divided into two general classes: comedies of manners -and intrigue, and sentimental comedies. The first class includes two -adaptations from Beaumont and Fletcher which are not strictly comedies -of manners but are more closely allied to the “comedy of humours,” -namely, _Love Makes a Man_ and _The Rival Fools_; one adaptation made -out of two plays by Dryden, _The Comical Lovers_; two from Molière, -_The Non-Juror_ and _The Refusal_, into both of which he introduced -contemporary social and political interest; and three other plays, -_Woman’s Wit_, _She Would and She Would Not_, and _The Double Gallant_, -the last of which takes its title, if not its plot, from Corneille’s -_Le Galant Double_. The sentimental comedies, in which form Cibber was -one of the very first to write, are _Love’s Last Shift_, _The Careless -Husband_, _The Lady’s Last Stake_, and _The Provoked Husband_, the -last being a completion of Vanbrugh’s _Journey to London_. The first -class consists almost altogether of adaptations; the second class is -essentially original. - - - - -II - -CIBBER AND THE DEVELOPMENT OF SENTIMENTAL COMEDY - - -1. CIBBER, NOT STEELE, THE IMPORTANT FIGURE IN ITS EARLY DEVELOPMENT. - -The fully developed form of sentimental comedy may be said to begin -with Steele’s _Conscious Lovers_ (1772) and to end with the attack -upon it made by Goldsmith, Foote, and their followers. Goldsmith -was “strongly prepossessed in favour of the poets of the last age -and strove to imitate them,”[57] and by his reintroduction of humor -into comedy he exerted a strong influence toward the downfall of the -sentimental type. The end of this vogue is generally well understood, -but the beginning of it has not been investigated with the same -thoroughness. Steele is generally given the credit of being the -innovator who reformed the stage,[58] although Ward and others give -some credit to the work of Cibber. The importance of Cibber in the -development of this form and in the moral reformation of comedy, -the effect of social conditions, and the gradual change from the -Restoration type, have not been fully studied. Colley Cibber was the -most important writer of comedy in preparing the way for the new form, -and practically every element of the later sentimental comedy is found -in his work. But Cibber was not a reformer calling on his age to -repent; he was rather answering a general demand of his time. - -Three stages may be discerned in the development of sentimental -comedy: first, that in which the morals of comedy were purified and -the new sentimental material was intermixed with the old humorous -material, represented by the work of Cibber; second, that in which the -sentimental theme is presented with very little comic entertainment, -represented by _The Conscious Lovers_; and third, that in which the -comedy of this second stage degenerates and in which the work becomes -artificial and lifeless, represented by the plays of Holcroft and his -school. - -Sentimental comedy as seen in its second phase may be briefly described -as comedy of manners in which the main action tends to inculcate a -moral lesson, in which the incidents no longer deal with illicit -intrigues, and in which the action is complicated by distressingly -pathetic situations. The chief characters are generally serious and -supersensitive in regard to such matters as filial duty, honor, and -the like; and while these persons are in no need of being reformed, -their exaggerated conceptions of honor have caused them to act so -that they are placed in an equivocal position and they appear to the -other characters as vicious. The language is chaste, there is constant -introduction of extremely stilted moralizing, and there is a notable -absence of humor. - -Cibber’s work in other lines was conventional and commonplace. It is -true that his _Apology_ is lively and interesting, and his pamphlets in -reply to Pope’s attacks are keen and humorous though vulgar, but the -rest of his prose is extremely conventional. His poetry, except a few -songs, is inexpressibly poor. Aside from one opera in which he takes -the same stand in regard to virtue that he does in his comedies, his -operas are merely the commonplace following of a vogue. His tragedies -are generally imitative; with two exceptions they are adaptations of -Corneille or Shakspere. His farces are about equal in merit to his -poetry, and are devoid of originality. - -Nor does Cibber’s life indicate the qualities that appear in his -sentimental comedies. The moral standard he displays in his pamphlets -in reply to Pope is far from high, and from the testimony of his -contemporaries concerning his personal character it would seem that -he was far from being the sort of man who would set about reforming -anything. And in all probability he would not have done so if there had -not been a general public movement in that direction. - - -2. SENTIMENTAL COMEDY A PRODUCT OF VARIOUS FORCES. - -But sentimental comedy did not spring full grown from the brain of a -single man. Nor was it the result of a single revolutionary force. -Sentimental comedy resulted from gradual modifications of the drama -of the time, developing from the prevalent type little by little -until it finally appeared as an independent form. The reform of the -stage was not an isolated phenomenon, nor was it directly the result -of the attacks made by Collier and others. Rather are all these the -result of a changed public conscience, which was manifested not merely -in literature and on the stage, but in the Revolution of 1688 and a -subsequent social reformation as well. - -Immediately after the Restoration there may be discovered two elements -in the life of the nation which had an influence both on the form and -on the content of literature. On the one side was the court, whose -standards affected both the form and content in the direction of -foreign models. Through the long period of exile on the continent, -Charles and his followers had become foreign in their literary taste -and they had great influence in the direction of a French type as -regards form; and because of the low and vicious standards of living -prevalent at court their influence stimulated the sympathetic handling -of low and vicious subjects. - -On the other hand, there were the people, strictly native in their -preference, who influenced the drama in the direction of native -standards in form, and Puritan standards in content. As to the form -of comedy, there was nothing essentially antagonistic in these two -influences; the one could easily combine with the other so that a new -thing, congruous and consistent, might result; but in the material -presented antagonism was bound to arise and soon did arise. In the -development of sentimental comedy from the type which predominated -during and after the Restoration, there was not at first any -modification in structural elements; the comedy of manners was adopted, -so far as form was concerned; the change, which was gradual and was a -direct response to changed social and moral conditions, was at first -entirely in the matter of content. This change first appears in the -sincere reformation of the hero at the end of the play; then in the -attitude towards cuckoldom, which Restoration comedy had treated as a -humorous fact; and then in the character of the language, which was -altered in the direction of moral decency. - -Under Charles II and James II the court, on which the theatre depended -for its right to live and also for its patronage, was vicious and -depraved. Its one grace was wit, and that it had in a superlative -degree. - - -3. PROGRESS IN ENGLISH SOCIETY. - -The people in general, except the court and those more or less -fashionable classes of society which would naturally follow it, -were not affected by this mode. They learned to despise Charles II -personally because of his lack of honor and morals, and hated his -followers as well as their mode of life. In the city the Puritan -element, which was “at once the most substantial and sober” part of the -community, began to exercise some of the same control of manners and -morals that it had practised under the commonwealth, and checked the -constant disregard of its moral principles by the court. - -But even during this corrupt time there were manifestations of activity -on the part of other elements of society, which looked toward the -betterment of conditions. In the life of the state there were events -which made for general progress and a more moral life among all the -people. With special reference to the regulation and restraint of the -theatre, certain elements in Parliament attempted, in 1669, to tax -the playhouses, which were situated in the disreputable part of town -and had become centers of prostitution; but the ministers of the king -intervened and the attempt to compel some restraint was unsuccessful. - -In the reigns of William and Mary and of Anne a reaction is seen in the -life of the court, and there appears a still greater progress in all -classes of society. - -The expulsion of the Stuarts brought about certain very positive -results which made for progress in all directions. So too the principle -of natural action and reaction was operating; but, considering the -historical circumstances, it was only to be expected that the reaction -toward a more moral and saner view of life should be less marked and -less rapid than the preceding reaction from Puritanism. - -Until after the downfall of the Stuarts, the Protestants in England had -never been united; but after that event even Presbyterians joined with -ecclesiastics of the Church of England in public ceremonies on terms of -friendship. Now that the question of political and religious supremacy -was permanently settled, the Protestants were free to turn to some of -the questions which are popularly supposed to be the real objects of -religious organizations--worship and the encouragement of right living. -However far it may have failed to measure up to modern ideas in these -respects, the church now began to be a greater moral force. - -The court became a very different sort of place. However far William -might fall short of middle class standards of today, he was a very -different sort of man from Charles or James, and had a very different -influence. As opposed to the Catholicism of the Stuarts, he was a -Presbyterian. Instead of haunting the theatre, where Charles found -more than one mistress among the actresses, William never even showed -himself at the theatre. Because of William’s prolonged absences on -the continent, during which Mary reigned in her own right, the person -of the queen became more important than in former reigns. Mary “had -been educated only to work embroidery, to play on the spinnet, and to -read the Bible and the _Whole Duty of Man_.”[59] “Her character was -unimpeachable, and by the influence of the king and queen the whole -court became most proper, even if it was somewhat dull.” But unlike -her husband, she went frequently to the theatre, where she showed -special favor for Shadwell and where she ordered such plays as _The -Old Bachelor_, _The Double Dealer_, and _The Committee_. It must be -admitted that Mary’s taste in regard to plays did not show great -literary or moral discrimination. - -Both under William and Mary and under Anne the court took positive -grounds on moral questions. In Evelyn’s _Diary_ for February 19, 1690, -we read: - - “The impudence of both sexes was now become so greate and so - universal, persons of all ranks keeping their courtesans publicly, - that the King had lately directed a letter to the Bishops to order - their Cleargy to preach against that sin, swearing, &c. and to put - the Ecclesiastical Laws in execution without any indulgence.” - -Mary, on July 9, 1691, wrote to the justices of the peace directing -that they execute all laws against the profanation of the Sabbath, and -even went so far as to have constables stationed on street corners to -capture pies and puddings that were being taken to the bakers to be -cooked on that day. In 1697 and 1698 King William issued two orders -concerning the acting of anything contrary to good morals or manners. -Queen Anne, who never went to the public theatre, made frequent -proclamations against immoral plays, masked women, and the admittance -of spectators behind the scenes, and in 1703 she issued a proclamation -against vice in general. - -Altogether, the forces of the court and of the government were -acting in accord to suppress the abuses which their predecessors had -countenanced both by favor and by participation. - -But however potent may have been the influence of the court, the real -movement for social reform came from the people, whose will the court -was really carrying out. The movement on the part of the people was -forwarded by the rise of various societies which were established for -moral, philanthropic, and religious purposes.[60] - -The Society for the Reformation of Manners, inaugurated by a small -number of gentlemen in 1692, was probably the most influential and -best known of these organizations. It was organized primarily for the -purpose of informing on evildoers, and that there might be no criticism -concerning their sincerity, the fines were paid over to charity. In -addition to carrying on this work of informing, the society established -quarterly lectures on moral subjects, secured the preaching of sermons -on its objects, and in 1699 it claimed to have secured thousands of -convictions.[61] The church was brought into the movement by Archbishop -Tenison’s circular to the clergy encouraging them to cooperate with the -laity in the movement. This movement went farther than the prosecution -of overt acts against morality, for in 1701-2 the players at Lincoln’s -Inn Fields were prosecuted for uttering impious, lewd, and immoral -expressions.[62] - - -4. COLLIER. - -Collier’s attack on the stage, published in 1698, was no doubt a potent -influence in crystallizing public opinion in regard to the drama, but -it does not stand alone; it is merely a sign of a movement which the -stage had begun to notice and profit by several years previously. -During the year 1698 not less than sixteen books and pamphlets were -published in the controversy. Collier’s book had great influence in -furthering the work of reformation; but, low as was the tone of the -drama at the time, one must confess that in some particulars Collier is -radical and far-fetched in his arguments and conclusions. - -Cibber, though he had two years previously written a play with a -distinct reformatory and moral purpose, did not much relish Collier’s -attack or agree with it. In the prologue to _Xerxes_ he intimates that -Collier might prove a good index for those who desired to read immoral -literature: - - “Thus ev’n sage Collier too might be accus’d, - If what h’as writ, thro’ ignorance, abus’d: - Girls may read him, not for the truth, he says, - But to be pointed to the bawdy plays.” - -In _The Careless Husband_ we find Lord Morelove saying: - - “Plays now, indeed, one need not be so much afraid of; for since the - late short-sighted view of them, vice may go on and prosper; the - stage dares hardly show a vicious person speaking like himself, for - fear of being call’d prophane for exposing him.” - -To this Lady Easy replies that, - - “’Tis hard, indeed, when people won’t distinguish between what’s - meant for contempt, and what for example.” - -Perhaps Cibber’s most interesting contribution to the controversy is -contained in his dedication of _Love Makes a Man_, published in the -first edition, but omitted in the collected edition of his plays: - - “But suppose the stage may have taken too loose a liberty? Is there - nothing to be said for it? Have not all sciences been guilty? Was - it to be expected in a reign of pleasure, peace and madness, that - the poets should not be merry? Did not the court then lead up the - dance? And did not the whole nation join in it? Was it not mere Joan - Sanderson,[63] and did not the lawn-sleeves, cuffs, and cassocks - fill up the measure? But since those dancing days are over, I hope - our enemies will give us leave to grow wise, and sober, as well as - the rest of our neighbors: Why shall we not have the liberty to - reform, as well as the clergy, and lawyers? I believe upon a fair - examination we may find, that prophaneness, cruelty, and passive - obedience, are now less than ever the business of the stage, the - bench or the pulpit; and I doubt not, but we can produce examples of - new plays, lawyers, and pastors that have met with success without - being obliged to immorality, bribery, or politics ... - - “Now if the stage must needs down, because ’tis possible it may - seduce, as instruct; the same rule of policy might forbid the use of - physic, because not only their patients, but physicians themselves - die of common diseases; or call in the milled crowns, because they - are but so many patterns for coiners to counterfeit by, or might - as well suppress the Courts of Judicature, because some persons - have suffered for what a succeeding reign has made a new law, that - makes that law that sentenced them illegal: The same conclusion - might discountenance our religion, because we sometimes find pride, - hypocricy, avarice, and ignorance in its teachers: So that if our - zealous reformers do not stick fairly to their method we may in time - hope to see our nation flourish without either wit, health, money, - law, conscience, or religion.... - - “But this sort of reformation I hope will never be thoroughly - wrought, while the king, and the Established Church have any friends: - The stage I am sure was never heartily oppressed but by the enemies - of both.” - -Though Cibber thought Collier extreme and unjust in his criticism, -his own attitude concerning the abuses of the stage was hardly less -censorious than Collier’s, but he blames the audiences for the low -moral standards of the entertainments: - - “However gravely we may assert, that Profit ought always to be - inseparable from the Delight of the Theatre; nay, admitting that - the Pleasure would be heighten’d by the uniting them; yet, while - Instruction is so little the Concern of the Auditor, how can we hope - that so choice a Commodity will come to a Market where there is so - seldom a Demand for it? - - “It is not to the Actor therefore, but to the vitiated and low Taste - of the Spectator, that the Corruptions of the Stage (of what kind - soever) have been owing.”[64] - -His own attitude, which he held from the first of his career as a -dramatist, may be illustrated what he says in the _Apology_:[65] - - “Yet such Plays (entirely my own) were not wanting at least, in what - our most admired Writers seem’d to neglect, and without which, I - cannot allow the most taking Play, to be intrinsically good, or - to be a Work, upon which a Man of Sense and Probity should value - himself: I mean when they do not, as well _prodesse_, as _delectare_, - give Profit with Delight! The _Utile Dolci_ was, of old, equally - the Point; and has always been my Aim, however wide of the Mark, I - may have shot my Arrow. It has often given me Amazement, that our - best Authors of that time, could think the Wit, and Spirit of their - Scenes, could be an Excuse for making the Looseness of them publick. - The many Instances of their Talents so abused, are too glaring, to - need a closer Comment, and are sometimes too gross to be recited. - If then to have avoided this Imputation, or rather to have had the - Interest, and Honour of Virtue always in view, can give Merit to - a Play; I am contented that my Readers should think such Merit, - the All, that mine have to boast of.--Libertines of mere Wit, and - Pleasure, may laugh at these grave Laws, that would limit a lively - Genius: But every sensible honest Man, conscious of their Truth, - and Use, will give these Ralliers Smile for Smile, and shew a due - Contempt for their Merriment.” - -Davies tells us:[66] - - “So well did Cibber, though a professed libertine through life, - understand the dignity of virtue, that no comic author has drawn more - delightful and striking pictures of it. Mrs. Porter, on reading a - part, in which Cibber had painted virtue in the strongest and most - lively colors, asked him how it came to pass, that a man, who could - draw such admirable portraits of goodness, should yet live as if he - were a stranger to it?--‘Madam,’ said Colley, ‘the one is absolutely - necessary, the other is not.’” - -Possibly this inconsistency in personal conduct and public confession -explains why comedies which aimed to teach lessons of virtue were -sentimental and did not ring true. The men who wrote them wrote from -the head and not from the heart, influenced by a growing public demand -and without real sincerity or conviction. - - -5. CHARACTERISTICS OF RESTORATION COMEDY. - -Restoration comedy up to about 1696, while it was essentially a native -development, was influenced both in technique and in content by the -drama to which the court had been accustomed in its exile in France. -The Jonsonian comedy was developing both in the period immediately -preceding the Commonwealth and during the Restoration into the same -sort of thing that we have here, and Shadwell, poet laureate and -especial favorite of Queen Mary, definitely took the work of Jonson -as his model. The Jonsonian satire had thrown emphasis on fundamental -traits of human nature, but in this later type satire is centered -on manners, dress, the non-essential elements of life, though the -characters continue to be embodiments of single traits. Molière, whose -earliest effective follower in England was Etherege, taught the English -writers of the comedy of manners to aim at polish, refinement of style -and dialogue, and his influence confirmed the tendency of English -comedy to follow the unities as they were then understood. Restoration -comedy, then, is native Jonsonian comedy, influenced by the comedy of -Molière.[67] The chief literary sources of its plots are the comedies -of Beaumont and Fletcher, of Molière, of Corneille, and Spanish -comedies and novels. - -Though the late Elizabethans had been gross in word, there had always -been in their work a tendency to punish vice and reward virtue, or at -least to make vice ridiculous. But in the Restoration this grossness -becomes grossness of word, character, and idea, and it is not the -violator of virtue that is made ridiculous, but his victim. The -Elizabethan gaiety, spontaneity, healthy overflow of spirits, become a -cynicism which is absurd in its artificiality and deliberate pose. The -Jonsonian reaction from earlier Elizabethan romanticism continues its -advance toward realism. - -The Restoration dramatist lacks the power to construct effective -plots. He is able to handle his separate incidents with skill, but -when it comes to sustaining an action through five acts, he fails. His -chief fault lies in too great intricacy, excessive elaboration, and -complexity, which are due to his endeavor to tell too many stories. -In the construction of his plays he commonly takes two, and sometimes -three, plays from Molière, or Beaumont and Fletcher, to form one play -of his own. Hence there is in the handling of the plot a lack of unity. -Furthermore, in his extreme elaboration of single situations, which -one must admit have qualities to make them lively and interesting -on the stage, the dramatist fails in the great essential quality of -probability; if one regards the unity of time, he makes his stories -impossible. Lack of sequence is caused by the constant interruption of -conversation, which is brilliant and entertaining in itself, but has -nothing to do with the story. - -The dramatist tends to the elaboration of stock themes, dealing with -the pursuit of illicit pleasure, assignations, and love intrigues. The -typical story might be stated as follows: a young man is entangled with -one or more women, a widow, the wife of an elderly or foolish husband, -or a mistress whom he is keeping or who is keeping him, and while he -is carrying on these intrigues he falls in love with the virtuous -young woman he eventually wins. Sometimes his mistresses object to his -marrying some one else, sometimes they do not, and in the latter case -the opposing force is centered in a rapacious guardian or some other -complicating person or circumstance. There are usually many minor -love affairs, sometimes legitimate, sometimes not, and usually so -complicated that it is difficult to keep the various threads separate. -Collier did no injustice when he said that “the stage poets make their -principal persons vicious and reward them at the end of the play.” - -The love is mere sensuality. There is tacit acknowledgment that the men -will be untrue to their wives and a fear on the part of the husbands -that their wives will cuckold them.[68] This fear is not because of any -moral scruples, but is merely because of the ridicule that cuckoldom -brought on the husband. The treatment is frankly gross, licentious, -cynical. - -In a sense this treatment is highly realistic; to this extent, that it -is a general reflection of the standards and manners of the life of the -court. The fashions are contemporary, the manners and morals are those -of the upper classes. The playwrights confine themselves to a limited -section of but a part of the people. Social and religious institutions -are treated so as to make them ridiculous and contemptible. - -That any other treatment would have been difficult is seen by -considering the relationship existing between the theatre and the -court. The theatre had its authority for existence directly from the -court, one theatre receiving its license from the King, the other -from the Duke of York, while the companies of actors were known as -the King’s or the Duke’s servants.[69] These licenses were moreover -revocable at the pleasure of those who gave them. Controversies and -differences within the theatre were often settled personally by the -King or Duke, and Charles is said to have suggested subjects to the -dramatists in many instances. With so direct and personal a relation, -anything other than compliance with the taste of the court could result -in nothing but the downfall of the theatre. The theatre’s very life -depended on its selection and presentation of themes that would satisfy -and reflect the taste of the most morally degraded court that England -has ever had. - -The characterization in these plays is conventional and often vague. -For example, it may be laid down as an almost invariable rule that a -widow is never virtuous. In the embodiment of a single trait there -is the continued tendency to exaggeration seen in the “humourous” -characterization of Jonson, with the same use of descriptive -names--Courtall, Mrs. Frail, Lady Wishfort, Justice Clodpate--to save -the labor of characterization. The characters are likewise lacking in -complexity and development. - -There is the tendency to Jonsonian division of characters into dupes -and dupers,[70] but this division is not so clear as in Jonson, nor is -the division based on the essential qualities of human nature, but is -rather on the basis of wit and power in repartee. The heroes are all -witty, usually wealthy, popular, and their life work is the pursuit of -women. The women are all witty, beautiful, and all rakes, except the -heroine, and even the heroines bid fair to become so in a few months -after marriage. The hero or heroine of one play might be the hero or -heroine of any other play so far as any distinctive characterization is -concerned. - -There is the pretended wit, a simpleton who apes the men of wit -and fashion, who thinks himself most clever, and who is perfectly -unconscious of the fact that he is being made a butt for the wit of -the sensible characters. Such are the Dapperwits, the Witwouds, and -the Tattles. Somewhat similar is the fop who imitates the French, -thinks only of his dress, his appearance, and the figure he makes. He -is all ostentation, is entirely self-centered and simple in his mental -processes, but is really not such a fool as one imagines at first. -Etherege’s Sir Fopling Flutter, and Cibber’s Sir Novelty Fashion--the -Lord Foppingtons of _The Relapse_ and _The Careless Husband_--are two -well drawn presentations of this character. An interesting female type -is the Miss Hoyden-Prue-Hippolyta young woman, who has been kept in -secluded ignorance of the world, but who shows a sudden ingenuity, -knowledge of the world, and desire for the sensual joys of life. There -are, of course, the elderly cuckolds, dominated and fooled by their -wives, and the wives who profess virtue but do not practise it. - -That the view here given is not prejudiced by modern standards may -be seen by a description of the characters by one of the dramatists -themselves. Shadwell in the preface to _The Sullen Lovers_ expresses -himself, not without vigor: - - “But in the Plays, which have been wrote of late, there is no such - thing as perfect Character, but the two chief Persons are commonly - a Swearing, Drinking, Whoring, Ruffian for a Lover, and an impudent - ill-bred _Tomrig_ for a Mistress, and these are the fine People of - the play; and ... almost any thing is proper for them to say; but - their chief Subject is Bawdy, and Profaneness, which they call _Brisk - Writing_, when the most dissolute of Men, that relish those things - well enough in Private, are shock’d at ’em in Publick.” - -The dialogue, which often interrupts the movement of the plot, and -often surpasses in interest the more solid quality of representation -of life, is usually marked by the most brilliant and biting wit, by -keenly satiric repartee, and by epigrammatic polish. The dialogue has -often nothing to do with the story, but is merely the exhibition of -the author’s ability in the cynical treatment of contemporary manners. -The attitude is one of satire and raillery against all established -institutions, against marriage, the manners of society, the Puritans, -the newly developing sciences, the court, dueling, the country and -its inhabitants, the opera, the new songs and novels, the affectation -of foreign airs, the adoption of foreign words, poetry and dilettante -writing, polite literary conversation, legal abuses, and almost -everything that one can conceive. - -The locality in which the plays are set is extremely narrow at -first, being confined to the town; for most of the plays are set in -London, in localities familiar to the audiences. Within the class -and localities to which the comedy restricts itself, it is a most -interesting social document; but it must always be remembered that it -is no sense representative of the whole people. Sometimes we are taken -to Spain or Italy, but it is Spain or Italy only in name, the people -and the customs are all English. The scene may sometimes be one of the -fashionable watering places in England; but it is never in the despised -country. - -Whether one agrees with it or not it is well to keep in mind Lamb’s -defense in his essay _On the Artificial Comedy of the Last Century_: - - “We have been spoiled with ... the ... drama of common life; where - the moral point is everything; where, instead of the fictitious - half-believed personages of the stage (the phantoms of old comedy) - we recognize ourselves, our brothers, aunts, kinsfolk, allies, - patrons, enemies,--the same as in life.... “I do not know how it is - with others, but I feel the better always for the perusal of one of - Congreve’s--nay, why should I not add even of Wycherley’s--comedies. - I am the gayer at least for it; and I could never connect those - sports of a witty fancy in any shape with any result to be drawn - from them to imitation in real life. They are a world of themselves - almost as much as fairyland.... But in its own world do we feel - the creature is so very bad?--The Fainalls and the Mirabels, the - Dorimants and the Lady Touchwoods, in their own sphere, do not offend - my moral sense; in fact they do not appeal to it at all. They seem - engaged in their proper element. They break through no laws, or - conscientious restraints. They know of none. They have got out of - Christendom into the land--what shall I call it?--of cuckoldry--the - Utopia of gallantry, where pleasure is duty, and the manners perfect - freedom. It is altogether a speculative scene of things, which has no - reference whatever to the world that is.... He [Congreve] has spread - a privation of moral light ... over his creations; and his shadows - flit before you without distinction or preference. Had he introduced - a good character, a single gush of moral feeling, a revulsion of the - judgment to actual life and actual duties, the impertinent Goshen - would have only lighted to the discovery of deformities, which now - are none, because we think them none.... “... When we are among - them [the characters of Congreve and Wycherley], we are amongst a - chaotic people. We are not to judge them by our usages. No reverend - institutions are insulted by their proceedings,--for they have none - among them. No peace of families is violated,--for no family ties - exist among them. No purity of the marriage bed is stained,--for - none is supposed to have a being.... There is neither right nor - wrong,--gratitude or its opposite,--claim or duty,--paternity or - sonship.... - - “The whole is a passing pageant.... But, like Don Quixote, we take - part against the puppets, and quite as impertinently.... We would - indict our very dreams.” - - -6. BEGINNINGS OF THE CHANGE IN THE DRAMA. - -Such had been the conditions surrounding the drama and in the drama -itself before the reformation began. When one comes to look at the -stage and the audiences, one finds very little indication of change -at first. In 1682 there seems to have been objection to _London -Cuckolds_ on the ground of indecency, and Ravenscroft in the prologue -to _Dame Dobson_ (1682) claims to have complied with the objections -which had been raised by making his own play dull and civil. In 1684 -appeared Southerne’s first comedy, _The Disappointment_, which he calls -a “play,” and in this we have the serious treatment of the marriage -relations and the preservation of a wife’s chastity. Throughout, -Southerne’s tendency was towards morality. - -In 1696 there begins a real and easily discernible movement towards the -moral treatment of dramatic themes. _The She Gallants_ (1696) was so -offensive to the ladies that it had to be withdrawn; in _She Ventures -and He Wins_ (1696) the man who would carry on an amour with a married -woman is exposed and tricked and made the butt; and in Mrs. Manley’s -_The Lost Lover_ (1696) there is the noticeable introduction of a -virtuous wife. - -In 1697, the epilogue to _Boadicea_, a tragedy, tells us that - - “Once only smutty jests could please the town, - But now (Heav’n help our trade) they’ll not go down.” - -Waterhouse[71] finds traces of sentimentality in Vanbrugh’s _Aesop_, -which appeared the same year. Then in 1698 matters were brought to a -head by Collier, and we find Congreve’s _Double Dealer_ advertised to -be acted “with several expressions omitted,” while in _The Way of the -World_ (1700) his muse is somewhat more chaste. _The Provoked Wife_ -was altered, probably in 1706, so that the clergy might not seem to be -attacked. - -From this time on the changed attitude was increasingly manifest in the -new plays, though the old were still acted with little or no change. - -In _The State of the Case Restated_[72] it is contended that the royal -patent to the Drury Lane Theatre was given to Sir Richard Steele for -the purpose of correcting the abuses of the theatre, but that Sir -Richard had not done this; in fact that - - “The same lewd plays were acted and reviewed without any material - alteration, which gave occasion for that universal complaint against - the English stage, of lewdness and debauchery, from all the sober and - religious part of the nation; the whole business of comedy continuing - all this time to be the criminal intrigues of fornication and - adultery, ridiculing of marriage, virtue, and integrity, and giving - a favorable turn to vicious characters, and instructing loose people - how to carry on their lewd designs with plausibility and success: - thus among other plays they have revived _The Country Wife_, _Sir - Fopling Flutter_, _The Rover_, _The Libertine Destroyer_, and several - others, and it is remarkable, that the knight, or coadjutors, had - condemned _Sir Fopling Flutter_, as one of the most execrable and - vicious plays that ever was performed in public.” - -The change that was occurring may be fairly illustrated by quotations -from plays by Etherege and Steele, which are characteristic of the -alterations not only as to morals but as to moralizing. In speaking of -marriage Etherege says, “your nephew ought to conceal it [his marriage] -for a time, madam, since marriage has lost its good name; prudent men -seldom expose their own reputations, till ’tis convenient to justify -their wives;”[73] while Steele’s sentiment is that “wedlock is hell if -at least one side does not love, as it would be Heaven if both did.”[74] - - -7. CIBBER’S COMEDIES. - -Cibber at the very outset of his career as a dramatist, in _Love’s Last -Shift_ (1696), deliberately attempted to reform the stage, and that -the audience was ready for the innovation is shown by the way it was -received, for we are told that “never were spectators more happy in -easing their minds by uncommon and repeated plaudits. The honest tears, -shed by the audience, conveyed a strong reproach to our licentious -poets, and was to Cibber the highest mark of honor.”[75] Davies further -gives Cibber the credit of being the first in reforming the English -stage, and of founding English sentimental comedy. “The first comedy, -acted since the Restoration, in which were preserved purity of manners -and decency of language, with a due respect to the honor of the -marriage-bed, was Colley Cibber’s _Love’s Last Shift, or The Fool in -Fashion_.”[76] Cibber himself makes no claim to decency of language, -nor is it found to any greater extent in this play than in the other -plays of the period. Certainly there can be nothing bolder than the -first act, or the epilogue, which reads as follows: - - “Now, gallants, for the author. First, to you - Kind city gentlemen o’ th’ middle row; - He hopes you nothing to his charge can lay, - There’s not a cuckold made in all his play. - Nay, you must own, if you believe your eyes, - He draws his pen against your enemies: - For he declares, today, he merely strives - To maul the beaux--because they maul your wives. - Nor, sirs, to you whose sole religion’s drinking, - Whoring, roaring, without the pain of thinking, - He fears he’s made a fault you’ll ne’er forgive, - A crime beyond the hopes of a reprieve: - An honest rake forego the joys of life, - His whores and wine, t’ embrace a dull chaste wife! - Such out-of-fashion stuff! but then again, - He’s lewd for above four acts, gentlemen. - - * * * * * - - Four acts for your coarse palates were design’d, - But then the ladies taste is more refin’d, - They, for Amanda’s sake, will sure be kind.” - -The main action, that which deals with the reformation of the wandering -husband, seems to be original with Cibber in every respect. It deals -with the reformation of a husband who eight or ten years before has -deserted his young wife for a dissolute life on the continent, and who -returns to England still more degenerate in mind and morals than when -he left, and so entirely depleted in purse that he has not money enough -to buy a meal or pay for a night’s lodging for himself and his servant. -The husband is finally led to return to his wife, whose appearance has -so changed that he does not recognize her, by her pretense of being a -new mistress. This subterfuge is more or less remotely suggestive of -Shakspere’s _All’s Well that Ends Well_ and Shirley’s _Gamester_, both -of which have been suggested as its source; but it owes nothing to them -in the working out of the situation. - -The theme is practically that of _The Careless Husband_: the -reformation of a husband not entirely spoiled at heart. The moral -teaching is that there is the same pleasure in legitimate enjoyment as -in the baser and illicit sort. - -The innovation consists in the very moral ending of the piece, -particularly in the definite decision of the hero to reform, a -determination which he expresses as follows: - - “By my example taught, let every man, whose fate has bound him to - a marry’d life, beware of letting loose his wild desires: for if - experience may be allow’d to judge, I must proclaim the folly of a - wandering passion. The greatest happiness we can hope on earth, - - And sure the nearest to the joys above, - Is the chaste rapture of a virtuous love.” - -It is to be noticed that the illicit affair of Sir Novelty Fashion and -Mrs. Flareit is made ridiculous and not happy at the end, nor does Sir -Novelty acquire a mistress or a wife who has previously been chaste. -Likewise there is no husband who is made ridiculous by being cuckolded, -and the only amour, if it can be called an amour, that which Amanda’s -maid unwillingly has with Snap, is made right the next morning by the -marriage of the two. - -On the other hand, the play, aside from these particulars, exhibits -the technique and the material of the typical Restoration comedy. -The chief incident deals in most frank style with the sex relations -of the hero and heroine, treated essentially in the Restoration way, -with the exception that the audience knows they are man and wife while -the characters do not. The cellar incident is as frank and gross as -anything of the sort in the earlier drama, though in this case the -final outcome is a wedding. There is the same succession of lively and -disconnected incidents, incidents which would go well on the stage, and -which make up five separate threads of story. The substitution of the -name of one person for another in the marriage bond is the same sort of -thing that occurs over and over again in the earlier comedy.[77] - -The characters represent the same more or less stiff drawing of -conventional figures. Sir Novelty Fashion is of the same family as Sir -Fopling Flutter; Lovelace and Young Worthy are the same drunken rakes -as those who make the principal characters in the unreformed drama, -with the exception that here they are not presented to us as carrying -on their amours. Snap is the witty servingman who is invariably paired -with the maid of the heroine in Restoration comedy. There is the same -presentation of local scenes, particularly that in the park; there is -the same coarse speech; and there is the same interruption of the story -by raillery. - -But the play as already suggested is a very distinct step in advance in -its treatment of fundamental morality, and marks a conscious beginning -of a new mode; not an inconsiderable achievement for the first play of -an author twenty-four years old. - -The two plots of _Woman’s Wit_ (1697) are entirely dissimilar in tone -and dramatic handling, and, moreover, have no essential connection with -each other. The main plot, which gives the name to the piece, is in the -Restoration manner, while the sub-plot, which deals with the Rakishes, -is in the mould of the minor late Elizabethans. In its portrayal of -manners it belongs to the type represented by the plays of Brome, -marked by coarseness rather than finish, and implying about the same -standard of morals. - -The main plot consists of a series of complications caused by the -efforts of Longeville to unmask Leonora’s unfaithfulness to Lovemore, -to whom she is engaged. She convinces Lovemore that Longeville’s -efforts are the result of a plot, the purpose of which is to alienate -Lovemore and Leonora so that Longeville may have her to himself; and -there then follows one complication after another, until the characters -are at last gathered together and Leonora is made to confess her -duplicity. - -The situation on which the main action is based is original and highly -dramatic, but in order to maintain the intrigue Cibber has had to use -incidents which are marked by improbability and dramatic blindness -to such an extent that the action becomes wearisome. Cibber seems to -be groping for something different from the conventional Restoration -intrigue. His conception is worthy of more success than he attained, -but he lacked the dramatic skill and experience to carry it out. - -Some of the character drawing is good. Longeville and Lovemore are -rather decent young men, but are no doubt too sentimental for success -on the stage at this time. The Rakishes are overdrawn and farcical. The -women, with the exception of Leonora, are lacking in the spontaneity -and wit demanded of seventeenth and early eighteenth century heroines, -and like the men are possibly too sentimental. Leonora is the intriguer -and is the best drawn and most important personage in the play. Her -downfall is the result of her own character and conduct, and in the -disapproval of her character and actions Cibber has repeated, to some -extent, views he expressed in his first play. - -The vulgar sub-plot which deals with Old Rakish and Young Rakish, when -separated from _Woman’s Wit_ and acted in 1707 as _The School Boy_, was -a greater success than the original play. With the exception of the -change in the names of some of the personages, minor alterations of the -dialogue, the omission of parts of the incidents, and the addition of -such incidents as are necessary to make it stand by itself, the play is -verbatim as it appeared when a part of _Woman’s Wit_. - -From the point of view of the reformation of the stage it must be -confessed that _Woman’s Wit_ was not of great importance. The moral -tone of the main action is high; at least virtue is rewarded and vice -disgraced, and there are no amours carried on. But the sub-action, -which was later transformed into _The School Boy_, is entirely opposed -to both good taste and good morals, and after a series of low comedy -scenes, ends with the promise of Young Rakish to Master Johnny that he -will take Johnny to the playhouse, where the latter may satisfy his -disappointment in the failure to marry his mother’s woman. Although -notable progress in the morality of the drama had been made, as we -have seen, the fact that this sub-action was successfully presented by -itself shows that the taste of the theatre-going public was not yet -entirely regenerate. - -_Love Makes a Man_ (1701) is a rather close adaptation of two of -Beaumont and Fletcher’s plays,[78] in which Cibber does not pretend -to any serious purpose. “For masks, we’ve scandal, and for beaus, -French airs.” And yet his moralizing and sentimental tendency cannot -be entirely restrained, for when Carlos, the hero of the play, does -turn from his books to love, he speaks in a most heightened and -sentimental strain. So too the efforts of Louisa to seduce him are met -with sentiments of lofty morality which are actuated by his sincere -love for Angelina. The Restoration lover would not have hesitated -in the slightest degree to enjoy all that Louisa offered and his -wife-to-be would have taken it as a matter of course, probably would -have joked with her confidante, if not with the hero, on the subject. -But with Cibber not only is the attitude concerning this sort of thing -changed, but in his alteration he has omitted one incident[79] that -would have been a source of great delight to a Restoration audience, -and has softened the language throughout, so that the coarseness -which marks his original has largely disappeared. No one undergoes -a moral reformation, for Louisa has not been evil in her life, and -this one unsuccessful effort at seduction cures her. But the play has -two characteristics of the sentimental type; it is perfectly moral in -action, and it has some expression of sentimental philosophy. - -_She Would and She Would Not_ (1702) is probably more in accordance -with modern taste than any other play Cibber wrote. In this regard for -good taste as well as good morals it is significant of the change in -English comedy, and though it is not sentimental, it indicates Cibber’s -readiness to adopt and lead the new mode. In its technique it reminds -us of the Spanish intrigue plays of Dryden; but it is perfectly moral, -and the two lovers do not employ their time, when away from the main -business of winning their wives, in carrying on intrigues with other -women. - -_The Careless Husband_ (acted 1704) is Cibber’s masterpiece in -sentimental comedy. In it he has reached greater excellence than in his -former plays in plot and in character presentation, and in the ability -to make his plot and moral purpose work out consistently and logically. -The reformation of Loveless in _Love’s Last Shift_ strikes one as -not in keeping with his character; one feels that his relapse[80] is -quite the natural thing to happen. In this play, however, the hero’s -character is presented from the first in a way that prepares one for -the final reformation. In this particular Cibber rises above his -contemporaries in comedy. - -In _The Careless Husband_ Cibber lays claim to deliberate and -serious moral purpose and deals, as he did in his first play, with -the reclaiming of a licentious husband by a virtuous wife. Dibdin -extravagantly says of it that “it was a school for elegant manners, and -an example for honorable actions.” Cibber expresses himself in regard -to his purpose, in the dedication, as follows: - - “The best criticks have long and justly complain’d, that the - coarseness of most characters in our late Comedies, have been unfit - entertainments for People of Quality, especially the ladies: and - therfore I was long in hopes that some able pen (whose expectation - did not hang upon the profits of success) wou’d generously attempt - to reform the Town into a better taste than the World generally - allows ’em: but nothing of that kind having lately appear’d, that - would give me the opportunity of being wise at another’s expence, I - found it impossible any longer to resist the secret temptation of my - vanity, and so e’en struck the first blow myself: and the event has - now convinc’d me, that whoever sticks closely to Nature, can’t easily - write above the understandings of the Galleries, tho’ at the same - time he may possibly deserve applause of the Boxes.” - -But in _The Careless Husband_, in contrast with what he had previously -written in this field, the tone of the entire play is moral, not merely -that of the fifth act, the play is worked out consistently, and the -offensive effect of an incongruous mixture of standards is lacking. -It belongs distinctly to the sentimental type, and is the best of the -early school. - -In the prologue Cibber gives a summary of the kind of characters that -should illustrate the moral the comedy writer has as his theme: - - “Of all the various Vices of the Age, - And shoals of fools expos’d upon the Stage, - How few are lasht that call for Satire’s rage! - What can you think to see our Plays so full - Of Madmen, Coxcombs, and the drivelling Fool? - Of Cits, of Sharpers, Rakes, and roaring Bullies, - Of Cheats, of Cuckolds, Aldermen and Cullies? - Wou’d not one swear, ’twere taken for a rule, - That Satire’s rod in the Dramatick School, - Was only meant for the incorrigible Fool? - As if too Vice and Folly were confined - To the vile scum alone of human kind, - Creatures a Muse should scorn; such abject trash - Deserves not Satire’s but the Hangman’s lash. - - * * * * * - - We rather think the persons fit for Plays, - Are those whose birth and education says - They’ve every help that shou’d improve mankind, - Yet still live slaves to a vile tainted mind.” - -In this play Cibber continues the general practice of basing dramatic -technique upon that of the Restoration drama. We find the same -multiplicity of plots, though there is here a material reduction in -their number. But here the various plots are more consistently bound -together and more logically worked out. The hero is a somewhat refined -Restoration character; he has more gentleness and goodness in him, but -the course he pursues is typical of the earlier plays in that he is -carrying on two amours during the play and at the end he abandons those -intrigues; with this difference, however, that the reformation of the -hero of _The Careless Husband_ is felt to be permanent. - -The love story of Lord Morelove and Lady Betty, which forms the -sub-action, is in the best style of the comedy of manners. It, as well -as the main action, reminds one in its finished workmanship of the best -plays written during the latter part of the preceding century. - -There is a distinct effort to teach the advantage of moral living, in -the unhappy outcome of the illicit affairs and in the happy outcome -of the legitimate. The situation in which Edging and Sir Charles are -discovered asleep, which proved too gross for Cibber’s audience, is -nevertheless handled in a manner to show disapproval; the Restoration -dramatist would have been salacious and humorous. Sir Charles’s feeling -of guilt after this scene, however, is an entirely new note. - -Some of the characters are stock figures. Lady Betty is the usual -coquette, is a Millamant type, but is altogether more human and modern; -Lord Foppington is the continuation of Sir Novelty Fashion, whom we -recognize as a type which appears in Etherege and Crowne; and Sir -Charles, until his reformation, is, in his conduct, the Restoration -rake, with, however, distinctly more humanity. His whole-heartedness -and inherent honor make one forgive his lapse in conduct. - -Other characters indicate a new mode. Lady Easy is a modest, virtuous, -capable wife, full of moderation and tact, with the gentleness of -the modern ideal woman. She belongs to the patient Griselda type, -and her situation, which contains not a little pathos, is handled -in a way to gain the sympathy of the audience. This is a new and -noteworthy contribution in the direction of the fully developed type -of sentimental comedy. Even in spite of Sir Charles’s defection in -conduct, we recognize an inherent goodness in his nature. Lord Morelove -is the preaching, sentimentalizing type, serious minded and upright, -the sort of character that Cibber has presented in Lord Lovemore in -_Woman’s Wit_ and Elder Worthy in _Love’s Last Shift_; a character -who seldom appears in the Restoration period, or, if he does appear, -is ridiculed. In this presentation of a successful lover, lacking in -wit and inconstancy, Cibber was not following the convention of the -preceding drama, which usually made its heroes witty scamps. - -While we still have light banter and raillery, they are primarily -used to display character or further the plot, functions which they -disregard in the Restoration plays. The theme and its working out -not only deal with the reformation of the loose character, but also -endeavor to present an admirable example of womanhood who shows a -proper fidelity to her husband in spite of all his delinquencies. In -the presentation of this high type of character Cibber has again become -an innovator and has made a positive contribution to the drama of the -period. - -In his adaptation of the plays by Dryden[81] in _The Comical Lovers_ -(1707) Cibber has not attempted any changes, and the play is of no -importance in the development of comedy. It was regarded merely as a -revival of Dryden’s work, and was acted along with other old plays -during the same season, largely because of an antiquarian interest. - -The two plays from which this is made go well together and present -something of the best that Dryden did in the line of satiric comedy, -and no doubt the social satire was almost as pertinent in Cibber’s time -as it had been forty or fifty years earlier. - -But the moral standard, which is almost always present, even if in the -background, in Cibber’s own plays, is almost entirely lacking here. -Celadon expects to be cuckolded, but would rather be cuckolded by -Florimel (who reminds one very strongly of Congreve’s Millamant even -in the stipulations before their agreement of marriage), than by any -one else. So too in the complications in the second story in the play, -the moral defections are humorous merely because they are immoral, and -there is no disapproval expressed or implied. In Cibber’s own work he -may retain his disapproval until the last act, but the moral standard -always appears in some way or other, so that this play is essentially -uncharacteristic of Cibber’s work. - -_The Double Gallant_ (1707) is an adaption of the same sort as _The -Comical Lovers_, derived from Restoration plays,[82] but it does have -more significance. It is marked by the same general tone of moral -irresponsibility and lightness, but without the actual culmination of -delinquencies; there is the same raillery, somewhat curtailed, and the -hero, as in those plays, involves himself in intrigue with several -women at once. There is more respect for morals in the general conduct -of the piece. The change is indicated in the handling of the source. -Burnaby[83] has made use of what is probably the most notorious and -grossest incident in Restoration comedy, Horner’s subterfuge in _The -Country Wife_, but has modified some of the elements of the intrigue. -Cibber has prevented the successful outcome of the intrigue, and has -entirely omitted the unpleasant features. - -_The Lady’s Last Stake_ (1707), in the handling of a serious theme, -seems the most modern of Cibber’s comedies; it represents almost an -approach to the modern problem play in the Lord and Lady Wronglove -story and in the theme of the Lord George and Lady Gentle story. It -is a fully developed comedy of the sentimental type of this period, -with its four acts of intrigue, its reconciliation at the end, and its -extremely moral teaching. Cibber makes two statements of his theme, -first in the dedication, and then in the prologue. His statement in the -dedication is as follows: - - “A Play, without a just Moral, is a poor and trivial Undertaking; - and ’tis from the Success of such Pieces, that Mr. Collier was - furnish’d with an advantageous Pretence of laying his unmerciful - Axe to the Root of the Stage. Gaming is a Vice that has undone more - innocent Principles than any one Folly that’s in Fashion; therefore - I chose to expose it to the Fair Sex in its most hideous Form, by - reducing a Woman of honour to stand the presumptuous Addresses of a - Man, whom neither her Virtue nor Inclination would let her have the - least Taste to. Now ’tis not impossible but some Man of Fortune, who - has a handsome Lady, and a great deal of Money to throw away, may, - from this startling hint, think it worth his while to find his Wife - some less hazardous Diversion. If that should ever happen, my end of - writing this Play is answer’d.” - -The plot centers around a most lively intrigue, but shows a departure -from the Restoration type. Cibber seems to have devised his own plot -from observation rather than to have taken it from the work of some one -else, though in his characters he shows some imitation of characters -in older plays. Miss Notable is a Miss Prue type, but the action of -the play preserves her virtue and indicates disapproval of the effort -to seduce her. There is a wide difference between this and the course -of Congreve’s character who rushes eagerly to her bedroom followed by -Tattle.[84] So too in the relations of Lady Wronglove with her husband -there enters a new note. Not only does Cibber show her a virtuous -woman, but he recognizes the infidelity of the husband as grave enough -to merit not only condemnation but punishment; and though he does -not carry his story so far as to inflict on him his just deserts, he -recognizes the right of the wife to resent Lord Wronglove’s action, -although he clearly feels her resentment is unwise. Sir Friendly -Moral, who reconciles the various couples, furnishes the somewhat -sentimental moralizings, and seems to be the mouthpiece of the author. - -One does not waste much sympathy on either Lord or Lady Wronglove in -their bickerings, and their reconciliation at the end through the good -offices of Sir Friendly is decidedly lacking in probability, in view of -the way in which they have been previously presented. This dénouement -is brought about by a typical _deus ex machina_ device, in which Sir -Friendly, by supplying money to one of the characters, and by using -his exceeding wisdom and knowledge with another set of characters, -brings about the happy ending. Cibber was not unlike the other late -seventeenth and early eighteenth century writers in his inability to -bring his plays to a logical and probable conclusion. He was hampered -by his theory that the element of surprise should enter into the happy -ending, and hence he often seems to feel compelled to introduce a new -force very late in the play. - -The characters in the main action are somewhat serious and lacking -in attractiveness. But those in the comic action, Lord George, Mrs. -Conquest, and Miss Notable, are much more lively sources of interest. -Miss Notable, as already stated, is a Miss Prue type, though she is -probably not to be described as a “silly, awkward country girl.” She is -essentially a sophisticated city miss, but her desires and ambitions, -as well as some of her ingenuous characteristics, are similar to those -of the Miss Prue type. She starts a flirtation with each new man she -meets in order to pique the last new man, who in like manner had his -turn. The discomfiture of Lord George when Miss Notable avows her love -for Mrs. Conquest, who is in the disguise of a man, is very clever. - -It is hard to believe that an honorable gentleman, as Sir George is -described as being, would cheat at cards even for the purpose of -seducing another man’s wife. It is in just such conceptions as this -that Cibber’s superficiality is shown, a superficiality which prevented -him from writing great drama notwithstanding his knowledge of technical -requirements. - -In the situations of Lady Gentle and Mrs. Conquest, especially in that -of the latter, there is a distinct element of pathos, similar to that -in _The Careless Husband_. As in _The Careless Husband_, this pathos -is due not merely to the situation, but depends likewise on the nature -of the persons presented. In this respect it is superior to the later -sentimental comedy, in which the pathos depends more largely on the -situation alone. - -In its serious elements _The Lady’s Last Stake_ attacks what are -without doubt notable human failings, and the dialogue at its best -reminds us of some of the best Congrevian sort. But Cibber’s practice -as to the happy outcome and his theory that there must be a surprise at -the end of a play, have prevented what might have been, in the hands of -a more serious and larger minded dramatist, a most important handling -of a new theme in a new way. - -When he wrote _The Rival Fools_ (1709), Cibber seemed, if one may judge -from the prologue, to feel that his efforts for reform were not meeting -with sufficient response and appreciation, and therefore tells the -audience that - - “All sorts of Men and Manners may - From these last Scenes go unreprov’d away. - From late Experience taught, we slight th’ old Rule - Of Profit with Delight: This Play’s--All Fool.” - -But though this comedy is not didactic in its purpose, it is morally -clean in its action. - -In _The Non-Juror_ (1717), a play written with an avowedly political -purpose, he cannot avoid moralizing and sentimentality, qualities which -appear slightly in the story of Charles, and in the relations of Dr. -Wolf to Lady Woodvil and Maria. It cannot be claimed that the play has -any important bearing on sentimental comedy, however. - -_The Refusal_ (1721) might be called a purified Restoration comedy, -without any positive bearing on the sentimentalizing tendency except -that it shows the tendency to make the drama more moral. - -_The Provoked Husband_ (1728), Cibber’s completion of Vanbrugh’s _A -Journey to London_, is typically sentimental in treatment, with the -happy ending, the reformation of the vicious, and the true but dull -expression of moral sentiments by the serious characters. In it Cibber -has departed from Vanbrugh’s original intention by reforming the wife, -whom he has preserved as perfectly true to her husband, though unduly -given to gambling. In the love affair of Mr. Manly and Lord Townley’s -sister we likewise have sentimental treatment, and in the expression of -pious thoughts no one could be more prolific than Mr. Manly. In this -play Cibber does not strike any note he has not used before; it is -merely significant of the permanence of the changed manner of writing -in English comedy generally. - -In the first plot Cibber has somewhat softened the characters of -Vanbrugh’s Lord and Lady Loverule in Lord and Lady Townley, giving to -the husband a much less dictatorial and more sentimental and uxorious -character. Lady Townley, though she does not show any signs of softer -qualities, is made to see the error of her course of late hours and -gambling, and undergoes a somewhat improbable but characteristic -conversion. Cibber tells us[85] that it had been Vanbrugh’s intention -to turn the lady out of doors, as would have been natural and logical, -giving to the play a serious interest which it lacks under Cibber’s -management. - -The characters are shorn of their rough virility in Cibber’s -version. Squire Richard is a sort of rough study of the Tony Lumpkin -type,--without his wit, however,--but the credit of the portrayal is -due to Vanbrugh rather than to Cibber. - -While the play is far from lacking in interest and power to amuse, -there is a very decided inferiority to Vanbrugh’s play, even in its -unfinished and imperfect state. Cibber’s play is a typical sentimental -comedy, with its undeserved happy ending, reformation of the vicious, -and commonplace expression of sentiment and morals on the part of the -serious characters. - -Although it does not exhibit any startling new qualities, in its theme -attacking the evils of gambling which Cibber has previously attacked, -the play is a good example of eighteenth century comedy; fully as good, -indeed, as the work of the other dramatists of the time, but suffering -in comparison with Cibber’s own best work. - -It may be interesting to note that Cibber is said to have added the -parts of Tom and Phillis to Steele’s _Conscious Lovers_.[86] When -Steele submitted this play to him, Cibber felt that it would not -satisfy the desire of an audience to laugh at a comedy. According -to the account in _The Lives of the Poets_, Steele gladly accepted -Cibber’s suggestion that a comic action be inserted and even proposed -that Cibber make such additions to the play as he saw fit. The absence -of humor is a mark of the form of sentimental comedy inaugurated by -Steele, while the form represented by Cibber’s work is closer to the -Restoration type, is indeed really a modification of that type, and -the element of humor is consequently found in it. - - -8. TYPICAL QUALITY OF CIBBER’S WORK. - -Cibber’s work typifies the change that was going on in the moral -reformation of the drama, as it likewise shows the development -characteristic of the time in other elements of the drama.[87] In -him, as in others, we see that while the general type of Restoration -comedy was adopted in the construction of the plot, there was a -tendency to simplify the plot. Moreover, Cibber further departed from -the Restoration type by the selection of themes other than mere sex -relations. Other dramatists were able to present such themes without -reference to moral degeneration, but Cibber, when he takes such a -subject as the dangers of gambling, for instance, cannot entirely avoid -dealing with sex immorality. - -In the dull, chaste lover, the sober, moral, worthy gentleman who is -largely a result of the sentimental tendency in the drama, such as Lord -Morelove in _Woman’s Wit_ and Elder Worthy in _Love’s Last Shift_, -Cibber developed and made more important a type which had appeared but -had been relatively unimportant in earlier drama. In the comedy of -Steele and his followers this character was further developed so that -it became the central figure. Cibber and his predecessors seem to have -been guided by some such formula as that interesting personality and -morality appear in inverse ratio in male characters. - -The precocious Miss Prue type, the young woman who is destined to have -a lover or a husband, perhaps both, in a short time, is represented by -Miss Jenny in _The Provoked Husband_ _and_ Miss Notable in _The Lady’s -Last Stake_. This type of character soon disappeared from the drama, as -did likewise the Millamant kind of coquette, who appears as Maria in -_The Non-Juror_ and as Lady Betty in _The Careless Husband_. Snap and -Trappanti are typical menservants, witty and graceless, and we find the -mercenary serving woman in _The Provoked Husband_ and _She Would and -She Would Not_. Characters of this type continue occasionally in the -succeeding drama, where they furnish the comic relief. - - -9. GENERAL CHARACTERISTICS OF CIBBER’S COMEDIES. - -Cibber’s themes are taken from contemporary life and its more obvious -problems. Of course so far as any serious purpose is concerned, a -distinction must be made between those plays designed merely to afford -the pleasure of an evening’s entertainment and those written with more -serious intent. Cibber often distinguishes between these two classes, -and frankly states his purpose in the prologue or dedication to the -separate plays. - -His attitude toward his audience is somewhat naïve. He frankly states -that his “sole dependence being the judgment of an audience, ’twere -madness to provoke them.”[88] He again says[89] that “every guest is a -judge of his own palate; and a poet ought no more to impose good sense -upon the galleries, than dull farce upon undisputed judges. I first -considered who my guests were, before I prepared my entertainment.” -This would seem to indicate that at times he had no high respect for -his audiences; especially when he wrote _The School Boy_ and _Hob in -the Well_, if the latter is by him. In this connection one may note -that he consciously distinguished stage and closet drama, and made -no attempt to write the latter. In his “Remarks to the Reader” of -_Ximena_ he says, “though the reader must be charmed by the tenderness -of the characters in the original, I have ventured to alter, to make -them more agreeable to the spectator.” These statements would seem to -indicate that Cibber wrote his sentimental plays because he thought the -audiences desired something of the sort. - -As a playwright Cibber was a strong upholder of religion and the -established church. He points out that the only religious sect to close -the theatre was also opposed to the established church.[90] But in -treating religious subjects he does not use the Puritans for dramatic -material, for they were no longer a political menace, but he turns to -the Roman Catholics, whose activities were not merely religious, but -political. In _The Non-Juror_ we have a play almost entirely built on -anti-Catholic feeling; in _King John_ we have another attack on the -Church of Rome; and in the fourth act of _Woman’s Wit_ we again have -satire, but in this case primarily of the Catholic clergy, rather than -the church itself. We do not have any references to party politics, -aside from this Catholic problem. - -His original plays in comedy, other than farces and operas, deal with -moral problems. In the case of _Love’s Last Shift_ and _The Careless -Husband_ we have presented the reformation of husbands not yet entirely -spoiled at heart; in _The Provoked Husband_ the reformation of a wife -who has not committed any serious breach of the moral code; and in this -last, as well as in _The Lady’s Last Stake_, we have plays dealing with -the evils resulting from women’s gambling. It is curious to find one -who was so notorious a gambler as Cibber choosing such a theme. - -The language shows great change from that of the Restoration in regard -to moral refinement. Cibber’s plays become less and less coarse in -speech. His earlier plays have a grossness almost equal to that of -Restoration comedy, but gradually grow purer. This change in the -language is found in English comedy generally, and as it progresses a -new element enters, the expression of moral sentiments, extravagantly -and artificially stated. This last shows a gradual increase, reaching -its height in the later sentimental comedy of the middle of the century. - -Merely as literature, three of Cibber’s plays, at least, are well worth -while: _The Careless Husband_, _She Would and She Would Not_, and -_The Non-Juror_. They lack the briskness and sureness of touch that -characterized Congreve, but compare most favorably with the work of men -in the next rank, and are not only delightful and profitable reading, -but are thoroughly representative of the period in which they appear. -Grouped with these as possessing permanent literary value are the -_Apology_ and not more than half a dozen songs. Outside of these three -plays, one prose work, and a few songs, Cibber produced nothing that -is worth preserving because of its merit as literature. His greatest -importance to the student of literary history lies in his contribution -to the development of sentimental comedy. - - -10. PLACE OF STEELE IN THE DEVELOPMENT OF SENTIMENTAL COMEDY. - -In view of the place that is always given to Steele as the originator -of sentimental comedy, a discussion of any phase of the subject would -be incomplete without at least a reference to his relation to the -particular question under discussion. We may grant that Cibber does -not represent the culmination of the sentimental type: that is to be -found in Steele’s _Conscious Lovers_ (1722). He is, rather, the most -prominent figure in the first stage of the development of sentimental -comedy, during which the Restoration type was transformed by the -addition of a moral purpose, by the purification of the language, and -by the addition of the pathetic element; so that the new form in his -hands has much of the old as well as the new, while Steele’s _Conscious -Lovers_ has almost entirely broken away from the old and looks forward. -But the movement in which Cibber was so prominent a figure did make the -way possible and contributed the most important elements which later -developed in the hands of Steele and his followers. - -A commonplace of literary history is that it was Steele who purged -English comedy of its vileness and was the first to write sentimental -comedy. This, as we have seen, is not true; for though _The Conscious -Lovers_ is probably the best of its type, it merely lays more stress -upon the pathetic element and carries forward another step the sort of -thing that Cibber had done in such comedies as _The Careless Husband_ -and _The Lady’s Last Stake_, which are as truly sentimental comedies -as this, and which possess the pathetic interest, but in a less marked -degree. In Steele’s other plays, _The Funeral_ (1701), _The Lying -Lover_ (1705), _The Tender Husband_ (1705), Steele, except in the -matter of the purity of the language, does not show as fully developed -examples of the type as does Cibber in his work of the same period and -earlier. - -Steele’s first play to be acted, _The Funeral_, lacks sentimental -quality; it is merely a comedy which, when compared to the Restoration -type, has a higher moral tone. Steele had no higher motive, he tells -us, in writing this play than the purpose of reinstating himself in -the opinion of his fellow soldiers who had ostracized him as a moral -prig after the appearance of _The Christian Hero_ (1701). In his -preface he mentions two themes as those around which the comedy is -written, namely, the practices of undertakers and “legal villanies.” -Lady Brumpton, who had bigamously married Lord Brumpton, is discredited -by being ejected from Lord Brumpton’s household, but there is no -suggestion that she is in any way reformed, and in the rest of the -action none of the other elements of sentimental comedy are prominent. - -_The Lying Lover_ goes a little further and reforms the hero at the -end, as is done in the comedies of Cibber. But even this similarity -is only superficial, for the hero is not really vicious, being guilty -only of some entertaining lying, and the reformation is brought about, -not by approved sentimental feminine means, but by the fact that the -hero finds himself in prison. But even though the hero is humiliated -by temporary imprisonment, his delinquencies are so diverting that the -reader is entirely in sympathy with him. Our sympathy for him, indeed, -is so great that it is a distinct disappointment that the lady is given -to the honest and jealous lover instead of to him. Steele lays no -claim to originality in the reform, “compunction and remorse” of his -hero, for in his preface he says that such things had been “frequently -applauded on the stage.” Nor is the versifying of the elevated portions -of the play a new thing; it is found both earlier and later than -sentimental comedy and is not a distinctive mark of that type. - -_The Tender Husband_ was indebted to Cibber’s _Careless Husband_, -which had recently appeared, but is not to be compared to it in -its sentimental qualities. In both plays, however, we have the -reconciliation of an estranged husband and wife. In Cibber it is the -husband who is the offender, and he is recalled from his vices by -the patient fidelity of his wife; a reformation based on sentiment. -In _The Tender Husband_, the wife is reformed from extravagance in -her expenditure of time and money on trivialities, and from failure -in her duty to her husband, but the reformation is brought about by -a mere trick that the husband plays upon the wife rather than by the -interaction of personality on personality. Steele shows nothing of the -serious grasp of the situation that Cibber shows in his play on the -same theme, _The Provoked Husband_. Steele’s handling is distinctly -less artistic and distinctly less sentimental than in either of -Cibber’s plays. This is seen also in Steele’s light treatment of the -wife’s equivocal action toward Fainlove, whom she mistakenly supposes -to be a man, and toward whom she makes questionable advances. Not only -in regard to such situations as this, but in the attitude toward actual -breaches of morality, Steele shows a lower standard than Cibber. In -both _The Careless Husband_ and _The Tender Husband_ the hero keeps a -mistress, but while Cibber brings the illicit amour to an end with the -disgrace of the mistress and a distinct moral, Steele not only shows -none of this disapproval but provides the mistress with a husband of -means and gives her a good dowry. - -Seventeen years later, though according to Genest[91] the play had been -written some years before it was acted, Steele produced his fully -developed comedy of the sentimental type, _The Conscious Lovers_. It is -entirely different from the preceding plays, for instead of containing -a lively intrigue with clever satire and wit, such as we have in _The -Lying Lover_, the tone throughout is fixed by the pathetic and didactic -elements. Steele rightly felt that he was doing something new, and took -credit to himself in the prologue: - - “But the bold sage--the poet of tonight-- - By new and desperate rules resolved to write. - - * * * * * - - ’Tis yours with breeding to refine the age, - To chasten wit, and moralise the stage.” - -Not only does this moral and sentimental note appear throughout, but -in Mr. Sealand, especially in his dialogue with Sir John Bevil in -the fourth act, there appears the exaltation of the tradesman class -which culminated in the work of Lillo. Bevil Junior is a pattern -of propriety and goodness, but his lack of virility and brilliance -contrasts him most disadvantageously with the heroes of the preceding -period. He is the dull, chaste lover, the hero of the second intrigue -of the Restoration and Cibber type of comedy, the Lord Morelove sort, -exalted to the first place. Indiana is the patient Griselda type, the -Lady Easy sort of person, but in _The Conscious Lovers_ her gentleness -and goodness are not used to recall the erring, but are presented -merely as desirable qualities for a virtuous young woman to possess. -The witty rake has disappeared. The Wildairs, Lovelesses, Millamants, -and Lady Betties are no more, and in their places are maudlin, sickly -sentimentalists, whose goodness and sufferings are all that commend -them. Parson Adams was right, it does contain “some things almost -solemn enough for a sermon.” - -This sentimental didacticism becomes still more conspicious in the -work of Holcroft and his school, whose plays are rendered degenerate -and emasculate thereby. If the historians of literature mean that -Steele was the originator of this type, whose essential characteristic -is the centering of the action around a pathetic situation, they are -probably right; but any statement that it was he who introduced the -sentimental or pathetic element into English comedy, or that he began -the reformation of the drama in the direction of morality, is easily -seen to be false by a comparison of his work with the earlier and -contemporary work of Cibber. - - - - -BIBLIOGRAPHY - - -1. CIBBER’S WORKS. - - -_Prose._ - - An Apology for the Life of Colley Cibber, Comedian, and Late - Patentee of the Theatre-Royal. With an Historical View of the Stage - during his Own Time. Written by Himself. London, 1740. (I have used - the fourth edition, London, 1756. Best edition is that of Lowe, - London, 1889.) - - A Letter from Mr. Cibber, to Mr. Pope, Inquiring into the Motives - that might induce him in his Satyrical Works, to be so frequently - fond of Mr. Cibber’s Name. London, 1742. - - The Egoist: or, Colley upon Cibber. Being his own Picture - Retouch’d, to so plain a Likeness, that no One, now, would have the - Face to own it, but Himself. London, 1743. - - Another Occasional Letter from Mr. Cibber to Mr. Pope. Wherein the - New Hero’s Preferment to his Throne, in the _Dunciad_, seems not to - be Accepted. And the Author of that Poem His more rightful Claim to - it, is Asserted. With an Expostulatory Address to the Reverend Mr. W. - W............n, Author of the new Preface, and Adviser in the curious - Improvements of that Satire. By Mr. Colley Cibber. London, 1744. - - The Character and Conduct of Cicero, Considered from the History of - his Life by the Reverend Dr. Middleton. With Occasional Essays and - Observations upon the most memorable Facts and Persons during that - Period. London, 1747. - - The Lady’s Lecture, a Theatrical Dialogue, between Sir Charles Easy - and his Marriageable Daughter. Being an Attempt to Engage Obedience - by Filial Liberty: and to Give the Maiden Conduct of Virtue, - Chearfulness. By C. Cibber, Esq: Servant to his Majesty. London, 1748. - - -_Non-Dramatic Poetry._ - - Gentleman’s Magazine. London, 1731-- - - London Magazine. London, 1732-- - - A Rhapsody on the Marvellous: Arising from the First Odes of Horace - and Pindar. Being a Scrutiny into Ancient Poetical Fame, demanded by - Modern Common Sense. By Colley Cibber, Esq. P. L. - - Fame then was cheap, and the first comer sped: - Which they have since preserved by being dead. Dryden. - . . . . . . . liberius si - Dixero quid, si forte jocosius, hoc mihi juris - Cum venia dabis. Hor. Sat. 4. L 1. London, 1751. - - -_Dramatic Works._ - - (_Arranged in the order of stage presentation. The dates are those of - publication._) - - Collected editions of his Plays appeared in 1721, in two volumes; - in 1636, in five volumes; in 1760, in four volumes; in 1777, in five - volumes. The last named is the edition I have used. - - Love’s Last Shift; or, The Fool in Fashion. 1696. - - Woman’s Wit; or, The Lady in Fashion. 1697. - - Xerxes. 1699. - - The Tragical History of Richard III, altered from Shakespear. 1700. - - Love Makes a Man; or, The Fop’s Fortune. 1701. - - She Would and She Would Not; or, The Kind Impostor. 1703. - - The Careless Husband. 1705. - - Perolla and Izadora. 1706. - - The Comical Lovers. 1707. - - The School Boy; or, The Comical Rival. 1707. - - The Double Gallant; or, The Sick Lady’s Cure. 1707. - - The Lady’s Last Stake; or, The Wife’s Resentment. 1708. - - The Rival Fools. 1709. - - The Rival Queans, with the Humours of Alexander the Great, a - Comical-tragedy. Dublin, 1729. - - Ximena; or, The Heroick Daughter. 1718. - - Cinna’s Conspiracy. 1713. - - Venus and Adonis. A Masque. 1715. - - Myrtillo, a Pastoral Interlude. 1716. - - The Non-Juror. 1718. - - The Refusal; or, The Ladies Philosophy. 1721. - - Caesar in Aegypt. 1725. - - The Provok’d Husband; or, A Journey to London. 1728. - - Love in a Riddle. A Pastoral. 1729 [misprinted 1719]. - - Damon and Phillida; a Ballad Opera. 1729. - - Papal Tyranny in the Reign of King John. 1745. - - -2. GENERAL BIBLIOGRAPHY. - - Actor, The, or, A Treatise on the Art of Playing. London, 1750. - - Age of Dullness, The, a Satire. By a Natural Son of Mr. Pope. London, - 1757. - - Baker, D. E., I. Reed and S. Jones. Biographica Dramatica. London, - 1812. - - Beaumont and Fletcher. Works. London, 1843. - - Besser, R. Colley Cibbers The Double Gallant und seine Quellen. - Halle, 1903. - - Betterton, T. The History of the English Stage, from the Restoration - to the Present Time. London, 1741. - - Betterton, Thomas, Life and Times of. Reprint, London, 1888. - - Blast upon Bays, A; or, A New Lick at the Laureat. London, 1742. - - Booth, Barton, Life of. London, 1733. - - Boyle, Roger, Earl of Orrery. Parthenissa. London, 1676. - - British Theatre, The. London. 1750. - - Brown, Hawkins. A Pipe of Tobacco. London, 1744. - - Burnaby, C. The Reformed Wife. London, 1700. - - Burnaby, C. The Ladies Visiting Day. London, 1701. - - Canfield, Dorothea Frances. Corneille and Racine in England. New - York, 1904. - - Carlile, J. The Fortune Hunters; or, Two Fools Well Met. London, 1689. - - Case of the Present Theatrical Dispute Fairly Stated, The. London, - 1743. - - Centlivre, Susanna. Dramatic Works. Reprint, London, 1872. - - Charke, Charlotte. A Narrative of the Life of Mrs. Charlotte Charke. - Written by Herself. London, 1755; reprint, London, 1827. - - Chetwood, W. R. General History of the Stage. London, 1749. - - Cibber, Theophilus, editor. Lives of the Poets of Great Britain and - Ireland. London, 1753. - - Cibber, Theophilus. Two Dissertations on the Theatres. London, 1756. - - Corneille, Pierre. Oeuvres. Paris, 1862. - - Crowne, John. Dramatic Works, in _Dramatists of the Restoration_, ed. - by Maidment and Logan. Edinburgh, 1873. - - Davies, T. Dramatic Miscellanies. London, 1784. - - Davies, T. Memoirs of the Life of David Garrick, Esq. Third ed., - London, 1781. - - Difference between Verbal and Practical Virtue, The. London, 1742. - - Dogget, T. The Country Wake. London, 1696. - - Dohse, R. Colley Cibbers Bühnenbearbeitung von Shakespeares Richard - III. Bonn, 1897. - - Doran, J. Their Majesties’ Servants. London, 1888. - - Downes, J. Roscius Anglicanus. London, 1708; reprint, London, 1886. - - Dryden, John. Works. London, 1889. - - Egerton, T. and J. The Theatrical Remembrancer. London, 1788. - - Fielding, Henry. Historical Register for 1736. Works, London, 1852. - - Fielding, Henry (?). An Apology for the Life of Mr. T.... C.... - London, 1740. - - Genest, J. Some Account of the English Stage from the Restoration in - 1660 to 1830. Bath, 1832. - - Granger, J. Biographical History of England. London, 1779-1806. - - Hermann, A. Colley Cibbers Tragicomedy Ximena und ihr Verhältniss zu - Corneilles Cid. Kiel, 1908. - - Hutton, Laurence. Literary Landmarks of London. Boston, 1885. - - Jacob, G. The Poetical Register. London, 1719-1723. - - Johnson, T. Tryal of Colley Cibber for Writing a Book Intitled An - Apology for his Life. London, 1740. - - Kilbourne, F. W. Alterations and Adaptations of Shakespeare. Boston, - 1906. - - Köppe, K. Das Verhältniss von Cibbers Papal Tyranny zu Shakespeares - King John. Halle, 1902. - - Krüger, W. Das Verhältniss von Colley Cibbers Lustspiel The Comical - Lovers zu J. Drydens Marriage à la Mode und Secret Love. Halle, - 1902. - - Laureat, The; or, The Right Side of Colley Cibber, Esq. To Which is - Added, The History of the Life, Manners and Writings of Aesopus the - Tragedian. London, 1740. - - Learned, J. The Counterfeits. London, 1679. - - Lee, W. L. M. History of Police in England. London, 1901. - - Letter to Mr. C....b....r, A, on his Letter to Mr. P........ London, - 1742. - - Lounsbury, Thomas R. Shakespeare as a Dramatic Artist. New York, 1901. - - Lowe, R. W. A Bibliographical Account of English Theatrical - Literature. London, 1888. - - Macaulay, T. B. History of England. Boston, 1900. - - Man of Taste, The. London, 1733. - - Marks, Jeannette. The English Pastoral Drama. London, 1908. - - Medbourne, M. Tartuffe. London, 1670. - - Michels, E. Quellenstudien zu Colley Cibbers Lustspiel The Careless - Husband. Marburg, 1908. - - Miles, D. H. The Influence of Molière on Restoration Comedy. New - York, 1910. - - Molière. Oeuvres. Paris, 1873-1900. - - Molière. Dramatic Works, translated by H. Van Laun. Edinburgh, 1878. - - Molloy, J. F. Famous Plays. London, 1886. - - Mountfort, W. Greenwich Park, a Comedy. London, n. d. [1691]. - - New Theatrical Dictionary. London, 1742. - - Nichols, J. Illustrations of the Literary History of the Eighteenth - Century. London, 1817. - - Nichols, J. Literary Anecdotes of the Eighteenth Century. London, - 1815. - - Ost, G. Das Verhältniss von Cibbers Lustspiel Love Makes a Man zu - Fletchers Dramen, The Elder Brother und The Custom of the Country. - - Pepys, Samuel. Diary. London, 1897. - - Philips, Katherine. Poems. London, 1669. - - Pilkington, L. Memoirs. London, 1748. - - Quin, Mr. James, Comedian, Life of. London, 1766; reprint, 1887. - - Rowe, N. Pharsalia. London, 1718. - - Sanger, W. W. History of Prostitution. New York, 1899. - - Schneider, W. Das Verhältniss von Colley Cibbers Lustspiel The - Non-Juror zu Malias Tartuffe. Halle, 1903. - - Shakspere, William. Richard III, Variorum edition, ed. by H. H. - Furness, Jr. Philadelphia, 1908. - - Steele, Richard, and John Dennis. The Theatre, by Sir Richard Steele; - to which are added, the Anti-Theatre; the Character of Sir John - Edgar; Steele’s Case with the Lord Chamberlain. Illustrated with - Literary and Historical Anecdotes by John Nichols. London, 1791. - - Stone, E. Chronicles of Fashion. London, 1845. - - Stoye, M. Das Verhältniss von Cibbers Tragödie Caesar in Egypt zu - Fletchers The False One. Halle, 1897. - - Strickland, Agnes. Queens of England. New York, 1851. - - Temple of Dullness, The, with the Humours of Signor Capochio and - Signora Dorinna; A Comic Opera in Two Acts. London, 1745. - - Theatrical Correspondence in Death. An Epistle from Mrs. Oldfield, in - the Shades, to Mrs. Br. ceg....dle, upon Earth. London, 1743. - - Theobald, L. The Happy Captive, an English Opera, with an Interlude, - in Two Comick Scenes, betwixt Signor Capochio, a Director from the - Canary Islands; and Signora Dorinna. London, 1741. - - Thorndike, Ashley H. Tragedy. Boston, 1908. - - To diabebouloumenon; or, The Proceedings at the Theatre Royal in - Drury Lane. London, 1722. - - Tönse, L. Cibbers Comedy The Refusal in ihrem Verhältniss zu Molières - les Femmes savantes. Kiel, 1900. - - Traill, H. D. Social England. New York, 1902. - - Vanbrugh, John. Works, ed. by W. C. Ward. London, 1893. - - Victor, B. History of the Theatres of London and Dublin from 1730 to - the Present Time. London, 1761. - - Waterhouse, O. The Development of Sentimental Comedy in the - Eighteenth Century, _Anglia_, XXX. - - Whincop, T. Scanderbeg; or, Love and Liberty. London, 1747. - - Wilkes, T. A General View of the Stage. London, 1759. - - Wilks, Robert, Esq., The Life of that Eminent Comedian. London, 1733. - - Woman of Taste. London, 1733 - - Wood, A. I. P. Stage History of Shakespeare’s Richard III. New York, - 1909. - - - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[1] II. 573. - -[2] Whincop, _Complete List of All the English Dramatic Poets_, p. 199. -See also the dramatic list appended to the second volume of the fourth -edition of the _Apology_, p. 286. - -[3] The sub-plot of _Woman’s Wit_ was likewise acted separately after -the original play had failed on the stage. - -[4] Reprint of 1887, p. 28. - -[5] Page 28. - -[6] _Apology_, I, 180. - -[7] III, 325. - -[8] The _Advertisement_ prefixed to _The Happy Captive_ says: “The -interlude, which is added in two comic scenes, is entirely new to our -climate; and the success of it is submitted to experiment, and the -taste of the audience.” Only this portion of _The Happy Captive_ was -ever acted. - -[9] Theobald died September 18, 1744. _The Temple of Dullness_ was -acted January 17, 1745. - -[10] For a history of the pastoral drama in the eighteenth century and -a summary of its qualities, see Jeannette Marks, _The English Pastoral -Drama_, London, 1908. - -[11] Thorndike, _Tragedy_, p. 273. - -[12] Davies, _Dramatic Miscellanies_, III, 459. - -[13] _The Tatler_, Number 42, July 16, 1709. - -[14] _Address to the Reader_, prefixed to _Ximena_. - -[15] Richard Dohse, _Colley Cibber’s Buehnenarbeitung von Shakspere’s -Richard III_, Bonn, 1899. - -[16] Alice I. Perry Wood, _The Stage History of Richard III_, New York, -1909. - -[17] The number and sources of the lines as given by Furness. _Variorum -Richard III_, p. 604, are as follows: _Richard II_, 14; _1 Henry IV_, -6; _2 Henry IV_, 20; _Henry V_, 24; _1 Henry VI_, 5; _2 Henry VI_, 17; -_3 Henry VI_, 103; _Richard III_, 795; Cibber, 1069; total, 2053. The -number of lines in the Globe text of Shakspere’s _Richard III_ is 3621. - -[18] As “God” to “Heaven,” I, ii, 236; due in this instance to the -Collier influence. - -[19] Edition of 1665, pp. 102-157. - -[20] _Dedication_ of _Perolla and Izadora_. - -[21] Genest, II, 506. - -[22] _To the Reader_, _Ximena_. - -[23] See Canfield, _Corneille and Racine in England_, p. 169. - -[24] Genest, II, 511; and Canfield, _op. cit._, pp. 179 ff. - -[25] II, 104. - -[26] VIII, 204. - - “Mr. Cibber. - - 1701 Nov. 8 A Third of Love’s Last Shift 3 4 6 - 1705 Nov. 14 Perolla and Izadora 36 11 0 - 1707 Oct. 27 Double Gallant 16 2 6 - Nov. 22 Lady’s Last Stake 32 5 0 - Feb. 26 Venus and Adonis 5 7 6 - 1708 Oct. 9 Comical Lover 10 15 0 - 1712 Mar. 16 Cinna’s Conspiracy 13 0 0 - 1718 Oct. 1 The Nonjuror 105 0 0 - - No price or date. - Mrytillo, A pastoral, - Rival Fools, - Heroic Daughter, - Wit at Several Weapons.” - -[27] Although acted six times it could not be considered extremely -successful. According to Genest, III, 162, Nichols speaks of having -made merry with a party of friends over the pasteboard swans, on the -first night of its production. - -[28] III, 161. - -[29] _Das Verhaeltniss von Cibber’s Tragoedie Caesar in Egypt zu -Fletcher’s The False One._ - -[30] _Op. cit._, p. 223. - -[31] Cibber no doubt used Rowe’s translation (1710). - -[32] Compare, for instance, the general idea of the exposition In Act I. - -[33] Lucan ends before this incident, but Rowe continues the narrative, -using the same material as _The False One_. - -[34] Genest. IV, 146, says that it had not been acted since 1695, -though he records the performances in 1737 and 1738. - -[35] It is to be noted that efforts were made to deprive Cibber of -credit for his work not only in this play but also in _The Non-Juror_ -and _The Refusal_. - -[36] _The History of the Theatres of London and Dublin_, II, 49. - -[37] Davies, _Dramatic Miscellanies_, I, 5. For a characteristic -example of the criticism to which Cibber was subjected, see Fielding’s -_Historical Register for the Year 1736_, Act III. - -[38] For full discussion of the relationship between Cibber’s _Richard -III_ and Shakspere’s _Richard III_, see A. I. P. Wood, and Dohse. The -whole subject of Shaksperian alterations is taken up in Lounsbury’s -_Shakspere as a Dramatic Artist_, and in Kilbourne’s _Alterations -and Adaptations of Shakspere_. It is curious that Lounsbury does not -discuss Cibber’s _Richard III_, which is not only the most famous -Shaksperian alteration but the only one of any real value. - -[39] The addition of parts from _3 Henry VI_ at the beginning of the -play. - -[40] _Tragedy_, VIII and IX. - -[41] See especially throughout _Ximena_. - -[42] According to _The Life of Aesopus_, this “was said to be a silly -tale collected from some dreaming romance,” but as the writer does not -give the title of this romance and apparently had no knowledge of the -play, his testimony is of no value. - -[43] “The furious John Dennis, who hated Cibber for obstructing, as -he imagined, the progress of his tragedy, called _The Invader of His -Country_, in very passionate terms denies his claim to this comedy: -‘When _The Fool in Fashion_ was first acted,’ says the critic, ‘Cibber -was hardly twenty-two years of age; how could he, at the age of twenty, -write a comedy with a just design, distinguished characters, and a -proper dialogue who now, at forty, treats us with Hibernian sense and -Hibernian English?’” Davies, _Dramatic Miscellanies_, III, 410. - -[44] Jacob, _Poetical Register_, p. 38, suggests Otway’s _Dare Devil_ -(that is, _The Atheist_) as the source of the play, but it would take a -vivid imagination to see the connection. - -[45] _Das Verhaeltniss von Cibber’s Lustspiel Love Makes a Man zu -Fletcher’s Dramen The Elder Brother und The Custom of The Country_, p. -82. - -[46] It was acted in New York, January 15, 1883, by Miss Ada Rehan, -under the management of Augustin Daly. See Lowe, _Apology_, II, 289. -Genest records, VI, 23, that when it was performed at Covent Garden -in 1778, “the applause was so strong in the second act, that the -performers were obliged to stop for some time.” - -[47] This translation of three French novels, whose original source -had been Spanish, was issued again in 1712 as _Three Ingenious Spanish -Novels_. See Chandler, _Romances of Roguery_, New York, 1899, pp. -462-3. These novels are ultimately based on _La Garduna de Sevilla_ of -Castillo Solorzano. It is also to be noticed that the story appears in -_La Villana de Ballecas_ by Tirso de Molina, in _La Ocasion hace al -ladron_, by Moreto, and in the story of Aurora in Le Sage’s _Gil Blas_. -Dunlop, _History of Prose Fiction_, II, 475, states that _She Would -and She Would Not_ is taken from _Gil Blas_. _Gil Blas_ was published -thirteen years later than Cibber’s play. - -[48] Wilkes, _General View of the Stage_, p. 40, says that were the -play curtailed of one scene he “would not fail to pronounce it not only -the best comedy in English, but in any other language.” - -[49] Boswell’s _Johnson_, edited by G. Birkbeck Hill, London, 1891; I, -201. - -[50] Preface to _The Double Gallant_. - -[51] II, 173. - -[52] _Apology_, I, 243. - -[53] III, 209. See also Thomes Whincop’s _Scanderbeg_, (1747), p. 195. -An account of the lives and writings of the English dramatists is -annexed to this play. - -[54] Following the Scottish rebellion in 1715, Lord Derwentwater and -Lord Kenmure were executed, February 24, 1716. The king’s pardon, which -excepted forty-seven classes of offenders, appears in _The Historical -Register_ for 1717, II, 247; so that the excitement caused by the -rebellion continued for some time. Doran’s _London in Jacobite Times_ -discusses this period in a most interesting manner. - -[55] The second title of _The Female Virtuosoes_. - -[56] _Apology_, II, 58. - -[57] _Preface_ to _The Good Natured Man_. - -[58] See, for example, _Steele and The Sentimental Comedy_, by M. E. -Hare, in _Eighteenth Century Literature, An Oxford Miscellany_, Oxford, -1909. This speaks of “Sentimental Comedy invented by the great essayist -Sir Richard Steele.” - -[59] Macaulay, _History of England_, Chapter VII. - -[60] During the reign of Charles not every one had been in entire -sympathy with the state of the theatre. Evelyn, in a letter to Viscount -Carnbury, February 9, 1664-1665, in speaking of the acting of plays -on Saturday evenings says: “Plays are now with us become a licentious -excess, and a vice, and need severe censors that should look as well to -their morality as to their lines and numbers.” - -[61] Traill, _Social England_, IV. 593. - -[62] _The Laureat_, p. 53. “I can remember, that soon after the -publication of Collier’s book, several informations were brought -against the players, at the instance and at the expense of the Society -for the Reformation of Manners, for immoral words and expressions, -_contra bonos mores_, uttered on the stage. Several informers were -placed in the pit, and other parts of the house, to note down the words -spoke, and by whom, to be able to swear to them and many of them would -have been ruined by these troublesome prosecutions, had not Queen Anne, -well satisfied that these informers lived upon their oaths, and that -what they did, proceeded not from conscience, but from interest, by a -timely _nolle prosequi_, put an end to the inquisition.” - -[63] The “Joan Sanderson” was a dance in which each one of the company -takes part. It began by the first dancer’s choosing a partner, who in -turn chose another, the chain continuing until each one had danced -alone and with a partner. See G. C. M. Smith, _Fucus Histriomastix_, -_Introduction_, p. xviii. - -[64] _Apology_, I, 85. - -[65] _Ibid._, I, 194-5. - -[66] _Dramatic Miscellanies_, III, 432. - -[67] See Miles, _The Influence of Moliere on Restoration Comedy_, 1910: -published after this paper was written. - -[68] Celadon, in Dryden’s _Marriage a la Mode_, enters marriage with -the distinct expectation that his wife will be untrue to him. - -[69] At the Restoration ten of the actors were attached to the -household establishment as the king’s menial servants, and ten yards of -scarlet cloth with an amount of lace were allowed them for liveries. -This connection lasted until Anne’s time. Genest, II, 362. - -[70] Elizabeth Woodbridge, _Studies in Jonson’s Comedies_, _Yale -Studies in English_, IV. - -[71] _The Development of Sentimental Comedy in the Eighteenth Century, -Anglia_, XXX. - -[72] _The Theatre_, II, 511. By John Dennis. His temper and prejudice -often destroy the value of his writings as impartial evidence, but in -this case he is right. - -[73] _The Man of Mode_, V, ii. - -[74] _The Funeral_, I, i. - -[75] Davies, _Dramatic Miscellanies_, III, 412. - -[76] _Ibid._, III, 409. - -[77] The substitution of one person for another in the marriage -ceremony, or a false marriage, are favorite devices of Congreve. See, -for instance, _The Old Bachelor_ and _Love for Love_. - -[78] _The Elder Brother_ and _The Custom of the Country_. - -[79] Rutilio’s sojourn with Sulpita. _The Custom of the Country_, III, -iii; IV, iv. - -[80] Which Vanbrugh portrayed in his play, _The Relapse_ (1697). - -[81] The comic scenes from _Marriage a la Mode_ and _The Maiden Queen_. - -[82] Centlivre, _Love at a Venture_; Burnaby, _The Ladies Visiting -Day_, and _The Reformed Wife_. - -[83] _The Ladies Visiting Day._ - -[84] _Love for Love_, II, xi. - -[85] _To the Reader, The Provoked Husband._ - -[86] Cibber’s _Lives of the Poets_, IV, 120; Wilks, _A General View of -the Stage_, p. 42. - -[87] R. M. Alden, _Prose in the English Drama, Modern Philology_, VII, -4. - -[88] _Preface_ to _Woman’s Wit_. - -[89] _Dedication_ of _Love’s Last Shift_. - -[90] _Dedication_ of _Love Makes a Man_. - -[91] III, 100. - - - - - BULLETIN OF THE UNIVERSITY OF KANSAS - HUMANISTIC STUDIES - - _Vol. I_ _January 1, 1914_ _No. 2_ - - - STUDIES IN - BERGSON’S PHILOSOPHY - - BY - - ARTHUR MITCHELL, PH. D. - - _Assistant Professor of Philosophy in the University of Kansas_ - - - LAWRENCE, JANUARY, 1914 - PUBLISHED BY THE UNIVERSITY - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PART ONE - BERGSON’S PHILOSOPHIC METHOD - _Page_ - CHAPTER I - The Relation of Philosophic Method to the Definition of - Philosophy 9 - - CHAPTER II - Bergson’s Critique of Pure Reason 17 - - CHAPTER III - The Ancient Prejudice against Analysis 26 - - - PART TWO - BERGSON’S SYSTEM OF DOCTRINE - - CHAPTER I - Ontology and Epistemology 37 - - CHAPTER II - Mind and Matter, Spirit and Body 64 - - CHAPTER III - Doctrine of Freedom 82 - - CHAPTER IV - Bergson’s Abhorrence of Determinateness 94 - - CHAPTER V - The Mystical Yearning of Intuitionism 102 - - - PART THREE - BERGSON’S GENIUS 107 - - - - -PREFACE - - -In the second part of this essay material from two papers published -in the _Journal of Philosophy, Psychology and Scientific Methods_ has -been laid under contribution, and also from my doctor’s thesis. Much of -this material was written in 1909, since which time a number of views -which some of mine resemble more or less have been published. It has -not seemed to me necessary always to note these agreements of thought -arrived at independently by myself and others. - -I have reported a part of the brilliant critique of Bergson’s doctrine -of freedom by Monsieur Gustave Belot. This expresses with elegance -and force much of my own reaction to the doctrine. Indebtedness to -Belot and other authors is acknowledged throughout the essay. Except -possibly Professor Bergson himself, there is no one who has influenced -my thinking so much as Professor Ralph Barton Perry, my teacher who -introduced me to Bergson’s philosophy. Professor Perry’s writings -are full of finished renderings of less articulate convictions of my -own; and, though I have often referred to and quoted from his work -explicitly, his instruction and stimulus have had so much to do with -the history of my thinking that I could never say just what I owe him, -but only that I owe him much. - -Professor Bergson has permitted me to translate from a private letter -some comments of his on certain of my criticisms. - -Professor Edmund H. Hollands has given the first two parts a careful -reading, in the manuscript, and his able criticisms and suggestions, -mainly concerning the matter itself, have been of great benefit. - -I am no less obliged, for help in improving the literary form, to -Professor S. L. Whitcomb, whose critical ability has been patiently -applied to a careful revision, page by page, of the whole manuscript. - -I have tried, in the third part, to justify explicitly the great and -unique value which I attach to Professor Bergson’s work, antagonistic -though my own convictions are to his results. And, besides this aim, -it has seemed to me interesting and instructive, in view of the very -considerable literature which has grown up about Bergson’s philosophy, -to bring together in a comparative view the judgments of a number of -his exponents. - -For literature by and about Bergson, the reader is referred to the -exhaustive bibliography prepared last year by the Columbia University -Press under the direction of Miss Isadore G. Mudge, the Reference -Librarian. “The bibliography includes 90 books and articles by -Professor Bergson (including translations of his works) and 417 -books and articles about him. These 417 items represent 11 different -languages divided as follows:--French 170, English 159, German 40, -Italian 19, Polish 5, Dutch 3, Spanish 3, Roumanian 2, Swedish 2, -Hungarian 1.” This work is invaluable to the student of Bergson. It is -incomparably the fullest Bergson bibliography extant. - - ARTHUR MITCHELL. - University of Kansas, - January, 1914. - - - - -PART ONE - -BERGSON’S PHILOSOPHIC METHOD - - - - -CHAPTER I - -THE RELATION OF PHILOSOPHIC METHOD TO THE DEFINITION OF PHILOSOPHY - - -One of the problems of philosophy is the nature of philosophy itself. -In recognizing such a problem at all, I suppose, the beginning of its -solution has been made. For the very question, what is this or that? -is conditioned on an incipient definition of the subject of it, a -discriminating acknowledgement of it as something in particular, and, -so, as something already more or less qualified or defined. Certainly -there would be no common problem and no difference of theory without -such initial agreement as a point of reference in disagreeing. - -But the explicit statement of this starting point of agreement -encounters a practical dilemma. On the one hand, anything can be -defined in terms so general that the thing is bound to be included: -make the genus large enough and it includes anything. The limit, in -this direction, would be to define the object as a case of being; which -would be safe, but hardly a start toward determining anything about -it. On the other hand, the least advance toward narrowing the meaning -incurs a very rigorous obligation to produce a principle of selection -which shall be a satisfactory logical warrant for narrowing it in just -the way selected, since this way excludes others whose claims may be -in question. The situation is thus beset with the pitfall of logical -presumption. - -There are three quite distinct conceptions of philosophy, in the form -of ill criticized assumption, each of which is taken by its adherents -to be unquestionable--as safe as the concept “being.” I will word them -thus: (1) An absolute _evaluation_ of reality; (2) A _revelation_ -of reality in its _essential nature_; (3) A _comprehension_ of the -_meaning_ of reality. - -The first of these conceptions is that of Kant and Fichte and -those philosophers to whom reality seems unrelated to apprehending -consciousness, related only to will. Reality is neither directly nor -indirectly perceivable. Knowledge of it is possible--if the term -is proper at all--only in the broadest sense of “knowledge,” the -sense equivalent to “consciousness,” within which will is sharply -distinguished from two more or less receptive or cognitive modes, -thinking and feeling. Knowledge of reality is thus, for this type of -philosopher, a practical, personal evaluation of it, only; a moral -disposition or attitude. - -The second conception is Professor Bergson’s; its meaning is a -peculiarly intimate acquaintance with reality. It is a relationship -between reality and consciousness in the æsthetic mode, consciousness -as the quality-knowing faculty, very explicitly distinguished by -Bergson, under the name “intuition,” from the relation-knowing or -intellectual faculty. - -The third conception, the analytic or intellectualistic, means -knowledge about reality, such knowledge as may be relatively -independent of acquaintance. The second and third conceptions are -distinct from each other only in emphasis, and may be indefinitely -approximated toward each other, to the limit of mutual identity. -But, historically, the philosopher’s besetting sin of hypostasis has -pushed the emphasis, in each of these two conceptions, to so vicious -an extreme that they contrast with each other sharply. Pushed to -such extreme, the third conception has been stigmatized by adherents -of the second as “vicious” conceptualism or intellectualism. By the -same right, the intellectualist may denounce intuitionism as equally -“vicious.” - -To these three conceptions of philosophy this is common: a relationship -between reality and consciousness which is apogeal. Philosophy is -at any rate a _supreme experience_, a mode of consciousness which -is eminent over other modes. But this initial generalization is too -indeterminate to constitute a satisfactory theory of the nature -of philosophy; whereas (for the other horn of the dilemma), the -above attempts at greater specificity appear to invoke no logical -principle, but rather to follow a deep-lying personal instinct, -without due critical reflection on it; in other words, without logical -justification of it. They all beg the question. - -Such ill criticized assumption concerning the nature of philosophy -is what determines a philosopher’s “method” in distinction from his -“doctrine.” The names voluntarism, intuitionism and rationalism have -been applied to philosophies whose method is one or other of the -three outlined above. Religion, art and science are their models, -respectively. Under voluntarism fall the romantic and the pietistic -philosophies, wherein value is all that is real, and personal attitude -towards value is the only mode of consciousness that illuminates -reality. Intuitionism includes radical empiricism, temporalism and -mysticism. Such philosophies are based on the conviction that only -quality is real, only intuition is knowledge. And under rationalism are -positivism and absolutism, in which reality is order and knowledge is -reason. - -If art, science and religion correspond to the ancient triad feeling -(intuition), thought (intellect) and will, it would seem either -that philosophy must be consciousness employed in one or more of -these modes, or else that a fourth mode of consciousness, coordinate -with these, must correspond to philosophy. Such a mode has not been -discovered. Philosophy must therefore be one or two or all three of the -above things. Can analysis of that generalization which was derived -above from the more specific definitions produce a logical principle -capable of determining the genuine philosophic method among the three -modes of consciousness, feeling, thought and will? Yes, such analysis -of the _supremacy_ which is a feature common to all three conceptions -of philosophy proves unequivocally that philosophy must be a function -of intellect, and cannot be a function either of will or of intuition. - -This would not be the case, needless to say, if “supremacy” were here -a eulogism. Eulogistically, either of the three modes of consciousness -has equal claim to supremacy. That mode of consciousness to which -reality is most interesting is supreme, in the eulogistic sense, and -this depends on the philosopher’s personal constitution. To the man -of dominating intuition, the relations and teleology of things may -be incidental characters of them; but, by comparison with reality’s -qualitative aspect, those other aspects are relatively extrinisic and -accidental. In whatever sense it may not be true, in the eulogistic -sense it is true that such a man’s supreme experience is intuitional -rather than intellectual or ethical. Bergson’s psychological life seems -to be of such a type. But, for the man of ethical, and for the man of -intellectual prepossession, supreme experience cannot be intuitional, -in this sense of supreme. Yet, if an intuitional bent be regarded -by anyone as a hopeful qualification for effective philosophizing, -no intuitionist denies to the man in whom reason or will, instead, -is paramount, the possibility, by proper effort, of achieving the -genuinely philosophic--that is to say, intuitional--activity. And when -such a man does, in spite of difficulty, achieve it, it has the same -supremacy, as philosophy, that it has for the intuitionist, for whom -it is, more fortunately, _also_ supremely congenial and “worth while”. -It is not this latter supremacy, therefore, but the other, which -distinguishes philosophy, on the intuitionist conception; and that -other supremacy has a meaning which is thus proved to be independent of -relation to any constitutional prepossession or aptness. If philosophy -is intuitional, this is not because intuition is any man’s most -characteristic faculty. - -And so of the two other modes of consciousness, reason and will, in -which, in different beings, according to their constitution, life -most naturally and best finds realization: for each of these modes -of consciousness, as for the intuitional mode, there is one sort of -experience, called philosophy, which is distinguished by a certain -supremacy of self-same nature, independent of any distinction of -personal constitution among philosophers. The voluntarist, indeed, -might claim a peculiarly eulogistic supremacy for volitional experience -over any other kind; for it is ethically supreme for all, whatever -one’s constitutional bent. But its ethical supremacy is no more the -_philosophic quale_ of volitional experience, on the voluntaristic -conception of philosophy, than is its other eulogistic supremacy, its -mere congeniality, for the strongly volitional type of character. For, -men of such character may be conspicuously deficient in philosophic -faculty in the judgment of all, including the voluntarist philosopher. - -Reason, finally, commands recognition of supremacy, among the modes of -consciousness, in another sense, a sense distinct from the imperative -or ethical supremacy of will. The supremacy of reason is its exclusive -reflectiveness; and reflectiveness as the _quale_ of reason is -the same character as criticalness; that is, it is the faculty of -judgment. It is important to note that this critical reflectiveness is -a _differentia_ of reason; it is not a character of intuition nor of -will. The proof is that reflection is the substitution of a relational -for a substantive object of consciousness, and relationality is -nothing else than rationality. Thus, if feeling, will and rational -thought are conceptually distinct, reflectiveness is foreign to the -first two, and to anything coördinately distinct from rational thought. -When consciousness is employed with an emphasis on the _qualities_ -of its object, in distinction from aspects of value and relation -(which also belong to any object), consciousness is intuitive, in -the intuitionist sense of the term. In entering a consciousness, -the qualities become, _ipso facto_, content of that consciousness, -taking their place in this setting under the name “sensations,” or -“sense data.” It is the act of reflection which “sets” the mind’s -data in contexts; which is aware of contexts, that is, and of the -setting of data in them. It is the reflective act which names its data -accordingly, as “quality” or “sensation”, and is conscious of them as -elements of their relational setting. Consciousness is volitional when -its focus is a value. In the context of the subject’s consciousness, -the value becomes a purpose. Thus value as substantive object of -consciousness, again, is object of will just as the substantive quality -was object of intuition; while value as element in the relational -complex in which it is known as “purpose,” is object of reflection. -Reason, then,--that is to say, mind active in the relation-knowing -way--is the mode of consciousness in virtue of which mind is -reflective, critical, judgment-forming; and it is a confusion among -definitions of intuition, will and reason, to attribute reflectiveness -to intuition or to will, as such. The peculiar supremacy of reason -which inheres in reason’s reflectiveness is due to the inclusion of -consciousness itself in the content of relational consciousness and of -no other mode of consciousness. - -Intuitionists and voluntarists, the same as intellectualists, do, -as a fact, always characterize that supremacy which distinguishes -philosophy, in no other way than the critical way. There is no dissent, -in intuitionist or voluntarist schools of philosophic method, from this -residual core of meaning in the conception of philosophy: by universal -consent philosophy is consciousness (in whatever mode) sitting in -judgment on its own findings; philosophy is critical reflection. -And _therein_ is an ultimateness and absoluteness--in a word, a -supremacy--which belongs to philosophy, on any view of philosophy, -and to no other type of mental activity. But in rationalism, or -intellectualism, alone, it is recognized that reflection, as such, is -essentially and distinctively rational. - -It is, then, the contention of this essay that the supremacy -peculiar to philosophy--which, by common consent of voluntarism -and intuitionism, is no eulogistic nor even ethical supremacy, but -critical--decides absolutely, among the three modes of consciousness, -against will and intuition in favor of intellect, as the organ of -philosophy, of intellectualism as the sole genuinely philosophic -method. Kant called his voluntarism the “Critical Philosophy,” to -distinguish it, as genuine philosophy, from what would be but failed -(because it was not critical) to be philosophy. Critical his philosophy -is; but because it is critical, it contradicts its own voluntarism--the -assertion that reality is knowable only in obedience of will, and not -in judgment. A contradiction; for _this_ (the gist of his voluntarism) -is a judgment whose subject is reality. The inevitable fundamental -intellectuality of noumenal knowledge is concealed, for Kant, under -the phrase “postulate of will.” A postulate, so far as it is genuine -knowledge, has indeed the character of necessity, but its necessity is -simply the fact of logical implication. - -With the intuitionist variety, and particularly the Bergsonian variety -of anti-intellectualism, this essay is largely to be concerned. At -this point I merely note the inevitable contradiction in Bergson’s -intuitionism, as in Kant’s voluntarism. Intuition, Bergson explains, -is “instinct that has become disinterested, self-conscious, capable of -_reflecting_ upon its _object_ and of enlarging it indefinitely.”[92] -Now, consciousness reflecting upon its own data is criticism, -predication, classification, judgment--whatever it is, it is the -_objectifying_ of the data of consciousness, a thing which it is -essential to instinct or intuition, on Bergson’s own conception of -them, never to do, and which, precisely, on his conception, is the -distinguishing function of intellect. “Instinct is sympathy,” says -Bergson, in the same passage; and the sense in which instinct is -sympathy is lucidly and emphatically explained as just this, that -there is no distinction of subject and object, in instinct; they -are identical. Whereas, intelligence or intellect is explicitly -distinguished by him from instinct primarily in the disjunction of -subject and object. It is merely to turn his back on his own use of -these terms to describe philosophy as instinct extending its _object_ -and reflecting upon itself. - - * * * * * - -That the case of philosophical anti-intellectualism is a hopeless -paradox, whether in voluntarism or in intuitionism, each of these -methods itself best proves by its own inevitable intellectualism. -The terms voluntarism, intuitionism, and rationalism express no real -distinction of psychological mode, in philosophizing, since the -psychology of every philosophy is necessarily characterized by that -critical reflectiveness which constitutes philosophy a function of -intellect. Philosophy is always interpretation, a function alien to -what anybody ever meant either by will or by intuition; a function -whose essential distinctness from both those functions is attested -universally in such synonyms of “interpretation” as judgment, -conception, understanding, reason. - -There are, it is true, voluntaristic and intuitionistic, philosophies -of the highest importance. And the intention of their authors is to -distinguish their method from the rationalistic method. Are they -foredoomed to futility on this account? So far as this intention -is realized--yes, unquestionably. No philosophy that were itself a -function either of will or of intuition is conceivable, since it would -then lack the essence of philosophy, which is critical primacy. That -philosophies designated by these methodological terms may be invaluable -products, it is necessary only that these terms apply in fact not to -the psychological method of the philosophy but to its psychological -starting-point. They express a constitutional bias in the philosopher, -who, after all, is human. To some the qualities of things; to others, -value; and, finally, to other some, the order of reality is the -“essence” of reality. Such essentialness is eulogism, of course. For it -is an irreducible psychological fact that there are religious, æsthetic -and scientific types of mind. Each to his bias; each to his taste. The -apogee of living is religion to the first, art to the second, science -to the third. Hence the illusion that philosophy, which must needs be -experience supremely critical, is experience eulogistically supreme. -Is not this illusion chargeable to failure to see in these three modes -of consciousness three emphases or biases of living? To the æsthete, -certainly, quality must be realest essence. But it cannot be so to the -zealot; for, to him, that is value: nor to the intellectualist; to him -it is order. - -If æsthete and zealot will philosophize, they are at this disadvantage -with the wise man, that their philosophy can do no more, in expressing -the nature of this “realest essence” of reality, than the wise man’s -rationalism may do--discourse about it, interpret it. Philosophy indeed -never can, and never should aspire to enter into the inner nature of -reality in any such sense as the immediatism of Bergson and James -summons it to do. There is art and there is religion for that. It is -not clear how the qualitative or how the teleological aspect of reality -is more internal to it than its relational aspect; but, at any rate, -philosophy has its own interest, and that is distinct from those of art -and religion. Wherefore the own proper interest of art or of religion -is not served in their philosophy; in their philosophy they deny -themselves. The efforts of such philosophies to wrest from reality, in -a non-intellectual way, its secret, must be rather superhuman. This -characterization is hardly a burlesque of Bergson’s own observations -on his method, for it is little less than the repudiation of our -natural constitution, to which he exhorts us.[93] But, as with Kant, -so with Bergson, prodigies of subtlety fail to produce a revelation -of truth that is so subtle as to be inarticulate because immediate, -or that does not lend itself to discussion and interpretation. Or, -if this is not to be looked for in a philosophy which is ‘a method -rather than a doctrine,’ neither is there any suggestion how such -revelation may be socialized, rendered human; or even, in fact, how -it can assume _meaning_, meaning to the philosopher himself (which is -surely indispensable to truth), without becoming predication--assertion -and denial;--that is to say, without becoming judgment. If humans -make superhuman effort, it should not be surprising if the result is -self-contradiction. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -BERGSON’S CRITIQUE OF PURE REASON - - -What, then, is called philosophic “method” and is distinguished -thereby from “doctrine,” is really, in fact, always the cardinal -principle of the _content_ of the philosophy in question, its -fundamental _doctrine_. If this doctrine is acceptable to reason, -if it is reasonable, logical principles must determine it. No -anti-intellectualist philosophy legitimately evades the rules of the -game of dialectic by the representation that it is a ‘method rather -than a doctrine.’ For this is the game that anyone plays who undertakes -to show, by reasonable discourse, why reality and knowledge conform -to a certain definition, or (the same mental procedure) why they do -not conform to other definitions. Since dialectic is just significant -discourse with a meaning to be judged, it may vary in form between -any degree of syllogistic baldness, at one extreme, and of suggestive -subtlety at the other. It is dialectic if it is constituted of -statements, explicit or implied, which relate to each other. - -There is, therefore, I say, a misleading irrelevance in the -characterization which Bergson himself has set the fashion of -attributing to his philosophy, the characterization of it as rather a -method than a system of doctrine. A method implies a system, that is to -say an ordered conviction about the nature of reality and knowledge. -Such a system is essential to any meaning in Bergson’s method. - - * * * * * - -Intellectualism in philosophy implies the conviction that the parts of -reality are connected together in thinkable ways; that a comprehensive -understanding of things as a connected system or unity is therefore -theoretically possible; if actually impossible, this is merely because -of the endlessness of relationships and the limitedness of any actual -thinker’s time and strength. But in fact even human finitude is no -obstacle to a comprehension of the principles of reality. Detail is -immaterial to the unity of such a view. - -One of the sayings attributed to Professor James is that there -is one thing you can always pronounce with assurance, upon any -philosophical system, in advance of hearing a word of it, and that is -that it is false. This suggests at any rate, very well, the meaning -of philosophical anti-intellectualism, which implies the conviction -contradictory to intellectualism, to wit that the parts of reality are -not connected in thinkable ways. - -The connectedness of the intellectualist’s universe may have any -degree of significance or casualness. A mere “and” may express much -of it.[94] Intellectualism may be as pluralistic in this sense as you -like, or as monistic. But if things are a universe in any such sense -that they are comprehensible in intellect’s discursive way, which -anti-intellectualism denies--on such a hypothesis anti-intellectualism -and intellectualism have commonly agreed that some principle is -embodied in this total comprehensibleness, a supreme induction, -which would constitute the final interpretation of any fact. Like -a master-key, it would open all the chambers of the many-mansioned -universe. Every philosopher, as a fact, has some controlling thought -which has the value, for him, of such a supreme principle. But always, -it seems, there are doors which the master-key will not unlock. It is -the conviction of intellectualism that this is because the maker of -the key has missed them, and so left them out of account in fashioning -it; while anti-intellectualism believes it is an illusion to see the -situation as a case of locks to be turned by a key, at all. Entrance -into possession of reality is otherwise conditioned, altogether; the -procedure, in consequence, is radically different from this. But it -is, I think, a true historical generalization that the success with -which a philosopher, of whatever method, avoids a supreme principle -of interpretation, corresponds exactly with the success with which -he avoids being a philosopher at all. I suppose Omar Khayyam and -Aristippus the Cyrenaic are two of the least unifying philosophers -of history; yet their philosophy, like that of any absolutist, can be -resumed in a single idea. Omar has uttered it in one of his own famous -sentences: “Oh take the cash, and let the credit go!” - -Aside from the presence, in each, of a generative principle, there -is little enough in common between the anti-intellectualism of Omar -and that of Henri Bergson. If critics have been able to find seeds of -skepticism and of pessimism in Bergson,[95] these characters are at any -rate foreign to any intention visible in its author. No more positive -philosophy, in its intention, was ever composed. The positiveness of -its name, intuitionism, is altogether proper. Its significance, to be -sure, is sharply defined by its negative relation to intellectualism, -and therefore I stated it negatively above as the thesis that the parts -of reality are not connected in a thinkable way. But the intuitionist -would readily admit: if not in a thinkable way, then in no way, -evidently. And, again, if not connected at all, no more are the parts -of reality disconnected, since any disconnection between things is -only their particular mode of connection. The fact is, reality has no -parts, and that is just why intellect, which sees parts in everything, -is alien and blind to the true nature of reality. Still one may object -that intellect is itself a fact. What possible meaning can there be in -saying that any fact is alien to reality? As Bergson himself has said, -we swim in reality, and cannot possibly get clear of it. We cannot -talk, we cannot think, we cannot act about nothing. - -The answer to this objection is the master principle of Bergson’s -metaphysics: reality is life. Knowledge is “sympathetic” living. If -intellect is real, so is every abstraction, _e. g._, the inside of your -hat. The inside and the hat itself are at any rate real in senses so -importantly different that “real” and “unreal” hardly exaggerate the -contrast. Intellect, says Bergson, is the cross-sectioning of reality. -There is no thickness, no concreteness in it. It exists as much in -inert matter as in consciousness; in fact, it exists in neither except -in the sense in which a surface can be said to exist in a solid body. -What is the surface _in itself_? Why, nothing; it is an abstract aspect -of the body. The body is real, but its aspects are not real, because -they do not constitute the body--no multiplication or addition of them -does so. No millions of surfaces make any thickness. In this sense the -surface is other than and alien to the real nature of the body. And so -other manifestations of intellect--space, juxtaposition, extension, -number, part out of part--have no existence, as the surface has none. - -As facts, nevertheless, what are they? How are they facts? What is -their _raison d’ être_? Their _raison d’ être_ is a faculty life has, -the faculty of _action_. They are the ways in which life acts. They are -not concrete entities. In this, they are alien to the concreteness of -reality. Try to reconstruct reality out of such abstractions, and the -result is a construction like that of geometrical imagination. You have -constructed an abstract symbol of the reality, which symbol the mind, -preoccupied with its practical bias, can mistake for the reality only -because it is so preoccupied. - -When we physically take apart and put together, our manual activity -has the same unreality of abstractness as that of our intellectual -analyses and syntheses. It is the latter outwardly expressed, intellect -externalized. Wherever we find life, we are experiencing reality. But -when this occurs, we are never analyzing nor synthesizing. The more one -divests himself of practical bias, and regards his object not as an -object for the realization of any possible activity of his own, but as -it is in itself--in proportion, that is, as one gets its character as -a case of life--those unreal, spatial aspects of it yield to an aspect -which has nothing in common with them. The parts of an anatomical -model, a _papier maché_ manikin, you may separate and put together -again. An organism, as such, a manifestation of life, could not be -dissected and recomposed in its living reality. What is it that makes -an organism alive, a true reality? This, that every so-called part has -a function which is so essential to the true function of the whole that -one is present or absent with the other. They coincide. How, then, -could you possibly dissect out a part of an organism? Once recognize, -what is unquestionable, that any function of it coincides in this -way with the function of the whole, and your analyzing operation is -prevented absolutely. Obey the rule that everything which contributes -at all to the function of the part shall be taken, and everything else -left, and you are in Shylock’s position after Portia’s judgment: if you -want the flesh you will have to take blood with it; but you are not -entitled to the blood. It is even more hopeless than that. It is not a -matter of skill with your hand. You cannot make the analysis mentally, -intellectually. It is not a matter of impairing or destroying the -function, of injuring or killing the organism. You cannot _begin_ the -operation, not even on the corpse. The first incision separates cells -whose functions were inseparably one, for there is no cell in the body -that is not in organic union with every other cell. - -If there is nothing of the nature of mosaic composition in the living -structure, this fact is one with the fact that there is nothing -mechanical in its functioning. It is not actuated from without, as -every machine is actuated which is not alive; nor is its functioning, -like that of such machines, an assemblage of functions predetermined -so far as the machine itself is concerned--predetermined, that is to -say, except for intervention from without; unalterable, as unstartable, -without external cause. The character of living function is suggested -by the word “focalization.” There is a perfectly indivisible concert -of function throughout the organism, in every one of its infinite -varieties of activity. When the engineer reverses his engine, or -otherwise alters its mode of operation, what he really does is to -alter the structure of the machinery. The machinery has been specially -constructed with a view to unmaking and remaking its nature more or -less quickly and conveniently; that is, its parts can be displaced -and replaced with reference to each other. Some parts are “thrown out -of gear” and shifted back. _And then everything returns to its former -state._ Not so in life. The functioning of an organism never remains -quite the same in two consecutive instants. There is an incessantly -moving emphasis or focus in it. Now one of its potentialities of -function is primary or focal, now another. But none can ever cease -and then be resumed. In this case, to cease is not to be thrown out -of gear, but to die, to perish, to be annihilated. In every phase of -the life activity of the organism, all its functions are operative, -subsidiary and subservient in varying degrees to that one which for -the moment is the focus of all. Thus the organic or vital focus, in -its physiological aspect of activity and in its psychological aspect -of attention, is never at rest. The modulation is not like the sudden -transformations in a kaleidoscope. The evolutions do not take place -in the manner suggested by the phrase “Presto, change!” _Modulation_ -is the word that describes the process. Or, as Bergson phrases it, -the change is continuous, incessant, an _interpenetrating flow_ of -processes, in which analysis can make no beginning and no separation; -in which analysis, in fact, is absolutely impotent. If the eye is -that which sees, the ear that which hears, and so on, it is really -the organism entire, and no special, locally differentiated part of -it that is the organ. Those so-called parts which, with our false -intellectualism, we name the eye or other organ, are, _in their -reality_, focal aspects of the entire organism, the organism seen with -a certain restriction or limitation of interest. - -But, now, how can one make any discourse about, say, an animal -organism--indeed, how can this become an object of perception at -all--without its lending itself to that sort of division into real -parts which Bergson says is an intellectual falsification of its -true nature, and therefore not true knowledge of the thing? When I -look at a living body, do I not see it occupying space? Is it not, -then, measurable? Is not one such body larger than another? Suppose -cutting out parts of a body does alter or kill the organism: they can, -neverless, be cut out, and are therefore parts? If, after, and because -of, being cut out, they are then not parts of the _organism_ from which -they were cut, still, they are constituents of its volume. Surely, our -ordinary speech about this part and that part of our bodies, is not all -false? - -Bergson’s answer is uncompromising: our ordinary perception and speech -does falsify the nature of reality, but (in spite of the apparent -paradox) _does not mislead_. For our ordinary perception and speech -have nothing to do with knowing. Perception is a different function -of life--it is action. Our percepts are the ways in which reality -can factor in our activities. Those dissected organs, you say, are -at least so much of the entire volume of the organism: but the words -are no sooner spoken than their falseness shows itself. If the -organism ever had volume, it certainly has not, now--neither volume -nor anything else. The fact is, the only meaning there is in its ever -possessing volume while it still exists, is just that you might enter -into activity with it in such and such ways--as that, for instance, -of hacking it up. Perception, our “virtual” or potential activity on -reality, is an abstract aspect of it; what it is in itself is another -matter, and the only knowledge of this is that sympathetic union with -it in which space and parts disappear in an “interpenetrating flow” -not of _things_ nor of parts, but of process, of ceaseless change. Now, -quality is just the fact of change, as anyone may test for himself by -introspection. Reality as it is in itself, therefore, the true nature -of reality, is quality. Relations are external views or aspects, no -multiplication of which makes any start at constituting a concrete -reality. - -There is one more reflection on Bergson’s account of intellect, which, -like those made above, he anticipates and tries to meet, so far as it -seems an objection to denying cognitive validity to intellect. The -attempt at this point, however, is not very convincing. The point I -mean is this: The ways in which reality can factor in my activities -are _by that warrant_ true characters of reality. One may cheerfully -add: even as the inside of my hat is, after all, a true character of -my hat. For, if reality were different, it could not factor _so_ in -my activity--in other words, which would also be the words of plain -common sense, I should _perceive_ it differently, on Bergson’s own -conception of what it means to perceive. The situation is this: Reality -does, indeed, possess those interesting aspects of changing process -and undividedness which Bergson is so preoccupied with and which he -has brought to light with exquisite skill. This is one of two equally -important truths about reality. The other Bergson is simply blind -to, and that is that reality also possesses an aspect of permanence -and divisibility. Does this seem a contradiction? It is no more a -contradiction than that a curve is both convex and concave. It is not -only not a contradiction: each of these antipodally opposite aspects -of reality is absolutely indispensable to the very conception of -the other, just as concavity is indispensable to the conception of -convexity, east to the conception of west, right to the conception -of left-- and _vice versa_. This point is resumed below (pp. 77-9, -96). The object in view at present is to see how the philosopher’s -method is really his primary doctrine, in which object I am not in -controversy with anyone, so far as I know; but also to see how an -anti-intellectualist method depends upon a purely arbitrary, or rather -constitutional, psychological prepossession for a certain emphasis of -living. - -I said that Bergson is entirely awake to the aptness of the objection -just raised to his account of intellect. In a sense, in certain -passages, he even seems to grant the truth of the contention. Action, -he acknowledges, for instance,[96] can be involved only with reality; -and consequently the forms of perception and the categories of -intellect (which are those forms rendered elaborately precise) “touch -something of the absolute.” Sound truth, assuredly! The fitness of -reality to enter as object into those active relationships which are -the perceptive and intellectual categories makes the categories as -genuinely own to the true, essential nature of objective reality as -to the nature of subjective intelligence. That the categorization of -reality depends on the real object’s being in relation to something -else than itself is nothing peculiar to this (the categorical) -character of reality. The same condition is common to every character -of reality. The qualitative aspect of reality, which Bergson usually -regards as the nature of reality “in itself,” depends no less than its -relational or categorical aspect on the relatedness of the object. For -the qualities of things are nothing but the differences they make--to -consciousness or to other things. Reality not in relation is simply -a phrase without a vestige of meaning. Reality “in itself” in such -a sense is merely nonsense. It would seem, therefore, as if Bergson -should account the intellectual mode of consciousness, which does -indeed “touch something of the absolute,” as knowledge of precisely the -same metaphysical status as a mode which touches anything else of the -absolute. It is one thing for a mode of consciousness to be uncongenial -or uninteresting to you or me; it is another for it to be invalid. -The uncongeniality of a mode of consciousness depends on personal -idiosyncrasy; the invalidity of a mode of consciousness depends on the -logical nature of being. - -As a fact, however, perhaps because this preference between two aspects -of the nature of reality depends so obviously on personal bias instead -of logical principles, Bergson vacillates, in a hopelessly confused and -confusing way, all through his writings, between two conceptions of -reality. First, reality is of one nature, namely life, which is pure -quality, change, or duration (the four terms are actually synonyms to -Bergson), and knowledge of which can be only sympathetic intuition -of it, while intellect is merely “an appendage of action,” and not -knowledge at all. In the other conception reality is cleft into a -dualism more unutterably absolute than that of Descartes. Life is one -kind of reality; inert matter is the other. Intuition knows the former; -intellect really does _know_ the latter (‘touching something of the -absolute’), and knowledge is therefore not intuition only. Although -this vacillation confuses issues in every one of Bergson’s books, the -first conception is more characteristic, upon the whole, of _Time and -Free Will_ and of _Creative Evolution_; the other conception is pretty -consistently expounded in _Matter and Memory_. The sphere of intellect -is restricted; its cognitive validity is not explicitly denied within -this sphere, but only within the domain of life. To be sure, since -life exhausts reality, the sphere allotted to intellect is not real, -which would seem to imply that intellect fails to know. The validity of -intellectual consciousness is thus, in effect, denied equally in either -case. The only difference is that the denial is conscious and explicit -in one case, more or less unconsciously implied in the other. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -THE ANCIENT PREJUDICE AGAINST ANALYSIS - - -The restrictive conception of intellect is a very old one. The -incompatibility of intellect and life, as cognitive organ and object, -is certainly as old a belief as the era of the Sophists. It can be -said, that is, with historical certainty, that, from the time of -Protagoras--and I have no doubt it has been true ever since the first -philosopher, whoever he was, undertook to make an examination of the -universe as one thing--it has always been true that many of the best -minds have been convinced, by the futile results of such undertakings, -that the universe as one thing, on one hand, and intellect, on the -other, make a pair as incompatible, in the relation of cognitive organ -and object, as the faint star and the fovea: you have an organ and an -object which by nature are unsuited to each other. That kind of organ -cannot see that kind of object. Not that the faint star is invisible, -but, to see it, you musn’t look! Then it will swim into the field of -the organ that is made to see it, the retinal tissue surrounding the -fovea. Thus it is not a question of human finitude or limitation. The -formulæ of intellect, applied to such an object, are mere silliness, -reducible, as Kant showed, to all manner of antinomy and paradox. -Not only that, but whatever is most important and interesting within -this whole, everything concerning the nature and meaning of concrete -cases of life, eludes and baffles conceptual statement,--which is the -only kind of statement there is,--inevitably eludes it, like smoke in -a child’s hand who tries to catch it. Your essences or definitions, -of life or any of its manifestations, are stuff and nonsense, not -inadequate, but absurd. What logical sentence has ever been uttered -that, upon the least reflection, does not fail to develop into a -grotesquely false caricature when applied to any genuine phase or -interest of life, great or small--whether God, freedom, immortality, -or the heart of a woman, or of a child, or of a man (to take them in -a descending order of their unsearchableness)? You may labor your -conception with prodigious precision--the truth of the matter is always -beyond, when you are speaking of matters that are real. - -This is the artist’s temper of mind when the artist has inadvertently -gulped down a noxious dose of metaphysics. It is the feeling of the -novelists, the dramatists, the poets, that Bergson voices: life -may be lived--nobly or basely, courageously or cowardly, truly or -falsely;--and the flavor and significance of life may be heightened, -life may be realized more abundantly, in artistic activity, which is -putting oneself into one’s object, making it become not an object, -identifying oneself with it. But one thing is not given to man, and -that is to _interpret_ life. - -Everyone is familiar with the telling dramatic force of the device -which consists in involving a philosophical hero, a man addicted to -principles of high generality, in sudden overwhelming emotional chaos, -in which all his philosophy goes to smash. The refractoriness of sexual -love, for instance, to all his theories is such a delicious _reductio -ad absurdum_ of the theories. First you make your philosopher develop -his maxims, in a besotted, fatuous conviction of their infallibility: -then a particularly impossible she enters, one who is conspiciously -unfitted, by artlessness or disabilities of worldly station, for the -upsetting of principles great and high. The philosopher goes through -his paces, eating his maxims whole, with unction; and you have the -spectacle of Life rising serene, untouched, above the futilities of -theory. The theory doesn’t work. The obvious conclusion is that there -is some fundamental incommensurability between it and the simple facts -of life that can flout it so. _Simon the Jester_ is a very delightful -example of what I mean. Simon is bound to come to grief, he is so -smugly philosophical. The wise novel-reader knows what to expect. Not -that philosophy is not an ornament to a man, a civilizing, disciplining -exercise. All that is one thing, but acting as if such notions _apply_ -is quite another. This good philosophical chap gives the result of his -philosophy in regulating his life, as follows: - -“Surely no man has fought harder than I have done to convince himself -of the deadly seriousness of existence; and surely before the feet of -no man has Destiny cast such stumbling-blocks to faith ... No matter -what I do, I’m baffled. I look upon sorrow and say, ‘Lo, this is -tragedy!’ and hey, presto! a trick of lightening turns it into farce. -I cry aloud, in perfervid zeal, ‘Life is real, life is earnest, and -the apotheosis of the fantastic is not its goal,’ and immediately a -grinning irony comes to give the lie to my _credo_. - -“Or is it that, by inscrutable decree of the Almighty Powers, I am -undergoing punishment for an old unregenerate point of view, being -doomed to wear my detested motley for all eternity, to stretch out my -hand forever to grasp realities and find I can do naught but beat the -air with my bladder; to listen with strained ear perpetually expectant -of the music of the spheres, and catch nothing but the mocking jingle -of the bells on my fool’s cap? - -“I don’t know. I give it up.” - -Giving it up is obviously the moral, here. The change of attitude -implied in the last words marks the beginning of an era of glorious -fulfilment of life in the former philosopher’s history. What was -necessary was that he should stop theorizing and learn to live. That -is, philosophy, as supreme experience, is the art of living. It is the -artist that really knows, that knows inwardly and truly. The genuine -philosopher is the artist in living. The intellectualist philosopher is -a dissector of life’s defunct remains. - -The nature of the opposition between the two modes of consciousness -called intuition and intellect is discussed in the chapter on Bergson’s -epistemology. The intuitionist philosopher is such never for logical -reasons, always for temperamental reasons. He is a man to whom life -is richer and fuller, more self-fulfilling, more natural, in the -intuitional mode of consciousness than in the intellectual. Hence the -suspicious and disparaging disposition toward the intellectual mode of -consciousness, in a very numerous class of minds of the highest order. -From a personal feeling of safety and security in intuition and of -dissatisfaction with intellectual efforts, the transition is natural to -a conviction that the trouble is in the essential nature of intellect. -A mode of consciousness which is so inveterately and (presumably) -inevitably beset with self-frustration cannot be knowledge. It is too -obviously the opposite of knowledge, to wit error and delusion. - -But once the opposition has reached this point, where not only the -convenience but the very validity of intellect is impugned, one is -involved in a disjunction between these two modes of consciousness -that is demonstrably false, both logically and psychologically. It -is surely a false hypostasis of terms whose distinction is merely -abstract, to set over against each other in this way two aspects which -are equally essential to any conception of the nature of consciousness. -For intuition and intellect can be seen to imply each other with the -same necessity with which quality and quantity imply each other. And -there is the same absurdity, on the side of epistemology, in regarding -intuition as valid knowledge and intellect as not valid, as, on the -side of ontology, in regarding quality as real and quantity--or -relation in general--as not real. As if either were conceivable except -as a co-aspect or coefficient with the other, in the nature of reality. -This would be to conceive of quality as quality of nothing, or relation -as relation between no terms. - -If philosophy must be reflective (and reflectiveness to some degree -is undoubtedly an inevitable condition of human consciousness, -perhaps of any consciousness), it must be, _quatenus_ philosophy, -intellectual, and not, _quatenus_ philosophy, intuitional. Intuition -will assuredly be there, in any philosophy, as the pole is inseparable -from its antipodes. But the philosophicalness of philosophy is just -its reflectiveness; that is, once more, _quatenus_ philosophy, it is -intellectual. - -I am recording a protest against false reification of what is abstract, -the very fault which intuitionism is insistent to lay to the charge -of intellectualism. If intuitionism were to conceptualize intuition -and intellect, instead of reifying them, it could not appropriate -validity to either mode of consciousness and deny it to another. -The satisfactoriness and richness of a given mode of consciousness -depend no doubt on the constitution of the subject. The validity -of consciousness in any mode has nothing to do with such personal -idiosyncrasy. - -James is less rigorous concerning the validity of relational knowledge -than Bergson. Having found relations in the immediate content of -conscious data, James cannot deny them an essential constitutiveness -in the nature of reality. But such knowledge is “thin” and “poor”, -in his homely and human phraseology. This is only a more naïve and -genial expression than Bergson’s of the purely eulogistic primacy of -quality over relation. Relations are thin and poor aspects of reality, -no doubt, if you find them so. Otherwise they may be supremely -interesting. That depends on your interests, which depend on your -constitution. In any case, they are the aspect of reality primarily -indispensable to reflective thought, which is philosophy. - - * * * * * - -The characteristic which is most sedulously imputed by the philosophy -of instinct to intellect is usefulness, but this characteristic -is treated as evidence of cognitive invalidity! In point of fact, -serviceableness to action in no way distinguishes intellect from -instinct. Each alike is a reactive state resulting in a new situation, -a new arrangement of matter; and the only thing that can give true -finality to the intelligent act is the affective value of the conscious -state arising out of this new situation. But the same is true of the -situation which is the outcome of the instinctive act. - -The distinction sometimes seems to mean that it is only acquaintance -with objects (intuitive knowledge of them) that has affective value, -and that this kind of consciousness is therefore an end in itself in -a sense in which intellect is not. For knowledge about the object -(intellectual knowledge of it) will then be supposed to have no -affective value in itself, but only as it may subserve action upon -the object, which action will be accompanied by acquaintance with the -object. But if knowledge about an object subserves acquaintance with -it, the converse is no less true. If knowledge of the location and -price of a tennis ball subserves my use of it and acquaintance with it, -the latter in turn subserves my knowledge about it in an indefinite -number of respects. True, acquaintance with an object may not always -lead to knowledge about it so obviously as in the case of the tennis -ball; but again it is equally true that knowledge about certain things, -for instance lines drawn upon the blackboard, has no obvious leading -toward utility; the utility of a certain mathematical equation may -seem quite inscrutable. But how obvious the leading may be, or how -interesting the utility, is nothing to the point. The question whether -or not the connection is necessarily there in all cases is answered -peremptorily _a priori_ by the polar character of knowledge by virtue -of which acquaintance-with is only an aspect of knowledge-about, and -_vice versa_. - -It is flagrantly untrue, as a fact, that knowledge-about is without -affective value in itself. Experience is as emphatic to the contrary -as reason. If a characteristically intellectual state of mind gives -you less satisfaction, or more, than one that is characteristically -intuitive, the reason is quite personal and accidental in either case. -It may just as well give you more as less. Being knowledge in each -case, awareness at least, it has its affective value in some degree -necessarily, of whichever character it may be predominantly. - - * * * * * - -Since relation is not divorcible from quality, nor intellect from -intuition, it results that, if the artist blunders through critical -defect, even better art would, of itself, have saved him in spite of -his critical defect. If the mustiness of the philosopher is expressible -as lack of a facile instinct, merely a truer theory of life would have -corrected him. No doubt life is too intricate for the most robust -capacity for ratiocination. Sanity balances securely between the two -biases of consciousness. Art and criticism are equally long, and the -middle course a is short-cut and an economy of living. But condemnation -of the validity of consciousness in any mode is a theoretical -proposition irrelevant to maxims of practical sagacity. And it implies -either condemning the validity of all consciousness (if intuition -and intellect are aspects of each other) or else it presupposes that -reality is not categorical, which Bergson fails to show. On page 24 of -the present essay, we have seen that he seems, in an inconsistent way, -even to maintain the contradictory thesis. - -In a former paper[97] I have written as follows: - -“Now, Bergson’s idea of the philosopher--an artist in life--is probably -no one’s else. He is of that opinion, decidedly; a considerable part -of the book [_Creative Evolution_] is a demonstration that actual -philosophers, from Plato on, are intellectualists all, dissectors, -not artists. But if Bergson’s enterprise is to be a _substitute_ for -philosophy and appropriate its name, we who are much addicted to the -old enterprise will be careful to know why it is futile and illusory.” - -Monsieur Bergson comments on this in a private letter from which I -translate: - -“It would be so, I recognize, if these intellectualist philosophers had -been philosophers only in virtue of their intellectualism. But whereas -intelligence pure and simple professes to solve the problems, it is -intuition alone that has enabled them to be put. Without the intuitive -feeling of our freedom, there would be no problem of freedom, hence no -determinist theory; thus, the different forms of determinism, which are -so many forms of intellectualism, owe their very existence to something -which could not have been obtained by the intellectualist method. For -my part, I find, more or less developed, the seeds of intuitionism in -most of the great philosophic doctrines, although the philosophers -have always tried to convert their intuition into dialectic. Yet it is -chiefly in the former that they have been philosophers.” - -This seems to me an absolute inversion of intuition and intellect. Does -intuition ‘put problems’? It is, certainly, intuition that gives us the -material of our problems. But the formulating of a problem--what can be -meant by intuition’s formulating anything? Giving forms, I should say, -just defines the work of intellect. Intuition gives us our facts, our -material. Surely, the putting of problems is an intellectual operation -continuous, even identical, strictly, with their solution? A problem -well put is rather more than half solved. Certainly the remainder of -the solution is not a different order of activity. It carries out -the ‘putting’ in its implications. A problem put is only a problem -incompletely solved.[98] Solving it is putting it with a satisfactory -perspicacity. - -Without the intuitive feeling of our freedom there would be no problem -of freedom, certainly, but you might easily have the intuition without -the problem. In the preface to the _Essai sur les données immédiates de -la conscience_, Bergson insists that it is the aberrations of intellect -that give rise to the problems of freedom. Intellect, then, at any -rate, not intuition, puts the problem. - -As correlative modes of consciousness, neither is independent, nor -primary, of course. Even in the putting of our problems, intellect -is only a co-factor, a coefficient with intuition. And in the -most abstract reasoning, the intuitive coefficient of thought is -indispensable. So far as intellect is actual, concrete knowledge, it -must be intuitively correlated, and so far as intuition is the real -intuiting of anything, it must be intelligently correlated. - -In what respect are the philosophers of whom Monsieur Bergson speaks -intuitionists? Does this mean anything more than that they are -wide-reaching and far-reaching instead of narrow and dull in their -apprehension? Is not philosophy interpretation of experience? Is not -the philosopher’s vision, therefore, always necessarily, just so far as -he is a _philosopher_, a vision of the formal aspect of reality? To be -sure, that is just what Monsieur Bergson is denying. But his reason is -that reality is pure quality, a proposition whose logical faultiness -and temperamental genesis I have sufficiently noted. - -In view of the temperamental basis of the artistic and the -philosophical or critical attitudes, it were fatuous for either -to propose a reform in the other by way of conformity to a mode -distinguished from it thus radically. It is this fatuity which it seems -to me Bergson commits in regarding the success of any philosophy as -due, by any possibility, to its becoming art instead. As well conceive -that the virtue of an artistic product _consists_ in its conformity to -critical canons. - -Philosophy that is false to art would therein necessarily be false to -philosophy; and art that is false to philosophy is false to art; but -art is not philosophy, nor philosophy art. - - - - -PART TWO - -BERGSON’S SYSTEM OF DOCTRINE - - - - -CHAPTER I - -ONTOLOGY AND EPISTEMOLOGY - - -My reason for coupling these two subjects in one heading is suggested -by the following words quoted from the Introduction to _Creative -Evolution_: “... _theory of knowledge_ and _theory of life_ seem to -us inseparable.” For Bergson, reality is life; and knowledge, of -course, is a function of life. “The fundamental character of Bergson’s -philosophy,” writes H. Wildon Carr,[99] “is ... to emphasize the -primary importance of the conception of life as giving the key to the -nature of knowledge.” - -All the essential principles of this metaphysics are contained in the -first of Bergson’s philosophical books, _Time and Free Will_.[100] The -two later books, _Matter and Memory_ and _Creative Evolution_, have not -modified it, and have hardly even developed it--in the sense, that is, -that no vital corrections or additions to the principles of the _Essai_ -have been made. - - * * * * * - -In discussing anti-intellectualistic philosophies, in the first part -of the present essay, their suspicion and distrust of intellect was -attributed to a logical illusion. The philosopher, finding life -preeminently satisfactory in an intimate acquaintance with the -qualitative aspect of experience, acquires an instinctive faith in -the preeminent reality of quality, a faith which is the deepest root -of his being. Now, this faith is absolutely justified, of course. -It is only necessary that it should be understood. Illusion and -error enter in with the neglect of the very preeminence of this -character of reality. For evidently nothing can be preeminently -real and at the same time real in any sense for which the adverb -“preeminently” is either false or meaningless. The sense of “important” -is a well accredited, proper meaning, in our language, of the word -“real.” But it is a sense perfectly distinct from the metaphysical -sense. Teleologically, anything is preeminently real _according to -circumstances_. Teleologically, “real” is a synonym of “important,” -a relative term capable of degree. Metaphysically, circumstances are -irrelevant to the realness of anything. This is a different statement -from the statement that circumstances are irrelevant to the _nature_ -of anything. It may be that there is nothing whose nature can be -independent of, wholly undetermined by, circumstances. That is another -question. We have nothing to do with it at present. For in either case, -circumstances make it neither more nor less real. Metaphysically, -then, “real” is an absolute term, incapable of degree, and the adverb -“preeminently” has no meaning when applied to it. The very fitness of -the adverb “preeminently” to the intuitionist’s meaning of the realness -of quality determines this meaning as a teleological eulogism, and -the ultimate significance of intuitionism is not the germination of a -logical principle, but an instinctive propagandism in the direction of -a favorite emphasis of living, an enthusiasm which has become involved -in a logical illusion concerning its own foundation in the nature of -things, an illusion which is clearly traceable, on analysis, to this -ambiguity in the use of the word “real.” - -Later in this study it will appear that Bergson’s interest centers, -as the interest of French philosophy has centered ever since the -Renaissance, in the problem of freedom. No doubt that very enthusiasm -which motivates modern anti-intellectualism and gives it so positive a -character, is a prime factor in its popular success. And in the case -of Bergson, both the significance of his philosophy itself and the -brilliant vogue it has achieved can be rightly appreciated only in -the light of this central passion whose appeal to human nature is so -universal and so profound. Anti-intellectualism and anti-determinism -are one and the same thing. It will appear as we go on that a -deep-lying tychism, a horror of determinism, is the specific trait of -that motive (described above as a natural affinity for the qualitative -aspect of reality, as distinguished from its relational aspect) which -strenuously endeavors, in Bergson, to eliminate relation from reality, -judgment from knowledge. He protests that freedom cannot be defined -without converting it into necessity; for definition is determination. -A would-be indeterminist _theory_ of will is as futile as a determinist -theory is false: on any _theory_, will is prejudged in favor of -determinism. The nature of freedom cannot be known independently of the -nature of will, and then attributed or denied to will, as one might -attribute or deny redness to an apple. To say, Will is free, would be -like saying, Will is voluntary, or, Freedom is free--not, indeed, an -untruth, but without meaning and hence not a truth, either. - -The one way, then, of getting the true nature of will truly -comprehended which is doomed to necessary failure, is to write -a psychological treatise on the subject. For, since will has no -such determinate character as intellect finds in it or gives to -it, a treatise conveying the true nature of will would have to be -unintelligible! Now, see in will, as Leibniz[101] and Schopenhauer, as -well as Bergson, have seen in it, the whole of life and of reality, -and you see how it is Bergson’s tychism that constitutes the specific -motive for his anti-intellectualism, and how this so-called method -forms, in his philosophy, the supreme doctrine which is the objective -of all his discourse. - - * * * * * - -Bergson’s critique of intellectualism proceeds by applying to -traditional metaphysics and epistemology his purely qualitative -criterion of reality. Whether science, the product of intelligence, -is physical, biological, or psychological, it is knowledge-about, -and not acquaintance-with; its object is relation, and not reality; -its objective is action, and not vision; its organ is intelligence, -not instinct. But the object of philosophy is reality; its objective -is vision; its organ instinct. The timeless, intellectual way in -which science knows about, but never knows, is not the way of true -philosophy. The philosopher, to know reality, must achieve a vital, -sympathetic concurrence with its flow. To be known, reality must be -lived, not thought. In _Creative Evolution_ Bergson traces the genesis -of instinct and intelligence to a primitive tendency, effort or spring -of life (the _élan vital_) whose path bifurcates indefinitely in the -course of its evolution. These elementary tendencies, instinct and -intelligence, having issued from the same primitive tendency, are both -present, at least in rudiment, in all forms of life; and it is the -presence, though in a suppressed state, of instinct in man that must -save philosophy from the _cognitive emptiness_ of science, and give it -a hold on the living fulness of reality. - -In _Time and Free Will_ the theory of “real duration,” which is a -synonym for intuition, and for life, and for reality, and is the -foundation of the Bergsonian philosophy, is enunciated, and in the -light of it intellect is shown to falsify the nature of consciousness -in applying to conscious states such categories as magnitude, -plurality, causation. Each of these categories, in its traditional -application, is a quantifying and a spatializing of consciousness. -The intensity of a conscious state is nothing but the state itself; -the state is pure quality or heterogeneity, incapable of measure -and degree. The variousness of conscious states has no analogy with -plurality. Plurality is simultaneity and juxtaposition; but conscious -states prolong each other in an interpenetrating flow. Finally, the -organization of conscious states is nothing like the traditional -systematic “coördination” of associationistic psychology. It does not -lend itself to laws and principles. It cannot be adequately expressed -by words, nor artificially reconstructed by a juxtaposition of simple -states, for it is always an absolutely new and original phase of our -duration, and is itself a simple thing. - -The first chapter of _Time and Free Will_ consists of analyses of all -sorts of psychological states, in order to justify the above thesis -concerning intensity. They are masterly analyses, and their interest -for psychology is great. So far as Bergson’s object is concerned, -of showing how intellect falsifies the nature of consciousness in -conceiving of sensations as _more_ or _less_ intense, what the chapter -proves is no more than that whenever a conscious state varies--which -every conscious state does continuously--it varies qualitatively. Which -hardly needed to be proved. For the argument does not show that, along -with the qualitative change, a quantitative change may not occur; that -is, it does not exclude the proposition which Bergson is trying to -refute, namely that there is something in the nature of a conscious -state that is capable of increasing and decreasing.[102] - -In saying that conscious states are pure quality, Bergson means that -when one compares a sensation, for instance, with another which is -regarded as of the same “kind,” but of greater or less intensity, both -the sameness of kind and the difference of magnitude are illusions of -intellect, due to attributing the category of magnitude, or quantity, -to that whose nature admits of no such determination. A so-called more -intense odor, say, it is mere nonsense to call _same_ in any sense with -another, supposed to be less intense. The two are distinguishable, -that is all; they are not comparable, properly speaking. They are -comparable in just the sense, and in no other (it would seem, from -Bergson’s treatment of the subject, although the statement is not his, -explicitly) that either of the odors can be compared with a sound or a -taste. The difference is not one of degree; it is what Bergson calls -absolute. - -But what, then, exactly, according to Bergson, do we mean when we -compare psychic states as more or less intense? In simple states, he -says, magnitude of cause is associated, by a thousand experiences, with -a certain quality or shade of effect in consciousness, and the former -is attributed to the latter. The quantitative scale rubs off color, so -to speak, by the operation of association, from the material cause to -the psychic effect. In complex states intensity means the amount of our -inner life which the state in question colors with its own quality. A -passion is deep and intense in the fact that the same objects no longer -produce the same impression. In this statement of the case of complex -states it will be seen that Bergson fails to avoid attributing quantity -to the inner life of consciousness, since the intensity of complex -states is measured, by him, by a quantitative standard, the amount of -that inner life colored or affected by the quality in question. - -The attempt is equally hopeless whether the state in question be -simple or complex. Bergson attempts, but fails,[103] to prove that -magnitude is a character peculiar to space, and that homogeneity and -space are two names for the same conception. Two odors, two sounds are -_more_ than one, however; and that homogeneity in them by virtue of -which they are more, and two, is not space. Bergson would object that -number itself, the twoness of the odors or sounds, is indeed a spatial -attribute falsely imputed to them. They are not plural, in themselves; -it is conceptualization that accounts for the plurality imputed to -them. One evolves continuously, in the flow of consciousness, out -of the other. It would be a sufficient answer that such a doctrine -contradicts itself in every breath by the terms necessary to any -utterance of it,--such terms as sounds, they, them, one, the other--all -imputing to the objects of discussion the plurality which it tries -to deny. And to fall back on the disabilities of language, due to -its being the work of intellect, is only to declare one’s philosophy -ineffable. But not only ineffable--unthinkable. Yes, Bergson would -admit, unthinkable in the narrow sense of conceptual thought, but -not unknowable to immediate intuition. The final rejoinder, I think, -is that immediacy is a vanishing-point, a limiting conception of the -relation between subject and object, a phase of consciousness in which -to use the mathematical analogy, the “coefficient” of consciousness -vanishes into zero. We return later in this essay to the amplifying -of this point.[104] In brief, if there is no _distinction_ between -subject and object, there is no object (as, likewise, no subject, -of course); hence, no truth; and Bergson could not have made these -ineffable discoveries _about_ the sounds and odors, for he could not -have discovered themselves. - -It is clear enough that nothing needs to _occupy_ space, in order to -be a magnitude. A line, which occupies no space, is even a _spatial_ -magnitude, nevertheless. That it is spatial, Bergson would say, is just -the fact that it is homogeneous. But is homogeneity the only character -of a line, and is its spatiality _therefore_ necessarily the same thing -as its homogeneity? Evidently a line has a _quale_ perfectly distinct -from its homogeneity, and essential to its linear nature; that _quale_ -is its direction. If an interval of time, then, or a mental state, -seems not to be spatial, this does not compel us to deny that there is -any homogeneity about it: if the interval or the state of mind lacks -the determination--the character of direction--which is indispensable -to a line and to spatiality as such, this lack determines these objects -of thought as non-spatial without the slightest detriment to their -homogeneity. But all the evidence of homogeneity in space applies -equally to homogeneity in time and consciousness. The evidence is -their additiveness: all _seem_ to present numerically distinct cases -and quantitative differences. No logical ground has been indicated, -for discrimination, in the validity of this seeming, as a warrant for -the homogeneity of space and not of time and consciousness. Time and -consciousness are homogeneous by the same warrant as space and matter. - -I think it is not irrelevant to Bergson’s theory of the associative -transfer of quantity in the stimulus to the sensation, to observe -that, in the stimulus, there is kind as well as amount. If the -shade or quality of the sensation corresponds to the degree of -the cause, is there no further determination of the sensation -distinctively correlative with the kind of the cause? Such correlate -seems indispensable to Bergson’s, as to any, reactive conception of -sensation, but, in Bergson’s theory of intensity, it seems to be -preempted for correlation with the aspect of quantity in the stimulus. - -The case of plural odors and sounds, the case of the line, and an -infinity of other cases prove that magnitude is intensive as well as -extensive. The contradictory thesis, that of Bergson, reduces, at -bottom, to the self-contradiction that consciousness discovers what is -no object of consciousness. - - * * * * * - -In admitting that sensations are comparable in this sense, that two -odors, for instance, regarded as of the same kind, can be compared -with each other in the same way as either can be compared with a sound -or a taste, Bergson evidently means that they can be distinguished -as different; and he regards this as implying that sensations are -absolutely heterogeneous with each other, _absolutely_ different. This -phrase, I am sure, conceals a bald contradiction. It seems to mean a -relation, namely difference, in which, however, the terms are absolute, -that is not in relation. Difference cannot be so conceived. Difference, -I submit, cannot be conceived without that (_common to the differing -terms_) in respect of which they are different. Monsieur Bergson, -therefore, in admitting that sensations are comparable in any sense, is -still confronted with an element common to all sensations; he has still -to eliminate the character of homogeneity from sensation, by virtue of -which a purely subjective evaluation of their relative intensities is -possible. - -The root of the difficulty Monsieur Lévy-Bruhl has shown[105] to be -a reific separation of quantity and quality, which are separable in -truth only by abstraction of attention. Real existence in absolute -homogeneity or space, as Bergson represents the existence of the -external world, is as unthinkable as real existence in absolute -heterogeneity, which existence is consciousness or life, for Bergson. -External things, he says, which do not lapse (“_ne durent pas_”), -seem to us, nevertheless, to lapse like us because to each instant of -our lapsing duration a new collective whole of those simultaneities -which we call the universe corresponds. “Does this not imply,” writes -Lévy-Bruhl, “a preestablished harmony much more difficult to accept -than that of Leibniz? Leibniz supposes a purely ideal concord between -forces of the same nature. Monsieur Bergson asks us to admit an -indefinite series of coincidences, for each instant, between ‘a real -duration, whose heterogeneous moments compenetrate,’ and a space which, -not lapsing, has no moments at all. Monsieur Bergson really places -external reality, which does not lapse, in a sort of eternity. He -ingeniously shows that everything in space may be treated as quantity -and submitted to mathematics. Now, mathematical verities, expressing -only relations between given magnitudes, are abstracted from real -lapsing duration. All the laws reduce to analytical formulæ. But then -they are, according to the saying of Bossuet, eternal verities, and how -shall the real be distinguished from the possible?” - -This sundering, in Bergson’s theory of reality, of what rightly is -one, is already implied, in his theory of knowledge, in the mutual -exclusion of the two cognitive modes, intuition and conception. The -predicaments into which philosophy falls in reasoning conceptually -(and there is no other reasoning) about the subjective “world,” are -due. Bergson thinks, not to faults in the use of logic, but to an -essential incongruity between the matter and the logical mode of being -conscious of it. But such an essential incongruity between any mode -of consciousness and what it is aware of would imply that the _modes_ -of consciousness, on the one hand, are _parts_ of consciousness, of -which accordingly, you can have one without the other (theoretically -if not actually); and, on the other hand, there is the corresponding -implication for ontology, that what consciousness is aware of is -also composed of two parts, which match, respectively, the parts -of consciousness. Divide consciousness into two parts, then divide -what it is aware of into two parts; suppose that each of your parts -of consciousness suits one, and not the other, of your two parts of -what it is aware of--all this is necessary before there can be any -possibility of incongruous mismatching between consciousness and -being. Therefore uneasiness about this incongruity, the very motive -of intuitionism, presupposes first the sharpest conceptual treatment -of the subjective “world,” and then the flagrant reification of the -resulting abstractions. In other words, the indispensable precondition -of dialectical defense of intuitionism is an intellectualism of the -“vicious” type. - - * * * * * - -The first chapter of the _Essai_ having criticized the application of -magnitude to consciousness, and found that psychological intensity has -nothing quantitative about it, the second chapter proceeds with an -analogous criticism of number, and finds that psychological variousness -has nothing plural about it. The multiplicity of material objects is -number or plurality; the variousness of the facts of mind is nothing -of the sort. Numerical multiplicity is distinct and objective, -given or thought in space; subjective variousness is indistinct and -compenetrating. - -The medium of the facts of consciousness being lapsing duration, and -not extension, they are never simultaneous in the same consciousness. -But then they cannot be counted; to count is to have things together, -simultaneously. That, again, is to have them in space. And that, -finally, is to have them as objects. Now, the essential nature of -psychic facts is to be subjective and not objective. If, therefore, you -find yourself counting facts within a consciousness, you are deluded; -they cannot be what you take them for; they can only be (spatial) -_objects_, symbols by which you are representing facts that are not -objective,--because they are subjective!--and not spatial but temporal. - -This statement of the case will satisfy few people as it stands. -Professor Bergson is aware of this, and he will grant that such alleged -facts of consciousness as you distinguish and count may be set in the -medium of time rather than in space, if time, as well as space, is -a homogeneous medium; but time so understood, he thinks, turns into -space. And time is so understood very generally, without any doubt. -When we speak of time, says Bergson, we are usually thinking of space; -that is, we are thinking of a homogeneous medium, a medium, therefore, -in which psychic states are aligned or juxtaposited, as things are in -space, forming a distinct multiplicity. - -This is, of course, another aspect of what Bergson regards as the same -vice, conceptualism, that is discussed in the first chapter of the -_Essai_. An intensive magnitude is a distinct concept, sharply bounded; -all within is the concept, all without, its other. But no psychic fact -is sharply bounded; it penetrates the whole consciousness. The whole -consciousness is one with it. We work quantitatively with concepts, -always, arithmetically and geometrically. But then we work in space, -which is enough, says Bergson, to show that intensity applied to a -psychic fact is not a magnitude, since psychic facts are not in space. -So here, in the second chapter, the elements which one pretends to -count and add _in time_ are, in order to be counted and added--in order -merely to be distinguished--distinct concepts. Then they are not in -time but in space. - -The application of intensive magnitude and of numerical multiplicity to -psychic facts is thus the same fallacy in two aspects, the fallacy of -conceptualism, the nature of which is to substitute space for time as -the form of mental existence. - -But Professor Bergson is not altogether dogmatic in saying that -conceptual time is a spatialized symbol of real time. He goes on now to -show how it is that the nature of real time is nothing like conceptual -time. _Durée_, his name for real time, seems a bad term for such a use; -for the essence of Bergson’s “_durée_” is change, while duration in -every other connection means just the waiting or standing still of the -flow of time. Some term like “lapse” seems nearer the idea. - -The genetic or empirical theory of space perception regards the -sensations by which we succeed in forming the notion of space as -themselves unextended and purely qualitative; extension results from -their synthesis, as water results from the combination of two elements. -Bergson remarks that the fact that water is neither oxygen nor hydrogen -nor merely both is just the fact that we embrace the multiplicity of -atoms in a single apperception. Eliminate the mind which operates this -synthesis and you will at the same time annihilate the water qualities -so far as they are other than oxygen and hydrogen qualities; you will, -that is, annihilate the aspect under which the synthesis of elementary -parts is presented to our consciousness. For space to arise from the -coexistence of non-spatial qualities, an act of the mind is necessary, -embracing them all together and juxtapositing them--an act which is a -Kantian _a priori_ form of sensibility. - -This act is the conception of an empty homogeneous medium. It is a -principle of differentiation other than qualitative differentiation, -enabling us to distinguish qualitatively identical simultaneous -sensations. Without this principle, we should have perception of -the extended, but we should not have conception of space. That is, -simultaneous sensations are never absolutely identical, because the -organic elements stimulated are not identical. There are no two -points of a homogeneous surface that produce the same impression on -sight and touch. So there is a real qualitative difference between -any two simultaneous points. This, Bergson says, is enough to give us -perception of the extended. But the conception of space is _en outre_. -The higher one rises in the series of intelligent beings, the more -clearly the independent idea of a homogeneous space stands out. Space -is not so homogeneous for the animal as for us. Directions are not -purely geometrical; they have their quality. We ourselves distinguish -our right and left by a natural feeling. We cannot define them. - -Now, the faculty of conceiving a space without quality is not at all -an abstraction; on the contrary, to abstract presupposes the intuition -of a homogeneous medium. We know two realities of different order, -one heterogeneous, that of sensible qualities, the other homogeneous, -which is space. The latter enables us to make sharp distinctions, to -count, to abstract, perhaps even to speak. Everybody regards time -as an indefinite homogeneous medium, and yet everybody regards it as -different from space. Is one, then, reducible to the other? - -The genetic or empirical school tries to reduce the relations of -extension to more or less complex relations of succession in duration. -The relations of situation in space are defined as reversible -relations of succession in duration. But succession in duration is -not reversible. Pure duration is the form of succession of conscious -states when one refrains from reflectively setting up a distinctness -between the present state and former states. This does not mean being -wholly absorbed in the passing sensation or idea, nor forgetting former -states; but it means organizing them instead of juxtapositing them; -they become like the notes of a melody, which, though they succeed each -other, are apperceived in each other; they interpenetrate like the -parts of a living being. Succession, then, can be conceived without -distinctness, as a mutual penetration, a solidarity, an intimate -organization of elements each of which, representative of the whole, -is distinguished and isolated therefrom only for a thought capable of -abstraction. We introduce the idea of space into our representation of -pure succession; we so juxtaposit our states of consciousness as to -perceive them simultaneously, not in, but beside each other; we project -time upon space, we express duration in terms of extension. Succession -then takes the form of a continuous line or of a chain, whose parts -touch without interpenetration, which implies a simultaneous before -and after instead of a successive--that is, a simultaneous succession, -which is a contradiction. - -Now, when the genetic school defines the relations of situation in -space as reversible relations of succession in duration, it represents -succession in duration in this self-contradictory way. You cannot make -out an order among terms without distinguishing the terms and comparing -the _places_ they occupy, without perceiving them, therefore, as -juxtaposited. Then to make out an order in the terms of a succession -is to make the succession a simultaneity. So this attempt to represent -space by means of time presupposes the representation of space. Of -space in three dimensions, moreover; for the representation of two -dimensions--that is, of a line--implies that of three dimensions: to -perceive a line is to place oneself outside it and account for the void -surrounding it. - -Pure duration is nothing but a succession of qualitative changes -fusing, interpenetrating, without outlines or tendency to externality -by interrelation, without any kinship with number. Pure duration is -pure heterogeneity. - -No time that can be measured is duration, for heterogeneity is not -quantity, not measurable. When we measure a minute we represent a -quantity and _ipso facto_ exclude a succession. We represent sixty -oscillations of a pendulum, for instance, all together, in one -apperception, as we represent sixty points of a line. Now, to represent -each of these oscillations in succession, just as it is produced -in space, no recollection of a preceding oscillation can enter the -representation of any one, for space has kept no trace of it. One is -confined to the present, and there is no more succession, or duration, -in such a representation than in that of the group as a whole. A third -way of representing these oscillations is conceivable. Like the first, -it involves retention of preceding oscillations; but, unlike the first, -it retains preceding oscillations _in_ succeeding ones, instead of -alongside of them; they interpenetrate and interorganize, as was just -said, like the notes of a melody. Like the conceptual representation, -the intuitional involves a multiplicity. A conceptual multiplicity -is distinct, homogeneous, quantitative, numerical; an intuitive -multiplicity is indistinct, heterogeneous, qualitative, without analogy -with number. Now, it is the latter that characterizes reality; and the -multiplicity that we represent conceptually is only a symbol of the -reality known to intuition. - -Oscillations of a pendulum measure nothing; they count simultaneities. -Outside of me, in space, there is only a single position of the -pendulum; of past positions none remains. Because my duration is an -organization and interpenetration of facts, I represent what I call -“past” oscillations of the pendulum at the same time that I perceive -the actual oscillation. Eliminate the ego, and there is only a single -position of the pendulum, and no duration. Eliminate the pendulum, and -there is only the heterogeneous duration of the ego. Within the ego is -succession without simultaneity or reciprocal externality: without the -ego, reciprocal externality without succession, which can exist only -for a conscious spectator who remembers the past, and juxtaposits the -symbols of the two oscillations in an auxiliary space. - -Now, between this succession without externality and this externality -without succession a kind of endosmotic commerce goes on. Although the -successive phases of our conscious life interpenetrate, some of them -correspond to simultaneous oscillations of the pendulum; and since -each oscillation is distinct--that is, one is no more when another is -produced--we come to make the same distinctness between the successive -moments of our conscious life. The oscillations of the pendulum -decompose it, as it were, into mutually external parts: hence the -erroneous idea of an internal homogeneous duration analogous to space, -whose identical moments follow each other without interpenetrating. -On the other hand, the pendular oscillations benefit by the influence -they have exerted on our conscious life. Thanks to the recollection of -their collective whole, which our consciousness has organized, they -are preserved and then aligned; in short, we create a fourth dimension -of space for them, which we call homogeneous time, and which enables -the pendular movement, although produced in a certain spot, to be -juxtaposited with itself indefinitely. - -There is a real space, without duration, but in which phenomena appear -and disappear simultaneously with our states of consciousness. There is -a real duration, whose heterogeneous moments interpenetrate, but each -of which can touch a state of the external world contemporaneous with -it, and so be made separate from other movements. From the comparison -of these two realities arises a symbolic representation of duration -drawn from space. The trait common to these two terms, space and -duration, is simultaneity, the intersection of time and space. This -is how duration comes to get the illusory appearance of a homogeneous -medium. But time is not measurable. - -Neither is motion, the living symbol of time. Like duration, motion is -heterogeneous and indivisible. But it is universally confused with the -space through which the movable passes. The successive positions of the -movable are in space, but the motion is not in space. Motion is passing -from one position to another, which operation occupies duration and has -reality only for a conscious spectator. Things occupy space; processes -occupy duration, because they are mental syntheses and are unextended. - -The synthesis which is motion is obviously not a new deploying in -another homogeneous medium, of the same positions that have been -perceived in space; for if it were such an act, the necessity for -resynthesis would be indefinitely repeated. The synthesis which is -motion is a qualitative synthesis, a gradual organization of our -successive sensations with each other, a unity analogous to that of -a melodic phrase. The space traversed is a quantity, indefinitely -divisible; the act by which space is traversed is a quality, and -indivisible. Again that endosmotic exchange takes place, as between -the melodically organized perception of the series of the pendulum’s -motions and its distinct objective presence at each instant. That is, -we attribute to the motion the divisibility of the space traversed; -and we project the act upon space, implying that outside as well as -inside of consciousness the past coexists with the present. In space -are only parts of space. In any point of space where the movable may be -considered, there is only a position. You would search space in vain -for motion. - -From the fact that motion cannot be in space, Zeno concluded wrongly -that motion is impossible. But those who try to answer his arguments by -seeking it also in space, find it no more than he. Achilles overtakes -the tortoise because each Achilles step and each tortoise step is not -a space but a duration, whose nature is not addible nor divisible, and -whose production therefore does not presuppose productions of parts -of themselves, _ad infinitum_. Their development is not construction. -They are entire while they are at all, and since the intersections -of their terminal moments with space are not at equal distances, -these intersections will coincide, or their spatial relations will be -inverted, after a certain number of these simultaneities--whether of -Achilles’ steps or of the tortoise’s--with points of the road have been -counted; in other words, Achilles will have overtaken or outrun the -tortoise after a certain number of steps. - -To measure the velocity of a motion is simply to find a simultaneity; -to introduce this simultaneity into calculation is to use a convenient -means of foreseeing a simultaneity. Just as in duration there is -nothing homogeneous except what does not lapse, to wit space in which -simultaneities are aligned, so the homogeneous element of motion is -that which least pertains to it, to wit the space traversed, which is -immobility. - -Science can work on time and motion only on condition of first -eliminating the essential and qualitative element, duration from time, -mobility from motion. Treatises on mechanics never define duration -itself, but call two intervals of time equal when two identical bodies -in circumstances identical at the commencement of each of these -intervals, and subjected to identical actions and influences of every -kind, have traversed the same space at the end of these intervals. -There is no question, in science, of duration, but only of space and of -simultaneities between outer change and certain of our psychic states. -That duration does not enter into natural science is seen in the -fact that if all the motions of the universe were quicker or slower, -then, whereas consciousness would have an indefinable and qualitative -intuition of this change, no scientific formulæ would be modified, -since the same number of simultaneities would be produced again in -space. - -Analysis of the idea of velocity proves that mechanics has nothing -to do with duration. If, on a trajectory AB, points M, N, P ... such -that AM = MN = NP ... are reached at equal intervals of time, as -defined above, and AM etc. are smaller than any assignable quantity, -the motion is said to be uniform. The velocity of a uniform motion is -therefore defined without appeal to notions other than those of space -and simultaneity. By a somewhat complicated demonstration[106] the -same is shown to be true of the velocity of varying motion. Mechanics -necessarily works with equations, and equations always express -accomplished facts. It is of the essence of duration and motion to -be in formation, so that while mathematics can express any moment of -duration or any position taken by a movable in space, duration and -motion themselves, being mental syntheses and not things, necessarily -remain outside the calculation. The movable occupies the points -of a line in turn, but the motion has nothing in common with this -line. The positions occupied by the movable vary with the different -moments of duration; indeed, the movable creates distinct moments -merely by the fact that it occupies different positions; but duration -has no identical nor mutually external moments, being essentially -heterogeneous and indistinct. - -Only space, then, is homogeneous; only things in space are distinctly -multiple. There is no succession in space. So-called “successive” -states of the outer world exist each alone. Their multiplicity is -real only for a consciousness capable of preserving it and then -juxtapositing it with others, thus externalizing them by interrelation. -They are preserved by consciousness because they give rise to facts of -consciousness which connect past and present by their interpenetrating -organization. But one ceases when another appears, and so consciousness -perceives them in the form of a distinct multiplicity, which amounts to -aligning them in the space where each existed separately. Space used in -this way is just what is meant by homogeneous time. - -The spatial and the temporal kind of multiplicity are just as different -as space and the real time that lapses. Spatial multiplicity is always -substituted for the temporal kind, in discourse; their distinction -cannot be expressed in language, because language is a product of -space so that terms are inevitably spatial. Even to speak of “several” -conscious states interpenetrating is to characterize them numerically, -and so interrelate and mutually externalize or spatialize them.[107] -On the other hand, we cannot form the idea of a distinct multiplicity -without considering, parallel to it, a qualitative multiplicity. Even -in counting units on a homogeneous background, they organize in a -dynamic, qualitative way. That is the psychological explanation of the -effect of a “marked-down” price. The figures $4.98 have a quality of -their own, or rather the price has, that is quite inexpressible by the -formula “$5 minus 2¢.” _Quantity has its quality._ - -In a succession of identical terms, then, each term has two aspects, -spatial and temporal, objective and subjective, one always identical -with itself, the other specific because of the unique quality its -addition gives the collective whole of the series. Now, motion is -just such a “qualifying,” the subjective aspect of what, objectively, -is a succession of identical terms, to wit the movable in successive -positions. It is always the same movable, but in the synthesis, the -images of it that memory calls earlier interpenetrate with the actual -image; the synthesis, the interpenetration, is motion. Motion is real, -and absolute; it is subjective, however, not objective. To represent -motion is to objectify it. That is what Zeno did, and what everyone -must do for _practical_ purposes. But Zeno’s purpose was speculative, -and that, Professor Bergson thinks, is fatally different. When you -objectify motion you deny it, for its essence is subjective. Strictly -speaking, Zeno was right in finding motion _unthinkable_; he was wrong -only in supposing that what is unthinkable is _ipso facto_ impossible. - -Evidently, the ego has these two aspects. The ego touches the external -world; and its sensations, though fused in each other, retain something -of the reciprocal externality which objectively characterizes their -causes. Now, in dreaming, the ego does not touch the external world, -and, in dreaming, time is not homogeneous; we do not measure time, -in dreams, but only feel it. For sleep retards the play of organic -functions and modifies the surface of communication between the ego -and external things. But we need not sleep, to be thus withdrawn from -environment. As I compose this train of thought, the hour strikes. -When I notice the striking, I know some strokes have sounded which -I did not notice. I know even their number, four. I know it by -filling out the “melody,” as it were, of which I am now conscious. I -found the “four” in a way that was not counting, at all. The number -of strokes has its quality, and anything but four fails to suit, -differs in quality. A counted four and a felt four are absolutely -different forms of multiplicity, and each is multiplicity. Under the -ego of clearly-defined and countable states is the real ego which -it symbolizes, in which succession implies fusion and organization. -The states of this real ego language cannot seize, for that were to -objectify it and fix its mobility. In giving these states the form of -those of the symbolic ego, language makes them fall into the common -domain of space, where they straightway become common and impersonal. -This common and impersonal ego is the social and practical ego; this is -the ego that uses language. - -To language is due the illusion that qualities are permanent. But -objects change by mere familiarity. We dislike, in manhood, smells -and tastes which we call the same as those we liked in childhood. But -they are not the same. It is only their causes that remain the same. -The interpenetrating elements of conscious states are already deformed -the moment a numerical multiplicity is discovered in the confused -mass. Just now it had a subtle and unique coloration borrowed from its -organization in developing life; here it is decolored and ready to -receive a name. - -This is the error of the associationistic school. Psychology cannot -reason concerning facts _being_ accomplished, as it may concerning -_accomplished_ facts. The accomplishing of a fact can in no wise enter -into discourse. It is unthinkable in precisely the same way as motion; -or rather, it is the same case. Psychology cannot present the living -ego as an association of terms mutually distinct and juxtaposited in a -homogeneous medium.[108] And association is just conceptualism applied -to psychology. Its problems of personality have to be absurdly stated, -in order to be stated at all. The terms of such problems deny what the -problem posits, merely by being terms or names; they name the unnamable -and define the indefinable. The solution is to cease thinking spatially -of that which is temporal, to take the other attitude.[109] Or, the -author says here, using merely a different phrase, the solution is to -substitute the real and concrete ego for its symbolic representation. - - * * * * * - -This second chapter of _Time and Free Will_ undertakes to show that the -successiveness of conscious states makes them uncountable. Simultaneity -is indispensable to distinctness, and so to number. One can count -the spatialized symbols of conscious states because these are not -successive, but simultaneous. - -Psychic multiplicity is non-numerical in the same sense and for the -same reason that psychic intensity is non-quantitative, namely that -it is pure heterogeneity and temporality. In the foregoing report, I -have sometimes mitigated the baldness of the paradox as it is stated by -Bergson, by substituting the term “variousness” for “multiplicity,” in -speaking of psychic facts. After all, it was a thankless subterfuge--an -impertinence, perhaps, since Bergson himself is frank enough to insist -that psychic multiplicity is as genuine multiplicity as the spatial -and material sort. The difference is that the former is indistinct -and the latter distinct. But this difference is abysmal--indeed, it is -absolute. All the power of Bergson’s forceful style is concentrated on -it. The point is turned and re-turned in every variety of expression. -At the same time, the common _multiplicity_ belonging in both -conceptions is emphasized as much as their difference. The thesis thus -reduces to this, that two varieties of the same genus are “absolutely -different;” for we are explicitly advised, on one hand, that there is a -multiplicity which is distinct, and a multiplicity which is indistinct; -each is multiplicity. And, on the other hand, one is numerical and the -other “_has no analogy with number_.” - -In view of the superior qualities of the mind that is guilty of this -unreasonableness, the conviction of sincerity which it carries tortures -the conscientious critic. One cannot approve of the intolerant scorn -of a certain book, in which Bergson’s arguments are vilified as vain -display, mere word-play; but patience is overtaxed in finding one’s way -through the plausibility of this chapter. The thesis, certainly, may be -dismissed from any consideration whatever. Because of it, one knows in -advance, beyond peradventure, that there is no validity in any argument -in its defense. Yet, in spite of all, the chapter challenges study; and -thorough study of it cannot fail to put the truth in clearer light, -just because its error is so plausible. - -Counting is synthesis, the argument goes; but a synthesized succession -is not a succession, it is a simultaneity. And simultaneity presupposes -spatial determination in the coexistent elements. From Bergson’s -point of view, it is a radical error, however universal an error, to -regard the relation of simultaneity as a temporal determination. In -fact, there is no such thing as a temporal determination; and every -determination, for Bergson, not only is not temporal, but is spatial. -Like the argument about non-quantitative intensity, this argument -for non-plural multiplicity (save the mark!) turns on the equation -of homogeneity with space. But the present argument involves its own -peculiar fallacy, as well, namely the fallacy which Professor Perry -describes[110] as confusion of a relation symbolized with the relation -between symbols. “It is commonly supposed,” Perry writes, “that when -a complex is represented by a formula, the elements of the complex -must have the same relation as that which subsists between the parts -of the formula; whereas, as a matter of fact, _the formula as a whole_ -represents or describes a complex other than itself. If I describe -_a_ as ‘to the right of _b_,’ does any difficulty arise because in my -formula _a_ is to the left of _b_? If I speak of _a_ as greater than -_b_, am I to assume that because my symbols are outside one another -that _a_ and _b_ must be outside one another? Such a supposition would -imply a most naïve acceptance of that very ‘copy theory’ of knowledge -which pragmatism has so severely condemned. And yet such a supposition -seems everywhere to underlie the anti-intellectualist’s polemic. The -intellect is described as substituting for the interpenetration of the -real terms [in an “indistinct” psychic multiplicity] the juxtaposition -of their symbols; as though analysis discovered terms, and then -_conferred_ relations of its own ... Terms are found _in_ relation, -and may be thus described without any more artificiality, without any -more imposing of the forms of the mind on its subject-matter, than is -involved in the bare mention of a single term. - -“... one may mean continuity despite the fact that the symbols and -words are discrete. The word ‘blue’ may mean blue, although the word -is not blue. Similarly, continuity may be an arrangement meant by a -discontinuous arrangement of words and symbols.” - -So of the simultaneity or coexistence among the conceptual symbols -by which successive psychic states are counted: there is nothing in -such a relation among the symbols to falsify the process of counting -as a cognitive process whose meaning is a non-simultaneous relation -among the psychic facts symbolized. As was noted above,[111] the -quantitative determination of psychic facts depends solely on an aspect -of homogeneity essential to such facts, for which aspect no better -evidence is possible than that other aspect which Bergson attributes to -them, of heterogeneity; for the two conceptions, instead of excluding -each other, imply each other absolutely. All that is necessary, in -order that psychic facts should be countable, is that they should -possess an aspect of homogeneity. And for this, spatiality is -unnecessary; for spatiality is a conception distinct from homogeneity. - -Bergson’s identification of homogeneity with spatiality is a case of -what Professor Perry calls “definition by initial predication.”[112] -Space is homogeneous; therefore homogeneity is space. As if the fact -that homogeneity is a character of space were anything against its -being a character also of time or anything else. The following is the -justification offered by Bergson for identifying homogeneity with -space: “If space is to be defined as the homogeneous, it seems that -inversely every homogeneous and unbounded medium will be space. For, -homogeneity here consisting in the absence of every quality, it is hard -to see how two forms of the homogeneous could be distinguished from one -another.”[113] The first clause begs the question by defining space -as “the” homogeneous. Such identification of space and homogeneity -is the point to be proved. The second sentence begs the question -again, where homogeneity is supposed “here” (_i. e._ in the case of -space) to consist in the absence of every quality. Moreover, as we -have noted above (p. 43), space possesses a very determinate quality, -direction, which differentiates it from other homogeneity. Finally, -it can be true that homogeneity is absence of quality only on the -Bergsonian assumptions that quality is exclusively subjective, that -homogeneity is exclusively objective, and that only the subjective -is positive. Now, if quality is not objective, judgments cannot be -made concerning it; but Bergson is constantly making such judgments. -And to distinguish, in point of homogeneity or of positivity, between -“the subjective” and “the objective” is to reify two equally abstract -aspects of positive reality. The quality of the homogeneous is -doubtless _simple_, and so indefinable. But Bergson nowhere shows how -the homogeneous is less positive than the heterogeneous, although the -thesis is the sum and substance of his philosophy. Lacking further -light on the point, one can only invoke such experiences as the simple -colors, for instance,--or, for that matter, any simple quality--for -cases of reality as positive as any heterogeneity, and, obviously, no -less qualified. And nothing seems easier than the distinction between -redness, for instance, and spatiality. Bergson’s whole dialectic -rests on reification of such correlative abstractions as homogeneity -and heterogeneity, quality and relation etc. in a “purity” which not -only is not concretely experienced, but is not even capable of being -conceived, because each concept drags the other ineluctably into its -own definition. If either space or homogeneity were indeed absence -of quality, they could not be distinguished from time, nor from -heterogeneity, nor from anything else; in short, they could not be -conceived at all. - -The present essay aims to report Bergson’s own work with a fair -degree of fulness; but it is beyond my plan to follow exposition -with criticism point by point in the details, even, in some cases, -when these are of important and wide implication. For discussion of -Bergson’s contention (based on analysis of the idea of velocity, -as outlined above) that mechanics has nothing to do with time, the -reader is referred to pages 255-61 of Perry’s _Present Philosophical -Tendencies_. Perry shows, in this passage, that such a contention, -again, depends on “confusing the symbol with what it means. To one who -falls into this confusion, it may appear that an equation cannot refer -to time because the structure of the equation itself is not temporal; -because the symbols are simultaneously present in the equation. But if -_t_ is one of the terms of the equation, and _t_ _means_ time, then -the equation means a temporal process. Furthermore, an equation may -define a relation, such as =, <, or >, between temporal quantities, -in which case the full meaning of the equation is still temporal. For -changes, events, or even pure intervals, may stand in non-temporal -relations, such as those above, without its in the least vitiating -their temporality.” - -Bergson’s solution of Zeno’s paradoxes is another detail of this -chapter which is of a good deal of interest; but it applies no new -principle to the support of the impossibility of counting psychic -facts. Without a clearer conception of the commerce or intersection -between time and space, which he characterizes only by the name -of “simultaneity,” his reply to Zeno leaves the question of the -divisibility of time as problematic as ever. Achilles out-strips the -tortoise, he says, “because each of Achilles’ steps and each of the -tortoise’s steps are indivisible acts in so far as they are movements, -and are different magnitudes in so far as they are space.”[114] They -are indivisible in the same sense in which a living organism is -indivisible: if you divide them, no division _is_ a part of that which -_was_. But the trouble is that they _are divisible_ also in the same -sense in which the organism is divisible. It is the most extravagant -of assumptions that analysis of a living body into right and left -etc.--which, to be sure, is serviceable to activity upon it--is, -because of its service to action, not a character of the object itself. -And of motion the same sort of analysis is a patent fact of experience: -there is an earlier, middle and latter phase. The possibility of this -patent fact is the crux of the problem. No extant answer to Zeno is -satisfactory to everybody. I shall refer the reader to Professor -Fullerton’s treatment of the paradoxes, in Chapter XI of his _System of -Metaphysics_, as the solution which seems to me to be at the same time -the most closely related of any that I know, to Bergson’s, and free of -Bergson’s error. Bergson’s solution has at least this element of truth, -that Zeno confuses the space traversed with something else concerned -in every case of motion. Fullerton makes a distinction between any -actual experience of space or time, and the possibility of indefinitely -magnified substitutes for such experience; and shows a way in which -motion can be relegated to the former (“apparent” space) and denied to -the latter (“real” space) without either denying reality to motion or -infinite divisibility to real space and time. - -Bergson’s differentiation of temporal succession from spatial seriality -gets all its cogency from an exclusive attention, when consciousness is -concerned, to the aspects of heterogeneity (quality) and compenetration -(continuity) which consciousness shows; and, when space is concerned, -to _its_ aspects of homogeneity (quantity) and juxtaposition of parts -(discreteness). As always, with correlative abstractions, Bergson -reifies them: they exclude each other, for him, whereas, in truth, they -imply each other, entering into each other’s definition so that each is -unthinkable except by means of the other. Time is continuous, Bergson -insists rightly; but jumps to the conclusion that therefore time is not -discrete. Time is heterogeneous, therefore not homogeneous. Space is -discrete (its parts spread out), therefore not continuous; homogeneous, -therefore not heterogeneous. If any demonstration is necessary that -these terms do imply each other, instead of excluding each other, the -case of heterogeneity and homogeneity is only the case of resemblance -and difference (cf. page 44). In regard to the heterogeneity of space, -its differentiation by way of direction must not be forgotten. As for -the other pair of terms, continuity can manifest itself only _in -extenso_, and discreteness requires a separating _medium_. - -Wherever Bergson objects to expressing time in terms of space, the -real objection is to the expression of time in terms of homogeneity. -This he would not only admit, but insist upon. But his demonstration -that homogeneity is a character exclusively spatial is a _petitio -principii_.[115] Of the attempt to measure a minute, he writes as -follows: “I say, _e. g._, that a minute has just elapsed, and I mean -by this that a pendulum, beating the seconds, has completed sixty -oscillations. If I picture these sixty oscillations to myself all -at once, by a single mental perception, I exclude by hypothesis the -idea of a succession. I do not think of sixty strokes which succeed -one another, but of sixty points on a fixed line, each one of which -symbolizes, so to speak, an oscillation of the pendulum. If, on the -other hand, I wish to picture these sixty oscillations in succession, -but without altering the way they are produced in space, I shall -be compelled to think of each oscillation to the exclusion of the -recollection of the preceding one, for space has preserved no trace -of it; but by doing so I shall condemn myself to remain forever in -the present; I shall give up the attempt to think a succession or a -duration.” - -Notwithstanding his acuteness as a psychologist, Bergson misses the -nature of the apperception both of sixty points on a line and of -sixty oscillations of a pendulum. And the impossibility of counting -psychic facts depends on this misapprehension. He misses the fact that -an apperception of sixty points on a line includes, as an essential -feature, the _serial_ order, the here-and-there determination (a -distinctive qualitative determination) of this spatial fact. And -he misses the fact that an apperception of a non-spatial rhythm -includes, as an essential feature, the successive _order_, the -earlier-and-later determination, of this psychic fact. Now, seriality -is not succession, if you like, except in so far as each is order. -But this is no more than to say that the two orders, time and space, -are distinguishable--are two, in fact. It is not the slightest -obstruction to conceiving each as order, and as numerically determined. -For there is no evidence except Bergson’s fundamental fallacy of -“definition by initial predication,” to show why homogeneity and -order, as such, are exclusively spatial. The discreteness of parts -of space is thinkable only by the intervening spaces: space is as -continuous (as “compenetrative”) as time.[116] On the other hand, the -compenetration of time is not only nothing _against_ its divisibility, -but divisibility and compenetration (in the only rigorous meaning the -word will bear, that is, continuity) are indispensable to each other, -inverse aspects of each other. You can divide _only_ what is connected, -as you can connect only what is distinct. Time, then, is as discrete as -space. - -For every instance of temporal “compenetration,” and “solidarity,” -its perfect spatial analogue is plain to the inspection of anyone who -will only look that way, to anyone whose attention is not hypnotized -by an ulterior purpose to its exclusion.[117] Thus the melodic phrase -is present in each of its parts as much as, and no more than, the -mosaic figure is present in each of its parts. The “felt four” of the -clock strokes is felt as four not otherwise, I think, than a four -which might figure in the pattern of a frieze. The same limitations, -moreover, apply to such felt multiplicity, whether of rhythm or of -pattern. It must be a relatively simple complex, to be apperceived, in -either case. You could not feel fifty, and the difficulty is the same -difficulty in time as in space. One measures a minute or a century just -as one measures an inch or the distance from the earth to the sun: the -indispensable condition is the continuity and homogeneity which belong -to both quantities. - -The proposition that oscillations of a pendulum measure nothing, but -count simultaneities apparently means that oscillations, as physical -facts, have no duration of their own, and so cannot overlie duration -as a unit of measurement. This would at least be an intelligible, -even if a false, representation; but, if oscillations cannot measure, -how can they count? What is just that difference between counting and -measuring, by virtue of which that which can count cannot measure? -Simultaneity Bergson defines as the intersection of space and time. -Now, counting, as well as measuring, implies a continuum. Measuring, -certainly, if it is theoretically perfect, can apply only to a -continuum; but counting, which obviously presupposes discreteness, -then requires also the indispensable condition and correlative of -discreteness, which is continuity. The intersection of space and time -thus evidently involves equal continuity and discreteness in both; if -they can intersect, and their intersections are countable, each is -both countable and measurable. The “purely” temporal phenomena of our -conscious life, although interpenetrating, “correspond individually” -to an oscillation of the pendulum, which, though a “purely” spatial -phenomenon, “occurs at the same time with” the former. Such “endosmotic -commerce” between psychical and physical events seems to be decisive -for a real community of nature between their respective forms, time and -space--such, for instance, as common homogeneity and continuity. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -MIND AND MATTER, SPIRIT AND BODY - - -Bergson regards knowledge of oneself as the optimal case of knowing; -oneself, he thinks, is the sample of reality which best serves for an -acquaintance with the nature of reality in general. “The existence of -which we are most assured and which we know best is unquestionably our -own, for of every other object we have notions which may be considered -external and superficial, whereas, of ourselves, our perception is -internal and profound.”[118] It is this perfect or optimal relation -of identity or inwardness--which one bears to oneself--that is the -condition of true (_i. e._ intuitive) knowledge. And in this case we -find existence to be a perpetual flow of transition. That we think -of our states as distinct from each other is due to the fact that -reflection on one’s own existence is, unlike the flow of that existence -itself, necessarily discontinuous. It is only now and then that motives -arise which turn the attention to the self as an object, like others, -for examination. The flow of change is not uniform, to be sure. It -is quite imperceptible to our reflective attention most of the time, -but if it ever ceased, we should at that moment cease to exist. Only -the relatively sudden and interesting periods of transition get our -attention. Then we see a new “state of consciousness” which we add to -the others that we have mentally strung together in a temporal line. So -we conceive of our history as the sum of elements as distinct as beads -on a string. - -This intellectualistic view of the self eliminates the peculiar -characteristic of its reality, namely, its duration, or the flow -of its change, like a snowball, accumulating its substance as it -rolls, duration goes on preserving itself in incessant change that -accumulates all its past. Time, Bergson says, is the very stuff the -psychological life is made of. “There is, moreover, no stuff more -resistant nor more substantial.”[119] - -Life and inertia or matter are two antagonistic principles or -tendencies. Life is the positive and active principle; reality and -duration are predicable only of life. Matter is an “inversion” -or “interruption” of life; its value is negative to life and to -reality. “All that which seems _positive_ to the physicist and to the -geometrician would become, from this new point of view, an interruption -or inversion of true positivity, which would have to be defined in -psychological terms.”[120] Matter is a determination of reality in -much the same sense as that in which the reality of the Platonic idea -suffers diminution under the influence of the principle of not-being, -resulting in a world of sensible experience or of appearance. Bergson -points out that the real in Plato is the timeless, motionless, definite -idea, and the relatively unreal is the ever-changing “infinite” or -indefinable datum of experience, to which duration is essential. -Bergson reverses the Platonic metaphysics: reality is the ever-changing -and indefinable; rather, it is change itself. “There are no things, -there are only actions.” “... things and states are only views, -taken by our mind, of becoming.”[121] The principle antagonistic to -reality gives rise to the timeless, definite concept, which is a view -or appearance of reality operated by intelligence in the service of -action. As our practical interests break up the continuum of time -into discrete states, so they break up the continuum of matter into -distinct bodies. The active antagonism of time, which is pure quality -or heterogeneity, and space, which is pure quantity or homogeneity, -results in the world of our experience, comprising “states” of -consciousness and things or objects. - -The relation between life and matter in the evolution of the world, -Bergson represents by the figure of a generation of steam in a -boiler.[122] Life, the positive principle, streams or flows, like the -steam, by the force which is its very nature. In its course, this vital -impetus is checked, as a jet of steam is checked, by its condensation, -and falls back upon itself in drops, retarding, but not annihilating, -the flow. But we are warned that the figure must be corrected in that -the interruption or inversion of the impetus is due to a principle -inherent in the impetus itself, not to an external determination. If -there were such an external principle, the two would seem coördinate in -reality, but the reality of matter is as the reality of _rest_, which, -as the negation of motion, is nothing positive, yet is not a mere -naught. - -Sometimes, in reading Bergson, it seems very clear that reality and -matter must exclude each other, since one is the negation of the -other; and perception and conception, whose object is matter, are not -knowledge, because that object is unreal. Moreover, not only is the -stuff of reality that _psychic process_ which is life and lapsing time, -but there is no stuff more resistant nor more substantial. And in -numerous other ways the mutual exclusion of reality and matter seems -quite fundamental to Bergsonism. One can never remain long in any -security about this, however. If Bergsonism is Platonism reversed, it -is natural that the peculiarities of the latter should reappear in some -form. Platonic not-being is much too important and too active to be -denied a coequal positivity with being. Over and above these “worlds,” -moreover, there is that one in which we live, with a third status. -Perhaps it is this which is most like Bergsonian matter--“nothing -positive, yet not a mere naught”! In the letter from which I have -already quoted, Monsieur Bergson wrote me, concerning a previous paper -of mine:[123] “You give me the choice between ‘yes’ and ‘no,’ whereas -I cannot respond with either, but must mix them. In each particular -case, the ‘yes’ and ‘no’ have to be apportioned, and this is just why -the philosophy I adhere to is susceptible of improvement and progress. -For instance, you find that my premises lead to this conclusion: -‘Matter has no duration; but duration is synonymous with reality; -therefore matter is not real.’ But, to my mind, matter has exactly the -same reality as rest, which exists only as negation of motion, yet -is something other than absolute nothingness. All that is positive -in my ‘vital impetus’ is motion; stoppage of this motion constitutes -materiality; the latter, therefore, is nothing positive, yet not a mere -naught, absolute nothingness being no more stoppage than motion.” - -If one seek (it is not to be found, I think, in Bergson’s writings) -an explanation of this abatement or diminution of the _élan vital_, -this tendency toward rest, the problem turns into the very ancient -problem of the polarity of being in subject and object. In Platonism, -matter arises as product of an eternal antagonism between two coeval -principles, the Idea and Not-being. Not-being is thus something -efficient, something that is capable of entering as a factor, together -with the Idea, into a product, the Sensible Object. The truth is, -therefore, that Not-being is something very real: it _is_ something -because it _does_ something. It is as real as the Idea, because it is -as efficient as the Idea. And in the Bergsonian creative evolution -there often seems just such an antagonism as this, between two -coördinate, efficient, and therefore real principles. Thus: “The -impetus of life ... is confronted with matter, that is to say, with -the movement that is the inverse of its own.”[124] And: “Life as a -whole ... will appear as a wave which rises, and which is opposed -by the descending movement of matter.”[125] But, as with Plato, so -with Bergson, dubbing the hated principle “Not-being” or “Negation -of Positive Reality” hardly avails against the soundness of its -claim to positivity. And the case is not different if the “_élan -vital_” is a self-limited absolute instead of an eternal dualism: the -philosopher’s selection of one of the two coefficients or poles of -this self-polarized absolute, rather than the other, to be snubbed, is -arbitrary, instinctive, personal. With Plato it is one, with Bergson -the other; no logical principle determines it, in either case. - -On no other point, I believe, is criticism of Bergson so clamorous -or so unanimous as on his conception of matter. Without doubt, his -conception of matter is obscure. Time and space (terms equivalent for -Bergson, to life and matter) being essentially antagonistic, must -_essentially imply_ each other; and if so, do they not stand in the -same rank as real existences? In what sense, then, is either real -and the other unreal, except by an arbitrary decree? The ontological -obscurity has its corresponding epistemological obscurity as to the -cognitive status of knowledge of matter, which is the crux of Bergson’s -philosophy. Instinct is suited to life and duration; intelligence, to -matter and space. Science says many things about time, but affords no -acquaintance with time itself. The duration of the unit of time is a -matter of indifference to the meaning and value of any scientific -formula.[126] For example, if this unit were made infinity, and -the physical process represented by the formula were thus regarded -as infinitely quick, _i. e._ an instantaneous, timeless fact, the -instantaneity of the fact would be irrelevant to any truth expressed -by the formula. The only truth the formula expresses is a system of -relations, which remains the same for any unit of time. Science knows -no past or future, nothing but an incessantly renewed instantaneous -present, without substance. The conclusions of science are given in the -premises, mathematically; the world of science is a strict determinism. -In the real world of consciousness, on the other hand,--knowledge of -which can only be acquaintance with it--the future is essentially -contingent and unforseeable, for each new phase is an absolute -creation, into which the whole past is incorporated without determining -it. - - * * * * * - -The active principle of life Bergson describes by the phrase _tendency -to create_. Its movement is a creative evolution. Life flows, or, as -we have said, rolls on like a snowball, in an unceasing production of -new forms, each of which retains, while it modifies and adds to, all -its previous forms. But the figure of the snowball soon fails. One of -the most significant facts of the creative evolution of life is the -division of its primitive path into divergent paths. The primitive -_élan_ contains elementary virtualities of tendency which can abide -together only up to a certain stage of their development. It is of the -nature of a tendency to break up in divergent elementary tendencies, -as a fountain-jet sprays out. As the primitive tendency develops, -elements contained in it which were mutually compatible in one and the -same primitive organism, being still in an undeveloped stage, become -incompatible as they grow. Hence the indefinite bifurcation of the -forms of life into realms, phyla, genera, species, individuals. It is a -cardinal error, Bergson thinks, to regard vegetative, instinctive and -intellectual life, in the Aristotelian manner, as successive stages in -one and the same line of development. They represent three radically -different lines of evolution, not three stages along the same line. - -A tendency common to all life is to store the constantly diffused -solar energy in reservoirs where its equilibrium is unstable. This -tendency, of alimentation, is complementary to the tendency to resolve -equilibrium of potential energy by sudden, explosive release of energy -in actions. As the primitive organism developed (undoubtedly an -ambiguous form, partaking of the characters of both the animal and the -vegetable) these two tendencies became mutually incompatible in one and -the same form of life. Those forms which became vegetables owe their -differentiation from ancestral forms to a preponderant leaning toward -the manufacture of the explosive, as the animal owes its animality to a -leaning toward the release of energy in sudden and intermittent actions. - -The vegetable, drawing its nourishment wherever it may find it, from -the ground and from the air, has no need of locomotion. The animal, -dependent on the vegetable or on other animals for food, must go where -it may be found. The animal must move. Now, consciousness emerges _pari -passu_ with the ability to act, and torpor is characteristic of fixity. -The humblest organism is conscious to the extent to which it can act -freely. Actions may be effective either by virtue of an excellence -in the use of instruments of action or by virtue of an excellence in -adapting the instrument to the need. Action may thus assume either -of two very different characters, the one instinctive, self-adaptive -reaction, the other intelligent manufacture. The two tendencies have -bifurcated within the animal realm. One path reaches its present -culmination in certain hymenoptera (_e. g._ ants, bees, wasps), the -other in man. - -Thus the development of instinct in man has become subordinate; human -consciousness is dominated by intelligence. Hence the universality -of the vice of intellectualism in philosophy. Man, because he is -dominated by intelligence, supposes intelligence to be coextensive with -consciousness, whereas it is only one of the elementary tendencies -which consciousness comprises, and the one which is impotent to know -the flow of reality. Spencer’s evolutionism affords no acquaintance -with the reality of life. His so-called evolution starts with the -already evolved. Hence all it reaches is the made, the once-for-all, -the timeless. It is merely a biological theory, and no advance over -positive science. It is not a philosophy. - -Having shown the origin of intelligence in the more extensive principle -of life, and limited its sphere of operation to inert matter, the -author turns to the nature of instinct. The greater part of the -psychic life of living beings that are characteristically instinctive -Bergson believes to be states which he describes as knowledge in which -there is no representation.[127] “Representation is stopped up by -action.”[128] A purely instinctive action would be indistinguishable -from a mere vital process. When the chick, for example, breaks the -shell, it seems merely to keep up the motion that has carried it -through the embryonic life. But neither instinct nor intelligence is -ever pure, and we have in ourselves a vague experience of what must -happen in the consciousness of an animal acting by instinct. We have -this experience in phenomena of feeling, in unreflecting sympathies -and antipathies. “Instinct is sympathy. If this sympathy could extend -its object and also reflect upon itself, it would give us the key -to vital operations.... Intuition, to wit, instinct that has become -disinterested, self-conscious, capable of reflecting upon its object -and of enlarging it indefinitely, leads us into the very inwardness of -life ... It is true that this æsthetic intuition ... attains only the -individual, but we can conceive an inquiry turned in the same direction -as art, which would take life _in general_ for its object.”[129] - - * * * * * - -In _Matter and Memory_, mind is represented as varying, in its states, -between two limits, “pure perception,” which is just action, and -“dreaming.” The limit of action is where the rôle of mind ceases, the -vanishing-point of knowledge. But at the other limit, dreaming, mind -is in full swing, having freed itself, by an inner tension, from the -obstructive influence of body. Far from vanishing at this limit, as at -the other, knowledge is here at its apogee. It is here “pure.” - -It is important for Bergson to recognize an organic connection -(obstructive to mind, as he Platonically conceives) between mind -and body, in order that he may establish the possibility of the -state of “pure perception,” in which mind activity coincides with -bodily activity by a yielding, relaxed concurrence with the latter’s -influence. Mind is here passive; its rôle in the life of the organism -ceases in this state. But it is equally important, for the ontological -independence of mind, that at the “dreaming” pole the tension which -is the very constitution of its knowing should free mind from bodily -influence. This tension, at its ideal limit, must so disconnect the -mind from the body that the former becomes impotent, as Bergson -says, for any efficiency in the physical world. It seems to be, to -all intents and purposes, a disembodied state. Knowledge having then -no possible end in action is clearly its own end. Intellection is a -utility, operating in the world of matter; knowledge is absolute, -self-centered identity of subject and object. Such, I suppose, is God’s -“thought of thought” in Aristotle’s conception. - -This fluctuation of the relation between mind and body, from a -connection which is vital to absolute disconnection, is a reappearance -of the ambiguity discussed on pages 66-7. At one moment the world -seems a Platonic dualism; in the next, a self-limited or polarized -absolutism, like Fichte’s or Hegel’s. Whatever the “ideal limit” of -mind’s cognitive “tension” may be conceived to be, there ought to -be no question of more and less, in the matter of disconnectedness, -strictly speaking. We do not understand movement from connection to -disconnection, through intermediate stages, as mind is here represented -to move, in its states of knowledge. First mind must be like a certain -part of matter, so that it can rebound by its “tension” from a certain -other part; and then, as soon as it has rebounded, what would be true -of the thing that could do this must suddenly become untrue of it, -presumably because of the rebound, no other reason being assignable -to account for the ensuing disconnection with matter. One bit of -matter can rebound from another, but it is then as much connected with -_matter_ as before. We do not understand how mind, when it has thus -rebounded from one particular material attachment thereby becomes -materially unattached. - -This is nevertheless a suggestive scheme of relation. It seems to me -to be marred with one radical fault: these limits of knowledge are -wrongly related. Their negation of each other should be the opposition -of antipodes, not of contradictories. The difference is the radical -difference between implication and exclusion. They do not exclude each -other, but imply each other. Each vanishes without the other. - -In activity, there is externalized motion on one hand and resistance, -or virtual reaction, on the other. Action and reaction are cases of -polarity; they are necessary to each other to give each other form. -In the cognitive subject, reaction that were purely virtual, without -externalizing implication, would be indeterminate dreaming; motion that -were purely externalized, without implication of inner virtuality, -would be indeterminate activity. Now, anything that is indeterminate -or formless simply is not, if being has any significance whatever; for -formless significance is a contradiction; certainly the significance -of anything would constitute a formal aspect of it. “Pure” matter or -quantity is pure nothing, in the sense that it is quantity of nothing. -These “pure” limits thus snuff themselves out. And variation between -them is not a progression from not-being to being or _vice versa_, not -a strengthening or weakening of the variable function’s essence. Such -a notion depends on the absurdity of a not-being that can do things to -being, with fluctuating prepotency in the struggle! Strengthening and -weakening--degree in any guise--has no application to essence. In any -phase, that is, knowledge is itself and nothing else; it cannot be more -or less itself. - -That which varies concomitantly with the variations in complexion of -consciousness, is the dynamic relation between subject and object. It -may be expressed as variation of ratio between virtual and real action. -At each pole activity vanishes, and consciousness with it. At one pole, -where the ratio is zero, it vanishes in the direction of “real” or -externalized action, which means that the subject meets no opposing -negativity, and so no object; the relation of activity is extinguished -through lack of one of its terms. At the other pole, where the ratio is -infinity, action vanishes in the direction of “virtuality.” And this -means that in the subject there is no positivity, no subjectivity, to -oppose to universal negativity or objectivity. The result is the same -extinction of the relation through lack of a term. A subject term is -lacking in one case, an object in the other. - -Knowledge, for Bergson, corresponds only to the ratio infinity, of -virtual to real action; all other ratios between them are less than -knowledge. To this I object that infinite virtuality is indeterminate -virtuality, which is a naught reached in the opposite way from that -naught which is infinite and indeterminate actuality. Indeterminate -action is nothing, and so is indeterminate knowledge. Identification -of knowledge with any specific value of the ratio of virtual to real -action is not determined by any logical principle. When a function -varies between a positive and a negative pole, neither pole is an -apogee where the function is most itself. On the contrary, as in the -variation of an including angle, each pole is a limiting position in -which the essential nature of the variable is extinguished. Nor is -it most itself midway between the poles, nor at any other privileged -position, for it is absolutely and fully itself, and nothing else, -in every phase. The genuineness of a state of awareness would then -depend also on the genuineness of the reciprocity between the terms -of this dynamic ratio. Where they are not distinct, where subject and -object are identical, awareness vanishes through lack of a quantitative -coefficient, as it vanishes at each pole through lack of a qualitative -coefficient. In other words, knowledge of a thing by itself, like -action of a thing on itself, is a cancelation of terms of opposite -sign, a contradiction, and _the subject and object, whether of action -or of consciousness, are essentially external to each other_. - -Bergson is treating consciousness as such as if it could be more or -less conscious, as, indeed, a conscious _subject_ may be. That is, he -is treating consciousness as if it could be of a nature more or less -aware or cognitive; he is treating variations of phase as if they -were augmentations and diminutions of essence; he is treating quality -quantitatively, an error which would not have been possible if he -had adhered to the purely conceptual distinction between quality and -quantity. And he is treating the variations of cognitive complexion -or phase as if they depended on variations in a certain relation (the -mutual externality of subject and object) which is invariable and -absolute--incapable, that is, of degree. - - * * * * * - -“This book,” says the first sentence of _Matter and Memory_, “affirms -the reality of spirit and the reality of matter.” Lower in the same -page, however, it is explained that “Matter, in our view, is an -aggregate of ‘images.’ And by ‘image’ we mean a certain existence which -is more than that which the idealist calls a _representation_, but -less than that which the realist calls a _thing_,--an existence placed -half-way between the ‘thing’ and the ‘representation.’ ... the object -exists in itself, and, on the other hand, the object is, in itself, -pictorial, as we perceive it; image it is, but a self-existing image -(pp. vii, viii). - -“... memory ... is just the intersection of mind and matter ... the -psychical state seems to us to be ... immensely wider than the cerebral -state ... our cerebral state contains more or less of our mental state -in the measure that we reel off our psychic life into action or wind it -up into pure knowledge ... our psychic life may be lived at different -heights, now nearer to action, now further removed from it” (pp. xii, -xiii, xiv). - -The “intersection of mind and matter” suggests a profound dualism, and -this Bergson acknowledges to be essential to his theory. It is true -that no opportunity is lost, to discount the reality of matter; but the -relations which it sustains to mind are such as can exist only between -terms whose reality is coördinate. Perception is just that biological -reactive function of material organism engaged with material stimulus, -which every psychological text-book proclaims it to be. But the actual -conscious state always has memory in it, as well as perception; or -rather, the state as conscious is nothing but memory; perception -itself, “pure” perception, is action pure and simple, and not cognitive -at all. - -This is an abuse of the word “perception,” but the epistemology can -show a good deal of reason. After all, our perceptions (as we call -the states of mind in which we are involved with a material stimulus) -mean something, necessarily. They mean _something_, I insist, the -strangest of them. We sometimes speak otherwise, saying that an object -of perception means nothing to us. But, I submit, this is only a manner -of speaking. A state that meant _nothing_, absolutely, were genuinely -_blank_, empty, contentless; and there is no difference, I take it, -between a state without content and a state that is unconscious. Well, -then, meaning something, as a conscious state must, what does it mean? -Bergson, I am sure, is right in holding that to mean is to recognize, -to recall, to remember. This makes of every concrete perceptive state, -so-called, a rudimentary deduction, a genuine syllogism, a work of -intellect. The major premise is a memory; the minor is an immediate -reactive, sensori-motor datum; the conclusion is the subsumption of -the present datum under the memory. Thus: The experience to which I -attach the name “orange” has such and such characters (remembered major -premise); the present reactive state has these characters (perceptive -datum, minor premise); therefore this state is a case of the orange -experience. The only difficulty is the nature of the process of -subsumption of the present datum with the memory. The present datum in -its purity as present is a reaction merely, an event in the physical -world. Its nature owns nothing psychical. What commerce, then, can it -have with mind? To call its commerce with mind “subsumption” is to give -a label to a problem. To call memory the “intersection” of the physical -world with mind seems another label, of a metaphorical sort, for the -same problem. - -But, for the present, let us hear the doctrine. To my thinking, it -is Bergson’s best work, and full of illuminating suggestion. To the -radical dualist, it should be completely satisfactory. As an adherent -of a certain double-aspect conception of the body-mind relation, I -shall eventually propose a correction and completion, very radical, -certainly, but all that is necessary to make Bergson’s treatment of -this problem of the highest interest and value to myself. - -The body, then, in Bergson’s theory, yes, the brain itself, is no -producer, repository nor reproducer of any element of consciousness. -The body is a center of reaction, and nothing else. “The size, shape, -even the color, of external objects is modified according as my body -approaches or recedes from them, ... the strength of an odour, the -intensity of a sound, increases or diminishes with distance; finally, -... this very distance represents, above all, the measure in which -surrounding bodies are insured, in some sort, against the immediate -action of my body. In the degree that my horizon widens, the images -which surround me seem to be painted upon a more uniform background -and become to me more indifferent. The more I narrow this horizon, the -more the objects which it circumscribes space themselves out distinctly -according to the greater or less ease with which my body can touch and -move them. They send back, then, to my body, as would a mirror, its -eventual influence; they take rank in an order corresponding to the -growing or decreasing powers of my body. _The objects which surround my -body reflect its possible action upon them._”[130] Cut a sensory nerve, -and the reactive process is destroyed, and with it, perception. “Change -the objects, or modify their relation to my body, and everything -is changed in the interior movements of my perceptive centres. But -everything is also changed in ‘my perception.’ My perception is, then, -a function of these molecular movements; it depends upon them.”[131] -“What then are these movements?... they are, within my body, the -movements intended to prepare, while beginning it, the reaction of -my body to the action of external objects ... they foreshadow at each -successive moment its virtual acts.”[132] It may seem that my reaction -to a body is the same whether I perceive it visually or tactually or -otherwise. But movements externally identical may differ internally; -there is a different organization of the same gross function with -different microscopic functions. The _meaning_ has ultimately an -important sameness, since meaning is a function of biological -adjustment. But different inner organizations are still the explanation -of different ways of perceiving what is, in all biologically important -respects, the same object. - -Serious fault has been found[133] with Bergson’s attempt to establish, -by scientific research in the subject of aphasia, the ontological -independence of spirit, the seat of memory, from body. But on other -grounds than such scientific investigation the issue of this attempt -appears to me at best a futile achievement; for the result is in any -case the reinstatement, untouched, of that problem of all radical -dualism, a problem which Bergson solves only by metaphor whose -brilliance may be luminous itself, but has no illumination for the -problem, which is how reactive states are also conscious. - -There is a theory which relates consciousness and matter to each each -other as the opposite sides of a surface in relief. The objection to -this “double aspect” theory that has weighed most, in criticism, is -that the ground of the parallelism between convexity and concavity--to -wit, a logical implication of each other--is obviously absent in -the parallelism of consciousness and matter. Whatever parallelism -experience actually finds between them is not deducible from either -concept: there is nothing in the definition of the sensation blue to -suggest an afferent nervous current; nothing in the latter to suggest -a sensation. They are incommensurate. But when you conceive convexity, -in that fact you conceive concavity also, and _vice versa_. They are -related as plus and minus. The objection appeals to analysis of the -definition of consciousness or of matter, or challenges the advocate -of the theory to study his sensation or his neural process and see if -there be in either of them anything of the other. - -A difficulty which immediately arises when this challenge is accepted -has been understood to be decisive against the theory. It is this: -Any definition of consciousness which the advocate of the theory may -propose as the concept to be analyzed must, in order to fulfil the -first requirement of logical definition, be in terms of that which is -not consciousness. And this seems to the critic to beg the question. -If you define consciousness so, he objects, you make its definition -imply matter; but there is then nothing of consciousness in it; what -you have got is only matter. That is to assume an equation between -them. You state the value of _x_ in terms of _y_, but then you haven’t -got _x_, but only _y_. It is otherwise with terms that really have the -correlation you claim for consciousness and matter. Thus you can equate -convexity with concavity in terms of either alone, as _m_ = -(-_m_). In -this there is no assumption. But what you say of _x_ is that it equals -_ay_, which is something _distinguishable_ from _x_ and whose equality -to _x_ is just the problem. - -But if it be allowed that the disparity between consciousness and -matter must be either a distinction between two kinds of reality, or -else the distinction between being and not-being, the predicament just -described is worse for the critic of the “double aspect” theory than -for its advocate. If the distinction is that of being and not-being, -whichever is not-being has an internal constitution and structure by -virtue of which parts and relations are recognized within it: matter -has physical laws and the interaction of bodies; consciousness has -interrelated states. Not-being, so interpreted, is hardly distinguished -from being. And if the distinction is within being, and exhausts -it, either the connotation of consciousness and that of matter are -referable to each other--expressible in terms of each other--or else -the distinction is only denotative, and they are not distinguished -as _different_; for difference is a discursive relation between -differents: _dif_fering from each other is a case of _re_ferring to -each other. - -Excessive emphasis on the “ultimateness” and “absoluteness” of the -difference between these two concepts is just the inductive cue that -results in the “double aspect” theory. No one can regard consciousness -as not different from matter--least of all our critic, who finds them -incommensurable. Nay, among real things that are _other_ than each -other, experience gives us no fellow to such difference; for difference -so utter, they that differ should coincide. And so, in the fact of -aspect, we have, indeed, in a thousand forms, disparity that matches -the difference between the concepts now before us: _e. g._, right, -left; up, down; plus, minus; convex, concave. - -We confess three obvious differences between the two equations which -we have taken to represent our critic’s conception of the relation of -convexity to concavity and the relation of consciousness to matter. -In equation (1), which is _m_ = -(-_m_), representing the former -relation, the same symbol _m_ stands on both sides; in equation (2) the -symbols are different, _x_ on one side, _y_ on the other. In (1) the -coefficient also is the same on both sides, namely unity; in (2) the -coefficients are different, unity on one side, _a_ on the other. And in -(1) the signs are opposite on the two sides, while in (2) the sign is -the same on both sides. - -What do these differences mean? To begin with, is (1) monomial and (2) -binomial? No; in spite of the fact that there is only one symbol in -(1), this equation is binomial in precisely the same sense as (2) is -binomial; for it means that a certain attitude toward _m_, symbolized -by the minus sign, transforms _m_ into something _distinguishable from_ -_m_. If equation (1) expressed an identity, it would not represent -the relation of convexity to concavity, which are not identical but -distinguishable. But what is thus expressed in (1) by difference of -sign is expressed in (2) by difference of coefficient; for (2) means -that a certain attitude toward the entity symbolized by _x_ (an -attitude symbolized by the phrase “divide by _a_”) transforms _x_ into -_y_. In short, the connotation differs, on the two sides, _in both -equations alike_. But on the other hand, the denotation is the same on -both sides in each equation, for such is the nature of all equations, -whether binomial or any other kind. Thus we have identity of denotation -with difference of connotation in each of these equations, and they are -so far homogeneous with each other. Now connotation is aspect, which -is determined by subjective attitude; and attitudes are interrelated -in determinate and accurately expressible ways; as, for instance, by -antagonism or mutual exclusion, or by any of an indefinite number of -forms of implication. The difference of attitude called antipodal -oppositeness, or polarity, is the specific difference expressed in -equation (1); whereas the coefficient _a_, in (2), expresses _mere_ -difference of attitude, difference in general, including, therefore, -that specific difference which is expressed by opposition of sign. Thus -equation (1) is a case of equation (2). - -To sum up: The objection, stated in these algebraic symbols, was this: -_m_ implies -_m_; _x_ does not imply _y_. Express the fact of relief -in terms of _m_ and you have the correlative fact in -_m_ implied -in the very definition of _m_; while if you express _x_ in terms of -_y_, you have _y_ values, and nothing but _y_. In short, _x_ and _y_ -exclude each other; _m_ and -_m_ imply each other. Our answer is that -_x_ implies _y_ just as _m_ implies -_m_; for _ay_ is an aspect of the -same denotation as _x_; and, since the specificity of every aspect of -a given denotation is determinable or definable by relation to all -other aspects of the same denotation, any one of such aspects, as -_x_, implies, in its definition, every other, and so _y_, instead of -excluding _y_. - -Turning from such abstract considerations to empirical study of the -sensation, the same sort of difficulty reappears. We think we find -a dynamic relationship of organic to extra-organic processes; this -relationship presents a material aspect, which we call neural activity, -and a formal aspect, which we call blue, for instance. But the critic -objects that all this is much more than sensation, and that we have -read our hypothesis into our data. We must keep to the pure sensation; -in that, there is no neural process. So, even as, before, all our -attempts to propose a definition of consciousness for analysis were -ruled out as begging the question, now every sample of the experience -to be observed is rejected as impure. There is no sensation that is -pure in such a sense as our critic means, for he means subjectivity -that implies no objectivity. If this is more than a word, it is a -self-contradiction, since subjectivity is subjectivity only in the -fact of correlation with objectivity. Indeed, if our critic were to -observe convexity as he proposes that we observe sensation, he would -find no implication of concavity in it; nor would he find it convex. -His observation would _be_ the convexity; the two would coincide, and -so would not be two. Convexity in its essence, as convex, would therein -no longer be the object of the observation. You have to get outside -of your convexity to observe it and its implication of concavity; -just so, you have to get outside of your sensation to know it; in -it, you know only the object of it. When convexity is said to imply -concavity, convexity is just therein not “pure,” as the sensation is -supposed to be. “Pure” convexity, analogous to “pure” sensation or -subjectivity, would be convexity without implication of concavity. That -would be zero convexity, so to speak--a self-contradiction. Just so, -the “pure” sensation, without implication of objectivity, is a fact of -consciousness without the essence of consciousness, which is dynamic -relatedness to an object. “Pure” consciousness is consciousness of -nothing, or no consciousness. - -If our critic have his way, we have nothing left us to discuss. -Let us invite his attention to a discussable phenomenon of our own -designating, and definable in some such way as this: the simultaneous -belonging of an experience to an organism and to another material fact, -say the sky. The two belongings are distinguished by a _sui generis_ -difference of direction or relational “sense,” which unambiguously -determines the organism to be the subject of the belonging, the sky the -object. We have at least as good a right to call this phenomenon by the -name of consciousness, or sensation, as our critic has to name that a -sensation which he so defines that its definition is contradicted by -the naming. - -Now, experience is essentially dynamic, and, for an organism, to be -active is to be functionally ordinated or focalized. For example, the -eye and other parts may be subservient, in different ways and degrees, -to the hand. Then the organism is focalized into an organ of touch, of -striking, or whatever it may be. Every other function contributes as -accessory to this primary function, in the organism’s present phase. - -We have called consciousness the formal aspect of activity, and we mean -by “form” applied to activity what we mean elsewhere, determinateness -or definableness. Here, in particular, it is that character which -depends on resistance or reactivity. Activity without resistance would -be without determination; its character or content would have vanished; -it would be activity upon nothing, which, like consciousness of -nothing, is nothing. So the resistance that factors in activity is not -extraneous to the essence of activity, and consciousness and material -processes imply each other not only with the same logical necessity but -with the same polar oppositeness of mutual relation, as the aspects of -relief. - -Consciousness is thus the inversion or reciprocal aspect of organic -activity, virtual, in distinction from externalized or real, activity. -Where attention is focalized, action is most resisted. As action -approaches free vent, consciousness of the object of this free activity -becomes more and more evanescent. At the limit where action is -unresisted, it and consciousness go out, vanish together, in inverse -“sense” or directions. Where action approaches “pure” (_i. e._, -unresisted) activity, pure positivity, pure subjectivity, consciousness -approaches “pure” (_i. e._, unreacting) passivity, pure negativity, -pure objectivity. And such “pure” action and consciousness are pure -nothing, action on nothing, sensation of nothing. The vanishing of the -two relations together is, in each case, for lack of one of its terms -inverse to the term lacking in the other case. - -This mutual symmetry between action and consciousness is an implicate -of their identity of denotation and mutual inversion of aspect; and -any study of the fluctuations and transitions of consciousness, with -its modulations of attention and inhibition, is accordingly a study in -inverse, a perfect logical function, of corresponding modifications -of organic activity; for in the play of the organic functions we -shall find incessant modulations between their focalization and their -dispersion, incessant shifting of their mutual rank and of the position -of primacy among them, to correspond with the changes between margin -and focus that are always going on among the elements of consciousness. - -The organism is structurally and functionally centralized in a -sensori-motor system, where the afferent activity is opposed by the -efferent, in a common focus, or in coincident foci, in which action -and reaction give form to each other. Here organic reaction has its -inception in a preformation, schema or design, as Bergson says, of the -developed activity. An intricate manifold of functions are organized: -interest determines the ascendency or primacy of a certain function, -while others are subservient, being inhibited or reinforced in varying -degrees. The whole complex process has this character of focal, -unifying organization, a unity expressed in opposite aspects as the -simple form of activity, on the one hand, and as the simple object of -perceptive consciousness on the other. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -DOCTRINE OF FREEDOM - - -The fallacy of conceptualism, which, as Bergson conceives it, is -to substitute space for time as the form of mental existence, has -been discussed in the first chapter of _Time and Free Will_ in the -aspect of applying intensive magnitude, and in the second chapter, -numerical multiplicity, to psychic facts. It is the same fallacy -which is discussed in the third chapter, in the aspect of applying to -them the conception of determinate, causal organization. The outcome -of the book is thus that the problem of freedom is just the problem -of conceptualism, a problem of philosophic method. This book, _Time -and Free Will_, is a manual of instruction for knowing the reality -of mental existence; and its object is the _practical_ object of -indicating the attitude necessary for that purpose. There are two -possible attitudes, that of space and that of time, or that of -conception and that of intuition. The conceptual is the attitude taken -by philosophy universally, to be sure; which explains the futility of -all extant discussions of the “persistent problems of philosophy.” It -is clear, for instance, Monsieur Bergson thinks, that this attitude -gives rise, in an automatic and inevitable way, to the problem of -freedom--that is, that there would be no such problem but for this -false cognitive attitude;--and at the same time that by originating in -this unhappy way the problem is necessarily a pseudo-problem, cannot -be stated without contradiction. For when you regard mental facts in -the spatial or conceptual way, the question automatically arises, how -are these facts causally related with other spatial facts? It is a -contradiction because by “these” facts you mean non-spatial facts, -which, in the nature of causation, can not be causally related with -spatial facts, but which, the question presupposes, are so related. -Such is the real meaning of the traditional problem of freedom. -The solution, says Bergson, is to cease thinking spatially of that -which is temporal; take the other attitude. Once you have done so, -the problem vanishes; the causal relation is by definition a spatial -relation, and there are no longer two spatial terms to be related. -Such determinism is the associationistic conception of mind as an -assemblage of distinct, coexistent elements of which the strongest -exerts a preponderant influence on the others. Their organization is -a mechanical system, and their operations obey the laws of mechanical -causation. - -As relative (_i. e._ quantitative) intensity is to absolute, -qualitative intensity, as juxtaposited multiplicity is to -interpenetrating multiplicity, so is determinate organization to -organization by free evolution. The categories magnitude, number and -cause apply to space. The difference, for Bergson, between space and -time is, as we have seen, so absolute that it hardly expresses his -theory aright to say that to the above three characters of space -three temporal characters _correspond_. Reason seems lacking for any -correspondence whatever. This is certain, at any rate: that when -intellect makes time an object, and sees it greater or less, divisible -and regularly consequential, three things are true about the real, -non-objective nature of time, each of which truths manifests itself -to intellect, but wrongly, erroneously. Moreover, it is plainly by -reasoned, analytic discourse that Bergson discovers that the above -intellectual manifestations of time’s essence are false. One discovers, -furthermore, by this conceptual process, just how they are false, and -corrects them with a result so conceptually precise and intelligible -that, instead of these three characters falsely spatial, other three -are determined as truly temporal. Instead of magnitude, quality has -in this way been substituted; instead of multiplicity, indivisible -variousness. For cause, the last chapter of the _Essai_ substitutes -freedom. - -We should now be well prepared for divining the nature of the freedom -which is consciousness, or more generally, life. The organization of -the facts of a given consciousness is such that the person is focally -entire in any one of them, even as the entire body functions in each -of its functions (cf. page 20). The determinate type of organization -is analogous to the mechanically actuated manikin, not to the natural -man, even though those fragments which build up the structure of the -associationist soul are forces; for these forces are mutually distinct -parts of the soul, whose union in it, and so whose interaction, -depends on some principle extrinsic to any of them and is thus wholly -determined from without. In the developmental type of organization, on -the contrary, the _wholeness_ of action is its freedom, rather than -independence of what is not itself. Although such independence seems to -belong to it, as well, what Bergson is interested to emphasize about -the freedom of the free action is that it is the expression of the -entire person. - -In the domain of life, there is no identity, for there is no -permanence--“the same does not remain the same,” as Bergson puts it. -The ego is not the same ego in any two moments; it is not the same ego -that deliberates from moment to moment; and two contradictory feelings -that move it are never respectively self-identical in two moments. -Indeed, if the case were otherwise, a decision would never be made; the -equilibrium of the opposing feelings would never be resolved. Merely -by the fact that the person has experienced a feeling, he is modified -when a second feeling comes. The feelings are the continually modified -ego itself, a dynamic series of states that interpenetrate, reinforce -each other and result in a free act by a natural evolution, because it -emanates from the entire person. - -Such is the character of the free act, a very intelligible character, -it would seem, a character lending itself tractably enough to verbal -definition, that is, conceptual definition, as a certain relation -of act to agent. Yet it must immediately be added that what seems -so intelligible and so conceptual an explication of this “certain -relation”--what is contained in the two paragraphs preceding--is not -regarded by the author as a definition of freedom. It seems that there -is a distinction between the formulation of a conception on one hand, -and a definition, on the other, though Bergson does not elucidate this -distinction explicitly, and I have had to give up the attempt. The -distinction is evidently of crucial importance, nevertheless. “We can -now formulate our conception of freedom,” says the author, on page 219 -of _Time and Free Will_. “Freedom is the relation of the concrete self -to the act which it performs. This relation is indefinable just because -we _are_ free. For we can analyze a thing, but not a process; we can -break up extensity, but not duration. Or, if we persist in analyzing -it, we unconsciously transform the process into a thing, and duration -into extensity ... and, as we have begun by, so to speak, stereotyping -the activity of the self, we see spontaneity settle down into inertia -and freedom into necessity. Thus, any positive definition of freedom -will ensure the victory of determinism.” - -The attempt is therefore unwisely made by indeterminists to define -freedom by meeting determinists on their own ground when the latter -turn the question of freedom into considerations of the relations of -the voluntary act to its antecedents, characterizing voluntary activity -as essentially foreseeable before, or apodictically intelligible after -the fact. When indeterminists permit themselves to be thus ambushed, -they commit themselves to the support of determinism, by accepting -the deterministic postulate, in the one case that “foreseeable” has -intelligible meaning applied to psychic states, which it has not; or, -in the other case, that willed acts are intelligible both before and -after the fact. - -The determinist, that is,--to take the second case first--professes -that an act depends in a mechanical way upon certain antecedents. The -indeterminist contends that the same antecedents could have resulted -in either of several different acts, equally possible. Defenders and -opponents of freedom agree in making a kind of mechanical oscillation -between two points precede the action. I choose A. The indeterminists -say, You have deliberated; then B was possible. The determinists -reply, I have chosen; therefore I had some reason to do so, and when -B is declared equally possible, this reason is forgotten; one of the -conditions of the problem is ignored. Both represent the activity by -a deliberative route which divides. Call the point of the division -O; then the divisions of the forked line OA and OB symbolize the -two divisions which abstraction distinguishes within the continuous -activity, of which A is the termination. But while determinists take -account of everything, and find that the route MOA has been traversed, -their opponents ignore one of the data with which they have constructed -the figure; and, after tracing the lines OA and OB, which ought to be -united if they are to represent the progression of the ego’s activity, -they make this progression go back to O and begin oscillating again! - -The trouble with both these solutions, Bergson says, is that they -presuppose an achieved deliberation and resolution, representable in -space by a geometrical figure. The question, Could the ego, having -traversed the route MO and decided on A, have chosen B? is nonsense: -to put such a question is to affirm the possibility of adequately -representing time by space, succession by simultaneity. It is to -attribute to the figure traced the value of an image and not merely -of a symbol. Figures represent things, not progressions: how shall a -figure furnish the least indication of the concrete motion, of the -dynamic progression by which the deliberation results in the act? The -defenders of freedom say, The route is not yet traced; therefore one -can take any direction. To which we reply, You can speak of a route, -in such a connection, only after the action is accomplished, and then -it has been traced. The determinists say, The route has been traced -_thus_; therefore its possible direction was only that particular -direction. To which we reply, Before the route was traced there was no -direction, possible or impossible; there could, as yet, be no question -of a route. In its lowest terms this merely means: The act, once -accomplished, is accomplished; and the argument of the determinists: -The act, before being accomplished, was not as yet an act. The question -of freedom is not touched, because freedom is a shade or quality of the -act itself, not a relation of this act with what it is not nor with -what it can be. Deliberation is not oscillation in space; it is dynamic -progression, in which the ego and the motives are in a continual -becoming, as living beings. - -Indeterminists, Professor Bergson says, must beware, again, of arguing -against the prevision of voluntary acts. Once more, this is not because -prevision of a voluntary act is possible, but because there is no sense -in the phrase. If Paul knew all the conditions under which Peter acts, -his imagination would relive Peter’s history. He must pass through -Peter’s very own psychic states, to know with precision their intensity -and their importance in relation to his other states. The intensity, -in fact, is the peculiar quality of the feeling itself. Now, to know -_all_ the antecedents of the act would bring you to the act itself, -which is their continuation, and not merely their result, and above -all in no way separate from them. To relive Peter’s history is just to -become Peter--that is the only way Paul could conceivably “know all the -antecedents” of the act in question. There is no question of predicting -the act, but simply of acting. Knowledge of the antecedents of the act -without knowledge of the act is an absurdity, a contradiction. The -indeterminists can mean nothing, by such a contention as this, but -that the act is not an act until it is acted--which is hardly worth -meaning;--and the determinists can mean only that the act, once acted, -is acted--which is no better. The subject of freedom is beside the -point, in such a debate. - -So the question of prevision comes to this: Is time spatial? You drew -Peter’s states, you perceived his life as a marking in space. You then -rubbed out, in thought, the part OA, and asked if, knowing the part -before O, you could have determined OA beforehand. That is the question -you put when you bring in Paul’s representation of the conditions (and -therefore their materialization) under which Peter shall act. After -having identified Paul with Peter, you make Paul take his former point -of view, from which he now sees the line MOA complete, having just -traced it in the rôle of Peter. - -Prevision of natural phenomena has not the slightest analogy with that -of a voluntary act. Time, in scientific formulæ, is always and only -a number of simultaneities. The intervals may be of any length; they -have nothing to do with the calculation. Foreseeing natural phenomena -is making them present, or bringing them at least enormously nearer. -It is the intervals, the units themselves--just what the physicist -has nothing to do with--that interest the psychologist. A feeling -half as long would not be the same feeling. But when one asks if a -future action can be foreseen, one identifies physical time, which is -a number, with real psychological duration, which has no analogy with -number. In the region of psychological states there is no appreciable -difference between foreseeing, seeing and acting. - -According to the mechanical law of causation, the same causes always -produce the same effects. But, in the region of psychic states, this -law is neither true nor false, but meaningless; for in this region -there is no “always:” there is only “once.” A repeated feeling is a -radically different feeling. It retains the same name only because -it corresponds to the same external cause, or is outwardly expressed -by analogous signs. It was just said that the ego is not the same -in any two moments of its history. It is modified incessantly by -the accumulation of its past. One’s character at any moment, is the -condensation of one’s past. Duration acts as a cause; but this temporal -or psychological causation has no more analogy with what is called -causation in nature than temporal variousness has with number, or -intensity with magnitude. A causality which is necessary connection -is, at bottom, identity; the effect is an expression of the cause, as -mathematical functions are expressions of each other. But no psychic -state has this virtual identity with, or mathematical reducibility to, -any other with which it would thus be in the “necessary” kind of causal -relation. Such effect is not given in the cause, but is absolutely new. - -Time that has passed is an objective thing, and is representable by -space; time passing is a subjective process, and is not representable. -The free act is the actual passing of time; time in its passing is the -very stuff of the existence of freedom. Analyze an act, and you make -it a thing. Then its spontaneity is altered into inertia, its freedom -into necessity. Hence any definition of freedom makes it determinism. -But, though the analysis of the act and the definition of freedom -are illusory undertakings, the fundamental fact of freedom remains -unassailable by any argument. - - * * * * * - -Bergson’s way of vindicating freedom is thus to find no case against -it. Of the positive sort, the only, and sufficient proof is appeal to -consciousness. Freedom is an immediate datum of consciousness. - -This is confusing to anyone who cannot follow Bergson in his view -that subject and object, in actual intuitive consciousness, are -indistinguishable, identical. And this fusion of the poles of -consciousness while the nature of consciousness not merely suffers -nothing but even attains its apogee thereby, needs more justification -than Bergson has given it. Freedom is a datum of consciousness; but, -as undetermined, it must, on Bergson’s principles, be consciousness -itself--which, indeed, is plainly enough the teaching intended. -Freedom is consciousness, then, purely subjective. In what sense is -it a datum of consciousness? If it is a datum, is it not an object, -of consciousness? It seems a case where, in order to see, you musn’t -look, lest looking make what is purely subjective an object! This is -hardly the case of the fovea and the faint star, where looking _loses_ -your object; for here, looking rather produces it where no object -belongs, or--perhaps one should say--transforms it. Your look, says -Gustave Belot,[134] congeals and immobilizes it, denatures it like the -Gorgon’s stare! It is knowable, says Bergson, only by being lived. -It is a feeling we have. But the trouble is that, to be _known_ as -undetermined, as freedom, to be even a feeling we have, it is back upon -our hands as a datum, as an object. - -Before I comment in my own way on the Bergsonian view of freedom, I -wish to call to the attention of English readers the keen reaction of -this French critic of Bergson. Belot objects to the modest-seeming -statement that freedom is a feeling we have. Neither psychology, -he thinks, nor common sense, approves.[135] They establish, on the -contrary, a sensible difference between freedom, whatever it may be, -and the feeling we have of it--any feeling we can possibly have. Our -feeling of freedom is much less variable than our freedom. “We agree -not to attribute a veritable practical freedom to the dreaming man, -to the somnambulist, to the man affected with some mental disease. -Yet the man who, in dream, sees himself act, sees himself free in his -action; the somnambulist equally feels himself free and attributes to -himself, in his dream, a responsibility that we decline to put upon -him, and which he will reject, himself, when he wakes[136] ... The -furious madman must ordinarily feel himself free in the accomplishment -of a murder for which a tribunal will not consent to punish him. The -fact is, it suffices, in order that we should feel ourselves free, that -our acts should be in harmony with our ideas and our feelings. Now, -that may very well be, in the cases of the dreamer, the somnambulist, -the madman.... They would therefore feel themselves free. But they are -not free; for they only act from an incomplete consciousness; and a -great number of elements of their normal ego, which would permit the -revision, the correction, the inhibition, are lacking.” A glimmering -of the fact of one’s madness is a token of the only residuum there is -of freedom. “It is to conserve some freedom, to perceive that one no -longer is master of oneself.” - -Bergson is alive to all this--sometimes, as when he says that the -freedom of a free action is its _entirety_, its expression of the -total personality. But Belot is quite justified in charging him with -forgetting it, for only by forgetting it could he conceive of freedom -as an immediate datum of consciousness. It is, indeed, far from the -case that our freedom is nothing but the feeling we have of it, or -that it is proportional to this feeling. What is so altered by the -determinist habit of mind, by the conceptual attitude toward will, is -not at all one’s feeling of freedom, but only one’s interpretation -of it. An immediate, spontaneous feeling, being prior to theory -and analysis, is safe from any influence from them. In the most -incorrigible determinist, consciousness of the wish, other things -equal, is exactly the same as in the most incorruptible indeterminist. - -Precise determination of will is not only not contrary to freedom but -is indispensable to it. Minimizing the value of motive in activity is -loss, not gain, to freedom. The motive is what connects our act to -our whole personality, and makes it ours. Without this connection, we -are not free; its interruption is a limitation, not the condition, -of freedom. And indeed freedom is so limited by the mass of our -unreflecting impulses. Bergson is right in saying that we are rarely -free. But therefore he is wrong in saying that freedom is the mere -spontaneity of the ego. - -In a certain passage[137] Bergson describes freedom in a way which -seems almost explicitly to deny the doctrine that it is the entirety of -will. Here it is a revolution of one part of the self against the rest, -far from emanating from the total self. And such revolution, just so -far as it is purely spontaneous, or arbitrary, is irresponsible instead -of free. Just so far, on the other hand, as it is not arbitrary, it -is determined. In fact, however, appearance of arbitrariness argues -nothing about determination except that one is ignorant about it. - -In showing the absurdity of all argumentation for or against the -determination of a future voluntary act by present conditions, the -considerations offered by Bergson are almost perfect proof of such -determination. The reason we cannot think another’s thought without -disfiguring it is just that the conditions of the thought, and so of -the act, are not all reunited. The act, then, is supposed to depend -on these conditions. Now, an absolute present is a fiction; each -moment of the true duration of consciousness is a commencement and an -achievement. Determination is nothing but that intimate connection -of events which prevents us from isolating an absolute present. The -case of Peter and Paul then, proves only that foresight could not -be adequate to determination, not that determination is absent. The -inability of even the author of an act to foresee it is no criterion -of its freedom. Any free acts of our own that we do foresee, we foresee -as connected with our present state, as ours, in fact; it is that which -makes their freedom, but that supposes also their determination. This -foresight, it may be said, is always insufficient and imperfect. So -much the worse for freedom, not the better. It is thereby limited, -not made. There are, indeed, always events outside of us that baffle -our calculations, as well as unconscious tendencies, unperceived -forces within us, indistinctly developing beneath the reflective and -clear-seeing ego (Bergson calls this the superficial, Belot the higher -ego) which suddenly break out, rout it and upset it. Such civil war is -anything but freedom. - -The uniqueness of psychic states, whether free or not, neither exempts -them from determination nor even differentiates them from physical -states. That a psychic state is not reproducible Bergson shows to be -because the past, incessantly accumulating and modifying itself, is -never the same in two moments. A clearer statement of the solidarity -of past and present--_i. e._ of determination--could not be made. It -may well be true that in the physical as well as in the moral world, -every individual is without counterpart; it is none the less a product -of nature, for its uniqueness; and, as a product of nature, determined, -in its own uniqueness, by nature. Among our most unique acts, the most -original are far from being the freest. The eccentricities of the -madman are more original than the sober doings of the rational, but -not so free. The more enlightened men are, the freer; but the more -they do and think the same thing. Their divergences come from their -ignorances and their unconsciousness, which are also the limits of -their freedom. It is the same with them as with nature: it is when it -produces monsters that it is most new, but it is then also that it has -been least free, most constrained in its doings. - -Monsieur Bergson has not done away with psychological determinism; but -if he had, he would have hindered freedom rather than helped it. But -the problem is not purely psychological; it is psycho-physical. We are -at once body and consciousness. A freedom which were not exerted in the -outer world would be absolutely nominal and illusory; and in order to -manifest itself therein, it must be accompanied by physical processes. -These too, then, if determinism is contrary to freedom, must be exempt -from determination. - -Bergson’s denial of psycho-physical parallelism[138] is no gain for -freedom. If no external effect is essentially involved in a volition, -the volition is impotent--which is surely not to be free. Nor would -it be characteristic of freedom to have activities going on in the -organism without the avowal of consciousness. So far as we do possess -such unconscious goings-on, we are absolutely passive to their -operation. Psycho-physiological parallelism[139] is a condition of -freedom, not its negation. Some sort of correspondence is necessary -to the feeling of freedom, and in that case freedom cannot dispense -with determinism in nature, at least. One might, perhaps, suppose a -preestablished harmony between a contingency (the moral world) and a -determinism (the physical); it would be easier to suppose it between -two determinisms; but between two contingencies--that is too much to -ask! - -Suppose, then, the ability of mind to produce, veritably cause physical -modifications. Suppose an energy not subject to calculation. But how -shall we ever know such an energy in the external world? All that is -spatial is calculable, if number is derived from space. How could an -energy, then, be manifest in the physical universe, _i. e._ in space, -without being thereby subjected to the same forms of quantity and to -the requirements of calculation? - -Bergson’s attempt to repudiate the problem of determinism, as a -pseudo-problem, results in his vacillation between the two sides of -the controversy. Sometimes he accepts the solidarity of our acts with -the rest of our conscious life, sometimes he denies it; which is to -vindicate freedom sometimes by determinism, sometimes by indeterminism. -In the beginning he founds freedom in the mutual penetration of the -states of consciousness; even sensation is a commencement of freedom, -because it embraces “the sketching and, as it were, prefiguring of the -future automatic movements;”[140] and the free act is defined as that -which “springs from the self”[141] without intervention of anything -strange. Then, little by little, the contrary thesis takes the upper -hand: the act of will becomes a _coup d’état_; “the successive moments -of real time are not bound up with one another;”[142] the dynamic -conception supposes “that the future is not more closely bound up -with the present in the external world than it is in our own inner -life.”[143] Bergson maintains, to be sure, that solidarity can be -admitted between the past and the present and denied between present -and future. Once the event happens it is indeed necessary that we -should be able to explain it, and we can always do so by plausible -reasons. But this connection is established after the fact for the -satisfaction of our discursive reason. The past is fixed, it cannot -_not have been_; it has become a _thing_, under the domain of the -understanding and of analysis. Whereas, at the moment of enactment, -the activity is a _process_, and so not capable of analysis. When the -route is traced, we can analyze its directions and windings, but it is -not traced in advance of being traced; it is the tracing that makes the -route, not the route that determines the tracing. You can explain what -is given, but there is no explaining what is not given. - -Bergson, however, does not keep this point of view. The future, we have -just seen, is “prefigured” in the present. Then it is as necessary to -the feeling of our freedom to be able to connect our future to our -present in our decision, as to be able, once the act is accomplished, -to give account of it by reasons drawn from our consciousness. -Bergson’s thought vacillates this way because he attributes two -incompatible characters to the inner life, qualitative heterogeneity -and mutual penetration of its states. Grant the heterogeneity and -you have an infinitesimal dust, the very denial of connection and -penetration. If the states penetrate there are always two near enough -to each other in quality to form an identical whole, while they differ -only in degree, as two very near shades of the same color. But then -there is a quantitative, and so a homogeneous, aspect of the inner -life. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -BERGSON’S ABHORRENCE OF DETERMINATENESS - - -A deep, temperamental abhorrence of determinateness--that is the motive -of Bergsonism. By admission of Bergson, any object of the mind is -determinate. But therefore a philosophy that repudiates determinateness -in the nature of reality is ineffable because it is objectless. It is -ineffable also because any reason offered for the indeterminateness -of reality is determination of it. The dread of determinateness is -the dread of reason, of explanation, of interpretation--in a word, of -philosophy. A consciousness which can ‘testify that we are free’ is -not an objectless consciousness; and freedom, if consciousness can -testify to it, cannot be an indeterminate nor an immediate (_i. e._ -unobjectified) datum of consciousness. Bergson’s position is that it -is essential to the true nature of reality _in itself_, under whatever -aspect--_e. g._ duration, motion, freedom etc.--to be subjective; -and that this is why Zeno is right in finding motion, for instance, -unthinkable; for “unthinkable” properly means (though it did not mean, -for Zeno) incapable of becoming objective. This to say, is it not, -that the true nature of reality independently of all point of view -is to be viewed from a certain point! It comes to this, at least, if -to be subjective is compatible with being known in any sense, with -being contained within consciousness at all. Otherwise it comes to the -skeptical (and self-contradictory) doctrine that it is essential to the -true nature of reality to be unknowable in every sense. The former, of -course, is Bergson’s view regarding subjectivity.[144] - -The anti-intellectualist doctrine, however, that data of consciousness -cannot be understood, conceptualized, defined, or even named--cannot, -in short, be objectified--without contradiction is as important for the -problem of knowledge as it is for the problem of freedom. Professor -Perry’s analysis of immediatism[145] shows the misunderstanding of -what it is to conceptualize, which underlies such a doctrine. The -anti-intellectualist idea seems to be that the concept is static, -and common to more than one consciousness, and universal in its -denotation, and sharply discrete; and that for these reasons it could -not correspond to what is fluid and private and uniquely particular -and continuous. It is evidently the “copy theory” of knowledge, which -unconsciously determines this criticism of the concept. Concepts -are invalid, applied to life, _because they are not like living -objects_! “You cannot make continuous being out of discontinuities,” -is James’s criticism.[146] And Bergson’s: “Instead of a flux of -fleeting shades merging into each other [intellect] perceives distinct -and, so to speak, _solid_ colors, set side by side like the beads of -a necklace.”[147] But, as Perry shows, to conceptualize is nothing -like this procedure. Conception is _substitution_ of one object of -immediate consciousness which is conveniently abstract, for another -object which is, in the circumstances of the conceiving, inconvenient -in its concrete fulness. All that is necessary in order that this -substitutional mode of consciousness should be valid and true -knowledge of the object so symbolized, is that the substitute should -_mean_ that object. And that it can and does mean it when the object -is a subjective state is no more than the fact that, on Bergson’s -own showing, such states are symbolized. For to mean is essentially -to symbolize. Certainly no one concept is a rounded-out exhaustive -awareness, so to speak, of the symbolized object. But this is no more -than to say that conceiving is a selective and eliminating mode of -consciousness--which does not distinguish it from any other mode, the -most immediate and intuitive possible state of genuine significant -consciousness being essentially as much an elimination as a positing. - -Since, then, a symbol never has (just by reason of its function as -symbol) the same structure as the object symbolized, there is nothing -either in the immobility, or the publicity, or the universality, or -the discreteness of any concept, or in its inclusion of all these -characters, to prevent its validly meaning the fluid and private and -particular and continuous. And the real must necessarily have the -conceptual characters, since the characters correlative to them, alone -regarded by Bergson as characters of reality, have no meaning _except -correlatively_ to the conceptual characters. Thus “fluidity of nothing” -is a phrase without meaning. The something which is fluid, requires, -in order that _fluidity_ as such shall be a datum of experience, a -coefficient aspect of immobility. It is not fluidity that flows. The -immobile, snap-shot conceptual form--not only does this _belong_ to the -cataract, as the possibility of photographing it proves, but this very -form is indispensable to the fact of flow in its genuine concreteness. -As for uniqueness, a fact so unique that it is like nothing else in -any respect, could not be discriminated. The bare discernibleness -of a datum requires a basis of discrimination which is common to it -and to that from which it is discriminated. Continuity is analogous -with unity, and has no meaning if there is no aspect, in it, of -composition, and so of discreteness, as unity is nothing if not union -of a plurality. That the real has the aspects eulogistically favored -by intuitionism is beyond question. That it has not the complementary -conceptual aspects is demonstrably false, and is an illusion of -“exclusive particularity,” explainable only by that prepossession with -a certain abstract view, whose psychological origin has been repeatedly -noted in this study. - -Is it not truly a paradox to give the unnamable a long list of -names--life, consciousness, freedom, duration, intensity, quality, -heterogeneity etc.--and to write a book, whether practical or -speculative, concerning that which will not articulate into discourse, -(cf. above, p. 54-5), employing these names on every page; and to -conclude with a studied definition of freedom; and to avow that -the purpose of it all is to make the fact understood that the -subject-matter cannot even be named, still less defined or discoursed -about or understood? It seems improper to consider that the book is -_about_ such a subject, and yet necessary to suppose that it is about -some subject, and impossible to assign another. If it is true that, -in seeming to name this subject, you are deluded; that, in trying -to talk about it, you fail, and name and talk about something else, -instead, its spatialized symbol--then the conclusion is perfectly valid -that such a book is a case of this delusion. And the trouble lies in -that reifying of the coefficients of reality and of consciousness -which is the condition of a philosophy of “pure” intuition (cf. page -29). To suppose that genuine cases of awareness can be either pure -intuition or pure conception is to reify these coefficient aspects of -consciousness, which are as truly _both_ indispensable for the genuine -concreteness of an actual case of awareness as are the positive sine -_and_ cosine for the real acuteness of an angle (_i. e._ for the angle -to enclose acutely space revolved-through). As the zero point of either -trigonometric projection is the vanishing-point of the entity of whose -nature they are coefficient functions, so the “purity” of either -coefficient function of consciousness is the vanishing of any real -awareness.[148] - -If no logical reason impugns the validity of conceptual knowledge of -subjective states, no more does the pragmatic test discredit such -knowledge. It is as good, genuine knowledge in its satisfaction of -vital interest as the sensation, say, which is the object of the state -in question. Helen Keller, incapable of the sensation blue, knows the -sensation--conceptually alone, of necessity--rather better, even, it -may be, than she would ever have known it if her life had been more -occupied in the knowing of blue--and other such--_things_; better, -at any rate, certainly, than most people know it. All this knowledge -can be is a rationalizing of “blue:” she can name it, define it, -understand it, make articulate and significant statements about it. The -intellectual mode of knowing blue is thoroughly significant. It finds -blue in experience, and enables the conscious subject to identify this -object when she comes across it. By this knowledge, blue is part of the -currency of Helen Keller’s social commerce. It is a factor in her life, -with its importance and interest. Obviously, she can have got it only -by conceptualizing it. - -Of course the proposition that consciousness is indefinable has the -same futility as the proposition that it is unnamable; because, indeed, -they have the same meaning. The meaning, we have seen, is that, in -trying to name or define what is fluid, private, etc., there is a -miscarriage; it is something else that gets named or defined, to wit -the representative or symbol of what was aimed at. This symbol, being -fixed and public, is able to lend itself to application of the fixed -and public name or concept. But we have also seen that a name is only a -symbol; an unnamable thing could not be symbolized. If, by hypothesis, -it _is_ symbolized, it is therein namable. - -But naming a thing is _ipso facto_ relating it, for it is associating -it with something else, its name or symbol; in naming the thing you -have started upon the process of defining it, which is the infinite -process of relating it or understanding it. Exempting things from -naming or definition, sequestering them from the rational domain, is -like setting a limit to space. Sequestering from the rational domain is -relating to it, and that is putting into it. - -If the illusion in trying to name and define mental states is due -to their fluidity and privacy, by the same token the same treatment -of physical objects, which Bergson regards as valid treatment, is -in fact equally illusory. To be sure, physical objects have not, -according to the author, the flow of duration, but they are even less -dependable creatures than mental states, for in every new moment they -are something absolutely other than anything which was in the moment -before. Besides which, in spite of this really incessant instantaneity, -something, not explained, causes them, upon the “intersection” of our -duration with them, to _appear_ to us to be self-identical but changed, -even as we ourselves. Physical objects are not fixed. One finds no -exceptions in nature to the universal law of change; and the state of -any physical thing at a given moment is the outcome, in continuity, of -its previous states, to an indefinite regress of antecedents, quite as -the case stands with the ego. In respect to duration, discriminating -between physical and mental is not valid. Even between organic and -inorganic matter or between conscious and unconscious organisms the -difference is only one of degree or tempo of change. But if so, it -is arbitrary, if one regards the present state of the conscious -organism as embodying the whole of its past, to deny this of the stick -and the stone. Of course mental states are not permanent; subjects, -objects--nothing is permanent that has existence. Nothing stays as it -is. The scope of naming and defining is not limited by permanence. -Neither, however, is the flux of nature chaos, that it should not be -understandable. Change, on the contrary, is the manifestation of law, -in the time of Heraclitus, now, and forever. - -Privacy or uniqueness is no more obstructive to understanding than -is change, and, like change, has no peculiar applicability to mental -states as matter of knowledge. Privacy or uniqueness applies to -physical objects of knowledge in essentially the same way as it applies -to mental states. Mere accessibility is, in principle, common for all -objects of knowledge, to all subjects.[149] But there is a special -reason why the subject of the state is particularly disqualified, -as compared with others, for knowing his state immediately, _i. e._ -intuitively; namely, that, at the time of the existence of the state, -when, alone, it could be known intuitively, he is mainly occupied with -another object of knowledge, the object of the state in question. -You do not, then, know a mental state best by living it, or rather -_in_ living it; your knowledge of it is just then at its worst, since -you are then preoccupied in knowing something else. The state, as an -attribute of the subject, is clearly one of the subject’s relations, -and, so, conceptually distinct from either term. It cannot be at once a -knowledge and the object of that same knowledge. Bergson’s treatment of -the conscious state conceives it in just that way--as if the relation -were itself one of its own terms, the object. - -Knowing a mental state can only mean understanding it. It is not a -concrete datum, like the sky, but an abstraction from the relationship -in which the subject and the sky function as terms. One does not -intuitively know the subjective process of blueness, in looking -at the sky; one knows the sky in that sense, but the process only -conceptually, by reflection. Is it any less an authentic object of -knowledge? Is it not itself--is it any symbol of itself?--which you -name and define and talk about and understand? - -The practical significance of saying that one felt and now remembers a -feeling is not that the feeling is what one ever felt. Feeling Number -One is not an object for feeling Number Two, neither during Number One -nor afterward, in reminiscent feeling. So far as the reminiscent state -is another intuition, its object is the same as that of the intuition -remembered--so far. But to be reminiscent, a conscious state must -reflect upon, or refer to, a conscious state distinct from itself. -This reflective reference is a conceptual co-element together with the -intuitional character of the reminiscent state. So far as the memory is -reflective, consciousness is oriented toward the original state itself -as a fact, a process, conceptually distinguishable from the object of -it. It is thus only _so far as conceptual_ that subjective processes -can be objects of knowledge, or, in short, be known. But if so, Bergson -is wrong in two essential points: in denying that subjectivity can -be objectified, and in affirming that knowledge of subjectivity is -immediate (_i. e._ non-conceptual) or intuitive. - -Any reminiscent state, like every other conscious state, undoubtedly -_is_ intuitive in a certain degree. The calmest reflection on an -originally affective experience is tinctured with a rudimentary -fluttering of the old feeling; just as, on the other hand, the most -violent early repetitions of a tempestuous joy or grief must relate, -in order to be reminiscent, to the original experience. No one else, -it may be said, can _appreciate_ my feeling as I do, myself: this -appreciation is no conceptualization of that feeling. This is only to -say that the affective as well as the representative aspect of any -conscious state is unique for each subjective center of interest. But -privacy no more distinguishes subjectivity from objectivity than does -change. Every object, being self-identical, is unique, its quality -private. Inasmuch as each conscious subject is a distinct center of -interest as well as a distinct cognitive subject, the affective value -of a state of a given subject must also be theoretically unique for -that subject. But the state is nevertheless objective and common as -well as subjective and private, since in fact it is an object for -understanding. My state of mind is as accessible to your understanding -as your own (it may be more so, to be sure). The understanding names -the intuitive state--anybody’s at all, indifferently, one’s own or -another’s-- as truly as it names any other relationship or process, by -virtue of its conceptual coefficient; and as truly relates it to the -rest of the rational universe, therein understanding and defining it. - -The derivation of the three heterologies elucidated in the three -chapters of the _Essai_, is the inevitable consequence of the -fundamental heterology of an “absolutely” two-fold universe. The -intensity of mental states could not be homogeneous, for Bergson, -the variousness that belongs to them could not be plural, their -organization could not be determinate, because then they would be -objective, _by his definition_ of objectivity. But why may a subjective -state not be an objective state? To the conceptualist, to whom these -terms are abstract concepts, points of view, discursive contexts, there -is no reason at all. To Professor Bergson, who does what he accuses -conceptualism of doing, namely substituting concepts for concrete -realities, it is a contradiction, for one concrete reality cannot be -another. But a concrete reality which, for a certain purpose and in a -certain context, one symbolizes by the term “subjective state,” may -very well be the same concrete reality which, for another purpose, one -symbolizes by the phrase “objective state.” - -We have seen that intensity which is “pure,” pure quality, is pure -nothing, being quality of nothing; since, if it is quality of -anything, it has its quantitative coefficient, which destroys its -purity. So variousness which is “pure” heterogeneity, is not even -various, but “nothing” again. For it is “interpenetrating” instead -of “juxtaposited” or impenetrable heterogeneity. But impenetrability -is just identity, as Bergson remarks;[150] it is a logical principle -rather than a physical law. That two bodies cannot occupy the same -space and time means that they would therein not be two, or coexistent. -Now, interpenetration in any rigorous sense, any but the loose -colloquial sense of small division and uniform diffusion, is the mere -contradiction of impenetrability or identity. It means that two bodies -do occupy the same space at the same time. If, then, this law of -interpenetration thus means to require (in the subject) the relation of -coexistence, and also (in the predicate) to forbid it--in other words, -if it is contradictory to itself--mental states can obey it no better -than pebbles. And, finally, non-quantitative causality is a third -contradiction, since its “pure” heterogeneity destroys its continuity -in time as well as in space (cf. above, page 93). - -How can any of these three pairs of heterologous principles of space -and time be “absolutely” different if, however different, each pair -have such essential community of nature that both must be called by -one name and thought under one category, as two species of the same -genus? For, in spite of all their differences, they are, throughout the -discussion, two kinds of intensity, of multiplicity, of causation. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -THE MYSTICAL YEARNING OF INTUITIONISM - - -I will conclude these comments on Professor Bergson’s teaching by -noting the mystical nature of the central idea of his epistemology, -the identification of subject and object. The yearning for a more -intimate acquaintance with the thing-in-itself, for a knowledge truer -and more searching than the “practical” and “useful” reactive relations -which we bear to our “phenomenal” objects--as if such experience were -unworthy the sacred name of knowledge--this, the prime aspiration -of the intuitional philosophy of Bergson, reduces to a futile, if -not a morbid, yearning after self-contradiction. The more you know a -thing “in itself,” the more you “internalize” your relation to it--in -short, the more you identify yourself with it--the less you bear any -significant relation to it at all, any relation, obviously, but that -of identity; the less, notably, you bear the active and cognitive -relations toward it. The indispensable condition of Paul’s knowing -Peter is that Paul should _not_ become Peter. Things can neither be -nor be conceived except in _some_ relations, any more than relations -without terms. If you know the thing in its relations, you know the -thing as much in itself as a thing is capable of _being_. - -“You show,” writes Professor Bergson, in the letter quoted before, -“that perfect intuitive knowledge, as I mean it, would consist in -coincidence with the object known; but that then there would no longer -be knowledge of any object, since only the object remains.--Yet, in the -case of an entirely free action, _i. e._ an act in which the entire -person takes part, one is _altogether_ in what he is doing; one has, -at the same time, consciousness of what he is doing; and yet he is not -duplicated in observing his own activity, absorbed as he is in the act -itself: here to act and to know (or rather to possess) are one and the -same thing. Intelligence, always outside of what it observes, cannot -conceive of knowledge without distinctness of subject and object. It is -intelligence that propounds your dilemma: ‘Either there is knowledge -of the object, hence distinctness of object and subject; or subject -coincides with object, and then there is only object: knowledge -vanishes.’--But reality does not accept this dilemma. It presents us, -in the case cited, subject and object as a single indivisible reality, -action and knowledge of the action as a single indivisible reality, of -which intelligence _subsequently_ takes two points of view, that of -object and that of subject, that of action without knowledge and that -of pure knowledge. We have no right to set up these _points of view_ of -reality as _constitutive elements_ of reality itself.” - -The last sentence accuses me of doing what I am most zealous to show is -the foundation fallacy of intuitionism! I have been contending that, -when Monsieur Bergson says that subjectivity cannot be objectified, -he is speaking as if “objectifying,” instead of meaning to take a -point of view, means to alter the reality symbolized by the word -“subjectivity.” (Of course the question concerns concrete cases of -subjectivity, the intuitionist contending that a given subjective state -cannot be objectified--_i. e._ named, defined, etc.) Now, this seems to -me precisely to “set up a point of view of reality as a constitutive -element of reality itself.” But intuitionism does even worse than this. -Having set up this point of view of reality, and treated it in this -concrete way, and worshipped it as the Absolute, it snubs that other -point of view, which, by the very nature of the genuinely concrete -reality, is coördinate with the deified abstraction, its brother and -peer. The object has “such reality as that of rest, which is the -negation of motion,” the absolute and positive; “yet it is not absolute -naught.” - -It seems to me that Bergson virtually admits the impossibility of -the coincidence of subject and object when he says that instinct and -intellect are neither possibly pure, which is deeply true. But then an -action “completely free” is only a limiting case, is it not?--a case -which would put the action out of relation and so out of activity? In a -certain obvious sense “the whole person takes part,” perhaps, in _any_ -action; but I cannot imagine any action or state that could be other -than a relation between object and subject. I cannot see how perfect -self-expression in one’s act makes in any degree for obliteration -of ontological distinctness between agent and patient, subject and -object. How may action be conceived to dispense with reaction? How deny -its relational character, then, without denying its activity--in short, -without contradiction? “Perfect self-expression” distinguishes certain -acts, no doubt, but the distinction is ethical, denoting a teleological -harmony, not a metaphysical identity between subject and object. - -To say that one _is_ completely one’s act and yet _knows_ his act again -confuses a relation with one of its terms. Is it merely a matter of -taste to choose to say that such a state--_i. e._ perfect absorption in -one’s act--is _not knowledge_ of the act just in so far as it is the -act? Is it not necessary to distinguish between the subject’s relation -to the act, on one hand, and to those things, on the other (which are -neither subject nor act) entering, together with the subject, into -the act? Those things, it seems to me, are the object, and the act -itself a relation between the subject and them, a relation which wears -a conscious as well as an active aspect, and which, as knowledge, is -knowledge of the things, not of the act, not of itself. - - - - -PART THREE - -BERGSON’S GENIUS - - - - -BERGSON’S GENIUS - - -Logical soundness is never amiss, and is notably desirable in a -philosopher; but Professor Bergson is assuredly right in thinking -that it is no measure of a philosopher’s genius. One’s feeling about -the fallacies of Spinoza and Berkeley and Kant may pale almost into -indifference, in the enthusiasm of following such heroic feats of -insight. - -But then, it would seem, their greatness is their _insight_, and not -their logic, and insight therefore, after all, is philosophical genius. - -We have seen that this is Professor Bergson’s conclusion. It can be -interpreted in a sense that is valid, of course: all depends on the -meaning of “insight.” I have insisted sufficiently on the reasons why -I cannot think Professor Bergson’s interpretation of it is valid. -It is a case in which the etymological and the actual meaning of a -word, in a certain context, differ and so give rise to ambiguity. The -word “intuition,” etymologically, means just “insight.” But then it -means consciousness functioning most completely, least abstractly. -Now, Bergsonian “intuition” is a conception so far from concrete -completeness that almost the primary object of his philosophy -is the demarcation of intuition from any actual state of which -consciousness is normally capable. It is true that Bergson insists -that consciousness, in a supernormal effort, is capable of the purely -intuitive act, and that in the capacity for this feat of knowing -lies all the hope of metaphysics. This is the ground principle of -Bergsonism, and I have nothing to add here, concerning its merits. In -a word, its fallacy is the fallacy of reification. No such feat of -consciousness is possible, not because it is more than the limited -power of actual mind can compass, but because it is a contradiction, -since it is consciousness without object, which is consciousness of -nothing. - -The Bergsonian will object that, if Bergsonian “intuition” is -abstract, no less abstract is intellect; and, if philosophy is -insight,--consciousness most complete,--the thesis contrary to -intuitionism, that philosophy is intellectual judgment, is a case -of the same fallacy that has been charged to intuitionism, and is -inconsistent with the admission that philosophy is essentially an -insight which involves more than intellect. - -The answer is first, that intellectualism, unlike intuitionism, regards -philosophy as indeed an abstract interest, and for that reason as not -separable from the living of a life which supports this interest in -a larger total interest; but, also for that reason, as not possibly -identical, either with life entire or with any interest, such as the -æsthetic, of like abstractness with philosophy. The answer to the -second part of the objection is that an insight which is more than -intellect is not for that reason without its intellectual aspect. -Consciousness is always significant, certainly; but if it has any -meaning, if it _is_ significant, it is, in that fact, intellectual. -And insight without meaning is a contradiction, and is assuredly not -philosophy. The appearance of inconsistency arises from the unconscious -identifying of insight with intuition in the falsely reified sense. -Insight in any such sense philosophy certainly is not. And yet the -intellectualist may properly attribute the greatness of a philosophy -to its insight rather than to its logical cogency, since cogent logic -may be dull and shallow and therefore not great. It is great if it is -far-seeing and deep. There is analytic insight, as well as intuitive. - -After all is said, the feeling that even serious lapse of logic may not -be sufficient to destroy the value of a great philosophy is not the -same as the opinion that logic is immaterial to that value. No one, I -dare say,--intuitionist, intellectualist or anyone else--ever thought -this. The genius of a great philosophy is a superior perspicacity -in the recognition of the significance of problems, a superior -discernment of the problematic as such. “The earliest philosophers” -says Professor James,[151] “... were just men curious beyond immediate -practical needs, and no particular problems, but rather the problematic -generally, was their specialty.” But the perspicacity which sees -the meaning and bearings of a problem cannot fail to attack its -further interpretation with a superior freshness and originality. -And the interpretation of a problem, carried to the end, is its -only solution. Genius in philosophy thus also turns into superior -richness of suggestion in the solutions which it invents. Inasmuch as -the problem-putting and the problem-solving processes are continuous -with each other, and in this important sense one and the same thing, -it should be expected that philosophical genius would possess both -virtues, in any actual instance. And no doubt this is the historical -fact. On any view it is suggestiveness, fertility, which is the measure -of philosophical genius. And it seems to the intellectualist that -the possibility of philosophical fertility depends on a discursive, -intellectual co-implication of the parts of the realm of truth. - -But although these two phases of philosophical genius--the -problem-putting and the problem-solving phases--have so intimate -a relation with each other, they can and do appear in different -emphases in different philosophers. The emphasis in any particular -case is undoubtedly determined in part from without, notably by -the philosopher’s epochal relations. Thales is greater, as well as -more momentous historically, in his _quest_ of an ἀρχή than in the -consummation of the quest. With Hegel’s material to work upon, the -emphasis in Thales’ genius would have been proportionately modified. -And if Bergson has not, like Thales, unearthed new problems, that is -nothing, for the question of the value of his work. - -Indeed, the historical momentousness of a philosophy is quite largely -independent of its intrinsic merit in either of these senses, or in -any sense. Conditions which contribute to the vogue and influence of a -philosophy are many, some obvious enough, others more recondite. The -question of historical momentousness is thus only partly germane to an -estimate of a philosophy’s own intrinsic worth; and, in the case of a -contemporary philosophy, is in the nature of things (while the history -is yet to be made) an almost unmitigated speculation. Such speculation -regarding Bergson is no part of the present purpose. - -One word more--before undertaking to appraise the genius of Bergson--as -to the motive of such an undertaking in this particular essay. It is -no part of the primary object of the essay. That object is the very -impersonal one of understanding his doctrine. If logical fallacies -are in any sense or degree irrelevant to the value of a philosophy, -it is nevertheless a method of studying a philosophical work which is -not without its value, to square it with logical principles. When -the philosophy under criticism is already a classic, the omission of -appreciative comment needs no apology, just because the merit of the -work is beyond dispute. On Platonism and on Kantism much valuable -light has been thrown in this severe way. In studies so occupied, -disquisition on the immortal inspiration of the vision bequeathed to -mankind in syllogisms which sometimes halt would not have enhanced the -value of the study. - -When our philosopher is a contemporary, the case is different in that -then personal predilection and prejudice are without the regulation -imposed by historical perspective; and injustice, even negative -or privative, either to the living philosopher or to his living -antagonists, has a certain human import of which the conditions are -removed with mere temporal remoteness of the subject of study, when -history has placed him in a setting which includes an “after” as well -as a “before.” - - * * * * * - -Professor A. D. Lindsay has pointed out[152] that, in one important -respect, Bergson’s genius is of the Kantian kind. It is capacity -for such interpretation of old problems that they become veritably -renewed. “It is a great and essential proof of cleverness or insight,” -said Kant, “to know how to ask reasonable questions.” Now, comments -Professor Lindsay (without suggesting any comparison in importance -between Kant and Bergson), there is this resemblance between them, -that much of the interest of Bergson’s work, as of Kant’s, consists -in statement and exposition of antinomies in philosophy. Like Kant’s, -Bergson’s philosophy is interesting because it is a new method, and, in -the same sense as Kant’s, is a critical philosophy, for it consists in -finding the main source of previous difficulties in uncriticized false -assumptions. - -Such criticism of the question (“interpretation of the problem” I -called it above) is just the proper business of the philosopher. For, -every question is also an unconditional assertion. Falseness in this -implied assertion is a case of the fallacy of “many questions,” which, -accordingly, may be regarded as the philosopher’s first concern. - -Bergson is a philosopher preeminently in this sense. He is a -philosopher also (in spite of the cavalier denial of Sir. E. Ray -Lankester)[153] in that he is a man with an articulate conviction -concerning the nature of being and of knowledge. In the aspersion -of Bergson’s thought by the above writer and by Mr. Hugh S. R. -Elliot,[154] there is a rancour which, in spite of much valid criticism -in detail, produces an impression of ill-regulated prejudice. - -This impression is no more than fairly counterbalanced by the contrary -enthusiasm of such whole-souled votaries of Bergsonism as Edouard -LeRoy, William James and H. Wildon Carr. - -“There is a thinker,” writes M. LeRoy, “who is deemed by acknowledged -philosophers worthy of comparison with the greatest.... Beyond any -doubt, and by common consent, Mr. Henri Bergson’s work will appear to -future eyes among the most characteristic, fertile and glorious of our -era. It marks a never-to-be-forgotten date in history; it opens up a -phase of metaphysical thought, it lays down a principle of development -the limits of which are indeterminable; and it is after cool -consideration, with full consciousness of the exact value of words, -that we are able to pronounce the revolution which it effects equal in -importance to that effected by Kant, or even by Socrates.”[155] It is -a “profoundly original doctrine.” And of endless fertility: “There is -no doctrine ... which is more open, and none which ... lends itself to -further extension.” Again: “... a doctrine which admits of infinite -development ... a work of such profound thought that the least passing -example employed takes its place as a particular study.”[156] And so on -_ad libitum_. - -These are the glowing words of an ardent disciple (even though not a -pupil) and may be expected to be not, after all, altogether regulated -by a “full consciousness of the exact value of words.” Such phrases -as “worthy of comparison with the greatest,” “beyond any doubt,” “by -common consent,” are pleasantly vague, and should not offend any -judgment that is not literal in season and out of season. As to the -Bergsonian “revolution,” it should offend no one at all who can put up -with an expression of purely speculative relish. So far, on the other -hand, as this revolution is accomplished fact in the prime of our -philosopher’s middle age, the mention of Socrates and Kant does savour -of the ornate! - -Bergson is at least preeminent over all other living philosophers as -the expression of a very revolutionary _Zeitgeist_. The generation -of Taine and Renan (LeRoy goes on to say) was characterized by the -positivistic presumption that any object whatever could be ‘inserted in -the thread of one and the same unbroken connection.’ But rationalistic -arrogance has never failed to arouse an answering voice of protest and -dissent; and of our own generation such anti-intellectualism is one -of the controlling ideas. It is primarily the reactionary conviction -that the analytic method of philosophy is abstract and empty. It is, -says LeRoy, a demand for “_complete_ experience, anxious to neglect -no aspect of being nor any resource of mind.” “Everything is regarded -from the point of view of life, and there is a tendency more and more -to recognize the primacy of spiritual activity.” “That the attitude -and fundamental procedure of this new spirit are in no way a return to -skepticism or a reaction against thought cannot be better demonstrated -than by this resurrection of metaphysics, this renaissance of idealism, -which is certainly one of the most distinctive features of our epoch.” -“But ... we wish to think with the whole of thought, and go to the -truth with the whole of our soul ... And what is that, really, but -realism? By realism I mean the gift of ourselves to reality, the work -of concrete realization ... to live what we think and think what we -live. But that is positivism, you will say; certainly it is positivism. -But how changed! For, from considering as positive only that which can -be an object of sensation or calculation, we begin by treating the -great spiritual realities with this title.” - -“A new philosophy was required to answer this new way of looking at -things. Already, in 1867, Ravaisson, in his celebrated _Report_, wrote -these prophetic lines: ‘Many signs permit us to forsee in the near -future a philosophical epoch of which the general character will be the -predominance of what may be called spiritualist realism or positivism, -having as generating principle the consciousness which the mind has in -itself of an existence recognized as being the source and support of -every other existence, being none other than its action.’ - -“... What Ravaisson had only anticipated, Mr. Bergson himself -accomplishes, with a precision which gives body to the impalpable and -floating breath of first inspiration, with a depth which renews both -proof and theses alike, with a creative originality which prevents the -critic who is anxious for justice and precision from insisting on any -researches establishing connection of thought.” - -“... Mr. Bergson has contributed more than anyone else to awaken -the very tendencies of the _milieu_ in which his new philosophy -is produced, to determine them and make them become conscious of -themselves.”[157] - -In the new and significant relation which LeRoy and others find in -Bergson to motives of thought so distinct as idealism, realism, and -positivism, he is a writer of the fertility of genius; in the skill of -his transfusion of these motives into a type of conception underlying a -very deep and widely extended tendency of the age, he is the foremost -expression of that tendency. In a very limited way, only, can such -enthusiasm as LeRoy’s, in a mind of his excellent discernment, be -reasonably discounted. Trimmed of all its abounding fervours its -fighting weight is still sufficiently impressive: how resonant to -motives and convictions of actually controlling interest that mind -must be which can elicit such response, needs no better proof than the -response itself. No one else is so well attuned as Bergson to that -demand for complete experience which, if anything, is the spirit of -our time. No one else has carried so far in theory the possibilities -of an intense instinctive living, as the answer to the riddle of the -universe. What can be said for instinct as an organ of philosophy, -Bergson has said. - -All philosophers of immediacy hold Bergson as chief. Carr, like LeRoy, -thinks Bergson’s doctrine as momentously original as those of the -greatest classics. “Great scientific discoveries,” he writes,[158] “are -often so simple that the greatest wonder about them is that humanity -has had to wait so long for them.” Thus with Berkeley’s “_esse est -percipi_” and Kant’s autonomy of the intellectual categories. And -equally so with Bergson’s interpretation of reality as life, “living -creative evolution,” as distinct both from solid matter and thinking -mind. - -James, while others find quite determinate differences between him -and Bergson, was far less cognizant, himself, of differences than of -agreement. He was one of the keenest of Bergsonians, and regarded -himself, certainly with a great deal of genial modesty, as a follower, -a disciple. “... if I had not read Bergson,” he says,[159] “I should -probably still be blackening endless pages of paper privately, in -the hope of making ends meet that were never meant to meet ... It -is certain that without the confidence which being able to lean -on Bergson’s authority gives me, I should never have ventured to -urge these particular views of mine ... In my opinion he has killed -intellectualism definitively and without hope of recovery.” - - * * * * * - -The quantity and quality of the study of Bergson’s problems by others, -which his own treatment of them has stimulated, is already an enviable -monument to that best quality of philosophic genius in his work, its -fertility of suggestion. Speaking, as the present writer must, from -the point of view of critical reaction, the value of Bergson is indeed -incalculable. This is no conventional phrase. His theoretical opponent -is almost inclined to feel that the stimulus which Bergson’s lucid -exposition affords, to a mind of contrary conviction, to understand -itself, must be a more precious good even than the quickening which his -followers so eloquently confess. - -The fact is that this eloquence is always more than eloquence; it -is a fervour almost like religious fervour. Witness the words just -quoted from James. Every true Bergsonian testifies in the same tone. -Thus LeRoy:[160] “Mr. Bergson’s readers will undergo at almost every -page they read an intense and singular experience. The curtain drawn -between ourselves and reality, enveloping everything, including -ourselves, in its illusive folds, seems of a sudden to fall, dissipated -by enchantment, and display to the mind depths of light till then -undreamt, in which reality itself, contemplated face to face for the -first time, stands fully revealed. The revelation is overpowering, and, -once vouchsafed, will never afterwards be forgotten. - -“Nothing can convey to the reader the effects of this direct and -intimate mental vision. Everything which he thought he knew already -finds new birth and vigor in the clear light of morning; on all hands, -in the glow of dawn, new intuitions spring up and open out; we feel -them big with infinite consequences, heavy and saturated with life. -Each of them is no sooner blown than it appears fertile forever. And -yet there is nothing paradoxical or disturbing in the novelty. It is a -reply to our expectation, an answer to some dim hope.... - -“... whether, in the long run, we each of us give or refuse complete -or partial adhesion, all of us at least have received a regenerating -shock, an internal upheaval ... henceforth a new leaven works and -ferments in us; we shall no longer think as we used to think.” As for -the attitude of mind proper to bring to the reading of Bergson, “where -the end is to understand rather than to judge, criticism ought to take -second place. It is more profitable to attempt to feel oneself into the -heart of the teaching, to relive its genesis, to perceive the principle -of organic unity, to come at the mainspring. Let our reading be a -course of meditation which we live.” - -And Gaston Rageot: “... the reading of a work of Bergson’s requires at -the very beginning a sort of inner catastrophe; not everyone is capable -of such a logical revolution.”[161] A little further on he speaks of -this preparation of the mind to receive the Bergsonian doctrine as -“_cette volte-face psychologique_.” - -Conversion to Bergsonism, indeed, suggests religious conversion. -Compare James’ words with the above. “... if, as Bergson shows, [the -conceptual or discursive form of reality] cannot even pretend to reveal -anything of what life’s inner nature is or ought to be; why, then we -can turn a deaf ear to its accusations. The resolve to turn the deaf -ear is the inner crisis or ‘catastrophe’ of which [M. Rageot] spoke -... [This] comes very hard. It is putting off our proud maturity of -mind and becoming again as foolish little children in the eyes of -reason. But difficult as such a revolution is, there is no other way, I -believe, to the possession of reality.”[162] - -Is not this experience very suggestive of the “regeneration” of -Christianity? I think it is, indeed; and I think this fact is -suggestive of the essential nature of Bergsonism. One may turn a deaf -ear to reason, one may execute a _volte-face psychologique_; but, -whatever the rewards, it seems unlikely (to the unregenerate, of -course!) that among them will be included a better comprehension of the -_meaning_ of reality. - - - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[92] _Creative Evolution_ p. 176. I have italicized “reflecting” and -“object” to indicate the contradiction of “instinct.” And since, for -Bergson, intuition is philosophic consciousness, this reflectiveness -which he imputes to it is no accident, no inadvertence. Intuition must, -indeed, in order to be philosophic, be reflective; that is to say, it -must absolutely contradict its own nature. (In all of the references -to Bergson’s works, the pages mentioned are those of the English -translation.) - -[93] See especially _Creative Evolution_, pp. 191-2 and 266. - -[94] Cf. R. B. Perry’s _Present Philosophical Tendencies_, the first -two sections of Chapter XI. - -[95] J. W. Scott, _Pessimism of Bergson, Hibbert Journal_. XI. 90-116. -See also below p. 94. - -[96] _Creative Evolution_, p. xi. - -[97] _Journal of Philosophy, Psychology and Scientific Methods._ Volume -V. No. 22 - -[98] Cf. the second sentence of the present essay. - -[99] _Henri Bergson: The Philosophy of Change_, p. 14. - -[100] This title has been given to the English translation of the -_Essai sur les donnes_, etc. - -[101] Possibly this representation of Leibniz’s thought requires a -word of explanation. Leibniz expresses the nature of reality in terms -of force, on one hand, and of consciousness on the other. The monad or -elemental reality is a unit of perception and also a unit of force. -It is a living unit; as in Bergsonism, reality is life, though life -in Leibniz’s philosophy is ultimately plural instead of a simple -impetus. It is true that will is not a characteristic Leibnizian term, -but existence is always, I think, conceived by him very clearly as -_conation_. The self-realization of the monad is at the same time an -intensification of its perceptiveness and of its dynamic. Cf. the -following passages from Rogers’ _Student’s History of Philosophy_, -pp. 307-8: “Leibniz was led by various motives to substitute, for -extension, _power of resistance_, as the essential quality of -matter.... But when, instead of extension, we characterize matter as -_force_, a means of connection [between matter and mind] is opened up. -For force has its analogue in the conscious life; corresponding to the -activity of matter is conscious activity or will. Indeed, are there any -positive terms in which we can describe the nature of force, unless we -conceive it as identical with that conscious activity which we know -directly in ourselves?” This activity, then, “Is at bottom, when we -interpret it, a spiritual or perceptual activity.” In short, it is will. - -Leibniz is properly regarded as the first modern spiritualist. -Leibnizian matter is real, if you like, but then it is continuous, and -of essentially identical nature, with spirit. Matter is spirit in a -low stage of development. Bergson has no such clear and unambiguous -conception of matter as this, when you consider the whole or his -doctrine; but there are passages in Bergson which might almost have -been written by Leibniz himself. For instance: ... “if, in fact, the -humblest function of spirit is to bind together the successive moments -of the duration of things, if it is by this that it comes into contact -with matter and by this also that it is first of all distinguished from -matter, we can conceive an infinite number of degrees between matter -and fully developed spirit--a spirit capable of action which is not -only undetermined, but also reasonable and reflective.” (_Matter and -Memory_, pp. 295-6.) - -[102] There is a good discussion of this point in an article reviewing -the _Essai_, by L. Levy-Bruhl, in the _Revue Philosophique_, Vol. XXIX -(1890), pp. 513-538. - -[103] Cf. below, pp. 57, 58. - -[104] Pages 72, 73, 97. Professor Perry’s analysis of the conception of -immediacy (_Present Philosophical Tendencies_, Chapter X) has a result -that is similar in principle to the above. - -[105] _Op. cit._, p. 525. - -[106] _Time and Free Will_, pp. 118-119. - -[107] But Bergson apparently does not see that even the word -“interpenetrate” falls to express anything radically different -in temporal “multiplicity” from a certain character of spatial -multiplicity. Cf. pp. 62, 101. In this, as in all its argument, -intuitionism arguing is inevitably intuitionism contradicting itself. -It is ineffable philosophy (see _Journal of Philosophy, Psychology and -Scientific Methods_, Vol. IV, p. 123.) - -[108] The living ego is a fact-in-the-accomplishing. You cannot really -discourse about it! If psychology ever seems to manage this (and if -this present book of Bergson’s seems to manage it), the ego discoursed -about is, in that fact, proven to be not the concrete and living ego at -all, but the impersonal and objective one. - -[109] The attitude, that is, of intuition, which we have called the -temporal attitude. The terms “spatial,” “logical,” “conceptual,” -applied here so often to the word “thought,” are epithets of thought -generally. There is no thought, in any meaning of the word more -specific than “consciousness,” that is not logical, conceptual and -spatial in this Bergsonian sense. - -If we cannot conceptualize our psychic facts, we cannot think them, -then--the meaning is the same. But if we say that anything (which we -name and, in the saying, define and think) is unnamable, indefinable -and cannot be thought, we contradict ourselves. The doctrine, if true, -must mean something that is not a self-contradiction. Does it mean -that what we name and discourse about is only the spatialized symbol -of the psychic fact? There can be little doubt. I think, that this is -Bergson’s meaning; but then the psychic fact is of such a nature as -to be symbolized; and the distinction between a symbol and a name, by -virtue of which a thing which can be symbolized may not be namable, -requires explanation. - -[110] _Present Philosophical Tendencies_, pp. 232-4. - -[111] Pp. 42, 43. Cf. also below, p. 93. - -[112] _Op. cit._, p. 128. - -[113] _Time and Free Will_, p. 98. - -[114] _Time and Free Will_, p. 113. - -[115] Cf. above, p. 58. - -[116] In order to give any meaning to the term “compenetrating” -or “interpenetration” (which I take to be mutually equivalent, in -Bergson’s use), I am compelled to interpret them as synonymous with -the “compactness” of a continuum--as synonymous. In fact, with -“continuity.” Bergson does not make clear how these terms can mean -anything else (cf. below, p. 101.) - -[117] Bergson himself, of course, is perfectly aware--_in other -connections_--of the continuity of space! - -[118] _Creative Evolution_, p. 1. - -[119] _Ibid._, p. 4. - -[120] _Ibid._, p. 208. - -[121] _Ibid._, p. 248. - -[122] _Ibid._, p. 247. - -[123] _Jour. Phil. Psy. and Sci. Meth._, Vol. V, No. 22. - -[124] _Creative Evolution_, p. 251. - -[125] _Ibid._, p. 269. - -[126] Cf. Perry’s comment, _Present Philosophical Tendencies_, p. 235. - -[127] _Creative Evolution_, p. 175. - -[128] _Ibid._, p. 144. - -[129] _Ibid._, pp. 176, 177. - -[130] _Matter and Memory_, pp. 6, 7. - -[131] _Ibid._, p. 8. - -[132] _Ibid._, p. 10. - -[133] Hugh S. R. Elliot’s _Modern Science and the Illusions of -Professor Bergson_, pp. 98 ff. - -[134] _Une theorie nouvelle de la liberte (Les donnees immediates)_, in -the _Revue Philosophique_, Vol. XXIX (1890), pp. 361-392. - -[135] _Op. cit._, p. 368. - -[136] The feeling of guilt, and, so, of responsibility and freedom, can -be crushing in dreams, as anyone knows who is given to appearing in -dream public indecently clothed, or not clothed at all. - -[137] _Time and Free Will_, p. 158. - -[138] _Matter and Memory_, p. x: also an article entitled _Le -paralogisme psycho-physiologique_ in the _Revue de Metaphysique et -de Morale_, Vol. XII (1904), pp. 895-908. This article is also in -the _Rapports et comptes rendus du deuxieme congres international de -philosophie_, 1905, Part I. - -[139] The causal relation between mental and cerebral states--_i. e._ -interaction--would be an alternative “condition of freedom;” but this -relation is included in Bergson’s denial of any sort of correspondence -or equivalence (such as the quantitative equivalence of causation) -between states of brain and states of mind. - -[140] _Time and Free Will_, p. 34. - -[141] _Ibid._, p. 172. - -[142] _Ibid._, p. 208. - -[143] _Ibid._, p. 215. - -[144] _Time and Free Will_, p. 83. - -[145] _Present Philosophical Tendencies_, Chapter X, section 6. - -[146] _A Pluralistic Universe_, p. 236. Quoted from Professor Perry’s -work, named above. - -[147] _Creative Evolution_, p. 3. - -[148] The analogy holds even in the oppositeness of direction in which -the evanishment, in the limiting cases, occurs (cf. above, pp. 72, 80). - -[149] Cf. Perry’s analysis of subjective privacy, in Chapter XII of -_Present Philosophical Tendencies_. - -[150] _Time and Free Will_, p. 88. - -[151] _Some Problems of Philosophy_, p. 10. - -[152] _The Philosophy of Bergson_, pp. 1, 2, 3. - -[153] _Modern Science and the Illusions of Professor Bergson_, pp. vii, -viii. - -[154] _Op. cit., passim._ - -[155] _The New Philosophy of Henri Bergson_, pp. 1 and 2. - -[156] _Ibid._, pp. 120, 230. - -[157] _Op. cit._, pp. 128 ff. - -[158] _Henri Bergson: The Philosophy of Change_, p. 12. - -[159] _A Pluralistic Universe_, pp. 214, 215. - -[160] _Op. cit._, pp. 3, 4, 5, 6. - -[161] _Revue Philosophique_, Ann. 32, No. 7 (July 1907), p. 85. - -[162] _Op. cit._, pp. 272-3. - - - - - BULLETIN OF THE UNIVERSITY OF KANSAS - HUMANISTIC STUDIES - - _Vol. I_ _May 15, 1914_ _No. 3_ - - - BROWNING AND - ITALIAN ART AND ARTISTS - - BY - - PEARL HOGREFE, A. M. - - _Instructor in Mansfield College, Mansfield, Louisiana_ - - - LAWRENCE, MAY, 1914 - PUBLISHED BY THE UNIVERSITY - - - - - To G. A. L. - - WHO MADE POSSIBLE MY - COLLEGE AND UNIVERSITY TRAINING - - - - -PREFACE - - -This paper has been prepared with the understanding that while much has -been printed concerning a few individual art poems of Browning, such as -_Abt Vogler_, _Andrea del Sarto_ and _Fra Lippo Lippi_, no complete, -systematic survey of the place of Italian art in Browning’s text has -appeared; and in the belief that such a survey might be worth while. - -Much of Browning’s treatment of art is of course omitted in the -discussion; for he introduces art data from other countries than Italy, -and has much to say of the nature and purpose of art in general. - -Within the limits chosen, the purpose has been to make a practically -complete survey for each of the five fine arts, sculpture, music, -poetry, architecture and painting, in the order here given. The attempt -has also been made, based on data from letters and biographies, to -trace to some extent the chronological perspective of Browning’s -interest in the individual arts, and to indicate the apparent sources -of that interest. Chapter VII deals with “comparative aesthetics” -(within the limits of our title), the poetic values Browning finds in -the arts, the causes determining the relative emphasis upon each art, -and the relations of these data to Browning’s dominant concern as a -poet--human personality. - -That the study has been brought to its present form is due, in part, -to help and encouragement given by Professor S. L. Whitcomb. The -manuscript has been carefully read by Professor D. L. Patterson and -Professor Margaret Lynn. The former has given valuable suggestions -concerning the historical aspects of the paper, and the latter, -helpful criticism based on her special knowledge of Browning’s text. -To these three instructors in the University of Kansas, and to all -others who have given assistance, including fellow students, a grateful -acknowledgement of indebtedness is here made. - - PEARL HOGREFE. - Mansfield, Louisiana, - May 1, 1914. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER I - Browning’s General Interest in Art. - - I. Subject Matter of Browning’s Poems 9 - II. Interest in Music 10 - III. Relation to Painting 10 - IV. Relation to Sculpture 12 - V. Significance of the Preceding Sections 12 - VI. Time Spent in Italy 13 - VII. English Knowledge of Italian Art in Browning’s Time 13 - VIII. Non-English Themes and Settings in General 14 - IX. A Quantitative Statement 14 - - - CHAPTER II - Italian Sculpture in the Poems of Browning. - - I. General Statement 15 - II. Historical Scope 16 - III. Poetic Functions of the References to Sculpture 17 - IV. Source of Browning’s Knowledge 22 - - - CHAPTER III - Italian Music in the Poems of Browning. - - I. General Statement 23 - II. Catholic Hymns 23 - III. Poetic Functions of the References to Music 24 - IV. Lack of Modern Italian References 26 - V. Conformity to Facts 27 - VI. Source of Browning’s Knowledge 27 - - - CHAPTER IV - Italian Poetry in the Poems of Browning. - - I. General Statement 29 - II. Predominance in Early Poems 29 - III. Sordello 30 - IV. The Imaginary Poets 30 - V. The Italian as the Type of Failure 31 - VI. Italian Men of Letters: Dante 32 - VII. Other Real Writers 33 - VIII. Browning’s Knowledge of Italian Literature 33 - IX. Browning’s Interest in Italian Literature 34 - - - CHAPTER V - Italian Architecture in the Poems of Browning. - - I. General Statement 35 - II. Source of Browning’s Knowledge 36 - III. Importance of Architecture in the Poems 37 - IV. Comparison with Other Writers 38 - V. Architecture and Personality 39 - - - CHAPTER VI - Italian Painting in the Poems of Browning. - - I. General Statement 40 - II. Extent of Browning’s Knowledge 40 - III. Irregular Distribution of References 41 - IV. Sources of the Poems 42 - V. Poetic Functions of the References to Painting 44 - VI. Conformity to History 47 - - - CHAPTER VII - General Comparisons: Browning and the Fine Arts of Italy. - - I. Poetic Function and Method 48 - II. Amount of Material Used from Each of the Fine Arts 49 - III. Personality and the Arts 52 - IV. Browning as the Poet of Humanity 54 - - - APPENDIX - - I. Poems Containing Reference to Italian Art 55 - II. Tabulation of References to Individual Arts: - Sculpture 56 - Music 58 - Poetry 60 - Architecture 61 - Painting 66 - - Index 75 - - - - -CHAPTER I - -BROWNING’S GENERAL INTEREST IN ART. - - -I. SUBJECT MATTER OF BROWNING’S POEMS.--Three prominent facts -concerning the subjects of Browning’s poetry are: the comparative -insignificance of nature, the extensive treatment of art, and the -predominance of the human soul. Only a few poems contain any extended -reference to nature; and where such reference is found, nature is -usually treated, as in _By the Fireside_, for its effect on human -beings, and the soul still remains the dominant subject. Nature for -its own sake is never a supreme concern. It is never considered as -a primary moral force, akin to a personality, as in Wordsworth. The -loveliness of nature is never personified for the sake of its own -sensuous beauty, as in Keats or Shelley. _Pauline_, a youthful effort -of which Browning later became ashamed, was written under the influence -of Shelley, and approaches the style of that poet in the prominence -and beauty of its nature descriptions; but no such examples of pure -nature descriptions are found in Browning’s mature work. Several -of the well-known longer poems--_Pippa Passes_, _Christmas-Eve and -Easter-Day_, _The Flight of the Duchess_, for example--as well as -other shorter lyrical poems, contain the nature element; but it is -comparatively slight, and usually introduced for harmony, for contrast, -or to give a mere unshaded background for the characters. - -Concerning the predominance of the soul in Browning, every critic of -the poet has written. It does not seem necessary to repeat any of this -familiar criticism here. However, the emphasis placed upon personality -and the soul does have a bearing on the discussion of Italian arts and -artists as found in Browning. For personality is the dominant factor -behind Browning’s selection and treatment of the Italian arts. Those -arts in which personality is strongest he uses most. The poems having -some one of the arts as a main theme usually had their origin in an -interest aroused by some unique personality. Some further discussions -of the relations of art and personality will be found in each of the -five following chapters devoted to the individual arts; and more -extended discussion is given in the general summary of Chapter VII. - -Concerning Browning’s treatment of art, numerous articles have been -written; but they are limited for the most part to consideration -of one art or one poem. Browning, however, is the poet not of any -one art but of art in general and of all the arts. Throughout life -he was interested in more than one art and in spite of the seeming -improbability of his ever having had serious doubts on the subject, it -is stated[163] that he was long undecided whether to become a poet, -a musician, or a painter. He might, says his biographer, have become -an artist and perhaps a great one, because of his brilliant general -ability and his special gifts. - - -II. INTEREST IN MUSIC.--As a child, Browning received a musical -education and became a pianist of some ability. His appreciation of -music was further cultivated, during his young manhood, by attendance -at the best concerts and operas which London afforded. Beethoven seems -to be the composer mentioned most frequently in biographical sketches -and in his letters, a fact which may indicate his preference in music. -During the latter years of his married life, according to letters by -Mrs. Browning, he took charge of the musical education given to their -son, Wiedemann. So far as appreciation of Italian music and attendance -at concerts in Italy are concerned, he seems to have been little -interested. But again in the years following 1873, while Browning was -in London, he was in frequent attendance at musical concerts. His -interest in music, then, was no intermittent fancy. It was constant and -above the average. If any further proof of his interest in music were -needed, it is found in the influence of that interest upon his poems; -for they show a finer appreciation of music and a greater knowledge of -its technique than those of any other writer. - - -III. RELATION TO PAINTING.--A knowledge of painting and a liking for -it as well, were cultivated in Browning’s earliest years, through the -medium of the Dulwich Gallery. Though it is probably impossible to -trace the exact influence of this gallery on his writings, it may be -suggested as the source of references to Italian art before his visits -to Italy, and as the original stimulus of his interest in the subject. -At least, the Dulwich Gallery was only a pleasant walk from his home, -and there his father constantly took him.[164] There “he became -familiar with the names of the great painters and learned something -about their works. Later he became a familiar figure in one or two -London studios.” - -Whatever the cause of a certain decline of interest in painting -previous to 1841 may have been, that decline was of short duration. -Probably it was due to the increasing attention he was giving to -poetry as a serious occupation. When he began to feel himself better -established in his poetical career, he returned to his interest in the -sister art. A letter which he wrote to Miss Haworth (probably in 1841) -says that he is coming to love painting again as he did once in earlier -years. In the same letter he speaks of his early efforts at the age of -two years and three months, and characterizes himself as a wonderful -painter in his childhood; but he adds, “as eleven out of every twelve -of us are.” Such a remark, while it shows an early interest in art, and -indicates that his fond relatives may have considered him a youthful -prodigy in art, as fond relatives have a habit of doing on slight -premises, implies that he himself did not consider his artistic ability -seriously. - -Browning’s interest in painting, as well as in sculpture, was retained -throughout his life. On September 19, 1846, Mr. and Mrs. Robert -Browning set sail for Italy; and from that time on, the wife’s letters -are full of references to her husband’s interest in art. In a letter -from Pisa dated November 5, 1846, she says she means to know something -of pictures; for Robert does, and he will open her eyes for her. -Here at Pisa, she continues, the first steps in art, for her, are -to be taken. A letter dated October 1, 1847, mentions their friend, -Mr. Powers, the American sculptor. Mr. Story, another sculptor; Mr. -Kirkup, the art connoisseur; Fredrick Leighton; a French sculptress -named Mme. de Fauveau; Gibson; Page; a Mr. Fisher, who was painting the -portraits of Mr. Browning and Wiedemann; Mr. Wilde, an American artist; -and Harriet Hosmer--all these artists are named as acquaintances of -the literary Brownings who were stay-at-home people in Florence. Many -letters also mention trips to certain places where individual pictures -were seen, such as “a divine picture of Guercino” (August 1848), -Domenichino’s “David” at Fano (August, 1848), and the works of Guido -Reni, Da Vinci, the Carracci, and Correggio. - -Although Browning never had a course of thorough instruction in art, -he gave some attention to drawing during the reaction from literary -work that followed the publication of _Men and Women_, in 1855. A -letter from Mrs. Browning to her old friend, Mrs. Jameson, dated May 2, -1856, gives the story. After thirteen days application on the part of -her husband, she tells us, he produced some really astonishingly good -copies of heads, though his purpose was only to fill in the pause in -his literary career. Then Mrs. Browning adds: “And really, with all his -feeling and knowledge of art, some of the mechanical trick of it can -not be out of place.” - - -IV. RELATION TO SCULPTURE.--A similar though less conspicuous interest -in sculpture[165] was maintained through Browning’s entire career. The -first mention of it in either letters or poems is found in a letter of -1838, to Miss Haworth, in which the statement concerning Canova implies -disappointment and previous expectation. _Sordello_, 1840, contains the -first reference found in a poem; and from that time on, some references -are found with a considerable degree of regularity in both poems and -letters. While the interest was not great compared with that taken in -painting, it was fairly continuous. No mention of Italian sculpture is -found in the poems of Browning after the publication of _The Ring and -the Book_, in 1868-9; though references to the art of Greece, the great -home of sculpture, occur frequently. - -In 1860, a letter from Mrs. Browning says that her husband has begun -modeling under the direction of Mr. Story at his studio. She speaks of -his progress, of his turning his studies in anatomy to account, and of -the fact that he had already copied two busts--those of young Augustus, -and of Psyche. At this time he was working six hours a day at modeling. -“His habit,” says Mrs. Browning, “was to work by fits and starts”; and -as in the case of drawing, he had undertaken work in sculpture until -his mind should be ready again for poetical work. - - -V. SIGNIFICANCE OF THE PRECEDING SECTIONS.--Many other statements -showing an appreciation of the arts are found in the biographies and -letters of the Brownings. Of these, some details will be mentioned -later, in connection with the treatment of each separate art. Only such -facts have been noted here as tend to establish the basis on which our -discussion is built--namely, that Browning had a great and continuous -interest in the fine arts and that it is only reasonable to expect a -considerable amount of knowledge and appreciation of them to appear in -his writings. Our final conclusions will concern _personality_ as the -source of Browning’s interest in the arts. - - -VI. TIME SPENT IN ITALY.--The amount of time spent by Robert Browning -in Italy is a further reason for expecting Italian art themes in his -writings. In 1838, at the age of twenty-six, he made his first trip to -Italy; and in 1844 he was again there, from August or September until -December. In 1846, Robert and Elizabeth Barrett Browning went to Italy -to live, and excepting intervals for trips to France and England, were -there until the death of the latter in 1861. For several years after -this, Browning spent most of his time in England. In 1878, however, he -returned to Northern Italy; and of his eleven remaining years, seven -autumns were spent in Venice, until his death there in 1889. - - -VII. ENGLISH KNOWLEDGE OF ITALIAN ART IN BROWNING’S TIME.--In spite of -the fact that Browning spent so much time in Italy, the space given -to Italian art in his poems is remarkable because so little was known -of that subject in England at that time. Vasari’s rambling, gossipy, -and sometimes inaccurate biographies may have been known in England at -this time. Even if so, Browning, at least, seems not to have become -acquainted with them until the years of his residence in Italy; for a -letter written in 1847 by Mrs. Browning to Horne, says that they are -engaged in reading Vasari. - -During the nineteenth century, the history of art began to assume a -more important place as a distinct branch of general history. The -century was well advanced, however, when the first complete work in -this subject appeared--Kugler’s _Handbook of the History of Art_. -It was not translated from the German until 1855, when the part -referring to Italy was published in an English translation by Sir -Charles Eastlake. (Many of Browning’s best art poems were published -in 1855, and some of them previous to that time.) Taking this work -as the beginning of modern treatment of art history, and noting the -fact that the next work of importance referring to Italian art -alone and treating it from the historical standpoint was published -by Crowe and Cavalcaselle in 1876, it is evident that nothing like -the present general knowledge of it could have existed in England in -Browning’s time. Certainly this makes his treatment of art history, -particularly the facility with which he presents the tendencies of -different periods, more remarkable than similar attainment would be in -more recent times. Even with the added knowledge resulting from recent -investigations, no other writer has been able to produce such perfect -poems of the musician or the painter as Browning has built about Fra -Lippo Lippi, or the Italian by adoption, Abt Vogler.[166] - - -VIII. NON-ENGLISH THEMES AND SETTINGS IN GENERAL.--The Italian -element is only one result, though a very significant result, of a -general tendency on the part of Browning to choose poetic subjects of -non-English character. From the Orient,[167] from Greece,[168] from -France,[169] from any region, in fact, which pleased his fancy, however -remote, he levied his contributions. With this general non-English -tendency, it is not surprising that in Italy, where he spent so much -time, he found material for every sort of poem from _Fra Lippo Lippi_ -to _Luria_ and _The Ring and the Book_, and that he should shape his -material into poems with much of the atmosphere of Italy, the home of -the arts. - - -IX. A QUANTITATIVE STATEMENT.--As a matter of fact, the supposition -that Browning’s poetry embodies a large amount of Italian art reference -is correct. Forty-nine poems out of two hundred and twenty-two, or more -than one-fifth of the entire number, have some mention of one or more -of the arts or artists of Italy, while other poems deal with the arts -of other nations or with a general comparison of the arts. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -ITALIAN SCULPTURE IN THE POEMS OF BROWNING. - - -I. GENERAL STATEMENT.--While forty-nine out of a total of two hundred -twenty-two poems by Robert Browning refer to some one of the five fine -arts--sculpture, music, poetry, architecture, and painting--only eight -mention sculpture; and the references in these poems are comparatively -insignificant. No one poem deals with sculpture as a theme, nor does -any sculptor express his views of the art in dramatic monologue, as -Abt Vogler does for music, and Fra Lippo Lippi for painting. Reasons -for the preponderance of the other arts will be discussed later, in -connection with further suggestions concerning personality and its -relations to art in Browning’s poetry. - -It is often difficult to estimate separately Browning’s treatment of -sculpture and painting, since he discusses the two arts together in -several of his poems (for example, _Old Pictures in Florence_) and -since many important Italian artists were both painters and sculptors. -However, the predominant art of the man in question, or the art which -Browning emphasizes most in connection with him, has been taken as -a basis for classification. Estimating in this manner, one finds -that the poet refers, in the eight poems, to seven artists--Niccolo -Pisano and Giovanni Pisano, Canova, Ghiberti, Giovanni da Bologna, -Baccio Bandinelli and Bernini--all of historical interest. Claus -of Innsbruck (in _My Last Duchess_), and Jules (in _Pippa Passes_) -with his companion art students, are purely imaginary. Reference is -made to seven historical works of sculpture: the Psiche-fanciulla -and Pietà of Canova, the statue of Duke Ferdinand, John of the -Black Bands, Pasquin’s statue, the Fountain of the Tritons, and the -Bocca-dell’-Verità. Three fictitious pieces of sculpture which are -named are also introduced, besides a number of imaginary unnamed works. - -Such references to sculpture as exist in the poems seem to conform -entirely to the facts of history, where there is any pretense of -historical accuracy. Sculpture is so unimportant a feature of most of -the poems that there was certainly very little temptation to enlarge on -the facts for dramatic purposes, or for any other reason. - - -II. HISTORICAL SCOPE.--It is improbable that Browning consciously, -or unconsciously either, for that matter, decided to treat different -periods of sculpture until he had covered the historical field, or that -he ever selected any one phase of this art with so general a purpose in -mind. In certain cases he chose some event or characteristic feature of -a period, and before he had finished the poem referred to a sculptor, -or to the condition of the art at that time, as one of the details in -a realistic background for his picture of the times. Nevertheless he -has accomplished, without any definite purpose, a result similar to a -brief historical survey of sculpture in Italy; his references showing -relation to practically every important period of the art. - -The first reference to sculpture is in _Sordello_ (1840), where the -lines concerning the Pisani (Book I, l. 574) characterize the art of -Sordello’s time as just dawning into the Renaissance. In _Pippa Passes_ -(1841) the poet, passing over something like five hundred years’ -development, brings before the reader a picture of nineteenth century -art life among students in Italy. _My Last Duchess_ (1842) deals with -the decadent Renaissance, while _The Bishop orders his Tomb at St. -Praxed’s Church_ (1845) presents a faithful picture of the same period. -In _Christmas-Eve and Easter-Day_ (1850), the pendulum swings backward -to the early days of Christianity, when the church Fathers abhorred the -physical beauty of their art inheritance from Greece. _The Statue and -the Bust_ (1855) relates events of the sixteenth century also; but they -are such as have no historical significance in a chronological way, and -could just as readily have happened in the thirteenth or the nineteenth -century. _Old Pictures in Florence_ (1855) has the early masters as its -theme, with another reference to Niccolo Pisano, the first Renaissance -sculptor, though the poem concerns itself mainly with architecture and -painters. _The Ring and the Book_ (1868-69) can hardly be said to deal -with any particular period in art history. - -Chronological order is not followed, nor is there any reason in the -logic or emotion of poetry why such order should obtain. Whether one -denies or affirms on the question of poetical inspiration, one is -compelled to admit that the practice in the past has not been to follow -set formulas of time or place. No poet, unless it be a pedantic one -whose work would fail utterly in spontaneity, would read history and -write a poem on each period as he read. - -The diagram below indicates that Browning’s work was no exception to -the normal procedure. - - - 1. Early Art........................e...... - 2. Dawn of Renaissance...a........./.\...g. - 3. Height of Renaissance..\......./...\f/.. - 4. Decadent Renaissance....\..c__/d........ - 5. Modern..................b\/............. - - - a. _Sordello_--1840. - b. _Pippa Passes_--1841. - c. _My Last Duchess_--1842. - d. _The Bishop orders his Tomb_--1845. - e. _Christmas-Eve and Easter-Day_--1850. - f. _The Statue and the Bust_--1855. - g. _Old Pictures in Florence_--1855. - - -III. POETIC FUNCTIONS OF THE REFERENCES TO SCULPTURE.--Of the function -of portraying the times, _Sordello_ gives an example. Browning became -interested in the thirteenth-century troubadour, and then in his -historical surroundings. In working out the social medium in which -Sordello was to live and move, Browning named the Pisan Brothers to -illustrate the sculptural conditions at the time--one of those numerous -small details of which the ordinary reader is scarcely conscious, which -are yet extremely important in making a perfect word picture. He spoke -of Sordello as-- - - ... “Born just now, - With the new century, beside the glow - And efflorescence out of barbarism; - Witness a Greek or two from the abysm - That stray through Florence-town with studious air, - Calming the chisel of that Pisan pair: - If Nicolo should carve a Christus yet!” - -While the entire passage is carefully subordinated to the main purpose -of studying Sordello, it also clearly pictures the dawn of the -Renaissance light upon sculpture. - -_The Bishop orders his Tomb at St. Praxed’s Church_, and _My Last -Duchess_, deal with characteristics of their times; but in neither -case is sculpture used as a mere detail in the picture. Because of the -extensive art treatment in each, the two will be discussed together -under the head of Renaissance decadence.[170] - -Besides being important enough in itself to deserve somewhat extensive -treatment, the art element in _Pippa Passes_ is notable because it -marks the only instance in which Browning concerns himself with the -life of modern art students. He certainly did did not begin the poem -with the intention of making the artists a theme, nor did he attain -any such unexpected result. Instead he began with the thematic idea -of the power in unconscious influence, and through four sections of -this dramatic poem developed this idea by recording the effects of the -song of Pippa, upon murderers, an art student, a fanatical patriot -and a scheming bishop. About one-fourth of the poem deals directly -with the student life of artists. Canova, who is frequently mentioned, -represents the ideal of sculpture; and Jules, the young student who is -seeking to attain. In contrast to Jules, the idealist, is the group -of evil-minded students who induce him to marry a model, under the -impression that she is a cultured Greek woman. It is Browning’s best -example of the “other side,” as illustrated by the group of plotting -would-be artists. This is the only example in all of Browning’s poetry -(with the exception of _A Soul’s Tragedy_) in which the poet descends -to the level of prose as a medium of speech, and here it is used by -knaves and villains. All the crude reality of life among low-minded -students, their jealousy of one with higher ideals than their own, the -poet gives us in detail by means of their prose speeches; returning to -blank verse, however, for the ideals of Jules and the aspirations of -Phene’s awakening soul. Love of personality, that great guide to the -appreciation of Browning from whatever position we approach him, and -the possibilities of human development, are written large throughout -his works. Nowhere are these ideas in relation to art more clearly -expressed than in the words of Jules. An artist of the highest ideals, -he has just realized through the singing of Pippa, that a woman’s soul -is in his keeping. He meditates: - - “Shall to produce form out of unshaped stuff - Be Art--and further, to evoke a soul - From form be nothing? This new soul is mine!” - -Then, since art is the expression of personality, and Jules has met -with so great a change in ideals, he resolves to break his ‘paltry -models up To begin Art afresh.’ His change in personality, it should -be noticed, is due to the fact that he realizes the soul has greater -significance than art--an idea exactly expressing Browning’s view. - -_My Last Duchess_ (1842) is entirely imaginary, but it sums up, in a -short poem, the entire decadent Renaissance attitude toward art so -fully that no historical names could improve it. Its one mention of -sculpture is in the closing lines: - - . . . . . “Notice Neptune, though, - Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity, - Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!” - -In two and one-half lines it gives a powerful suggestion of admiration -for art because it was fashionable, of emphasis on technique rather -than content, of the classical subject matter and bronze material -that were in vogue at the time, and of the character expressed in the -intellectual but heartless Duke’s purpose of taming the Duchess. - -_The Bishop orders his Tomb at St. Praxed’s Church_ (1845) is imaginary -in its narrative, and probably in all the sculpture named, though the -church of Santa Prassede, in Rome, by its richness of decoration, and -by a tomb similar to the one the Bishop is represented as desiring, -gave the suggestion for the poem. Probably in all literature there is -no more skilful summary of a corrupt churchman’s attitude toward his -church, his fellow churchmen, the future, earthly love, and art. The -characterization is both fearless and powerful. This poem and _My Last -Duchess_ are companion studies. Both the Duke and the Bishop are fond -of power and prestige, both are jealous and envious, each displays his -attitude toward woman and toward art. The Bishop has more feeling, -though it is largely feeling for himself; and the Duke possesses more -icy pride. Each values art, particularly sculpture, as something for -display, something luxurious and (contrary to the highest ideas of art) -something beyond the power of common people to appreciate. The poems -deal with the same period, but _My Last Duchess_ is a summary of the -secular attitude, _The Bishop orders his Tomb_ presents the view of an -official of the church. - -_Christmas-Eve and Easter-Day_ (1850), in a section devoted to the -reverie of the seeker for religious truth after his inspection of -Catholicism at Rome, censures the attitude of the early church toward -the physical beauty of the statuary Italy had inherited from Greece. -While the subject of the poem is religion, not art, incidentally it -contains one of Browning’s best defences of the nude. He viewed the -nude as a fitting expression of the beauty God has placed in the world, -and rejoiced in the “noble daring, steadfast duty, The heroic in -action or in passion,” or even the merely beautiful physique--all as -presented in sculpture. In Chapter VI will be found further mention of -the nude, in connection with _Francis Furini_ (1887).[171] _The Lady -and the Painter_, a non-Italianate poem, published in the Asolando -group (1889), also throws further light on Browning’s attitude toward -the nude. These two poems are of interest in the present discussion, -however, only because they prove the attitude expressed in 1850 to have -been a permanent one. - -In _The Statue and the Bust_, the art references were not introduced -for their own sake, but because they suggested a situation with -dramatic possibilities. The statue of Duke Ferdinand exists as Browning -pictured it. The bust seems to be an addition for poetic purposes, but -it conforms to the spirit of the palace decorations, in that it was -made of Robbia ware, for traces of that material still adorned the -palace when the poem was written. - -In _Sordello_ (1840), the first poem containing any reference to -Italian sculpture, the castle of Goito, the early home of Sordello, -is rich in sculpturesque effects. “Those slim pillars, ... Cut like -a company of palms--Some knot of bacchanals, flushed cheek combined -With straining forehead, shoulders purpled--A dullish grey-streaked -cumbrous font ... shrinking Caryatides, Of just-tinged marble--” all -present a physical setting. They do more, however, than merely locate. -Their lonely magnificence harmonizes with the tone of the story, and -they exercise an influence on the nature of the dreaming, beauty-loving -Sordello. - -The best examples of sculpture used purely for setting are found -in _The Ring and the Book_. Containing only its few references to -pieces of sculpture in Florence and Rome, it is the one of the list -of poems in which this art is least prominent. It presents no picture -of a period, no discussion of an attitude toward art, no poetical -background of the times aided by art references. Each instance tells -us that at such-and-such a place in Rome, in sight of the statue -named, a certain event occurred. “Toward Baccio’s Marble” (Part I, l. -44) is used to help locate the Florentine book-stall where Browning -found the ‘old yellow book’ that became the basis of the poem. Part -I, l. 889, quotes an example of the current gossip in Rome, as taking -place “i’ the market-place O’ the Barberini by the Capucins; Where -the old Triton ... Puffs up steel sleet.” This instance serves as -setting, and further, in a continuation of the description--“out o’ -the way O’ the motley merchandising multitude”--contrasts the quiet, -regular play of the fountain to the turmoil of the characters. Part -VI refers to Pasquin’s statue in a double comparison which emphasizes -Pompilia’s innocence in contrast to the bestiality of the squibs that -were formerly posted on the statue. In Part XI Guido says his first -sight of an instrument for beheading was ‘At the Mouth-of-Truth o’ the -river-side you know, Retiring out of noisy crowded Rome’--a reference -which serves as a definite means of location. - -Yet all instances from _The Ring and the Book_ prove little concerning -Browning’s interest in art, or his specialized attention to sculpture. -The fact that pieces of statuary serve a man as landmarks in Florence -or Rome implies little beyond an effort at clearness in location. _The -Ring and the Book_, then, in sculpture, is interesting rather for -absence than for presence of such references. In fact sculpture is -not prominent in the Italian art references of Browning. Not only is -it a lesser art quantitatively in Browning’s poetry, but it seems to -be placed on a distinctly lower plane. Reasons for these facts, are, -in part, the predominance of the other arts over sculpture in Italy, -and the particular quality of sculpture as an art which makes it tend -toward the expression of physical beauty instead of the soul. - -Though Browning himself did some work in modeling,[172] he used very -few technical terms connected with that art. Since he never put a -sculptor speaker on the stage of his poet-world, one does not expect to -hear the language of that art spoken. The Duke and the Bishop, it is -true, express considerable interest in art, though it is rather in the -dilettante spirit than that of serious criticism. “Caryatides,” used in -_Sordello_, and “caritellas,” evidently used for cartellas[173] seem -to be almost the only instances of technical--or semi-technical--terms -connected with sculpture. - - -IV. SOURCE OF BROWNING’S KNOWLEDGE.--Proof has already been given of -the statement that Browning had a strong, lasting interest in the -arts, even before he went to Italy. The remark in the letter to Miss -Haworth (1838) concerning disappointment in Canova, implying previous -knowledge, was written during his first visit to Italy. It is certain, -then, that he had formed an opinion of one Italian sculptor before -going to that country. Probably some of his knowledge of sculpture -was gained from reading, also. In every case in which he described a -particular piece of work, he had previously visited the place where -it was located. _Sordello_, while it refers to artists rather than -particular works, and exhibits an art knowledge that was probably -gained from reading, was published two years after Browning’s first -Italian visit in 1838. _Pippa Passes_ (1841) was one of the direct -results of the same trip, when Venice and delicious Asolo were visited. -_My Last Duchess_ contains none but imaginary works. _The Bishop orders -his Tomb_ (1845) has its architectural setting at Rome, one of the -points included in Browning’s second visit in 1844. _Christmas-Eve -and Easter-Day_ (1850) also mentions Rome. _The Statue and the Bust_ -(1855) refers to Florence, _Old Pictures in Florence_ (1855) has the -same setting; and _The Ring and the Book_ (1868-9) refers to Rome and -Florence, visited in 1844 and 1847. These data all tend to support -the foregoing statement that the poet had seen the things of which he -wrote. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -ITALIAN MUSIC IN THE POEMS OF BROWNING. - - -I. GENERAL STATEMENT.--Only ten poems refer to Italian music or -musicians--seemingly a small number for a writer who is known as -the musician’s poet. Thirteen Italian musicians--Bellini, Galuppi, -Palestrina, Verdi, Rossini, Abt Vogler, Grisi, Corelli, Guarnerius, -Stradivarius, Paganini, Buononcini, and Geminiani--constitute the group -of performers whom he mentions. Four of these were famous violinists; -one was a vocalist. Only two, Galuppi and Abt Vogler, received any -extended treatment, though an entire poem is also devoted to Master -Hugues of Saxe-Gotha, an imaginary composer. There are many references -to musicians of other nationalities in Browning; but every poem having -this art as its main theme, unless it be _Saul_, in which the influence -of music is prominent, is included among the ten referring to Italy. - -Thus while Browning is known, even to the general mind, as a poet who -writes about musicians, his fame in this particular field is founded on -a very few well-known poems. Suppose it were possible to eliminate _Abt -Vogler_ from the text of Browning’s poetry and from the consciousness -of the world. Would the cursory student then know him as the celebrator -of music? Or at least, if one could filch from the human race both _Abt -Vogler_ and _A Toccata of Galuppi’s_, their author might still be known -in the popular mind as an admirer of the arts, but hardly as a devotee -of music. Quality rather than quantity, then, is the measure of the -element of music in the poems of Robert Browning. - - -II. CATHOLIC HYMNS.--A by no means unusual introduction of music, nor -one peculiar to Browning (see Byron and others) is found in the mention -of Catholic hymns. However, they are not employed in any of the poems -whose principal theme is music, nor are they introduced because he -deliberately wished to write about that art. They form a part of the -Italian consciousness; they are stages in daily life; and they mark the -passing of time in a highly poetic way, and in a method characteristic -of the Italian nation. - -_The Ring and the Book_, in five of the twelve sections, includes -the names of Catholic hymns. In Part IV the _Magnificat_ signifies -the triumphant spirit of Violante Comparini, the old woman who has -completed the bargain by means of which she is to trick her husband -into the belief that he is to have an heir. The same section gives -an account of the plan of Pietro and Violante Comparini to find a -titled husband for their so-called daughter, and illustrates the -situation in these words--“And when such paragon was found and fixed, -Why, they might chant their ‘_Nunc dimittis_’ straight.” Both of -these passages, then, mark psychological states, in one or both of -the parents of Pompilia. Section VI, the defense of Caponsacchi, -contains two references which mark the time of day. The first, in a -quotation from one of the forged letters purporting to be from Pompilia -to Caponsacchi, suggests that he come to her window at the time of -the _Ave_. The second, in the account of the flight of Pompilia and -Caponsacchi to Rome, is phrased “At eve we heard the _angelus_,” -indicating time and suggesting, also, a certain regret for the past on -the part of Pompilia. In Section VII, Pompilia, yielding at last to -her own desires for rescue and to the importunities of her treacherous -maid, names the _Ave Maria_ to indicate the time when she will be -standing on the terrace to talk with Caponsacchi. The Pope, in Section -X, gives his opinion of what will be said of his leniency to the -church, should he free Caponsacchi, and sarcastically observes “in the -choir _Sanctus et Benedictus_, with a brush Of soft guitar strings -that obey the thumb.” Section XII, in describing the death of Guido, -the wife-murderer, gives his last words as a request for a _Pater_, an -_Ave_, with the hymn _Salve Regina Cœli_. This completes the list of -Catholic hymns mentioned by Browning--six in all. - - -III. POETIC FUNCTIONS OF THE REFERENCES TO MUSIC.--Six different poems -contain the names of Italian musicians for purposes of comparison. _The -Englishman in Italy_, in an implied comparison, contrasts the fiddlers, -fifers, and drummers, at the Feast of the Rosary’s Virgin, to Bellini. -So courageous and confident do they become on this day that (implying -their inferiority) they play boldly on, says the poem, not caring even -for the great Bellini. - -_Bishop Blougram’s Apology_ presents that politic churchman’s -defense of his fidelity to established doctrines on the ground of -expediency--ease in this life and a possible reward in the next. He -admits that wise men look beneath his pretense of a belief in the -winking Virgin and class him as either knave or fool. In this respect -the Bishop likens himself to Verdi at the close of his worst opera. -Though the populace applauded, the composer looked beyond them for the -judgment of Rossini, the master. - -In _Youth and Art_, the struggling girl with aspirations for operatic -honors, who misses a possibility for happiness in her futile quest for -fame, compares herself with Grisi in her hopes of success. To surpass -that prima donna, which, by the way, she never succeeds in doing, -constitutes the height of her dream of happiness. _Red Cotton Night-Cap -Country_, with its fantastic symbolism of night-caps, mentions the many -varieties of that article and compares them to the various kinds of -violins on exhibition at Kensington when the poem was composed, with -special reference to those of Italy: - - “I doubt not there be duly catalogued - Achievements all, and some of Italy, - Guarnerius, Straduarius,--old and new.” - - * * * * * - - “Over this sample would Corelli croon, - Grieving by minors, like the cushat-dove, - Most dulcet Giga, dreamiest Saraband. - From this did Paganini comb the fierce - Electric sparks....” - -_Parleyings with Charles Avison_, the only poem which has comparative -estimates of different musicians, names the Italians Buononcini and -Geminiani as having been appreciated along with Wagner, Dvorak, Liszt -and Handel. It is worthy of note that Rossini, Bellini, and Verdi, of -the modern Italian school, are not mentioned in any such connection. - -_Abt Vogler_, _A Toccata of Galuppi’s_, _Master Hughes of Saxe-Gotha_, -and _Charles Avison_, are all concerned with music as the principal -subject. Each has minor references to Italy, and in the first two, -the musician is an Italian one. _Abt Vogler_ is probably the finest -poem on music in the English language. It contains a perfect idealized -expression of the aims of the musician and a thorough knowledge -of his technique. Like _A Toccata of Galuppi’s_ it is based on -extemporization and the transitory quality of music; but it is unlike -that poem in emphasizing the permanence of good. _Abt Vogler_ voices -the musician’s own musings on the stately but vanishing castle he -has built. _A Toccata_ probably refers to an improvization on the -harpsichord, a frequent occurrence at the time concerned, and presents -the poet as speaker, questioning the musician concerning the effect -of his performance on the audience. Very different psychological -states produced these two poems. _Abt Vogler_ was written in a mood -of reverent optimism; _A Toccata_, in a mood of half careless, half -earnest pessimism. Where _A Toccata_ closes with “dust and ashes” -the other poem passes on to the “ineffable name,” and a belief in -the future existence of “All we have willed, or hoped, or dreamed, -of good.” The one closes hope in the grave; the other poem opens -heaven. The transitory quality of human life in _A Toccata of -Galuppi’s_ accords with the music being played, and many terms, such -as “lesser thirds,” “sixths diminished,” “suspensions,” “solutions,” -“commiserating sevenths,” express the different phases of the -listener’s mood. - -No attempt will be made in this paper to consider Browning’s musical -terms; for with the exception of “toccata”, meaning a light touch -piece, an overture, they seem mostly non-Italianate. _Abt Vogler_, _A -Toccata of Galuppi’s_, _Master Hugues of Saxe-Gotha_, and _Parleyings -with Charles Avison_, all contain a considerable number of musical -terms; but beside the fact that they are non-Italianate, those in -at least part of the poems have already been discussed somewhat -extensively in various articles among the Browning Society papers. - - -IV. LACK OF MODERN ITALIAN REFERENCES.--The number of references to -Italian musicians is comparatively small, even though the treatment -of music in a few poems is unexcelled. Especially when one considers -that the great modern group of Italian opera composers was so near -Browning in both time and place, his mention of them seems curiously -insignificant. Verdi, the greatest of them, appears in the poems only -once, and then in connection with his worst opera. That the Brownings -heard at least one of Verdi’s operas produced, is established by a -letter by Mrs. Browning dated in 1853. She speaks of their having heard -_Il Trovatore_ a few nights previous, at the Pergola in Florence, and -concludes with the peculiarly suggestive remark, “Very passionate and -dramatic, surely.” - -Probably there are several reasons for this neglect of Italian opera -composers. Few poets, least of all Browning, are prone to bestow -unmitigated praise on contemporaries. In the poems of Browning there -are few extended references to any artists who were living at the -time. He particularly loved to choose an obscure Galuppi, or an Andrea -del Sarto, instead of a Michael Angelo or a Raphael, as a personality -about whom to weave a poem. A more potent reason for the indifference -to modern Italian music, however, lies in the diverging values of the -Italian school and that of northern Europe. A musician who had been -trained in the German music of London concerts could hardly be expected -to welcome the operas of Verdi and Rossini with anything approaching -ecstatic admiration. At the most he might venture a half-conciliatory -remark, such as Mrs. Browning’s concerning _Il Trovatore_. - - -V. CONFORMITY TO FACTS.--Browning seldom took occasion to depart -from the facts of history in his presentation of Italian music. -One exception is found, going beyond all allowances for poetic -idealization. It is the Verdi reference in _Bishop Blougram’s -Apology_.[174] The statement concerns a Verdi composition, and mentions -it as having been given in Florence with Rossini present. As a matter -of fact _Un Giorno di Regno_, conceded to be Verdi’s worst opera, and -the only one which was a complete failure, was not given in Florence -on its first production and was probably never repeated. _Macbeth_ -alone was given at Florence first, and it met with a moderate degree of -success. - - -VI. SOURCE OF BROWNING’S KNOWLEDGE.--Browning’s life in Italy probably -had less influence on his poetic use of music than on his use of any -other art, as the data he gives might easily have become known to -him without any such experience. Six of the thirteen musicians whom -he named performed in London, and three of them, Grisi, Bellini, and -Paganini, in Browning’s youth. It is even possible that he attended -some or all of their concerts. Rossini was living in Florence from -1847 to 1855, while the Brownings were also making that city their -home. But while letter after letter written to friends at home refers -to such painters or sculptors as Story, Powers, and Leighton, there -is absolute silence concerning Rossini. As compared with remarks on -sculpture, architecture, or painting, the letters from Italy, as a -whole, show an almost absolute indifference to Italian music as a -historical development, or as a national achievement. With his fondness -for out-of-the-way investigations and obscure characters from any -nation, however, Browning has taken some characters from Italian music -and has woven their personalities into a few of the best poems on music -ever written. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -ITALIAN POETRY IN THE POEMS OF BROWNING. - - -I. GENERAL STATEMENT.--Of the two hundred and twenty-two of Browning’s -poems, ten contain the name of an Italian poet or of his writings. -Five imaginary writers--Aprile, Plara, Bocafoli, Eglamor, Stiatta--and -eleven who belong to the history of Italian literature--Sordello, Nina, -Alcamo, Dante, Petrarch, Boccaccio, Tasso, Sacchetti, Marino, Aretino, -and Tommaseo--compose the list. Of the historical poets, Dante is given -the most important place; for besides the direct tribute that is paid -him, his name or the name of his great work occurs in seven poems out -of the ten. Sordello, a most insignificant poet from the historical -standpoint, receives more extended treatment than any other literary -figure in Browning’s works. Of the entire list of poems, three deal -with the life and aspirations of a poet as the main theme--_Pauline_, -which, by the way, is really non-Italianate, _Paracelsus_, in which the -poet Aprile is contrasted with the scholar, and _Sordello_. - - -II. PREDOMINANCE IN EARLY POEMS.--Within the first eight years -of Browning’s career, he published four long poems--_Pauline_, -_Paracelsus_, _Strafford_, and _Sordello_. Three of them deal in -some way with the life of a poet. After this first period, with the -possible exception of _One Word More_, which is essentially a study -in comparative art, there is no extended discussion of this sort in -any poem, either Italianate or non-Italianate. _How it Strikes a -Contemporary_ deals with the attitude of the general public toward the -life and purposes of a poet, but not, as did the early group, with the -poet’s solution of his own problem concerning his relation toward his -work and humanity. It was written much later, when Browning was more -fully settled in his poetical career. - -_Pauline_ is an autobiographical sketch of a poet’s early doubts and -aspirations, largely devoted to appreciation of Shelley, and without -Italianate quality; _Paracelsus_ and _Sordello_ deal with Italian -writers of verse. Since these all belong in the same period and that -the early one, it is clear that Browning was endeavoring to establish -his own ideas of a poet, and these poems were the expression of that -effort. But he chose to express his conclusions by giving the negative -side, not the positive; for Aprile, Sordello, Eglamor, Plara, Bocafoli, -and in a lesser degree Nina and Alcamo, are all failures. Not all of -them absolute and hopeless, for Sordello dies with a moral victory won, -Aprile is successful in part, and Nina and Alcamo have their strength -and grace; but still none of these poets has fully attained. - - -III. SORDELLO.--In _Sordello_, the character of that name has a -shadowy existence in history as one of the most famous of the Italian -troubadours. He seems to have been confused with another Sordello who -was a politician and man of action. Since such scant facts as can be -gathered speak of scandals, and tavern brawls, Browning’s portrait of -him is clearly an idealization, and he probably chose Sordello instead -of some better known figure that the facts might not interfere with the -imaginative picture with which he wished to surround him. The thirty -books which Browning read on the history of the period were not read to -add to his knowledge of the troubadour, but since even the idealized -Sordello had to be represented as having lived at some time and place, -to give the correct background for his life and actions. - -Browning shows that Sordello failed because he loved the applause he -received rather than the poetry itself, because the aspirations of the -man and the poet were at war within him, because he lacked feeling -for humanity, and because he was not decisive enough to succeed when -he attempted action. The moral victory at the close is for dramatic -purposes, and the dominant theme of the poem as a whole is the failure -of a poet. - - -IV. THE IMAGINARY POETS.--Eglamor, a purely fictitious poet in -_Sordello_, has made verse his only ambition. Lacking all perception -of his life as a man, when he is vanquished in verse-making, he dies. -Plara, in the same poem, stands for the poet without depth or genius, -unable to write anything of thought value, polishing his poems until -they were merely pretty words, lacking utterly in any interpretation of -human life. Bocafoli, with his “stark-naked” psalms, represents the -sensualist. While Nina and Alcamo belong to history, they have such -shadowy existence so far as present knowledge is concerned, that they -will be considered here. They stand respectively for strength and for -grace, and Browning represents the low voice as saying to Sordello: - - “Nina’s strength, but Alcamo’s the grace, - Each neutralises each then! Search your fill; - You get no whole and perfect Poet--still - New Ninas, Alcamos, till time’s midnight - Shrouds all--or better say, the shutting light - Of a forgotten yesterday.” - -Aprile, in the poem fashioned about Paracelsus, the wandering scholar, -typifies love as the latter represents knowledge. Through Aprile, the -foil to Paracelsus, the latter comes to see in part the mistakes in his -attitude toward life, and declares - - “I too have sought to KNOW as thou to LOVE-- - Excluding love as thou refusedst knowledge. - - * * * * * - - Are we not halves of one dissevered world, - Whom this strange chance unites once more?” - -And Aprile exclaims: - - “Yes, I see now. God is the perfect poet, - Who in his person acts his own creations.” - - -V. THE ITALIAN AS THE TYPE OF FAILURE.--Browning used seven poets to -typify failure, three historical and four imaginary ones. All these -were Italians, and all suggest the conclusion--“You get no whole and -perfect Poet.” This, then, must have been Browning’s conclusion. -Naturally enough he does not picture for us a poet representing that -for which he himself, after considering different kinds of failure, -has decided to strive. By the very values the failures do not -represent, however, Browning gave us a vision of his own ideals. Lack -of knowledge, lack of strength, of grace, sensuality, superficiality, -lack of purpose, and of interest in humanity--these are the causes of -failure as represented by Aprile, Alcamo, Nina, Bocafoli, Plara, and -Sordello. - -It would be unfair to say that these unsuccessful poets are typical of -the Italian nation; but it can be safely stated that they are fairly -representative of Italian weaknesses. A predominance of ill controlled -feeling is the most inclusive characteristic of the group --a trait -which is perhaps marked in Italians of the least desirable class. It is -also significant, in contrast to Browning’s own nature, that no poet of -his group of failures represents an intelligent, unselfish interest in -human life. - - -VI. ITALIAN MEN OF LETTERS: DANTE.--Of the great Italian men of -letters, Dante is the only one who is mentioned in _Sordello_, and with -the exception of the Shelley references in _Memorabilia_ and _Pauline_, -Browning pays him the most perfect tribute he ever gave a writer, in -the last two lines of the following passage: - - “Dante, pacer of the shore - Where glutted hell disgorgeth filthiest gloom, - Unbitten by its whirring sulphur-spume, - Or whence the grieved and obscure waters slope, - Into a darkness quieted by hope; - Plucker of amaranths grown beneath God’s eye, - In gracious twilights where his chosen lie.” - -Referring to the fact that Dante’s _Divina Commedia_ includes Sordello -as a character, and that _De Vulgari Eloquio_ praises him because he -had first attempted to establish an Italian vernacular, Browning names -Sordello as the forerunner of Dante. Again in the same poem, Dante is -mentioned as having called the “Palma” of Browning’s poem “Cunizza,” -and as having taken advantage of Sordello’s lost chance to establish a -vernacular. - -In most of the other poems, the references to Dante are merely -incidental. _Up at a Villa_ refers to the great literary triumvirate of -Italy, Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio, as standing in the popular mind -for all that is great in Italian letters. In _Time’s Revenges_ Dante -appears as being, in the mind of a poor, starving poet, the highest -possible standard of fame. - -The only other Dante reference of any importance is in _One Word -More_. In this poem, Browning’s most beautiful tribute to his wife, -he represents every artist as wishing once, in his life, to honor his -Margarita or his Beatrice. Dante, he says in speaking of that poet, -once prepared to paint an angel, laying aside his own art of poetry. -A historical basis for this statement is found in the _Vita Nuova_. -But Browning, either intentionally or unintentionally, probably the -former, for the purpose of making this basis accord with his poetical -conception, departs from the facts in two important particulars. -Dante plainly states that his attempt at the drawing grew out of his -meditations on the anniversary of the death of Beatrice; and the -people who broke in upon him were those of his own town, to whom he -apologized for his delayed salutation, by “Another was with me.” -Browning assumes that the picture was drawn to please Beatrice and that -the people who interrupted symbolized Dante’s own thoughts about the -characters of his _Inferno_. - - -VII. OTHER REAL WRITERS.--Aretino and Boccaccio are both presented -throughout _The Ring and the Book_ as examples of questionable morality -in literature, or at least of tendencies in that direction. - -In Part III, the gossipers speak of the case of Guido and his wife -as “this last best of the Hundred Merry Tales.” In Part V, Guido, in -his complaint against the parents of Pompilia, appeals to Boccaccio’s -“Book” and “Ser Franco’s [Sacchetti’s] Merry Tales,” as proofs of the -greed and wrong-doing of the parents in contrast to his own innocence. -Caponsacchi, in Part VI, refers to the forged letters claimed to have -been passed between himself and Pompilia, as worthy of the profligate -Aretine. In Part X, the Pope makes the same comparison, declaring -that the letters are “False to body and soul they figure forth--As -though the man had cut out shape and shape From fancies of that other -Aretine.” In Part XI, Guido attempts to prove that the Pope, in former -times, was very human, since he used to “chirrup o’er the Merry Tales.” -Later in the same section, he asserts his right to enjoy “When Master -Pietro [Aretino] rhymes a pleasantry.” - - -VIII. BROWNING’S KNOWLEDGE OF ITALIAN LITERATURE.--Browning’s poems -display no remarkable knowledge of Italian literature. In comparison -with that of the average American or English citizen, it is above -the ordinary, but not more than any student of literature might very -readily acquire without visiting Italy or residing there. However, -the average English student of literature, if he were a poet, would -probably embody less of that knowledge of Italy in his verse than -Browning has done. Except for the idea of failure as typified by lesser -Italian poets, the references are mainly of secondary importance, -introduced because he had chosen an Italian theme and wished to give it -reality of detail. The stimulus of Italian residence on Browning, then, -probably led to the embodiment in his poems of the literary knowledge -he already possessed. He seems to have made no particular study of -Italian letters, even after going to that country. Some scattered -references to readings in Italian literature (for example in the novels -of Sacchetti[175]) exist in the records of the Brownings in Italy; but -these references are few in comparison to those concerning sculpture -and painting. - - -IX. BROWNING’S INTEREST IN ITALIAN LITERATURE.--While all the -historical references, except the one to Dante noted above as a -probably intentional departure from history, are substantially correct -in both fact and spirit, Browning did not have any great interest -in Italian literature as it existed in his day. Much more space is -given to the treatment of imaginary poets, or to the idealization -of a historical one, for the sake of personality, as in the case of -Sordello. As for the other arts, then, personality is the keynote of -Browning’s appreciation of Italian literature, and of its place in his -poetry. - -Browning gives very little space to any formal praise of Italian -poetry or poets, either of the past, or contemporary with himself. In -this respect his treatment of them is very similar to that he gives -to English poets. _Memorabilia_, in praise of Shelley, is his only -poem which has for its theme the unmodified praise of another poet. -As this poem and the Shelley references in _Pauline_ are Browning’s -only tributes to writers of his own country, so the praise of Dante, -in _Sordello_, is the only instance of an expressed appreciation of -Italian literature. The only Italian poet contemporary with himself -whom he mentions is Tommaseo; and he is noticed only as the author of -the inscription on the tablet erected by the city of Florence to the -memory of Elizabeth Barrett Browning. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -ITALIAN ARCHITECTURE IN THE POEMS OF BROWNING. - - -I. GENERAL STATEMENT.--Twenty-five poems of Robert Browning make some -reference, brief or extended, to an Italian work of architecture. Two -architects, as such, are mentioned in _Old Pictures in Florence_. -They are Giotto (1267-1337), the original designer of the Florentine -Campanile, and Taddeo Gaddi (c. 1300-c. 1366), his successor. In the -twenty-five poems, about fifty-eight Italian buildings are named, -not all of them important architecturally. Of these, almost exactly -one-third are in Florence, and one or two less than another third are -in Rome. Venice and Asolo claim mention of five and six respectively; -but all the remaining towns must content themselves with a mention -of one, two, or three buildings. The entire number of works of -architecture is divided between twelve towns: Venice, Verona, Bassano, -Rome, Florence, Passagno, Asolo, Padua, Fano, Bagni di Lucca, Arezzo -and Siena. - -There are two apparent reasons why the number of buildings named at -Rome and Florence is exceptionally large: first, the former city has -been the historical and political center of Italy ever since the -beginning, and the latter is the art center of the world; second, -Browning spent a considerable amount of time in Rome, both in 1844, -during his second trip to Italy, and in his visits of 1853 and 1854, -while Florence was his home for fifteen years. - -The number of ecclesiastical buildings is something more than one-half -of the entire list; while the remaining ones are about equally divided -between those for state use and private buildings of a secular -character. Considering the large number of beautiful churches and -cathedrals in Italy, the result so far as these are concerned is in -entire accordance with one’s expectations. St. Mark’s, St. Peter’s, the -Vatican, and the Florentine Duomo, all buildings of world interest, -lead in the number of times they receive mention. - - -II. SOURCE OF BROWNING’S KNOWLEDGE.--Browning had seen almost all if -not every one of the Italian buildings he introduces in his poems. He -knew whereof he wrote. _Sordello_, published in 1840, is concerned -with the cities of Venice, Bassano, Verona, Rome, and Florence; but -the references to the last two are very slight. The first three cities -he had visited in his trip of 1838, along with his “delicious Asolo”, -which became the scene of _Pippa Passes_, in 1841. Ferrara formed a -very large part of the setting in _Sordello_, also; but no particular -buildings in it are described. _A Toccata of Galuppi’s_, 1855, refers -to St. Mark’s in Venice. _Old Pictures in Florence_, with its distinct -Florentine setting, was given to the world after Browning had lived in -that city for nine years. Doubtless its Campanile, which he mentions in -the poem, was at that time as familiar to him as any building of his -native land. _By the Fireside_ (with reference to the chapel in the -gorge) was written either during the visit of the Brownings to Bagni -di Lucca in 1853, or shortly after it, and was published in 1855. Near -Bagni di Lucca is the scene of the story. There is the same relation -between architectural subject and personal observation in _The Boy -and the Angel_ (Rome), 1842; _The Italian in England_ (Padua), 1845; -_In a Gondola_ (Venice), 1842; _The Statue and the Bust_ (Florence), -1855; _Luria_ (Florence), 1846; _Christmas-Eve and Easter-Day_ (Rome), -1850; _Fra Lippo Lippi_ (Florence), 1855; _The Bishop orders his Tomb_ -(Rome), 1845; _Bishop Blougram’s Apology_ (Rome), 1855; _One Word More_ -(Florence), 1855; _Abt Vogler_ (Rome), 1864; _Pacchiarotto_ (Siena), -1876. Padua and Venice were visited in 1838, Rome in 1844, Florence in -1846, if not sooner, and Siena in 1850. - -_The Ring and the Book_ is an interesting example of Browning’s -procedure in the case of an architectural work he wished to introduce. -Florence and Rome, more particularly the latter, are concerned with -the whole action of the poem, while Arezzo is utilized in a minor way. -By this time (1864-68) Browning had long been familiar with Florence -and Rome. However, the poem was written in England; and a letter to -Frederick Leighton, October 17, 1864, asks him if he will go into the -Church of San Lorenzo, in the Corso, look at it carefully, and describe -it to Browning. Browning asks particularly about the arrangement -of the building, nave, pillars, the number of altars, and the -‘Crucifixion’ over the altar, by Guido, and adds that he does not care -for the outside. This church Browning uses more than any other in _The -Ring and the Book_, making it the scene of the baptism and the marriage -of Pompilia, as well as the place to which the dead bodies were taken. -Mr. Kenyon tells us that the poet was always accustomed to visualize -a scene completely and to keep it constantly before him mentally as -he wrote. It was his general rule to use only buildings which he had -seen, even when he refers to them very slightly; and in this case, he -wrote to inquire about one which he had seen, but of which he did not -have a perfectly clear mental image. The only possible exception to the -personal observation of a building to be poetically described is in the -case of the Pieve, at Arezzo. The Pieve is described in considerable -detail; and so far as can be learned, the poet probably did not visit -it. The Brownings had planned to visit it in September, 1847, on -their way to Rome. But this trip, in connection with which Arezzo is -mentioned, was abandoned. Later trips were made to Rome, however, and -it is very possible that Arezzo was made a stopping place on one of -them, and the Pieve, after all, was not an exception to the general -rule. - - -III. IMPORTANCE OF ARCHITECTURE IN THE POEMS.--When the amount of -architecture Browning introduces is first considered, it seems -remarkably large. But such conclusion could be reached only by failing -to take into consideration the manner in which the references are -employed. About ten of the buildings he names, including those at -Asolo and a few others, are of no importance whatever, from either an -architectural or a historical standpoint. Most of the remaining ones -are discussed in histories of architecture or mentioned in guide books, -and a considerable number of them are of importance architecturally. -But with very few exceptions, Browning does not employ them for the -sake of their architecture; and cared very little whether they were -architecturally good or bad. He usually had a story to tell; and for -that story a location was necessary. Often he used such buildings as -had been significant in the original events on which he based his poem. - -There are, to be sure, numerous instances in which the particular -church or castle he names suits the tone of the story just a trifle -better than anything else he could have found. In _Sordello_, for -example, he constructed an imaginary castle, Goito, which both -harmonized with the character of Sordello and influenced his life, -since it was the home of his youth. An excellent example of a building -chosen to illustrate the theme of the story is _The Bishop orders his -Tomb at St. Praxed’s Church_. Perhaps no such tomb as the Bishop’s ever -existed, exactly as described in the poem; but if it had, St. Praxed -(Santa Prassede) with its ornate beauty was exactly suited to be its -location. - -_The Ring and the Book_ and _The Statue and the Bust_ are both -excellent examples of poems in which the buildings were already -selected for Browning by the stories on which he based his poems. - -Examples of buildings chosen for harmony, such as those in _Sordello_ -and _The Bishop orders his Tomb_, are rather exceptional cases. -Browning’s poetic architecture, for the most part, may be grouped in -three divisions--(1) buildings already chosen for him by the story -which he wished to embody in a poem, (2) buildings chosen by himself, -to harmonize with the tone of the story, (3) buildings used for setting -with no regard whatever for architectural qualities. The last division -is by far the largest. Or, to classify more broadly, there are two ways -in which he uses architecture--(1) for the sake of an emotional value, -of which there is one example, and (2) for the sake of background -effects, to which practically all the other instances belong. - - -IV. COMPARISON WITH OTHER WRITERS.--Wordsworth has several poems--for -example, _Old Abbeys_, _In the Cathedral at Cologne_, _Inside of King’s -College Chapel_--that within a short space and in a lyrical fashion -deal with architecture in a highly appreciative manner. Somewhat -similar examples from Byron are the _Elegy on Newstead Abbey_ and the -familiar _Sonnet on Chillon_. But Browning, whose writings contain few -poems of lyric or descriptive subjectivity, did not devote himself to -any such effusions over inanimate objects. His only description of -architecture as something appealing to the emotion and imagination of -man is contained in a few lines of a very long poem, _Christmas-Eve -and Easter-Day_. The speaker is searching for religious truth and -finds himself, in his visit to the homeland of Catholicism, viewing -St. Peter’s at Rome. Then follows that wonderfully comprehensive -description-- - - “And what is this that rises propped, - With pillars of prodigious girth? - Is it really on the earth, - This miraculous Dome of God? - Has the angel’s measuring-rod - Which numbered cubits, gem from gem, - ’Twixt the gates of the New Jerusalem, - Meted it out,--and what he meted, - Have the sons of men completed? - --Binding, ever as he bade, - Columns in the colonnade, - With arms wide open to embrace - The entry of the human race ...” - -But even in this instance, Browning, before his description is -finished, cannot content himself with mere abstract statements of -beauty divorced from human life. He turns to the builders--the people, -and to the purpose--service to humanity. - -In the only poem of Browning which deals with an architect at all, -(_Old Pictures in Florence_, in which Giotto is considered at some -length), the discussion is from the standpoint of the architect’s aim, -his partial achievement, and the relation his work, when it is finally -finished, will have to the people of his city; not from the standpoint -of any technical interest in the art. - - -V. ARCHITECTURE AND PERSONALITY.--With all his mention of Italian works -of architecture, then, Browning’s primary object was never the abstract -beauty of that art itself. He has far less treatment of it, from an -abstract standpoint, than many another English writer who has scarcely -gone outside his native land for material. A building, as a building! -What was there in it related to personality as that expressed itself in -the struggles of the soul? And, therefore, what could there be in it to -concern Robert Browning? - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -ITALIAN PAINTING IN THE POEMS OF BROWNING. - - -I. GENERAL STATEMENT.--Twenty-nine poems contain the names of Italian -painters, and fifty-one Italian painters are mentioned by name; while -several of the great artists are mentioned in many poems. Michael -Angelo is referred to in ten different poems; Raphael in seven, -besides the duplicate mention in three sections of _The Ring and the -Book_; Correggio, and Titian, each in six poems, and Da Vinci in five -different poems. These are all great masters of the High Renaissance -in Italy; and therefore, they are the greatest artists the world -has known: the repeated introduction of their names is perfectly -natural. But among Browning’s fifty-one painters, some of so little -importance are named that references to them are rare in histories of -art. Even with the most insignificant, some telling phrase is often -used to express with admirable precision the artist’s relation to the -history of art. The best example of this is found in _Old Pictures -in Florence_, where the poet capriciously calls the roll of the past -Florentine artists, chiding them because none of their works have -come into his possession. In the one poem seventeen men who have been -classified as painters, besides some who are sculptors and architects -primarily, find a place. Only two or three of the artists are given -more than a line or two; but many of even the most insignificant -are summed up in some phrase like the following: “Da Vincis derive -in good time from Dellos;” “Stefano ... called Nature’s Ape and the -world’s despair;” “the wronged Lippino,” or “my Pollajolo, the twice a -craftsman.” - - -II. EXTENT OF BROWNING’S KNOWLEDGE.--To cover the entire field as he -does, from Cimabue through the Renaissance and down to modern times -(for he omits almost no artist of importance in the whole history of -painting, besides including many surprises in the way of insignificant -ones), Browning must have had a wonderful amount of historical -knowledge. This familiarity with the development of the art was gained -in three ways--by some study of the subject before he went to Italy, by -reading histories of the painters after going there, and by visiting -galleries and churches in Italy and studying the pictures found therein. - -The fact that Browning had an interest in studying the London galleries -before he went to Italy, and indeed, was a student of pictures from his -childhood, has already been noted in the introductory remarks.[176] -Just how great the poet’s knowledge of Italian art was at this period, -is hard to determine. But his first poem, _Pauline_, contains a -reference to Andromeda, a picture by Caravaggio, who was a Renaissance -artist. Mrs. Orr[177] tells us that the picture was always before him -as a boy and that he loved the story of the divine deliverer and the -innocent victim which it represented. In one of his early letters to -Elizabeth Barrett, Browning gives the following account of his fondness -for Andromeda: “How some people use their pictures, for instance, is -a mystery to me. My Polidore’s perfect Andromeda along with ‘Boors -Carousing’ where I found her--my own father’s doing, or I would say -more.” - -These statements prove that a fondness for _some_ Italian art, at -least, had been a part of his life from a very early age; and in -addition, they suggest that a person who had so keen an appreciation -for a picture by an artist so little known as Caravaggio, must have -known a great deal more about Italian art than is implied in this one -statement. Browning was in his twenty-first year when _Pauline_, the -poem referring to Andromeda, was published. This was five years before -his first visit to Italy, but even at this time, his appreciation of -the picture was so complete that he compared the ever-beautiful and -unchanging Andromeda to himself and seemed to feel that she had as real -an existence. - - -III. IRREGULAR DISTRIBUTION OF REFERENCES.--While the influence of -painting began so early in Browning’s poetical career, and extended -to its close, the last art poem being _Beatrice Signorini_, in -the Asolando group, published just at the time of his death, the -chronological distribution of the subject is by no means regular. -In _Paracelsus_, reference to painting is found; _Sordello_ has some -minor references; _Pippa Passes_ contains some mention of painting and -much concerning sculpture. _Pictor Ignotus_, the first poem devoted -entirely to a painter, was published in 1845. All these items form a -comparatively slender thread of references up to the publications of -1855. At that date Browning had lived in Italy nine years, had studied -art histories, and seen pictures. Our chronicler, Mrs. Browning, we -recall, furnishes us the information--in the previously mentioned -letter of 1847 to Horne--that they were reading Vasari. This was the -next year after the Brownings went to Italy to take up their residence -there. Though Browning’s early trips (in 1838 and 1844) seem to have -had small influence on his poetic treatment of painting, the Italian -residence bore fruit. Between 1847, the year when the residence -began, and 1855, only one poem of Browning’s was published, and some -references to painting are found in it. The publications of 1855 -include the following poems on painting: _Old Pictures in Florence_, -_The Guardian Angel_, _Fra Lippo Lippi_, _Andrea del Sarto_, and _One -Word More_. In this one year, all the finest and best known of his -poems on painting were given to the world. Just why this is true is -hard to prove but easy to conjecture. The time just previous to their -publication marks the period of greatest, most intimate art study, -since these poems were the product of the first nine years in Italy. -There was a certain power, appreciation, and a fineness of feeling -associated with these first years in the great art center of Florence -that never returned again. For some time before this, Browning had been -an interested student of art, and the Florentine residence brought his -ideas to their full maturity. The best that he was capable of putting -into verse on the subject of painting was both imagined and written -during this first period in Italy, the home of painting. - - -IV. SOURCES OF THE POEMS.--An event recorded by Mrs. Browning, in a -letter to Mrs. Jameson, dated May 4, 1850, throws light on the source -of _Old Pictures in Florence_. She says that her husband had picked -up at a few pauls each some “hole and corner pictures” in a corn shop -a mile from Florence. Mr. Kirkup (one of the best judges of pictures -in Florence) threw out such names for them as “Cimabue, Ghirlandajo, -Giottino, a Crucifixion painted on a banner, Giottesque, if not Giotto, -but unique or nearly so, on account of linen material--and a little -Virgin by a Byzantine master. Two angel pictures, bought last year, -prove to have been sawed off of the Ghirlandajo, so-called.” - -Besides showing, as do many other statements of their life in Italy, -that Browning was deeply interested in art, these words suggest both -the title and the origin of _Old Pictures in Florence_, in which the -poet reproaches the spirits of the early masters for failing to leave -some of their works to one so appreciative as himself. What could be -more natural in its development? A poet-artist finds the pictures, is -told that they are genuine, and is very desirous of believing it. His -interest in personality turns his mind to the painters themselves, -his fancy runs with a loose rein--and we have the half-thoughtful -whimsicality of _Old Pictures in Florence_. On the serious side it -pleads for the following: (1) more attention to the early almost -unknown masters, instead of praise for Angelo, Raphael, and such famous -artists; (2) a greater appreciation of the development of Italian -painting, because it was development, than of the dead perfection of -Greek sculpture; (3) Italian freedom from Austria, and with it the -return of art to Florence, resulting in the completed Campanile with -the new flag upon it. The first two pleas are made on the ground of -the noble development of the early Italian painting, in contrast with -the later art of Italian painting and that of perfect Greek sculpture, -which were at a standstill. - -_The Guardian Angel_ was the direct result of a visit by the Brownings -to Fano; probably in 1848, for during that year Murray sent them there -to find a summer residence. Mrs. Browning reports[178] that it was -unspeakable for such a purpose, but “the churches are very beautiful, -and a divine picture of Guercino’s is worth going all that way to see.” -The poem was published with the group of 1855, and in it mention is -made of three trips to see the picture while the Brownings were at Fano. - -While _The Guardian Angel_ may be the only poem written as a direct -result of seeing a picture, _Andrea del Sarto_ was at least the result -of the existence of a picture. Mr. Kenyon, an intimate friend of the -Brownings, and a relative of Mrs. Browning, asked them to obtain for -him, if possible, a copy of Andrea’s picture of himself and wife. Since -he was unable to secure it, Browning wrote the poem and sent it as a -record of what the picture contained. - -Vasari was the source of much of the historical material which Browning -used in his poems. His gossipy narrative was followed almost exactly in -_Fra Lippo Lippi_, and partly in _Andrea del Sarto_ and other poems. -Baldinucci’s histories of the Italian painters furnish material for -_Beatrice Signorini_, and the first part of _Filippo Baldinucci_. -Browning invented the last part of the latter, and makes his invention -more real by Filippo’s declaration, “Plague o’ me if I record it in my -book.” - - -V. POETIC FUNCTIONS OF THE REFERENCES TO PAINTING.--Many references -to painters or painting are used for comparisons, just as in the -case of other arts. Such is the one in _Pauline_, in which the poet -describes the Andromeda of Caravaggio, and contrasts her to his own -changing soul; and also the comparison in _Sordello_, of the hero to -the same picture. A third mention of Andromeda, in _Francis Furini_, -illustrates the beauty of the nude art. The painter of Andromeda, -Polidoro da Caravaggio, is introduced in _Waring_, in a far from -serious comparison, in which Browning wonders if his long-silent friend -is splashing in painting “as none splashed before, Since great Caldara -Polidore.” - -In _Pippa Passes_, the Bishop compares one artist with another, by -expressing the hope that Jules will found a school like that of -Correggio. _In Three Days_ includes a comparison of the lights and -shades of a woman’s hair to painting, with the line, “As early Art -embrowns the gold.” _Any Wife to Any Husband_ compares the husband -who greatly admires other beautiful women, with anyone who looks at -Titian’s Venus--“Once more what is there to chide?” Passages in _Bishop -Blougram’s Apology_ name Correggio’s works and the pictures of Giulio -Romano as desirable things to own. The Bishop also states that he -keeps his restless unbelief quiet, “like the snake ’neath Michael’s -foot,” referring to the well-known painting by Raphael. In _James Lee’s -Wife_, the attitude toward an unbeautiful hand is illustrated by the -line--“Would Da Vinci turn from you?” - -One of the most striking examples of the comparison of a person with -a picture is found in Part VI of _The Ring and the Book_, where -Caponsacchi likens Pompilia to the Madonna of Raphael in innocence. In -Part VII, Pompilia compares her deliverer, Caponsacchi, to the picture -of St. George. In Part VIII, the speaker who defends Guido reads a -description of a man moved by too much grief, and says it fits Guido’s -case just as exactly as Maratta’s portraits are like the life. The -prosecutor, in Part IX, compares himself in his descriptions of the -family of Pompilia, to a painter, carefully planning to paint a ‘Holy -Family’. In this connection he names Carlo Maratta, Luca Giordano, -Angelo, Raphael, Pietro da Cortona, and Ferri. Four or five other -comparisons are found in _The Ring and the Book_, but in general, they -are very similar to the ones given above, and little would be gained by -enumerating all of them. - -About forty lines of _Fifine at the Fair_ are concerned with an -extended comparison of a man’s treatment of his wife with his attitude -toward an authentic Raphael which he has bought. In each case he makes -much over the new treasure when it has first come into his possession, -then seems neglectful, but in case of any danger, thinks first of his -real object of affection, forgetting such light fancies as other women -and Doré picture books. The comparison is further extended by likening -the soul in its choice of another soul to finding satisfaction in -art--poetry, music, and painting. The Italian artists, Bazzi, Raphael, -and Michael Angelo, are named as examples in this connection. - -_Red Cotton Night-Cap Country_ contains a very Browningesque -description of a soul, and pleads: - - “Aspire, break bounds! I say, - Endeavor to be good and better still, - And best! Success is nought, endeavor’s all.” - - * * * * * - - ... “there the incomplete, - More than completion, matches the immense,-- - Then Michael Angelo against the world.” - -_With Charles Avison_, _Cenciaja_, and _With Christopher Smart_ contain -comparisons similar to those noted above. - -Eleven poems in all deal with Italian painters or painting as the -principal theme. They are: _Pictor Ignotus_, _Old Pictures in -Florence_, _The Guardian Angel_, _Fra Lippo Lippi_, _Andrea del Sarto_, -_One Word More_, _A Face_, _Pacchiarotto_, _Filippo Baldinucci_, _With -Francis Furini_, and _Beatrice Signorini_. Eight of these center around -the work, personality, or history of a single artist. Of the eight, -_Pictor Ignotus_, _Andrea del Sarto_, _Fra Lippo Lippi_, and _With -Francis Furini_, are serious poetic efforts, having as the theme a -painter’s endeavor, and dealing in each case with some shortcoming or -lack of acknowledged success. Each of the first three, as poetry, is -excellent in conception and execution. _With Francis Furini_, however, -is rather didactic and heavy, lacking in lyricism and beauty. - -The failure of Pictor Ignotus was due to his high conception of art--so -high that he could not bear to submit pictures of real worth to the -world. With his extremely sensitive disposition he could not endure the -thought of ignorant criticism by people who had no comprehension of the -aim or purpose of the artist. Lippi failed to gain approbation because -he would not sacrifice his conception of painting things as God made -them to the misguided saintliness of the monks. Furini, according to -Browning’s estimate, failed in part, because of his attitude toward the -nude. Andrea del Sarto, the greatest failure in all Browning, possessed -a masterly technique, but failed through his weakness of character. - -Of the later art poems, published after 1855, _With Francis Furini_ is -the most serious effort. It contains an extended defense of the nude in -art, the substance of which is summed up in the following quotations: - - “No gift but in the very plentitude - Of its perfection, goes maimed, misconstrued, - By wickedness or weakness: still some few - Have grace to see thy purpose, strength to mar - Thy work with no admixture of their own.” - - * * * * * - - ... “Show beauty’s May, ere June - Undo the bud’s blush, leave a rose to cull - --No poppy neither! Yet less perfect-pure, - Divinely precious with life’s dew besprent. - Show saintliness that’s simply innocent - Of guessing sinnership exists.” - -Among the less serious works, _Pacchiarotto_ tells the story of a -reformer-painter, suffering at the hands of the people who opposed him. -With a decidedly humorous treatment, rollicking verse, and impossible -rhymes, Browning carried on the poem to its conclusion of a fling at -the critics of his own verse. _Filippo Baldinucci_ simply retells a -rather amusing story, quite distinct from any serious consideration -of the painter as an artist, with an added conclusion which Browning -imagined for himself. In like manner, _Beatrice Signorini_ consists -of a poetized version of some very personal history, which Browning -took from Baldinucci. The husband of Beatrice, who was the painter -Romanelli, fell in love with Artemisia Genteleschi, and having painted -her portrait, showed it to his wife. She immediately destroyed it, -Romanelli approved her spirit, and ever after loved her more. - - -VI. CONFORMITY TO HISTORY.--A few instances of departure from -historical facts are found in the poems on painting, though it is -really remarkable that they were not less accurate, written as they -were at a time when the history of painting had been so slightly -investigated. Such errors as existed are usually the result of mistakes -in the sources Browning followed, though these were the best in their -day, rather than from carelessness on his part. - -Some very recent investigators assert that Browning unduly exaggerated -the character of Andrea’s wife, in _Andrea del Sarto_. However, no less -an authority than W. M. Rossetti insists that he was essentially true -to the facts in representing her. Others insist that he was somewhat -unfair in the general impression which he gives of Andrea. At least he -has not changed the facts materially in this particular case; and if -any liberty has been taken, from a poetic standpoint it is well taken. -There are several slight errors in _Fra Lippo Lippi_. For example, -Guidi (Masaccio) is now known to have been the master, not the pupil of -Lippi, and the picture in Sant’ Ambrogio was probably not the expiation -of a prank. - -The few changes in the facts, however, are comparatively slight, -all told. Allowing for mistaken authorities whom Browning followed, -variations are much more trivial than might be expected. By the old -well-worn charity cloak of poetic license it is customary to allow for -considerable idealization. But Browning, the artist of things as they -really exist, held to the truth as he saw it, even in his treatment -of art. This he did in spite of the fact that his purpose was not to -give art history, but to present personality as it existed in relation -to art. With his deep insight into human nature, as well as art -history, he took the characters which he found in the world of art, the -good or bad, and gave them to us as examples of the striving, often -unsuccessful soul. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -GENERAL COMPARISONS: BROWNING AND THE FINE ARTS OF ITALY. - - -I. POETIC FUNCTION AND METHOD.--About fifteen poems from Browning -deal with the arts or artists of Italy as primary subject matter. The -remainder of the entire number of forty-nine which refer to art at all, -treat it as a secondary consideration. Taking the subject art as a -whole, as Browning introduces it in poetry, it appears in the following -forms: (1) main theme; (2) comparison of two or more artists working -in the same art; (3) comparison of artists in one art with those in -another, as painters with musicians, or with poets; (4) illustrative -material when the main theme of the poem has no immediate bearing on -art. _Abt Vogler_, in music, or _Fra Lippo Lippi_, in painting, are -examples of the first. _Andrea del Sarto_, besides exemplifying the -first form, contains numerous comparisons of its main character with -other painters. _With Charles Avison_ has a musician as a theme, and he -is compared with other artists, for example, Michael Angelo. _Fifine at -the Fair_, whose main theme has no connection with art, names Raphael, -Bazzi, and Angelo as illustrative material. Numerous instances of -incidental art references, used in such ways as these, attest the fact -that Browning had a large art consciousness, gained from past interest -in the different fields, and of sufficient activity to cause almost -constant references to the fine arts. - -Where Wordsworth would have chosen English natural scenery for purposes -of illustration, and Shelley nature in Italy, Browning chose art. -Fifteen poems with nature as the main theme, besides numerous others -with references to nature, would not seem unusual; but a group of -fifteen poems, all moderately long, based on the fine arts, besides a -very large number of comparisons to the arts in other poems, seems an -exceptional product for a nineteenth century English poet. - -Browning’s art monologue is of two kinds--the monologue of the artist -who is the chief character in the poem, and the monologue of the poet -addressing the artist directly. Nor are these forms confined entirely -to Italian art poems. _My Last Duchess_, _The Bishop orders his Tomb_, -_Pictor Ignotus_, _Fra Lippo Lippi_, _Andrea del Sarto_, _Abt Vogler_, -are all in dramatic monologue, with either an artist or one interested -in art, as the speaker. _A Toccata of Galuppi’s_, _Master Hughes -of Saxe-Gotha_, and _Old Pictures in Florence_, represent the poet -addressing the artist. _Filippo Baldinucci_ is presented in the first -person, in monologue form. In _The Guardian Angel_ the poet directly -addressed the angel of the picture. _One Word More_ and _A Face_, in -which the art element is strong, are written in the first person, the -former addressed directly to Mrs. Browning with the poet speaking, and -the second addressed to no particular person. This review establishes -the fact that the monologue is Browning’s favorite form for poems about -art, since the list just quoted includes all important poems of that -kind. In every case he made some personality prominent, and in all -serious poems on art, that personality is either speaking or spoken to, -the very finest poems being of the former type. - - -II. AMOUNT OF MATERIAL USED FROM EACH OF THE FINE ARTS.--In the -foregoing discussion of the five branches of Italian art in -Browning,--sculpture, music, poetry, architecture, and painting--the -order has been determined largely by a quantitative standard. In the -Appendix are systematic lists showing the number of poems and the exact -references in connection with each art. No extensive comparison of -the different arts regarding frequency of introduction, therefore, is -needed here; but a few generalizations concerning some of the reasons -for the variation in emphasis seem not amiss. - -Architecture is the art of a concrete bodily form, absolutely -separated from any representation of humanity, unless one looks beyond -it to the architect, or to the people for whom it is constructed. -In contradistinction to the other fine arts discussed here, it is -characterized by usefulness. While it should, and does, in its highest -forms, surmount mere utility, and give an impression of harmony, -beauty, and grandeur, it never directly portrays the finest feelings -of which humanity is capable and never inspires one directly with -a feeling of achievement or struggle in character. Utility is the -chief interest guiding Browning’s treatment of architecture--not -architectural utility, but the service to the poet in fixing the -setting of his poems. Such service is clear in nearly every instance -in all of the twenty-five poems in which some Italian building is -mentioned, and in the case of nearly all the fifty-eight edifices -named. The description of St. Peter’s in _Christmas-Eve and Easter-Day_ -is practically the only exception, and there, as has already been -stated, the poet passed from the grandeur of the structure itself to -the builders. Lack of personality in architecture is, then, the reason -for its very slight introduction as an actual art in Browning’s verse. - -Passing on from architecture to sculpture one finds that we have -another art of concrete bodily form, with the added power of portraying -the human form, face, and to a very slight degree, the soul. While the -number of sculptors named is very small, then, Browning’s appreciation -of this art surpasses his appreciation of architecture. Examples of -this are _Old Pictures in Florence_, in which sculpture is treated at -considerable length, by comparing its merits with the aspirations of -the early painters, and _Pippa Passes_, in which Jules, the sculptor, -is a prominent figure. _The Bishop orders his Tomb_ deals almost -entirely with sculpture. Still sculpture was not Browning’s favorite -art by any means. Bodily perfection he admired; but he wished to go -beyond it to the soul in dramatic situations, to its struggle and -endeavor. And for these values the powers of sculpture are limited. To -portray successfully any very great struggle or intense feeling of the -soul is beyond its nature. - -A cause for the large amount of Italian poetry in the writings of -Browning has already been suggested, in part.[179] But one must further -consider the fact that he did not continue to deal with poets and -their writings as subject matter. After the first eight years of his -career, he ceased to deal with the causes connected with the failure of -poets. Fundamentally, all arts are agencies of expression through the -representation of nature and humanity. With the breadth of vision which -Browning possessed concerning the possibilities of expression in all -the arts, there was none of the five in which he did not, at some time -or other, wish to express himself. In the beginning of his career, -when he was formulating his ideas of a poet, he expressed his ideas of -that art by writing about other poets. But with ideas and forms for his -own art once fully established, the art became self-expressive. He no -longer needed to write about other poets; for the poet in himself had -found his own purpose and method. - -It has already been suggested that Browning’s appreciation of music, -as he expressed it in his poems, was qualitative, rather than -quantitative, so far as Italian music is concerned. This art rivals -poetry in expressing the highest yearnings and ideals of which the -soul is capable, and is, therefore, in a very high degree, though in -abstract form, the art of personality. And this art Browning expressed -most perfectly, as to the aims and ideals of its artists, when he -chose to do so. But with all his own feeling for music and with such -ability as he expressed in performance, it, like poetry, was largely -self-expressive for him. That is he played, instead of writing poetry -about music. Browning’s evident preference for other music than that -of the modern composers of Italy explains the lack of space accorded -to them. Yet in spite of this preference the best of his musical poems -were built about Italians--obscure ones though they may be. - -Browning did no work in actual study of the technique of painting. The -nearest he came to it was at the time of his thirteen days application -to drawing.[180] Yet painting is in a very large degree expressive of -the soul--its anguish, sorrow, failure, joy, ecstasy, or endeavor. -Drawn to it by his interest in personality, Browning made it contribute -largely to his poems. The Italian painting with which he dealt had -little to do with landscape or other phases of nature. It portrayed -persons; and stimulated by the pictures which he saw, or by records -of personality in the biography of artists, he incorporated many -references to painting in his poems, dealing more largely with it than -with any other art. Since, too, Italy was the home of painting, his -environment was very conducive to a development of his tendency to make -painting an important element in his poems. - -Browning, as poet and man, was able to forgive any sort of failure -if the person whom he was judging had only made a thorough effort to -accomplish something. He carried this doctrine so far as to make a -lack of effort the cause of his censure of the Duke and the Lady in -_The Statue and the Bust_, even though the fulfillment of their plan -would have been a sin. This love for endeavor, which always accompanies -his attitude toward any personality, along with his enthusiasm for -personality itself explains his selection and emphasis in his treatment -of the arts. Painting he decidedly preferred above sculpture for -other reasons than its greater ability in portraying the soul. This -preference is stated in _Old Pictures in Florence_, and is based on the -fact that Greek art had run, and “reached the Goal.” Its effort, then, -was over: - - “They are perfect--how else? they shall never change: - We are faulty--why not? we have time in store. - The Artificer’s hand is not arrested - With us ...” - - * * * * * - - “’Tis a life-long toil till our lump be leaven-- - The better! What’s come to perfection perishes.” - -These quotations from _Old Pictures in Florence_, in which the poet, by -using the first person in his references to the early masters of Italy -places himself in their group and refers to Greek art in the third -person, are indications of the spirit of the poem and of Browning’s -entire attitude toward endeavor in art. - -To summarize, then: few persons have as great an interest in expressing -themselves through all the arts as did Robert Browning. Architecture -and sculpture he appreciated least; therefore he expressed least -concerning their spirit and feeling. Music was a fundamental part of -his life; but he was able to embody his feelings about it in music -itself, not merely in poetry about it. Yet because of his perfect -understanding of it, he has embodied its spirit in a few choice poems, -making permanent, by his treatment of its evanescent quality, the -ideas that could not be left to the world by his playing. Painting he -deeply appreciated from childhood; but beyond a few amateur efforts -for diversion, he could not express his appreciation of it by means -of that art itself. Consequently, in an unusually large number of his -poems, he gave us his view of that art, his portraits of its followers, -historical or imaginary. - - -III. PERSONALITY AND THE ARTS.--Through his presentation of artists, -Browning has given the world many different types of character. -Prominent among them are the following: The non-altruistic, -impractical poet--Sordello; the sensualist--Bocafoli; the superficial -character--Plara; the regretful but optimistic idealist--Abt Vogler; -the coarse realist, who yet possessed a really fine appreciation of -God’s world--Fra Lippo Lippi; the weak, ambitionless man--Andrea -del Sarto; the keenly sensitive mind--Pictor Ignotus; and the -reformer--Pacchiarotto. - -Art is also connected with Browning’s character portrayal in a -secondary sort of way, of which _The Ring and the Book_ furnishes -excellent illustrations. In that poem people are characterized by -their likeness to some work of art--_e. g._, Pompilia is compared to -Raphael’s Madonna; or by their fondness for some particular work of -art--_e. g._, the Pope chuckling over the _Merry Tales_. - -While Browning mentioned the great masters in many different poems, it -is noticeable that he never used one of them as the main subject of a -poem. There are Andrea, Lippo, and Furini, but there is no Angelo and -no Raphael. This is due to the one element of interest on Browning’s -part that has already been emphasized in this chapter and previous -ones--personality. Browning was interested in the artist he selected, -not merely as an artist, not as a distinguished figure, but as a human -being, whose attempts, partial failure, or development, the poet wished -us to study with him. - -Very often the characters whom Browning chose to present either in -connection with the arts or otherwise, were such as we do not approve -of--but neither did Browning approve of them. His theory of art was no -mere aesthetic one of art for art’s sake, no mere dogma of didacticism. -It was rather, art for the sake of human nature, of personality. Of all -the characters he has drawn for us, the one whose expression of art -best gives Browning’s own sentiments is Fra Lippo Lippi, the painter -and realist, enthusiastic for - - “The beauty and the wonder and the power, - The shapes of things, their colors, lights, and shades, - Changes, surprises--and God made it all! - - * * * * * - - “But why not do as well as say,--paint these - Just as they are, careless what comes of it?” - -Numerous instances might be cited as a proof of this--Guido, the Duke, -the Bishop, and many others. All his human beings, then, Browning chose -because their personality appealed to him, as a study, rather than -because they compelled his admiration, whether he selected them from -the world of art or elsewhere. - - -IV. BROWNING AS THE POET OF HUMANITY.--By consideration of Browning’s -general attitude towards the arts, of his fondness for the struggle of -the human soul as a poetic theme, and by a discussion of his relative -emphasis on each art and the method in which he chose to treat it, -the fact has been established that Browning was primarily the poet of -the human soul, and a poet of the arts as seen through the medium of -personality. - -When he was once asked if he liked nature, he replied, “Yes but I -love men and women better.” The arts--architecture, music, poetry, -sculpture, and painting--he loved also; but he loved them most because -they recorded human experience, and best when they most fully expressed -the struggles of the soul, and thus became the direct embodiment of -personality. - - - - -APPENDIX - - - I. POEMS CONTAINING REFERENCE TO ITALIAN ART. - - 1. Pauline, 1833. - 2. Paracelsus, 1835. - 3. Sordello, 1840. - 4. Pippa Passes, 1841. - 5. My Last Duchess, 1842. - 6. In a Gondola, 1842. - 7. Waring, 1842. - 8. The Boy and the Angel, 1845. - 9. Time’s Revenges, 1845. - 10. The Bishop orders his Tomb at St. Praxed’s Church, 1845. - 11. Pictor Ignotus, 1845. - 12. The Italian in England, 1845. - 13. Luria, 1846. - 14. A Soul’s Tragedy, 1846. - 15. Christmas-Eve and Easter-Day, 1850. - 16. Up at a Villa, 1855. - 17. A Toccata of Galuppi’s, 1855. - 18. Old Pictures in Florence, 1855. - 19. By the Fireside, 1855. - 20. Any Wife to Any Husband, 1855. - 21. In Three Days, 1855. - 22. The Guardian Angel, 1855. - 23. Master Hugues of Saxe-Gotha, 1855. - 24. The Statue and the Bust, 1855. - 25. How it Strikes a Contemporary, 1855. - 26. Fra Lippo Lippi, 1855. - 27. Andrea del Sarto, 1855. - 28. Bishop Blougram’s Apology, 1855. - 29. One Word More, 1855. - 30. James Lee’s Wife, 1864. - 31. Abt Vogler, 1864. - 32. Youth and Art, 1864. - 33. A Face, 1864. - 34. Apparent Failure, 1864. - 35. The Ring and the Book, 1868-9. - 36. Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, 1871. - 37. Fifine at the Fair, 1872. - 38. Red Cotton Night-Cap Country, 1873. - 39. The Inn Album, 1875. - 40. Pacchiarotto, 1876. - 41. Cenciaja, 1876. - 42. Filippo Baldinucci, 1876. - 43. Pietro of Abano, 1880. - 44. Christina and Monaldeschi, 1883. - 45. With Christopher Smart, 1887. - 46. With Francis Furini, 1887. - 47. With Charles Avison, 1887. - 48. Ponte dell’ Angelo, Venice, 1889. - 49. Beatrice Signorini, 1889. - - - II. TABULATION OF REFERENCES TO INDIVIDUAL ARTS. - - - SCULPTURE - - I. _Sordello._ - 1. Niccolo Pisano (1206-1278). By his study of nature - and the ancients, gave the death-blow to - Byzantinism and heralded the Renaissance. - 2. Giovanni Pisano (c. 1250-1330). His many pupils - carried the continuation of his father’s principles - throughout northern Italy. - - II. _Pippa Passes._ - 1. Canova (1757-1822). A refined, classical, but - somewhat artificial reviver of Italian sculpture in - the modern era. - a. The Psiche-fanciulla--Psycheas a young girl - with a butterfly, in the Possagno Gallery. - b. Pietà--a statue of the Virgin with the dead - Christ in her arms, in Possagno Church. - 2. Jules. An imaginary young sculptor, studying - Italian models. - a. Almaign Kaiser. - b. Hippolyta. - c. Psyche. - d. Tydeus. - - III. _My Last Duchess._ - 1. Claus of Innsbruck. An imaginary Renaissance - sculptor. - a. Neptune taming a sea-horse. - - IV. _The Bishop orders his Tomb at St. Praxed’s Church._ - 1. Tomb of the Bishop. - 2. Globe in the Church of Il Gesu. - - V. _Christmas-Eve and Easter-Day._ - 1. Early Christian attitude toward art. - - VI. _Old Pictures in Florence._ - 1. Niccolo Pisano. - 2. Ghiberti (1378-1455). A Florentine sculptor, also - important for perspective in painting, whose ideal - combined religious feeling with classical beauty. - - VII. _The Statue and the Bust._ - 1. Giovanni da Bologna (John of Douay) (c. 1524-1608). - An Italian Renaissance sculptor who combines - technical knowledge with fine poetic feeling. - a. Statue of Duke Ferdinand, by Giovanni. - b. A bust of the Lady. - - VIII. _The Ring and the Book._ - (I.) 1. Baccio’s marble (by Baccio Bandinelli)--statue of - John of the Black Bands, father of Cosimo de’ - Medici. - 2. Bernini’s Triton. - (III.) 3. Bernini’s Triton. - (VI.) 4. Pasquin’s statue. - (VII.) 5. Marble lion in San Lorenzo. - 6. Virgin at Pompilia’s street corner. - (XI.) 7. Bocca-dell’-Verità--the fabled test for the verity - of witnesses, a mask of stone in the portico of the - Church Santa Maria in Cosmedin. - - - MUSIC - - I. _The Englishman in Italy._ - 1. Bellini (1801-1835). An Italian opera composer. - - II. _A Toccata of Galuppi’s._ - 1. Galuppi (1706-1785). A composer of melodious - rather than original operas, whose workmanship was - superior to that of his contemporaries in harmony - and orchestration. - - III. _Master Hugues of Saxe-Gotha._ - 1. Master Hugues of Saxe-Gotha. An imaginary - composer. - 2. Palestrina (1526-1594). Famous for saving music to - the church by submitting some that met with - approval when ecclesiastical authorities were about - to forbid its use. - - IV. _Bishop Blougram’s Apology._ - 1. Verdi (1813-1901). One of the greatest modern - Italian composers, best known by _Il Trovatore_, - _Rigoletto_, and _La Traviata_. - 2. Rossini (1782-1868). A composer whose success - antedates that of Verdi; best known by his opera - _William Tell_. - - V. _Abt Vogler._ - 1. Abt or Abbe Vogler (1749-1814). An organist and - composer of Bavarian birth, some of whose study and - public work were done in Italy. Though he invented - a new system of musical theory, his ideas were - empirical. - - VI. _Youth and Art._ - 1. Grisi (1811-1869). An Italian opera singer. - - VII. _The Ring and the Book._ - (I.) 1. Corelli (1653-1713). A violin player and composer - who, though he employed only a limited part of his - instrument’s compass, made an epoch in chamber - music and influenced Bach. - (IV.) 2. Magnificat--Catholic music. - 3. Nunc Dimittis. - (VI.) 4. Ave. - 5. Angelus. - (VII.) 6. Ave Maria. - (X.) 7. Sanctus et Benedictus. - (XII.) 8. Pater. - 9. Ave. - 10. Salve Regina Cœli. - - VIII. _Red Cotton Night-Cap Country._ - 1. Guarnerius (1687-1745). Joseph del Gesu, one of the - most famous violin makers, who worked for boldness - of outline and massive construction, securing in - consequence, a robust tone. - 2. Antonius Stradivarius (1644-1737). His final model, - with its soft varnish, now irrecoverable, brought - violin making to its highest perfection. - 3. Corelli. - 4. Paganini (1784-1840). A violin player who achieved - such brilliant success that his name still stands - for all that is wonderful in execution on that - instrument. - - IX. _Parleyings with Charles Avison._ - 1. Buononcini (1672-1750). The author of a musical - treatise; his chief claim to fame being the fact - that he influenced Handel and Scarlotti. - 2. Geminiani (c. 1680-1762). A violinist of - considerable ability, but as a composer, dry and - deficient in melody. - - - POETRY - - I. _Paracelsus._ - 1. Aprile. An imaginary poet. - - II. _Sordello._ - 1. Sordello (13th. century). The most famous of the - Mantuan troubadours. - 2. Nina. A contemporary of Sordello. - 3. Alcamo. A contemporary of Sordello. - 4. Plara. An imaginary poet. - 5. Bocafoli. An imaginary poet. - 6. Eglamor. An imaginary poet. - 7. Dante. (1265-1321). - - III. _Time’s Revenges._ - 1. Dante. - - IV. _A Soul’s Tragedy._ - 1. Stiatta. An imaginary poet. - - V. _Up at a Villa._ - 1. Dante. - 2. Petrarch (1304-1374). - 3. Boccaccio (1313-1375). - - VI. _Old Pictures in Florence._ - 1. Dante. - - VII. _One Word More._ - 1. Dante--The _Inferno_. - - VIII. _Apparent Failure._ - 1. Petrarch. - - IX. _The Ring and the Book._ - (III). 1. _Hundred Merry Tales._ (Boccaccio). - (V). 2. Boccaccio. - 3. Sacchetti (1335-1400). A poet and novelist who left - many unpublished sonnetti, canzoni, ballate, and - madrigale, and whose novelle throw light on the - manners of his age. - (VI). 4. A Marinesque Adoniad. - 5. Marino (1569-1625). A poet of disreputable life, - leader of the Secentisimo period, whose aim was to - excite wonder by novelties and to cloak poverty of - subject under form. - 6. Dante. - 7. Pietro Aretino (1492-1556). Author of satirical - sonnets, burlesques, comedies; and a man of - profligate life. - (X). 8. Aretino. - (XI). 9. _Merry Tales_ (Boccaccio). - 10. Aretino. - (XII). 11. Petrarch. - 12. Tommaseo (1803-1874). A modern Italian poet, - author of the inscription to Mrs. Browning placed - by the city of Florence on the walls of Casa Guidi. - - X. _The Inn Album._ - 1. Dante--The _Inferno_. - - - ARCHITECTURE - - I. _Sordello._ - 1. Goito. An imaginary 13th century castle, used to - influence the life of Sordello by its beauty and - solitude. - 2. St. Mark’s. A great landmark of Italian - architecture, in construction from the ninth to the - fifteenth century, and the most splendid - polychromatic building in Europe. - 3. Piombi. Torture cells under the Ducal Palace at - Venice. - 4. San Pietro (Martire). A Veronese Gothic church of - 1350. - 5. St. Francis. A Lombard Gothic church at Bassano. - 6. Castle Angelo. A huge Roman fortress constructed in - the time of Hadrian. - 7. San Miniato. A Florentine church built in Central - Romanesque style. - 8. Sant’ Eufemia. A 13th century Veronese church, now - modernized internally. - - II. _Pippa Passes._ - 1. St. Mark’s--Venice. - 2. Possagno Church. Designed by Canova in 1819, as a - place for statues of religious subjects. - 3. Fenice--or Phoenix. The best modern theatre of - Venice, built in 1836. - 4. Academy of Fine Arts. A Renaissance building in - Venice. - Asolo Group. - 5. Duomo of Asolo. - 6. Pippa’s Tower. Later the studio of Browning’s son. - 7. Church. - 8. Castle of Kate--of which the banqueting hall is now - a theatre. - 9. Turret. - 10. Palace. - 11. Mill--now a lace school. - - III. _In a Gondola._ - 1. Pulci Palace--Venice. - - IV. _The Boy and the Angel._ - 1. St. Peter’s. In process of construction during the - 16th and 17th centuries; the building that best - typifies the importance of the church during the - middle ages. Built on the Greek cross plan, it is - surmounted by the dome of Michael Angelo, the most - nobly beautiful of architectural creations. - - V. _The Italian in England._ - 1. Duomo at Padua. A 16th century building of - admirable proportions. - - VI. _The Bishop orders his Tomb at St. Praxed’s Church._ - 1. Santa Prassede--or St. Praxed’s. A church in Rome, - founded on the former site of a refuge for - persecuted Christians. It is notable for the beauty - of its stone work and mosaics, one of its rich - chapels being called Orto del Paradiso. The - building is old but was restored in the 15th - century. - 2. Il Gesu. An ornate 16th century church in Rome, - representing the retrograde movement in - architecture. - - VII. _Luria._ - 1. Duomo. The Florentine cathedral, famous for its - dome of 1420, its beautiful sculptured exterior and - its cold brown interior. - 2. Towers of Florence--San Romano, Sant’ Evola, San - Miniato, Santa Scala, and Sant’ Empoli. - - VIII. _Christmas-Eve and Easter-Day._ - 1. St. Peter’s--Rome. - - IX. _A Toccata of Galuppi’s._ - 1. St. Mark’s--Venice. - - X. _The Guardian Angel._ - 1. Chapel at Fano. - - XI. _Old Pictures in Florence._ - 1. Giotto (1267-1337). Architect, and the humanizer of - painting, as well as the builder of the Campanile. - 2. Campanile. The bell tower of the Florentine Duomo, - built by Giotto in 1332; an architectural triumph - in beauty and splendor. - 3. Santo Spirito. A 14th century Florentine church. - 4. Duomo--Florence. - 5. Ognissanti--Florence. - - XII. _By the Fireside._ - 1. Chapel near Bagni di Lucca. - - XIII. _The Statue and the Bust._ - 1. Antinori Palace. An example of Renaissance secular - architecture, built about 1481, in Florence. - 2. Riccardi Palace. A Florentine castle, the earliest - and finest example of secular Renaissance - architecture. - - XIV. _Fra Lippo Lippi._ - 1. Santa Maria del Carmine. A 15th century church and - convent in Florence, containing frescoes by - Masaccio and Filippino Lippi. - 2. Palace of the Medici--Florence. - 3. St. Lawrence--or San Lorenzo. A Florentine - Renaissance church, rebuilt about 1425. - 4. St. Ambrose. A Florentine edifice, the reputed - scene of a transubstantiation miracle in 1746. - - XV. _Bishop Blougram’s Apology._ - 1. Vatican. The papal palace at Rome, most of which as - it exists now, was built no earlier than the - fifteenth century. - - XVI. _Andrea del Sarto._ - 1. Chapel and the Convent--Florence. - - XVII. _One Word More._ - 1. San Miniato--Florence. - - XVIII. _Abt Vogler._ - 1. St. Peter’s. - - XIX. _The Ring and the Book._ - (I). 1. San Lorenzo. The original building by Brunelleschi - in 1425 or perhaps 1420, was entrusted to Michael - Angelo for the facade. Florence. - 2. Riccardi Palace--Florence. - 3. San Felice Church. A little grey-walled Florentine - church, mostly in a very ancient Romanesque style, - which could be seen from the windows of Casa Guidi. - 4. Fiano Palace. An example of secular architecture - in Rome, built about 1300. - 5. Ruspoli Palace. Built by the Rucellai family in - 1586; has one of the finest white marble stair - cases in Rome. - (II). 6. San Lorenzo--Rome. Founded by Sixtus III in 440 and - modernized in 1506; has a Crucifixion by Guido - Reni, above the high altar. - 7. Ruspoli Palace--Rome. - (III). 8. Saint Anna’s. A monastery in Rome. - 9. San Lorenzo--Rome. - (IV). 10. San Lorenzo--Rome. - 11. Vatican--Rome. - (V). 12. Tordinona--Rome. - 13. New Prisons--Rome. - 14. San Lorenzo--Rome. - (VI). 15. Pieve, or Santa Maria della Pieve. A great church - in Arezzo, built in the capricious, extravagant - style of the 13th century. - 16. San Lorenzo--Rome. - 17. Duomo--Arezzo. - (VII.) 18. San Lorenzo--Rome. - 19. San Giovanni. A Tuscan church built in Rome at the - expense of the Florentines. - 20. Pieve--Arezzo. - (VIII). 21. Sistine Chapel. Chapel of the Vatican, at Rome; a - most extreme example of figure painting in - decoration, but justified by the excellence of the - work. The ceiling is Michael Angelo’s, and on the - altar wall is his “Last Judgment.” - (X). 22. Vatican--Rome. - 23. Pieve--Arezzo. - 24. Monastery of the Convertites--Rome. Founded in - 1584, for the spiritual care of the sick at Rome. - (XI). 25. Certosa. A beautifully situated, very richly built - monastery of the Carthusians in Val d’ Ema, four - miles from Florence, built in the 14th century - Gothic style. - 26. Vallombrosa Convent. Situated near Florence; - founded about 1650, by a repentant profligate. - 27. Palace in Via Larga. Secular Florentine - architecture. - 28. San Lorenzo--Rome. - 29. Vatican--Rome. - (XII). 30. New Prisons--Rome. - 31. San Lorenzo--Rome. - 32. Monastery of the Convertites--Rome. - - XX. _Fifine at the Fair._ - 1. St. Mark’s--Venice. - - XXI. _Pacchiarotto._ - 1. San Bernardino. A Renaissance church at Siena, with - an Oratory, containing work of Beccafumi, Pacchia, - and Pacchiarotto. - 2. Duomo at Siena. An unfinished cathedral, the most - purely Gothic of all of those of Italy, of - unrivalled solemnity and splendor. - - XXII. _Filippo Baldinucci._ - 1. San Frediano. A modern Florentine church. - - XXIII. _Pietro of Abano._ - 1. Lateran. Formerly the Papal residence, though the - present structure, of 1586, was never used for that - purpose and is now a museum of classical sculpture - and early Christian remains. - - XXIV. _With Francis Furini._ - 1. San Sano, or Ansano. A Florentine parish church. - - XXV. _Ponte del Angelo, Venice._ - 1. House along the Bridge, of no importance - architecturally, but connected with an old legend - which is the subject of the poem. - - - PAINTING - - I. _Pauline._ - 1. Andromeda. By Polidoro da Caravaggio--the picture - of Perseus freeing her from the sea monster. - - II. _Sordello._ - 1. Guido of Siena (c. 1250--). The disputed artist of - a Virgin and Child, the date of which may be either - 1221 or 1281. If it be the former, some of - Cimabue’s claims are disturbed by Guido’s earlier - work. - 2. Guido Reni (1575-1642). A prime master in the - Bolognese school, faithful to its eclectic - principles and working with considerable artistic - feeling, but still with a certain “core of the - commonplace.” - 3. Andromeda. By Caravaggio. - - III. _Pippa Passes._ - 1. Annibale Carracci (burlesque--“Hannibal Scratchy”) - (1560-1609). With his brother and his uncle founded - the Bolognese school, which was eclectic and - comprised the good points of all the great masters. - 2. Correggio (1494-1534). The head of the Lombard - School at Parma, a painter of graceful naturalness - and sweetness and of great technical power in - chiaroscuro. - 3. Titian (1477-1576). A Venetian painter who lacked - inventiveness but was the greatest of colorists. - a. Annunciation--in the Cathedral at Treviso, - painted by Titian in 1519. - - IV. _My Last Duchess._ - 1. Fra Pandolf. An imaginary artist. - - V. _In a Gondola._ - 1. Schidone (c. 1570-1615). A portrait painter of the - Lombard school. - a. Eager Duke. An imaginary picture. - 2. Luca Giordano (1632-1705). Called Luke-work-fast - because of his father’s miserly urging; a painter - of superficiality and facility. - a. Prim Saint. An imaginary picture. - 3. Giorgione (Castelfranco) (1477-1510). A Venetian - painter who did for his school what Leonardo da - Vinci had done for Florence twenty years earlier. - a. Magdalen--imaginary. - 4. Titian. - a. Ser (a picture). - - VI. _Waring._ - 1. Polidoro da Caravaggio. - - VII. _Pictor Ignotus._ - 1. Pictor Ignotus--an imaginary painter of Italy. - - VIII. _Christmas-Eve and Easter-Day._ - 1. Michael Angelo and discussion of painting. - - IX. _Old Pictures in Florence._ - 1. Michael Angelo (1475-1564). A Florentine master in - painting, sculpture, and architecture. No other - single person ever so dominated art as he, with his - Italian “terribilita”, or stormy energy of - conception, and his great dramatic power. - 2. Raphael (1483-1520). A master of combined - draughtsmanship, coloring, and graceful - composition; popular and unexcelled in versatility. - 3. Leonardo da Vinci (1452-1519). The earliest of the - great masters of the High Renaissance, and the - first to completely master anatomy and technique. - 4. Cavaliere Dello (c. 1404-c. 1464). An unimportant - Florentine painter of frescoes. - 5. Stefano (1324?-1357?). Called the “Ape of Nature” - because he followed her closely in an age of - unrealistic painting. - 6. Cimabue (1240-c. 1302). The first painter of - importance in the revival of that art, the one who - formed its first principles, though he owed - something to the Pisan sculptors. - 7. Ghirlandajo (1449-1494). Good in his general - attainment but lacking in originality, and - remembered for one famous pupil--Michael Angelo. - 8. Sandro (Botticelli) (1444-1510). A Florentine - painter, imbued with a strain of fantasy, - mysticism, and allegory. - 9. Lippino (1460-1505). The son of Fra Lippo Lippi, a - painter of considerable skill, the first to - introduce detail in antique costumes. - 10. Fra Angelico (1387-1455). A holy, self-denying - painter of faces that showed a “sexless - religiosity.” - 11. Lorenzo Monaco (1370-1425). A Florentine monk and - painter of much religious sentiment. - 12. Pollajolo (1429-1498). An important painter whose - works show brutality, but who was a close student - of muscular anatomy. - 13. Baldovinetti (1427-1499). A Florentine; one of a - group of scientific realists and naturalists. - 14. Margheritone (c. 1236-1289). An early Tuscan - painter whose work shows the stiffness and crude - color of the Byzantine artists. - 15. Carlo Dolci (1616-1686). An unimportant Florentine - painter of careful workmanship and religious - sentimentality. - 16. Giotto (1267?-1337). A painter and architect, the - real humanizer of painting. - 17. Andrea Orgagna (1308-1368). A Florentine painter - and artist in other lines as well. - 18. Taddeo Gaddi (c. 1300-1366). Painter and architect. - - X. _In Three Days._ - 1. General reference to early art. - - XI. _The Guardian Angel._ - 1. Guercino (1591-1666). The “squint-eyed”; a - Bolognese painter. - a. Angel at Fano. - - XII. _Any Wife to Any Husband._ - 1. Titian’s Venus. - - XIII. _How it Strikes a Contemporary._ - 1. Titian. - - XIV. _Fra Lippo Lippi._ - 1. Lippi (1406-1469). A realist of good coloring and - technique, a painter of enjoyable pictures showing - power of observation. - a. Jerome. - b. St. Lawrence. - c. Coronation of the Virgin--in St. Ambrose. - 2. Angelico. - 3. Monaco. - 4. Guidi Masaccio (1402-1429). A Florentine; the - master of Lippi, the first to make considerable - advancement in atmospheric perspective and to paint - architectural background in proportion to the human - figures. - 5. Giotto. - - XV. _Andrea del Sarto._ - 1. Andrea (1487-1513). A Florentine, the “faultless - painter,” who lacked elevation and ideality in his - works. - 2. Raphael. - 3. Vasari (1511-1571). A Florentine artist, student of - Michael Angelo, imitative and feeble as a painter, - but interesting as an art historian. - 4. Michael Angelo. - 5. Leonardo da Vinci. - - XVI. _Bishop Blougram’s Apology._ - 1. Correggio. - a. Jerome. - 2. Giulio Romano (1429-1546). A rather ornate artist, - the executor of some work on the Vatican. - 3. Raphael. - 4. Michael Slaying the Dragon--by Raphael. - - XVII. _One Word More._ - 1. Raphael. - a. Sistine Madonna. - b. Madonna Foligno. - c. Madonna of the Grand Duke. - d. Madonna of the Lilies. - 2. Guido Reni. - 3. Lippi. - 4. Andrea. - - XVIII. _James Lee’s Wife._ - 1. Leonardo da Vinci. - - XIX. _A Face._ - 1. Correggio. - 2. General reference to the early art of Tuscany. - - XX. _The Ring and the Book._ - (I). 1. Luigi Ademollo (1764-1849). A Florentine painter of - historical and fresco works, whose works show - superficial skill. - 2. Joconde, or Mona Lisa, by Da Vinci--the woman of - the mysterious smile, recently returned to the - Louvre. - (II). 3. Guido Reni. - a. Crucifixion, in San Lorenzo at Rome. - (III). 4. Carlo Maratta (1625-1713). A painter at Rome, an - imitator of Raphael and the Carracci. - (IV). 5. Raphael. - 6. Correggio. - a. Leda. - (V). 7. Pietro da Cortona (1596-1669). Mainly a scenic and - fresco painter, the estimate of whom has declined - since his own time. - 8. Ciro Ferri (1634-1689). A pupil of Pietro, so - imitative of his master that the work of the two - cannot be distinguished. - (VI). 9. Raphael. - (VII). 10. St. George Slaying the Dragon--by Vasari. - (VIII). 11. Carlo Maratta. - (IX). 12. Maratta. - 13. Luca Giordano. - 14. Michael Angelo. - 15. Raphael. - 16. Pietro da Cortona. - 17. Ciro Ferri. - (X). 18. St. Michael. - (XI). 19. Albani (1587-1660). A Bolognese who also worked at - Rome; a painter of minute elaboration and finish, - and one of the first to devote himself to cabinet - painting. - 20. Picture in Vallombrosa Convent. - 21. Raphael--any picture. - 22. Titian. - 23. Fra Angelico. - 24. Michael Angelo. - (XII). 25. Michael Angelo. - - XXI. _Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau._ - 1. Raphael. - 2. Salvator Rosa (1615-1673). A Neapolitan painter of - battle scenes and landscapes, with a tendency - toward the picturesque and romantic. - - XXII. _Fifine at the Fair._ - 1. Raphael. - 2. Bazzi (1477-1594). An Italian Renaissance painter - who was greatly influenced by Leonardo da Vinci, - and in turn, had great influence on the Sienese - school. - 3. Michael Angelo. - - XXIII. _Red Cotton Night-Cap Country._ - 1. Michael Angelo. - 2. Correggio. - a. Leda. - - XXIV. _Pacchiarotto and How He Worked in Distemper._ - 1. Pacchiarotto (1474-?). A Sienese painter, reformer, - and conspirator. - 2. Pacchia (b. 1477). A Sienese painter contemporary - to Pacchiarotto, and also a reformer and - conspirator. - 3. Fungaio (c. 1460-c. 1516). One of the last of the - old school. His works have rigidity and awkward - stiffness. - 4. Bazzi. - 5. Beccafumi (1486-1551). A Sienese painter who weakly - imitated Angelo and attempted to rival Sodoma. - 6. Giotto. - - XXV. _Filippo Baldinucci._ - 1. Buti. The painter’s name under which Baldinucci, in - his history of art, records the events forming the - subject of Browning’s poem. - 2. Titian. - a. Leda. - 3. Baldinucci (1624-1696). A Florentine art historian - who attempted to prove the theory that all art was - derived from his native city. - - XXVI. _Cenciaja._ - 1. Titian. - - XXVII. _Christina and Monaldeschi._ - 1. Primaticcio (1504-1570). An Italian painter of the - Bolognese school, who did the first important - stucco and fresco work in France. - - XXVIII. _Mary Wollstonecraft and Fuseli._ - 1. Fuseli. (1741-1825). An English painter of - exaggerated style, who attempted to be Italianate - and changed his name to harmonize with the attempt. - - XXIX. _Parleyings with Christopher Smart._ - 1. Michael Angelo. - 2. Raphael. - - XXX. _Parleyings with Francis Furini._ - 1. Furini (1600-1649). A Florentine artist and an - excellent painter of the nude, who later became a - parish priest and wished his undraped pictures - destroyed. - 2. Michael Angelo. - 3. Baldinucci. - 4. Da Vinci. - - - - -INDEX - - - _Abt Vogler_, 14, 15, 23, 25, 26, 36, 48, 49, 53, 58, 64 - - Academy of Fine Arts, Venice, 62 - - Ademollo, Luigi, 71 - - _Agamemnon_, 14 - - Albani, 71 - - Alcamo (in _Sordello_), 29, 30, 31, 60 - - _Andrea del Sarto_, 27, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 53, 64, 70 - - “Andromeda,” Caravaggio’s, 41, 44, 66, 67 - - _Any Wife to Any Husband_, 44, 69 - - _Apparent Failure_, 60 - - Aprile (in _Paracelsus_), 29, 30, 31, 60 - - Aretino, Pietro, 29, 33, 61 - - _Aristophanes’ Apology_, 14 - - Augustus, a bust by Browning, 12 - - - Baldovinetti, 69 - - Bandinelli, Baccio, 15, 21, 57 - - Bazzi, Giovanni Antonio, 45, 48, 72 - - _Beatrice Signorini_, 41, 44, 45, 46 - - Beccafumi, 66, 72 - - Beethoven, 10 - - Bellini, Vincenzo, 23, 24, 25, 27, 58 - - Bernini, 15, 57 - - _Bishop Blougram’s Apology_, 26, 27, 36, 44, 58, 64, 70 - - _Bishop orders his Tomb, The_, 16, 17, 18, 19, 22, 36, 38, 49, 50, 57, - 62 - - Bocafoli (in _Sordello_), 29, 30, 31, 53, 60 - - Boccaccio, 29, 32, 33, 60, 61 - - “Bocca-dell’-Verita,” 15, 21, 58 - - Botticelli, 68 - - _Boy and the Angel, The_, 36, 62 - - Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, 10, 11, 12, 13, 26, 34, 41, 42, 43, 49, - 61 - - Browning, Wiedemann, 10, 11 - - Buononcini, Giovanni Battista, 23, 25, 59 - - Buti, 73 - - Byron, Lord, 23, 38 - - _By the Fireside_, 9, 36, 63 - - - Campanile, The, Florence, 35, 36, 43, 63 - - Canova, 12, 15, 18, 22, 56, 57, 62 - - Caravaggio, 41, 44, 66, 67, 68 - - Carracci, Annibale, 12, 67 - - Castle Angelo, 61 - - Catholic Hymns, 23-24, 59 - - _Cenciaja_, 45, 73 - - Chapel near Bagni di Lucca, 63; - at Fano, 63; - at Florence, 64 - - _Charles Avison, Parleyings with_, 25, 26, 45, 48, 59 - - _Christina and Monaldeschi_, 73 - - _Christmas-Eve and Easter-Day_, 9, 16, 17, 20, 22, 36, 38, 50, 57, 63, - 68 - - _Christopher Smart, Parleyings with_, 45, 73 - - Churches, Italian: - Il Gesu, 57, 63; - Ognissanti, 63; - Pieve at Arezzo, 37, 65; - Possagno, 57, 62; - St. Francis, 61; - St. Mark’s, 36, 61, 62, 63, 66; - St. Peter’s, 36, 38, 39, 50, 62, 63, 64; - S. Ambrogio, 47, 64, 70; - S. Bernardino, 66; - S. Empoli, 63; - S. Eufemia, 62; - S. Evola, 63; - S. Felice, 64; - S. Frediano, 66; - S. Giovanni, 65; - S. Lorenzo, 36, 58, 64, 65, 66, 71; - S. Miniato, 61, 63, 64; - S. Maria della Scala, 63; - S. Maria del Carmine, 64; - S. Maria in Cosmedin, 58; - S. Pietro Martire, 61; - S. Pressede (St. Praxed’s), 19, 38, 62; - S. Romano, 63; - S. Sano, 66; - S. Spirito, 63 - - Cimabue, 40, 42, 66, 68 - - Claus of Innsbruck (in _My Last Duchess_), 15, 19, 57 - - Convent, at Florence, 64; Vallombrosa, 65, 72 - - Corelli, Arcangelo, 23, 25, 59 - - Correggio, 12, 40, 44, 67, 70, 71, 72; - his “Jerome”, 70, 72; - “Leda”, 71, 72 - - “Crucifixion”, Guido’s, 37, 71 - - - Dante, 29, 32, 33, 34, 60, 61 - - “David”, Domenichino’s, 12 - - Da Vinci, Leonardo, 12, 40, 44, 67, 68, 70, 71, 72, 73; - “Mona Lisa”, 71 - - _Decameron_, The, 33, 60, 61 - - Dello di Niccolo Delli, 40, 68 - - _De Vulgario Eloquio_, 32 - - _Divine Comedy, The_, 32 - - Dolci, Carlo, 69 - - Domenichino, 12 - - Dore, Gustave, 45 - - Dramatic Monologue, Use of, 49 - - Dulwich Gallery, 10, 11 - - Duomo, The, at Arezzo, 65; - at Asolo, 62; - at Florence, 36, 63; - at Padua, 62; - at Siena, 66 - - Dvorak, Antonin, 25 - - - “Eager Duke, The”, (in _In a Gondola_), 67 - - Eastlake, Sir Charles, 13 - - Eglamor (in _Sordello_), 29, 30, 60 - - _Elegy on Newstead Abbey_, Byron’s, 38 - - _Englishman in Italy, The_, 24, 58 - - _Epistle of Karshish, An_, 14 - - - _Face, A_, 45, 49, 71 - - Fauveau, Mme. de, 11 - - Fenice Theatre, Venice, 62 - - Ferdinand, Statue of Duke, 15, 20, 57 - - _Ferishtah’s Fancies_, 14 - - Ferri, Ciro, 45, 71 - - _Fifine at the Fair_, 45, 48, 66, 72 - - _Filippo Baldinucci_, 44, 45, 46, 49, 66, 73 - - Fisher, Mr., 11 - - _Flight of the Duchess, The_, 9 - - Fountain of the Tritons, 15, 21, 57 - - Fra Angelico, 69, 70, 72 - - _Fra Lippo Lippi_, 14, 15, 36, 42, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 53, 64, 68, - 69, 70 - - _Francis Furini, Parleyings with_, 45, 46, 53, 66, 73 - - Fungaio, 72 - - Fuseli, 73 - - - Gaddi, Taddeo, 35, 69 - - Galuppi, Baldassaro, 23, 27, 58 - - Geminiani, Francesco, 23, 25, 59 - - Ghiberti, Lorenzo, 15, 57 - - Ghirlandajo, 42, 43, 68 - - Gibson, John, 11 - - Giorgione, 67 - - Giordano, Luca, 45, 67, 71 - - _Giorno di Regno, Un_, Verdi’s, 27 - - Giottino, 42 - - Giotto, 35, 39, 42, 63, 69, 70, 72 - - Giovanni da Bologna (John of Douay), 15, 57 - - Goito Castle, 20, 38, 61 - - _Gold Hair_, 14 - - Grisi, Giulia, 23, 25, 27, 59 - - _Guardian Angel, The_, 42, 43, 45, 49, 63, 69 - - Guarnerius (Joseph del Jesu), 23, 25, 59 - - Guercino, 12, 43, 69 - - Guido of Siena, 66 - - - Handel, George Frederick, 25, 59 - - Haworth, Miss, 11, 12, 22 - - _Herakles_, 14 - - Horne, R. H., 13, 42 - - Hosmer, Harriet, 11 - - _How it Strikes a Contemporary_, 29, 69 - - - _In a Gondola_, 36, 62, 67 - - _Inn Album, The_, 61 - - _Inside of the King’s College Chapel_ (Wordsworth), 38 - - _In the Cathedral at Cologne_ (Wordsworth), 38 - - _In Three Days_, 44, 69 - - _Italian in England, The_, 36, 62 - - - _James Lee’s Wife_, 44, 71 - - Jameson, Mrs., 12, 42 - - “John of the Black Bands,” statue of, 15, 57 - - Jules (in _Pippa Passes_), 15, 18, 44, 50, 57 - - - Keats, 9 - - Kenyon, Frederick G., 10, 37, 43 - - Kirkup, Mr., 11, 42 - - Kugler, Franz, _Handbook of the History of Art_, 13 - - - _Lady and the Painter, The_, 20 - - Lateran, The, 66 - - Leighton, Frederick, 11, 28, 36 - - Lippi, Filippino, 40, 64, 68 - - Liszt, Franz, 25 - - _Luria_, 14, 36, 63 - - - Madonna, Raphael’s, 44, 53 - - Magdalen (_In a Gondola_), 67 - - Maratta, Carlo, 44, 45, 71 - - Margheritone, 69 - - Marino, 29, 61 - - _Mary Wollstonescraft and Fuseli_, 73 - - Masaccio, Guidi, 47, 64, 70 - - _Master Hugues of Saxe-Gotha_, 23, 25, 26, 49, 58 - - _Memorabilia_, 32, 34 - - _Men and Women_, 12 - - _Merry Tales_, Sacchetti’s, 33 - - Michael Angelo, 27, 40, 43, 45, 48, 53, 62, 64, 65, 68, 70, 71, 72, 73 - - Michael, Raphael’s, 44, 70 - - Monaco, Lorenzo, 69, 70 - - Monastery, Certosa, 65; - of the Convertites, 65, 66; - of St. Anna, 65 - - _My Last Duchess_, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 22, 49, 57, 67 - - - Neptune, (statue in _My Last Duchess_), 19, 57 - - Nina (in _Sordello_), 29, 30, 31, 60 - - - _Old Abbeys_ (Wordsworth), 38 - - _Old Pictures in Florence_, 15, 16, 17, 22, 35, 36, 39, 40, 42, 43, - 45, 49, 50, 52, 57, 60, 63, 68 - - _One Word More_, 29, 32, 36, 42, 45, 49, 60, 64, 70 - - Orgagna, 69 - - Orr’s, Mrs., _Life of Browning_, 10, 11, 41 - - - Pacchia, 66, 72 - - _Pacchiarotto_, 36, 45, 46, 53, 66, 72 - - Paganini, Niccolo, 23, 25, 27, 59 - - Page, William, 11 - - Palace, Antinori, 63; - Ducal, Venice, 61; - Fiano, 64; - Medici, 64; - Pulci, 62; - Riccardi, 64; - Ruspoli, 64, 65; - Via Larga, 65 - - Palestrina, 23, 58 - - Pandolf, Fra (in _My Last Duchess_), 67 - - _Paracelsus_, 29, 30, 31, 42, 60 - - Pasquin’s statue, 15, 21, 58 - - _Pauline_, 9, 29, 30, 32, 34, 41, 44, 66 - - Petrarch, 29, 32, 60, 61 - - _Pheidippides_, 14 - - _Pictor Ignotus_, 42, 45, 46, 49, 53, 68 - - “Pieta”, Canova’s, 15, 57 - - Pietro d’ Abano, 66 - - Pietro da Cortona, 45, 71 - - _Pippa Passes_, 9, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 22, 36, 42, 44, 50, 56, 62, 67 - - Pisano, Giovanni, 15, 16, 17, 56, 68 - - Pisano, Niccolo, 15, 16, 17, 56, 57, 68 - - Plara (in _Sordello_), 29, 30, 31, 53, 60 - - Pollajola, Antonio, 40, 69 - - _Ponte dell’ Angelo, Venice_, 66 - - Powers, Hiram, 11, 28 - - Primaticcio, 73 - - “Prim Saint” (in _In a Gondola_), 67 - - _Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau_, 72 - - “Psiche-fanciulla”, Canova’s, 15, 57 - - Psyche, a bust by Browning, 12 - - - Raphael, 27, 40, 43, 44, 45, 48, 53, 68, 70, 71, 72, 73 - - _Red Cotton Night-Cap Country_, 25, 45, 59, 72 - - Reni, Guido, 12, 43, 65, 67, 69, 70, 71 - - _Ring and the Book, The_, 12, 14, 16, 20, 21, 22, 24, 33, 36, 37, 38, - 40, 44, 45, 53, 57, 58, 59, 60, 64, 65, 71 - - Romanelli, 46, 47 - - Romano, Giulio, 44, 70 - - Rossetti, W. M., 47 - - Rossini, 23, 25, 27, 28, 58 - - - Sacchetti, Franco, 29, 33, 34, 53, 60 - - St. George, Vasari’s, 71 - - Salvator Rosa, 72 - - _Saul_, 23 - - Schidone, 67 - - Ser (a picture), 67 - - Ser Giovanni, 65 - - Shelley, 9, 30, 32, 34, 48 - - _Sonnet on Chillon_, Byron’s, 38 - - _Sordello_, 12, 16, 17, 20, 21, 22, 29, 30, 31, 32, 34, 36, 37, 38, - 42, 44, 53, 56, 60, 61, 66 - - _Soul’s Tragedy, A_, 18, 29, 60 - - _Statue and the Bust, The_, 16, 17, 20, 22, 36, 38, 52, 57, 63 - - Stefano, 40, 68 - - Stiatta (in _A Soul’s Tragedy_), 29, 60 - - Story, W. W., 11, 12, 28 - - Stradivarius, Antonius, 23, 25, 59 - - _Strafford_, 29 - - - Tasso, Torquato, 29 - - Technical Art Terms, Browning’s use of, 21, 26 - - _Time’s Revenges_, 32, 60 - - Titian, 40, 44, 67, 72, 73; - “Annunciation,” 67; - “Venus,” 44, 69 - - _Toccata of Galuppi’s, A_, 23, 25, 26, 36, 49, 58, 63 - - Tommaseo, Niccolo, 29, 34, 61 - - Tordinona, 65 - - Towers of Florence, 63 - - _Trovatore, Il_, Verdi’s, 26, 58 - - _Two Poets of Croisic_, The, 14 - - - _Up at a Villa_, 32, 60 - - - Vallombrosa Convent, 65, 72 - - Vasari, Giorgio, 13, 42, 44, 70 - - Vatican, The, 36, 64, 65, 70; - Sistine Chapel, 65 - - Verdi, Giuseppe, 23, 25, 26, 27, 58 - - _Vita Nuova, La_, 32 - - - Wagner, Richard, 25 - - _Waring_, 44, 68 - - Wilde, Mr., 11 - - Wordsworth, 9, 38, 48 - - - _Youth and Art_, 25, 59 - - - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[163] Mrs. Sutherland Orr’s _Life of Browning_, revised by Frederick G. -Kenyon. - -[164] Mrs. Orr: _op. cit._ - -[165] For the sources and nature of this interest, see below, Chapter -II and p. 50. - -[166] Bavarian by birth, Abt Vogler was ordained a priest at Rome, and -played in that city for years. His significance in musical history -seems associated with Italy rather than Bavaria. - -[167] See _An Epistle of Karshish_; _Ferishtah’s Fancies_. - -[168] See _Pheidippides_; _Aristophanes’ Apology_; _Herakles_; -_Agamemnon_. - -[169] See _Gold Hair, A Story of Pornic_; _The Two Poets of Croisic_. - -[170] See the next page. - -[171] See below, pp. 44, 46. - -[172] See above, p. 12. - -[173] See _Ring and the Book_, I. - -[174] Line 382. - -[175] Letter by Mrs. Browning, December, 1847. - -[176] See above, p. 10. - -[177] _Op. cit._ - -[178] August, 1848. - -[179] See Chapter IV, p. 30 and _passim_. - -[180] See above, p. 12. - - - - - BULLETIN OF THE UNIVERSITY OF KANSAS - HUMANISTIC STUDIES - - _Vol. I_ _January 1, 1915_ _No. 4_ - - - THE SEMANTICS OF - -MENTUM, -BULUM, AND -CULUM - - BY - - EDMUND D. CRESSMAN, Ph. D. - _Assistant Professor of Latin in the University of Kansas_ - - - LAWRENCE, JANUARY, 1915 - PUBLISHED BY THE UNIVERSITY - - - - -PREFACE - - -This treatise is printed in substantially the same form in which it -was presented to the faculty of Yale University as a doctor’s thesis. -The subject was suggested by Professor E. P. Morris, and the study was -carried on under his direction. To him, and to Professor Hanns Oertel, -who made helpful suggestions, the author is under obligation not only -for the method employed but also for the general theory underlying the -whole study. - -The writer also wishes to thank Professor S. L. Whitcomb, the editor of -this series, for valuable help in preparing the work for publication. - - E. D. C. - - Lawrence, Kansas, - Jan. 1, 1915. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER I - - Introductory 7 - - - CHAPTER II - - Influence of Stem-Meaning 10 - - I. -Mentum. - - A. Concrete -mentum Words on Verb Stems. - 1. Nouns denoting result of action, with general application 10 - 2. Nouns denoting result of action, with restricted - application 11 - 3. Nouns denoting instrument, with general application 12 - 4. Nouns denoting instrument, with both general and figurative - application 13 - 5. Nouns denoting instrument, with specialized application 14 - 6. Nouns denoting instrument, with both specialized and - figurative application 15 - 7. Nouns not classified 16 - - B. Concrete -mentum Words on Noun and Adjective Stems 17 - - C. Abstract -mentum Words on Verb Stems. - 1. Nouns denoting result of action 18 - 2. Nouns denoting instrument 20 - 3. Nouns denoting action 22 - - D. Abstract -mentum Words on Noun Stems 23 - - II. -Bulum. - 1. Nouns denoting instrument 24 - 2. Nouns denoting place 25 - 3. Nouns denoting person 26 - - III. -Culum. - - A. Concrete -culum Words. - 1. Nouns denoting instrument 27 - 2. Nouns denoting place 29 - 3. Nouns denoting object of action 30 - - B. Abstract -culum Words, All Denoting Action 30 - - - CHAPTER III - - Influence of Context 32 - - - CHAPTER IV - - Overlapping of Suffixes 43 - - A. Parallels of -mentum and Accessory Suffixes 44 - B. Parallels of -bulum and Accessory Suffixes 49 - C. Parallels of -culum and Accessory Suffixes 50 - - - CHAPTER V - - Suffixes and the Theory of Adaptation 52 - - Index of Words 55 - - - - -The Semantics of -mentum, -bulum, and -culum - - - - -CHAPTER I - -INTRODUCTORY - - -The primary object of this study will be to show, first, the range -of semantic variability discernible in a set of noun-formative -suffixes and the reason for it; and second, by a comparison of these -suffixes with other suffixes used on the same stem, to illustrate -the comparatively fluid semantic condition of formative suffixes in -general. The semantic value will be determined by an examination of the -meaning of the whole noun and its relation to the surrounding context. - -The suffixes chosen for investigation were _-mentum_, _-bulum_, and -_-culum_. They form neuters and are joined mainly to verb stems. In -all grammars they are grouped together as forming nouns signifying the -instrument or means of action, sometimes result of action, sometimes -place, rarely the action itself. Such general statements are true and -perhaps adequate for the purpose of stating a brief grammatical rule; -but it will be seen from the following pages that these suffixes are -capable of much greater variations. - -The material for investigation was collected from the literature -extending to the Augustan period, and consisted of approximately four -thousand examples, many of which were of course duplicates, so that -comparatively only a small percentage of them were really valuable. -In order that the material might not seem too slight for drawing -conclusions as to later periods, useful examples were also gathered -from the literature of the Empire, by means of the lexicons and -indexes; but the evidence contributed by the latter was in large part -only cumulative, not revealing any other influences upon meaning than -those found in the earlier period. In Chapter IV the difference in -frequency of use of nouns in different periods will be discussed in -detail. - -Inscriptions were not taken as sources of material on account of the -isolated positions in which words usually occur. Such fragmentary -evidence would not contribute much where the meaning of a word, which -depends so much on its immediate context, is to be examined. - -For purposes of clearness, it will be well to explain here in just what -sense the term “meaning” will be used. Linguistic history shows that -“words are constantly gaining in precision. Through the associations -set up in the process of expression, the meaning of a word is being -constantly deepened and enriched. The connotation is, in general, -increasing and the denotation, that is, the range of application, is -narrowing.”[181] - -There is of course something fundamental in every word that -distinguishes it from other words; but this does not exhaust the whole -meaning of most words. Only when used in a sentence, with other words, -in a context, does a word acquire its full and precise meaning. By -stripping a word of the connotation and denotation which it shows in -many contexts, there is left, as it were, a common denominator; and it -is as a result of this logical operation that we assign a meaning to a -detached and isolated word. - -Caution must also be exercised in speaking of the “meaning” of -suffixes. Isolated suffixes have a meaning even less than words do. -It is incorrect to say that _-mentum_, or _-bulum_, or _-culum_ means -instrument; the nouns made with them may have this meaning, but the -suffixes are perhaps colorless in themselves. This is true of suffixes -used to form other parts of speech as well as nouns; _e. g._, a suffix -forming an adjective signifying material or appurtenance cannot be -said to _mean_ “made of,” “belonging to,” or “full of,” although its -equivalence to such expressions can be shown when in each occurrence -of the adjective the relation of the stem of the adjective to the -governing noun is taken into consideration. - -The etymology of the three suffixes will be explained in Chapter IV. - -The investigation of my material revealed at least two fairly definite -influences at work on any single meaning of a word: (1) Stem-meaning; -(2) Context; while (3) a very important factor in illustrating the -variability and non-stability of the suffixes is seen in comparing -them with other suffixes on the same stem, noting their similarity or -difference, and finding if possible the reason for it. A chapter will -be devoted to each one of these main topics. Sometimes all three of -these factors exert their influence on a word, more often one or both -of the first two make the meaning clear. The first, or stem-meaning, -regularly gives a general meaning to the word, while the context -gives a special or more precise meaning. As far as possible only one -influence will be discussed in each chapter, but as the determination -of the meaning of a word is so complex a process, a slight overlapping -will be unavoidable in some instances. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -INFLUENCE OF STEM-MEANING - - -The examination of the words with a view to finding the influence of -stem-meaning is not directly concerned with semantic variability: that -will be illustrated in the next chapter. For purposes of classification -in this chapter, only the prevailing meaning of each word is -considered. For doubtful etymologies, Walde (_Lat. Etym. Wörterbuch_) -is taken as guide. - - -I -MENTUM - -The great majority of the stems with which this suffix is used are verb -stems, but there are a few noun stems and two adjective stems. For -convenience, the whole number may be divided into two large classes: -one consisting of those that denote concrete things, and the other, -of those that denote abstract things. An absolute division here is -impossible and for the present purpose unimportant, and any criterion -must be somewhat arbitrary. I have called everything concrete which has -physical form, and everything else, including actions, abstract. Many -concrete words, especially those capable of general application, are -often used in a transferred or figurative sense, and thus have also an -abstract meaning. - - -A. CONCRETE -MENTUM WORDS ON VERB STEMS. - - -1. NOUNS DENOTING RESULT OF ACTION, WITH GENERAL APPLICATION.--Of the -concrete words, there are a few, like fragmentum, caementum, ramentum, -which clearly do not express the instrument of an action, nor the -action itself, nor the place, but the result of an action. Some, like -fragmentum and stramentum, are formed on verbs whose action can be -directed toward several kinds of materials or objects. This class of -nouns then has general application, and their precise meaning must be -obtained from the context. This influence will be pointed out in the -next chapter. - -As far as the verb stem (frango) is concerned, the examples show only -that fragmentum means “a piece broken off” or “fragment”: tribunum -adoriuntur fragmentis saeptorum, Sest. 79; cum puerum fragmentis panis -adlexisset, Plin. 9, 8, 8; ut glaebum aut fragmentum lapidis dicimus, -N. D. II, 82; non modo fragmenta tegularum sed etiam ambusta tigna ad -armatos pervenire, Liv. 34, 39, 11. - -In the first two examples, the fragmenta, being in the ablative, are -plainly the instrument of the action of the main verb, but without -the dependent genitives we should not know what sort of “pieces” -or “fragments” were used. In the last two examples the meaning of -“particle” is suggested by “glaebum” and “tigna”. The dependent -genitives here also give precision. - -Many things may be strewn or scattered, so stramentum gets from -its verb stem (sterno) the general meaning of something strewn or -scattered: noctem in stramentis pernoctare, Truc. 278; casae quae -stramentis tecta erant, B. G. 5, 43; fasces stramentorum ac virgultorum -incendunt, B. G. 8, 15. - -Ramentum (rado) is “something scraped or rubbed off,” “bits or small -pieces:” et ramenta simul ferri furere intus ahenis in scaphiis, Lucr. -6, 1043; ramenta ligni decocta in vino prosunt, Plin. 24, 2, 2; patri -omne [aurum] cum ramento reddidi, Bacc. 680. - -Delectamentum (delecto) might at first sight be taken to be the means -by which one is delighted. That such is not necessarily so may be seen -from the examples: qui me pro ridiculo ac delectamento putat, Heaut. -952; inania sunt ista delectamenta puerorum, captare plausus, vehi per -urbem, Pis. 25, 60. In both these examples the source of delight and -the delight itself are too close in meaning to warrant the drawing of -any distinction. - - -2. NOUNS DENOTING RESULT OF ACTION, WITH RESTRICTED APPLICATION.--The -preceding four words, as has been said, are of general application, -because their verb stems have a general meaning. There are five nouns -expressing result of action which have a narrower and more restricted -sense than their verb stems would require. - -Caementum (caedo) means not everything that is cut off, but a piece of -rough stone: in eam insulam materiem, calcem, caementa, arma convexit, -Mil. 27, 74; caementum de silice frangatur, Vitr. 8, 7, 14. The -influence of caedo here is slight; only the context shows the meaning -of “stone.” - -Sarmentum (sarpo) is not everything that is plucked, but twigs or -fagots: ligna et sarmenta circumdare, ignemque subicere coeperunt, -Verr. II, 1, 27; sarmentis virgultisque collectis, quibus fossas -compleant, ad castra pergunt, B. G. 3, 18; ne vitis sarmentis -silvescat, C. 15. In the last example the noun is used of objects not -at all necessarily affected by the verb stem sarpere. - -Pavimentum (pavio) is a floor, or pavement (something beaten down): ubi -structum erit, pavito fricatoque oleo, uti pavimentum bonum siet, Cato, -R. R. 18; mero tingete pavimentum, Hor. C. 2, 14, 26. In Bell. Alex. -1, it means a roof: aedificia tecta sunt rudere aut pavimentis. The -predominating element in the meaning of the word is that it denotes the -result of the action expressed in pavire. - -Sicilimentum (sicilio) in the single instance of its occurrence plainly -means what is cut with a sickle: faenum cordum, sicilamenta de prato, -ea arida condito, Cato, R. R. 5. - -Testamentum (testor) is not necessarily the _means_ of bearing witness -nor of making a will--a particular significance which this verb stem -sometimes has,--but is the document itself: antequam tabulas testamenti -aperuit, Ad Her. I, 24; quare sit in lege aut in testamento scriptum, -Inv. II, 137; una fui, testamentum simul obsignavi, Mil. 18, 48. - -Lutamentum (lutare) in the single occurrence we have of it evidently -means, by inference from the passage in which it is found, a mud wall, -or a piece of work bedaubed with mud: neque lutamenta scindent se, -Cato, R. R. 128. - -The contribution of stem-meaning, in this class of _-mentum_ words -to the meanings of the words themselves is quite apparent. Whatever -else they suggest, the verb stems all suggest the result of the action -expressed by them; and this result of action is expressed by the -_-mentum_ word. - - -3. NOUNS DENOTING INSTRUMENT, WITH GENERAL APPLICATION.--A second, and -the largest class of concrete _-mentum_ words clearly express in a -general way the instrument of the action. Here, too, some of the words -keep a general meaning which they get from the verb stem, while others -receive a special meaning. The verb stems themselves admit more or less -of a general or special meaning. - -Ammentum (apo?) is a means of fastening, a strap, or thong: epistola -ad ammentum tragulae deligata, B. G. 5. 48; umor iaculorum ammenta -emollierat, Liv. 37, 41. Both these examples show it to be a strap -fastened to a javelin. - -Armamenta (always plural) are utensils for almost any purpose. It is -difficult to say whether the word is formed on the verb stem armo, or -is an extended form of the noun arma; the former is entirely possible, -while the equivalence of meaning in the two nouns supports the latter -supposition. At any rate the meaning is “equipment”, “that with -which one is armed”: hic tormenta, armamenta, arma, omnis apparatus -belli est, Liv. 26, 43; cum omnibus Gallicis navibus spes in velis -armamentisque consisteret, B. G. 3, 14; armamenta vinearum, Plin. 17, -21, 35. The most frequent use is that seen in the second example, where -it means the rigging of a ship, in this instance, however, excluding -the sails. - -Medicamentum (medicor) is a remedy, a means of healing or curing: Si eo -medicamento sanus factus erit, Off. 3, 24; multis medicamentis propter -dolorem artuum delibutus, Brut. 60. - -Operimentum (operio) is a cover, or means of covering: nuces gemino -protectae operimento, Plin. 15, 22, 24; detracto oculorum operimento, -Plin, 8, 42, 64. That the meaning “covering” is general, may be seen -by comparing the second example with N. D. 2, 52, 147: palpebrae, quae -sunt tegumenta oculorum. In the latter instance the “covering” is the -eyebrow, in the former, some external object, probably wearing apparel. - -Suffimentum (suffio) is a means of fumigating: in iis sine illius -suffimentis expiati sumus, Leg. 1, 14, 40; laurus sit suffimentum -caedis hostium et purgatio, Plin. 15, 30, 40. - -Tegumentum, like operimentum, gets its fundamental meaning of -“covering” from its verb stem, (tego), but is capable of being applied -to many objects, as will be shown in Chapter III: tegumenta corporum, -vel texta, vel suta, N. D. 2, 60; scutis tegimenta detrudere non tempus -erat, B. G. 2, 21. - - -4. NOUNS DENOTING INSTRUMENT, WITH BOTH GENERAL AND FIGURATIVE -APPLICATION.--The generalized concrete instruments so far illustrated -have rarely any abstract meaning. The remainder of them are used both -concretely and figuratively. - -Alimentum (alo) signifies a means of support or nourishment: nec -desiderabat alimenta corporis, Timaeus, 6; addidit alimenta rumoribus, -Liv. 35, 23. - -Instrumentum (instruo) is a very general word meaning implement, -furniture, supplies: arma, tela, equos et cetera instrumenta militiae -parare, Sall. Jug. 25, 2; spolia, ornamenta, monumenta in instrumento -et supellectile Verris nominabuntur, Verr. 2, 4, 44; ut instrumentum -oratoris exponeret, De Or. II, 146. - -Integumentum (intego) is so similar to tegumentum that it hardly -needs separate treatment; however, it is used more frequently with an -abstract meaning: istaec ego mihi semper habui aetati integumentum -meae, Trin. 313; lanx cum integumentis, quae Iovi adposita fuit, Liv. -40, 59, 7. - -Monumentum (moneo) is anything that serves as a reminder: statuam quae -sit factis monumentum suis, Curc. 441; tum monumenta rerum gestarum -oratori nota esse debere, De Or. I, 201. - -Ornamentum (orno) is anything for adorning or equipping: hominem cum -ornamentis omnibus exornatum adducite ad me, Pseud. 765; audieram quae -de orationis ipsius ornamentis traderentur, De Or. II, 122; vidi hunc -ipsum Q. Hortensium ornamentum rei publicae paene interfici, Milo, 37. - -Saepimentum (saepio) is any means of inclosure or defense: haec omnia -quasi saepimento aliquo animus ratione vallabit, Leg. I, 62; tertium -militare saepimentum est fossa et terreus agger, Varr. R. R. 1, 142. - -Stabilimentum (stabilio) is a means of support or strength: haec -sunt ventri stabilimenta: pane et assa bubula, Curc. 367; Sicilia et -Sardinia stabilimenta bellorum, Val. Max. 7, 6, 1. - - -5. NOUNS DENOTING INSTRUMENT, WITH SPECIALIZED APPLICATION.--This -concludes the list of generalized concrete instruments. Those with -specialized meanings are as follows; sometimes the verb stem is -specialized, but more often not. - -Armentum (aro) always means cattle, originally those used for plowing: -et variae crescunt pecudes, armenta feraeque, Lucr. 5, 228; armentum -aegrotat in agris, Hor. Ep. I, 8, 6. This word can mean only the -secondary instrument for plowing, _viz._, cattle, because there is -another word (aratrum) for the plow itself. - -Calceamentum (calceo) always means a shoe, an “instrument” for covering -the feet: mihi amictui est Scythicum tegimen, calceamentum solorum -callum, T. 5, 90. - -Frumentum (fruor) always means grain, a “means of enjoyment”: ut hortum -fodiat atque ut frumentum metat, Poen. 1020; non modo frumenta in agris -mature non erant, B. G. I, 16, 2. - -Lomentum (lavo) is a “means” of washing, of a particular kind, however, -_viz._, a cosmetic: lomento rugas condere temptas, Mart. 3, 42, 1. In -Ciceronian Latin it occurs only once, and then figuratively: persuasum -ei censuram lomentum aut nitrum esse, Fam. VIII, 14, 4. - -In iugumentum (iugo) it is a little difficult to see the influence -of the stem. The two occurrences of it in Cato are the only ones in -literature, and from the context it would seem to mean “threshold” or -some other part of the front of the house: limina, postes iugumenta, -asseres, fulmentas faber faciat oportet, R. R. 14, 1; iugumenta et -antepagmenta quae opus erunt indito, R. R. 14, 5. - -Iumentum (iungo) always means an animal for drawing or carrying, a -beast of burden: iumento nihil opus est, Att. XII, 32; omnia sarcinaria -iumenta interfici iubet, B. C. 1, 81. - -Supplementum (suppleo) before the Augustan period means only that -with which an army is “filled up” or recruited: partem copiarum ex -provincia supplementumque quod ex Italia adduxerat, convenire iubet, B. -G. 7, 7, 5; ceterum supplementum etiam laetus decreverat, Sall. Jug. -84, 3. Later it has its literal meaning: ex geminis singula capita in -supplementum gregis reservantur, Col. 7, 6, 7. - -In vestimentum, the verb stem vestio has the same influence that -“clothe” does in our word clothing: me vides ornatus ut sim vestimentis -uvidis, Rud. 573; huc est intro latus lectus vestimentis stratus, -Heaut. 903. - -Libamentum (libo) is a libation, drink offering: dona magnifica, quasi -libamenta praedarum, Rep. 2, 44; haec ego ad aras libamenta tuli, Stat. -S. 3, 1, 163. - - -6. NOUNS DENOTING INSTRUMENT, WITH BOTH SPECIALIZED AND FIGURATIVE -APPLICATION.--The specialized concrete nouns so far given are never -used figuratively; there are six additional ones which do sometimes -have an abstract meaning. - -Tormentum (torqueo) is an instrument of torture, an instrument for -hurling, or torture itself: rotam id est genus quoddam tormenti apud -Graecas, T. 5, 24; castella constituit ibique tormenta collocavit, B. -G. 8, 3; huic licebit tum dicere se beatum in summo cruciatu atque -tormentis, T. 5, 73. - -Condimentum (condio) is anything used for spicing or seasoning: cocos -equidem nimio demiror, qui utuntur condimentis, Cas. 219: animus aequus -optumumst aerumnae condimentum, Rud. 402. - -Fundamentum (fundo) is that with which anything is founded, a -foundation: quin cum fundamento aedes perierint, Most. 148; fundamenta -rei publicae ieci, Fam. XII, 25, 2. - -Impedimentum (impedio) is a means of hindrance, and in the plural, -baggage: hinc vos amolimini, nam mi impedimenta estis, And. 707; -Demosthenes impedimenta naturae diligentia industriaque superavit, De -Or. I. 61, 260; ad impedimenta et carros se contulerunt, B. G. 1, 26. - -Nutrimentum (nutrio) like alimentum, is a means of nourishment or -support, but it is not found meaning food for the body: educata -huius generis nutrimentis eloquentia, Orat. 42; arida circum [igni] -nutrimenta dedit, Aen. 1, 176. - -Pigmentum (pingo) is paint, or material for coloring: quem Appella et -Zeuxis duo pingent pigmentis ulmeis, Epid. 626; sententiae tam verae, -tam sine pigmentis fucoque puerili, De Or. II, 188. - - -7. NOUNS NOT CLASSIFIED.--This completes the list of concrete _-mentum_ -words on verb stems with the exception of three whose stems are unusual -or uncertain and contribute little if any influence to the meaning -of the word. They do not mean instrument, nor result of action. The -fewness of examples also makes it difficult to say just what the words -mean. However, they probably have the following signification. - -Antepagmentum (from pango, with prefix ante-) from the context seems -to be some sort of ornament for the exterior of a house: iugumenta et -antepagmenta quae opus erunt indito, Cato, R. R. 14, 5; fulloniam I, -antepagmenta, vasa torcula II faber faciat oportet, Cato, R. R. 14, 2; -ostiorum et eorum antepagmentorum in aedibus hae sunt rationes, Vitr. -4, 6. - -Coagmenta (cogo) undoubtedly means a “joint” of some kind, as may be -seen from the context: viden coagmenta in foribus? Most. 829; ut aptior -sit oratio, ipsa verba compone et quasi coagmenta, quod ne Graeci -quidem veteres factitaverunt, Brut. 68. - -Omentum, whatever its etymology, means “fat”: omentum in flamma pingue -liquefaciens, Catul. 90, 6. - -Each of these _-mentum_ nouns has been illustrated not for the purpose -of showing that the verb stem does have influence on the meaning of -the noun--that is of course very obvious; the purpose has rather been -to show that the character of the verb stem--_e. g._, whether it admits -of general or special application, or whether it suggests the result of -action or requires an instrument--so affects the resulting character -of the noun, as to make it, as a rule, similar to that of the stem. Of -this second class of nouns (those that mean instrument) we may say that -among other influences of the verb stems, one is that they have such -a meaning as requires an instrument for the accomplishment of their -action. This does not imply that those in the first class do not also -require an instrument. While these nouns do mean instrument or result -of action, when viewed in regard to their verb stems, we can not say -that such meaning is always felt in every occurrence of the noun. In -certain contexts, even most contexts, they lose it entirely and are -used as perfect equivalents of nouns that have no such meaning. - -Of the two classes of concrete _-mentum_ words on verb stems, -therefore, the smaller class has the tendency to mean result of action, -the larger class, instrument of action. Whether the instrument is -literal or figurative (as it is in the case of a few of these nouns), -must be ascertained from the context. - - -B. CONCRETE -MENTUM WORDS ON NOUN AND ADJECTIVE STEMS - -The concrete _-mentum_ nouns on noun and adjective stems must, on -account of their fewness, clearly be analogical formations. They cannot -express the instrument or result of an action, but are only an extended -form of the noun with a specialized meaning. - -Ferramenta are tools made of iron (ferrum): de ferramentorum varietate -Cato scribit permulta, ut falces, palas, rastros, Varro, R. R. 1, 22, 5. - -Nidamentum (used only once, and allegorically) is material for a nest -(nidus): in nervum ille hodie nidamenta congeret, Rud. 889. - -Pulpamentum (and its shorter form pulmentum) are tidbits made from -pulpa (meat): voltisne olivas, aut pulpamentum, aut capparim? Curc. 90; -mihi est cubile terra, pulpamentum fames, T. 5, 90; primus ad cibum -vocatur, primo pulmentum datur, M. G. 349; num ego pulmento utor magis -unctiusculo? Pseud. 220. - -Salsamenta are pickled fish (salsus) although once in Cicero the -word in the singular means brine: salsamenta haec, Stephanio, fac -macerentur, Adel. 380; de vino aut salsamento putes loqui quae -evanescunt vetustate, Div. II, 117. - -Sincipitamentum (Ritschl and Brix) is a comic word, with the same -meaning as its noun stem, sinciput: iube opsonarier pernonidam aut -sincipitamenta porcina, Men. 211; comedam, inquit, flebile nati -sinciput elixi, Juv. 13, 85. - -Atramentum is a liquid possessing the quality expressed by the -adjective stem (ater); this context shows it to mean ink: calamo et -atramento res agitur, Q. fr. II, 14, 1. In one example it means shoe -blacking: pater accusatus a M. Antonio sutorio atramento absolutus -putatur, Fam. IX, 21, 3. In one example also, it is used in speaking of -fish: atramenti effusione sepiae se tutant, N. II, 127. - -Scitamenta (scitus) are tidbits, dainties both literal and figurative: -iube aliquid scitamentorum de foro opsonarier, Men. 209; ὁμοιοτέλευτα -καὶ ὁμοιόπτωτα ceteraque huiusmodi scitamenta, Gell. 18, 8, 1. - -Perhaps the variety of meaning of these analogical formations indicates -that no single precise meaning had become attached to _-mentum_. - - -C. ABSTRACT -MENTUM WORDS ON VERB STEMS - -The majority of abstract _-mentum_ words also fall into the two large -classes of result of action and instrument, but there is a small list -of nouns which plainly express the action itself. There are only two -words on noun stems. - - -1. NOUNS DENOTING RESULT OF ACTION.--Additamentum (addo) is an -increase, or accession: intercessit Ligus iste nescio qui, additamentum -amicorum meorum, Sest. 31; sapientia erit ultimum vitae instrumentum -et, ut ita dicam, additamentum, Sen. Ep. 17. - -Adiumentum (adiuvo) means aid, assistance: Romae vos esse tuto posse -per Dolabellam eamque rem posse nobis adiumento esse, Fam. XIV, 18, 1; -nulla res est quae plura adiumenta doctrinae desideret, De Or. III, 84. - -Cruciamentum (crucio) is not the instrument of torture, but torture -itself, or rather the feeling caused by torturing: vidi ego multa -saepe picta quae Acherunti fierent cruciamenta, Capt. 998; carnificum -cruciamenta et morborum tormenta, Phil. XI. 4, 8. - -Delenimentum (delenio) is an allurement or blandishment; illam furiam -omnibus delenimentis animum suum avertisse atque alienasse, Liv. 30, -13; paulatim discursum ad delenimenta vitiorum, Tac. A. 21; simul -comparant delenimenta et differunt vos in adventum Cn. Pompei, Sall. -Macer, 21. - -Dehonestamentum[182] (dehonesto) is a general word for any object -of dishonor or disgrace: Fufidius, ancilla turpis, bonorum omnium -dehonestamentum, Sall. Lep. 22; auribus decisis vivere iubet, ostentui -clementiae suae, et in nos dehonestamento, Tac. A. 12. - -Deliramenta (deliro) means nonsense, the result of “going out of the -furrow”: audin tu ut deliramenta loquitur? Men. 920; matrimonia inter -deos credi puerilium prope deliramentorum est, Plin. 2, 7, 5. - -Detrimentum (detero) nowhere has its literal meaning of “loss by -rubbing”, but only loss in general, more often disadvantage or -misfortune: tantis detrimentis acceptis Octavius sese ad Pompeium -recepit, B. C. 3, 9, 8; futurum ut detrimentum in bonum verteret, B. -C. 3, 73, 6; ne quid res publica detrimenti accipiat, Cat. 1, 2. (_et -saepe_). - -For the etymology of the interesting word elementum, see Walde. - -Emolumentum (emolior) means the result of effort, gain, reward: -suscepta videntur a viris fortibus sine emolumento ac praemio, De Or. -II, 346. - -Inanimentum (inanio) occurs only once, but in its context clearly means -“emptiness”: inanimentis explementum quaerito, Stich. 174. - -Intertrimentum (intertero) unlike detrimentum, does have the literal -meaning of “loss by rubbing” as well as loss in general: in auro vero, -in quo nihil intertrimenti est, quae malignitas est? Liv. 34, 7; sine -magno intertrimento non potest haberi, quidvis dare cupis, Heaut. 448. - -Laxamentum (laxo) means relaxation, alleviation, any unit of time or -space: ego nactus in navigatione nostra pusillum laxamenti, Fam. XII, -16, 3; alii removentes parietes aedis efficiunt amplum laxamentum -cellae, Vitr. 4, 7; eo laxamento cogitationibus dato, quievit in -praesentia seditio, Liv. 7, 38. - -Momentum (moveo) means weight, impulse, importance: astra forma ipsa -figuraque sua momenta sustentat, N. II, 117; animus paulo momento -huc vel illuc impellitur, And. 266; sentiebat nullius momenti apud -exercitum futurum, Nep. VII, 8, 4. - -Temperamentum (tempero) means moderation, moderate condition: senatus -Caesar orationem habuit meditato temperamento, Tac. A. III, 12; -egregium principatus temperamentum, si demptis utriusque vitiis solae -virtutes miscerentur, Tac. H. 2, 5. - -Termentum (tero) is used once, in Plautus, where it is equivalent to -detrimentum: non pedibus termento fuit praeut ego erum expugnabo meum, -Bacch. 929. Festus says (p. 363) termentum pro eo, quod nunc dicitur -detrimentum, utitur Plautus in Bacchidibus. - -Formamentum may be, and probably is, only an extended form of the noun -stem forma. It is not inconceivable that it is made on the verb stem -formo, but the other supposition is better. In the one occurrence of -it in classical Latin, the context plainly shows that it means shape, -form: omnia principiorum formamenta queunt in quovis esse nitore, Lucr. -2, 817. Arnobius (3, 109) uses it of the gods: formamenta divina. - - -2. NOUNS DENOTING INSTRUMENT.--As was the case in the corresponding -list of concrete words, the foregoing words are all formed on verb -stems which suggest the result of their action. And again there is a -larger class of abstract _-mentum_ words which in a general way express -the figurative instrument. The idea of instrument is not always strong, -but when viewed in regard to their verb stem, all the nouns will be -seen to show this meaning in a greater or less degree. - -Allevamentum (allevo) is ἃπαξ λεγόμενον; the context shows it to mean a -remedy or means of alleviation: Sulla coactus est in adversis sine ullo -remedio atque allevamento permanere, Sulla, 66. - -Auctoramentum (auctoro) is a means of binding, or of bringing one -under obligation, a contract, also the pay or hire: illius turpissimi -auctoramenti [gladiatorii] sunt verba: uri, vinciri, ferroque necari, -Sen. Ep. 37; est in ipsa merces, auctoramentum servitutis, Off. 1, 42. - -Argumentum (arguo) is primarily a means of proving, a proof, but -takes also many other meanings as will be shown in the next chapter: -quid nunc? vincon argumentis te non esse Sosiam?, Am. 433; quod ipsum -argumento mihi fuit diligentiae tuae, Fam. X. 5, 1. - -Blandimentum (blandio) is a means of flattering or alluring: illum -spero immutari potest blandimentis, oramentis, ceteris meretriciis, -Truc. 318; epistolae muliebris blandimentis infectae, Tac. H. 1, 174. - -Complementum (compleo) is a means of filling up: apud alios numero -servientes inculcata reperias inania quaedam verba, quasi complementa -numerorum, Orat. 69. - -Documentum (doceo) is a very general word, meaning primarily a means -of warning or instructing: documento, quantum in bello fortuna posset, -B. C. 3, 10, 6; ego illis captivis aliis documentum dabo ne...., Capt. -752; quarum rerum maxima documenta haec habeo, Sall. Cat. 9. 4. - -The strong influence of the verb stem is seen in this noun by the -subordinate adverbial clauses which follow it, as in the first two -examples given. It is interesting also to note the contrast between -documentum and monumentum; their verb stems are practically synonymous, -but one noun is prevailingly concrete, while the other is always -abstract or figurative. Monumentum has an additional shade of meaning, -in that it regularly looks toward the past, while documentum looks -toward the future. The explanation for this is difficult to find; -perhaps it is only the result of usage and association. - -Explementum (expleo) is a means of filling: inanimentis explementum -quaerito, Stich. 174. (“Look for something to fill your empty stomach -with.”). - -Hostimentum (hostio) is a means of making requital, a recompense: par -pari datum hostimentum est, opera pro pecunia, As. 172. - -Incitamentum (incito) is a means of inducing or inciting: hoc maximum -et periculorum et laborum incitamentum est, Arch. 23; quae apud -concordes vincula caritatis, incitamenta irarum apud infensos erant, -Tac. A. 1, 55, 15. - -Invitamentum (invito) is the means of inducing or attracting: cum multa -haberet invitamenta urbis et fori propter summa studia amicorum, Sulla, -74. - -Irritamentum (irrito) is very similar to the preceding two nouns, -meaning a provocative or incentive: neque salem neque alia irritamenta -gulae quaerebant, Sall. Jug. 89, 7; iras militum irritamentis acuebat, -Liv. 40, 27. - -Hortamentum (hortor) is probably the exhortation itself as well as -the means of exhorting: ea cuncta Romanis ex tenebris et editioribus -locis facilia visu magnoque hortamento erant, Sall. Jug. 98, 7; in -conspectu parentum coniugumque ac liberorum quae magna etiam absentibus -hortamenta animi sunt, Liv. 7, 11, 6. - -Oblectamentum is probably the condition of delight as well as the means -of delighting: ut meae senectutis requietem oblectamentumque noscatis, -C. 15; cum spinae albae cauliculi inter oblectamenta gulae condiantur, -Plin. 21, 2, 39. - -Levamentum (levo) is a means of alleviating, also the resulting -condition: nos non solum beatae vitae istam esse oblectationem -videmus, sed etiam levamentum miseriarum, F. 5, 53; ad unicum doloris -levamentum, studia confugio, Plin. Ep. 8, 19. - -Opprobramentum (opprobro) is another example of ἃπαξ λεγόμενον but -clearly means, like opprobrium, a disgrace or reproach: facere damni -mavolo quam opprobramentum aut flagitium muliebre exferri domo, Merc. -423. - -Praepedimentum (praepedio) occurs only once, and then with a meaning -exactly equivalent to impedimentum: intro abite, ne hic vos conspicatur -leno neu fallaciae praepedimentum obiciatur, Poen. 606. - -Turbamentum (turbo) occurs twice, meaning in both cases, a means of -disturbance: maxima turbamenta rei publicae atque exitia probate, Sall. -Lep. 25; inserendo ambiguos de Galba sermones, quaeque alia turbamenta -vulgi, Tac. H. 1, 23. - -Firmamentum (firmo) is a means of strengthening, a support: -transversaria tigna iniciuntur, quae firmamento esse possint, B. C. 2, -15, 2. In this instance it is concrete; more often it is abstract: eum -ordinem firmamentum ceterorum ordinum recte esse dicemus, Pomp. 7, 17. - -Libramentum (libro) is probably rather the result of the action than -the instrument, at least in the meaning of “level surface” which it -has in its only occurence in Ciceronian Latin: punctum esse, quod -magnitudinem nullam habet, extremitatem et quasi libramentum, in quo -nulla omnino crassitudo sit, Ac. II, 116. In Livy it means “weight”: -arietem admotum, libramento plumbi gravatum, ad terram urgebant, Liv. -42, 63. - - -3. NOUNS DENOTING ACTION.--There remain a few nouns which clearly -express the action itself. The reason for this does not lie in the -suffix--even in _-tio_ nouns it does not lie in the suffix; but these -nouns, through usage and association, came to have this meaning in -spite of the fact that the tendency of other nouns with the same suffix -was to mean instrument or result of action. - -Molimentum (molior) means exertion, effort: neque se exercitum sine -magno commeatu atque molimento in unum locum contrahere posse, B. G. 1, -34, 3. - -Experimentum (experior) means a trial, experiment: probatur -experimento, sitne feracius...., Plin. Ep. 10, 43. More often the -result is emphasized and it means proof: hoc maximum est experimentum, -aegritudinem vetustate tolli, T. 3, 74. - -Oramentum (oro) is not found in the manuscripts, but is adopted -by Ritschl and Leo, and as we may judge from its context, means -a begging, or praying: spero illum immutari potest blandimentis, -oramentis, ceteris meretriciis, Truc. 317. The Ambrosian manuscript has -hortamentis, the others ornamentis, but neither of these readings is -suitable. - -Sternumentum (sternuo) is a sneezing: pedis offensio nobis et -sternumenta erunt observanda, Div. 2, 84. But in Pliny and Celsus it -sometimes also means a provocative of sneezing, sneezing powder: fit ex -callitriche sternumentum, Plin. 25, 86; radix ranunculi sicca concisa -sternumentum est, Plin. 13, 109. - -Tinnimentum (tinnio) occurs only once, but from the context it plainly -means a tinkling: illud quidem edepol tinnimentumst auribus, Rud. 806. - - -D. ABSTRACT -MENTUM WORDS ON NOUN STEMS - -Of the two noun stem words in this class of abstract words, cognomentum -is properly not a _-mentum_ word. According to Lindsay (p. 335) the -_-to_ suffix is merely added to the _-men_ suffix. An example is: meum -cognomentum commemorat, M. G. 1038. - -Lineamentum (linea) is seen from the following parallel examples to -have the same meaning as its noun stem: in geometria lineamenta, -formae, intervalla, magnitudines sunt, De Or. I, 187; ignis rectis -lineis in caelestem locum subvolat, T. 1, 40; lineamentum esse -longitudinem latitudine carentem, Ac. II, 116; eam M. Varro ita -definit: linea est, inquit, longitudo quaedam sine latidudine et -altitudine, Gell. 1, 20, 7. - -This detailed view of the _-mentum_ words gives occasion for making -the following comment: the tendency of these nouns is to mean the -instrument of an action, often the result of an action, rarely action -itself. The verb stems are such as require an instrument for their -action or suggest its result. The instrument is sometimes literal, -sometimes figurative, and whether it is the one or the other is -determined by the context. Given a verb stem which both suggests the -result of action and requires an instrument, it is difficult to explain -why a _-mentum_ noun formed on it should mean only instrument, and not -result of action, or vice versa. - - -II -BULUM - -The list of _-bulum_ words is small, and they are nearly all concrete. -Only two are abstract. As these two denote only figurative instruments, -the treatment here will take no account of the division into concrete -and abstract. There are two noun stem words. Three distinct classes of -these words may be made, when viewed in relation to their verb stems: -(1) Those denoting instrument; (2) Those denoting place; (3) Those -denoting person. The second meaning is quite as common as the first, -the third very rare (found only in two nouns). - - -1. NOUNS DENOTING INSTRUMENT.--Infundibulum (infundo) is an instrument -for pouring from one vessel to another, a funnel: illa quae reflexa -et resupina, more infundibuli per medullam transmittit quidquid -aquarum superfluit, Col. 3, 18; in qua machina impedens infundibulum -subministrat molis frumentum, Vitr. 10, 10. - -Patibulum (pateo) is plainly an instrument, but having the _shape_ -expressed by the verb stem, a fork-shaped yoke: dispessis manibus -patibulum quom habebis, M. G. 360; caedes, patibula, ignes, cruces -festinabant, Tac. A. 14, 33. - -Rutabulum (ruo) is an instrument for raking or stirring up: iubebis -rutabulo ligneo agitari quod decoxeris, Col. 12, 20. It occurs twice in -Cato, in a list of other tools for use around a fire-place. - -Tintinnabulum (tinnio) is an instrument for making a ringing noise, -a bell: lanios inde accersam duo cum tintinnabulis, Pseud. 332; -tintinnabula quae vento agitata longe sonitus referant, Plin. 36, 13, -19. - -Pabulum (pasco) is that with which anything is fed, usually with -reference to the feed of cattle: bubus pabulum parare oportet, Cato, R. -R. 54, 1. - -Venabulum (venor) is a hunting spear, an instrument for hunting: tantam -bestiam percussisset venabulo, Verr. 5, 7. - -Exorabulum, which occurs only twice, is perhaps rather the begging -(exoro) itself, which is, in turn, a means of obtaining something: -quod modis pereat, quotque exoretur exorabulis, Truc. 27; exorabula -incidantium, decipula adversantium artificia dicentium perdidicit, App. -Flor. n. 18. The first example is interesting as the noun is used with -a form of the same verb as its verb stem. - -Vocabulum (voco) is the instrument for calling or naming, a name: -si res suum nomen et proprium vocabulum non habet, De Or. III, 159; -Aristotelis orationis duas partes esse dixit, vocabula et verba, ut -homo et equus, ut legit et currit, Varr. L. L. 8. - -Two interesting analogical formations with the suffix _-bulum_ are -nucifrangibula and dentifrangibula in Plautus: ne nucifrangibula -excussit ex malis meis, Bacc. 598; ita dentifrangibula haec meis -manibus gestiunt, Bacc. 596. - - -2. NOUNS DENOTING PLACE.--Conciliabulum (concilio) is a place -of assembly[183], a public place, but also the assembly itself: -supplicationem in biduum per omnia fora conciliabulaque edixerunt, Liv. -40, 37; ne penetrarem me usquam ubi esset damni conciliabulum, Trin. -314; per conciliabula et coetus seditiosa disserebant, Tac. A. 3, 40. - -Latibulum (lateo) is a hiding place: cum etiam ferae latibulis se -tegant, Rab. Post. 42. - -Sessibulum is a place for sitting, a chair: quae tibi olant stabulumque -stratumque, sellam et sessibulum merum, Poen. 268. - -Stabulum (sto) is in general a place for standing; its precise meanings -as acquired from the context will be illustrated in the next chapter: -neutrubi habeam stabile stabulum, siquid divorti fuat, Aul. 233. - -Vestibulum[184], is probably originally the place for putting on and -taking off garments (vestio), then entrance, or space in front of a -house[185]: viden vestibulum ante aedes hoc? Most. 819; si te armati -non modo limine tectoque aedium tuarum, sed primo aditu vestibuloque -prohibuerint, Caec. 12, 35. - -Acetabulum and turibulum are both formed on noun stems, and are both -receptacles for holding the material denoted by the noun stem. But all -the examples of acetabulum show the noun extended to mean any kind of -vessel, or a measure: melanthi acetabulum conterito in vini veteris -hemina, Cato, R. R. 102; turibulis ante ianuas positis atque accenso -ture, Liv. 29, 14, 13. - -Desidiabulum occurs only once, and from the context clearly means the -place of action of its stem, which is a verbal noun (desidia): ut celem -tua flagitia aut damna aut desidiabula, Bacc. 376. - -Cunabula and incunabula are formed on the same noun stem cunae, the -latter with the preposition _in_ prefixed. Both the nouns and the stem -all mean the same thing (cradle, or origin), but incunabula has the -additional meaning of “swaddling clothes”: opus est pulvinis, cunis, -incunabulis, Truc. 905; qui cum esset in cunabulis, Div. F. 79; de -oratoris quasi incunabulis dicere, Orat. 42; si puer in cunis occidit, -ne quaerendum quidem, T. 1, 93; qui non in cunabulis sed in campis sunt -consules facti, Agr. 2, 100. - - -3. NOUNS DENOTING PERSON.--The two _-bulum_ words that denote persons -are mendicabulum (mendicor) and prostibulum (prostare). Their bad -meaning is due in large part to the stem; but undoubtedly the contempt -underlying the application to a person of a neuter word denoting a -thing is also responsible for the formation of these words as neuters -and with the suffix _-bulum_. Examples of such terms of reproach are -seen also in _monstrum hominis_, and in the German _das Mensch_. - -Mendicabulum is found only twice: istos reges ceteros memorare nolo, -hominum mendicabula, Aul. 703; cum crotalis et cymbalis circumforaneum -mendicabulum producor ad viam, App. Met. 9. - -Of prostibulum also there are only two examples: bellum et pudicum -vero prostibulum popli, Aul. 285; nam meretricem adstare in via solam -prostibuli sanest, Cist. 331. - -The influence of stem meaning on the _-bulum_ words may then be said to -be the same as in the case of the _-mentum_ words, only here there is -a class of verb stems that suggest the place of action, and none that -suggest the result of action. - - -III -CULUM - - -A. CONCRETE -CULUM WORDS - -The great majority of _-culum_ words[186] also are concrete. They may -be grouped into three classes as far as their verb stems are concerned: -(1) Those denoting instrument; (2) Those denoting place; (3) Those -denoting the object of the action expressed by their verb stems. - - -1. NOUNS DENOTING INSTRUMENT.--Adminiculum (ad-manus) is properly -anything on which the hand may rest, but the examples show it meaning -regularly a prop, or support, both concretely and figuratively: -adminiculorum ordines me delectant, capitum iugatio, religatio vitium, -C. 53; natura semper ad aliquod tamquam adminiculum adnititur, Lael. 88. - -Baculum (etymology very uncertain, but probably same root as seen in -βαίνω) from its verb stem, should mean only a walking stick, but it -is applied to almost any kind of staff or sceptre: proximus lictor -converso baculo oculos misero tundere vehementissime coepit, Verr. 5, -142; baculum aureum regis berylli distinguebant, Curt. 9, 1, 30. - -Everriculum (everro) is a sweep net (also used figuratively): neque -everriculo in litus educere possent, Varr. R. R. 3, 17, 7; quod umquam -huiusmodi everriculum ulla in provincia fuit?, Verr. 4, 5, 3. - -Ferculum (fero) is that on which anything is carried: spolia ducis -hostium caesi suspensa fabricato ad id apte ferculo gerens in -Capitolium ascendit, Liv. 1, 10, 5; ubi multa de magna superessent -fercula cena, Hor. S. 2, 6, 104. - -Gubernaculum (guberno) is an instrument for guiding: piscium meatus -gubernaculi modo regunt caudae, Plin. 11, 50, 111; hic ille naufragus -ad gubernaculum accessit, et navi, quod potuit, est opitulatus, Inv. 2, -154. - -Incerniculum (incerno) is an instrument for sifting, a sieve; it occurs -only twice, and it is difficult to see how it differs from another -noun on the same stem, cribrum: opus est incerniculum unum, cribrum -unum, Cato, R. R. 13; Athenienses decretum fecere, ne frumentarii -negotiatores ab incerniculis eum [mulum] arcerent, Plin. 8, 44, 69. -In the latter example the incernicula are the vessels in which bran, -sifted from the flour, was set up for sale. - -Operculum (operio) like operimentum is an instrument for covering: -aspera arteria tegitur quodam quasi operculo quod ob eam causam datum -est, ne spiritus impediretur, N. II, 136; operculum in dolium imponito, -Cato, R. R. 104. - -Perpendiculum (perpendo) is a plumb line, but is found most frequently -with _ad_ forming an adverbial phrase meaning perpendicularly: non -egeremus perpendiculis, non normis, non regulis, Cic. A. fr. 8; tigna -non directa ad perpendiculum, sed prone et fastigate, B. G. 4, 17. - -Piaculum is a means of appeasing, an offering; perhaps also the -appeasing itself; and the act requiring expiation: decrevit habendas -triduum ferias, et porco femina piaculum pati, Leg. 2, 22; nonne in -mentem venit quantum piaculi committatur? Liv. 5, 52; duc nigras -pecudes: ea prima piacula sunto, Aen. 6, 153. - -Poculum (probably from root seen in bibo) is a drinking vessel, cup: -Socrates paene in manu iam mortiferum illud tenens poculum, T. 1, 71. - -Redimiculum (redimio) is anything used for binding, a band or fillet: -et tunicae manicas, et habent redimicula mitrae, Aen. 9, 616; ut esset -aliquis laqueus et redimiculum, reversionem ut ad me fecerit denuo, -Truc. 395. - -Retinaculum (retineo), always used in the plural, is anything which -holds back or binds: ratem pluribus validis retinaculis parte superiore -ripae religatam humo iniecta constraverunt, Liv. 21, 28; missae pastum -retinacula mulae nauta piger saxo religat, Hor. S. 1, 5, 18. - -Spiraculum (spiro) is a breathing hole: per spiracula mundi exitus -introitusque elementis redditus exstat, Lucr. 6, 493. - -Subligaculum (subligo) is a waistband, judging from the context in -which the only example of it occurs: scenicorum quidem mos tantam habet -veteri disciplina verecundiam, ut in scenam sine subligaculo prodeat -nemo, Off. 1, 35. - -Sarculum (sario) is an instrument for hoeing, a hoe: familiam cum -ferreis sarculis exire oportet, Cato, R. R. 155; gaudentem patrios -findere sarculo agros numquam dimoveas, Hor. C. 1, 1, 11. - -Vehiculum (vehor) is a means of transportation, a carriage or ship; its -meaning and that of ferculum differ exactly as their stems differ: ut -procul divinum et novum vehiculum Argonautorum e monte conspexit, N. -II, 89; mihi aequum est dare vehicula, qui vehar, Aul. 502. - - -2. NOUNS DENOTING PLACE.--Cenaculum (ceno) originally was the dining -room.[187] As this was usually in an upper story, the word came to -have the regular meaning of attic or garret, and the force of the stem -meaning was lost: in superiore qui habito cenaculo, Am. 863; ipse -Circenses ex amicorum cenaculis spectabat, Suet. Aug. 45. - -Conventiculum (convenio) like conciliabulum, means both the place of -assembly and the assembly itself. As far as the form is concerned, it -might be a diminutive from conventus, but it shows no such meaning: -exstructa sunt apud nemus conventicula, Tac. A. 14, 15; conventicula -hominum quae postea civitates nominatae sunt, Sest. 91. - -Cubiculum (cubo) always means a place for reclining, a bedroom: cubui -in eodem lecto tecum una in cubiculo, Am. 808. - -Deverticulum (deverto) is a place to turn aside, a by-path, also a -lodging: ubi ad ipsum veni deverticulum, constiti, Eun. 635; cum gladii -abditi ex omnibus locis deverticuli protraherentur, Liv. 1, 51. - -Hibernaculum (hiberno) is a place for spending the winter, and, -particularly in the plural, the winter quarters of soldiers: hoc -hibernaculum, hoc gymnasium meorum est, Plin. Ep. 2, 17, 7; legionum -aliae itinere terrestri in hibernacula remissae sunt, Tac. A. 2, 23. - -Propugnaculum (propugno) is the place for (means of?) defending, -a bulwark or tower: solidati muri, propugnacula addita, auctae -turres, Tac. H. 2, 19; lex Aelia, et Fufia eversa est, propugnacula -tranquillitatis atque otii, Piso, 9. - -Receptaculum (recepto) is a place to receive or keep things, also a -place of refuge: illud tibi oppidum receptaculum praedae fuit, Verr. 5, -59; insula incolis valida et receptaculum perfugarum, Tac. A. 14, 29. - -Tabernaculum (taberna), “tent,” has a meaning specialized from its -noun stem: Caesar eo die tabernacula statui passus non est, B. C. 1, 81. - -Umbraculum (umbra) means both a shady place and the thing that -furnishes shade: aurea pellebant tepidos umbracula soles, Ov. F. 2, -311; prope aream faciundum umbracula, quo succedant homines in aestu -tempore meridiano, Varro, R. R. 1, 51, 2. - - -3. NOUNS DENOTING OBJECT OF ACTION.--There is also a small group of -concrete _-culum_ words which are alike in that they denote the object -of the action expressed by their verb stems. - -Deridiculum (derideo) is something to laugh at, an object of derision, -(also ridicule itself): deridiculo fuit senex foedissimae adulationis -tantum infamia usurus, Tac. A. 3, 57; quid tu me deridiculi gratia sic -salutas? Am. 682. - -Ientaculum (iento) is something to eat, or breakfast: epulas -interdum quadrifariam dispertiebat: in ientacula et prandia et cenas -commissationesque, Suet. Vit. 13. - -Miraculum (miror) is something to wonder at, a miracle: audite portenta -et miracula philosophorum somniantium, N. 1, 18; omnia transformat sese -in miracula rerum, Ignemque horribilemque feram, Georg. 4, 441. - -Spectaculum is something to look at, a spectacle, show: quom hoc mihi -optulisti tam lepidum spectaculum, Poen. 209. - -The verb stems of these four nouns, with the exception of the first, -could conceivably form nouns meaning instrument, or result of action, -or place; but only one of them, spectaculum, has any of these meanings, -and that, of place: tantus est ex omnibus spectaculis usque a Capitolio -plausus excitatus est, Sest. 124. - - -B. ABSTRACT -CULUM WORDS, ALL DENOTING ACTION - -There are four abstract _-culum_ words, all expressing primarily action -itself. - -Curriculum (curro) is a running: curre in Piraeum atque unum curriculum -face, Trin. 1103. - -Periculum (stem seen in experire) is a trial, attempt, also danger, -risk: fac semel periculum, Cist. 504; nescio quanto in periculo sumus, -Phor. 58. - -Saeculum (sero), if this etymology is correct, is originally a sowing, -then the thing sown, a generation, race, period of time: quid mirum si -se temnunt mortalia saecula, Lucr. 5, 1238; et muliebre oritur patrio -de semine saeculum, Lucr. 4, 1227; saeculum spatium annorum centum -vocarunt, Varro, L. L. 6, 2. - -Oraculum (oro) is an utterance, usually of some god or prophet, -sometimes the place where it is given: oracula ex eo ipso appellata -sunt, quod inest in his deorum oratio, Top. 20, 77; exposui somnii et -furoris oracula, quae carere arte dixeram, Div. 1, 32, 70; numquam -illud oraculum Delphis tam celebre fuisset nisi...., Div. 1, 19, 37. - -With regard, then, to the verb stems of the _-culum_ nouns we may say -that they are such as require an instrument, suggest a place, or imply -the object of their action, while a few form nouns denoting action -itself. - - * * * * * - -The tendency seen in the above classification must not be taken as a -systematic and conscious process of language for the purpose of making -these suffixes mean one thing more than another. The verb stems do -strongly influence the meaning of the whole noun, usually more than -anything else does, but the variety of precise meanings due to context, -which will be shown in the next chapter, almost precludes a systematic -classification on any basis. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -INFLUENCE OF CONTEXT - - -An attempt was made in the preceding chapter to show how the meaning of -words formed with _-mentum_, _-bulum_ and _-culum_ was influenced by -the verb stem. It will be the purpose of this chapter to illustrate how -such general meanings get still greater precision from some element in -the context. This study, as is intimated in the introductory paragraph -of this paper, is a semantic one, but it is not lexicographical; and -no attempt will be made to explain, any farther than was done in the -preceding chapter, such words as show no variation in meaning due to -context. For example, frumentum always means grain, no matter in what -context it stands; iumentum, cattle; testamentum, a will; venabulum, a -hunting spear; cubiculum, a bed-room. The reason is that these words -are neat expressions of a precise idea and their meaning is therefore -less likely to be shifted. This fact also illustrates, in general, -the difference in variation possible in a noun and in an adjective. -The latter, being in so many instances equivalent to a genitive, can, -like the genitive, express a great variety of relations between its -governing noun and its noun stem; while a noun, being a more finished -product, that is, its meaning settling more easily in clear-cut limits, -cannot be expected to show such wide variations. Aside from the -figurative use of the nouns, the most frequent influence of context -comes from a genitive dependent on the noun. The other elements that -enter in will be noticed as each word is discussed, and wherever -possible, the word or group of words which contributes to the meaning -will be italicized. - -First, there are a few nouns which are used in apposition with a proper -noun, or are applied to persons. This use is a special illustration of -the figurative meaning of these words: intercessit iste _Ligus_ nescio -qui, additamentum inimicorum meorum, Sest. 68; _Sertia_ uxor, quae -incitamentum mortis et particeps fuit, Tac. A. 6, 29; in conspectu -_parentum coniugumque_ ac _liberorum_, quae magna etiam absentibus -hortamenta animi sunt, Liv. 7, 11, 6; acerrima seditionum ac discordiae -incitamenta, _interfectores_ Galbae, Tac. H. 2, 23; Fufidius, ancilla -turpis bonorum omnium dehonestamentum, Sall. Lep. 22; _P. Rutilius_ qui -fuit documentum hominibus nostris virtutis, antiquitatis, prudentiae, -Rab. Post. 27; illius _sum_ integumentum corporis, Bacc. 602; vidi hunc -ipsum _Hortensium_, ornamentum rei publicae, paene interfici, Milo, 37; -_ipsa quae_ sis stabulum nequitiae, Truc. 587; quod umquam huiuscemodi -everriculum [_Verres_] ulla in provincia fuit, Verres, 4, 5, 3; quid, -duo propugnacula belli Punici, _Cn._ et _P. Scipiones_ cogitassene -videntur, P. 12; qui sibi _me_ pro deridiculo et delectamento putat, -Heaut. 952. - -These examples show that the suffixes do not imprint on the nouns the -idea of instrument, or any other idea, so strongly that the nouns may -not be applied to human beings as well. - -Of those nouns which get precision of meaning from a dependent -genitive, perhaps there is no better example than fragmentum, which, -expressing the result of the action of breaking, may mean a piece -or fragment of any breakable object: tribunum adoriuntur fragmentis -_saeptorum_, Sest. 79; ut glaebum aut fragmentum _lapidis_ dicemus, N. -II, 82; fragmenta _tegularum_, Liv. 34, 89, 11; fragmenta _ramorum_, -Liv. 23, 24, 10; fragmenta _crystalli_ sarciri nullo modo queunt, Plin. -37, 2, 10; fragmenta _panis_, Plin. 9, 8, 8; mille carinis abstulit -Emathiae secum fragmenta _ruinae_ [the remnants of the army], Lucan, 9, -38. The genitives all answer the question, fragments of what? - -Another noun of general meaning which gets precision from a genitive -is fundamentum; whether literal or figurative, we want to know, the -foundations of what? and the context tells, though not always merely by -means of a genitive: quin cum fundamento _aedes_ perierunt, Most. 148; -solum et quasi fundamentum _oratoris_ vides, _locutionem emendatam_ et -_Latinam_, Brut. 258; fundamenta _rei publicae_ ieci, Fam. XII, 25, -2; fundamenta ieci _salutis_ tuae, Fam. X, 29, 1; _arcem_ Syracusis -a fundamentis disiecit, Nepos, XX, 3, 3; hic locus sicut aliquod -fundamentum est huius _constitutionis_, Inv. II, 19; qui a fundamentis -mi usque movisti _mare_, Rud. 539; prima fundamenta _urbi_ iacere, Liv. -1, 12, 4; alta fundamenta _theatri_ locare, Aen. 1, 428; fundamenta -altae _Carthaginis_ locare, Aen. 4, 266; _urbs_ a fundamentis diruta, -Liv. 42, 63, 11; fodere fundamenta _delubro_, Plin. 28, 2, 4; _pietas_ -fundamentum est omnium _virtutum_, Planc. 29; fundamentum _iustitiae_ -est fides, Off. 1, 7, 23; narratio est fundamentum _constituendae -fidei_, Part. 9, 31; fundamentum _eloquentiae_, De Or. 3, 151; -fundamentum _philosophiae_, Div. 2, 1, 2; initium ac fundamentum -_defensionis_, Clu. 10, 30; quod fundamentum huius _quaestionis_ est, -id videtis, N. I, 44; fundamentum horum _criminum_, Cael. 13, 30; -disciplina nixa fundamento _veritatis_, Gell. 14, 1, 20; fundamentum et -causa _imperii_, Sen. Ep. 87, 41; fundamenta _libertatis_, Balb. 13, -31; fundamentum _consulatus_ tui, Pis. 4, 9; senectus quae fundamentis -_adolescentiae_ constituta est, C. 18, 62; fundamenta _pacis_ ieci, -Phil. 1, 1, 1; fundamentum _domus novae_ iacere, Suet. Cal. 22; _villa_ -a fundamentis inchoata, Suet. Caes. 46. - -Incitamentum is nearly always followed by a genitive or a gerundive -construction expressing the object toward which a thing or circumstance -is an inducement. The noun is used most frequently in Tacitus: hoc -maximum et _periculorum_ incitamentum est et _laborum_, Arch. 23; uxor, -quae incitamentum _mortis_ fuit, Tac. A. 6, 29; incitamenta _irarum_, -Tac. A. 1, 55; incitamenta _victoriae_, Tac. Agr. 32; incitamentum -_ad_ honeste _moriendum_, Curt. 9, 5, 4; incitamentum _fortitudinis_, -Tac. G. 7, 9; incitamentum _cupidinis_, Tac. A. 6, 1, 10; incitamenta -_belli_, Tac. A. 12, 34, 2; est magna illa eloquentia alumna licentiae, -comes seditionum, _effrenati populi_ incitamentum, Tac. D. 40, 11. In -the last example the genitive is a real objective genitive, while the -participle limiting it expresses the result of incitement expressed by -the genitives in the other examples. - -Like incitamentum, invitamentum and irritamentum usually get precision -of meaning from a genitive: invitamenta _urbis_ et _fori_, Sulla, 74; -honos, non invitamentum _ad tempus_, sed perpetuae virtutis praemium, -Fam. X, 10, 2; invitamenta _temeritatis_, Liv. 2, 42, 6; invitamentum -_sceleris_, Vell. 2, 67, 3; pulchritudinem eius non _libidinis_ -habuerat invitamentum, sed _gloriae_, Curt. 4, 10, 24; fons reperiendus -est, in quo sint prima invitamenta _naturae_, Fin. 5, 6; neque -irritamenta _gulae_ quaerebant, Sall. Jug. 89, 7; quod irritamentum -_certaminum_ equestrium est, Liv. 30, 11; _opes_, irritamenta -_malorum_, Ov. M. 1, 140; irritamenta _luxuriae_, Val. Max. 2, 6, 1; -irritamentum _invidiae_, Tac. A. 3, 9; irritamentum _pacis_, Tac. Agr. -20. - -Tegumentum and integumentum have only their general meaning of “cover” -which they get from their verb stem, unless something in the context -tells what it is a covering for: _lanx_ cum integumentis, quae Iovi -adposita fuit, Liv. 40, 59, 7; illius sum integumentum _corporis_, -Bacc. 602; istaec ego mihi semper habui integumentum meae, Trin. 313; -integumentum _frontis_, Cic. post Red. in Sen. 7, 15; integumentum -_flagitiorum_, Cael. 20, 47; integumentum _dissimulationis_, De Or. 2, -86; tegumenta _galeis_ milites ex viminibus facere iubet, B. C. 3, 62, -1; ad tegumenta detrahenda _scutis_ tempus defuerit, B. G. 2, 21, 5; -quae [_palpebrae_] sunt tegmenta _oculorum_, N. II, 142; _tunicos_ aut -tegimenta fuerant, B. G. 3, 44, 7; _humus_ satis solidum est tegimentum -_repellendis caloribus_, Sen. Ep. 90; _equo_ purpurea tegumenta dedit, -Suet. Cal. 55. - -Documentum has the meaning of “example”, particularly when there -is a limiting genitive: Rutilius qui documentum fuit _virtutis_, -_antiquitatis_, _prudentiae_, Rab. Post. 10, 27. The common occurrence -of the word with verbs like dare, together with an indirect question, -shows it to mean proof: _dederas_ enim, quam contemneres populares -insanias, iam ab adolescentia documenta maxima, Mil. 8; multa documenta -egregii principis _dedit_, Suet. Galb. 14. With capere the natural -meaning is “warning” or “instruction”: ex quo documentum nos _capere_ -fortuna voluit, quid esset victis pertimescendum, Phil. 11, 2. This -meaning is also very commonly seen in the use of the dative case to -express purpose, followed by a supplementary clause of purpose. The -noun need not be in the dative, however: insigne documentum Sagunti -ruinae erunt _ne_ quis fidei Romanae aut societati confidat, Liv. -21, 19, 10; deletum cum duce exercitum documento fuisse, _ne_ deinde -turbato gentium iure comitia haberentur, Liv. 7, 6, 11. - -Monumentum is quite as general in meaning as documentum, and shows -as great variety of meaning. It is applied to a whip: vos monumentis -commonefaciam _bubulis_, Stich. 63; a statue: _statuam_ volt dare, -factis monumentum suis, Curc. 441; a literary record: monumenta -_rerum gestarum_ oratori nota esse debent, De Or. I, 201; an action -or circumstance: cum Sex. Pompeium _restituit_ civitati, clarissimum -monimentum _clementiae_ suae, Phil. 5, 39; a tomb: _sepultus est_ in -monumento avunculi sui, Nepos, Att. 22, 4. Sometimes the word gets -precision of meaning from an appositional genitive: hoc _statuae_ -monumento non eget, Phil. 9, 11; ut tu monumentum aliquod _decreti_ -aut _litterarum_ tuarum relinquas, Q. fr. I, 2, 11; _sepulcri_ -monumento donatus est, Nep. Dion. 10. Sometimes it is used without any -suggestion of a concrete object (cf. also the third example above): -nullum monumentum _laudis_ postulo praeterquam huius diei memoriam -sempiternam, Cat. 3, 11, 26. - -Argumentum (always abstract) has the very frequent general meaning of -proof, reason, argument: quid nunc? _vincon_ argumentis te non esse -Sosiam?, Am. 437; nunc, huc _qua causa_ veni, argumentum eloquar, Rud. -31; _quod_ pridie noctu conclamatum esset in Caesaris castris argumenti -sumebant loco non posse clam exiri B. C. 1, 67, 1. A common meaning -in comedy is plot, or theme of a play (our “argument” of an epic or a -drama): ne exspectetis argumentum _fabulae_, Adel. 22. Then it comes -to mean the subject matter of a speech or letter: ut mihi nascatur -_epistulae_ argumentum, Fam. XV, 1, 22, 2; a sign or indication: ubi -lyrae, tibia et cantus, _animi_ felicia _laeti_ argumenta, sonant, -Ov. M. 4, 762; reality or meaning: haec tota _fabella_ quam est sine -argumento, Cael. 27; the subject of artistic representations: ex -_ebore_ perfecta argumenta erant in _valvis_, Verr. II, 4, 56. Twice -in Ciceronian Latin this word is defined in two of the ways mentioned: -argumentum est ficta res quae tamen fieri potuit, velut argumentum -comoediarum, Ad Her. 1, 8; argumentum esse rationem quae rei dubiae -faciat fidem, Top. 8. - -Experimentum, when followed by indirect discourse, as in the following -example, must mean the result of trial; _viz._, “proof”: hoc maximum -est experimentum _hanc vim esse_ in cogitatione diuturna, T. 4, 56. -In the plural, being the accumulation of a number of trials, it is -equivalent to experientia, (experience): Metello experimentis _cognitum -erat_, genus Numidarum infidum esse, Sall. Jug. 46, 3. - -Firmamentum often gets precise meaning from a limiting genitive, which -is also sometimes appositional: ossa nervique et articuli, firmamenta -_totius corporis_, Sen. De Ira, 2, 1, 2; firmamenta _stabilitatis -constantiaeque_ est eius quam in amicitia quaerimus fides, Lael. 65; -eum _ordinem_ firmamentum ceterorum _ordinum_ recte esse dicimus, Pomp. -17; transversaria _tigna_ iniciuntur, quae firmamento esse possint, B. -G. 2, 15, 2; firmamentum ac robur totius _accusationis_, Mur. 28, 58; -firmamentum _rei publicae_, Planc. 9, 23; firmamentum _dignitatis_, T. -4, 7; inventa ratione firmamentum [_orationi_] quaerendum est, Inv. I, -34. - -Instrumentum is a word which has the most general meaning, and really -receives less influence from its verb stem than from the context. Even -when there is a qualifying genitive or other limiting factor it retains -more or less of its general character. Probably its most definite -meaning is that of furniture (of a house): decora atque ornamentum -fanorum in instrumento ac _supellectili_ C. Verris nominabuntur, Verr. -2, 4, 44; instrumenti ne magni siet (of a _villa_), Cato, R. R. I. 5. -A common meaning is that of a tool, or utensil of any kind: inest huic -computationi sumptus fabrorum et _venatorii_ instrumenti, Plin. 3, -19; crudelia iussae instrumenta necis, _ferrumque ignisque_ parantur, -Ov. M. 3, 697; _arma_, _tela_, _equos_ et cetera instrumenta militiae -parare, Sall. Jug. 43, 3; naves _nautico_ instrumento aptae, Liv. 30, -10, 3. The following example shows it meaning a legal document: opus -est intueri omne _litis_ instrumentum; quod videre non est satis, -_perlegendum_ est, Quint. 12, 8, 12. The meaning of supply, provisions -(both literal and figurative) is illustrated by the following -examples: quid _viatici_, quid instrumenti satis sit, Att. XII, 32, 2; -instrumenta _naturae_ deerant, sed tantus animi splendor erat ut.., -Brut. 77, 268; in _oratoris_ vero instrumento tam lautam supellectilem -numquam videram, De Or. I, 36, 165. In one instance it plainly means -apparel, dress: in iuvenem rediit, _anilia_ demit instrumenta, Ov. M. -14, 766. The meaning of aid or assistance is seen in these citations: -quanta instrumenta habeat _ad obtinendam_ adipiscendamque sapientiam, -Leg. 1, 22; industriae _subsidia_ atque instrumenta virtutis in -libidine audaciaque consumpsit, Cat. 2, 5. - -Ornamentum is very similar in meaning to instrumentum, and shows -similar variety of signification due to context, although the verb -stem is a little more specialized. The number of things which may be -spoken of as having ornamenta are seen from the examples: ornamenta -_bubus_, ornamenta _asinis_ instrata (esse oporteat), Cato, R. R. 11, -4; _elephantos_ ornatos armatosque cum turribus et ornamentis capit, -Auct. B. Afr. 86; _pecuniam_ omniaque ornamenta ex _fano_ Herculis -in oppidum Gadis contulit, B. C. 2, 18, 2; _eloquentia_ principibus -maximo ornamento est, F. 4, 61; pecuniam et ornamenta _triumphi_ -Caesaris retinenda curaret, Auct. B. Afr. 28, 2; audieram quae de -_orationis_ ipsius ornamentis traderentur, De Or. I, 144; pulcherrima -totius Galliae _urbs_, quae praesidio et ornamento est _civitati_, -B. G. 7, 15; mihi hoc subsidium comparavi ad decus atque ornamentum -_senectutis_, Orat. 1, 45; Hortensius, lumen atque ornamentum _rei -publicae_, Mil. 14; _urceoli_ sex, ornamentum _abaci_, Juv. 3, 203; -neminem omnium tot et tanta, quanta sunt in Crasso, habuisse ornamenta -_dicendi_, Orat. 2, 28. Sometimes adjectives show the ornamenta to -be a special sort of distinction: pluribus _triumphalia_ ornamenta -decernenda curavit, Suet. Aug. 38; decem praetoriis viris _consularia_ -ornamenta tribuit, Suet. Caes. 76. In comedy especially it means dress, -costume: ipse ornamenta a _chorago_ haec sumpsit: si potero ornamentis -_hominem circumducere_, dabo operam ut...., Trin. 859, 860; hominem -cum ornamentis omnibus _exornatum_ adducite ad me, Pseud. 756; also -trinkets: i, Palaestrio, _aurum_, ornamenta, _vestem_, omnia duc, M. -G. 1302; in one instance, the dress of tragedy: ornamenta absunt: -_Aiacem_, hunc quom vides ipsum vides, Capt. 615. - -Stramentum is applied to a number of things which can be conceived -of as being strewn or covered with straw, but is also sometimes used -absolutely: _fasces_ stramentorum _virgultorumque_ incenderunt, B. G. -8, 15, 5; iubet magnum numerum _mulorum_ produci deque his stramenta -detrahi, B. G. 7, 45; cum ea noctem in stramentis _pernoctare_ (a -bed), Truc. 278; stramenta si deerunt, _frondem ligneam_ legito: eam -substernito _ovibus bubusque_, Cato, R. R. 5. There are two examples in -which it means the roof of a house, or thatch: _casae_, quae stramentis -_tectae erant_, B. G. 5, 43; pars ignes _casis_ stramento arido -_tectis_ iniciunt, Liv. 25, 39. - -Tormentum, an instrument with which anything is turned or twisted, is -applied especially to a military engine for hurling missiles: aciem -eo loco constituit, unde tormento _missa tela_ in hostium cuneos -conici possent, B. G. 8, 14, 5; the missile itself: quod unum genus -tegumenti nullo _telo_ neque tormento _transici_ posse, B. C. 2, 9; a -(twisted) cord or rope: praesectis omnium mulierum _crinibus_ tormenta -_effecerunt_, B. C. 3, 9, 3; a chain or fetter: nam si non ferat, -tormento non _retineri_ potuit _ferreo_, Curc. 227; an instrument -of torture: _rotam_, id est genus quoddam tormenti apud Graecos, T. -5, 24; tum _verberibus_ ac tormentis quaestionem habuit pecuniae -publicae, Phil. 11, 2, 5; torture, pain: cum incredibles _cruciatus_ et -indignissima tormenta pateretur, Plin. Ep. 1, 12, 6; hinc licebit tum -dicere se beatum in summo _cruciatu_ atque tormentis, T. 5, 73. - -Vestimentum, in addition to having its common meaning of clothing: me -vides ut sim vestimentis _uvidis_, Rud. 573; is once applied to the -covering of a bed: huc est intro latus _lectus_, vestimentis stratus, -Heaut. 903. - -From the above examples it will be clear that at least some _-mentum_ -words get precision of meaning from the context. The different means -by which the context exerts influence would be difficult to classify; -still less could one assert that _-mentum_ tends to have any meaning. -Perhaps we should not speak of a word varying semantically when it -is used figuratively, yet it is only from the context that we can -ascertain whether it is used figuratively or not. A word can be used in -a figurative sense only when, in one context, it has certain elements -identical with those which it has in another context. The more definite -and concrete the object expressed by a noun, the less variability will -be expected, either in a literal or figurative use. This is true of the -_-bulum_ and _-culum_ words, which, while admitting a small range of -variation, are much more limited in their variation than the _-mentum_ -words were found to be. The best examples will be given below. - -Conciliabulum is a place of assembly and is expressly so defined by -Festus (cf. Chapter II, p. 25): mulieres _ex oppidis_ conciliabulisque -conveniebant, Liv. 34, 1, 6; sacerdotes non Romae modo, sed per omnia -_fora_ et conciliabula conquiri, Liv. 39, 14, 7. The following example, -however, shows that it may also mean the assembly itself: igitur per -conciliabula et _coetus_ seditiosa disserebant, Tac. A. 3, 40. In a few -instances it takes on a bad meaning: ne penetrarem me usquam ubi esset -_damni_ conciliabulum, Trin. 314; forte aut cena, ut solet in _istis_ -fieri conciliabulis, Bacc. 80. - -Latibulum is seen to be a hiding place for different animals and even -of men, and also a refuge (figurative): cum etiam se _ferae_ latibulis -tegant, Rab. Post. 42; repente te tamquam _serpens_ a latibulis -intulisti, Vatin. 4; defendendi facilis est cautio non solum latibulis -occultorum _locorum_, sed etiam tempestatum moderatione et conversione -(of pirates), Flacc. 13, 31; ego autem volo aliquod emere latibulum et -perfugium _doloris_ mei, Att. XII, 13, 2. - -Pabulum is used not only of food for animals but also, in poetry, -of food for men, and sometimes for the pastures, or feeding places. -Its figurative meaning is also quite common: _bubus_ pabulum parare -oportet, Cato, R. R. 54, 1; pabula carpsit _ovis_, Ov. F. 4, 750; ferae -_pecudes persultant_ pabula laeta, Lucr. 1, 14; novitas mundi pabula -dura tulit, miseris _mortalibus_ ampla, Lucr. 5, 944; si animus habet -aliquod tamquam pabulum _studii_ atque _doctrinae_, C. 49; sed fugitare -decet simulacra et pabula _amoris_, Lucr. 4, 1063. - -Stabulum has its literal and general meaning of standing-place in -only two examples: neutrubi _habeam stabile_ stabulum, siquid divorti -fuat, Aul. 233; nusquam stabulum _confidentiae_, Most. 350. Most -frequently it means a stable for animals or lair of wild beasts: neque -iam stabulis gaudet _pecus_ aut arator igni, Hor. C. 1, 4, 3; itur in -antiquam silvam, stabula alta _ferarum_, Aen. 6, 179. The agricultural -writers use it in speaking of a variety of animals, birds and fishes: -_pecudibus_ sient stabula, Col. 1, 6, 4; _avium_ cohortalium stabula -(an aviary), Col. 8, 1; ut sit _pavonum_ stabulum, Col. 8, 11, 3; hac -ratione stabulis ordinatis _aquatile pecus_ inducemus, Col. 8, 17, -7; absint et picti squalentia terga lacerti pinguibus a stabulis (of -bees), Georg. 4, 14. It also means a cottage, a hut, a dwelling like a -stable: cum Catilina _pastorum_ stabula praedari coepisset, Sest. 12; -pueros ab eo ad stabula _Larentiae uxori_ educandos datos, Liv. 1, 4, -7. A number of times the context shows it applied to a house of ill -fame: pistorum _amicas_, quae tibi olant stabulum stratumque, Poen. -267. Twice it is applied to persons as a term of reproach: _ipsa quae_ -sis stabulum flagitii, Truc. 587; faciam uti proinde ut est dignus -vitam colat, Acheruntis pabulum, stabulum _nequitiae_, Cas. 160. In the -last example pabulum is also used with an emotional tone. - -Vocabulum is a name or appellation, the name of the thing itself -being expressed, if at all, in the genitive, or in the nominative -with vocabulum in the ablative: si res suum _nomen_ et proprium -vocabulum non habet, De Or. III, 159; deligitur artifex talium vocabulo -_Locusta_, Tac. A. 12, 66. It also signifies as a grammatical term, -a noun, as opposed to a verb: Aristotelis orationis duas partes esse -dicit, vocabula et _verba_, ut homo et equus, et legis et currit, -Varro, L. L. 8. - -Conventiculum regularly means an assembly (without any diminutive -notion): conventicula _hominum_ quae postea _civitates_ nominatae sunt, -Sest. 91; but it may also mean the place of assembly: _exstructa_ sunt -apud nemus conventicula, Tac. A. 14, 15. - -Oraculum may mean a prophetic declaration by gods, or by men: cum -praesertim _deorum immortalium_ iussis atque oraculis id fecisse -dicantur, Sex. Rosc. 66; haec ego nunc _physicorum_ oracula fundo, vera -an falsa nescio, N. 1, 66. Also the place where oracular responses were -given: numquam illud oraculum _Delphis_ tam celebre fuisset nisi...., -Div. I, 19, 37. - -Periculum, in the sense of trial, is always the object of the verb -facere: _fac_ semel periculum, Cist. 504; priusquam periculum -_faceret_, B. G. 4, 21. Its change to the meaning of danger must have -been by some such step as is seen in the following example, although -periculum facere, “make a trial,” is also practically the same as -“run a risk”: nescio quanto in periculo _sumus_, Phor. 58. The common -meaning of risk or danger hardly needs to be illustrated: salus -sociorum summum _in_ periculum _vocatur_, Pomp. 5, 12. The context -shows it to have also two other meanings; _viz._, a lawsuit: meus -labor in periculis _privatorum_ caste integreque _versatus_, Pomp. 1, -2; a judicial sentence: petiit ut _in_ periculo suo _inscriberent_, -Nep. Ep. 8; est honestus, quod eorum hominum fidei _tabulae publicae_ -periculaque _magistratuum_ committuntur, Verr. 2, 3, 79. - -Piaculum is properly an offering performed as a means of appeasing a -deity: porco femina piaculum _faciundum_ est, Leg. II, 57; apparet -omnia nec ullis piaculis _expiari_ posse, Liv. 5, 53; and then -naturally it is applied to the victim itself: duc _nigras pecudes_: -ea prima piacula sunto, Aen. 6, 153; then also a sinful action, which -needs expiation: nonne in mentem venit, quantum piaculi _committatur_?, -Liv. 5, 52. - -Spectaculum is properly a “sight”, anything seen: quom hoc mihi -_optulisti_ tam lepidum spectaculum, Poen. 209; then a show, on -the stage or in the arena: spectacula sunt tributim _data_, Muren. -72. Once in Plautus it clearly means a part of the theater itself: -exoritur ventus turbo, spectacula ibi _ruont_, Curc. 647; that it means -also the theater in general is seen from a few examples: _resonant_ -spectacula plausu, Ov. M. 10, 668; _ex_ omnibus spectaculis _plausus -est excitatus_, Sest. 58. - -Umbraculum is a shady place: faciundum umbracula, _quo succedant_ -homines in aestu tempore meridiano, Varro, R. R. I, 51; also anything -that furnishes shade, an umbrella: aurea _pellebant_ tepidos umbracula -_soles_, Ov. F. II, 311. The limiting genitive in the following example -shows the noun to have lost its regular stem-meaning and to have been -used for “school”: Demetrius mirabiliter doctrinam ex umbraculis -_eruditorum_ otioque produxit, Leg. III, 14. - -Vehiculum, a means of transportation, is applied to wagons or carts: -omnes di, qui vehiculis _tensarum_ solemnes coitus ludorum initis, -Verr. 5, 186; but also to ships: ut procul divinum et novum vehiculum -_Argonautarum_ e monte conspexit, N. II, 89. - - * * * * * - -That the words which we have treated vary in meaning according to -the context seems perfectly obvious; but the extent to which this is -true in general has received little if any attention from linguistic -students. The tracing of the meaning of a word through various -periods of the language has been commonly enough done; that side of -the question, however, this investigation has not touched except -incidentally. But the material presented in this chapter and the -preceding has, it is hoped, been sufficient to illustrate how the words -formed with our suffixes, while revealing a limited tendency in meaning -due to their verb stems, often also owe much of their meaning to the -context in which they are used. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -OVERLAPPING OF SUFFIXES - - -However great a tendency the suffixes under investigation have toward -giving to the nouns a certain meaning, the variations of which they -are capable,--due, as has been shown, to stem and context,--strongly -suggest that there can be nothing very stable in the suffix itself. If -there really were a fundamental meaning in the suffixes, there would be -no such variation as we find. - -But a consideration which points even more to the comparatively fluid -condition of these suffixes is the fact that we find other words, -formed on the same stem, but with a different suffix, meaning precisely -the same as the nouns made with these suffixes. Here again, the -meanings are derived from an examination of the context. Sometimes the -contexts are exactly parallel, at other times there is a sufficiently -large element common to both to warrant us in saying that the nouns do -not, at least in these particular instances, differ in meaning. - -The fact that some of these parallel words occur at different periods -in the language does not weaken the argument, as the mere occurrence -of them shows the unstable influence of the suffix; and, moreover, we -need not suppose because one word is not found at a certain period -while another on the same stem with a different suffix is found, that -the first word was not in existence. It is just as reasonable to assume -that the preservation of one word and not the other is due merely -to common usage or the personal preference of the author. Metrical -considerations might exclude the use of a certain word in poetry, but -the instances are very rare, and will be noted in the proper place. - -The most common suffix which makes accessory forms with _-mentum_ is -_-men_. Most authorities regard _-mentum_ as an extension of _-men_ by -the addition of _-to_. Whether this is true or not, there _are_ many -_-mentum_ words that have no accessory forms in _-men_, and a large -number of _-men_ words that have no accessory forms in _-mentum_. -Corssen (_Krit. Nach._ p. 125 ff.) gives fifty-one _-men_ words -from old, classical, and later Latin to which there are no forms in -_-mentum_, fifty-two _-mentum_ words from the same periods to which -there are no forms in _-men_; twenty-five words with both forms in -any one period. He also gives a table showing how the words in the -older and classical language preferred the form _-men_ while in later -Latin the same words preferred the form _-mentum_. He says the suffix -_-mentum_ is only the the extension, on Latin soil, of the suffix -_-men_ (Sanskrit, _-man_) with _-to_; and this explains why in later -Latin the forms in _-mentum_ become more frequent, also why they are -not found in other Italic dialects, nor in the Greek and other related -languages. - -Lindsay says (p. 335) that the suffix _-men_ is found more often in -poetry, while _-mentum_ predominates in prose. - -Etymologically, the suffixes _-bulum_ and _-culum_ go back to original -_-dhlo_ and _-tlo_ respectively (Lindsay pp. 334 and 332). - -A study of the other suffixes which make accessory forms to these words -would probably yield results similar to those seen in the case of our -suffixes; but all that will be attempted here will be to show parallels -wherever possible. Italics will be used here, also, to show what -elements in the context go to prove the equivalence in semantic content -of the nouns under discussion. - - -A. PARALLELS OF -MENTUM AND ACCESSORY SUFFIXES - -One of the neatest examples of identity in meaning is the following -exactly parallel usage of stramen and stramentum: _tectam_ stramine -vidit _casam_, Ov. M. 5, 443; _casae_, quae stramentis _tectae_ erant, -B. G. 5, 43. - -From the use of a genitive denoting a concrete object, fragmentum and -fragmen are seen to be identical in meaning in the following examples: -adiacebant fragmina _telorum_ equorumque artus, Tac. A. 1, 61; tribunum -adoriuntur fragmentis _saeptorum_, Sest. 79. - -The genitives depending on irritamen and irritamentum in the following -examples are not exactly alike, one being concrete and the other -abstract; but they are near enough in meaning, and the nouns themselves -are used in sufficiently similar contexts to justify us in saying that -either one might have been used in place of the other: nisi adiecisset -opes, irritamen _animi_ avari, Ov. M. 13, 434; neque salem neque alia -irritamenta _gulae_ quaerebant, Sall. Jug. 89, 7. - -Levamen and levamentum are used in parallel examples: cuius _mali_ -(debt) plebes nullum levamen speraret, Liv. 6, 35, 1; non aliud -_malorum_ levamentum quam si linquerent castra, Tac. H. 1, 30, 9. - -The verbs used with medicamen and medicamentum show a lack of -differentiation between these nouns: quod diceres te violentis -quibusdam medicaminibus solere _curari_, Pis. 6, 13; si eo medicamento -_sanus factus_ esset, Off. 3, 92. - -The verbs with molimen and molimentum in the following examples are -very similar, and there is the same adjective modifying each noun: -temptat _revellere_ annosam pinum _magno_ molimine, Ov. M. 12, 357; -neque exercitum sine _magno_ commeatu atque molimento in unum locum -_contrahere_ posse, B. G. I, 34, 3. - -Identity of verbs and the case of momen and momentum show there -is no difference in their meaning: momine uti _parvo_ possint -_impulsa_ moveri, Lucr. 3, 188; animus _paulo_ momento huc vel illuc -_impellitur_, And. 266. - -Parallel instances of blanditia and blandimenta are seen in these -examples: haec _meretrix_ meum erum sua blanditia intulit in pauperiem, -Truc. 572; illum spero immutari potest blandimentis, oramentis, -ceteris _meretriciis_, Truc. 318; _benevolentiam_ civium blanditiis -et adsentando _colligere_ turpe est, Lael. 61; Lepida blandimentis ac -largitionibus iuvenilem _animum devinciebat_, Tac. H. 13, 13. - -Adiutorium is a rare word, but in the following examples it is seen to -have the same general meaning as adiumentum, “help”: sine adiutorio -_ignis_ nihil calidum est, Sen. Ep. 31; neque apud homines res est ulla -difficilior neque quae plura adiumenta _doctrinae_ desideret, De Or. -III, 84. - -Experimentum in the plural naturally means the same as experientia -(experience), but in the singular also they both mean a trial or -attempt, or the result of trial, proof: debemus _temptare_ experientia -quaedam, sequentes non aleam, sed rationem aliquam, Varro, R. R. 1, 18, -8; hoc est maximum experimentum, _hanc vim_ esse non in die positam -sed in cogitatione diuturna, T. 3, 74. With the meaning of experience: -Agrippa non _aetate_ neque _rerum_ experientia tantae moli par, Tac. -A. 1, 4; Metello experimentis _cognitum erat_, genus Numidarum infidum -esse, Sall. Jug. 40, 3. - -Firmamen and firmamentum might be interchanged, in both their -figurative and literal meanings: ruptosque obliqua per ungues -porrigitur _radix_, longi firmamina _trunci_, Ov. M. 10, 491; _ossa -nervique_, firmamenta totius _corporis_, Sen. De Ira, 2, 1, 2. Both the -dependent genitives above express concrete objects; in the following -they express abstract objects: unicum lapsae _domus_ firmamen, unum -lumen afflicto malis temet reserva, Sen. Herc. Fur. 1251; sic ille -annus duo firmamenta _rei publicae_ per me unum constituta evertit, -Att. I, 18, 3. - -Documen occurs only once, but its context shows it to be equivalent in -meaning to documentum, which is used in strikingly similar contexts: -flammas ut fulguris halent pectore perfixo, documen _mortalibus acre_, -Lucr. 6, 391; ut sint reliquis documento et magnitudine _poenae -perterreant_ alios, B. G. 7, 4, 10. - -Words with the suffix _-tio_ we naturally think of as verbals, or -nomina actionis, but in the following examples the context makes it -fairly certain that they mean the same as their corresponding _-mentum_ -nouns. - -Formamenta is found only twice: omnia _principiorum_ formamenta queunt -in quovis esse nitore, Lucr. 2, 819; si vos fateremini id quod vestra -suspicio credidisset formamentis _divinis_ attribuisse, minus erat -iniuriae praesumpta in opinatione peccasse, Arn. 3, 16. In the first -example, formamenta is used closely following formae and must mean -the same thing, the “shapes” of the atoms; in the second example the -adjective “divinis” indicates a similar meaning for formamentum; in -the following example Vitruvius is giving directions concerning the -building of a forum: ita enim erit _oblonga_ eius [_forum_] formatio -et ad spectaculorum rationem utilis dispositio, Vitr. 5, 1. While -the directions for the future building might lead us to believe that -the word has a predominant verbal force, yet it is just as possible -to conceive of it as expressing the result of the process; and this -interpretation is even more probable, as the adjective oblonga would -properly not be applied to a purely verbal noun. - -The verb fodior shows the identity in meaning between fundatio and -fundamenta in the following instances: cum _fodientes_ delubro -fundamenta caput humanum invenissent, Plin. 28, 2, 4; fundationes -eorum operum _fodiantur_, Vitr. 3, 3. Res Romana and libertas are -near enough alike to show that fundamen and fundamentum have the same -general meaning in these instances: fundamine magno _res Romana_ valet, -Ov. M. 4, 808; haec sunt fundamenta firmissima nostrae _libertatis_, -Balb. 13. - -The contexts of hortamen and hortamentum in the two following examples -are near enough alike to warrant our saying that the nouns might be -interchanged: Decii eventus, ingens hortamen _ad_ omnia pro re publicia -_audenda_, Liv. 10, 29, 5; in conspectu parentum coniugumque ac -liberorum quae magna etiam _absentibus_ hortamenta _animi_ sunt, Liv. -7, 11, 6. - -There is undoubtedly no more verbal force in the following example of -allevatio than in the example of allevamentum, (which is the only one -extant): _tantis rebus_ urgemur, _nullam_ ut allevationem quisquam non -stultissimus sperare debeat, Fam. IX, 1; Sulla coactus est in _adversis -fortunis sine ullo_ remedio atque allevamento permanere, Sulla, 66. - -Besides alimentum there are two other nouns, formed on the verb alo, -alimonium and alimonia, which also mean support or nourishment, as seen -from these parallel examples: plus alimenti in _pane_ quam in ullo -alio est, Cels. 2, 18; quid temperatus ab alimonio _panis_, cui rei -dedistis nomen castus?, Arn. 5, 16; amisso omni _naturalis_ alimoniae -fundamento, homo _exhaustus intereat_, Gell. 17, 15, 5. - -Although _-tus_ is also usually considered as forming nomina actionis, -the example of cruciatus clearly is parallel with that of cruciamentum: -_confectus_ iam cruciatu maximorum _dolorum_, ne id quidem scribere -possim, quod...., Att. XI. 11, 1; nec _graviora_ sunt tormenta -carnificum, quam interdum cruciamenta _morborum_, Phil. 11, 4. - -Calceamentum, “shoe” or covering for the feet, has two accessory forms, -calceamen and calceatus, which are synonymous with it (the former being -found only in Pliny): mihi est calciamentum _solorum callum_, amictui -Scythicum tegimen, T. 5, 90; _vestitu_ calceatuque et cetero habitu -neque patrio neque civili usus est, Suet. Calig. 52; hinc [_sparto_] -strata rusticis eorum, hinc ignes facesque, hinc calceamina et pastorum -_vestis_, Plin. 19, 2, 7. - -The use of _ad_ and a gerund after both invitatio and invitamenta -indicate their lack of difference in meaning in these two instances: ad -eundem fontem revertendum est, _aegritudinem omnem abesse_ a sapiente, -quod inanis sit, quod frustra suscipiatur, quod non natura exoriatur, -sed iudicio, sed opinione sed quadam invitatione _ad dolendum_, cum id -decreverimus ita fieri oportere, T. 3, 82; quocirca intellegi necesse -est in ipsis rebus, quae discuntur et cognoscuntur, invitamenta inesse, -quibus _ad discendum_ cognoscendumque moveamur, F. 5, 52. - -Munitio is another _-tio_ noun that ordinarily has verbal force, but -not at all infrequently it coincides in meaning with both munimen and -munimentum: cum urbem _operibus_ munitionibusque saepsisset, Phil. 13, -9, 20; _castella_ et munitiones idoneis locis imponens, Tac. A. 3, 74. -The genitives following munimen and munitio are alike in meaning and -function, both being appositional: confisus munitione _fossae_, B. C. -1, 42, 3; narrat esse locum solidae tectum munimine _molis_, Ov. M. 4, -771. Munimentum is used of the same kind of “fortification”: _fossa_, -haud parvum munimentum, Liv. 1, 33, 7. - -Natura and ignis are the similar elements in the following contexts -that indicate the identity in meaning between nutrimen and nutrimentum: - - nempe ubi terra cibos alimentaque pinguia flammae - non dabit absumptis per longum viribus aevum - _naturaeque_ suum nutrimen deerit edaci, Ov. M. 15, 354; - - suscepit _ignem_ foliis atque arida circum - nutrimenta dedit, Aen. 1, 176. - -In the first example, curiously enough, nutrimen seems to be also -synonymous with alimenta in the second line before it. - -Nato and puerorum following oblectamina and oblectamenta indicate -identity in meaning, although the latter is still vague, while the -former is specified by “flores”: carpserat _flores_, quos oblectamina -_nato_ porrigeret, Ov. M. 9, 342; obsecro te non ut vincla virorum -sint, sed ut oblectamenta _puerorum_, Par. 5, 2, 38. - -We have the clear testimony of Varro that operculum and operimentum are -both used to mean “covering”: quibus operibantur operimenta et opercula -dixerunt, Varro, L. L. 5, 167; and the fact is illustrated by the -following examples, in which both are used in the ablative after tego: -aspera arteria _tegitur_ quasi quodam operculo, N. 2, 54; nuces gemino -_protectae_ operimento sunt, Plin. 15, 22. - -Both ornatus and ornamentum are used of a speech, oratio: mihi -eripuisti ornamentum _orationis_ meae, Planc. 83; reliqua quasi lumina -afferunt magnum ornatum _orationi_, Or. 39, 134. The following examples -of these nouns, although still general in meaning, are interesting as -being used with the verb which is their stem: ornatus appellatur cultus -ipse, quo quis _ornatur_, Fest. 184; hominem cum ornamentis omnibus -_exornatum_ adducite ad me, Bacc. 756. - -Although the circumstances in the following passages are not alike, the -immediate contexts are similar enough to show that sarmen and sarmentum -have the same meaning: iam iubeo _ignem_ et sarmen _arae_, carnifex, -_circumdari_, Most. 1114; _ligna_ et sarmenta _ignemque circumdare_ -coeperunt, Verr. 2, 1, 69. - -Tegimen and tegimentum both mean a covering for the body: mihi -_amictui_ Scythicum tegimen est, T. 5, 90; pennarum contextu _corpori_ -tegimentum faciebat, F. 5, 32. - -As shown earlier in this paper, tinnimentum in its single occurrence -undoubtedly means a “tinkling” in the ears, caused by chattering talk; -tinnitus also seems to mean the same thing in the following contexts: -cuminum silvestre _auribus_ instillatur ad _sonitus_ atque tinnitus, -Plin. 20, 15, 57; illud tinnimentumst _auribus_, Rud. 806. - -If there is any difference between vestitus and vestimentum in these -two examples, it is difficult to find: credo te audisse, venisse, eo -_muliebri_ vestitu virum, Att. I, 13, 3; mulierem aequomst vestimentum -_muliebre_ dare foras, virum virile, Men. 659. - -From the fragments in Nonius we find that two of our _-mentum_ nouns -have accessory forms in _-menta_ (fem.) with the same meaning: ipsius -armentas ad easdem, Ennius ap. Non. 190, 20; tu cornifrontes pascere -armentas soles, Pacuvius ap. Non. 190, 22; labei labuntur saxa, -caementae cadunt, Ennius ap. Non. 196, 30. - - -B. PARALLELS OF -BULUM AND ACCESSORY SUFFIXES - -Latibulum and latebra: repente te tamquam _serpens_ e latibulis -intulisti, Vat. 2; curvis frustra defensa latebris _vipera_, Georg. 3, -544; cum etiam _ferae_ latibulis se tegant, Rab. Post. 15, 42; Maenala -transieram latebris horrenda _ferarum_, Ov. M. 1, 216. Latibulum is an -example of a word that could not be used in verse on account of the -quantity of its syllables. - -Common elements in the context show identity of meaning in sedile -and sessibulum: cum pater _assedisset_ appositumque esset aliud filio -quoque eius _sedile_, Gell. 2, 2, 8; _asside_ istic, nam prae metu -latronum nulla sessibula parare nobis licet, App. Met. 1. Varro (L. L. -8, 54) says that a form sediculum is also correctly made, but not in -use. - -Stabulatio, another apparent verbal noun, must mean the same as -stabulum in the following examples, both on account of the adjective -and the general significance of the passages: _hibernae_ stabulationi -eorum (cattle) praeparanda sunt stramenta, Col. 6, 3, 1; iubeo stabula -a ventis _hiberno_ opponere soli, Georg. 3, 302. - -Besides a few examples in Arnobius, only one instance of vocamen is -found, in Lucretius, but that it means the same as vocabulum can be -seen from the parallel passages: si quis Bacchi _nomine_ abuti Mavult -quam _laticis proprium_ proferre vocamen, Lucr. 2, 657; si res suum -_nomen_ et vocabulum proprium non habet, De Or. III, 159. - - -C. PARALLELS OF -CULUM AND ACCESSORY SUFFIXES - -Among _-culum_ words, we find cenaculum having an accessory form -cenatio that has, not the verbal idea, but the genuine meaning of place -for eating, while cenaculum has lost its literal meaning and taken a -more general signification: vel _cubiculum_ grande vel _modica_ cenatio -[sit] quae plurimo sole lucet, Plin. Ep. 2, 17, 10; nos ampliores -triginta vidimus in cenatione _quam_ Callistus _exaedificaverat_, Plin. -36, 7, 12; ubi cubabant, cubiculum, ubi cenabant, cenaculum vocitabant; -posteaquam in superiore parte cenitare coeperunt superioris domus -universa cenacula dicta, Varro, L. L. 5, 162. - -On the stem curro there are three nouns, all signifying “a running”: -_exercent_ sese _ad_ cursuram, Most. 861; ibi _cursu_, luctando sese -_exercebant_, Bacc. 428; unum curriculum _face_, Trin. 1103. A use of -curriculum with exerceo would parallel the first two examples, but in -such a case it takes on the meaning of place (running course): cum -athletae se _exercentes in_ curriculo videret, C. 27. - -In the same paragraph deversorium and deverticulum are used of the same -place: ut _in_ deversorium eius vim magnam gladiorum _inferri_ clam -sineret, Liv. 1, 51; cum gladii abditi _ex_ omnibus locis deverticuli -_protraherentur_, Liv. 1, 51. - -Feretrum and ferculum both are used depending on suspensa in the two -following examples, but mean different kinds of “instruments for -carrying”: quis opima volenti _dona_ Iovis portet feretro _suspensa_ -cruento, Sil. 5, 168; _spolia_ ducis hostium caesi _suspensa_ fabricato -ad id apte ferculo gerens in Capitolium ascendit, Liv. 1, 10, 5. - -The stem cerno (sift) forms two nouns which both mean a sieve, -although the use of them side by side indicates that there must be -some difference; as there are no other examples of incerniculum, this -difference cannot be discovered: in torcularium quod opus est cribrum -unum, incerniculum unum, Cato, R. R. I, 13, 3; caseum _per_ cribrum -facito _transeat_ in mortarium, Cato, R. R. 76, 3. - -In the following examples, spiramen and spiracula are both used to mean -“breathing holes” in the earth or universe, while spiramenta is applied -to the cells in a beehive: - - sunt qui spiramina _terris_ - esse putent magnosque cavae compages hiatus, - Lucan, 10, 247; - - quasi per magni circum spiracula _mundi_ - exitus introitusque elementis redditus exstat, Lucr. 6, 493; - - _apes_ in tectis certatim tenuia _cera_ - spiramenta _linunt_, Georg. 4, 39. - -No difference can be seen in spectamen and spectaculum in these -examples: _miserum_ funestumque spectamen _aspexi_, App. M. 4, 151; -potius quam hoc spectaculum _viderem_, Mil. 38, 103; constitutur in -foro Laodiceae spectaculum acerbum et _miserum_, Verr. I, 76. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -SUFFIXES AND THE THEORY OF ADAPTATION - - -As stated in the introductory chapter, it has been the primary object -of this paper to examine certain word-building suffixes for the purpose -of finding out, if possible, what the force of the suffixes themselves -is, and how the nouns formed with them get their meaning. The material -presented has, it is hoped, shown that these nouns are capable of -wide semantic variation, the influencing elements being the verb stem -and context (the former exerting greater influence than the latter); -also that these suffixes overlap with other suffixes in forming words -of identical semantic content to such an extent that they cannot be -said to have any sort of fundamental meaning whatever. This is the -significance of our investigation in so far as semantics is concerned. - -But it is possible also to connect our results with another question, -the entire solution of which will doubtless never be possible, at least -not soon; _viz._, the theory of the origin of inflection. Nothing but -mere suggestion can be made in this direction from the conclusions of -this study; the field will need much wider working-over before any -thing definite can be asserted. - -Of the two chief explanations of the origin of inflection, one, -the theory of adaptation, as held at the present time, answers the -question by saying that “inflectional endings are not essentially -different from word-building suffixes, but are rather to be regarded -as word-building suffixes in a new rôle and partially systematized -into paradigms. Inflection comes at the point--wherever in the long -course of development that point may be--where the endings of two or -more different forms of a word begin to be felt to be the carriers -of relations of case, or of mode and tense, to a certain extent -independently of stem and context. It is therefore not properly a -matter of forms, but of meanings, and that theory which accounts for -the meanings and for their association with forms explains inflection, -whether it accounts for the forms or not.”[188] - -In other words, inflectional forms got their meanings in a manner -similar to that we have illustrated in the case of our nouns. - -(1.) The apparent definiteness that case-endings have does depend -largely on their stem-meaning. Many of the functional distinctions of -case can be made only by the meaning of the nouns, _e. g._, in “gladiis -pugnatum est”, Caes. B. G. 1, 52; “uno tempore omnibus locis pugnatur,” -B. G. 7, 84; “pugnatum continenter horis quinque vario certamine,” B. -C. 1, 46, we have five ablatives, expressing instrument, time when, -duration of time, manner, and place, only because the words in the -ablative are capable of these meanings. Just so, we saw that our nouns -got their general meaning of instrument, place, result of action, etc., -because their verb stems were such as to admit of such meaning. - -(2.) While our nouns naturally get an important part of their meaning -from the verb stem, yet they derive great specialization of meaning -from some element in the context. It is very probable, too, that -originally our so-called inflectional system was in reality only -a large number of undifferentiated forms which, by a process of -centralization and adaptation, and influenced by the associations in -which they were used, acquired their present meaning. - -(3.) The variety and overlapping of suffixes may also be paralleled by -case-endings; for example, in both the first and second declensions -the same form serves for the dative and ablative plural, while there -is another form for the other declensions. The genitive singular, -and nominative and accusative plural of the fourth declension are -alike in form. In the historical language, the genitive singular, -dative singular, and nominative plural of the first declension have -become identical in form. Other similar comparisons might be drawn to -illustrate the similarity in meaning of forms with different endings, -and from the verb as well as the noun. The very fact that we have five -declensions and four conjugations, with many variations inside the -system and irregularities outside, goes to show that it is not real -system that we have here, but the survival of an original mass of -undifferentiated forms, which through a long period of development -have acquired their present inflectional meaning. - -The parallel suggested here is put forth merely as a suggestion; all we -can say is, that it is possible that inflectional forms did get their -meaning in some such way as the nouns treated in this paper got theirs. -More evidence will be necessary for establishing this theory, if it can -be established at all. - - - - -INDEX OF WORDS - - - acetabulum, 26 - - additamentum, 18, 32 - - adiumentum, 18, 45 - - adminiculum, 27 - - alimentum, 13, 47 - - allevamentum, 20, 47 - - ammentum, 13 - - antepagmentum, 16 - - argumentum, 20, 36 - - armamentum, 13 - - armentum, 14, 49 - - atramentum, 18 - - auctoramentum, 20 - - - baculum, 27 - - blandimentum, 21, 45 - - - caementum, 11, 49 - - calceamentum, 14, 47 - - cenaculum, 29, 50 - - coagmentum, 16 - - cognomentum, 23 - - complementum, 21 - - conciliabulum, 25, 39 - - condimentum, 16 - - conventiculum, 29, 40 - - cruciamentum, 18, 47 - - cubiculum, 29 - - cunabulum, 26 - - curriculum, 30, 50 - - - dehonestamentum, 19, 33 - - delectamentum, 11, 33 - - delenimentum, 18 - - deliramentum, 19 - - dentifrangibulum, 25 - - deridiculum, 30, 33 - - desidiabulum, 26 - - detrimentum, 19 - - deverticulum, 29, 50 - - documentum, 21, 33, 36, 46 - - - emolumentum, 19 - - everriculum, 27, 33 - - exorabulum, 25 - - experimentum, 23, 36, 45 - - explementum, 21 - - - ferculum, 27, 51 - - ferramentum, 17 - - firmamentum, 22, 36, 46 - - formamentum, 20, 46 - - fragmentum, 11, 33 - - frumentum, 15 - - fundamentum, 16, 33, 46 - - - gubernaculum, 27 - - - hibernaculum, 29 - - hortamentum, 22, 33, 47 - - hostimentum, 21 - - - ientaculum, 30 - - impedimentum, 16 - - inanimentum, 19 - - incerniculum, 27, 51 - - incitamentum, 21, 33, 34 - - incunabulum, 26 - - infundibulum, 24 - - instrumentum, 14, 37 - - integumentum, 14, 33, 35 - - intertrimentum, 19 - - invitamentum, 21, 34, 47 - - irritamentum, 21, 34, 44 - - iugumentum, 15 - - iumentum, 15 - - - latibulum, 25, 39, 49 - - laxamentum, 19 - - levamentum, 22, 45 - - libamentum, 15 - - libramentum, 22 - - lineamentum, 23 - - lomentum, 15 - - lutamentum, 12 - - - medicamentum, 13, 45 - - mendicabulum, 26 - - miraculum, 30 - - molimentum, 23, 45 - - momentum, 20, 45 - - monumentum, 14, 35 - - munimentum, 48 - - - nidamentum, 17 - - nucifrangibulum, 25 - - nutrimentum, 16, 48 - - - oblectamentum, 22, 48 - - omentum, 16 - - operculum, 28 - - operimentum, 13, 48 - - opprobramentum, 22 - - oraculum, 31, 40 - - oramentum, 23 - - ornamentum, 14, 33, 37, 48 - - - pabulum, 25, 39 - - patibulum, 24 - - pavimentum, 12 - - periculum, 30, 41 - - perpendiculum, 28 - - piaculum, 28, 41 - - pigmentum, 16 - - poculum, 28 - - praepedimentum, 22 - - propugnaculum, 29, 33 - - prostibulum, 26 - - pulpamentum, 17 - - - ramentum, 11 - - receptaculum, 29 - - redimiculum, 28 - - retinaculum, 28 - - rutabulum, 24 - - - saeculum, 30 - - saepimentum, 14 - - salsamentum, 17 - - sarculum, 28 - - sarmentum, 12, 49 - - scitamentum, 18 - - sessibulum, 25, 50 - - sicilimentum, 12 - - sincipitamentum, 18 - - spectaculum, 30, 41, 51 - - spiraculum, 28, 51 - - stabilimentum, 14 - - stabulum, 25, 33, 40, 50 - - sternumentum, 23 - - stramentum, 11, 38, 44 - - subligaculum, 28 - - suffimentum, 13 - - supplementum, 15 - - - tabernaculum, 29 - - tegumentum, 13, 35, 49 - - temperamentum, 20 - - termentum, 20 - - testamentum, 12 - - tinnimentum, 23, 49 - - tintinnabulum, 24 - - tormentum, 15, 38 - - turbamentum, 22 - - turibulum, 26 - - - umbraculum, 30, 41 - - - vehiculum, 29, 42 - - venabulum, 25 - - vestibulum, 25 - - vestimentum, 15, 39, 49 - - vocabulum, 25, 40, 50 - - - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[181] Cf. Morris, _Principles and Methods in Latin Syntax_, p. -65. It must be noted, however, that this is only one direction in -which semantic development takes place. The opposite (decrease of -connotation) is also observable as a definite line of semantic -development. - -[182] This is one of four _-mentum_ words which occur first in Sallust. -The others are hortamentum, irritamentum, turbamentum. Norden mentions -the use of _-mentum_ words as a peculiarity of Sallust’s style (Gercke -und Norden. _Einleitung in die Alt. Wiss._ I. 578), but with the -exception of these four words, which occur, moreover, only once each in -this author, the examples scarcely justify the statement. - -[183] Cf. Festus, p. 38: conciliabulum dicitur locus, ubi in concilium -venitur. - -[184] Cf. Walde, who gives as the etymology of this word, -ver(o)-stabulum, in which *uer = “door”. - -[185] See Mommsen, _Röm. Gesch._ Bk. I, Ch. XV. - -[186] Only those _-culum_ words were examined which were not -diminutives. Some of the words formed with this suffix do have -diminutive meaning, but for a diminutive to be formed on a verb stem is -impossible. - -[187] Cf. Varro, _Lingua Latina_, 5, Art. 162. - -[188] See the article by Professors Oertel and Morris on _The Nature -and Origin of Indo-European Inflection_, Harvard Class. Stud., Vol. -XVI, p. 89. - - - END OF VOLUME ONE - - - UNIVERSITY OF KANSAS HUMANISTIC STUDIES - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - -This text contains Greek phrases in several places and numerous words -and phrases in Latin. Greek and Latin passages have been rendered as -they appear in the original publication. No attempt has been made to -make corrections. - -Obvious punctuation errors have been repaired. Occasional missing -commas have been left unchanged. Identifyable inconsistencies in -punctuation in headings, footnotes, index, and bibliography have been -repaired. - -Variations in hyphenation and spelling, particularly in the use of -accent marks, have, for the most part, been left unchanged. If it was -clear from the predominance of occurrences that the difference was due -to a typo and not the intent of the author, the correction was made. -However, the variations were frequently the result of references or -quotes from different sources and therefor the variations were left -as found. For instance, the reader will find the following variations -left as found in the original: Bocca-dell’-Verità also appears as -Bocca-dell’-Verita; Marriage à la Mode sometimes appears as Marriage a -la Mode; both Lévy-Bruhl and Levy-Bruhl are used; De Vulgari Eloquio is -also spelled De Vulgario Eloquio; The Rival Queans is also given as The -Rival Queens. - -Spelling of non-dialect wording in the text was made consistent when -a predominant preference was found in this book; if no predominant -preference was found, or if there is only one occurrence of the word, -spelling was not changed. - -Simple typographical errors were corrected; occasional unbalanced -quotation marks repaired. - -The original text has duplicate words in several places. For example, -Page 308 ... “is only the the extension, on Latin soil”; Page 146 ... -“matter to each each other”. These have been rendered as found without -correction. - -Because of the propensity in this text for quotations starting and -ending in the middle of a sentence, ellipsis have been rendered -as found in the text with no assumptions made as to the ending of -sentences within quotations. Ellipsis that are obviously errors have -been standardized to common usage. In several places within the English -text and in the Latin phrases, periods have apparently been used to -represent missing letters in a word or name. These have been rendered -as found in the original. - -There are several typographical errors in sequential numbering in the -Appendix for section 3, the paper on Browning and Italian Arts and -Artists. On page 253, the section shown in the original as “IV. Pippa -Passes.” should be numbered “III.” if properly sequenced. On page 258, -the section shown in the original as “XX. Pacchiarotto and How He Worked -in Distemper.” should be numbered “XXIV.” if properly sequenced. On page -257, under “XX. The Ring and the Book”, the numbering skips for “8” to -“10”, leaving out “9”. All these have been repaired. - -In the Appendix for section 3, the paper on Browning and Italian Arts -and Artists, some of the Roman Numerals are in parenthesis. About a -third of them have the period inside the parenthesis [i.e. (III.)] and -about 2/3 have the period outside the parenthesis [i.e. (III).]. No -attempt has been made to standardize these. 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max-width: 0;} - - .transnote { - page-break-inside: avoid; - margin-left: 2%; - margin-right: 2%; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-bottom: 1em; - padding: .5em;} - - .epubonly {display: block; visibility: visible;} -} - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Humanistic Studies of the University of -Kansas, Vol. 1, by De Witt Clinton Croissant and Arthur Mitchell and Pearl Hogrefe and Edmund Dresser Cressman - -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/license - - -Title: Humanistic Studies of the University of Kansas, Vol. 1 - -Author: De Witt Clinton Croissant - Arthur Mitchell - Pearl Hogrefe - Edmund Dresser Cressman - -Release Date: April 7, 2016 [EBook #51685] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HUMANISTIC STUDIES *** - - - - -Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Shirley McAleer and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="epubonly transnote"> -<p class="center in0">Cover created by Transcriber and placed into the Public Domain.</p> -</div> - -<div class="transnote"> -<p class="center in0 larger">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:</p> - -<p>The pagination of this book is unusual. The book consists of four -sections, each of which is page numbered within itself. Additionally, -the pages of the entire document are numbered consecutively. This results -in sections two, three, and four in the original document having two page -numbers on each page, one for the page number of the section and one for -the page number of the whole document. To aid in clarity the pages in -this eBook have been numbered consecutively for the entire document. -However, the page numbers shown in the Table of Contents for each -section and the Indexes, where they appear, have been left as they appear -in the original document. The links, of course, have been made to the -correct pages.</p> - -<p>Other transcriber's notes will be found at the end of this eBook, -following the Footnotes.</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">i</a></span></p> -<h1>HUMANISTIC STUDIES<br /> -<span class="xxsmall">OF<br /> -THE UNIVERSITY OF KANSAS</span></h1> - -<p class="center small in0 smcap">Volume I</p> - -<p class="center in0 small p6">LAWRENCE, KANSAS</p> -<p class="center in0 xsmall">PUBLISHED BY THE UNIVERSITY</p> -<p class="center in0 xsmall">1915</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p class="center in0 p3 wide2">COMMITTEE ON HUMANISTIC STUDIES<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">ii</a></span></p> - - <div class="authors"> - <p class="p2"><span class="smcap">Frank Heywood Hodder</span></p> - <p><span class="smcap">Frank Wilson Blackmar</span></p> - <p><span class="smcap">Edwin Mortimer Hopkins</span></p> - <p><span class="smcap">Arthur Tappan Walker</span></p> - <p><span class="smcap">Selden Lincoln Whitcomb</span>, Editor</p> - </div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak"><a name="CONTENTSm" id="CONTENTSm"></a>CONTENTS</h2><span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">iii</a></span> -</div> - -<table id="tocm" summary="contents"> - - <tr> - <td class="sectnum"><a href="#No._1">I.</a></td> - <td class="sectname smcap">Studies in the Work of Colley Cibber.</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td class="sectauthor"><i>By De Witt C. Croissant, Ph. D.</i></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="sectnum"><a href="#No._2">II.</a></td> - <td class="sectname smcap">Studies in Bergson’s Philosophy.</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td class="sectauthor"><i>By Arthur Mitchell, Ph. D.</i></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="sectnum"><a href="#No._3">III.</a></td> - <td class="sectname smcap">Browning and Italian Art and Artists.</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td class="sectauthor"><i>By Pearl Hogrefe, A. M.</i></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="sectnum"><a href="#No._4">IV.</a></td> - <td class="sectname smcap">The Semantics of -mentum, -bulum, and -culum.</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td class="sectauthor"><i>By Edmund D. Cressman, Ph. D.</i></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr class="fullb" /> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">v</a></span></p> - -<p class="center in0 wide2 bm0 p2"><a id="No._1"></a>BULLETIN OF THE UNIVERSITY OF KANSAS<br /> -HUMANISTIC STUDIES</p> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<table id="stp_1" summary="bulletin heading_1"> - - <tr> - <td class="vol"><i>Vol. I</i></td> - <td> </td> - <td class="date"><i>October 1, 1912</i></td> - <td> </td> - <td class="num"><i>No. 1</i></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<h2 class="p2 wide2 p3">STUDIES IN THE WORK OF<br /> -COLLEY CIBBER</h2> - -<p class="center in0 xsmall p2">BY</p> - -<p class="center in0 small smcap p2 bm0">De WITT C. CROISSANT, Ph. D.</p> - -<p class="center in0 xsmall p0"><i>Assistant Professor of English Language in the University of Kansas</i></p> - -<p class="center in0 small p6 bm0">LAWRENCE, OCTOBER, 1912</p> - -<p class="center in0 xsmall">PUBLISHED BY THE UNIVERSITY</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3 class="nobreak"><a name="CONTENTS1" id="CONTENTS1"></a>CONTENTS</h3><span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">vii</a></span> -</div> - -<div class="toc_1"> - <ul> - <li class="chnum"><a href="#cibber_1">I</a></li> - <li class="n">Notes on Cibber’s Plays</li> - <li class="chnum"><a href="#cibber_29">II</a></li> - <li class="c">Cibber and the Development of Sentimental Comedy</li> - <li class="b"><a href="#cibber_63">Bibliography</a></li> - </ul> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<p class="center in0 large p4">PREFACE<span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">ix</a></span></p> - -<p>The following studies are extracts from a longer paper on the -life and work of Cibber. No extended investigation concerning -the life or the literary activity of Cibber has recently appeared, -and certain misconceptions concerning his personal character, as -well as his importance in the development of English literature -and the literary merit of his plays, have been becoming more and -more firmly fixed in the minds of students. Cibber was neither -so much of a fool nor so great a knave as is generally supposed. -The estimate and the judgment of two of his contemporaries, -Pope and Dennis, have been far too widely accepted. The only -one of the above topics that this paper deals with, otherwise -than incidentally, is his place in the development of a literary -mode.</p> - -<p>While Cibber was the most prominent and influential of the -innovators among the writers of comedy of his time, he was not -the only one who indicated the change toward sentimental comedy -in his work. This subject, too, needs fuller investigation. I -hope, at some future time, to continue my studies in this field.</p> - -<p>This work was suggested as a subject for a doctor’s thesis, by -Professor John Matthews Manly, while I was a graduate student -at the University of Chicago a number of years ago, and was continued -later under the direction of Professor Thomas Marc Parrott -at Princeton. I wish to thank both of these scholars, as well -as Professor Myra Reynolds, who first stimulated my interest -in Restoration comedy. The libraries of Harvard, Yale, and -Columbia have been very generous in supplying books which would -otherwise have been inaccessible; but especial gratitude is due to -the Library of Congress, and to Mr. Joseph Plass, who called my -attention to material in the Library of Congress, which would -have escaped my notice but for his interest. I wish to express -my gratitude to Professor R. D. O’Leary, of the University of -Kansas, who has read these pages in manuscript and in proof, -and has offered many valuable suggestions.</p> - -<p class=" pr1 right">D. C. C.</p> - -<p class="in0 bm0 wide4">University of Kansas,</p> -<p class="in75 p0">October, 1912.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center in0 larger p2 nobreak">STUDIES IN THE WORK OF COLLEY CIBBER<span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">1</a></span></p> -</div> - -<p class="center in0">De Witt C. Croissant</p> - -<h3 class="nobreak"><a id="cibber_1"></a>I</h3> - -<p class="cibchap">NOTES ON CIBBER’S PLAYS</p> - -<p>Colley Cibber’s activity was not confined to writing plays. -Besides being a leader in the development of comedy and a skilful -adapter in tragedy, he was the greatest actor of his day in -comic rôles; was the dominant personality in the triumvirate -of managers of the playhouse, so that the healthy theatrical -conditions of his time were largely due to him; was a writer of -poetry, some of which is fairly good; was the author of some -of the most amusing and clever controversial pamphlets of the -time; and was the author of a most interesting autobiography. -Today he is thought of by many merely as the hero of Pope’s -<cite>Dunciad</cite>. In some respects he deserved Pope’s satire, but the -things he did well entitle him to more consideration than he has -received.</p> - -<p>It is the purpose of these <cite>Notes</cite> to discuss merely his plays; -and to treat these principally from the point of view of what may -be called external relations, with some discussion of dramatic -technique. Under the heading of external relations I have considered -the dates of the various plays, the circumstances of their -presentation, their sources, and their relation to the various -types of the drama of the time. I have discussed the plays in -chronological order within the various classes.</p> - -<p class="cibsect">1. <span class="smcap">Farces.</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">2</a></span></p> - -<p>Of the farces ascribed to Cibber, only two, <cite>The Rival Queans</cite> -and <cite>Bulls and Bears</cite>, are unquestionably his, and these two are -not accessible. <cite>The Rival Queans</cite>, acted at the Haymarket, -June 29, 1710, printed in Dublin in 1729, is without doubt by -Cibber. But in the collected edition of his plays, published in -1777, the editors substituted a farce of the same name, which, -however, deals with a different subject and is by another writer. -Cibber’s farce was a burlesque of Lee’s <cite>Rival Queens</cite>; the piece -that was substituted deals with the operatic situation in England.</p> - -<p>An adaptation of Doggett’s <cite>Country Wake</cite> (1696), called <cite>Hob, -or The Country Wake</cite> (1715), has been ascribed to Cibber, but -Genest<a name="FNanchor_1" id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">1</a> doubts his authorship because it was brought out while -Doggett was still on the stage.</p> - -<p><cite>Bulls and Bears</cite>, Cibber’s second undisputed farce, was acted -at Drury Lane, December 2, 1715, but was apparently not printed.</p> - -<p><cite>Chuck</cite> (1736) seems to have been ascribed to him by either the -author or the publisher without grounds, for in a list of plays -“wrote by anonymous authors in the 17th century,” appended -to the fourth edition of the <cite>Apology</cite> (1756), there is a note on -this play to the effect that “the author or printer has set the name -of Mr. Cibber to this piece.” This is not proof positive that -Cibber did not write the play, for <cite>Cinna’s Conspiracy</cite>, which -is unquestionably by him, appears in the same list. In <cite>The New -Theatrical Dictionary</cite> (1742), it is stated that “this piece [<cite>Chuck</cite>] -is extremely puerile, yet the author has thought proper to put -Mr. Cibber’s name to it.” This again is not necessarily convincing -argument against Cibber’s authorship, for he was capable -of poor work, as his poems and some of his plays show.</p> - -<p>On the whole, it seems probable that <cite>Hob</cite> and <cite>Chuck</cite> are not -by Cibber. In any case, they are entirely without value, and it is -therefore a matter of no importance to literary history whether -their authorship is ever determined or not.</p> - -<p>Coffey’s <cite>The Devil to Pay</cite> (1736) is stated in the catalogue of -the British Museum to have been “revised by Colley Cibber.” -But the work of revision was done by Theophilus Cibber, his son, -and Cibber himself contributed only one song.<a name="FNanchor_2" id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">2</a></p> - -<p class="cibsect">2. <span class="smcap">Operas.</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">3</a></span></p> - -<p>In common with many of his contemporaries, Cibber attempted -operatic pieces. His undisputed operas are <cite>Venus and Adonis</cite> -(1715), <cite>Myrtillo</cite> (1716), <cite>Love in a Riddle</cite> (1729), and <cite>Damon and -Phillida</cite> (1729), the last being merely the sub-plot of <cite>Love in a -Riddle</cite> acted separately.<a name="FNanchor_3" id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">3</a> Two other operatic pieces, <cite>The Temple -of Dullness</cite> (1745) and <cite>Capochio and Dorinna</cite>, have been -ascribed to him.</p> - -<p><cite>Love in a Riddle</cite> (1729) seems to have been the cause of some -unpleasantness. In the <cite>Life of Quin</cite> (1766) the following account -of it is given:<a name="FNanchor_4" id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">4</a></p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“This uncommon reception of <cite>The Beggar’s Opera</cite> induced -Colley Cibber to attempt something the same kind the next year, -under the title of <cite>Love in a Riddle</cite>, but how different was its reception -from Gay’s production; it was damned to the lowest -regions of infamy the very first night, which so mortified Cibber, -that it threw him into a fever; and from this moment he resolved -as soon as he conveniently could to leave the stage, and -no longer submit himself and his talents to the capricious taste -of the town.</p> - -<p>“It was generally thought that his jealousy of Gay, and the -high opinion he entertained of his own piece had operated so strongly -as to make him set every engine in motion to get the sequel of -<cite>The Beggar’s Opera</cite>, called <cite>Polly</cite>, suppressed in order to engross -the town entirely to <cite>Love in a Riddle</cite>. Whether Cibber did or -did not bestir himself in this affair, it is certain that Gay and -Rich had the mortification to see all their hopes of a succeeding -harvest blasted by the Lord Chamberlain’s absolute prohibition -of it, after it had been rehearsed and was just ready to bring -out.”</p></blockquote> - -<p>In this same volume<a name="FNanchor_5" id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">5</a> it is stated that the failure of the piece -was one of the potent causes of the dissolution of the Drury Lane -company, though this seems an exaggeration, as does also the -effect on Cibber that is ascribed to the failure.</p> - -<p>Cibber denies<a name="FNanchor_6" id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">6</a> that he had anything to do with the suppression -of the second part of <cite>The Beggar’s Opera</cite>, and gives as his reason -for writing that he thought something written in the same form, -but recommending virtue and innocence instead of vice and wickedness, -“might not have a less pretence to favor.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">4</a></span> -<cite>The Temple of Dullness</cite> (1745), which <cite>The Biographia Dramatica</cite><a name="FNanchor_7" id="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">7</a> -states had been ascribed to Cibber, is in two acts of two -scenes each, the second scene of each act being the comic “interlude” -of Theobald’s <cite>Happy Captive</cite> (1741). These two scenes -have as their principal characters, Signor Capochio and Signora -Dorinna.<a name="FNanchor_8" id="FNanchor_8" href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">8</a> The other two scenes, which give the principal title to -the piece, are based, as is stated in the preface, on the fact that -Pope in <cite>The Dunciad</cite> makes the Goddess of Dullness preside over -Italian operas. It is inconceivable that either Cibber or Theobald -would have based anything of the sort on a hint from <cite>The Dunciad</cite> -and complacently given the credit to Pope, after the way they had -both been handled in <cite>The Dunciad</cite>. There is nothing on the title -page to indicate that Cibber had anything to do with the piece. -The ascription of the authorship of <cite>The Temple of Dullness</cite> to -Cibber seems to be without foundation, and the probability is -that this piece was composed by a third person soon after Theobald’s -death, which occurred about four months before it was -acted.<a name="FNanchor_9" id="FNanchor_9" href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">9</a></p> - -<p>Concerning <cite>Capochio and Dorinna</cite>, <cite>The Biographia Dramatica</cite> -has the following note: “A piece with this title, but without a -date, is, in Mr. Barker’s catalogue, ascribed to Colley Cibber. It -was probably an abridgment from <cite>The Temple of Dullness</cite>.” This -statement concerning the source of <cite>Capochio and Dorinna</cite> -would seem plausible from the supplementary title of <cite>The Temple -of Dullness</cite>,—<cite>With the Humours of Signor Capochio and Signora -Dorinna</cite>. <cite>Capochio and Dorinna</cite> is no doubt the two scenes -from Theobald’s <cite>The Happy Captive</cite> which had been used in <cite>The -Temple of Dullness</cite>, as is stated above.</p> - -<p>Cibber’s operatic writings belong chiefly to the English type of -pastoral drama, rather than to the type of Italian opera. In -fact, they are not operas either in the Italian or in the modern -sense, but are rather plays interspersed with songs appropriate -to the characters who sing them. They show the common characteristics -of the pastoral drama of the time.<a name="FNanchor_10" id="FNanchor_10" href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">10</a> They possess the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">5</a></span> -court element, have the same plot devices, and their characters -belong to the same general types. It is noticeable that Cibber -here, as well as in his comedies, arrays himself with the moralists, -as is seen in his introduction of a moral purpose in <cite>Love in a Riddle</cite>. -These pieces are in verse of varying meters. In <cite>Venus and Adonis</cite> -and <cite>Myrtillo</cite> there is apparent imitation of the versification of -Dryden’s <cite>Alexander’s Feast</cite>; in <cite>Love in a Riddle</cite> and <cite>Damon and -Phillida</cite> the dialogue is in blank verse, but in neither case is the -verse inspired.</p> - -<p>His operas are neither intrinsically nor historically important; -they are merely representative of a vogue which was popular but -which left no permanent impress on the English drama.</p> - -<p class="cibsect">3. <span class="smcap">Tragedies.</span></p> - -<p>Cibber’s seven tragedies appeared in the following order: -<cite>Xerxes</cite>, 1699; his adaptation of Shakspere’s <cite>Richard III</cite>, 1700; -<cite>Perolla and Izadora</cite>, 1705; the three translations of Corneille, -<cite>Ximena</cite>, acted 1712, but not published until 1719, <cite>Cinna’s Conspiracy</cite>, -1713, and <cite>Caesar in Egypt</cite>, 1725; and finally <cite>Papal -Tyranny</cite>, an adaptation of Shakspere’s <cite>King John</cite>, 1745. The -best stage play is <cite>Richard III</cite>, but those that make the most -agreeable reading are the alterations of Corneille.</p> - -<p><cite>Xerxes</cite> (1699), which was a failure, belongs to the type of the -tragedies of the last decade of the century, in which the material -of the heroic play is handled in blank verse, in which there is no -comedy, and in which there is in general a following of French -models.<a name="FNanchor_11" id="FNanchor_11" href="#Footnote_11" class="fnanchor">11</a> In its presentation of a story of distressed womanhood, -it allies itself with the sentimental tragedy of the school of Southerne -and Otway. In its use of the supernatural, in its puerile use -of claptrap, and in the bombast and extravagance of emotion, it -follows the general usage of the tragedies of the time.</p> - -<p>When it was written Cibber was one of the company at Drury -Lane, but the play was refused there, and was accepted at -Lincoln’s Inn Fields only when Cibber guaranteed the expenses -of the production. Notwithstanding the fact that two such great -actors as Betterton and Mrs. Barry were in the cast, the play -was a failure.<a name="FNanchor_12" id="FNanchor_12" href="#Footnote_12" class="fnanchor">12</a></p> - -<p>The common supposition that it was acted only once, is based<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">6</a></span> -on Addison’s inventory of Rich’s theatrical paraphernalia, in -which are mentioned “the imperial robes of Xerxes, never worn -but once.”<a name="FNanchor_13" id="FNanchor_13" href="#Footnote_13" class="fnanchor">13</a> The play had been acted ten years previously, -and Addison is speaking of an entirely different playhouse and -manager so that this testimony, if it does apply to this play, is probably -not to be given much weight. While the play may have been -withdrawn from the stage after only one performance, Addison’s -evidence does not establish the matter one way or the other.</p> - -<p>Cibber’s next venture in tragedy was more successful, for while -his adaptation of Shakspere’s <cite>Richard III</cite> has not received critical -commendation, it was for over a century practically the only -version presented on the stage and is still used by many actors.</p> - -<p>When Cibber’s <cite>Richard III</cite> was originally acted at Drury Lane -in 1700, Charles Killigrew, Master of the Revels, forbade the first -act, because the distress of Henry, introduced from Shakspere’s -<cite>Henry VI</cite>, might bring the exiled King James to the mind of the -people; so that only four acts could be given. The play was a -comparative failure at first, owing no doubt to the omission of so -important and necessary a part of the revision, so that Cibber’s -profits from the third night, as author, came to less than five -pounds.<a name="FNanchor_14" id="FNanchor_14" href="#Footnote_14" class="fnanchor">14</a> Later, when this act was restored, the piece became -a success. As has been pointed out by Dohse<a name="FNanchor_15" id="FNanchor_15" href="#Footnote_15" class="fnanchor">15</a> and Wood<a name="FNanchor_16" id="FNanchor_16" href="#Footnote_16" class="fnanchor">16</a>, -Cibber may in making this adaptation have used the chronicles -of Hall and others, and probably was influenced by <cite>The Mirror for -Magistrates</cite> and Caryl’s <cite>English Princess</cite> (1667).</p> - -<p>In his alteration Cibber has cut down the play to a little more -than half its original length, and of this remainder only a little -over a third is found in Shakspere’s <cite>Richard III</cite>, while the rest is -from a number of Shakspere’s plays or is made up of original additions -by Cibber.<a name="FNanchor_17" id="FNanchor_17" href="#Footnote_17" class="fnanchor">17</a> The alterations vary from the change of -single words,<a name="FNanchor_18" id="FNanchor_18" href="#Footnote_18" class="fnanchor">18</a> to the addition of scenes entirely by Cibber. The -omissions, such as Anne’s spitting at Gloster, I, ii, 146, are generally<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">7</a></span> -happy; the lines he has substituted are generally easier to -understand, if less aesthetically pleasing, than those of the original; -and the additions throughout are such as add clearness and theatric -effectiveness.</p> - -<p>Richard is made the central figure, so that the play revolves more -closely about him than in Shakspere. A love story, more slightly -developed than usual in the adaptations of this period, is introduced -at the end of the play in accordance with contemporary -usage. The women are made less prominent, the lyric chorus -effect of the various scenes in which these women foretell and -bewail is omitted, and the whole action is made more simple and -direct. Shakspere’s <cite>Richard III</cite> is full of this lyric element -which Cibber has excised.</p> - -<p>With this curtailment of plot comes likewise a less highly presented -delineation of character. Not only is the number of -characters diminished, but modifications are made in those that -remain. Richard becomes less the unfeeling hypocrite, by use of -asides his motives and character are made more clear, and he is -influenced more by love; his victims are not so vividly presented, -and though their weakness of will and character is not less than in -the original, the reader does not feel it so much. Cibber’s <cite>Richard -III</cite>, like his <cite>King John</cite>, is more play than poem; in it Cibber has -attempted to make everything subservient to dramatic effectiveness.</p> - -<p><cite>Perolla and Izadora</cite> was acted at Drury Lane on December 3, -1705, and published the next year. Lintot had bought the copyright -November 14, 1705, a few weeks before its presentation, for -thirty-six pounds, eleven shillings, next to the largest amount -that he paid Cibber for any of his plays. Cibber explains that he -omitted <cite>Woman’s Wit</cite> from the 1721 edition of his plays because -it was so inferior a drama, which was no doubt his reason for omitting -<cite>Xerxes</cite>; but why he should not have included <cite>Perolla and -Izadora</cite>, which brought him a good third and sixth day at the -theatre, though it does not appear to have been presented afterwards, -is not clear, unless, as is probable, he included in this edition -only such plays as had gained a more or less permanent place -on the stage.</p> - -<p>Cibber shows unusual modesty in his dedication of this play, -which he founded on a part of the story of Perolla and Izadora<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">8</a></span> -from <cite>The Romance of Parthenissa</cite><a name="FNanchor_19" id="FNanchor_19" href="#Footnote_19" class="fnanchor">19</a> (1654) by Roger Boyle, Earl -of Orrery. He “saw so many incidents in the fable, such natural -and noble sentiments in the characters, and so just a distress in -the passions, that he had little more than the trouble of blank -verse to make it fit for the theatre.”<a name="FNanchor_20" id="FNanchor_20" href="#Footnote_20" class="fnanchor">20</a> Cibber has followed the -events in <cite>Parthenissa</cite> very closely, making few changes or additions. -However, he has Perolla and Izadora in love before the -action begins, whereas they do not meet in the romance until -after Perolla has saved the life of Blacius in what makes the end -of Cibber’s second act; and at the close of the play he unites the -lovers, while the story goes on indefinitely in <cite>Parthenissa</cite>. The -characters display about the same qualities; Blacius is made -perhaps a trifle more reasonable and Poluvius a little less so. The -play is much better as a play than the original is as a story.</p> - -<p>The play in general conforms to the French classical type; -the unities are observed, the characters are few and noble, it is -written in blank verse, and there are no humorous touches. -Only in the two deaths and the one fight on the stage does the -play violate the French tradition. In the death of the wicked, -the reward of the virtuous, and the general nature of the action, -it groups itself with the heroic plays of the preceding century, -but of course it does not conform to that type in versification. -Cibber was here probably writing under the influence of Corneille.</p> - -<p><cite>Ximena, or The Heroic Daughter</cite>, an alteration of Corneille’s <cite>Cid</cite>, -was acted at Drury Lane, November 28, 1712, when it had a run -of about eight performances;<a name="FNanchor_21" id="FNanchor_21" href="#Footnote_21" class="fnanchor">21</a> but it was not printed until 1719, -when it appeared in octavo after it had been revived at Drury -Lane, November 1, 1718. Cibber explains that he thus delayed -publishing the play because “most of his plays had a better reception -from the public when his interest was no longer concerned in -them.”<a name="FNanchor_22" id="FNanchor_22" href="#Footnote_22" class="fnanchor">22</a> The dedication of <cite>Ximena</cite> brought a storm of criticism -on Cibber<a name="FNanchor_23" id="FNanchor_23" href="#Footnote_23" class="fnanchor">23</a> because in it he spoke of Addison as a wren being -carried by Steele as an eagle, which figure he later applied, in his -odes, to himself and the king. He had the judgment to omit this -dedication from the collected edition of his plays.</p> - -<p>As in the case of <cite>Richard III</cite>, he added a first act to the <cite>Cid</cite> in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">9</a></span> -order that the audience might understand the situation of the -various characters at the outset; a most important and necessary -thing if the audience is not familiar with the story and the situation -beforehand. In his alterations of Shakspere he followed the -English method and presented this information to his audience -by action; in his alteration of Corneille he followed the French -method by having his characters tell each other about it for the -benefit of the audience.</p> - -<p>Cibber has discussed at length the changes he has made in the -<cite>Cid</cite>, and his reasons for them, in the prefatory “examen.” The -main reason seems to have been his desire to make the play less -“romantic” and the action more probable and reasonable from the -point of view of the eighteenth century Englishman, whose ideals -of honor and whose general characteristics were very different -from those of the seventeenth century Frenchman. Indeed, -Cibber explains in relation to one of these changes: “Here they -seem too declamatory and romantic, which I have endeavored to -avoid, by giving a more spirited tone to the passions, and reducing -them nearer to common life.”</p> - -<p><cite>Ximena</cite>, because of its source, would naturally have the general -characteristics of French tragedy, in which almost everything -happens off the stage, and in which the characters appear before the -audience only to tell it what they think or what has been done. -It violates the French canons by having a sub-action, though this -sub-action is not sufficiently important to distract the attention -materially from the main action, and is bound very closely to it. -The blow which Don Gormaz gives Alvarez constitutes the nearest -approach to violent action; but this blow, however, appears in -the original play.</p> - -<p>Besides the anonymity of <cite>Cinna’s Conspiracy</cite>, the closeness -with which it follows Corneille’s <cite>Cinna</cite> and the difference in its -tone from the rest of Cibber’s work have led to doubt as to his -authorship.<a name="FNanchor_24" id="FNanchor_24" href="#Footnote_24" class="fnanchor">24</a> To see that Cibber was not always sprightly and -inconsequential, however, as he is usually supposed to be, one -has but to read his <cite>Cicero</cite> and his poems. The play was presented -less than three months after <cite>Ximena</cite>, and to bring out another -French tragedy translated by the same hand in so short a time -might have subjected Cibber to the charge of hasty work. Though<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">10</a></span> -<cite>Ximena</cite> apparently had a run of eight nights, it did not receive -critical approbation, and <cite>Cinna’s Conspiracy</cite>, if known to be by -Cibber, was likely to bring further critical disapproval, so that -Cibber may have thought it would have better chance of success -if his authorship were not known. Cibber was ambitious to be -thought wise and serious, as his prefaces and <cite>Cicero</cite> show, and the -lack of success of the play together with its nearness to <cite>Ximena</cite> -in time of presentation would sufficiently explain his failure to -claim the authorship.</p> - -<p>But there is external proof which would seem to be convincing -in support of his authorship. Defoe, according to the <cite>Biographia -Dramatica</cite>,<a name="FNanchor_25" id="FNanchor_25" href="#Footnote_25" class="fnanchor">25</a> in a pamphlet written about 1713 ascribed the -play to Cibber; and Nichols, in <cite>Literary Anecdotes of the Eighteenth -Century</cite>,<a name="FNanchor_26" id="FNanchor_26" href="#Footnote_26" class="fnanchor">26</a> gives an extract from a memorandum book of -Lintot, entitled <cite>Copies when purchased</cite>, according to which Cibber, -on March 16, 1712 (O.S.), was paid thirteen pounds for <cite>Cinna’s -Conspiracy</cite>. The play was first acted at Drury Lane, February -19, 1713, about a month before the purchase by Lintot. The -fact that Cibber was paid for the play so short a time after its -presentation would seem to be sufficient proof that it is by Cibber, -even though he apparently made no public claim to its authorship.</p> - -<p>In the alteration of Corneille’s <cite>Cinna</cite>, Cibber has made remarkably -few changes. There is only one of any moment, the account -of the meeting of the conspirators in the second scene of the first -act. Corneille has had Cinna give an account of this meeting to -Emilie, while Cibber presents the meeting itself. This involves the -omission of some narration and the creation of some new characters -who have a few short speeches. Cibber throughout his -adaptation seeks to gain vividness and clearness, and his handling -of this incident is probably the best example of his method in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">11</a></span> -this respect. The other changes consist merely in the omission -and shortening of speeches. On the whole <cite>Cinna’s Conspiracy</cite> -is almost a literal translation, though a little free here and there.</p> - -<p>The testimony of the critics concerning the source of <cite>Caesar in -Egypt</cite>, acted at Drury Lane,<a name="FNanchor_27" id="FNanchor_27" href="#Footnote_27" class="fnanchor">27</a> December 9, 1724, published in -1725, is somewhat confusing. The <cite>Biographia Dramatica</cite> finds -its source in Beaumont and Fletcher’s <cite>The False One</cite>; Genest<a name="FNanchor_28" id="FNanchor_28" href="#Footnote_28" class="fnanchor">28</a> -says: “The plan of this tragedy is chiefly borrowed from -<cite>The False One</cite>—that part of it which concerns Cornelia is said -to be taken from Corneille’s <cite>Pompée</cite>.” Stoye,<a name="FNanchor_29" id="FNanchor_29" href="#Footnote_29" class="fnanchor">29</a> while apparently -oblivious of Corneille’s play, mentions Lucan’s <cite>Pharsalia</cite> in addition -to <cite>The False One</cite>; and Miss Canfield says:<a name="FNanchor_30" id="FNanchor_30" href="#Footnote_30" class="fnanchor">30</a> “Taking Beaumont -and Fletcher’s <cite>False One</cite>, Corneille’s <cite>Pompée</cite>, and one or -two ideas of his own, he stirred them all together with such -vigor, and so disguised them with his wonderful versification, -that it is an almost impossible task to distinguish the different -elements in the dish.... The general plan and construction -of the play are undoubtedly Corneille’s, many of the best -speeches are literally translated, especially some of the famous -ones between Cornelia and Caesar; and the description of Pompey’s -death is taken verbatim from the French.” This last statement -of Miss Canfield’s comes nearest to the truth, but it leaves out -of account the slight indebtedness to Lucan.<a name="FNanchor_31" id="FNanchor_31" href="#Footnote_31" class="fnanchor">31</a></p> - -<p>An examination of these three plays shows, in fact, how little -Cibber used <cite>The False One</cite> in the construction of <cite>Caesar in Egypt</cite>. -He was no doubt familiar with the Beaumont and Fletcher play -and used some things from it, though very little in comparison -with what he has used from <cite>Pompée</cite>. He used it for hints in -some particulars<a name="FNanchor_32" id="FNanchor_32" href="#Footnote_32" class="fnanchor">32</a> just as he did the <cite>Pharsalia</cite>, from which he -apparently took the idea of having one scene occur before the -tomb of Alexander, and from which he obtained the burning of -Pharos.</p> - -<p>One incident, the display of Pompey’s head, well illustrates -the change that had come since the days of Beaumont and Fletcher.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">12</a></span> -In <cite>The False One</cite>, the head was actually brought on the stage; -but in neither Cibber nor Corneille was the head actually displayed. -The actual appearance of the head would probably have been -almost as distasteful to Cibber’s audience as to Corneille’s.</p> - -<p>His method of adaptation here is more like that in his alteration -of Shakspere than his method in <cite>Ximena</cite> or <cite>Cinna’s Conspiracy</cite>. -He has crowded the incidents, has expanded the action and increased -its liveliness, has enhanced the value of the piece as a -stage play, without, however, improving its literary quality. -He has a good deal happen in one day, but manages to satisfy -the technical demands of the unity of time.</p> - -<p>He increases the probability by the alteration of certain passages. -For instance, whereas both the <cite>Pharsalia</cite>, as completed -by Rowe,<a name="FNanchor_33" id="FNanchor_33" href="#Footnote_33" class="fnanchor">33</a> and <cite>The False One</cite>, from one of which he took the -incident, have Caesar swimming from the island of Pharos with -drawn sword in one hand and documents in the other, Cibber -has him swim with only the documents.</p> - -<p>While this play is essentially an adaptation of Corneille, the -general atmosphere and effect are not those of French tragedy, -but are rather those of the minor Elizabethan tragicomedy. -Its beginning and end have a historical rather than a dramatic -interest, so that the play produces the effect of a love story -with an impersonal enveloping action, which is again more English -than French.</p> - -<p><cite>Papal Tyranny</cite> was acted at Covent Garden, February 15, -1745, when it had a run of ten nights, and was published in the -same year. Shakspere’s <cite>King John</cite>, which had been played in -1737 and 1738, after Cibber’s alteration had been talked of and -withdrawn, was again revived on February 20, 1745,<a name="FNanchor_34" id="FNanchor_34" href="#Footnote_34" class="fnanchor">34</a> with -Garrick as King John and Mrs. Theophilus Cibber, then at the -height of her popularity, as Constance. This was no doubt done -both to profit by the publicity Cibber’s work had brought -about, and to take as much credit as possible from Cibber, by -showing the lack of originality in his work.<a name="FNanchor_35" id="FNanchor_35" href="#Footnote_35" class="fnanchor">35</a> According to -Victor,<a name="FNanchor_36" id="FNanchor_36" href="#Footnote_36" class="fnanchor">36</a> Cibber’s profits from <cite>Papal Tyranny</cite> amounted to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">13</a></span> -four hundred pounds, which probably includes what he received -from acting Pandulph as well as his author’s profits.</p> - -<p>The play had been written some years before it was finally -acted, the parts had been distributed, and everything was practically -ready for the presentation in public during the season -1736–7. But so much criticism was leveled at Cibber for daring -again to alter Shakspere that one day he quietly walked into the -theatre, removed the copy of the play from the prompter’s -desk, and went away with it without a word to any one.<a name="FNanchor_37" id="FNanchor_37" href="#Footnote_37" class="fnanchor">37</a> It -was finally presented, as already stated, in 1745, when there was a -threatened invasion by the Young Pretender, which made the -political and anti-Catholic elements of the play timely.</p> - -<p>Cibber says in the dedication that he had two reasons for -altering the play: antagonism to Catholicism, and a desire to -adjust the play to contemporary stage requirements—“to make -it more like a play than he found it in Shakspere.” His additions -to the anti-Catholic elements of the play are inconsistent -with the rest of the action, and the changes in structure have -increased rather than diminished the epic quality. He has, -without being conscious that he was doing so, gone back of Shakspere’s -time in introducing the anti-popish element; a quality -of Shakspere’s source which Shakspere had omitted, but which -Cibber reintroduced to the detriment of his play as drama.</p> - -<p>The entire first act of Shakspere’s play is omitted, besides which -there are other shorter omissions. The point of view, too, is -very different; for in Cibber’s play Pandulph is the central figure, -instead of King John, as is indicated by the change of title from -<cite>The Life and Death of King John</cite> to <cite>Papal Tyranny in the Reign -of King John</cite>. Various short scenes entirely by Cibber are introduced, -the most noticeable being one in the last act in which -Constance attends the funeral of Arthur at Swinestead, where -King John has been brought to die.</p> - -<p>The characters are more changed than the plot; all those which -appear only in the first act are omitted, besides such characters -as Peter of Pomfret, Elinor, Austria, and Chatillon. The part -of the bastard Faulconbridge is very much cut down and softened, -for as Shakspere conceived him he was too “low” and comic for -a dignified tragedy according to the views of the eighteenth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">14</a></span> -century. The rôle of Constance is much enlarged as well as that -of Pandulph.</p> - -<p>Cibber’s tragedies are imitative; he showed no creative ability -in this field. That his <cite>Richard III</cite> has held the stage until the -present is an indication that it is at least a good stage play. The -other tragedies, except <cite>Xerxes</cite> and <cite>Papal Tyranny</cite>, do not possess -any very positive virtues or defects; they are of average merit as -compared with the work done by Cibber’s contemporaries.</p> - -<p>They are alterations of Shakspere or Corneille, except <cite>Xerxes</cite> -and <cite>Perolla and Izadora</cite>. In his alterations of the French he has -anglicized some of the ideas, has had a tendency to present -rather than relate incidents, and generally has tried to make the -productions conform to English ideas. Turning them into English -has not made them romantic or altered in any essential -degree their neo-classical quality.</p> - -<p>His alterations of Shakspere have not changed the essential -qualities; they are still characteristically English, and display -the characteristics of the originals. He has not altered Shakspere -because Shakspere is too “Gothic,” or too romantic and extravagant, -for Cibber complains that <cite>King John</cite> is too restrained.</p> - -<p>In relation to these alterations of Shakspere one naturally -thinks of the flood of plays about this time which had Shakspere -as a basis.<a name="FNanchor_38" id="FNanchor_38" href="#Footnote_38" class="fnanchor">38</a> Cibber does not, in <cite>Richard III</cite> at least, follow the -example of Tate and his kind, but adheres more closely than they -to the originals. It is for this reason, principally, that Cibber’s -<cite>Richard III</cite> was successful. In this he has not attempted to -follow contemporary practice in adhering to the unities, in the -observance of poetic justice, in the making of the hero virtuous, -or in adding the element of show and pageantry. His addition -of a scene of violence<a name="FNanchor_39" id="FNanchor_39" href="#Footnote_39" class="fnanchor">39</a> is for the purpose of helping the spectator -to understand the play. Even his borrowing of lines from -other plays by Shakspere has saved him partially from the incongruous -or weak mixture of two styles which mars the work -of other adapters. He has told the same story as Shakspere, -and has not done violence to his original either in character, -plot, or, for the most part, in language.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">15</a></span> -His adaptation of <cite>King John</cite> is handled differently. This play, -even more than Shakspere’s <cite>King John</cite>, is unfitted for the modern -stage; its plot is not dramatic, and its persons are not modern in -their qualities. Such a play must depend for its appeal on its -poetic qualities, and Cibber was personally incapable of altering -the play and retaining its poetic qualities.</p> - -<p>Although Cibber is not unaffected by the sentimental type of -tragedy, as <cite>Xerxes</cite> and <cite>Perolla and Izadora</cite> show, he does not -seem influenced by it to any great extent. This is remarkable -in one who was in the very forefront of the movement toward -sentimental comedy; though it is to be remarked that the two -tragedies which do show traces of this sentimental note are the -only two which are not based on previous plays.</p> - -<p>As Thorndike<a name="FNanchor_40" id="FNanchor_40" href="#Footnote_40" class="fnanchor">40</a> has pointed out, during this period two influences -are at work—the influence of the Elizabethan romantic -drama, and the influence of the French classical drama; and Cibber -rather fairly represents both of these. <cite>Xerxes</cite> shows some French -influence in the construction, though it is probably more Elizabethan -in the handling of the material; but <cite>Perolla and Izadora</cite> -and the three plays from Corneille conform to French usage -almost entirely in material as well as in method. The restraint -in <cite>Richard III</cite>—for notwithstanding Hazlitt, this play is not as -brutal as Shakspere’s—is due to the change brought about -through the imitation of French tragedy.</p> - -<p>In accordance with contemporary usage, all these tragedies -are in blank verse; but the verse is of no great merit. Cibber’s -verse for the most part is not musical nor subtle, but it has few -mannerisms. He sometimes uses alliteration, but not to an objectionable -or excessive degree, and although his style has been -called alliterative, his use of this device in his verse is so infrequent -as to make the term a misnomer.</p> - -<p>Cibber conforms to the custom of the time in respect to rime. -Occasionally he introduces a couplet in the midst of a scene, but -this is seldom and for no apparent reason. The exits, except -those of minor importance, are marked by rime. This device, -descended from the Elizabethan drama, where it was probably -used to mark more strongly the ends of scenes because of the -lack of a curtain which concealed the whole stage, is continued -during and after the Restoration period without any valid reason<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">16</a></span> -and becomes for the most part a mere convention, which is not -confined to tragedy but appears in comedy and even in farce. -Cibber shows a tendency to increase the number of couplets -with the increased importance of the exits,<a name="FNanchor_41" id="FNanchor_41" href="#Footnote_41" class="fnanchor">41</a> and in <cite>Ximena</cite> -and <cite>Caesar in Egypt</cite> we find several scenes closing with as many as -three.</p> - -<p>It has perhaps been made sufficiently evident that Cibber was -not a great writer of tragedy. He lacked any deep philosophy -of life, tragic consciousness, and deep poetic feeling. He was not -without power of thought, but his thought concerned itself with -the obvious and the external, and had an element of friskiness, so -that when he turned to tragedy his work became labored and -even commonplace.</p> - -<p>Nor does he show originality in his themes. The story of -<cite>Xerxes</cite> is apparently derived from history,<a name="FNanchor_42" id="FNanchor_42" href="#Footnote_42" class="fnanchor">42</a> and aside from -<cite>Perolla and Izadora</cite>, whose story is taken from a romance, is the -only one of his tragedies which is not based on the work of greater -men than himself. Although <cite>Richard III</cite> is a better stage play -than its source, the other adaptations are inferior to the originals -both as acting versions and as pure literature.</p> - -<p class="cibsect">4. <span class="smcap">Comedies.</span></p> - -<p><cite>Love’s Last Shift</cite>, Cibber’s first play, was acted at Drury Lane -in January, 1696, and was published the same year, when he was -a little more than twenty-four years old. The comedy was accepted -by the managers through the good offices of Southerne, -for Cibber’s standing with the patentees was such that they were -not disposed to recognize ability in him.</p> - -<p>So little had been expected of the piece, and so great was its -success, that Cibber was immediately charged with plagiarism,<a name="FNanchor_43" id="FNanchor_43" href="#Footnote_43" class="fnanchor">43</a> -a charge which he entirely denies in the dedication. He claims<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">17</a></span> -that “the fable is entirely his own, nor is there a line or thought -throughout the whole, for which he is wittingly obliged either to -the dead or the living.” There are, however, some striking -similarities in the situations and the characters in the sub-action -of <cite>Love’s Last Shift</cite> and Carlile’s <cite>Fortune Hunters</cite> (1689). Carlile’s -Elder Wealthy and Young Wealthy are closely paralleled by -Elder Worthy and Young Worthy, as are likewise the young -women with whom they are in love, and Carlile’s Shamtown -belongs to the same family as Sir Novelty Fashion, though he is -much more crudely portrayed. So too, the jealousy of Elder -Worthy in regard to Hillaria and Sir Novelty is very much like -that of Elder Wealthy in regard to Sophia and Shamtown. So -great is the similarity that, notwithstanding his denial, one must -believe that Cibber deliberately used the situation and characters -as a basis for his own, though he did not copy the language, -and has made an entirely new and original thing out of his -source.</p> - -<p>So great was the failure of his second play that Cibber refuses -to mention it in his <cite>Apology</cite> and omitted it from the collected -edition of his plays in 1721. <cite>Woman’s Wit, or The Lady in Fashion</cite> -was acted at Drury Lane in 1697, but met with a most unfavorable -reception, though in management of the plot it is not -inferior to a great many plays whose success was much greater.</p> - -<p>Carlile’s <cite>Fortune Hunters</cite> (1689) and Mountford’s <cite>Greenwich -Park</cite> (1691) have been suggested as the sources of that part of the -plot in which Young Rakish and Major Rakish appear, but this -is only partially true. In <cite>The Fortune Hunters</cite> the father and son -are rivals for a young woman, in <cite>Woman’s Wit</cite> she is an elderly -widow; in both, the son has obtained five hundred pounds from -the father. But notwithstanding the fact that these situations -are superficially similar the characters and the details of the -action are so different that it does not seem possible that there can -be any connection between the two plays. There does seem to be -a more valid reason for affirming the influence of <cite>Greenwich Park</cite> in -the play. The likeness of Sir Thomas Reveller and Young Reveller -to Old Rakish and Young Rakish is so great that Cibber -must have had them in mind, but the differences both of character -and action are such that it seems probable that he was attempting -to portray two characters of the same type rather than trying to -copy them. In <cite>Greenwich Park</cite> there is not even a superficial<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">18</a></span> -similarity of situation to <cite>Woman’s Wit</cite>.<a name="FNanchor_44" id="FNanchor_44" href="#Footnote_44" class="fnanchor">44</a> The sub-action of -<cite>Woman’s Wit</cite> was separated and acted successfully at Drury Lane -in 1707 as <cite>The School Boy</cite>.</p> - -<p><cite>Love Makes a Man</cite> was acted at Drury Lane in 1701, and was -published the same year. It continued to be played until 1828. -It is made from Beaumont and Fletcher’s <cite>The Elder Brother</cite> and -<cite>The Custom of the Country</cite>, and is an attempt on the part of Cibber -merely to provide amusement. Ost<a name="FNanchor_45" id="FNanchor_45" href="#Footnote_45" class="fnanchor">45</a> points out that this play, -though it has no original literary worth, helped continue the literary -tradition, and notices it in connection with the healthful -influence of Cibber’s work in the moralizing tendency of the -drama. He adds that Cibber’s plays have more value in relation -to “kulturgeschichte” than in aesthetic interest. That is entirely -true so far as this play is concerned; various parts have a -purely contemporary interest, or are an indication to us of the -state of dramatic taste, and the aesthetic value is certainly often -inconsiderable. When Cibber introduces such references as -“hatchet face” of Clodio, a term which had been applied to Cibber -himself, who played the part, and more particularly in the farcical -discussion of the two playhouses in the fourth act, he is not -even attempting to write anything but horseplay.</p> - -<p>By the omission and transposition of scenes, and the introduction -of some lines of his own, mainly for the purpose of gaining -probability, as Ost has pointed out, Cibber has condensed <cite>The -Elder Brother</cite> so that it forms practically the first two acts, and -<cite>The Custom of the Country</cite> so that it forms the last three. In the -main, the plays, so much of them as is used, are followed with very -few changes, and the whole makes a sprightly and amusing, if not -particularly literary comedy.</p> - -<p>The change of place and the introduction of an entirely new set -of characters with fresh plot developments are dramatically -faulty; but for the purpose for which the play was written these -faults are not particularly great. To join the plots of two separate -plays end on end without breaking the continuity of the -story, and to adjust the characters so that there is no glaring -inconsistency, is surely no slight feat.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">19</a></span> -In the characterization Cibber has made some changes. These -changes appear particularly in Eustace, who becomes Clodio, -Miramont, who becomes Don Lewis, and Elvira, who is the sister -instead of the mother of Don Duart. It is difficult to understand -how this play could have been other than a theatrical success with -Bullock to interpret the farcical obstinacy of Antonio, Penkethman -to portray the humorously choleric Don Lewis, and Cibber as the -“pert coxcomb,” Clodio. But it is farce rather than pure comedy.</p> - -<p>Cibber has changed these plays from verse to prose, except in -the first scene between Carlos and Angelina, in which the romantic -seriousness of the situation leads him to write blank verse, which -is however printed as prose.</p> - -<p><cite>She Would and She Would Not</cite>, considered by Genest as “perhaps -his best play,” was acted at Drury Lane, November 26, 1702, -and continued to be acted frequently as late as 1825.<a name="FNanchor_46" id="FNanchor_46" href="#Footnote_46" class="fnanchor">46</a> The -striking similarity of the two plays has caused the suggestion -that Cibber’s play is based on Leanerd’s <cite>The Counterfeits</cite> (1678). -The similarity indicates a common source, rather than that Cibber -drew from <cite>The Counterfeits</cite>. The source of Cibber’s play was -no doubt <cite>The Trepanner Trepanned</cite>, which is the third story of -John Davies’s <cite>La Picara, or The Triumphs of Female Subtilty</cite>, -published in London in 1665.<a name="FNanchor_47" id="FNanchor_47" href="#Footnote_47" class="fnanchor">47</a></p> - -<p>This play is amusing, is well constructed, and while it is not of -serious import, is such as might be presented today with success.</p> - -<p>Cibber commenced to write <cite>The Careless Husband</cite> in the summer -of 1703, but laid it aside because he despaired of finding any -one to take the part of Lady Betty Modish. In 1704 he again -took up the writing of the play, and in that year it was acted at -Drury Lane on December 7; and it was published in 1705. It was -one of the best and most successful plays of the period.<a name="FNanchor_48" id="FNanchor_48" href="#Footnote_48" class="fnanchor">48</a> It was -charged that Cibber received direct assistance in writing the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">20</a></span> -play, but he denied the charge, and as no proof was offered, Cibber -is no doubt to be believed. It seems to have no literary source; -but one incident, that in which the wife finds the husband and her -maid asleep in easy chairs, is said to have been suggested to -Cibber by Mrs. Brett, the reputed mother of the poet Savage, -from her own experience.<a name="FNanchor_49" id="FNanchor_49" href="#Footnote_49" class="fnanchor">49</a></p> - -<p>This is Cibber’s best play of the sentimental type. Its plot is -consistent, has dramatic probability, and is serious enough in interest -to have real reason for being. The characters are well -conceived and well portrayed. In style, too, Cibber is here at his -best and the dialogue approaches the finest of the period.</p> - -<p>The Haymarket opened the season 1706–7 under Swiney, and -in order to encourage the new venture, Lord Halifax headed a -subscription for the revival of three plays: Shakspere’s <cite>Julius -Caesar</cite>, Beaumont and Fletcher’s <cite>King and No King</cite>, and the -comic scenes of Dryden’s <cite>Marriage à la Mode</cite> and <cite>A Maiden -Queen</cite>. The last took the form of an adaptation called <cite>The Comical -Lovers</cite>, the adaptation being the work of Cibber. It was -acted February 4, 1707, and was published the same year. The -alteration was the result of only six days’ labor,<a name="FNanchor_50" id="FNanchor_50" href="#Footnote_50" class="fnanchor">50</a> and Cibber -claims no originality in it. It met with slight success.</p> - -<p><cite>The Comical Lovers</cite> is another such adaptation as <cite>Love Makes a -Man</cite>. Cibber has merely taken the two comic threads from their -serious settings and interwoven them, first a scene from one and -then a scene from the other, with only the changes necessary to -join them, and has followed his sources almost word for word. -Cibber was not under the necessity of changing verse into prose, -as he had done in <cite>Love Makes a Man</cite>, for the comic sections of -Dryden are in prose, according to the changed convention of his -time; and in the scene between Melantha and her maid, Cibber has -not even taken the trouble to alter a single one of the French -words, many of which must have acquired a place in the language -and been in good use by Cibber’s time. So far as Cibber’s part is -concerned, this is the least important of his plays.</p> - -<p><cite>The Double Gallant</cite> was acted at the Haymarket, November 1, -1707, but was apparently not successful at its first performance. -<cite>The Biographia Dramatica</cite><a name="FNanchor_51" id="FNanchor_51" href="#Footnote_51" class="fnanchor">51</a> says:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“In a letter from Booth to A. Hill we learn that the play, at its -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">21</a></span>first appearance was, as he expressed it, hounded in a most outrageous -manner. Two years after, it was revived, met with most -extravagant success, and has continued a stock play ever since.”</p></blockquote> - -<p>Cibber says nothing about any hounding of the play, but ascribes -the failure of the piece to the fact that the Haymarket was -too big for plays; a fact that he thinks caused the lack of success -of other plays as well as his own.</p> - -<p>In regard to the authorship, Cibber says:<a name="FNanchor_52" id="FNanchor_52" href="#Footnote_52" class="fnanchor">52</a></p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“It was made up of what was tolerable, in two, or three others, -that had no Success, and were laid aside, as so much Poetical -Lumber; but by collecting and adapting the best Parts of them all, -into one Play, the <cite>Double Gallant</cite> has had a Place, every Winter, -amongst the Publick Entertainments, these Thirty Years. As I was -only the Compiler of this Piece, I did not publish it in my own -Name.”</p></blockquote> - -<p>The title would lead one to suppose that it is taken directly -from Corneille’s <cite>Le Galant Double</cite>, but it is a weaving together of -Mrs. Centlivre’s <cite>Love at a Venture</cite>, which is an adaptation of -Corneille, Burnaby’s <cite>Ladies Visiting Day</cite>, and the Lady Dainty -action from Burnaby’s <cite>Reformed Wife</cite>. In consolidating such -parts of these three plays as are used, the crudities of the first two -are polished off, and certain additions are made to the last. These -additions consist in sections of the dialogue, in the changing of -Lady Dainty’s lover into a more impetuous wooer, and in the addition -of the lover’s disguise as a Russian, by which subterfuge he -wins her. The introductory scene, taken from <cite>Love at a Venture</cite>, -is much more lively and entertaining in Cibber’s play than in the -original, and Cibber likewise handles more adroitly the subterfuge -of the hero’s arrest, taken from the same play, using the same device -of decoy letters that he uses in <cite>Woman’s Wit</cite>. In the working -over of Burnaby’s adaptation of the Horner episode, which he -had taken from Wycherley’s <cite>Country Wife</cite>, Cibber has entirely -eliminated the unpleasant features.</p> - -<p>This play is the same sort of an adaptation as his working over -of other earlier plays. He has taken such scenes as he wished, -changed the names of the characters, and introduced sufficient -lines of his own to give continuity and connection to the various -actions, but has made no material additions whatever. In this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">22</a></span> -case he has made an extremely diverting play, very superior to -his originals.</p> - -<p><cite>The Lady’s Last Stake</cite>, which seems to be entirely original, was -produced at the Haymarket, December 13, 1707, when it was -acted five times; and it was published probably early in the next -year. It continued on the London stage until 1786, and was last -performed at Bath, in 1813. It is only a fair comedy, lacking the -qualities of style, the originality in the conception of the characters, -and the skilful working out of the plot that had characterized -Cibber’s two earlier plays of the sentimental type. But in -whatever way the plot as a whole may be lacking, the last act -has plenty of liveliness; there complication follows complication -and humorous incidents follow serious with great rapidity.</p> - -<p><cite>The Rival Fools</cite>, published in quarto in 1709 and played at -Drury Lane, January 11, 1709, is an alteration of Beaumont and -Fletcher’s <cite>Wit at Several Weapons</cite>, and was not successful. At -its first presentation it was acted five times, and was revived -only once, in 1712, when it was acted twice. <cite>The Biographia Dramatica</cite><a name="FNanchor_53" id="FNanchor_53" href="#Footnote_53" class="fnanchor">53</a> -relates the following incident of the first performance, -the events of which may be compared with the reception accorded -Thomson’s <cite>Sophonisba</cite>:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>“It met, however, with bad success. There happened to be a -circumstance in it, which, being in itself rather ridiculous, gave a -part of the audience an opportunity of venting their spleen on -the author; viz: a man in one of the earlier scenes on the stage, -with a long angling rod in his hand, going to fish for Miller’s -Thumbs; on which account some of the spectators took occasion -whenever Mr. Cibber appeared, who himself played the character, -to cry out continually, ‘Miller’s Thumbs.’”</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Cibber has followed the original quite closely so far as the plot -is concerned, much more closely than would be inferred from the -first lines of the prologue:</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse quote">“From sprightly Fletcher’s loose confed’rat muse,</div> - <div class="verse">Th’ unfinish’d Hints of these light Scenes we chuse,</div> - <div class="verse">For with such careless haste his Play was writ,</div> - <div class="verse">So unpersued each thought of started Wit;</div> - <div class="verse">Each Weapon of his Wit so lamely fought</div> - <div class="verse">That ’twou’d as scanty on our Stage be thought,</div> - <div class="verse">As for a modern Belle my Grannum’s Petticoat.</div> - <div class="verse">So that from th’ old we may with Justice say,</div> - <div class="verse">We scarce could cull the Trimming of a play.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">23</a></span> -In spite of this statement by Cibber himself, he adds practically -nothing to the plot, and in the dialogue adds merely a touch here -and there.</p> - -<p>As was customary in altering these old comedies written in -verse, the verse of the original is changed into prose, and as is -also customary in all of Cibber’s alterations, the long speeches are -broken into dialogue.</p> - -<p>The character of Pompey Doodle is somewhat enlarged in -its transformation into Samuel Simple, and is one of the most -amusing elements in the play. The treatment is distinctly Jacobean -in its exaggeration of character, and the reception by the -audience must be attributed either to the alteration of taste on -the part of the public, or to the personal unpopularity of Cibber, -for the rôle is well written and Cibber was particularly well fitted -to act the part, both by temperament and by physical qualities.</p> - -<p><cite>The Non-Juror</cite> was acted at Drury Lane on December 6, 1717, -with a prologue by Nicholas Rowe, poet laureate, and was published -in 1718. At the time of its first presentation it had the -comparatively long run of twenty-three performances, and was -revived at Drury Lane and Covent Garden in 1745, when its -political meaning was again pertinent.</p> - -<p>The play came at a time of great political stress, so that it was -but natural that its strong Whig and anti-Catholic sentiments -should arouse the greatest antagonism.<a name="FNanchor_54" id="FNanchor_54" href="#Footnote_54" class="fnanchor">54</a> This antagonism was -not only voiced in the many pamphlets issued at the time, but -no doubt affected the general attitude toward Cibber in his later -life. Cibber, in his first letter to Pope, states that one of his -enemies went so far as to write a pamphlet whose purport was -that <cite>The Non-Juror</cite> constituted a subtle Jacobite libel against the -government. He dedicated the play to the king when it was -published, and for this he received a gift of two hundred pounds. -Cibber was not burdened in mind because he had offended the losing -party, and any inconvenience he may have felt was amply repaid -by the pension and laureateship which later came as his reward.</p> - -<p><cite>The Non-Juror</cite> is based directly on Molière’s <cite>Tartuffe</cite>, though -two plays on the same theme had previously appeared in English: -Crowne’s <cite>English Friar</cite> (1689), and Medbourne’s <cite>Tartuffe</cite><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">24</a></span> -(1670), the latter a direct adaptation of Molière’s play. This -<cite>Tartuffe</cite> was revived during the summer season of 1718 at Lincoln’s -Inn Fields, and was published while Cibber’s play was still -running, with an advertisement that in it “may be seen the plot, -characters, and most part of the language of <cite>The Non-Juror</cite>.” -This statement is true only in that the two plays by Medbourne -and Cibber are based on Molière, and was made to discredit -Cibber’s claim to originality in the adaptation.</p> - -<p>Cibber was no doubt familiar with Medbourne’s play, but he -used Molière as a basis, and owed practically nothing to any -play other than the <cite>Tartuffe</cite> of Molière. Cibber may have derived -the suggestion of the reformation of Charles from the corresponding -character in Medbourne’s play, but his manner of -carrying out this reformation and the difference in the qualities -of the characters in the two plays make this part an original creation.</p> - -<p>In the edition of Crowne in the series of <cite>The Dramatists of the -Restoration</cite>, the editors maintain Cibber’s greater indebtedness to -Crowne than to Molière, in a way that makes one doubt whether -they had ever read either Molière or Cibber. So far as plot is -concerned there is absolutely no resemblance, except that in both -a priest attempts to seduce a decent woman. The characters, -style, and management are both different and inferior in Crowne, -although some slight similarity may be discovered in the attempt -of Finical and Dr. Wolf to allay the consciences of the respective -objects of their attentions. As suggested by Van Laun, Father -Finical, like Dr. Wolf, is based on Tartuffe.</p> - -<p>Cibber has handled his sources very freely, and in some particulars -has improved both the plot and the characters. That -is not to say that <cite>The Non-Juror</cite> is a greater play than Molière’s -<cite>Tartuffe</cite>, for as a whole it is not. The parts of Dorine, who in -<cite>Tartuffe</cite> is the life and source of the humor, of Cléante, and of -Madame Pernelle, are omitted, but the part of Mariane is enlivened -into one of the best coquettes of the stage. The other -characters and incidents correspond in <cite>The Non-Juror</cite> and Molière’s -<cite>Tartuffe</cite>, though the dénouement is more artistically handled -in Cibber.</p> - -<p><cite>The Refusal</cite>, an adaptation of Molière’s <cite>Les Femmes Savantes</cite>, -published in 1721, was acted at Drury Lane, February 14, 1721, -and had a run of six performances. Molière’s play had been adapted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">25</a></span> -by Wright as <cite>The Female Virtuosoes</cite> in 1693, and this play -was revived at Lincoln’s Inn Fields on January 10, 1721, to -anticipate <cite>The Refusal</cite>. In like manner with the effort to discredit -Cibber’s hand in <cite>The Non-Juror</cite>, though in this case after -the run of Cibber’s play was over, Curll published, with a dedication -to Cibber, “the second edition of <cite>No Fools Like Wits</cite>,<a name="FNanchor_55" id="FNanchor_55" href="#Footnote_55" class="fnanchor">55</a> as -it was acted at Lincoln’s Inn Fields or <cite>The Refusal</cite>, as it was acted -at Drury Lane.”</p> - -<p>In his adaptation Cibber has made more changes than is usual -with him, both in plot and in character; and in the dialogue he has -anglicized the idiom to an extent not found in his adaptations of -tragedies from the French.</p> - -<p>Molière’s comedy is a satire on false learning in men as well as -in women, while Cibber has added some satire on business trickery, -in the same way that he added political satire in his adaptation of -<cite>Tartuffe</cite>. Cibber has supplied the elder daughter with a successful -suitor, and the dénouement is brought about by different, -more complicated, and more characteristically English means. -In the incident in Molière’s play in which Bélise takes the love of -Clitandre to herself, Cibber substitutes the mother for Bélise, -omits the maid, along with her impertinences, and adds some slight -original incidents.</p> - -<p>Trissotin, the poet, becomes one of the typical would-be wits -of English comedy, and Chrysale is changed to a typical promoter. -In Molière, Chrysale is a purely humorous character, -whose vacillation and lack of force were no doubt very laughable -on the stage; Sir Gilbert, his equivalent in Cibber’s play, on the -other hand, is in no way a weakling and is in no way admirable or -a source of laughter, but embodies a satire on contemporary -business practices.</p> - -<p>The directness and simplicity of Molière’s play, the unity of -tone and plot, give way in Cibber to complication of plot and -character, in which the whole piece loses the delightful quality of -the humor of the original.</p> - -<p><cite>The Provoked Husband</cite> was presented at Drury Lane, January -10, 1728, and had a run of twenty-eight nights. There was an -unsuccessful attempt on the part of Cibber’s enemies to damn the -play on the first night; the interruptions were so great that during -the fourth act the actors were compelled to stand still until it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">26</a></span> -quiet enough for them to be heard. On January 31, Cibber published -Vanbrugh’s unfinished play and his own completion of it. -The critics, who had condemned the play unmercifully, especially -the supposed additions of Cibber, found, when the plays were -published, that it was not Cibber but Vanbrugh they had been -condemning. According to Cibber,<a name="FNanchor_56" id="FNanchor_56" href="#Footnote_56" class="fnanchor">56</a> on the twenty-eighth night -the play took in one hundred and forty pounds, a greater amount -than had been taken in at the last night of any play for fifty -years.</p> - -<p>Vanbrugh’s <cite>Journey to London</cite> consists of four acts, the first -two practically complete, but the last two apparently unfinished. -Cibber has used practically all that Vanbrugh left, omitting the -trip to the theatre in the last part of Act II, and adding much -of his own to the whole play. He has interspersed his additions -between the parts of Vanbrugh’s play, and has changed very -little of the Vanbrugh part, except to “water it down” where it -had been too strong for the changed taste of the theatre goers.</p> - -<p>Cibber’s additions to Steele’s <cite>Conscious Lovers</cite> are mentioned on -a later page of these <cite>Studies</cite>.</p> - -<p>Several of Cibber’s comedies were translated into foreign -tongues: in German <cite>The Double Gallant</cite> appeared as <cite>Der doppellte -Liebhaber</cite>, translated by Johann Friedrich Jünger and published -in Leipzig in 1786, <cite>The Careless Husband</cite> as <cite>Der sorglose Ehemann</cite>, -published in Göttingen in 1750, and <cite>The Provoked Husband</cite> as <cite>Der -erzürnte Ehemann und der Landjunker</cite>, published in Frankfurt -in 1753; in French <cite>The Provoked Husband</cite> appeared as <cite>Le Mari -poussé à bout, ou le voyage à Londres</cite>, published in London, 1761.</p> - -<p>The adaptations, except <cite>The Non-Juror</cite> and <cite>The Refusal</cite>, seem -to have been produced merely to furnish amusement which should -be in accordance with changed stage conditions and changed -taste. They show little originality, being merely the stringing -together of scenes without alteration, though Cibber in the prologue -to <cite>The Double Gallant</cite> says:</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse quote">“Nay, even alter’d Plays, like old houses mended,</div> - <div class="verse">Cost little less than new, before they’re ended;</div> - <div class="verse">At least, our author finds the experience true.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p>His method seems to have been to take two plays of an older -author, often plays which contained both a serious and a comic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">27</a></span> -action, to select such scenes as suited his purpose, and to join -them into a play, either alternating the scenes of the separate -plays with link characters, or putting the two plays end on end, -as in the case of <cite>Love Makes a Man</cite>. This latter method entailed -much greater labor, as many of the characters were made by consolidating -two characters from different plays.</p> - -<p>Cibber’s comedies, which constitute his best and most important -work, may be divided into two general classes: comedies of -manners and intrigue, and sentimental comedies. The first class -includes two adaptations from Beaumont and Fletcher which -are not strictly comedies of manners but are more closely allied -to the “comedy of humours,” namely, <cite>Love Makes a Man</cite> and <cite>The -Rival Fools</cite>; one adaptation made out of two plays by Dryden, -<cite>The Comical Lovers</cite>; two from Molière, <cite>The Non-Juror</cite> and <cite>The -Refusal</cite>, into both of which he introduced contemporary social -and political interest; and three other plays, <cite>Woman’s Wit</cite>, <cite>She -Would and She Would Not</cite>, and <cite>The Double Gallant</cite>, the last of -which takes its title, if not its plot, from Corneille’s <cite>Le Galant -Double</cite>. The sentimental comedies, in which form Cibber was -one of the very first to write, are <cite>Love’s Last Shift</cite>, <cite>The Careless -Husband</cite>, <cite>The Lady’s Last Stake</cite>, and <cite>The Provoked Husband</cite>, the -last being a completion of Vanbrugh’s <cite>Journey to London</cite>. The -first class consists almost altogether of adaptations; the second -class is essentially original.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3 class="nobreak"><a id="cibber_29"></a>II</h3><span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">29</a></span> -</div> - -<p class="cibchap">CIBBER AND THE DEVELOPMENT OF SENTIMENTAL -COMEDY</p> - -<p class="cibsect">1. <span class="smcap">Cibber, not Steele, the Important Figure in its -Early Development.</span></p> - -<p>The fully developed form of sentimental comedy may be said -to begin with Steele’s <cite>Conscious Lovers</cite> (1772) and to end with the -attack upon it made by Goldsmith, Foote, and their followers. -Goldsmith was “strongly prepossessed in favour of the poets of -the last age and strove to imitate them,”<a name="FNanchor_57" id="FNanchor_57" href="#Footnote_57" class="fnanchor">57</a> and by his reintroduction -of humor into comedy he exerted a strong influence toward the -downfall of the sentimental type. The end of this vogue is generally -well understood, but the beginning of it has not been investigated -with the same thoroughness. Steele is generally given the -credit of being the innovator who reformed the stage,<a name="FNanchor_58" id="FNanchor_58" href="#Footnote_58" class="fnanchor">58</a> although -Ward and others give some credit to the work of Cibber. The -importance of Cibber in the development of this form and in the -moral reformation of comedy, the effect of social conditions, -and the gradual change from the Restoration type, have not been -fully studied. Colley Cibber was the most important writer of -comedy in preparing the way for the new form, and practically -every element of the later sentimental comedy is found in his -work. But Cibber was not a reformer calling on his age to repent; -he was rather answering a general demand of his time.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">30</a></span> -Three stages may be discerned in the development of sentimental -comedy: first, that in which the morals of comedy were -purified and the new sentimental material was intermixed with the -old humorous material, represented by the work of Cibber; second, -that in which the sentimental theme is presented with very little -comic entertainment, represented by <cite>The Conscious Lovers</cite>; and -third, that in which the comedy of this second stage degenerates -and in which the work becomes artificial and lifeless, represented -by the plays of Holcroft and his school.</p> - -<p>Sentimental comedy as seen in its second phase may be briefly -described as comedy of manners in which the main action tends to -inculcate a moral lesson, in which the incidents no longer deal -with illicit intrigues, and in which the action is complicated by -distressingly pathetic situations. The chief characters are -generally serious and supersensitive in regard to such matters as -filial duty, honor, and the like; and while these persons are in no -need of being reformed, their exaggerated conceptions of honor -have caused them to act so that they are placed in an equivocal -position and they appear to the other characters as vicious. The -language is chaste, there is constant introduction of extremely -stilted moralizing, and there is a notable absence of humor.</p> - -<p>Cibber’s work in other lines was conventional and commonplace. -It is true that his <cite>Apology</cite> is lively and interesting, and his pamphlets -in reply to Pope’s attacks are keen and humorous though -vulgar, but the rest of his prose is extremely conventional. His -poetry, except a few songs, is inexpressibly poor. Aside from one -opera in which he takes the same stand in regard to virtue that he -does in his comedies, his operas are merely the commonplace -following of a vogue. His tragedies are generally imitative; with -two exceptions they are adaptations of Corneille or Shakspere. -His farces are about equal in merit to his poetry, and are devoid -of originality.</p> - -<p>Nor does Cibber’s life indicate the qualities that appear in his -sentimental comedies. The moral standard he displays in his -pamphlets in reply to Pope is far from high, and from the testimony -of his contemporaries concerning his personal character it -would seem that he was far from being the sort of man who -would set about reforming anything. And in all probability he -would not have done so if there had not been a general public -movement in that direction.</p> - -<p class="cibsect">2. <span class="smcap">Sentimental Comedy a Product of Various Forces.</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">31</a></span></p> - -<p>But sentimental comedy did not spring full grown from the -brain of a single man. Nor was it the result of a single revolutionary -force. Sentimental comedy resulted from gradual modifications -of the drama of the time, developing from the prevalent -type little by little until it finally appeared as an independent form. -The reform of the stage was not an isolated phenomenon, nor was -it directly the result of the attacks made by Collier and others. -Rather are all these the result of a changed public conscience, -which was manifested not merely in literature and on the stage, -but in the Revolution of 1688 and a subsequent social reformation -as well.</p> - -<p>Immediately after the Restoration there may be discovered -two elements in the life of the nation which had an influence both -on the form and on the content of literature. On the one side -was the court, whose standards affected both the form and content -in the direction of foreign models. Through the long period of -exile on the continent, Charles and his followers had become foreign -in their literary taste and they had great influence in the direction -of a French type as regards form; and because of the low and vicious -standards of living prevalent at court their influence stimulated -the sympathetic handling of low and vicious subjects.</p> - -<p>On the other hand, there were the people, strictly native in -their preference, who influenced the drama in the direction of native -standards in form, and Puritan standards in content. As to the -form of comedy, there was nothing essentially antagonistic in these -two influences; the one could easily combine with the other so that -a new thing, congruous and consistent, might result; but in the -material presented antagonism was bound to arise and soon did -arise. In the development of sentimental comedy from the type -which predominated during and after the Restoration, there was -not at first any modification in structural elements; the comedy -of manners was adopted, so far as form was concerned; the change, -which was gradual and was a direct response to changed social -and moral conditions, was at first entirely in the matter of content. -This change first appears in the sincere reformation of the hero -at the end of the play; then in the attitude towards cuckoldom, -which Restoration comedy had treated as a humorous fact; and -then in the character of the language, which was altered in the -direction of moral decency.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">32</a></span> -Under Charles II and James II the court, on which the theatre -depended for its right to live and also for its patronage, was vicious -and depraved. Its one grace was wit, and that it had in a superlative -degree.</p> - -<p class="cibsect">3. <span class="smcap">Progress in English Society.</span></p> - -<p>The people in general, except the court and those more or less -fashionable classes of society which would naturally follow it, -were not affected by this mode. They learned to despise Charles -II personally because of his lack of honor and morals, and hated -his followers as well as their mode of life. In the city the Puritan -element, which was “at once the most substantial and sober” -part of the community, began to exercise some of the same control -of manners and morals that it had practised under the commonwealth, -and checked the constant disregard of its moral principles -by the court.</p> - -<p>But even during this corrupt time there were manifestations -of activity on the part of other elements of society, which looked -toward the betterment of conditions. In the life of the state -there were events which made for general progress and a more -moral life among all the people. With special reference to the -regulation and restraint of the theatre, certain elements in -Parliament attempted, in 1669, to tax the playhouses, which were -situated in the disreputable part of town and had become centers -of prostitution; but the ministers of the king intervened and the -attempt to compel some restraint was unsuccessful.</p> - -<p>In the reigns of William and Mary and of Anne a reaction -is seen in the life of the court, and there appears a still greater -progress in all classes of society.</p> - -<p>The expulsion of the Stuarts brought about certain very positive -results which made for progress in all directions. So too the principle -of natural action and reaction was operating; but, considering -the historical circumstances, it was only to be expected that the -reaction toward a more moral and saner view of life should be less -marked and less rapid than the preceding reaction from Puritanism.</p> - -<p>Until after the downfall of the Stuarts, the Protestants in England -had never been united; but after that event even Presbyterians -joined with ecclesiastics of the Church of England in public ceremonies -on terms of friendship. Now that the question of political<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">33</a></span> -and religious supremacy was permanently settled, the Protestants -were free to turn to some of the questions which are popularly -supposed to be the real objects of religious organizations—worship -and the encouragement of right living. However far it may have -failed to measure up to modern ideas in these respects, the church -now began to be a greater moral force.</p> - -<p>The court became a very different sort of place. However -far William might fall short of middle class standards of today, -he was a very different sort of man from Charles or James, and -had a very different influence. As opposed to the Catholicism of -the Stuarts, he was a Presbyterian. Instead of haunting the theatre, -where Charles found more than one mistress among the actresses, -William never even showed himself at the theatre. Because of -William’s prolonged absences on the continent, during which Mary -reigned in her own right, the person of the queen became more important -than in former reigns. Mary “had been educated only -to work embroidery, to play on the spinnet, and to read the Bible -and the <cite>Whole Duty of Man</cite>.”<a name="FNanchor_59" id="FNanchor_59" href="#Footnote_59" class="fnanchor">59</a> “Her character was unimpeachable, -and by the influence of the king and queen the whole court became -most proper, even if it was somewhat dull.” But unlike her -husband, she went frequently to the theatre, where she showed -special favor for Shadwell and where she ordered such plays as -<cite>The Old Bachelor</cite>, <cite>The Double Dealer</cite>, and <cite>The Committee</cite>. It -must be admitted that Mary’s taste in regard to plays did not -show great literary or moral discrimination.</p> - -<p>Both under William and Mary and under Anne the court took -positive grounds on moral questions. In Evelyn’s <cite>Diary</cite> for -February 19, 1690, we read:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“The impudence of both sexes was now become so greate and -so universal, persons of all ranks keeping their courtesans publicly, -that the King had lately directed a letter to the Bishops to order -their Cleargy to preach against that sin, swearing, &c. and to put -the Ecclesiastical Laws in execution without any indulgence.”</p></blockquote> - -<p>Mary, on July 9, 1691, wrote to the justices of the peace directing -that they execute all laws against the profanation of the Sabbath, -and even went so far as to have constables stationed on street -corners to capture pies and puddings that were being taken to -the bakers to be cooked on that day. In 1697 and 1698 King<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">34</a></span> -William issued two orders concerning the acting of anything -contrary to good morals or manners. Queen Anne, who never -went to the public theatre, made frequent proclamations against -immoral plays, masked women, and the admittance of spectators -behind the scenes, and in 1703 she issued a proclamation against -vice in general.</p> - -<p>Altogether, the forces of the court and of the government were -acting in accord to suppress the abuses which their predecessors -had countenanced both by favor and by participation.</p> - -<p>But however potent may have been the influence of the court, -the real movement for social reform came from the people, whose -will the court was really carrying out. The movement on the -part of the people was forwarded by the rise of various societies -which were established for moral, philanthropic, and religious -purposes.<a name="FNanchor_60" id="FNanchor_60" href="#Footnote_60" class="fnanchor">60</a></p> - -<p>The Society for the Reformation of Manners, inaugurated by -a small number of gentlemen in 1692, was probably the most influential -and best known of these organizations. It was organized -primarily for the purpose of informing on evildoers, and that -there might be no criticism concerning their sincerity, the fines -were paid over to charity. In addition to carrying on this work -of informing, the society established quarterly lectures on moral -subjects, secured the preaching of sermons on its objects, and in -1699 it claimed to have secured thousands of convictions.<a name="FNanchor_61" id="FNanchor_61" href="#Footnote_61" class="fnanchor">61</a> The -church was brought into the movement by Archbishop Tenison’s -circular to the clergy encouraging them to cooperate with the -laity in the movement. This movement went farther than the -prosecution of overt acts against morality, for in 1701–2 the -players at Lincoln’s Inn Fields were prosecuted for uttering impious, -lewd, and immoral expressions.<a name="FNanchor_62" id="FNanchor_62" href="#Footnote_62" class="fnanchor">62</a></p> - -<p class="cibsect">4. <span class="smcap">Collier.</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">35</a></span></p> - -<p>Collier’s attack on the stage, published in 1698, was no doubt -a potent influence in crystallizing public opinion in regard to the -drama, but it does not stand alone; it is merely a sign of a movement -which the stage had begun to notice and profit by several years -previously. During the year 1698 not less than sixteen books -and pamphlets were published in the controversy. Collier’s -book had great influence in furthering the work of reformation; -but, low as was the tone of the drama at the time, one must -confess that in some particulars Collier is radical and far-fetched -in his arguments and conclusions.</p> - -<p>Cibber, though he had two years previously written a play with -a distinct reformatory and moral purpose, did not much relish -Collier’s attack or agree with it. In the prologue to <cite>Xerxes</cite> -he intimates that Collier might prove a good index for those who -desired to read immoral literature:</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse quote">“Thus ev’n sage Collier too might be accus’d,</div> - <div class="verse">If what h’as writ, thro’ ignorance, abus’d:</div> - <div class="verse">Girls may read him, not for the truth, he says,</div> - <div class="verse">But to be pointed to the bawdy plays.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">In <cite>The Careless Husband</cite> we find Lord Morelove saying:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“Plays now, indeed, one need not be so much afraid of; for since -the late short-sighted view of them, vice may go on and prosper; -the stage dares hardly show a vicious person speaking like himself, -for fear of being call’d prophane for exposing him.”</p></blockquote> - -<p class="in0">To this Lady Easy replies that,</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“’Tis hard, indeed, when people won’t distinguish between what’s -meant for contempt, and what for example.”</p></blockquote> - -<p>Perhaps Cibber’s most interesting contribution to the controversy -is contained in his dedication of <cite>Love Makes a Man</cite>, published -in the first edition, but omitted in the collected edition -of his plays:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“But suppose the stage may have taken too loose a liberty? -Is there nothing to be said for it? Have not all sciences been -guilty? Was it to be expected in a reign of pleasure, peace and -madness, that the poets should not be merry? Did not the court -then lead up the dance? And did not the whole nation join in it? -Was it not mere Joan Sanderson,<a name="FNanchor_63" id="FNanchor_63" href="#Footnote_63" class="fnanchor">63</a> and did not the lawn-sleeves, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">36</a></span>cuffs, and cassocks fill up the measure? But since those dancing -days are over, I hope our enemies will give us leave to grow wise, -and sober, as well as the rest of our neighbors: Why shall we not -have the liberty to reform, as well as the clergy, and lawyers? -I believe upon a fair examination we may find, that prophaneness, -cruelty, and passive obedience, are now less than ever the business -of the stage, the bench or the pulpit; and I doubt not, but we can -produce examples of new plays, lawyers, and pastors that have met -with success without being obliged to immorality, bribery, or -politics ...</p> - -<p>“Now if the stage must needs down, because ’tis possible it -may seduce, as instruct; the same rule of policy might forbid the -use of physic, because not only their patients, but physicians -themselves die of common diseases; or call in the milled crowns, -because they are but so many patterns for coiners to counterfeit by, -or might as well suppress the Courts of Judicature, because some -persons have suffered for what a succeeding reign has made a new -law, that makes that law that sentenced them illegal: The same -conclusion might discountenance our religion, because we sometimes -find pride, hypocricy, avarice, and ignorance in its teachers: -So that if our zealous reformers do not stick fairly to their method -we may in time hope to see our nation flourish without either wit, -health, money, law, conscience, or religion....</p> - -<p>“But this sort of reformation I hope will never be thoroughly -wrought, while the king, and the Established Church have any -friends: The stage I am sure was never heartily oppressed but by -the enemies of both.”</p></blockquote> - -<p>Though Cibber thought Collier extreme and unjust in his -criticism, his own attitude concerning the abuses of the stage was -hardly less censorious than Collier’s, but he blames the audiences -for the low moral standards of the entertainments:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“However gravely we may assert, that Profit ought always -to be inseparable from the Delight of the Theatre; nay, admitting -that the Pleasure would be heighten’d by the uniting them; yet, -while Instruction is so little the Concern of the Auditor, how can -we hope that so choice a Commodity will come to a Market where -there is so seldom a Demand for it?</p> - -<p>“It is not to the Actor therefore, but to the vitiated and low -Taste of the Spectator, that the Corruptions of the Stage (of what -kind soever) have been owing.”<a name="FNanchor_64" id="FNanchor_64" href="#Footnote_64" class="fnanchor">64</a></p></blockquote> - -<p>His own attitude, which he held from the first of his career as a -dramatist, may be illustrated what he says in the <cite>Apology</cite>:<a name="FNanchor_65" id="FNanchor_65" href="#Footnote_65" class="fnanchor">65</a></p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“Yet such Plays (entirely my own) were not wanting at least, -in what our most admired Writers seem’d to neglect, and without -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">37</a></span>which, I cannot allow the most taking Play, to be intrinsically -good, or to be a Work, upon which a Man of Sense and Probity -should value himself: I mean when they do not, as well <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">prodesse</i>, -as <i>delectare</i>, give Profit with Delight! The <i>Utile Dolci</i> was, of -old, equally the Point; and has always been my Aim, however -wide of the Mark, I may have shot my Arrow. It has often given -me Amazement, that our best Authors of that time, could think the -Wit, and Spirit of their Scenes, could be an Excuse for making the -Looseness of them publick. The many Instances of their Talents -so abused, are too glaring, to need a closer Comment, and are -sometimes too gross to be recited. If then to have avoided this -Imputation, or rather to have had the Interest, and Honour of Virtue -always in view, can give Merit to a Play; I am contented that -my Readers should think such Merit, the All, that mine have to -boast of.—Libertines of mere Wit, and Pleasure, may laugh at -these grave Laws, that would limit a lively Genius: But every -sensible honest Man, conscious of their Truth, and Use, will give -these Ralliers Smile for Smile, and shew a due Contempt for their -Merriment.”</p></blockquote> - -<p class="in0">Davies tells us:<a name="FNanchor_66" id="FNanchor_66" href="#Footnote_66" class="fnanchor">66</a></p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“So well did Cibber, though a professed libertine through life, -understand the dignity of virtue, that no comic author has drawn -more delightful and striking pictures of it. Mrs. Porter, on reading -a part, in which Cibber had painted virtue in the strongest and -most lively colors, asked him how it came to pass, that a man, -who could draw such admirable portraits of goodness, should -yet live as if he were a stranger to it?—‘Madam,’ said Colley, -‘the one is absolutely necessary, the other is not.’”</p></blockquote> - -<p>Possibly this inconsistency in personal conduct and public -confession explains why comedies which aimed to teach lessons of -virtue were sentimental and did not ring true. The men who -wrote them wrote from the head and not from the heart, influenced -by a growing public demand and without real sincerity -or conviction.</p> - -<p class="cibsect">5. <span class="smcap">Characteristics of Restoration Comedy.</span></p> - -<p>Restoration comedy up to about 1696, while it was essentially -a native development, was influenced both in technique and in -content by the drama to which the court had been accustomed -in its exile in France. The Jonsonian comedy was developing -both in the period immediately preceding the Commonwealth -and during the Restoration into the same sort of thing that we -have here, and Shadwell, poet laureate and especial favorite of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">38</a></span> -Queen Mary, definitely took the work of Jonson as his model. -The Jonsonian satire had thrown emphasis on fundamental traits -of human nature, but in this later type satire is centered on manners, -dress, the non-essential elements of life, though the characters -continue to be embodiments of single traits. Molière, whose earliest -effective follower in England was Etherege, taught the English -writers of the comedy of manners to aim at polish, refinement -of style and dialogue, and his influence confirmed the tendency -of English comedy to follow the unities as they were then understood. -Restoration comedy, then, is native Jonsonian comedy, -influenced by the comedy of Molière.<a name="FNanchor_67" id="FNanchor_67" href="#Footnote_67" class="fnanchor">67</a> The chief literary -sources of its plots are the comedies of Beaumont and Fletcher, -of Molière, of Corneille, and Spanish comedies and novels.</p> - -<p>Though the late Elizabethans had been gross in word, there -had always been in their work a tendency to punish vice and reward -virtue, or at least to make vice ridiculous. But in the Restoration -this grossness becomes grossness of word, character, and idea, -and it is not the violator of virtue that is made ridiculous, but -his victim. The Elizabethan gaiety, spontaneity, healthy overflow -of spirits, become a cynicism which is absurd in its artificiality -and deliberate pose. The Jonsonian reaction from earlier Elizabethan -romanticism continues its advance toward realism.</p> - -<p>The Restoration dramatist lacks the power to construct effective -plots. He is able to handle his separate incidents with skill, -but when it comes to sustaining an action through five acts, -he fails. His chief fault lies in too great intricacy, excessive -elaboration, and complexity, which are due to his endeavor to tell -too many stories. In the construction of his plays he commonly -takes two, and sometimes three, plays from Molière, or Beaumont -and Fletcher, to form one play of his own. Hence there is in the -handling of the plot a lack of unity. Furthermore, in his extreme -elaboration of single situations, which one must admit have qualities -to make them lively and interesting on the stage, the dramatist -fails in the great essential quality of probability; if one regards -the unity of time, he makes his stories impossible. Lack of -sequence is caused by the constant interruption of conversation, -which is brilliant and entertaining in itself, but has nothing to do -with the story.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">39</a></span> -The dramatist tends to the elaboration of stock themes, dealing -with the pursuit of illicit pleasure, assignations, and love intrigues. -The typical story might be stated as follows: a young man is entangled -with one or more women, a widow, the wife of an elderly -or foolish husband, or a mistress whom he is keeping or who is -keeping him, and while he is carrying on these intrigues he falls -in love with the virtuous young woman he eventually wins. Sometimes -his mistresses object to his marrying some one else, sometimes -they do not, and in the latter case the opposing force is centered -in a rapacious guardian or some other complicating person or -circumstance. There are usually many minor love affairs, -sometimes legitimate, sometimes not, and usually so complicated -that it is difficult to keep the various threads separate. Collier -did no injustice when he said that “the stage poets make their -principal persons vicious and reward them at the end of the play.”</p> - -<p>The love is mere sensuality. There is tacit acknowledgment -that the men will be untrue to their wives and a fear on the part -of the husbands that their wives will cuckold them.<a name="FNanchor_68" id="FNanchor_68" href="#Footnote_68" class="fnanchor">68</a> This fear -is not because of any moral scruples, but is merely because of the -ridicule that cuckoldom brought on the husband. The treatment -is frankly gross, licentious, cynical.</p> - -<p>In a sense this treatment is highly realistic; to this extent, -that it is a general reflection of the standards and manners of the -life of the court. The fashions are contemporary, the manners -and morals are those of the upper classes. The playwrights -confine themselves to a limited section of but a part of the people. -Social and religious institutions are treated so as to make them -ridiculous and contemptible.</p> - -<p>That any other treatment would have been difficult is seen by -considering the relationship existing between the theatre and the -court. The theatre had its authority for existence directly from -the court, one theatre receiving its license from the King, the other -from the Duke of York, while the companies of actors were known -as the King’s or the Duke’s servants.<a name="FNanchor_69" id="FNanchor_69" href="#Footnote_69" class="fnanchor">69</a> These licenses were moreover -revocable at the pleasure of those who gave them. Controversies -and differences within the theatre were often settled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">40</a></span> -personally by the King or Duke, and Charles is said to have suggested -subjects to the dramatists in many instances. With so -direct and personal a relation, anything other than compliance with -the taste of the court could result in nothing but the downfall of -the theatre. The theatre’s very life depended on its selection -and presentation of themes that would satisfy and reflect the taste -of the most morally degraded court that England has ever had.</p> - -<p>The characterization in these plays is conventional and often -vague. For example, it may be laid down as an almost invariable -rule that a widow is never virtuous. In the embodiment of a -single trait there is the continued tendency to exaggeration seen -in the “humourous” characterization of Jonson, with the same -use of descriptive names—Courtall, Mrs. Frail, Lady Wishfort, -Justice Clodpate—to save the labor of characterization. The -characters are likewise lacking in complexity and development.</p> - -<p>There is the tendency to Jonsonian division of characters into -dupes and dupers,<a name="FNanchor_70" id="FNanchor_70" href="#Footnote_70" class="fnanchor">70</a> but this division is not so clear as in Jonson, -nor is the division based on the essential qualities of human -nature, but is rather on the basis of wit and power in repartee. -The heroes are all witty, usually wealthy, popular, and their -life work is the pursuit of women. The women are all witty, -beautiful, and all rakes, except the heroine, and even the heroines -bid fair to become so in a few months after marriage. The hero -or heroine of one play might be the hero or heroine of any other -play so far as any distinctive characterization is concerned.</p> - -<p>There is the pretended wit, a simpleton who apes the men -of wit and fashion, who thinks himself most clever, and who is -perfectly unconscious of the fact that he is being made a butt for -the wit of the sensible characters. Such are the Dapperwits, the -Witwouds, and the Tattles. Somewhat similar is the fop who -imitates the French, thinks only of his dress, his appearance, and -the figure he makes. He is all ostentation, is entirely self-centered -and simple in his mental processes, but is really not such a fool as -one imagines at first. Etherege’s Sir Fopling Flutter, and Cibber’s -Sir Novelty Fashion—the Lord Foppingtons of <cite>The Relapse</cite> and -<cite>The Careless Husband</cite>—are two well drawn presentations of this -character. An interesting female type is the Miss Hoyden-Prue-Hippolyta -young woman, who has been kept in secluded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">41</a></span> -ignorance of the world, but who shows a sudden ingenuity, knowledge -of the world, and desire for the sensual joys of life. There -are, of course, the elderly cuckolds, dominated and fooled by their -wives, and the wives who profess virtue but do not practise it.</p> - -<p>That the view here given is not prejudiced by modern standards -may be seen by a description of the characters by one of the -dramatists themselves. Shadwell in the preface to <cite>The Sullen -Lovers</cite> expresses himself, not without vigor:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“But in the Plays, which have been wrote of late, there is no -such thing as perfect Character, but the two chief Persons are -commonly a Swearing, Drinking, Whoring, Ruffian for a Lover, and -an impudent ill-bred <em>Tomrig</em> for a Mistress, and these are the fine -People of the play; and ... almost any thing is proper for them to say; -but their chief Subject is Bawdy, and Profaneness, which they call -<em>Brisk Writing</em>, when the most dissolute of Men, that relish those -things well enough in Private, are shock’d at ’em in Publick.”</p></blockquote> - -<p>The dialogue, which often interrupts the movement of the -plot, and often surpasses in interest the more solid quality of -representation of life, is usually marked by the most brilliant -and biting wit, by keenly satiric repartee, and by epigrammatic -polish. The dialogue has often nothing to do with the story, -but is merely the exhibition of the author’s ability in the cynical -treatment of contemporary manners. The attitude is one of -satire and raillery against all established institutions, against -marriage, the manners of society, the Puritans, the newly developing -sciences, the court, dueling, the country and its inhabitants, -the opera, the new songs and novels, the affectation of foreign airs, -the adoption of foreign words, poetry and dilettante writing, polite -literary conversation, legal abuses, and almost everything that one -can conceive.</p> - -<p>The locality in which the plays are set is extremely narrow at -first, being confined to the town; for most of the plays are set in -London, in localities familiar to the audiences. Within the class -and localities to which the comedy restricts itself, it is a most -interesting social document; but it must always be remembered -that it is no sense representative of the whole people. Sometimes -we are taken to Spain or Italy, but it is Spain or Italy only in -name, the people and the customs are all English. The scene may -sometimes be one of the fashionable watering places in England; -but it is never in the despised country.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">42</a></span> -Whether one agrees with it or not it is well to keep in mind -Lamb’s defense in his essay <cite>On the Artificial Comedy of the Last -Century</cite>:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“We have been spoiled with ... the ... drama of common life; where -the moral point is everything; where, instead of the fictitious -half-believed personages of the stage (the phantoms of old comedy) -we recognize ourselves, our brothers, aunts, kinsfolk, allies, patrons, -enemies,—the same as in life.... -“I do not know how it is with others, but I feel the better always -for the perusal of one of Congreve’s—nay, why should I not add -even of Wycherley’s—comedies. I am the gayer at least for -it; and I could never connect those sports of a witty fancy in any -shape with any result to be drawn from them to imitation in real -life. They are a world of themselves almost as much as fairyland.... -But in its own world do we feel the creature is so very bad?—The -Fainalls and the Mirabels, the Dorimants and the Lady Touchwoods, -in their own sphere, do not offend my moral sense; in fact -they do not appeal to it at all. They seem engaged in their proper -element. They break through no laws, or conscientious restraints. -They know of none. They have got out of Christendom into the -land—what shall I call it?—of cuckoldry—the Utopia of gallantry, -where pleasure is duty, and the manners perfect freedom. It is -altogether a speculative scene of things, which has no reference -whatever to the world that is.... He [Congreve] has spread a privation -of moral light ... over his creations; and his shadows flit -before you without distinction or preference. Had he introduced a -good character, a single gush of moral feeling, a revulsion of the -judgment to actual life and actual duties, the impertinent Goshen -would have only lighted to the discovery of deformities, which now -are none, because we think them none.... -“... When we are among them [the characters of Congreve -and Wycherley], we are amongst a chaotic people. We are not to -judge them by our usages. No reverend institutions are insulted -by their proceedings,—for they have none among them. No -peace of families is violated,—for no family ties exist among them. -No purity of the marriage bed is stained,—for none is supposed to -have a being.... There is neither right nor wrong,—gratitude -or its opposite,—claim or duty,—paternity or sonship....</p> - -<p>“The whole is a passing pageant.... But, like Don Quixote, -we take part against the puppets, and quite as impertinently.... -We would indict our very dreams.”</p></blockquote> - -<p class="cibsect">6. <span class="smcap">Beginnings of the Change in the Drama.</span></p> - -<p>Such had been the conditions surrounding the drama and in -the drama itself before the reformation began. When one comes -to look at the stage and the audiences, one finds very little indication<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">43</a></span> -of change at first. In 1682 there seems to have been objection -to <cite>London Cuckolds</cite> on the ground of indecency, and Ravenscroft -in the prologue to <cite>Dame Dobson</cite> (1682) claims to have -complied with the objections which had been raised by making his -own play dull and civil. In 1684 appeared Southerne’s first -comedy, <cite>The Disappointment</cite>, which he calls a “play,” and in this -we have the serious treatment of the marriage relations and the -preservation of a wife’s chastity. Throughout, Southerne’s -tendency was towards morality.</p> - -<p>In 1696 there begins a real and easily discernible movement -towards the moral treatment of dramatic themes. <cite>The She -Gallants</cite> (1696) was so offensive to the ladies that it had to be -withdrawn; in <cite>She Ventures and He Wins</cite> (1696) the man who would -carry on an amour with a married woman is exposed and tricked -and made the butt; and in Mrs. Manley’s <cite>The Lost Lover</cite> (1696) -there is the noticeable introduction of a virtuous wife.</p> - -<p>In 1697, the epilogue to <cite>Boadicea</cite>, a tragedy, tells us that</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse quote">“Once only smutty jests could please the town,</div> - <div class="verse">But now (Heav’n help our trade) they’ll not go down.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p>Waterhouse<a name="FNanchor_71" id="FNanchor_71" href="#Footnote_71" class="fnanchor">71</a> finds traces of sentimentality in Vanbrugh’s -<cite>Aesop</cite>, which appeared the same year. Then in 1698 matters -were brought to a head by Collier, and we find Congreve’s <cite>Double -Dealer</cite> advertised to be acted “with several expressions omitted,” -while in <cite>The Way of the World</cite> (1700) his muse is somewhat -more chaste. <cite>The Provoked Wife</cite> was altered, probably in 1706, -so that the clergy might not seem to be attacked.</p> - -<p>From this time on the changed attitude was increasingly -manifest in the new plays, though the old were still acted with -little or no change.</p> - -<p>In <cite>The State of the Case Restated</cite><a name="FNanchor_72" id="FNanchor_72" href="#Footnote_72" class="fnanchor">72</a> it is contended that the royal -patent to the Drury Lane Theatre was given to Sir Richard Steele -for the purpose of correcting the abuses of the theatre, but that -Sir Richard had not done this; in fact that</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“The same lewd plays were acted and reviewed without any -material alteration, which gave occasion for that universal complaint -against the English stage, of lewdness and debauchery, -from all the sober and religious part of the nation; the whole business -of comedy continuing all this time to be the criminal intrigues -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">44</a></span>of fornication and adultery, ridiculing of marriage, virtue, and integrity, -and giving a favorable turn to vicious characters, and -instructing loose people how to carry on their lewd designs with -plausibility and success: thus among other plays they have -revived <cite>The Country Wife</cite>, <cite>Sir Fopling Flutter</cite>, <cite>The Rover</cite>, <cite>The -Libertine Destroyer</cite>, and several others, and it is remarkable, that -the knight, or coadjutors, had condemned <cite>Sir Fopling Flutter</cite>, -as one of the most execrable and vicious plays that ever was performed -in public.”</p></blockquote> - -<p>The change that was occurring may be fairly illustrated by -quotations from plays by Etherege and Steele, which are characteristic -of the alterations not only as to morals but as to moralizing. -In speaking of marriage Etherege says, “your nephew ought to -conceal it [his marriage] for a time, madam, since marriage has -lost its good name; prudent men seldom expose their own reputations, -till ’tis convenient to justify their wives;”<a name="FNanchor_73" id="FNanchor_73" href="#Footnote_73" class="fnanchor">73</a> while Steele’s -sentiment is that “wedlock is hell if at least one side does not love, -as it would be Heaven if both did.”<a name="FNanchor_74" id="FNanchor_74" href="#Footnote_74" class="fnanchor">74</a></p> - -<p class="cibsect">7. <span class="smcap">Cibber’s Comedies.</span></p> - -<p>Cibber at the very outset of his career as a dramatist, in <cite>Love’s -Last Shift</cite> (1696), deliberately attempted to reform the stage, -and that the audience was ready for the innovation is shown -by the way it was received, for we are told that “never were -spectators more happy in easing their minds by uncommon and -repeated plaudits. The honest tears, shed by the audience, -conveyed a strong reproach to our licentious poets, and was to -Cibber the highest mark of honor.”<a name="FNanchor_75" id="FNanchor_75" href="#Footnote_75" class="fnanchor">75</a> Davies further gives Cibber -the credit of being the first in reforming the English stage, and -of founding English sentimental comedy. “The first comedy, -acted since the Restoration, in which were preserved purity of -manners and decency of language, with a due respect to the honor -of the marriage-bed, was Colley Cibber’s <cite>Love’s Last Shift, or The -Fool in Fashion</cite>.”<a name="FNanchor_76" id="FNanchor_76" href="#Footnote_76" class="fnanchor">76</a> Cibber himself makes no claim to decency -of language, nor is it found to any greater extent in this play than -in the other plays of the period. Certainly there can be nothing -bolder than the first act, or the epilogue, which reads as follows:</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse quote">“Now, gallants, for the author. First, to you</div> - <div class="verse">Kind city gentlemen o’ th’ middle row;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">45</a></span></div> - <div class="verse">He hopes you nothing to his charge can lay,</div> - <div class="verse">There’s not a cuckold made in all his play.</div> - <div class="verse">Nay, you must own, if you believe your eyes,</div> - <div class="verse">He draws his pen against your enemies:</div> - <div class="verse">For he declares, today, he merely strives</div> - <div class="verse">To maul the beaux—because they maul your wives.</div> - <div class="verse">Nor, sirs, to you whose sole religion’s drinking,</div> - <div class="verse">Whoring, roaring, without the pain of thinking,</div> - <div class="verse">He fears he’s made a fault you’ll ne’er forgive,</div> - <div class="verse">A crime beyond the hopes of a reprieve:</div> - <div class="verse">An honest rake forego the joys of life,</div> - <div class="verse">His whores and wine, t’ embrace a dull chaste wife!</div> - <div class="verse">Such out-of-fashion stuff! but then again,</div> - <div class="verse">He’s lewd for above four acts, gentlemen.</div> - </div> - - <div class="tb">* <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span></div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">Four acts for your coarse palates were design’d,</div> - <div class="verse">But then the ladies taste is more refin’d,</div> - <div class="verse">They, for Amanda’s sake, will sure be kind.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p>The main action, that which deals with the reformation of -the wandering husband, seems to be original with Cibber in every -respect. It deals with the reformation of a husband who eight -or ten years before has deserted his young wife for a dissolute -life on the continent, and who returns to England still more degenerate -in mind and morals than when he left, and so entirely -depleted in purse that he has not money enough to buy a meal -or pay for a night’s lodging for himself and his servant. The -husband is finally led to return to his wife, whose appearance has -so changed that he does not recognize her, by her pretense of being -a new mistress. This subterfuge is more or less remotely suggestive -of Shakspere’s <cite>All’s Well that Ends Well</cite> and Shirley’s <cite>Gamester</cite>, -both of which have been suggested as its source; but it owes nothing -to them in the working out of the situation.</p> - -<p>The theme is practically that of <cite>The Careless Husband</cite>: the -reformation of a husband not entirely spoiled at heart. The -moral teaching is that there is the same pleasure in legitimate -enjoyment as in the baser and illicit sort.</p> - -<p>The innovation consists in the very moral ending of the piece, -particularly in the definite decision of the hero to reform, a -determination which he expresses as follows:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“By my example taught, let every man, whose fate has bound -him to a marry’d life, beware of letting loose his wild desires: -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">46</a></span>for if experience may be allow’d to judge, I must proclaim the -folly of a wandering passion. The greatest happiness we can -hope on earth,</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">And sure the nearest to the joys above,</div> - <div class="verse">Is the chaste rapture of a virtuous love.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> -</blockquote> - -<p>It is to be noticed that the illicit affair of Sir Novelty Fashion -and Mrs. Flareit is made ridiculous and not happy at the end, -nor does Sir Novelty acquire a mistress or a wife who has previously -been chaste. Likewise there is no husband who is made ridiculous -by being cuckolded, and the only amour, if it can be called an -amour, that which Amanda’s maid unwillingly has with Snap, -is made right the next morning by the marriage of the two.</p> - -<p>On the other hand, the play, aside from these particulars, -exhibits the technique and the material of the typical Restoration -comedy. The chief incident deals in most frank style with the sex -relations of the hero and heroine, treated essentially in the Restoration -way, with the exception that the audience knows they are -man and wife while the characters do not. The cellar incident -is as frank and gross as anything of the sort in the earlier drama, -though in this case the final outcome is a wedding. There is the -same succession of lively and disconnected incidents, incidents -which would go well on the stage, and which make up five separate -threads of story. The substitution of the name of one person for -another in the marriage bond is the same sort of thing that occurs -over and over again in the earlier comedy.<a name="FNanchor_77" id="FNanchor_77" href="#Footnote_77" class="fnanchor">77</a></p> - -<p>The characters represent the same more or less stiff drawing -of conventional figures. Sir Novelty Fashion is of the same family -as Sir Fopling Flutter; Lovelace and Young Worthy are the same -drunken rakes as those who make the principal characters in the -unreformed drama, with the exception that here they are not -presented to us as carrying on their amours. Snap is the witty -servingman who is invariably paired with the maid of the heroine -in Restoration comedy. There is the same presentation of local -scenes, particularly that in the park; there is the same coarse -speech; and there is the same interruption of the story by raillery.</p> - -<p>But the play as already suggested is a very distinct step in advance -in its treatment of fundamental morality, and marks a conscious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">47</a></span> -beginning of a new mode; not an inconsiderable achievement for -the first play of an author twenty-four years old.</p> - -<p>The two plots of <cite>Woman’s Wit</cite> (1697) are entirely dissimilar -in tone and dramatic handling, and, moreover, have no essential -connection with each other. The main plot, which gives the name -to the piece, is in the Restoration manner, while the sub-plot, -which deals with the Rakishes, is in the mould of the minor late -Elizabethans. In its portrayal of manners it belongs to the type -represented by the plays of Brome, marked by coarseness rather -than finish, and implying about the same standard of morals.</p> - -<p>The main plot consists of a series of complications caused -by the efforts of Longeville to unmask Leonora’s unfaithfulness -to Lovemore, to whom she is engaged. She convinces Lovemore -that Longeville’s efforts are the result of a plot, the purpose of -which is to alienate Lovemore and Leonora so that Longeville -may have her to himself; and there then follows one complication -after another, until the characters are at last gathered together -and Leonora is made to confess her duplicity.</p> - -<p>The situation on which the main action is based is original -and highly dramatic, but in order to maintain the intrigue Cibber -has had to use incidents which are marked by improbability and -dramatic blindness to such an extent that the action becomes -wearisome. Cibber seems to be groping for something different -from the conventional Restoration intrigue. His conception is -worthy of more success than he attained, but he lacked the dramatic -skill and experience to carry it out.</p> - -<p>Some of the character drawing is good. Longeville and Lovemore -are rather decent young men, but are no doubt too sentimental -for success on the stage at this time. The Rakishes are -overdrawn and farcical. The women, with the exception of -Leonora, are lacking in the spontaneity and wit demanded of -seventeenth and early eighteenth century heroines, and like the -men are possibly too sentimental. Leonora is the intriguer and -is the best drawn and most important personage in the play. Her -downfall is the result of her own character and conduct, and in -the disapproval of her character and actions Cibber has repeated, -to some extent, views he expressed in his first play.</p> - -<p>The vulgar sub-plot which deals with Old Rakish and Young -Rakish, when separated from <cite>Woman’s Wit</cite> and acted in 1707 as -<cite>The School Boy</cite>, was a greater success than the original play.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">48</a></span> -With the exception of the change in the names of some of the personages, -minor alterations of the dialogue, the omission of parts -of the incidents, and the addition of such incidents as are necessary -to make it stand by itself, the play is verbatim as it appeared when -a part of <cite>Woman’s Wit</cite>.</p> - -<p>From the point of view of the reformation of the stage it must -be confessed that <cite>Woman’s Wit</cite> was not of great importance. The -moral tone of the main action is high; at least virtue is rewarded -and vice disgraced, and there are no amours carried on. But the -sub-action, which was later transformed into <cite>The School Boy</cite>, -is entirely opposed to both good taste and good morals, and after -a series of low comedy scenes, ends with the promise of Young -Rakish to Master Johnny that he will take Johnny to the playhouse, -where the latter may satisfy his disappointment in the -failure to marry his mother’s woman. Although notable progress -in the morality of the drama had been made, as we have seen, -the fact that this sub-action was successfully presented by itself -shows that the taste of the theatre-going public was not yet -entirely regenerate.</p> - -<p><cite>Love Makes a Man</cite> (1701) is a rather close adaptation of two -of Beaumont and Fletcher’s plays,<a name="FNanchor_78" id="FNanchor_78" href="#Footnote_78" class="fnanchor">78</a> in which Cibber does not pretend -to any serious purpose. “For masks, we’ve scandal, and for -beaus, French airs.” And yet his moralizing and sentimental -tendency cannot be entirely restrained, for when Carlos, the -hero of the play, does turn from his books to love, he speaks in a -most heightened and sentimental strain. So too the efforts of -Louisa to seduce him are met with sentiments of lofty morality -which are actuated by his sincere love for Angelina. The Restoration -lover would not have hesitated in the slightest degree to enjoy -all that Louisa offered and his wife-to-be would have taken it -as a matter of course, probably would have joked with her confidante, -if not with the hero, on the subject. But with Cibber -not only is the attitude concerning this sort of thing changed, -but in his alteration he has omitted one incident<a name="FNanchor_79" id="FNanchor_79" href="#Footnote_79" class="fnanchor">79</a> that would -have been a source of great delight to a Restoration audience, -and has softened the language throughout, so that the coarseness -which marks his original has largely disappeared. No one undergoes -a moral reformation, for Louisa has not been evil in her life,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">49</a></span> -and this one unsuccessful effort at seduction cures her. But the -play has two characteristics of the sentimental type; it is perfectly -moral in action, and it has some expression of sentimental philosophy.</p> - -<p><cite>She Would and She Would Not</cite> (1702) is probably more in accordance -with modern taste than any other play Cibber wrote. -In this regard for good taste as well as good morals it is significant -of the change in English comedy, and though it is not sentimental, -it indicates Cibber’s readiness to adopt and lead the new mode. -In its technique it reminds us of the Spanish intrigue plays of -Dryden; but it is perfectly moral, and the two lovers do not employ -their time, when away from the main business of winning their -wives, in carrying on intrigues with other women.</p> - -<p><cite>The Careless Husband</cite> (acted 1704) is Cibber’s masterpiece -in sentimental comedy. In it he has reached greater excellence -than in his former plays in plot and in character presentation, -and in the ability to make his plot and moral purpose work out -consistently and logically. The reformation of Loveless in <cite>Love’s -Last Shift</cite> strikes one as not in keeping with his character; one -feels that his relapse<a name="FNanchor_80" id="FNanchor_80" href="#Footnote_80" class="fnanchor">80</a> is quite the natural thing to happen. In -this play, however, the hero’s character is presented from the -first in a way that prepares one for the final reformation. In -this particular Cibber rises above his contemporaries in comedy.</p> - -<p>In <cite>The Careless Husband</cite> Cibber lays claim to deliberate and -serious moral purpose and deals, as he did in his first play, with the -reclaiming of a licentious husband by a virtuous wife. Dibdin -extravagantly says of it that “it was a school for elegant manners, -and an example for honorable actions.” Cibber expresses himself -in regard to his purpose, in the dedication, as follows:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“The best criticks have long and justly complain’d, that the -coarseness of most characters in our late Comedies, have been unfit -entertainments for People of Quality, especially the ladies: and -therfore I was long in hopes that some able pen (whose expectation -did not hang upon the profits of success) wou’d generously -attempt to reform the Town into a better taste than the World -generally allows ’em: but nothing of that kind having lately appear’d, -that would give me the opportunity of being wise at -another’s expence, I found it impossible any longer to resist the -secret temptation of my vanity, and so e’en struck the first blow -myself: and the event has now convinc’d me, that whoever sticks -closely to Nature, can’t easily write above the understandings of -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">50</a></span>the Galleries, tho’ at the same time he may possibly deserve applause -of the Boxes.”</p></blockquote> - -<p>But in <cite>The Careless Husband</cite>, in contrast with what he had -previously written in this field, the tone of the entire play is moral, -not merely that of the fifth act, the play is worked out consistently, -and the offensive effect of an incongruous mixture of -standards is lacking. It belongs distinctly to the sentimental -type, and is the best of the early school.</p> - -<p>In the prologue Cibber gives a summary of the kind of characters -that should illustrate the moral the comedy writer has as his -theme:</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse quote">“Of all the various Vices of the Age,</div> - <div class="verse">And shoals of fools expos’d upon the Stage,</div> - <div class="verse">How few are lasht that call for Satire’s rage!</div> - <div class="verse">What can you think to see our Plays so full</div> - <div class="verse">Of Madmen, Coxcombs, and the drivelling Fool?</div> - <div class="verse">Of Cits, of Sharpers, Rakes, and roaring Bullies,</div> - <div class="verse">Of Cheats, of Cuckolds, Aldermen and Cullies?</div> - <div class="verse">Wou’d not one swear, ’twere taken for a rule,</div> - <div class="verse">That Satire’s rod in the Dramatick School,</div> - <div class="verse">Was only meant for the incorrigible Fool?</div> - <div class="verse">As if too Vice and Folly were confined</div> - <div class="verse">To the vile scum alone of human kind,</div> - <div class="verse">Creatures a Muse should scorn; such abject trash</div> - <div class="verse">Deserves not Satire’s but the Hangman’s lash.</div> - </div> - -<div class="tb">* <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span></div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">We rather think the persons fit for Plays,</div> - <div class="verse">Are those whose birth and education says</div> - <div class="verse">They’ve every help that shou’d improve mankind,</div> - <div class="verse">Yet still live slaves to a vile tainted mind.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p>In this play Cibber continues the general practice of basing -dramatic technique upon that of the Restoration drama. We -find the same multiplicity of plots, though there is here a material -reduction in their number. But here the various plots are more -consistently bound together and more logically worked out. -The hero is a somewhat refined Restoration character; he has more -gentleness and goodness in him, but the course he pursues is -typical of the earlier plays in that he is carrying on two amours -during the play and at the end he abandons those intrigues; with -this difference, however, that the reformation of the hero of -<cite>The Careless Husband</cite> is felt to be permanent.</p> - -<p>The love story of Lord Morelove and Lady Betty, which forms -the sub-action, is in the best style of the comedy of manners.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">51</a></span> -It, as well as the main action, reminds one in its finished workmanship -of the best plays written during the latter part of the -preceding century.</p> - -<p>There is a distinct effort to teach the advantage of moral living, -in the unhappy outcome of the illicit affairs and in the happy -outcome of the legitimate. The situation in which Edging and -Sir Charles are discovered asleep, which proved too gross for -Cibber’s audience, is nevertheless handled in a manner to show -disapproval; the Restoration dramatist would have been salacious -and humorous. Sir Charles’s feeling of guilt after this scene, -however, is an entirely new note.</p> - -<p>Some of the characters are stock figures. Lady Betty is the -usual coquette, is a Millamant type, but is altogether more -human and modern; Lord Foppington is the continuation of Sir -Novelty Fashion, whom we recognize as a type which appears -in Etherege and Crowne; and Sir Charles, until his reformation, -is, in his conduct, the Restoration rake, with, however, distinctly -more humanity. His whole-heartedness and inherent honor -make one forgive his lapse in conduct.</p> - -<p>Other characters indicate a new mode. Lady Easy is a modest, -virtuous, capable wife, full of moderation and tact, with the -gentleness of the modern ideal woman. She belongs to the patient -Griselda type, and her situation, which contains not a little pathos, -is handled in a way to gain the sympathy of the audience. This -is a new and noteworthy contribution in the direction of the fully -developed type of sentimental comedy. Even in spite of Sir -Charles’s defection in conduct, we recognize an inherent goodness -in his nature. Lord Morelove is the preaching, sentimentalizing -type, serious minded and upright, the sort of character that Cibber -has presented in Lord Lovemore in <cite>Woman’s Wit</cite> and Elder -Worthy in <cite>Love’s Last Shift</cite>; a character who seldom appears in the -Restoration period, or, if he does appear, is ridiculed. In this -presentation of a successful lover, lacking in wit and inconstancy, -Cibber was not following the convention of the preceding drama, -which usually made its heroes witty scamps.</p> - -<p>While we still have light banter and raillery, they are primarily -used to display character or further the plot, functions which -they disregard in the Restoration plays. The theme and its working -out not only deal with the reformation of the loose character, -but also endeavor to present an admirable example of womanhood<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">52</a></span> -who shows a proper fidelity to her husband in spite of all his -delinquencies. In the presentation of this high type of character -Cibber has again become an innovator and has made a positive -contribution to the drama of the period.</p> - -<p>In his adaptation of the plays by Dryden<a name="FNanchor_81" id="FNanchor_81" href="#Footnote_81" class="fnanchor">81</a> in <cite>The Comical -Lovers</cite> (1707) Cibber has not attempted any changes, and the play -is of no importance in the development of comedy. It was regarded -merely as a revival of Dryden’s work, and was acted along -with other old plays during the same season, largely because -of an antiquarian interest.</p> - -<p>The two plays from which this is made go well together and -present something of the best that Dryden did in the line of satiric -comedy, and no doubt the social satire was almost as pertinent -in Cibber’s time as it had been forty or fifty years earlier.</p> - -<p>But the moral standard, which is almost always present, even -if in the background, in Cibber’s own plays, is almost entirely -lacking here. Celadon expects to be cuckolded, but would rather -be cuckolded by Florimel (who reminds one very strongly of -Congreve’s Millamant even in the stipulations before their agreement -of marriage), than by any one else. So too in the complications -in the second story in the play, the moral defections -are humorous merely because they are immoral, and there is no -disapproval expressed or implied. In Cibber’s own work he may -retain his disapproval until the last act, but the moral standard -always appears in some way or other, so that this play is essentially -uncharacteristic of Cibber’s work.</p> - -<p><cite>The Double Gallant</cite> (1707) is an adaption of the same sort as -<cite>The Comical Lovers</cite>, derived from Restoration plays,<a name="FNanchor_82" id="FNanchor_82" href="#Footnote_82" class="fnanchor">82</a> but it does -have more significance. It is marked by the same general tone -of moral irresponsibility and lightness, but without the actual -culmination of delinquencies; there is the same raillery, somewhat -curtailed, and the hero, as in those plays, involves himself in -intrigue with several women at once. There is more respect for -morals in the general conduct of the piece. The change is indicated -in the handling of the source. Burnaby<a name="FNanchor_83" id="FNanchor_83" href="#Footnote_83" class="fnanchor">83</a> has made use of what is -probably the most notorious and grossest incident in Restoration -comedy, Horner’s subterfuge in <cite>The Country Wife</cite>, but has modified<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">53</a></span> -some of the elements of the intrigue. Cibber has prevented the -successful outcome of the intrigue, and has entirely omitted the -unpleasant features.</p> - -<p><cite>The Lady’s Last Stake</cite> (1707), in the handling of a serious theme, -seems the most modern of Cibber’s comedies; it represents almost -an approach to the modern problem play in the Lord and Lady -Wronglove story and in the theme of the Lord George and Lady -Gentle story. It is a fully developed comedy of the sentimental -type of this period, with its four acts of intrigue, its reconciliation -at the end, and its extremely moral teaching. Cibber makes two -statements of his theme, first in the dedication, and then in -the prologue. His statement in the dedication is as follows:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“A Play, without a just Moral, is a poor and trivial Undertaking; -and ’tis from the Success of such Pieces, that Mr. Collier was furnish’d -with an advantageous Pretence of laying his unmerciful -Axe to the Root of the Stage. Gaming is a Vice that has undone -more innocent Principles than any one Folly that’s in Fashion; -therefore I chose to expose it to the Fair Sex in its most hideous Form, -by reducing a Woman of honour to stand the presumptuous Addresses -of a Man, whom neither her Virtue nor Inclination would let -her have the least Taste to. Now ’tis not impossible but some Man -of Fortune, who has a handsome Lady, and a great deal of Money -to throw away, may, from this startling hint, think it worth his -while to find his Wife some less hazardous Diversion. If that should -ever happen, my end of writing this Play is answer’d.”</p></blockquote> - -<p>The plot centers around a most lively intrigue, but shows a -departure from the Restoration type. Cibber seems to have -devised his own plot from observation rather than to have taken -it from the work of some one else, though in his characters he shows -some imitation of characters in older plays. Miss Notable is a -Miss Prue type, but the action of the play preserves her virtue -and indicates disapproval of the effort to seduce her. There is a -wide difference between this and the course of Congreve’s character -who rushes eagerly to her bedroom followed by Tattle.<a name="FNanchor_84" id="FNanchor_84" href="#Footnote_84" class="fnanchor">84</a> So too -in the relations of Lady Wronglove with her husband there enters -a new note. Not only does Cibber show her a virtuous woman, -but he recognizes the infidelity of the husband as grave enough -to merit not only condemnation but punishment; and though he -does not carry his story so far as to inflict on him his just deserts, -he recognizes the right of the wife to resent Lord Wronglove’s -action, although he clearly feels her resentment is unwise.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">54</a></span> -Sir Friendly Moral, who reconciles the various couples, furnishes -the somewhat sentimental moralizings, and seems to be the mouthpiece -of the author.</p> - -<p>One does not waste much sympathy on either Lord or Lady -Wronglove in their bickerings, and their reconciliation at the end -through the good offices of Sir Friendly is decidedly lacking in -probability, in view of the way in which they have been previously -presented. This dénouement is brought about by a typical -<i xml:lang="la" lang="la">deus ex machina</i> device, in which Sir Friendly, by supplying money -to one of the characters, and by using his exceeding wisdom and -knowledge with another set of characters, brings about the happy -ending. Cibber was not unlike the other late seventeenth and -early eighteenth century writers in his inability to bring his plays -to a logical and probable conclusion. He was hampered by his -theory that the element of surprise should enter into the happy -ending, and hence he often seems to feel compelled to introduce -a new force very late in the play.</p> - -<p>The characters in the main action are somewhat serious and -lacking in attractiveness. But those in the comic action, Lord -George, Mrs. Conquest, and Miss Notable, are much more lively -sources of interest. Miss Notable, as already stated, is a Miss -Prue type, though she is probably not to be described as a “silly, -awkward country girl.” She is essentially a sophisticated city -miss, but her desires and ambitions, as well as some of her ingenuous -characteristics, are similar to those of the Miss Prue type. She -starts a flirtation with each new man she meets in order to pique -the last new man, who in like manner had his turn. The discomfiture -of Lord George when Miss Notable avows her love for -Mrs. Conquest, who is in the disguise of a man, is very clever.</p> - -<p>It is hard to believe that an honorable gentleman, as Sir George -is described as being, would cheat at cards even for the purpose -of seducing another man’s wife. It is in just such conceptions as -this that Cibber’s superficiality is shown, a superficiality which -prevented him from writing great drama notwithstanding his -knowledge of technical requirements.</p> - -<p>In the situations of Lady Gentle and Mrs. Conquest, especially -in that of the latter, there is a distinct element of pathos, -similar to that in <cite>The Careless Husband</cite>. As in <cite>The Careless Husband</cite>, -this pathos is due not merely to the situation, but depends -likewise on the nature of the persons presented. In this respect<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">55</a></span> -it is superior to the later sentimental comedy, in which the pathos -depends more largely on the situation alone.</p> - -<p>In its serious elements <cite>The Lady’s Last Stake</cite> attacks what are -without doubt notable human failings, and the dialogue at its -best reminds us of some of the best Congrevian sort. But Cibber’s -practice as to the happy outcome and his theory that there must -be a surprise at the end of a play, have prevented what might -have been, in the hands of a more serious and larger minded dramatist, -a most important handling of a new theme in a new way.</p> - -<p>When he wrote <cite>The Rival Fools</cite> (1709), Cibber seemed, if -one may judge from the prologue, to feel that his efforts for reform -were not meeting with sufficient response and appreciation, -and therefore tells the audience that</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse quote">“All sorts of Men and Manners may</div> - <div class="verse">From these last Scenes go unreprov’d away.</div> - <div class="verse">From late Experience taught, we slight th’ old Rule</div> - <div class="verse">Of Profit with Delight: This Play’s—All Fool.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">But though this comedy is not didactic in its purpose, it is morally -clean in its action.</p> - -<p>In <cite>The Non-Juror</cite> (1717), a play written with an avowedly -political purpose, he cannot avoid moralizing and sentimentality, -qualities which appear slightly in the story of Charles, and in -the relations of Dr. Wolf to Lady Woodvil and Maria. It cannot -be claimed that the play has any important bearing on sentimental -comedy, however.</p> - -<p><cite>The Refusal</cite> (1721) might be called a purified Restoration comedy, -without any positive bearing on the sentimentalizing tendency -except that it shows the tendency to make the drama more moral.</p> - -<p><cite>The Provoked Husband</cite> (1728), Cibber’s completion of Vanbrugh’s -<cite>A Journey to London</cite>, is typically sentimental in treatment, -with the happy ending, the reformation of the vicious, -and the true but dull expression of moral sentiments by the serious -characters. In it Cibber has departed from Vanbrugh’s original -intention by reforming the wife, whom he has preserved as perfectly -true to her husband, though unduly given to gambling. In the -love affair of Mr. Manly and Lord Townley’s sister we likewise -have sentimental treatment, and in the expression of pious thoughts -no one could be more prolific than Mr. Manly. In this play Cibber -does not strike any note he has not used before; it is merely significant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">56</a></span> -of the permanence of the changed manner of writing -in English comedy generally.</p> - -<p>In the first plot Cibber has somewhat softened the characters -of Vanbrugh’s Lord and Lady Loverule in Lord and Lady Townley, -giving to the husband a much less dictatorial and more sentimental -and uxorious character. Lady Townley, though she does not show -any signs of softer qualities, is made to see the error of her course -of late hours and gambling, and undergoes a somewhat improbable -but characteristic conversion. Cibber tells us<a name="FNanchor_85" id="FNanchor_85" href="#Footnote_85" class="fnanchor">85</a> that it had been -Vanbrugh’s intention to turn the lady out of doors, as would have -been natural and logical, giving to the play a serious interest -which it lacks under Cibber’s management.</p> - -<p>The characters are shorn of their rough virility in Cibber’s -version. Squire Richard is a sort of rough study of the Tony -Lumpkin type,—without his wit, however,—but the credit of -the portrayal is due to Vanbrugh rather than to Cibber.</p> - -<p>While the play is far from lacking in interest and power to -amuse, there is a very decided inferiority to Vanbrugh’s play, -even in its unfinished and imperfect state. Cibber’s play is a -typical sentimental comedy, with its undeserved happy ending, -reformation of the vicious, and commonplace expression of sentiment -and morals on the part of the serious characters.</p> - -<p>Although it does not exhibit any startling new qualities, in its -theme attacking the evils of gambling which Cibber has previously -attacked, the play is a good example of eighteenth century -comedy; fully as good, indeed, as the work of the other dramatists -of the time, but suffering in comparison with Cibber’s own best -work.</p> - -<p>It may be interesting to note that Cibber is said to have added -the parts of Tom and Phillis to Steele’s <cite>Conscious Lovers</cite>.<a name="FNanchor_86" id="FNanchor_86" href="#Footnote_86" class="fnanchor">86</a> -When Steele submitted this play to him, Cibber felt that it would -not satisfy the desire of an audience to laugh at a comedy. According -to the account in <cite>The Lives of the Poets</cite>, Steele gladly accepted -Cibber’s suggestion that a comic action be inserted and even -proposed that Cibber make such additions to the play as he saw -fit. The absence of humor is a mark of the form of sentimental -comedy inaugurated by Steele, while the form represented by Cibber’s -work is closer to the Restoration type, is indeed really a modification<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">57</a></span> -of that type, and the element of humor is consequently found -in it.</p> - -<p class="cibsect">8. <span class="smcap">Typical Quality of Cibber’s Work.</span></p> - -<p>Cibber’s work typifies the change that was going on in the -moral reformation of the drama, as it likewise shows the development -characteristic of the time in other elements of the drama.<a name="FNanchor_87" id="FNanchor_87" href="#Footnote_87" class="fnanchor">87</a> -In him, as in others, we see that while the general type of Restoration -comedy was adopted in the construction of the plot, there -was a tendency to simplify the plot. Moreover, Cibber further -departed from the Restoration type by the selection of themes other -than mere sex relations. Other dramatists were able to present -such themes without reference to moral degeneration, but Cibber, -when he takes such a subject as the dangers of gambling, for -instance, cannot entirely avoid dealing with sex immorality.</p> - -<p>In the dull, chaste lover, the sober, moral, worthy gentleman -who is largely a result of the sentimental tendency in the drama, -such as Lord Morelove in <cite>Woman’s Wit</cite> and Elder Worthy in -<cite>Love’s Last Shift</cite>, Cibber developed and made more important a type -which had appeared but had been relatively unimportant in earlier -drama. In the comedy of Steele and his followers this character -was further developed so that it became the central figure. -Cibber and his predecessors seem to have been guided by some -such formula as that interesting personality and morality appear -in inverse ratio in male characters.</p> - -<p>The precocious Miss Prue type, the young woman who is -destined to have a lover or a husband, perhaps both, in a short -time, is represented by Miss Jenny in <cite>The Provoked Husband</cite> <em>and</em> -Miss Notable in <cite>The Lady’s Last Stake</cite>. This type of character -soon disappeared from the drama, as did likewise the Millamant -kind of coquette, who appears as Maria in <cite>The Non-Juror</cite> and as -Lady Betty in <cite>The Careless Husband</cite>. Snap and Trappanti are typical -menservants, witty and graceless, and we find the mercenary -serving woman in <cite>The Provoked Husband</cite> and <cite>She Would and She -Would Not</cite>. Characters of this type continue occasionally in the -succeeding drama, where they furnish the comic relief.</p> - -<p class="cibsect">9. <span class="smcap">General Characteristics of Cibber’s Comedies.</span></p> - -<p>Cibber’s themes are taken from contemporary life and its -more obvious problems. Of course so far as any serious purpose<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">58</a></span> -is concerned, a distinction must be made between those plays -designed merely to afford the pleasure of an evening’s entertainment -and those written with more serious intent. Cibber often -distinguishes between these two classes, and frankly states his -purpose in the prologue or dedication to the separate plays.</p> - -<p>His attitude toward his audience is somewhat naïve. He -frankly states that his “sole dependence being the judgment of -an audience, ’twere madness to provoke them.”<a name="FNanchor_88" id="FNanchor_88" href="#Footnote_88" class="fnanchor">88</a> He again -says<a name="FNanchor_89" id="FNanchor_89" href="#Footnote_89" class="fnanchor">89</a> that “every guest is a judge of his own palate; and a poet -ought no more to impose good sense upon the galleries, than dull -farce upon undisputed judges. I first considered who my guests -were, before I prepared my entertainment.” This would seem to -indicate that at times he had no high respect for his audiences; -especially when he wrote <cite>The School Boy</cite> and <cite>Hob in the Well</cite>, -if the latter is by him. In this connection one may note that he -consciously distinguished stage and closet drama, and made no -attempt to write the latter. In his “Remarks to the Reader” of -<cite>Ximena</cite> he says, “though the reader must be charmed by the tenderness -of the characters in the original, I have ventured to alter, -to make them more agreeable to the spectator.” These statements -would seem to indicate that Cibber wrote his sentimental -plays because he thought the audiences desired something of the -sort.</p> - -<p>As a playwright Cibber was a strong upholder of religion and -the established church. He points out that the only religious sect -to close the theatre was also opposed to the established church.<a name="FNanchor_90" id="FNanchor_90" href="#Footnote_90" class="fnanchor">90</a> -But in treating religious subjects he does not use the Puritans -for dramatic material, for they were no longer a political menace, -but he turns to the Roman Catholics, whose activities were not -merely religious, but political. In <cite>The Non-Juror</cite> we have a play -almost entirely built on anti-Catholic feeling; in <cite>King John</cite> we -have another attack on the Church of Rome; and in the fourth act -of <cite>Woman’s Wit</cite> we again have satire, but in this case primarily of -the Catholic clergy, rather than the church itself. We do not have -any references to party politics, aside from this Catholic problem.</p> - -<p>His original plays in comedy, other than farces and operas, -deal with moral problems. In the case of <cite>Love’s Last Shift</cite><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">59</a></span> -and <cite>The Careless Husband</cite> we have presented the reformation -of husbands not yet entirely spoiled at heart; in <cite>The Provoked -Husband</cite> the reformation of a wife who has not committed -any serious breach of the moral code; and in this last, as well as -in <cite>The Lady’s Last Stake</cite>, we have plays dealing with the evils resulting -from women’s gambling. It is curious to find one who -was so notorious a gambler as Cibber choosing such a theme.</p> - -<p>The language shows great change from that of the Restoration -in regard to moral refinement. Cibber’s plays become less and -less coarse in speech. His earlier plays have a grossness almost -equal to that of Restoration comedy, but gradually grow purer. -This change in the language is found in English comedy generally, -and as it progresses a new element enters, the expression of moral -sentiments, extravagantly and artificially stated. This last -shows a gradual increase, reaching its height in the later sentimental -comedy of the middle of the century.</p> - -<p>Merely as literature, three of Cibber’s plays, at least, are well -worth while: <cite>The Careless Husband</cite>, <cite>She Would and She Would Not</cite>, -and <cite>The Non-Juror</cite>. They lack the briskness and sureness of -touch that characterized Congreve, but compare most favorably -with the work of men in the next rank, and are not only delightful -and profitable reading, but are thoroughly representative of the -period in which they appear. Grouped with these as possessing -permanent literary value are the <cite>Apology</cite> and not more than half -a dozen songs. Outside of these three plays, one prose work, and -a few songs, Cibber produced nothing that is worth preserving -because of its merit as literature. His greatest importance to the -student of literary history lies in his contribution to the development -of sentimental comedy.</p> - -<p class="cibsect">10. <span class="smcap">Place of Steele in the Development of Sentimental -Comedy.</span></p> - -<p>In view of the place that is always given to Steele as the originator -of sentimental comedy, a discussion of any phase of the subject -would be incomplete without at least a reference to his relation -to the particular question under discussion. We may grant that -Cibber does not represent the culmination of the sentimental type: -that is to be found in Steele’s <cite>Conscious Lovers</cite> (1722). He is, -rather, the most prominent figure in the first stage of the development -of sentimental comedy, during which the Restoration type<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">60</a></span> -was transformed by the addition of a moral purpose, by the purification -of the language, and by the addition of the pathetic element; -so that the new form in his hands has much of the old as well as -the new, while Steele’s <cite>Conscious Lovers</cite> has almost entirely -broken away from the old and looks forward. But the movement -in which Cibber was so prominent a figure did make the way possible -and contributed the most important elements which later -developed in the hands of Steele and his followers.</p> - -<p>A commonplace of literary history is that it was Steele who -purged English comedy of its vileness and was the first to write -sentimental comedy. This, as we have seen, is not true; for -though <cite>The Conscious Lovers</cite> is probably the best of its type, -it merely lays more stress upon the pathetic element and carries -forward another step the sort of thing that Cibber had done in -such comedies as <cite>The Careless Husband</cite> and <cite>The Lady’s Last -Stake</cite>, which are as truly sentimental comedies as this, and which -possess the pathetic interest, but in a less marked degree. In -Steele’s other plays, <cite>The Funeral</cite> (1701), <cite>The Lying Lover</cite> (1705), -<cite>The Tender Husband</cite> (1705), Steele, except in the matter of the -purity of the language, does not show as fully developed examples -of the type as does Cibber in his work of the same period and -earlier.</p> - -<p>Steele’s first play to be acted, <cite>The Funeral</cite>, lacks sentimental -quality; it is merely a comedy which, when compared to the -Restoration type, has a higher moral tone. Steele had no higher -motive, he tells us, in writing this play than the purpose of reinstating -himself in the opinion of his fellow soldiers who had -ostracized him as a moral prig after the appearance of <cite>The Christian -Hero</cite> (1701). In his preface he mentions two themes as those -around which the comedy is written, namely, the practices of -undertakers and “legal villanies.” Lady Brumpton, who had -bigamously married Lord Brumpton, is discredited by being ejected -from Lord Brumpton’s household, but there is no suggestion that -she is in any way reformed, and in the rest of the action none of -the other elements of sentimental comedy are prominent.</p> - -<p><cite>The Lying Lover</cite> goes a little further and reforms the hero at -the end, as is done in the comedies of Cibber. But even this -similarity is only superficial, for the hero is not really vicious, -being guilty only of some entertaining lying, and the reformation -is brought about, not by approved sentimental feminine means,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">61</a></span> -but by the fact that the hero finds himself in prison. But even -though the hero is humiliated by temporary imprisonment, his -delinquencies are so diverting that the reader is entirely in sympathy -with him. Our sympathy for him, indeed, is so great that it is a -distinct disappointment that the lady is given to the honest and -jealous lover instead of to him. Steele lays no claim to originality -in the reform, “compunction and remorse” of his hero, for -in his preface he says that such things had been “frequently applauded -on the stage.” Nor is the versifying of the elevated -portions of the play a new thing; it is found both earlier and later -than sentimental comedy and is not a distinctive mark of that -type.</p> - -<p><cite>The Tender Husband</cite> was indebted to Cibber’s <cite>Careless Husband</cite>, -which had recently appeared, but is not to be compared -to it in its sentimental qualities. In both plays, however, we -have the reconciliation of an estranged husband and wife. In -Cibber it is the husband who is the offender, and he is recalled -from his vices by the patient fidelity of his wife; a reformation -based on sentiment. In <cite>The Tender Husband</cite>, the wife is reformed -from extravagance in her expenditure of time and money on -trivialities, and from failure in her duty to her husband, but the -reformation is brought about by a mere trick that the husband -plays upon the wife rather than by the interaction of personality -on personality. Steele shows nothing of the serious grasp of the -situation that Cibber shows in his play on the same theme, <cite>The -Provoked Husband</cite>. Steele’s handling is distinctly less artistic and -distinctly less sentimental than in either of Cibber’s plays. This -is seen also in Steele’s light treatment of the wife’s equivocal action -toward Fainlove, whom she mistakenly supposes to be a man, -and toward whom she makes questionable advances. Not only -in regard to such situations as this, but in the attitude toward -actual breaches of morality, Steele shows a lower standard than -Cibber. In both <cite>The Careless Husband</cite> and <cite>The Tender Husband</cite> -the hero keeps a mistress, but while Cibber brings the illicit -amour to an end with the disgrace of the mistress and a distinct -moral, Steele not only shows none of this disapproval but provides -the mistress with a husband of means and gives her a good dowry.</p> - -<p>Seventeen years later, though according to Genest<a name="FNanchor_91" id="FNanchor_91" href="#Footnote_91" class="fnanchor">91</a> the play -had been written some years before it was acted, Steele produced<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">62</a></span> -his fully developed comedy of the sentimental type, <cite>The Conscious -Lovers</cite>. It is entirely different from the preceding plays, for -instead of containing a lively intrigue with clever satire and wit, -such as we have in <cite>The Lying Lover</cite>, the tone throughout is fixed -by the pathetic and didactic elements. Steele rightly felt that he -was doing something new, and took credit to himself in the prologue:</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse quote">“But the bold sage—the poet of tonight—</div> - <div class="verse">By new and desperate rules resolved to write.</div> - </div> - -<div class="tb">* <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span></div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse quote">’Tis yours with breeding to refine the age,</div> - <div class="verse quote">To chasten wit, and moralise the stage.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">Not only does this moral and sentimental note appear throughout, -but in Mr. Sealand, especially in his dialogue with Sir John -Bevil in the fourth act, there appears the exaltation of the tradesman -class which culminated in the work of Lillo. Bevil Junior is a -pattern of propriety and goodness, but his lack of virility and -brilliance contrasts him most disadvantageously with the heroes -of the preceding period. He is the dull, chaste lover, the hero -of the second intrigue of the Restoration and Cibber type of comedy, -the Lord Morelove sort, exalted to the first place. Indiana is -the patient Griselda type, the Lady Easy sort of person, but in -<cite>The Conscious Lovers</cite> her gentleness and goodness are not used to -recall the erring, but are presented merely as desirable qualities -for a virtuous young woman to possess. The witty rake has -disappeared. The Wildairs, Lovelesses, Millamants, and Lady -Betties are no more, and in their places are maudlin, sickly -sentimentalists, whose goodness and sufferings are all that commend -them. Parson Adams was right, it does contain “some things -almost solemn enough for a sermon.”</p> - -<p>This sentimental didacticism becomes still more conspicious -in the work of Holcroft and his school, whose plays are rendered -degenerate and emasculate thereby. If the historians of literature -mean that Steele was the originator of this type, whose essential -characteristic is the centering of the action around a pathetic -situation, they are probably right; but any statement that -it was he who introduced the sentimental or pathetic element -into English comedy, or that he began the reformation of the -drama in the direction of morality, is easily seen to be false by -a comparison of his work with the earlier and contemporary -work of Cibber.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3 class="nobreak"><a id="cibber_63"></a>BIBLIOGRAPHY</h3><span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">63</a></span> -</div> - -<hr class="r10" /> - -<p class="cibsect">1. <span class="smcap">Cibber’s Works.</span></p> - -<p class="p2 in0"><i>Prose.</i></p> - -<p>An Apology for the Life of Colley Cibber, Comedian, and -Late Patentee of the Theatre-Royal. With an Historical View -of the Stage during his Own Time. Written by Himself. London, -1740. (I have used the fourth edition, London, 1756. Best -edition is that of Lowe, London, 1889.)</p> - -<p>A Letter from Mr. Cibber, to Mr. Pope, Inquiring into the -Motives that might induce him in his Satyrical Works, to be so -frequently fond of Mr. Cibber’s Name. London, 1742.</p> - -<p>The Egoist: or, Colley upon Cibber. Being his own Picture -Retouch’d, to so plain a Likeness, that no One, now, would have -the Face to own it, but Himself. London, 1743.</p> - -<p>Another Occasional Letter from Mr. Cibber to Mr. Pope. -Wherein the New Hero’s Preferment to his Throne, in the <cite>Dunciad</cite>, -seems not to be Accepted. And the Author of that Poem His -more rightful Claim to it, is Asserted. With an Expostulatory -Address to the Reverend Mr. W. W............n, Author of the new -Preface, and Adviser in the curious Improvements of that Satire. -By Mr. Colley Cibber. London, 1744.</p> - -<p>The Character and Conduct of Cicero, Considered from the -History of his Life by the Reverend Dr. Middleton. With Occasional -Essays and Observations upon the most memorable Facts -and Persons during that Period. London, 1747.</p> - -<p>The Lady’s Lecture, a Theatrical Dialogue, between Sir Charles -Easy and his Marriageable Daughter. Being an Attempt to -Engage Obedience by Filial Liberty: and to Give the Maiden -Conduct of Virtue, Chearfulness. By C. Cibber, Esq: Servant -to his Majesty. London, 1748.</p> - -<p class="p2 in0"><i>Non-Dramatic Poetry.</i></p> - -<p>Gentleman’s Magazine. London, <span class="locked">1731—</span></p> - -<p>London Magazine. London, <span class="locked">1732—</span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">64</a></span> -A Rhapsody on the Marvellous: Arising from the First Odes -of Horace and Pindar. Being a Scrutiny into Ancient Poetical -Fame, demanded by Modern Common Sense. By Colley Cibber, -Esq. P. L.</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">Fame then was cheap, and the first comer sped:</div> - <div class="verse">Which they have since preserved by being dead. Dryden.</div> - <div class="verse">. <span class="in15">. </span><span class="in15">. </span><span class="in15">. </span><span class="in15">. </span><span class="in15">. </span><span class="in15">. </span><span class="in15">liberius si</span></div> - <div class="verse">Dixero quid, si forte jocosius, hoc mihi juris</div> - <div class="verse">Cum venia dabis. Hor. Sat. 4. L 1. London, 1751.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class="p2 in0 bm0"><i>Dramatic Works.</i></p> - -<p class="small in0 p0">(<i>Arranged in the order of stage presentation. The dates are those of publication.</i>)</p> - -<p>Collected editions of his Plays appeared in 1721, in two volumes; -in 1636, in five volumes; in 1760, in four volumes; in 1777, in five -volumes. The last named is the edition I have used.</p> - -<p>Love’s Last Shift; or, The Fool in Fashion. 1696.</p> - -<p>Woman’s Wit; or, The Lady in Fashion. 1697.</p> - -<p>Xerxes. 1699.</p> - -<p>The Tragical History of Richard III, altered from Shakespear. -1700.</p> - -<p>Love Makes a Man; or, The Fop’s Fortune. 1701.</p> - -<p>She Would and She Would Not; or, The Kind Impostor. 1703.</p> - -<p>The Careless Husband. 1705.</p> - -<p>Perolla and Izadora. 1706.</p> - -<p>The Comical Lovers. 1707.</p> - -<p>The School Boy; or, The Comical Rival. 1707.</p> - -<p>The Double Gallant; or, The Sick Lady’s Cure. 1707.</p> - -<p>The Lady’s Last Stake; or, The Wife’s Resentment. 1708.</p> - -<p>The Rival Fools. 1709.</p> - -<p>The Rival Queans, with the Humours of Alexander the Great, -a Comical-tragedy. Dublin, 1729.</p> - -<p>Ximena; or, The Heroick Daughter. 1718.</p> - -<p>Cinna’s Conspiracy. 1713.</p> - -<p>Venus and Adonis. A Masque. 1715.</p> - -<p>Myrtillo, a Pastoral Interlude. 1716.</p> - -<p>The Non-Juror. 1718.</p> - -<p>The Refusal; or, The Ladies Philosophy. 1721.</p> - -<p>Caesar in Aegypt. 1725.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">65</a></span> -The Provok’d Husband; or, A Journey to London. 1728.</p> - -<p>Love in a Riddle. A Pastoral. 1729 [misprinted 1719].</p> - -<p>Damon and Phillida; a Ballad Opera. 1729.</p> - -<p>Papal Tyranny in the Reign of King John. 1745.</p> - -<p class="cibsect">2. <span class="smcap">General Bibliography.</span></p> - -<p class="hang">Actor, The, or, A Treatise on the Art of Playing. London, 1750.</p> - -<p class="hang">Age of Dullness, The, a Satire. By a Natural Son of Mr. -Pope. London, 1757.</p> - -<p class="hang">Baker, D. E., I. Reed and S. Jones. Biographica Dramatica. -London, 1812.</p> - -<p class="hang">Beaumont and Fletcher. Works. London, 1843.</p> - -<p class="hang">Besser, R. Colley Cibbers The Double Gallant und seine -Quellen. Halle, 1903.</p> - -<p class="hang">Betterton, T. The History of the English Stage, from the -Restoration to the Present Time. London, 1741.</p> - -<p class="hang">Betterton, Thomas, Life and Times of. Reprint, London, 1888.</p> - -<p class="hang">Blast upon Bays, A; or, A New Lick at the Laureat. London, -1742.</p> - -<p class="hang">Booth, Barton, Life of. London, 1733.</p> - -<p class="hang">Boyle, Roger, Earl of Orrery. Parthenissa. London, 1676.</p> - -<p class="hang">British Theatre, The. London. 1750.</p> - -<p class="hang">Brown, Hawkins. A Pipe of Tobacco. London, 1744.</p> - -<p class="hang">Burnaby, C. The Reformed Wife. London, 1700.</p> - -<p class="hang">Burnaby, C. The Ladies Visiting Day. London, 1701.</p> - -<p class="hang">Canfield, Dorothea Frances. Corneille and Racine in England. -New York, 1904.</p> - -<p class="hang">Carlile, J. The Fortune Hunters; or, Two Fools Well Met. -London, 1689.</p> - -<p class="hang">Case of the Present Theatrical Dispute Fairly Stated, The. -London, 1743.</p> - -<p class="hang">Centlivre, Susanna. Dramatic Works. Reprint, London, 1872.</p> - -<p class="hang">Charke, Charlotte. A Narrative of the Life of Mrs. Charlotte -Charke. Written by Herself. London, 1755; reprint, London, -1827.</p> - -<p class="hang">Chetwood, W. R. General History of the Stage. London, 1749.</p> - -<p class="hang">Cibber, Theophilus, editor. Lives of the Poets of Great Britain -and Ireland. London, 1753.</p> - -<p class="hang">Cibber, Theophilus. Two Dissertations on the Theatres.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">66</a></span> -London, 1756.</p> - -<p class="hang">Corneille, Pierre. Oeuvres. Paris, 1862.</p> - -<p class="hang">Crowne, John. Dramatic Works, in <cite>Dramatists of the Restoration</cite>, -ed. by Maidment and Logan. Edinburgh, 1873.</p> - -<p class="hang">Davies, T. Dramatic Miscellanies. London, 1784.</p> - -<p class="hang">Davies, T. Memoirs of the Life of David Garrick, Esq. -Third ed., London, 1781.</p> - -<p class="hang">Difference between Verbal and Practical Virtue, The. London, -1742.</p> - -<p class="hang">Dogget, T. The Country Wake. London, 1696.</p> - -<p class="hang">Dohse, R. Colley Cibbers Bühnenbearbeitung von Shakespeares -Richard III. Bonn, 1897.</p> - -<p class="hang">Doran, J. Their Majesties’ Servants. London, 1888.</p> - -<p class="hang">Downes, J. Roscius Anglicanus. London, 1708; reprint, -London, 1886.</p> - -<p class="hang">Dryden, John. Works. London, 1889.</p> - -<p class="hang">Egerton, T. and J. The Theatrical Remembrancer. London, -1788.</p> - -<p class="hang">Fielding, Henry. Historical Register for 1736. Works, London, -1852.</p> - -<p class="hang">Fielding, Henry (?). An Apology for the Life of Mr. T.... C.... -London, 1740.</p> - -<p class="hang">Genest, J. Some Account of the English Stage from the Restoration -in 1660 to 1830. Bath, 1832.</p> - -<p class="hang">Granger, J. Biographical History of England. London, 1779–1806.</p> - -<p class="hang">Hermann, A. Colley Cibbers Tragicomedy Ximena und ihr -Verhältniss zu Corneilles Cid. Kiel, 1908.</p> - -<p class="hang">Hutton, Laurence. Literary Landmarks of London. Boston, -1885.</p> - -<p class="hang">Jacob, G. The Poetical Register. London, 1719–1723.</p> - -<p class="hang">Johnson, T. Tryal of Colley Cibber for Writing a Book Intitled -An Apology for his Life. London, 1740.</p> - -<p class="hang">Kilbourne, F. W. Alterations and Adaptations of Shakespeare. -Boston, 1906.</p> - -<p class="hang">Köppe, K. Das Verhältniss von Cibbers Papal Tyranny zu -Shakespeares King John. Halle, 1902.</p> - -<p class="hang">Krüger, W. Das Verhältniss von Colley Cibbers Lustspiel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">67</a></span> -The Comical Lovers zu J. Drydens Marriage à la Mode und -Secret Love. Halle, 1902.</p> - -<p class="hang">Laureat, The; or, The Right Side of Colley Cibber, Esq. To -Which is Added, The History of the Life, Manners and Writings -of Aesopus the Tragedian. London, 1740.</p> - -<p class="hang">Learned, J. The Counterfeits. London, 1679.</p> - -<p class="hang">Lee, W. L. M. History of Police in England. London, 1901.</p> - -<p class="hang">Letter to Mr. C....b....r, A, on his Letter to Mr. P........ London, -1742.</p> - -<p class="hang">Lounsbury, Thomas R. Shakespeare as a Dramatic Artist. -New York, 1901.</p> - -<p class="hang">Lowe, R. W. A Bibliographical Account of English Theatrical -Literature. London, 1888.</p> - -<p class="hang">Macaulay, T. B. History of England. Boston, 1900.</p> - -<p class="hang">Man of Taste, The. London, 1733.</p> - -<p class="hang">Marks, Jeannette. The English Pastoral Drama. London, 1908.</p> - -<p class="hang">Medbourne, M. Tartuffe. London, 1670.</p> - -<p class="hang">Michels, E. Quellenstudien zu Colley Cibbers Lustspiel The -Careless Husband. Marburg, 1908.</p> - -<p class="hang">Miles, D. H. The Influence of Molière on Restoration Comedy. -New York, 1910.</p> - -<p class="hang">Molière. Oeuvres. Paris, 1873–1900.</p> - -<p class="hang">Molière. Dramatic Works, translated by H. Van Laun. -Edinburgh, 1878.</p> - -<p class="hang">Molloy, J. F. Famous Plays. London, 1886.</p> - -<p class="hang">Mountfort, W. Greenwich Park, a Comedy. London, n. d. -[1691].</p> - -<p class="hang">New Theatrical Dictionary. London, 1742.</p> - -<p class="hang">Nichols, J. Illustrations of the Literary History of the Eighteenth -Century. London, 1817.</p> - -<p class="hang">Nichols, J. Literary Anecdotes of the Eighteenth Century. -London, 1815.</p> - -<p class="hang">Ost, G. Das Verhältniss von Cibbers Lustspiel Love Makes a -Man zu Fletchers Dramen, The Elder Brother und The Custom -of the Country.</p> - -<p class="hang">Pepys, Samuel. Diary. London, 1897.</p> - -<p class="hang">Philips, Katherine. Poems. London, 1669.</p> - -<p class="hang">Pilkington, L. Memoirs. London, 1748.</p> - -<p class="hang">Quin, Mr. James, Comedian, Life of. London, 1766; reprint, -1887.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">68</a></span></p> - -<p class="hang">Rowe, N. Pharsalia. London, 1718.</p> - -<p class="hang">Sanger, W. W. History of Prostitution. New York, 1899.</p> - -<p class="hang">Schneider, W. Das Verhältniss von Colley Cibbers Lustspiel -The Non-Juror zu Malias Tartuffe. Halle, 1903.</p> - -<p class="hang">Shakspere, William. Richard III, Variorum edition, ed. by -H. H. Furness, Jr. Philadelphia, 1908.</p> - -<p class="hang">Steele, Richard, and John Dennis. The Theatre, by Sir Richard -Steele; to which are added, the Anti-Theatre; the Character of -Sir John Edgar; Steele’s Case with the Lord Chamberlain. -Illustrated with Literary and Historical Anecdotes by John -Nichols. London, 1791.</p> - -<p class="hang">Stone, E. Chronicles of Fashion. London, 1845.</p> - -<p class="hang">Stoye, M. Das Verhältniss von Cibbers Tragödie Caesar in -Egypt zu Fletchers The False One. Halle, 1897.</p> - -<p class="hang">Strickland, Agnes. Queens of England. New York, 1851.</p> - -<p class="hang">Temple of Dullness, The, with the Humours of Signor Capochio -and Signora Dorinna; A Comic Opera in Two Acts. London, -1745.</p> - -<p class="hang">Theatrical Correspondence in Death. An Epistle from Mrs. -Oldfield, in the Shades, to Mrs. Br.ceg....dle, upon Earth. London, -1743.</p> - -<p class="hang">Theobald, L. The Happy Captive, an English Opera, with -an Interlude, in Two Comick Scenes, betwixt Signor Capochio, -a Director from the Canary Islands; and Signora Dorinna. -London, 1741.</p> - -<p class="hang">Thorndike, Ashley H. Tragedy. Boston, 1908.</p> - -<p class="hang">To diabebouloumenon; or, The Proceedings at the Theatre -Royal in Drury Lane. London, 1722.</p> - -<p class="hang">Tönse, L. Cibbers Comedy The Refusal in ihrem Verhältniss -zu Molières les Femmes savantes. Kiel, 1900.</p> - -<p class="hang">Traill, H. D. Social England. New York, 1902.</p> - -<p class="hang">Vanbrugh, John. Works, ed. by W. C. Ward. London, 1893.</p> - -<p class="hang">Victor, B. History of the Theatres of London and Dublin -from 1730 to the Present Time. London, 1761.</p> - -<p class="hang">Waterhouse, O. The Development of Sentimental Comedy -in the Eighteenth Century, <cite>Anglia</cite>, XXX.</p> - -<p class="hang">Whincop, T. Scanderbeg; or, Love and Liberty. London, -1747.</p> - -<p class="hang">Wilkes, T. A General View of the Stage. London, 1759.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">69</a></span></p> - -<p class="hang">Wilks, Robert, Esq., The Life of that Eminent Comedian. -London, 1733.</p> - -<p class="hang">Woman of Taste. London, 1733</p> - -<p class="hang">Wood, A. I. P. Stage History of Shakespeare’s Richard III. -New York, 1909.</p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3 class="foot nobreak">FOOTNOTES:</h3> -</div> - -<div class="footnotes"> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn1"><a name="Footnote_1" id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="fnanchor">1</a> II. 573.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn1"><a name="Footnote_2" id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="fnanchor">2</a> Whincop, - <cite>Complete List of All the English Dramatic Poets</cite>, p. 199. See also the - dramatic list appended to the second volume of the fourth edition of the <cite>Apology</cite>, - p. 286.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn1"><a name="Footnote_3" id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="fnanchor">3</a> The - sub-plot of <cite>Woman’s Wit</cite> was likewise acted separately after the original - play had failed on the stage.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn1"><a name="Footnote_4" id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="fnanchor">4</a> Reprint - of 1887, p. 28.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn1"><a name="Footnote_5" id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="fnanchor">5</a> Page 28.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn1"><a name="Footnote_6" id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="fnanchor">6</a> <cite>Apology</cite>, - I, 180.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn1"><a name="Footnote_7" id="Footnote_7" href="#FNanchor_7" class="fnanchor">7</a> III, 325.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn1"><a name="Footnote_8" id="Footnote_8" href="#FNanchor_8" class="fnanchor">8</a> The - <cite>Advertisement</cite> prefixed to <cite>The Happy Captive</cite> says: “The interlude, - which is added in two comic scenes, is entirely new to our climate; and the success - of it is submitted to experiment, and the taste of the audience.” Only this portion - of <cite>The Happy Captive</cite> was ever acted.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn1"><a name="Footnote_9" id="Footnote_9" href="#FNanchor_9" class="fnanchor">9</a> Theobald - died September 18, 1744. <cite>The Temple of Dullness</cite> was acted - January 17, 1745.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_10" id="Footnote_10" href="#FNanchor_10" class="fnanchor">10</a> For - a history of the pastoral drama in the eighteenth century and a summary - of its qualities, see Jeannette Marks, <cite>The English Pastoral Drama</cite>, London, 1908.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_11" id="Footnote_11" href="#FNanchor_11" class="fnanchor">11</a> Thorndike, - <cite>Tragedy</cite>, p. 273.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_12" id="Footnote_12" href="#FNanchor_12" class="fnanchor">12</a> Davies, - <cite>Dramatic Miscellanies</cite>, III, 459.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_13" id="Footnote_13" href="#FNanchor_13" class="fnanchor">13</a> <cite>The - Tatler</cite>, Number 42, July 16, 1709.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_14" id="Footnote_14" href="#FNanchor_14" class="fnanchor">14</a> <cite>Address - to the Reader</cite>, prefixed to <cite>Ximena</cite>.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_15" id="Footnote_15" href="#FNanchor_15" class="fnanchor">15</a> Richard - Dohse, <cite>Colley Cibber’s Buehnenarbeitung von Shakspere’s Richard - III</cite>, Bonn, 1899.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_16" id="Footnote_16" href="#FNanchor_16" class="fnanchor">16</a> Alice - I. Perry Wood, <cite>The Stage History of Richard III</cite>, New York, 1909.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_17" id="Footnote_17" href="#FNanchor_17" class="fnanchor">17</a> The - number and sources of the lines as given by Furness. <cite>Variorum Richard - III</cite>, p. 604, are as follows: <cite>Richard II</cite>, 14; <cite>1 Henry IV</cite>, 6; <cite>2 Henry IV</cite>, 20; <cite>Henry V</cite>, - 24; <cite>1 Henry VI</cite>, 5; <cite>2 Henry VI</cite>, 17; <cite>3 Henry VI</cite>, 103; <cite>Richard III</cite>, 795; Cibber, - 1069; total, 2053. The number of lines in the Globe text of Shakspere’s <cite>Richard - III</cite> is 3621.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_18" id="Footnote_18" href="#FNanchor_18" class="fnanchor">18</a> As - “God” to “Heaven,” I, ii, 236; due in this instance to the Collier - influence.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_19" id="Footnote_19" href="#FNanchor_19" class="fnanchor">19</a> Edition - of 1665, pp. 102–157.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_20" id="Footnote_20" href="#FNanchor_20" class="fnanchor">20</a> <cite>Dedication</cite> - of <cite>Perolla and Izadora</cite>.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_21" id="Footnote_21" href="#FNanchor_21" class="fnanchor">21</a> Genest, - II, 506.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_22" id="Footnote_22" href="#FNanchor_22" class="fnanchor">22</a> <cite>To - the Reader</cite>, <cite>Ximena</cite>.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_23" id="Footnote_23" href="#FNanchor_23" class="fnanchor">23</a> See - Canfield, <cite>Corneille and Racine in England</cite>, p. 169.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_24" id="Footnote_24" href="#FNanchor_24" class="fnanchor">24</a> Genest, - II, 511; and Canfield, <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">op. cit.</i>, pp. 179 ff.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_25" id="Footnote_25" href="#FNanchor_25" class="fnanchor">25</a> II, 104.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_26" id="Footnote_26" href="#FNanchor_26" class="fnanchor">26</a> VIII, 204.</p> -<table id="fntable" summary="Cibber's earnings"> - <tr> - <td class="center" colspan="7">“Mr. Cibber.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="year">1701</td> - <td class="mon">Nov.</td> - <td class="date">8</td> - <td class="mon">A Third of Love’s Last Shift</td> - <td class="num">3</td> - <td class="num">4</td> - <td class="num">6</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="year">1705</td> - <td class="mon">Nov.</td> - <td class="date">14</td> - <td class="mon">Perolla and Izadora</td> - <td class="num">36</td> - <td class="num">11</td> - <td class="num">0</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="year">1707</td> - <td class="mon">Oct.</td> - <td class="date">27</td> - <td class="mon">Double Gallant</td> - <td class="num">16</td> - <td class="num">2</td> - <td class="num">6</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td class="mon">Nov.</td> - <td class="date">22</td> - <td class="mon">Lady’s Last Stake</td> - <td class="num">32</td> - <td class="num">5</td> - <td class="num">0</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td class="mon">Feb.</td> - <td class="date">26</td> - <td class="mon">Venus and Adonis</td> - <td class="num">5</td> - <td class="num">7</td> - <td class="num">6</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="year">1708</td> - <td class="mon">Oct.</td> - <td class="date">9</td> - <td class="mon">Comical Lover</td> - <td class="num">10</td> - <td class="num">15</td> - <td class="num">0</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="year">1712</td> - <td class="mon">Mar.</td> - <td class="date">16</td> - <td class="mon">Cinna’s Conspiracy</td> - <td class="num">13</td> - <td class="num">0</td> - <td class="num">0</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="year">1718</td> - <td class="mon">Oct.</td> - <td class="date">1</td> - <td class="mon">The Nonjuror</td> - <td class="num">105</td> - <td class="num">0</td> - <td class="num">0</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td> </td> - <td> </td> - <td class="firstline" colspan="4">No price or date.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td> </td> - <td> </td> - <td class="mon" colspan="4">Mrytillo, A pastoral,</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td> </td> - <td> </td> - <td class="mon" colspan="4">Rival Fools,</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td> </td> - <td> </td> - <td class="mon" colspan="4">Heroic Daughter,</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td> </td> - <td> </td> - <td class="mon" colspan="4">Wit at Several Weapons.”</td> - </tr> -</table> - - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_27" id="Footnote_27" href="#FNanchor_27" class="fnanchor">27</a> Although - acted six times it could not be considered extremely successful. - According to Genest, III, 162, Nichols speaks of having made merry with a party - of friends over the pasteboard swans, on the first night of its production.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_28" id="Footnote_28" href="#FNanchor_28" class="fnanchor">28</a> III, 161.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_29" id="Footnote_29" href="#FNanchor_29" class="fnanchor">29</a> <cite>Das - Verhaeltniss von Cibber’s Tragoedie Caesar in Egypt zu Fletcher’s The - False One.</cite></p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_30" id="Footnote_30" href="#FNanchor_30" class="fnanchor">30</a> <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Op. cit.</i>, p. 223.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_31" id="Footnote_31" href="#FNanchor_31" class="fnanchor">31</a> Cibber - no doubt used Rowe’s translation (1710).</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_32" id="Footnote_32" href="#FNanchor_32" class="fnanchor">32</a> Compare, - for instance, the general idea of the exposition In Act I.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_33" id="Footnote_33" href="#FNanchor_33" class="fnanchor">33</a> Lucan - ends before this incident, but Rowe continues the narrative, - using the same material as <cite>The False One</cite>.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_34" id="Footnote_34" href="#FNanchor_34" class="fnanchor">34</a> Genest. - IV, 146, says that it had not been acted since 1695, though he - records the performances in 1737 and 1738.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_35" id="Footnote_35" href="#FNanchor_35" class="fnanchor">35</a> It - is to be noted that efforts were made to deprive Cibber of credit for his - work not only in this play but also in <cite>The Non-Juror</cite> and <cite>The Refusal</cite>.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_36" id="Footnote_36" href="#FNanchor_36" class="fnanchor">36</a> <cite>The - History of the Theatres of London and Dublin</cite>, II, 49.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_37" id="Footnote_37" href="#FNanchor_37" class="fnanchor">37</a> Davies, - <cite>Dramatic Miscellanies</cite>, I, 5. For a characteristic example of the - criticism to which Cibber was subjected, see Fielding’s <cite>Historical Register for the - Year 1736</cite>, Act III.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_38" id="Footnote_38" href="#FNanchor_38" class="fnanchor">38</a> For - full discussion of the relationship between Cibber’s <cite>Richard III</cite> and - Shakspere’s <cite>Richard III</cite>, see A. I. P. Wood, and Dohse. The whole subject of - Shaksperian alterations is taken up in Lounsbury’s <cite>Shakspere as a Dramatic Artist</cite>, - and in Kilbourne’s <cite>Alterations and Adaptations of Shakspere</cite>. It is curious that - Lounsbury does not discuss Cibber’s <cite>Richard III</cite>, which is not only the most - famous Shaksperian alteration but the only one of any real value.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_39" id="Footnote_39" href="#FNanchor_39" class="fnanchor">39</a> The - addition of parts from <cite>3 Henry VI</cite> at the beginning of the play.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_40" id="Footnote_40" href="#FNanchor_40" class="fnanchor">40</a> <cite>Tragedy</cite>, - VIII and IX.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_41" id="Footnote_41" href="#FNanchor_41" class="fnanchor">41</a> See - especially throughout <cite>Ximena</cite>.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_42" id="Footnote_42" href="#FNanchor_42" class="fnanchor">42</a> According - to <cite>The Life of Aesopus</cite>, this “was said to be a silly tale collected - from some dreaming romance,” but as the writer does not give the title of this - romance and apparently had no knowledge of the play, his testimony is of no - value.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_43" id="Footnote_43" href="#FNanchor_43" class="fnanchor">43</a> “The - furious John Dennis, who hated Cibber for obstructing, as he imagined, - the progress of his tragedy, called <cite>The Invader of His Country</cite>, in very passionate - terms denies his claim to this comedy: ‘When <cite>The Fool in Fashion</cite> was first acted,’ - says the critic, ‘Cibber was hardly twenty-two years of age; how could he, at the - age of twenty, write a comedy with a just design, distinguished characters, and a - proper dialogue who now, at forty, treats us with Hibernian sense and Hibernian - English?’” Davies, <cite>Dramatic Miscellanies</cite>, III, 410.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_44" id="Footnote_44" href="#FNanchor_44" class="fnanchor">44</a> Jacob, - <cite>Poetical Register</cite>, p. 38, suggests Otway’s <cite>Dare Devil</cite> (that is, <cite>The - Atheist</cite>) as the source of the play, but it would take a vivid imagination to see the - connection.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_45" id="Footnote_45" href="#FNanchor_45" class="fnanchor">45</a> <cite>Das - Verhaeltniss von Cibber’s Lustspiel Love Makes a Man zu Fletcher’s - Dramen The Elder Brother und The Custom of The Country</cite>, p. 82.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_46" id="Footnote_46" href="#FNanchor_46" class="fnanchor">46</a> It - was acted in New York, January 15, 1883, by Miss Ada Rehan, under - the management of Augustin Daly. See Lowe, <cite>Apology</cite>, II, 289. Genest records, - VI, 23, that when it was performed at Covent Garden in 1778, “the applause was so - strong in the second act, that the performers were obliged to stop for some time.”</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_47" id="Footnote_47" href="#FNanchor_47" class="fnanchor">47</a> This - translation of three French novels, whose original source had been - Spanish, was issued again in 1712 as <cite>Three Ingenious Spanish Novels</cite>. See Chandler, - <cite>Romances of Roguery</cite>, New York, 1899, pp. 462–3. These novels are ultimately - based on <cite>La Garduna de Sevilla</cite> of Castillo Solorzano. It is also to be noticed that - the story appears in <cite>La Villana de Ballecas</cite> by Tirso de Molina, in <cite>La Ocasion - hace al ladron</cite>, by Moreto, and in the story of Aurora in Le Sage’s <cite>Gil Blas</cite>. Dunlop, - <cite>History of Prose Fiction</cite>, II, 475, states that <cite>She Would and She Would Not</cite> is taken - from <cite>Gil Blas</cite>. <cite>Gil Blas</cite> was published thirteen years later than Cibber’s play.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_48" id="Footnote_48" href="#FNanchor_48" class="fnanchor">48</a> Wilkes, - <cite>General View of the Stage</cite>, p. 40, says that were the play curtailed - of one scene he “would not fail to pronounce it not only the best comedy in English, - but in any other language.”</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_49" id="Footnote_49" href="#FNanchor_49" class="fnanchor">49</a> Boswell’s - <cite>Johnson</cite>, edited by G. Birkbeck Hill, London, 1891; I, 201.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_50" id="Footnote_50" href="#FNanchor_50" class="fnanchor">50</a> Preface - to <cite>The Double Gallant</cite>.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_51" id="Footnote_51" href="#FNanchor_51" class="fnanchor">51</a> II, 173.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_52" id="Footnote_52" href="#FNanchor_52" class="fnanchor">52</a> <cite>Apology</cite>, - I, 243.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_53" id="Footnote_53" href="#FNanchor_53" class="fnanchor">53</a> III, - 209. See also Thomes Whincop’s <cite>Scanderbeg</cite>, (1747), p. 195. An - account of the lives and writings of the English dramatists is annexed to this play.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_54" id="Footnote_54" href="#FNanchor_54" class="fnanchor">54</a> Following - the Scottish rebellion in 1715, Lord Derwentwater and Lord - Kenmure were executed, February 24, 1716. The king’s pardon, which excepted - forty-seven classes of offenders, appears in <cite>The Historical Register</cite> for 1717, II, 247; - so that the excitement caused by the rebellion continued for some time. Doran’s - <cite>London in Jacobite Times</cite> discusses this period in a most interesting manner.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_55" id="Footnote_55" href="#FNanchor_55" class="fnanchor">55</a> The - second title of <cite>The Female Virtuosoes</cite>.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_56" id="Footnote_56" href="#FNanchor_56" class="fnanchor">56</a> <cite>Apology</cite>, - II, 58.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_57" id="Footnote_57" href="#FNanchor_57" class="fnanchor">57</a> <cite>Preface</cite> - to <cite>The Good Natured Man</cite>.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_58" id="Footnote_58" href="#FNanchor_58" class="fnanchor">58</a> See, - for example, <cite>Steele and The Sentimental Comedy</cite>, by M. E. Hare, in - <cite>Eighteenth Century Literature, An Oxford Miscellany</cite>, Oxford, 1909. This speaks - of “Sentimental Comedy invented by the great essayist Sir Richard Steele.”</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_59" id="Footnote_59" href="#FNanchor_59" class="fnanchor">59</a> Macaulay, - <cite>History of England</cite>, Chapter VII.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_60" id="Footnote_60" href="#FNanchor_60" class="fnanchor">60</a> During - the reign of Charles not every one had been in entire sympathy with - the state of the theatre. Evelyn, in a letter to Viscount Carnbury, February 9, - 1664–1665, in speaking of the acting of plays on Saturday evenings says: “Plays - are now with us become a licentious excess, and a vice, and need severe censors - that should look as well to their morality as to their lines and numbers.”</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_61" id="Footnote_61" href="#FNanchor_61" class="fnanchor">61</a> Traill, - <cite>Social England</cite>, IV. 593.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_62" id="Footnote_62" href="#FNanchor_62" class="fnanchor">62</a> <cite>The - Laureat</cite>, p. 53. “I can remember, that soon after the publication of - Collier’s book, several informations were brought against the players, at the instance - and at the expense of the Society for the Reformation of Manners, for immoral - words and expressions, <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">contra bonos mores</i>, uttered on the stage. Several - informers were placed in the pit, and other parts of the house, to note down the - words spoke, and by whom, to be able to swear to them and many of them would - have been ruined by these troublesome prosecutions, had not Queen Anne, well - satisfied that these informers lived upon their oaths, and that what they did, proceeded - not from conscience, but from interest, by a timely <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">nolle prosequi</i>, put an - end to the inquisition.”</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_63" id="Footnote_63" href="#FNanchor_63" class="fnanchor">63</a> The - “Joan Sanderson” was a dance in which each one of the company takes - part. It began by the first dancer’s choosing a partner, who in turn chose another, - the chain continuing until each one had danced alone and with a partner. See - G. C. M. Smith, <cite>Fucus Histriomastix</cite>, <cite>Introduction</cite>, p. xviii.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_64" id="Footnote_64" href="#FNanchor_64" class="fnanchor">64</a> <cite>Apology</cite>, - I, 85.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_65" id="Footnote_65" href="#FNanchor_65" class="fnanchor">65</a> <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Ibid.</i>, - I, 194–5.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_66" id="Footnote_66" href="#FNanchor_66" class="fnanchor">66</a> <cite>Dramatic - Miscellanies</cite>, III, 432.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_67" id="Footnote_67" href="#FNanchor_67" class="fnanchor">67</a> See - Miles, <cite>The Influence of Moliere on Restoration Comedy</cite>, 1910: published - after this paper was written.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_68" id="Footnote_68" href="#FNanchor_68" class="fnanchor">68</a> Celadon, - in Dryden’s <cite>Marriage a la Mode</cite>, enters marriage with the distinct - expectation that his wife will be untrue to him.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_69" id="Footnote_69" href="#FNanchor_69" class="fnanchor">69</a> At - the Restoration ten of the actors were attached to the household establishment - as the king’s menial servants, and ten yards of scarlet cloth with an amount - of lace were allowed them for liveries. This connection lasted until Anne’s time. - Genest, II, 362.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_70" id="Footnote_70" href="#FNanchor_70" class="fnanchor">70</a> Elizabeth - Woodbridge, <cite>Studies in Jonson’s Comedies, Yale Studies in English</cite>, - IV.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_71" id="Footnote_71" href="#FNanchor_71" class="fnanchor">71</a> <cite>The - Development of Sentimental Comedy in the Eighteenth Century, Anglia</cite>, - XXX.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_72" id="Footnote_72" href="#FNanchor_72" class="fnanchor">72</a> <cite>The - Theatre</cite>, II, 511. By John Dennis. His temper and prejudice often - destroy the value of his writings as impartial evidence, but in this case he is right.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_73" id="Footnote_73" href="#FNanchor_73" class="fnanchor">73</a> <cite>The - Man of Mode</cite>, V, ii.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_74" id="Footnote_74" href="#FNanchor_74" class="fnanchor">74</a> <cite>The - Funeral</cite>, I, i.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_75" id="Footnote_75" href="#FNanchor_75" class="fnanchor">75</a> Davies, - <cite>Dramatic Miscellanies</cite>, III, 412.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_76" id="Footnote_76" href="#FNanchor_76" class="fnanchor">76</a> <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Ibid.</i>, - III, 409.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_77" id="Footnote_77" href="#FNanchor_77" class="fnanchor">77</a> The - substitution of one person for another in the marriage ceremony, or a - false marriage, are favorite devices of Congreve. See, for instance, <cite>The Old - Bachelor</cite> and <cite>Love for Love</cite>.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_78" id="Footnote_78" href="#FNanchor_78" class="fnanchor">78</a> <cite>The - Elder Brother</cite> and <cite>The Custom of the Country</cite>.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_79" id="Footnote_79" href="#FNanchor_79" class="fnanchor">79</a> Rutilio’s - sojourn with Sulpita. <cite>The Custom of the Country</cite>, III, iii; IV, iv.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_80" id="Footnote_80" href="#FNanchor_80" class="fnanchor">80</a> Which - Vanbrugh portrayed in his play, <cite>The Relapse</cite> (1697).</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_81" id="Footnote_81" href="#FNanchor_81" class="fnanchor">81</a> The - comic scenes from <cite>Marriage a la Mode</cite> and <cite>The Maiden Queen</cite>.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_82" id="Footnote_82" href="#FNanchor_82" class="fnanchor">82</a> Centlivre, - <cite>Love at a Venture</cite>; Burnaby, <cite>The Ladies Visiting Day</cite>, and <cite>The - Reformed Wife</cite>.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_83" id="Footnote_83" href="#FNanchor_83" class="fnanchor">83</a> <cite>The - Ladies Visiting Day.</cite></p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_84" id="Footnote_84" href="#FNanchor_84" class="fnanchor">84</a> <cite>Love - for Love</cite>, II, xi.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_85" id="Footnote_85" href="#FNanchor_85" class="fnanchor">85</a> <cite>To - the Reader, The Provoked Husband.</cite></p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_86" id="Footnote_86" href="#FNanchor_86" class="fnanchor">86</a> Cibber’s - <cite>Lives of the Poets</cite>, IV, 120; Wilks, <cite>A General View of the Stage</cite>, - p. 42.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_87" id="Footnote_87" href="#FNanchor_87" class="fnanchor">87</a> R. M. Alden, - <cite>Prose in the English Drama, Modern Philology</cite>, VII, 4.</p> - </div> - - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_88" id="Footnote_88" href="#FNanchor_88" class="fnanchor">88</a> <cite>Preface</cite> - to <cite>Woman’s Wit</cite>.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_89" id="Footnote_89" href="#FNanchor_89" class="fnanchor">89</a> <cite>Dedication</cite> - of <cite>Love’s Last Shift</cite>.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_90" id="Footnote_90" href="#FNanchor_90" class="fnanchor">90</a> <cite>Dedication</cite> - of <cite>Love Makes a Man</cite>.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_91" id="Footnote_91" href="#FNanchor_91" class="fnanchor">91</a> III, - 100.</p> - </div> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<hr class="fullb" /> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">71</a></span></p> -<p class="center in0 wide2 bm0 p2"><a id="No._2"></a>BULLETIN OF THE UNIVERSITY OF KANSAS<br /> -HUMANISTIC STUDIES</p> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<table id="stp_2" summary="bulletin heading_2"> - - <tr> - <td class="vol"><i>Vol. I</i></td> - <td> </td> - <td class="date"><i>January 1, 1914</i></td> - <td> </td> - <td class="num"><i>No. 2</i></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<h2 class="p2 wide2 p3">STUDIES IN<br /> -BERGSON’S PHILOSOPHY</h2> - -<p class="center in0 xsmall p2">BY</p> - -<p class="center in0 small smcap p2 bm0">ARTHUR MITCHELL, Ph. D.</p> - -<p class="center in0 xsmall p0"><i>Assistant Professor of Philosophy in the University of Kansas</i></p> - -<p class="center in0 small p6 bm0">LAWRENCE, JANUARY, 1914</p> - -<p class="center in0 xsmall">PUBLISHED BY THE UNIVERSITY</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h3 class="nobreak"><a name="CONTENTS_2" id="CONTENTS_2"></a>CONTENTS</h3><span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">73</a></span> -</div> - -<hr class="r5 bm2" /> - -<table id="toc_2" summary="contents_2"> - <tr> - <td class="parta" colspan="2">PART ONE</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="partname" colspan="2">BERGSON’S PHILOSOPHIC METHOD</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <th><i>Page</i></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapternuma" colspan="2">Chapter I</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chaptername">The Relation of Philosophic Method to the Definition of Philosophy</td> - <td class="chapterpage"><a href="#bergson_9">9</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapternum" colspan="2">Chapter II</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chaptername">Bergson’s Critique of Pure Reason</td> - <td class="chapterpage"><a href="#bergson_17">17</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapternum" colspan="2">Chapter III</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chaptername">The Ancient Prejudice against Analysis</td> - <td class="chapterpage"><a href="#bergson_26">26</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="part" colspan="2">PART TWO</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="partname" colspan="2">BERGSON’S SYSTEM OF DOCTRINE</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapternum" colspan="2">Chapter I</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chaptername">Ontology and Epistemology</td> - <td class="chapterpage"><a href="#bergson_37">37</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapternum" colspan="2">Chapter II</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chaptername">Mind and Matter, Spirit and Body</td> - <td class="chapterpage"><a href="#bergson_64">64</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapternum" colspan="2">Chapter III</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chaptername">Doctrine of Freedom</td> - <td class="chapterpage"><a href="#bergson_82">82</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapternum" colspan="2">Chapter IV</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chaptername">Bergson’s Abhorrence of Determinateness</td> - <td class="chapterpage"><a href="#bergson_94">94</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapternum" colspan="2">Chapter V</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chaptername">The Mystical Yearning of Intuitionism</td> - <td class="chapterpage"><a href="#bergson_102">102</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="part" colspan="2">PART THREE</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="partname vb in2">BERGSON’S GENIUS</td> - <td class="chapterpage"><a href="#bergson_107">107</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p class="center large in0 p4">PREFACE<span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">75</a></span></p> -</div> - -<p>In the second part of this essay material from two papers published -in the <cite>Journal of Philosophy, Psychology and Scientific -Methods</cite> has been laid under contribution, and also from my -doctor’s thesis. Much of this material was written in 1909, since -which time a number of views which some of mine resemble more -or less have been published. It has not seemed to me necessary -always to note these agreements of thought arrived at independently -by myself and others.</p> - -<p>I have reported a part of the brilliant critique of Bergson’s doctrine -of freedom by Monsieur Gustave Belot. This expresses with -elegance and force much of my own reaction to the doctrine. -Indebtedness to Belot and other authors is acknowledged -throughout the essay. Except possibly Professor Bergson himself, -there is no one who has influenced my thinking so much as Professor -Ralph Barton Perry, my teacher who introduced me to -Bergson’s philosophy. Professor Perry’s writings are full of -finished renderings of less articulate convictions of my own; and, -though I have often referred to and quoted from his work explicitly, -his instruction and stimulus have had so much to do with the -history of my thinking that I could never say just what I owe him, -but only that I owe him much.</p> - -<p>Professor Bergson has permitted me to translate from a private -letter some comments of his on certain of my criticisms.</p> - -<p>Professor Edmund H. Hollands has given the first two parts a -careful reading, in the manuscript, and his able criticisms and -suggestions, mainly concerning the matter itself, have been of -great benefit.</p> - -<p>I am no less obliged, for help in improving the literary form, -to Professor S. L. Whitcomb, whose critical ability has been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">76</a></span> -patiently applied to a careful revision, page by page, of the whole -manuscript.</p> - -<p>I have tried, in the third part, to justify explicitly the great and -unique value which I attach to Professor Bergson’s work, antagonistic -though my own convictions are to his results. And, besides -this aim, it has seemed to me interesting and instructive, in view -of the very considerable literature which has grown up about -Bergson’s philosophy, to bring together in a comparative view the -judgments of a number of his exponents.</p> - -<p>For literature by and about Bergson, the reader is referred to -the exhaustive bibliography prepared last year by the Columbia -University Press under the direction of Miss Isadore G. Mudge, the -Reference Librarian. “The bibliography includes 90 books and -articles by Professor Bergson (including translations of his works) -and 417 books and articles about him. These 417 items represent -11 different languages divided as follows:—French 170, English -159, German 40, Italian 19, Polish 5, Dutch 3, Spanish 3, Roumanian -2, Swedish 2, Hungarian 1.” This work is invaluable to -the student of Bergson. It is incomparably the fullest Bergson -bibliography extant.</p> - -<p class="smcap pr1 right">Arthur Mitchell.</p> - -<p class="in0 bm0 wide4">University of Kansas,</p> - -<p class="in75 p0">January, 1914.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h3 class="nobreak"><a name="PART_ONE_2" id="PART_ONE_2"></a>PART ONE</h3><span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">77</a></span> -</div> - -<p class="center in0 larger">BERGSON’S PHILOSOPHIC METHOD</p> - -<hr /> - -<h4><a name="bergson_9" id="bergson_9"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter I</span></h4><p><span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">79</a></span></p> - -<p class="bergchap">THE RELATION OF PHILOSOPHIC METHOD TO THE DEFINITION OF -PHILOSOPHY</p> - -<p>One of the problems of philosophy is the nature of philosophy -itself. In recognizing such a problem at all, I suppose, the beginning -of its solution has been made. For the very question, what -is this or that? is conditioned on an incipient definition of the subject -of it, a discriminating acknowledgement of it as something in -particular, and, so, as something already more or less qualified or -defined. Certainly there would be no common problem and no -difference of theory without such initial agreement as a point of -reference in disagreeing.</p> - -<p>But the explicit statement of this starting point of agreement -encounters a practical dilemma. On the one hand, anything can -be defined in terms so general that the thing is bound to be included: -make the genus large enough and it includes anything. -The limit, in this direction, would be to define the object as a case -of being; which would be safe, but hardly a start toward determining -anything about it. On the other hand, the least advance -toward narrowing the meaning incurs a very rigorous obligation -to produce a principle of selection which shall be a satisfactory -logical warrant for narrowing it in just the way selected, since this -way excludes others whose claims may be in question. The -situation is thus beset with the pitfall of logical presumption.</p> - -<p>There are three quite distinct conceptions of philosophy, in the -form of ill criticized assumption, each of which is taken by its -adherents to be unquestionable—as safe as the concept “being.” -I will word them thus: (1) An absolute <em>evaluation</em> of reality; (2) -A <em>revelation</em> of reality in its <em>essential nature</em>; (3) A <em>comprehension</em> -of the <em>meaning</em> of reality.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">80</a></span> -The first of these conceptions is that of Kant and Fichte and -those philosophers to whom reality seems unrelated to apprehending -consciousness, related only to will. Reality is neither -directly nor indirectly perceivable. Knowledge of it is possible—if -the term is proper at all—only in the broadest sense of “knowledge,” -the sense equivalent to “consciousness,” within which -will is sharply distinguished from two more or less receptive or -cognitive modes, thinking and feeling. Knowledge of reality is -thus, for this type of philosopher, a practical, personal evaluation -of it, only; a moral disposition or attitude.</p> - -<p>The second conception is Professor Bergson’s; its meaning is a -peculiarly intimate acquaintance with reality. It is a relationship -between reality and consciousness in the æsthetic mode, consciousness -as the quality-knowing faculty, very explicitly distinguished -by Bergson, under the name “intuition,” from the -relation-knowing or intellectual faculty.</p> - -<p>The third conception, the analytic or intellectualistic, means -knowledge about reality, such knowledge as may be relatively -independent of acquaintance. The second and third conceptions -are distinct from each other only in emphasis, and may be indefinitely -approximated toward each other, to the limit of mutual -identity. But, historically, the philosopher’s besetting sin of -hypostasis has pushed the emphasis, in each of these two conceptions, -to so vicious an extreme that they contrast with each -other sharply. Pushed to such extreme, the third conception has -been stigmatized by adherents of the second as “vicious” conceptualism -or intellectualism. By the same right, the intellectualist -may denounce intuitionism as equally “vicious.”</p> - -<p>To these three conceptions of philosophy this is common: a -relationship between reality and consciousness which is apogeal. -Philosophy is at any rate a <em>supreme experience</em>, a mode of consciousness -which is eminent over other modes. But this initial -generalization is too indeterminate to constitute a satisfactory -theory of the nature of philosophy; whereas (for the other horn of -the dilemma), the above attempts at greater specificity appear to -invoke no logical principle, but rather to follow a deep-lying -personal instinct, without due critical reflection on it; in other -words, without logical justification of it. They all beg the -question.</p> - -<p>Such ill criticized assumption concerning the nature of philosophy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">81</a></span> -is what determines a philosopher’s “method” in distinction -from his “doctrine.” The names voluntarism, intuitionism and -rationalism have been applied to philosophies whose method is one -or other of the three outlined above. Religion, art and science -are their models, respectively. Under voluntarism fall the romantic -and the pietistic philosophies, wherein value is all that is -real, and personal attitude towards value is the only mode of -consciousness that illuminates reality. Intuitionism includes radical -empiricism, temporalism and mysticism. Such philosophies are -based on the conviction that only quality is real, only intuition is -knowledge. And under rationalism are positivism and absolutism, -in which reality is order and knowledge is reason.</p> - -<p>If art, science and religion correspond to the ancient triad feeling -(intuition), thought (intellect) and will, it would seem either that -philosophy must be consciousness employed in one or more of -these modes, or else that a fourth mode of consciousness, coordinate -with these, must correspond to philosophy. Such a mode -has not been discovered. Philosophy must therefore be one -or two or all three of the above things. Can analysis of that -generalization which was derived above from the more specific -definitions produce a logical principle capable of determining the -genuine philosophic method among the three modes of consciousness, -feeling, thought and will? Yes, such analysis of the -<em>supremacy</em> which is a feature common to all three conceptions -of philosophy proves unequivocally that philosophy must be -a function of intellect, and cannot be a function either of will or -of intuition.</p> - -<p>This would not be the case, needless to say, if “supremacy” -were here a eulogism. Eulogistically, either of the three modes -of consciousness has equal claim to supremacy. That mode of -consciousness to which reality is most interesting is supreme, in -the eulogistic sense, and this depends on the philosopher’s personal -constitution. To the man of dominating intuition, the relations -and teleology of things may be incidental characters of them; but, -by comparison with reality’s qualitative aspect, those other aspects -are relatively extrinisic and accidental. In whatever sense -it may not be true, in the eulogistic sense it is true that such a -man’s supreme experience is intuitional rather than intellectual -or ethical. Bergson’s psychological life seems to be of such a -type. But, for the man of ethical, and for the man of intellectual<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">82</a></span> -prepossession, supreme experience cannot be intuitional, in this -sense of supreme. Yet, if an intuitional bent be regarded by anyone -as a hopeful qualification for effective philosophizing, no intuitionist -denies to the man in whom reason or will, instead, is -paramount, the possibility, by proper effort, of achieving the -genuinely philosophic—that is to say, intuitional—activity. And -when such a man does, in spite of difficulty, achieve it, it has the -same supremacy, as philosophy, that it has for the intuitionist, -for whom it is, more fortunately, <em>also</em> supremely congenial and -“worth while”. It is not this latter supremacy, therefore, but -the other, which distinguishes philosophy, on the intuitionist -conception; and that other supremacy has a meaning which is -thus proved to be independent of relation to any constitutional -prepossession or aptness. If philosophy is intuitional, this is not -because intuition is any man’s most characteristic faculty.</p> - -<p>And so of the two other modes of consciousness, reason and will, -in which, in different beings, according to their constitution, -life most naturally and best finds realization: for each of these -modes of consciousness, as for the intuitional mode, there is one -sort of experience, called philosophy, which is distinguished by -a certain supremacy of self-same nature, independent of any distinction -of personal constitution among philosophers. The voluntarist, -indeed, might claim a peculiarly eulogistic supremacy -for volitional experience over any other kind; for it is ethically -supreme for all, whatever one’s constitutional bent. But its -ethical supremacy is no more the <em>philosophic quale</em> of volitional experience, -on the voluntaristic conception of philosophy, than is -its other eulogistic supremacy, its mere congeniality, for the -strongly volitional type of character. For, men of such character -may be conspicuously deficient in philosophic faculty in the judgment -of all, including the voluntarist philosopher.</p> - -<p>Reason, finally, commands recognition of supremacy, among the -modes of consciousness, in another sense, a sense distinct from the -imperative or ethical supremacy of will. The supremacy of reason -is its exclusive reflectiveness; and reflectiveness as the <em>quale</em> of -reason is the same character as criticalness; that is, it is the faculty -of judgment. It is important to note that this critical reflectiveness -is a <em>differentia</em> of reason; it is not a character of intuition nor -of will. The proof is that reflection is the substitution of a relational -for a substantive object of consciousness, and relationality<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">83</a></span> -is nothing else than rationality. Thus, if feeling, will and rational -thought are conceptually distinct, reflectiveness is foreign to the -first two, and to anything coördinately distinct from rational -thought. When consciousness is employed with an emphasis on -the <em>qualities</em> of its object, in distinction from aspects of value and -relation (which also belong to any object), consciousness is intuitive, -in the intuitionist sense of the term. In entering a consciousness, -the qualities become, <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">ipso facto</i>, content of that -consciousness, taking their place in this setting under the name -“sensations,” or “sense data.” It is the act of reflection which -“sets” the mind’s data in contexts; which is aware of contexts, -that is, and of the setting of data in them. It is the reflective act -which names its data accordingly, as “quality” or “sensation”, -and is conscious of them as elements of their relational setting. -Consciousness is volitional when its focus is a value. In the context -of the subject’s consciousness, the value becomes a purpose. -Thus value as substantive object of consciousness, again, is object -of will just as the substantive quality was object of intuition; -while value as element in the relational complex in which it is -known as “purpose,” is object of reflection. Reason, then,—that -is to say, mind active in the relation-knowing way—is the -mode of consciousness in virtue of which mind is reflective, critical, -judgment-forming; and it is a confusion among definitions -of intuition, will and reason, to attribute reflectiveness to -intuition or to will, as such. The peculiar supremacy of reason -which inheres in reason’s reflectiveness is due to the inclusion of -consciousness itself in the content of relational consciousness and -of no other mode of consciousness.</p> - -<p>Intuitionists and voluntarists, the same as intellectualists, do, -as a fact, always characterize that supremacy which distinguishes -philosophy, in no other way than the critical way. There is no -dissent, in intuitionist or voluntarist schools of philosophic method, -from this residual core of meaning in the conception of philosophy: -by universal consent philosophy is consciousness (in whatever -mode) sitting in judgment on its own findings; philosophy is -critical reflection. And <em>therein</em> is an ultimateness and absoluteness—in -a word, a supremacy—which belongs to philosophy, on -any view of philosophy, and to no other type of mental activity. -But in rationalism, or intellectualism, alone, it is recognized that -reflection, as such, is essentially and distinctively rational.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">84</a></span> -It is, then, the contention of this essay that the supremacy -peculiar to philosophy—which, by common consent of voluntarism -and intuitionism, is no eulogistic nor even ethical supremacy, -but critical—decides absolutely, among the three modes of consciousness, -against will and intuition in favor of intellect, as the -organ of philosophy, of intellectualism as the sole genuinely -philosophic method. Kant called his voluntarism the “Critical -Philosophy,” to distinguish it, as genuine philosophy, from what -would be but failed (because it was not critical) to be philosophy. -Critical his philosophy is; but because it is critical, it contradicts -its own voluntarism—the assertion that reality is knowable only -in obedience of will, and not in judgment. A contradiction; for -<em>this</em> (the gist of his voluntarism) is a judgment whose subject is -reality. The inevitable fundamental intellectuality of noumenal -knowledge is concealed, for Kant, under the phrase “postulate -of will.” A postulate, so far as it is genuine knowledge, has -indeed the character of necessity, but its necessity is simply -the fact of logical implication.</p> - -<p>With the intuitionist variety, and particularly the Bergsonian -variety of anti-intellectualism, this essay is largely to be concerned. -At this point I merely note the inevitable contradiction -in Bergson’s intuitionism, as in Kant’s voluntarism. Intuition, -Bergson explains, is “instinct that has become disinterested, self-conscious, -capable of <em>reflecting</em> upon its <em>object</em> and of enlarging it -indefinitely.”<a name="FNanchor_92" id="FNanchor_92" href="#Footnote_92" class="fnanchor">92</a> Now, consciousness reflecting upon its own data is -criticism, predication, classification, judgment—whatever it is, -it is the <em>objectifying</em> of the data of consciousness, a thing which -it is essential to instinct or intuition, on Bergson’s own conception -of them, never to do, and which, precisely, on his conception, is -the distinguishing function of intellect. “Instinct is sympathy,” -says Bergson, in the same passage; and the sense in which instinct -is sympathy is lucidly and emphatically explained as just -this, that there is no distinction of subject and object, in instinct; -they are identical. Whereas, intelligence or intellect is explicitly -distinguished by him from instinct primarily in the disjunction<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">85</a></span> -of subject and object. It is merely to turn his back on his own -use of these terms to describe philosophy as instinct extending -its <em>object</em> and reflecting upon itself.</p> - -<div class="tb">* <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span></div> - -<p>That the case of philosophical anti-intellectualism is a hopeless -paradox, whether in voluntarism or in intuitionism, each of these -methods itself best proves by its own inevitable intellectualism. -The terms voluntarism, intuitionism, and rationalism express no -real distinction of psychological mode, in philosophizing, since -the psychology of every philosophy is necessarily characterized -by that critical reflectiveness which constitutes philosophy a -function of intellect. Philosophy is always interpretation, a -function alien to what anybody ever meant either by will or by -intuition; a function whose essential distinctness from both those -functions is attested universally in such synonyms of “interpretation” -as judgment, conception, understanding, reason.</p> - -<p>There are, it is true, voluntaristic and intuitionistic, philosophies -of the highest importance. And the intention of their -authors is to distinguish their method from the rationalistic -method. Are they foredoomed to futility on this account? So -far as this intention is realized—yes, unquestionably. No philosophy -that were itself a function either of will or of intuition is -conceivable, since it would then lack the essence of philosophy, -which is critical primacy. That philosophies designated by these -methodological terms may be invaluable products, it is necessary -only that these terms apply in fact not to the psychological method -of the philosophy but to its psychological starting-point. They -express a constitutional bias in the philosopher, who, after all, -is human. To some the qualities of things; to others, value; -and, finally, to other some, the order of reality is the “essence” of -reality. Such essentialness is eulogism, of course. For it is an -irreducible psychological fact that there are religious, æsthetic -and scientific types of mind. Each to his bias; each to his taste. -The apogee of living is religion to the first, art to the second, -science to the third. Hence the illusion that philosophy, which -must needs be experience supremely critical, is experience eulogistically -supreme. Is not this illusion chargeable to failure to -see in these three modes of consciousness three emphases or -biases of living? To the æsthete, certainly, quality must be -realest essence. But it cannot be so to the zealot; for, to him,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">86</a></span> -that is value: nor to the intellectualist; to him it is order.</p> - -<p>If æsthete and zealot will philosophize, they are at this disadvantage -with the wise man, that their philosophy can do no -more, in expressing the nature of this “realest essence” of reality, -than the wise man’s rationalism may do—discourse about it, -interpret it. Philosophy indeed never can, and never should -aspire to enter into the inner nature of reality in any such sense as -the immediatism of Bergson and James summons it to do. There -is art and there is religion for that. It is not clear how the qualitative -or how the teleological aspect of reality is more internal to -it than its relational aspect; but, at any rate, philosophy has its own -interest, and that is distinct from those of art and religion. -Wherefore the own proper interest of art or of religion is not -served in their philosophy; in their philosophy they deny themselves. -The efforts of such philosophies to wrest from reality, in -a non-intellectual way, its secret, must be rather superhuman. -This characterization is hardly a burlesque of Bergson’s own -observations on his method, for it is little less than the repudiation -of our natural constitution, to which he exhorts us.<a name="FNanchor_93" id="FNanchor_93" href="#Footnote_93" class="fnanchor">93</a> But, as -with Kant, so with Bergson, prodigies of subtlety fail to produce -a revelation of truth that is so subtle as to be inarticulate because -immediate, or that does not lend itself to discussion and interpretation. -Or, if this is not to be looked for in a philosophy which is -‘a method rather than a doctrine,’ neither is there any suggestion -how such revelation may be socialized, rendered human; or -even, in fact, how it can assume <em>meaning</em>, meaning to the philosopher -himself (which is surely indispensable to truth), without becoming -predication—assertion and denial;—that is to say, without -becoming judgment. If humans make superhuman effort, it -should not be surprising if the result is self-contradiction.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h4 class="nobreak"><a name="bergson_17" id="bergson_17"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter II</span></h4><span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">87</a></span> -</div> - -<p class="bergchap">BERGSON’S CRITIQUE OF PURE REASON</p> - -<p>What, then, is called philosophic “method” and is distinguished -thereby from “doctrine,” is really, in fact, always the cardinal -principle of the <em>content</em> of the philosophy in question, its fundamental -<em>doctrine</em>. If this doctrine is acceptable to reason, if it is -reasonable, logical principles must determine it. No anti-intellectualist -philosophy legitimately evades the rules of the game -of dialectic by the representation that it is a ‘method rather than -a doctrine.’ For this is the game that anyone plays who undertakes -to show, by reasonable discourse, why reality and knowledge -conform to a certain definition, or (the same mental procedure) -why they do not conform to other definitions. Since dialectic -is just significant discourse with a meaning to be judged, it may -vary in form between any degree of syllogistic baldness, at one -extreme, and of suggestive subtlety at the other. It is dialectic -if it is constituted of statements, explicit or implied, which relate to -each other.</p> - -<p>There is, therefore, I say, a misleading irrelevance in the characterization -which Bergson himself has set the fashion of attributing -to his philosophy, the characterization of it as rather a method -than a system of doctrine. A method implies a system, that is -to say an ordered conviction about the nature of reality and -knowledge. Such a system is essential to any meaning in Bergson’s -method.</p> - -<div class="tb">* <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span></div> - -<p>Intellectualism in philosophy implies the conviction that the -parts of reality are connected together in thinkable ways; that a -comprehensive understanding of things as a connected system or -unity is therefore theoretically possible; if actually impossible,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">88</a></span> -this is merely because of the endlessness of relationships and the -limitedness of any actual thinker’s time and strength. But in -fact even human finitude is no obstacle to a comprehension of -the principles of reality. Detail is immaterial to the unity of -such a view.</p> - -<p>One of the sayings attributed to Professor James is that there -is one thing you can always pronounce with assurance, upon -any philosophical system, in advance of hearing a word of it, -and that is that it is false. This suggests at any rate, very -well, the meaning of philosophical anti-intellectualism, which implies -the conviction contradictory to intellectualism, to wit that -the parts of reality are not connected in thinkable ways.</p> - -<p>The connectedness of the intellectualist’s universe may have -any degree of significance or casualness. A mere “and” may -express much of it.<a name="FNanchor_94" id="FNanchor_94" href="#Footnote_94" class="fnanchor">94</a> Intellectualism may be as pluralistic in this -sense as you like, or as monistic. But if things are a universe in -any such sense that they are comprehensible in intellect’s discursive -way, which anti-intellectualism denies—on such a hypothesis -anti-intellectualism and intellectualism have commonly -agreed that some principle is embodied in this total comprehensibleness, -a supreme induction, which would constitute the final -interpretation of any fact. Like a master-key, it would open -all the chambers of the many-mansioned universe. Every philosopher, -as a fact, has some controlling thought which has the -value, for him, of such a supreme principle. But always, it seems, -there are doors which the master-key will not unlock. It is the -conviction of intellectualism that this is because the maker of -the key has missed them, and so left them out of account in -fashioning it; while anti-intellectualism believes it is an illusion -to see the situation as a case of locks to be turned by a key, -at all. Entrance into possession of reality is otherwise conditioned, -altogether; the procedure, in consequence, is radically -different from this. But it is, I think, a true historical generalization -that the success with which a philosopher, of whatever -method, avoids a supreme principle of interpretation, corresponds -exactly with the success with which he avoids being a philosopher -at all. I suppose Omar Khayyam and Aristippus the Cyrenaic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">89</a></span> -are two of the least unifying philosophers of history; yet their -philosophy, like that of any absolutist, can be resumed in a single -idea. Omar has uttered it in one of his own famous sentences: -“Oh take the cash, and let the credit go!”</p> - -<p>Aside from the presence, in each, of a generative principle, -there is little enough in common between the anti-intellectualism -of Omar and that of Henri Bergson. If critics have been able -to find seeds of skepticism and of pessimism in Bergson,<a name="FNanchor_95" id="FNanchor_95" href="#Footnote_95" class="fnanchor">95</a> these -characters are at any rate foreign to any intention visible in its -author. No more positive philosophy, in its intention, was ever -composed. The positiveness of its name, intuitionism, is altogether -proper. Its significance, to be sure, is sharply defined by -its negative relation to intellectualism, and therefore I stated it -negatively above as the thesis that the parts of reality are not -connected in a thinkable way. But the intuitionist would readily -admit: if not in a thinkable way, then in no way, evidently. -And, again, if not connected at all, no more are the parts of -reality disconnected, since any disconnection between things is -only their particular mode of connection. The fact is, reality -has no parts, and that is just why intellect, which sees parts in -everything, is alien and blind to the true nature of reality. Still -one may object that intellect is itself a fact. What possible -meaning can there be in saying that any fact is alien to reality? -As Bergson himself has said, we swim in reality, and cannot -possibly get clear of it. We cannot talk, we cannot think, we -cannot act about nothing.</p> - -<p>The answer to this objection is the master principle of Bergson’s -metaphysics: reality is life. Knowledge is “sympathetic” living. -If intellect is real, so is every abstraction, <i>e. g.</i>, the inside of your -hat. The inside and the hat itself are at any rate real in senses -so importantly different that “real” and “unreal” hardly exaggerate -the contrast. Intellect, says Bergson, is the cross-sectioning -of reality. There is no thickness, no concreteness in -it. It exists as much in inert matter as in consciousness; in fact, -it exists in neither except in the sense in which a surface can be -said to exist in a solid body. What is the surface <em>in itself</em>? Why, -nothing; it is an abstract aspect of the body. The body is real,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">90</a></span> -but its aspects are not real, because they do not constitute the -body—no multiplication or addition of them does so. No millions -of surfaces make any thickness. In this sense the surface is other -than and alien to the real nature of the body. And so other manifestations -of intellect—space, juxtaposition, extension, number, -part out of part—have no existence, as the surface has none.</p> - -<p>As facts, nevertheless, what are they? How are they facts? -What is their <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">raison d’ être</i>? Their <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">raison d’ être</i> is a faculty life -has, the faculty of <em>action</em>. They are the ways in which life acts. -They are not concrete entities. In this, they are alien to the -concreteness of reality. Try to reconstruct reality out of such -abstractions, and the result is a construction like that of -geometrical imagination. You have constructed an abstract -symbol of the reality, which symbol the mind, preoccupied with -its practical bias, can mistake for the reality only because it is -so preoccupied.</p> - -<p>When we physically take apart and put together, our manual -activity has the same unreality of abstractness as that of our -intellectual analyses and syntheses. It is the latter outwardly -expressed, intellect externalized. Wherever we find life, we are -experiencing reality. But when this occurs, we are never analyzing -nor synthesizing. The more one divests himself of practical -bias, and regards his object not as an object for the realization of -any possible activity of his own, but as it is in itself—in proportion, -that is, as one gets its character as a case of life—those unreal, -spatial aspects of it yield to an aspect which has nothing in common -with them. The parts of an anatomical model, a <em>papier maché</em> -manikin, you may separate and put together again. An organism, -as such, a manifestation of life, could not be dissected and -recomposed in its living reality. What is it that makes an organism -alive, a true reality? This, that every so-called part -has a function which is so essential to the true function of the -whole that one is present or absent with the other. They coincide. -How, then, could you possibly dissect out a part of an organism? -Once recognize, what is unquestionable, that any function of it -coincides in this way with the function of the whole, and your -analyzing operation is prevented absolutely. Obey the rule that -everything which contributes at all to the function of the part -shall be taken, and everything else left, and you are in Shylock’s -position after Portia’s judgment: if you want the flesh you will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">91</a></span> -have to take blood with it; but you are not entitled to the blood. -It is even more hopeless than that. It is not a matter of skill -with your hand. You cannot make the analysis mentally, intellectually. -It is not a matter of impairing or destroying the -function, of injuring or killing the organism. You cannot <em>begin</em> -the operation, not even on the corpse. The first incision separates -cells whose functions were inseparably one, for there is no cell -in the body that is not in organic union with every other cell.</p> - -<p>If there is nothing of the nature of mosaic composition in the -living structure, this fact is one with the fact that there is nothing -mechanical in its functioning. It is not actuated from without, -as every machine is actuated which is not alive; nor is its functioning, -like that of such machines, an assemblage of functions predetermined -so far as the machine itself is concerned—predetermined, -that is to say, except for intervention from without; -unalterable, as unstartable, without external cause. The character -of living function is suggested by the word “focalization.” There -is a perfectly indivisible concert of function throughout the organism, -in every one of its infinite varieties of activity. When -the engineer reverses his engine, or otherwise alters its mode of -operation, what he really does is to alter the structure of the -machinery. The machinery has been specially constructed with -a view to unmaking and remaking its nature more or less quickly -and conveniently; that is, its parts can be displaced and replaced -with reference to each other. Some parts are “thrown out of -gear” and shifted back. <em>And then everything returns to its former -state.</em> Not so in life. The functioning of an organism never -remains quite the same in two consecutive instants. There is -an incessantly moving emphasis or focus in it. Now one of its -potentialities of function is primary or focal, now another. But -none can ever cease and then be resumed. In this case, to cease -is not to be thrown out of gear, but to die, to perish, to be -annihilated. In every phase of the life activity of the organism, -all its functions are operative, subsidiary and subservient in -varying degrees to that one which for the moment is the focus -of all. Thus the organic or vital focus, in its physiological aspect -of activity and in its psychological aspect of attention, is never -at rest. The modulation is not like the sudden transformations -in a kaleidoscope. The evolutions do not take place in the manner -suggested by the phrase “Presto, change!” <em>Modulation</em> is the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">92</a></span> -word that describes the process. Or, as Bergson phrases it, -the change is continuous, incessant, an <em>interpenetrating flow</em> of -processes, in which analysis can make no beginning and no separation; -in which analysis, in fact, is absolutely impotent. If -the eye is that which sees, the ear that which hears, and so on, -it is really the organism entire, and no special, locally differentiated -part of it that is the organ. Those so-called parts which, -with our false intellectualism, we name the eye or other organ, -are, <em>in their reality</em>, focal aspects of the entire organism, the -organism seen with a certain restriction or limitation of interest.</p> - -<p>But, now, how can one make any discourse about, say, an -animal organism—indeed, how can this become an object of -perception at all—without its lending itself to that sort of division -into real parts which Bergson says is an intellectual falsification -of its true nature, and therefore not true knowledge of the thing? -When I look at a living body, do I not see it occupying space? -Is it not, then, measurable? Is not one such body larger than -another? Suppose cutting out parts of a body does alter or kill -the organism: they can, neverless, be cut out, and are therefore -parts? If, after, and because of, being cut out, they are then not -parts of the <em>organism</em> from which they were cut, still, they are -constituents of its volume. Surely, our ordinary speech about -this part and that part of our bodies, is not all false?</p> - -<p>Bergson’s answer is uncompromising: our ordinary perception -and speech does falsify the nature of reality, but (in spite of the -apparent paradox) <em>does not mislead</em>. For our ordinary perception -and speech have nothing to do with knowing. Perception is -a different function of life—it is action. Our percepts are the -ways in which reality can factor in our activities. Those dissected -organs, you say, are at least so much of the entire volume -of the organism: but the words are no sooner spoken than their -falseness shows itself. If the organism ever had volume, it certainly -has not, now—neither volume nor anything else. The -fact is, the only meaning there is in its ever possessing volume -while it still exists, is just that you might enter into activity with -it in such and such ways—as that, for instance, of hacking it up. -Perception, our “virtual” or potential activity on reality, is an -abstract aspect of it; what it is in itself is another matter, and -the only knowledge of this is that sympathetic union with it in -which space and parts disappear in an “interpenetrating flow”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">93</a></span> -not of <em>things</em> nor of parts, but of process, of ceaseless change. -Now, quality is just the fact of change, as anyone may test for -himself by introspection. Reality as it is in itself, therefore, -the true nature of reality, is quality. Relations are external -views or aspects, no multiplication of which makes any start at -constituting a concrete reality.</p> - -<p>There is one more reflection on Bergson’s account of intellect, -which, like those made above, he anticipates and tries to meet, -so far as it seems an objection to denying cognitive validity to -intellect. The attempt at this point, however, is not very convincing. -The point I mean is this: The ways in which reality -can factor in my activities are <em>by that warrant</em> true characters of -reality. One may cheerfully add: even as the inside of my hat -is, after all, a true character of my hat. For, if reality were -different, it could not factor <em>so</em> in my activity—in other words, -which would also be the words of plain common sense, I should -<em>perceive</em> it differently, on Bergson’s own conception of what it -means to perceive. The situation is this: Reality does, indeed, -possess those interesting aspects of changing process and undividedness -which Bergson is so preoccupied with and which he has -brought to light with exquisite skill. This is one of two equally -important truths about reality. The other Bergson is simply -blind to, and that is that reality also possesses an aspect of permanence -and divisibility. Does this seem a contradiction? It -is no more a contradiction than that a curve is both convex and -concave. It is not only not a contradiction: each of these antipodally -opposite aspects of reality is absolutely indispensable -to the very conception of the other, just as concavity is indispensable -to the conception of convexity, east to the conception -of west, right to the conception of left— and <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">vice versa</i>. This -point is resumed below (pp. 77–9, 96). The object in view at present -is to see how the philosopher’s method is really his primary -doctrine, in which object I am not in controversy with anyone, -so far as I know; but also to see how an anti-intellectualist method -depends upon a purely arbitrary, or rather constitutional, psychological -prepossession for a certain emphasis of living.</p> - -<p>I said that Bergson is entirely awake to the aptness of the -objection just raised to his account of intellect. In a sense, -in certain passages, he even seems to grant the truth of the contention.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">94</a></span> Action, he acknowledges, for instance,<a name="FNanchor_96" id="FNanchor_96" href="#Footnote_96" class="fnanchor">96</a> can be involved -only with reality; and consequently the forms of perception and -the categories of intellect (which are those forms rendered elaborately -precise) “touch something of the absolute.” Sound truth, -assuredly! The fitness of reality to enter as object into those -active relationships which are the perceptive and intellectual -categories makes the categories as genuinely own to the true, -essential nature of objective reality as to the nature of subjective -intelligence. That the categorization of reality depends on the -real object’s being in relation to something else than itself is -nothing peculiar to this (the categorical) character of reality. -The same condition is common to every character of reality. -The qualitative aspect of reality, which Bergson usually regards -as the nature of reality “in itself,” depends no less than its relational -or categorical aspect on the relatedness of the object. -For the qualities of things are nothing but the differences they -make—to consciousness or to other things. Reality not in relation -is simply a phrase without a vestige of meaning. Reality -“in itself” in such a sense is merely nonsense. It would seem, -therefore, as if Bergson should account the intellectual mode of -consciousness, which does indeed “touch something of the absolute,” -as knowledge of precisely the same metaphysical status -as a mode which touches anything else of the absolute. It is -one thing for a mode of consciousness to be uncongenial or uninteresting -to you or me; it is another for it to be invalid. The -uncongeniality of a mode of consciousness depends on personal -idiosyncrasy; the invalidity of a mode of consciousness depends -on the logical nature of being.</p> - -<p>As a fact, however, perhaps because this preference between -two aspects of the nature of reality depends so obviously on personal -bias instead of logical principles, Bergson vacillates, in -a hopelessly confused and confusing way, all through his writings, -between two conceptions of reality. First, reality is of one nature, -namely life, which is pure quality, change, or duration (the four -terms are actually synonyms to Bergson), and knowledge of which -can be only sympathetic intuition of it, while intellect is merely -“an appendage of action,” and not knowledge at all. In the -other conception reality is cleft into a dualism more unutterably<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">95</a></span> -absolute than that of Descartes. Life is one kind of reality; -inert matter is the other. Intuition knows the former; intellect -really does <em>know</em> the latter (‘touching something of the absolute’), -and knowledge is therefore not intuition only. Although this -vacillation confuses issues in every one of Bergson’s books, the -first conception is more characteristic, upon the whole, of <cite>Time -and Free Will</cite> and of <cite>Creative Evolution</cite>; the other conception is -pretty consistently expounded in <cite>Matter and Memory</cite>. The sphere -of intellect is restricted; its cognitive validity is not explicitly -denied within this sphere, but only within the domain of life. -To be sure, since life exhausts reality, the sphere allotted to intellect -is not real, which would seem to imply that intellect fails -to know. The validity of intellectual consciousness is thus, in -effect, denied equally in either case. The only difference is that -the denial is conscious and explicit in one case, more or less unconsciously -implied in the other.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h4 class="nobreak"><a name="bergson_26" id="bergson_26"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter III</span></h4><span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">96</a></span> -</div> - -<p class="bergchap">THE ANCIENT PREJUDICE AGAINST ANALYSIS</p> - -<p>The restrictive conception of intellect is a very old one. The incompatibility -of intellect and life, as cognitive organ and object, -is certainly as old a belief as the era of the Sophists. It can be -said, that is, with historical certainty, that, from the time of -Protagoras—and I have no doubt it has been true ever since the -first philosopher, whoever he was, undertook to make an examination -of the universe as one thing—it has always been true that -many of the best minds have been convinced, by the futile results -of such undertakings, that the universe as one thing, on one -hand, and intellect, on the other, make a pair as incompatible, -in the relation of cognitive organ and object, as the faint star -and the fovea: you have an organ and an object which by nature -are unsuited to each other. That kind of organ cannot see that -kind of object. Not that the faint star is invisible, but, to see -it, you musn’t look! Then it will swim into the field of the organ -that is made to see it, the retinal tissue surrounding the fovea. -Thus it is not a question of human finitude or limitation. The -formulæ of intellect, applied to such an object, are mere silliness, -reducible, as Kant showed, to all manner of antinomy and paradox. -Not only that, but whatever is most important and interesting -within this whole, everything concerning the nature and -meaning of concrete cases of life, eludes and baffles conceptual -statement,—which is the only kind of statement there is,—inevitably -eludes it, like smoke in a child’s hand who tries to catch -it. Your essences or definitions, of life or any of its manifestations, -are stuff and nonsense, not inadequate, but absurd. What -logical sentence has ever been uttered that, upon the least reflection, -does not fail to develop into a grotesquely false caricature<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">97</a></span> -when applied to any genuine phase or interest of life, -great or small—whether God, freedom, immortality, or the heart -of a woman, or of a child, or of a man (to take them in a descending -order of their unsearchableness)? You may labor your conception -with prodigious precision—the truth of the matter is always -beyond, when you are speaking of matters that are real.</p> - -<p>This is the artist’s temper of mind when the artist has inadvertently -gulped down a noxious dose of metaphysics. It is the -feeling of the novelists, the dramatists, the poets, that Bergson -voices: life may be lived—nobly or basely, courageously or cowardly, -truly or falsely;—and the flavor and significance of life may be -heightened, life may be realized more abundantly, in artistic -activity, which is putting oneself into one’s object, making it -become not an object, identifying oneself with it. But one -thing is not given to man, and that is to <em>interpret</em> life.</p> - -<p>Everyone is familiar with the telling dramatic force of the device -which consists in involving a philosophical hero, a man addicted -to principles of high generality, in sudden overwhelming emotional -chaos, in which all his philosophy goes to smash. The refractoriness -of sexual love, for instance, to all his theories is such a -delicious <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">reductio ad absurdum</i> of the theories. First you make -your philosopher develop his maxims, in a besotted, fatuous conviction -of their infallibility: then a particularly impossible she -enters, one who is conspiciously unfitted, by artlessness or disabilities -of worldly station, for the upsetting of principles great -and high. The philosopher goes through his paces, eating his -maxims whole, with unction; and you have the spectacle of Life -rising serene, untouched, above the futilities of theory. The -theory doesn’t work. The obvious conclusion is that there is -some fundamental incommensurability between it and the simple -facts of life that can flout it so. <cite>Simon the Jester</cite> is a very -delightful example of what I mean. Simon is bound to come to -grief, he is so smugly philosophical. The wise novel-reader -knows what to expect. Not that philosophy is not an ornament -to a man, a civilizing, disciplining exercise. All that is one thing, -but acting as if such notions <em>apply</em> is quite another. This good -philosophical chap gives the result of his philosophy in regulating -his life, as follows:</p> - -<p>“Surely no man has fought harder than I have done to convince -himself of the deadly seriousness of existence; and surely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">98</a></span> -before the feet of no man has Destiny cast such stumbling-blocks -to faith ... No matter what I do, I’m baffled. I look upon -sorrow and say, ‘Lo, this is tragedy!’ and hey, presto! a trick of -lightening turns it into farce. I cry aloud, in perfervid zeal, ‘Life -is real, life is earnest, and the apotheosis of the fantastic is not its -goal,’ and immediately a grinning irony comes to give the lie to my -<i xml:lang="la" lang="la">credo</i>.</p> - -<p>“Or is it that, by inscrutable decree of the Almighty Powers, -I am undergoing punishment for an old unregenerate point of -view, being doomed to wear my detested motley for all eternity, -to stretch out my hand forever to grasp realities and find I can -do naught but beat the air with my bladder; to listen with strained -ear perpetually expectant of the music of the spheres, and catch -nothing but the mocking jingle of the bells on my fool’s cap?</p> - -<p>“I don’t know. I give it up.”</p> - -<p>Giving it up is obviously the moral, here. The change of attitude -implied in the last words marks the beginning of an era -of glorious fulfilment of life in the former philosopher’s history. -What was necessary was that he should stop theorizing and learn -to live. That is, philosophy, as supreme experience, is the art -of living. It is the artist that really knows, that knows inwardly -and truly. The genuine philosopher is the artist in living. The -intellectualist philosopher is a dissector of life’s defunct remains.</p> - -<p>The nature of the opposition between the two modes of consciousness -called intuition and intellect is discussed in the chapter -on Bergson’s epistemology. The intuitionist philosopher is such -never for logical reasons, always for temperamental reasons. He -is a man to whom life is richer and fuller, more self-fulfilling, more -natural, in the intuitional mode of consciousness than in the -intellectual. Hence the suspicious and disparaging disposition -toward the intellectual mode of consciousness, in a very numerous -class of minds of the highest order. From a personal feeling of -safety and security in intuition and of dissatisfaction with intellectual -efforts, the transition is natural to a conviction that -the trouble is in the essential nature of intellect. A mode of consciousness -which is so inveterately and (presumably) inevitably -beset with self-frustration cannot be knowledge. It is too obviously -the opposite of knowledge, to wit error and delusion.</p> - -<p>But once the opposition has reached this point, where not only -the convenience but the very validity of intellect is impugned,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">99</a></span> -one is involved in a disjunction between these two modes of -consciousness that is demonstrably false, both logically and psychologically. -It is surely a false hypostasis of terms whose distinction -is merely abstract, to set over against each other in this -way two aspects which are equally essential to any conception of -the nature of consciousness. For intuition and intellect can be -seen to imply each other with the same necessity with which -quality and quantity imply each other. And there is the same -absurdity, on the side of epistemology, in regarding intuition as -valid knowledge and intellect as not valid, as, on the side of ontology, -in regarding quality as real and quantity—or relation in -general—as not real. As if either were conceivable except as -a co-aspect or coefficient with the other, in the nature of reality. -This would be to conceive of quality as quality of nothing, or -relation as relation between no terms.</p> - -<p>If philosophy must be reflective (and reflectiveness to some -degree is undoubtedly an inevitable condition of human consciousness, -perhaps of any consciousness), it must be, <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">quatenus</i> -philosophy, intellectual, and not, <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">quatenus</i> philosophy, intuitional. -Intuition will assuredly be there, in any philosophy, as the pole -is inseparable from its antipodes. But the philosophicalness of -philosophy is just its reflectiveness; that is, once more, <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">quatenus</i> -philosophy, it is intellectual.</p> - -<p>I am recording a protest against false reification of what is -abstract, the very fault which intuitionism is insistent to lay to -the charge of intellectualism. If intuitionism were to conceptualize -intuition and intellect, instead of reifying them, it could not -appropriate validity to either mode of consciousness and deny it -to another. The satisfactoriness and richness of a given mode -of consciousness depend no doubt on the constitution of the subject. -The validity of consciousness in any mode has nothing to do with -such personal idiosyncrasy.</p> - -<p>James is less rigorous concerning the validity of relational -knowledge than Bergson. Having found relations in the immediate -content of conscious data, James cannot deny them an -essential constitutiveness in the nature of reality. But such -knowledge is “thin” and “poor”, in his homely and human -phraseology. This is only a more naïve and genial expression -than Bergson’s of the purely eulogistic primacy of quality over -relation. Relations are thin and poor aspects of reality, no doubt,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">100</a></span> -if you find them so. Otherwise they may be supremely interesting. -That depends on your interests, which depend on your constitution. -In any case, they are the aspect of reality primarily -indispensable to reflective thought, which is philosophy.</p> - -<div class="tb">* <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span></div> - -<p>The characteristic which is most sedulously imputed by the -philosophy of instinct to intellect is usefulness, but this characteristic -is treated as evidence of cognitive invalidity! In point -of fact, serviceableness to action in no way distinguishes intellect -from instinct. Each alike is a reactive state resulting in a new -situation, a new arrangement of matter; and the only thing that -can give true finality to the intelligent act is the affective value of -the conscious state arising out of this new situation. But the -same is true of the situation which is the outcome of the instinctive -act.</p> - -<p>The distinction sometimes seems to mean that it is only acquaintance -with objects (intuitive knowledge of them) that has -affective value, and that this kind of consciousness is therefore -an end in itself in a sense in which intellect is not. For knowledge -about the object (intellectual knowledge of it) will then be supposed -to have no affective value in itself, but only as it may subserve -action upon the object, which action will be accompanied by acquaintance -with the object. But if knowledge about an object -subserves acquaintance with it, the converse is no less true. If -knowledge of the location and price of a tennis ball subserves my -use of it and acquaintance with it, the latter in turn subserves my -knowledge about it in an indefinite number of respects. True, -acquaintance with an object may not always lead to knowledge -about it so obviously as in the case of the tennis ball; but again -it is equally true that knowledge about certain things, for instance -lines drawn upon the blackboard, has no obvious leading toward -utility; the utility of a certain mathematical equation may seem -quite inscrutable. But how obvious the leading may be, or how -interesting the utility, is nothing to the point. The question -whether or not the connection is necessarily there in all cases is -answered peremptorily <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">a priori</i> by the polar character of knowledge -by virtue of which acquaintance-with is only an aspect of knowledge-about, -and <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">vice versa</i>.</p> - -<p>It is flagrantly untrue, as a fact, that knowledge-about is without -affective value in itself. Experience is as emphatic to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">101</a></span> -contrary as reason. If a characteristically intellectual state of -mind gives you less satisfaction, or more, than one that is characteristically -intuitive, the reason is quite personal and accidental -in either case. It may just as well give you more as less. Being -knowledge in each case, awareness at least, it has its affective -value in some degree necessarily, of whichever character it may -be predominantly.</p> - -<div class="tb">* <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span></div> - -<p>Since relation is not divorcible from quality, nor intellect from -intuition, it results that, if the artist blunders through critical -defect, even better art would, of itself, have saved him in spite of -his critical defect. If the mustiness of the philosopher is expressible -as lack of a facile instinct, merely a truer theory of life would -have corrected him. No doubt life is too intricate for the most -robust capacity for ratiocination. Sanity balances securely between -the two biases of consciousness. Art and criticism are -equally long, and the middle course a is short-cut and an economy -of living. But condemnation of the validity of consciousness -in any mode is a theoretical proposition irrelevant to maxims of -practical sagacity. And it implies either condemning the validity -of all consciousness (if intuition and intellect are aspects of each -other) or else it presupposes that reality is not categorical, which -Bergson fails to show. On page 24 of the present essay, we have -seen that he seems, in an inconsistent way, even to maintain the -contradictory thesis.</p> - -<p>In a former paper<a name="FNanchor_97" id="FNanchor_97" href="#Footnote_97" class="fnanchor">97</a> I have written as follows:</p> - -<p>“Now, Bergson’s idea of the philosopher—an artist in life—is -probably no one’s else. He is of that opinion, decidedly; a considerable -part of the book [<cite>Creative Evolution</cite>] is a demonstration -that actual philosophers, from Plato on, are intellectualists all, -dissectors, not artists. But if Bergson’s enterprise is to be a -<em>substitute</em> for philosophy and appropriate its name, we who are -much addicted to the old enterprise will be careful to know why -it is futile and illusory.”</p> - -<p>Monsieur Bergson comments on this in a private letter from -which I translate:</p> - -<p>“It would be so, I recognize, if these intellectualist philosophers -had been philosophers only in virtue of their intellectualism. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">102</a></span> -whereas intelligence pure and simple professes to solve the problems, -it is intuition alone that has enabled them to be put. Without -the intuitive feeling of our freedom, there would be no problem -of freedom, hence no determinist theory; thus, the different forms -of determinism, which are so many forms of intellectualism, owe -their very existence to something which could not have been -obtained by the intellectualist method. For my part, I find, -more or less developed, the seeds of intuitionism in most of the -great philosophic doctrines, although the philosophers have always -tried to convert their intuition into dialectic. Yet it is -chiefly in the former that they have been philosophers.”</p> - -<p>This seems to me an absolute inversion of intuition and intellect. -Does intuition ‘put problems’? It is, certainly, intuition that -gives us the material of our problems. But the formulating of -a problem—what can be meant by intuition’s formulating anything? -Giving forms, I should say, just defines the work of -intellect. Intuition gives us our facts, our material. Surely, -the putting of problems is an intellectual operation continuous, -even identical, strictly, with their solution? A problem well -put is rather more than half solved. Certainly the remainder -of the solution is not a different order of activity. It carries out -the ‘putting’ in its implications. A problem put is only a problem -incompletely solved.<a name="FNanchor_98" id="FNanchor_98" href="#Footnote_98" class="fnanchor">98</a> Solving it is putting it with a satisfactory -perspicacity.</p> - -<p>Without the intuitive feeling of our freedom there would be -no problem of freedom, certainly, but you might easily have the -intuition without the problem. In the preface to the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Essai sur -les données immédiates de la conscience</i>, Bergson insists that it is -the aberrations of intellect that give rise to the problems of freedom. -Intellect, then, at any rate, not intuition, puts the problem.</p> - -<p>As correlative modes of consciousness, neither is independent, -nor primary, of course. Even in the putting of our problems, -intellect is only a co-factor, a coefficient with intuition. And -in the most abstract reasoning, the intuitive coefficient of thought -is indispensable. So far as intellect is actual, concrete knowledge, -it must be intuitively correlated, and so far as intuition is the real -intuiting of anything, it must be intelligently correlated.</p> - -<p>In what respect are the philosophers of whom Monsieur Bergson<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">103</a></span> -speaks intuitionists? Does this mean anything more than that -they are wide-reaching and far-reaching instead of narrow and -dull in their apprehension? Is not philosophy interpretation of -experience? Is not the philosopher’s vision, therefore, always -necessarily, just so far as he is a <em>philosopher</em>, a vision of the formal -aspect of reality? To be sure, that is just what Monsieur Bergson -is denying. But his reason is that reality is pure quality, a -proposition whose logical faultiness and temperamental genesis -I have sufficiently noted.</p> - -<p>In view of the temperamental basis of the artistic and the -philosophical or critical attitudes, it were fatuous for either to -propose a reform in the other by way of conformity to a mode -distinguished from it thus radically. It is this fatuity which it -seems to me Bergson commits in regarding the success of any -philosophy as due, by any possibility, to its becoming art instead. -As well conceive that the virtue of an artistic product <em>consists</em> -in its conformity to critical canons.</p> - -<p>Philosophy that is false to art would therein necessarily be -false to philosophy; and art that is false to philosophy is false to -art; but art is not philosophy, nor philosophy art.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h3 class="nobreak"><a name="PART_TWO_2" id="PART_TWO_2"></a>PART TWO</h3><span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">105</a></span> -</div> - -<p class="center in0 larger">BERGSON’S SYSTEM OF DOCTRINE</p> - -<hr /> - -<h4><a name="bergson_37" id="bergson_37"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter I</span></h4><p><span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">107</a></span></p> - -<p class="bergchap">ONTOLOGY AND EPISTEMOLOGY</p> - -<p>My reason for coupling these two subjects in one heading is -suggested by the following words quoted from the Introduction -to <cite>Creative Evolution</cite>: “... <em>theory of knowledge</em> and -<em>theory of life</em> seem to us inseparable.” For Bergson, reality is -life; and knowledge, of course, is a function of life. “The fundamental -character of Bergson’s philosophy,” writes H. Wildon -Carr,<a name="FNanchor_99" id="FNanchor_99" href="#Footnote_99" class="fnanchor">99</a> “is ... to emphasize the primary importance of the -conception of life as giving the key to the nature of knowledge.”</p> - -<p>All the essential principles of this metaphysics are contained -in the first of Bergson’s philosophical books, <cite>Time and Free Will</cite>.<a name="FNanchor_100" id="FNanchor_100" href="#Footnote_100" class="fnanchor">100</a> -The two later books, <cite>Matter and Memory</cite> and <cite>Creative Evolution</cite>, -have not modified it, and have hardly even developed it—in the -sense, that is, that no vital corrections or additions to the principles -of the <cite>Essai</cite> have been made.</p> - -<div class="tb">* <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span></div> - -<p>In discussing anti-intellectualistic philosophies, in the first part -of the present essay, their suspicion and distrust of intellect was -attributed to a logical illusion. The philosopher, finding life preeminently -satisfactory in an intimate acquaintance with the -qualitative aspect of experience, acquires an instinctive faith in -the preeminent reality of quality, a faith which is the deepest -root of his being. Now, this faith is absolutely justified, of -course. It is only necessary that it should be understood. Illusion -and error enter in with the neglect of the very preeminence -of this character of reality. For evidently nothing can be preeminently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">108</a></span> -real and at the same time real in any sense for which -the adverb “preeminently” is either false or meaningless. The -sense of “important” is a well accredited, proper meaning, in our -language, of the word “real.” But it is a sense perfectly distinct -from the metaphysical sense. Teleologically, anything is preeminently -real <em>according to circumstances</em>. Teleologically, “real” -is a synonym of “important,” a relative term capable of degree. -Metaphysically, circumstances are irrelevant to the realness of -anything. This is a different statement from the statement that -circumstances are irrelevant to the <em>nature</em> of anything. It may -be that there is nothing whose nature can be independent of, -wholly undetermined by, circumstances. That is another question. -We have nothing to do with it at present. For in either -case, circumstances make it neither more nor less real. Metaphysically, -then, “real” is an absolute term, incapable of degree, -and the adverb “preeminently” has no meaning when applied -to it. The very fitness of the adverb “preeminently” to the -intuitionist’s meaning of the realness of quality determines this -meaning as a teleological eulogism, and the ultimate significance -of intuitionism is not the germination of a logical principle, but -an instinctive propagandism in the direction of a favorite emphasis -of living, an enthusiasm which has become involved in a logical -illusion concerning its own foundation in the nature of things, -an illusion which is clearly traceable, on analysis, to this ambiguity -in the use of the word “real.”</p> - -<p>Later in this study it will appear that Bergson’s interest -centers, as the interest of French philosophy has centered ever -since the Renaissance, in the problem of freedom. No doubt -that very enthusiasm which motivates modern anti-intellectualism -and gives it so positive a character, is a prime factor in its -popular success. And in the case of Bergson, both the significance -of his philosophy itself and the brilliant vogue it has achieved can -be rightly appreciated only in the light of this central passion -whose appeal to human nature is so universal and so profound. -Anti-intellectualism and anti-determinism are one and the same -thing. It will appear as we go on that a deep-lying tychism, a -horror of determinism, is the specific trait of that motive (described -above as a natural affinity for the qualitative aspect of -reality, as distinguished from its relational aspect) which strenuously -endeavors, in Bergson, to eliminate relation from reality,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">109</a></span> -judgment from knowledge. He protests that freedom cannot -be defined without converting it into necessity; for definition is -determination. A would-be indeterminist <em>theory</em> of will is as -futile as a determinist theory is false: on any <em>theory</em>, will is prejudged -in favor of determinism. The nature of freedom cannot -be known independently of the nature of will, and then attributed -or denied to will, as one might attribute or deny redness to an -apple. To say, Will is free, would be like saying, Will is voluntary, -or, Freedom is free—not, indeed, an untruth, but without meaning -and hence not a truth, either.</p> - -<p>The one way, then, of getting the true nature of will truly -comprehended which is doomed to necessary failure, is to write -a psychological treatise on the subject. For, since will has no -such determinate character as intellect finds in it or gives to it, -a treatise conveying the true nature of will would have to be unintelligible! -Now, see in will, as Leibniz<a name="FNanchor_101" id="FNanchor_101" href="#Footnote_101" class="fnanchor">101</a> and Schopenhauer, as -well as Bergson, have seen in it, the whole of life and of reality, -and you see how it is Bergson’s tychism that constitutes the -specific motive for his anti-intellectualism, and how this so-called -method forms, in his philosophy, the supreme doctrine which is -the objective of all his discourse.</p> - -<div class="tb">* <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span></div> - -<p>Bergson’s critique of intellectualism proceeds by applying to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">110</a></span> -traditional metaphysics and epistemology his purely qualitative -criterion of reality. Whether science, the product of intelligence, -is physical, biological, or psychological, it is knowledge-about, -and not acquaintance-with; its object is relation, and not reality; -its objective is action, and not vision; its organ is intelligence, -not instinct. But the object of philosophy is reality; its objective -is vision; its organ instinct. The timeless, intellectual way in -which science knows about, but never knows, is not the way of -true philosophy. The philosopher, to know reality, must achieve -a vital, sympathetic concurrence with its flow. To be known, -reality must be lived, not thought. In <cite>Creative Evolution</cite> Bergson -traces the genesis of instinct and intelligence to a primitive tendency, -effort or spring of life (the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">élan vital</i>) whose path bifurcates -indefinitely in the course of its evolution. These elementary -tendencies, instinct and intelligence, having issued from the same -primitive tendency, are both present, at least in rudiment, in all -forms of life; and it is the presence, though in a suppressed state, -of instinct in man that must save philosophy from the <em>cognitive -emptiness</em> of science, and give it a hold on the living fulness of -reality.</p> - -<p>In <cite>Time and Free Will</cite> the theory of “real duration,” which -is a synonym for intuition, and for life, and for reality, and is the -foundation of the Bergsonian philosophy, is enunciated, and in -the light of it intellect is shown to falsify the nature of consciousness -in applying to conscious states such categories as magnitude, -plurality, causation. Each of these categories, in its traditional -application, is a quantifying and a spatializing of consciousness. -The intensity of a conscious state is nothing but the state itself; -the state is pure quality or heterogeneity, incapable of measure -and degree. The variousness of conscious states has no analogy -with plurality. Plurality is simultaneity and juxtaposition; -but conscious states prolong each other in an interpenetrating -flow. Finally, the organization of conscious states is nothing -like the traditional systematic “coördination” of associationistic -psychology. It does not lend itself to laws and principles. It -cannot be adequately expressed by words, nor artificially reconstructed -by a juxtaposition of simple states, for it is always an -absolutely new and original phase of our duration, and is itself -a simple thing.</p> - -<p>The first chapter of <cite>Time and Free Will</cite> consists of analyses of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">111</a></span> -all sorts of psychological states, in order to justify the above -thesis concerning intensity. They are masterly analyses, and -their interest for psychology is great. So far as Bergson’s object -is concerned, of showing how intellect falsifies the nature of consciousness -in conceiving of sensations as <em>more</em> or <em>less</em> intense, what -the chapter proves is no more than that whenever a conscious -state varies—which every conscious state does continuously—it -varies qualitatively. Which hardly needed to be proved. For -the argument does not show that, along with the qualitative -change, a quantitative change may not occur; that is, it does not -exclude the proposition which Bergson is trying to refute, namely -that there is something in the nature of a conscious state that is -capable of increasing and decreasing.<a name="FNanchor_102" id="FNanchor_102" href="#Footnote_102" class="fnanchor">102</a></p> - -<p>In saying that conscious states are pure quality, Bergson means -that when one compares a sensation, for instance, with another -which is regarded as of the same “kind,” but of greater or less -intensity, both the sameness of kind and the difference of magnitude -are illusions of intellect, due to attributing the category of -magnitude, or quantity, to that whose nature admits of no such -determination. A so-called more intense odor, say, it is mere -nonsense to call <em>same</em> in any sense with another, supposed to be -less intense. The two are distinguishable, that is all; they are -not comparable, properly speaking. They are comparable in -just the sense, and in no other (it would seem, from Bergson’s -treatment of the subject, although the statement is not his, explicitly) -that either of the odors can be compared with a sound or -a taste. The difference is not one of degree; it is what Bergson -calls absolute.</p> - -<p>But what, then, exactly, according to Bergson, do we mean -when we compare psychic states as more or less intense? In -simple states, he says, magnitude of cause is associated, by a -thousand experiences, with a certain quality or shade of effect -in consciousness, and the former is attributed to the latter. The -quantitative scale rubs off color, so to speak, by the operation -of association, from the material cause to the psychic effect. In -complex states intensity means the amount of our inner life which -the state in question colors with its own quality. A passion is -deep and intense in the fact that the same objects no longer produce<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">112</a></span> -the same impression. In this statement of the case of -complex states it will be seen that Bergson fails to avoid attributing -quantity to the inner life of consciousness, since the intensity of -complex states is measured, by him, by a quantitative standard, -the amount of that inner life colored or affected by the quality -in question.</p> - -<p>The attempt is equally hopeless whether the state in question -be simple or complex. Bergson attempts, but fails,<a name="FNanchor_103" id="FNanchor_103" href="#Footnote_103" class="fnanchor">103</a> to prove -that magnitude is a character peculiar to space, and that homogeneity -and space are two names for the same conception. Two -odors, two sounds are <em>more</em> than one, however; and that homogeneity -in them by virtue of which they are more, and two, is -not space. Bergson would object that number itself, the twoness -of the odors or sounds, is indeed a spatial attribute falsely imputed -to them. They are not plural, in themselves; it is conceptualization -that accounts for the plurality imputed to them. One -evolves continuously, in the flow of consciousness, out of the other. -It would be a sufficient answer that such a doctrine contradicts -itself in every breath by the terms necessary to any utterance of -it,—such terms as sounds, they, them, one, the other—all imputing -to the objects of discussion the plurality which it tries to deny. -And to fall back on the disabilities of language, due to its being -the work of intellect, is only to declare one’s philosophy ineffable. -But not only ineffable—unthinkable. Yes, Bergson would admit, -unthinkable in the narrow sense of conceptual thought, but not -unknowable to immediate intuition. The final rejoinder, I think, -is that immediacy is a vanishing-point, a limiting conception of -the relation between subject and object, a phase of consciousness -in which to use the mathematical analogy, the “coefficient” of -consciousness vanishes into zero. We return later in this essay -to the amplifying of this point.<a name="FNanchor_104" id="FNanchor_104" href="#Footnote_104" class="fnanchor">104</a> In brief, if there is no <em>distinction</em> -between subject and object, there is no object (as, likewise, no -subject, of course); hence, no truth; and Bergson could not have -made these ineffable discoveries <em>about</em> the sounds and odors, for -he could not have discovered themselves.</p> - -<p>It is clear enough that nothing needs to <em>occupy</em> space, in order -to be a magnitude. A line, which occupies no space, is even a <em>spatial</em><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">113</a></span> -magnitude, nevertheless. That it is spatial, Bergson would say, is -just the fact that it is homogeneous. But is homogeneity the only -character of a line, and is its spatiality <em>therefore</em> necessarily the same -thing as its homogeneity? Evidently a line has a <em>quale</em> perfectly -distinct from its homogeneity, and essential to its linear nature; -that <em>quale</em> is its direction. If an interval of time, then, or a mental -state, seems not to be spatial, this does not compel us to deny that -there is any homogeneity about it: if the interval or the state of -mind lacks the determination—the character of direction—which is -indispensable to a line and to spatiality as such, this lack determines -these objects of thought as non-spatial without the -slightest detriment to their homogeneity. But all the evidence -of homogeneity in space applies equally to homogeneity in time -and consciousness. The evidence is their additiveness: all <em>seem</em> -to present numerically distinct cases and quantitative differences. -No logical ground has been indicated, for discrimination, in the -validity of this seeming, as a warrant for the homogeneity of space -and not of time and consciousness. Time and consciousness are -homogeneous by the same warrant as space and matter.</p> - -<p>I think it is not irrelevant to Bergson’s theory of the associative -transfer of quantity in the stimulus to the sensation, to observe -that, in the stimulus, there is kind as well as amount. If the -shade or quality of the sensation corresponds to the degree of -the cause, is there no further determination of the sensation distinctively -correlative with the kind of the cause? Such correlate -seems indispensable to Bergson’s, as to any, reactive conception -of sensation, but, in Bergson’s theory of intensity, it seems to -be preempted for correlation with the aspect of quantity in the -stimulus.</p> - -<p>The case of plural odors and sounds, the case of the line, and an -infinity of other cases prove that magnitude is intensive as well -as extensive. The contradictory thesis, that of Bergson, reduces, -at bottom, to the self-contradiction that consciousness discovers -what is no object of consciousness.</p> - -<div class="tb">* <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span></div> - -<p>In admitting that sensations are comparable in this sense, that -two odors, for instance, regarded as of the same kind, can be compared -with each other in the same way as either can be compared -with a sound or a taste, Bergson evidently means that they can -be distinguished as different; and he regards this as implying that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">114</a></span> -sensations are absolutely heterogeneous with each other, <em>absolutely</em> -different. This phrase, I am sure, conceals a bald contradiction. -It seems to mean a relation, namely difference, in which, however, -the terms are absolute, that is not in relation. Difference cannot -be so conceived. Difference, I submit, cannot be conceived without -that (<em>common to the differing terms</em>) in respect of which they are -different. Monsieur Bergson, therefore, in admitting that sensations -are comparable in any sense, is still confronted with an -element common to all sensations; he has still to eliminate the -character of homogeneity from sensation, by virtue of which -a purely subjective evaluation of their relative intensities is -possible.</p> - -<p>The root of the difficulty Monsieur Lévy-Bruhl has shown<a name="FNanchor_105" id="FNanchor_105" href="#Footnote_105" class="fnanchor">105</a> -to be a reific separation of quantity and quality, which are separable -in truth only by abstraction of attention. Real existence -in absolute homogeneity or space, as Bergson represents the -existence of the external world, is as unthinkable as real existence -in absolute heterogeneity, which existence is consciousness or life, -for Bergson. External things, he says, which do not lapse (“<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">ne -durent pas</i>”), seem to us, nevertheless, to lapse like us because to -each instant of our lapsing duration a new collective whole of -those simultaneities which we call the universe corresponds. -“Does this not imply,” writes Lévy-Bruhl, “a preestablished -harmony much more difficult to accept than that of Leibniz? -Leibniz supposes a purely ideal concord between forces of the -same nature. Monsieur Bergson asks us to admit an indefinite -series of coincidences, for each instant, between ‘a real duration, -whose heterogeneous moments compenetrate,’ and a space which, -not lapsing, has no moments at all. Monsieur Bergson really -places external reality, which does not lapse, in a sort of eternity. -He ingeniously shows that everything in space may be treated -as quantity and submitted to mathematics. Now, mathematical -verities, expressing only relations between given magnitudes, are -abstracted from real lapsing duration. All the laws reduce to -analytical formulæ. But then they are, according to the saying -of Bossuet, eternal verities, and how shall the real be distinguished -from the possible?”</p> - -<p>This sundering, in Bergson’s theory of reality, of what rightly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">115</a></span> -is one, is already implied, in his theory of knowledge, in the mutual -exclusion of the two cognitive modes, intuition and conception. -The predicaments into which philosophy falls in reasoning conceptually -(and there is no other reasoning) about the subjective -“world,” are due. Bergson thinks, not to faults in the use of -logic, but to an essential incongruity between the matter and the -logical mode of being conscious of it. But such an essential incongruity -between any mode of consciousness and what it is aware -of would imply that the <em>modes</em> of consciousness, on the one hand, -are <em>parts</em> of consciousness, of which accordingly, you can have -one without the other (theoretically if not actually); and, on the -other hand, there is the corresponding implication for ontology, -that what consciousness is aware of is also composed of two parts, -which match, respectively, the parts of consciousness. Divide -consciousness into two parts, then divide what it is aware of into -two parts; suppose that each of your parts of consciousness suits -one, and not the other, of your two parts of what it is aware of—all -this is necessary before there can be any possibility of incongruous -mismatching between consciousness and being. Therefore uneasiness -about this incongruity, the very motive of intuitionism, -presupposes first the sharpest conceptual treatment of the -subjective “world,” and then the flagrant reification of the resulting -abstractions. In other words, the indispensable precondition -of dialectical defense of intuitionism is an intellectualism -of the “vicious” type.</p> - -<div class="tb">* <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span></div> - -<p>The first chapter of the <cite>Essai</cite> having criticized the application -of magnitude to consciousness, and found that psychological intensity -has nothing quantitative about it, the second chapter -proceeds with an analogous criticism of number, and finds that -psychological variousness has nothing plural about it. The multiplicity -of material objects is number or plurality; the variousness -of the facts of mind is nothing of the sort. Numerical -multiplicity is distinct and objective, given or thought in space; -subjective variousness is indistinct and compenetrating.</p> - -<p>The medium of the facts of consciousness being lapsing duration, -and not extension, they are never simultaneous in the same -consciousness. But then they cannot be counted; to count is -to have things together, simultaneously. That, again, is to have -them in space. And that, finally, is to have them as objects.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">116</a></span> -Now, the essential nature of psychic facts is to be subjective and -not objective. If, therefore, you find yourself counting facts -within a consciousness, you are deluded; they cannot be what -you take them for; they can only be (spatial) <em>objects</em>, symbols by -which you are representing facts that are not objective,—because -they are subjective!—and not spatial but temporal.</p> - -<p>This statement of the case will satisfy few people as it stands. -Professor Bergson is aware of this, and he will grant that such -alleged facts of consciousness as you distinguish and count may -be set in the medium of time rather than in space, if time, as -well as space, is a homogeneous medium; but time so understood, -he thinks, turns into space. And time is so understood very -generally, without any doubt. When we speak of time, says -Bergson, we are usually thinking of space; that is, we are thinking -of a homogeneous medium, a medium, therefore, in which psychic -states are aligned or juxtaposited, as things are in space, forming -a distinct multiplicity.</p> - -<p>This is, of course, another aspect of what Bergson regards as the -same vice, conceptualism, that is discussed in the first chapter of -the <cite>Essai</cite>. An intensive magnitude is a distinct concept, sharply -bounded; all within is the concept, all without, its other. But no -psychic fact is sharply bounded; it penetrates the whole consciousness. -The whole consciousness is one with it. We work quantitatively -with concepts, always, arithmetically and geometrically. -But then we work in space, which is enough, says Bergson, to show -that intensity applied to a psychic fact is not a magnitude, since -psychic facts are not in space. So here, in the second chapter, -the elements which one pretends to count and add <em>in time</em> are, in -order to be counted and added—in order merely to be distinguished—distinct -concepts. Then they are not in time but in space.</p> - -<p>The application of intensive magnitude and of numerical multiplicity -to psychic facts is thus the same fallacy in two aspects, -the fallacy of conceptualism, the nature of which is to substitute -space for time as the form of mental existence.</p> - -<p>But Professor Bergson is not altogether dogmatic in saying -that conceptual time is a spatialized symbol of real time. He -goes on now to show how it is that the nature of real time is -nothing like conceptual time. <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Durée</i>, his name for real time, -seems a bad term for such a use; for the essence of Bergson’s -“<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">durée</i>” is change, while duration in every other connection<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">117</a></span> -means just the waiting or standing still of the flow of time. Some -term like “lapse” seems nearer the idea.</p> - -<p>The genetic or empirical theory of space perception regards -the sensations by which we succeed in forming the notion of space -as themselves unextended and purely qualitative; extension results -from their synthesis, as water results from the combination -of two elements. Bergson remarks that the fact that water is -neither oxygen nor hydrogen nor merely both is just the fact -that we embrace the multiplicity of atoms in a single apperception. -Eliminate the mind which operates this synthesis and you -will at the same time annihilate the water qualities so far as they -are other than oxygen and hydrogen qualities; you will, that is, -annihilate the aspect under which the synthesis of elementary -parts is presented to our consciousness. For space to arise from -the coexistence of non-spatial qualities, an act of the mind is -necessary, embracing them all together and juxtapositing them—an -act which is a Kantian <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">a priori</i> form of sensibility.</p> - -<p>This act is the conception of an empty homogeneous medium. -It is a principle of differentiation other than qualitative differentiation, -enabling us to distinguish qualitatively identical simultaneous -sensations. Without this principle, we should have perception -of the extended, but we should not have conception of -space. That is, simultaneous sensations are never absolutely -identical, because the organic elements stimulated are not identical. -There are no two points of a homogeneous surface that produce -the same impression on sight and touch. So there is a real -qualitative difference between any two simultaneous points. -This, Bergson says, is enough to give us perception of the extended. -But the conception of space is <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">en outre</i>. The higher one rises in -the series of intelligent beings, the more clearly the independent -idea of a homogeneous space stands out. Space is not so homogeneous -for the animal as for us. Directions are not purely -geometrical; they have their quality. We ourselves distinguish -our right and left by a natural feeling. We cannot define them.</p> - -<p>Now, the faculty of conceiving a space without quality is not at -all an abstraction; on the contrary, to abstract presupposes the -intuition of a homogeneous medium. We know two realities of -different order, one heterogeneous, that of sensible qualities, the -other homogeneous, which is space. The latter enables us to -make sharp distinctions, to count, to abstract, perhaps even to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">118</a></span> -speak. Everybody regards time as an indefinite homogeneous -medium, and yet everybody regards it as different from space. -Is one, then, reducible to the other?</p> - -<p>The genetic or empirical school tries to reduce the relations of -extension to more or less complex relations of succession in duration. -The relations of situation in space are defined as reversible -relations of succession in duration. But succession in duration -is not reversible. Pure duration is the form of succession of conscious -states when one refrains from reflectively setting up a -distinctness between the present state and former states. This -does not mean being wholly absorbed in the passing sensation or -idea, nor forgetting former states; but it means organizing them -instead of juxtapositing them; they become like the notes of a -melody, which, though they succeed each other, are apperceived -in each other; they interpenetrate like the parts of a living being. -Succession, then, can be conceived without distinctness, as a -mutual penetration, a solidarity, an intimate organization of -elements each of which, representative of the whole, is distinguished -and isolated therefrom only for a thought capable of abstraction. -We introduce the idea of space into our representation of pure -succession; we so juxtaposit our states of consciousness as to -perceive them simultaneously, not in, but beside each other; we -project time upon space, we express duration in terms of extension. -Succession then takes the form of a continuous line or of a chain, -whose parts touch without interpenetration, which implies a simultaneous -before and after instead of a successive—that is, a -simultaneous succession, which is a contradiction.</p> - -<p>Now, when the genetic school defines the relations of situation -in space as reversible relations of succession in duration, it represents -succession in duration in this self-contradictory way. You -cannot make out an order among terms without distinguishing the -terms and comparing the <em>places</em> they occupy, without perceiving -them, therefore, as juxtaposited. Then to make out an order in -the terms of a succession is to make the succession a simultaneity. -So this attempt to represent space by means of time presupposes -the representation of space. Of space in three dimensions, moreover; -for the representation of two dimensions—that is, of a line—implies -that of three dimensions: to perceive a line is to place -oneself outside it and account for the void surrounding it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">119</a></span> -Pure duration is nothing but a succession of qualitative changes -fusing, interpenetrating, without outlines or tendency to externality -by interrelation, without any kinship with number. -Pure duration is pure heterogeneity.</p> - -<p>No time that can be measured is duration, for heterogeneity -is not quantity, not measurable. When we measure a minute -we represent a quantity and <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">ipso facto</i> exclude a succession. We -represent sixty oscillations of a pendulum, for instance, all together, -in one apperception, as we represent sixty points of a line. -Now, to represent each of these oscillations in succession, just -as it is produced in space, no recollection of a preceding oscillation -can enter the representation of any one, for space has kept no -trace of it. One is confined to the present, and there is no more -succession, or duration, in such a representation than in that of -the group as a whole. A third way of representing these oscillations -is conceivable. Like the first, it involves retention of preceding -oscillations; but, unlike the first, it retains preceding oscillations -<em>in</em> succeeding ones, instead of alongside of them; they interpenetrate -and interorganize, as was just said, like the notes of a -melody. Like the conceptual representation, the intuitional -involves a multiplicity. A conceptual multiplicity is distinct, -homogeneous, quantitative, numerical; an intuitive multiplicity is -indistinct, heterogeneous, qualitative, without analogy with number. -Now, it is the latter that characterizes reality; and the multiplicity -that we represent conceptually is only a symbol of the reality -known to intuition.</p> - -<p>Oscillations of a pendulum measure nothing; they count simultaneities. -Outside of me, in space, there is only a single position -of the pendulum; of past positions none remains. Because my -duration is an organization and interpenetration of facts, I represent -what I call “past” oscillations of the pendulum at the same -time that I perceive the actual oscillation. Eliminate the ego, and -there is only a single position of the pendulum, and no duration. -Eliminate the pendulum, and there is only the heterogeneous duration -of the ego. Within the ego is succession without simultaneity -or reciprocal externality: without the ego, reciprocal externality -without succession, which can exist only for a conscious spectator -who remembers the past, and juxtaposits the symbols of the two -oscillations in an auxiliary space.</p> - -<p>Now, between this succession without externality and this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">120</a></span> -externality without succession a kind of endosmotic commerce -goes on. Although the successive phases of our conscious life -interpenetrate, some of them correspond to simultaneous oscillations -of the pendulum; and since each oscillation is distinct—that -is, one is no more when another is produced—we come to make -the same distinctness between the successive moments of our -conscious life. The oscillations of the pendulum decompose it, -as it were, into mutually external parts: hence the erroneous idea -of an internal homogeneous duration analogous to space, whose -identical moments follow each other without interpenetrating. -On the other hand, the pendular oscillations benefit by the influence -they have exerted on our conscious life. Thanks to the -recollection of their collective whole, which our consciousness -has organized, they are preserved and then aligned; in short, we -create a fourth dimension of space for them, which we call homogeneous -time, and which enables the pendular movement, although -produced in a certain spot, to be juxtaposited with itself indefinitely.</p> - -<p>There is a real space, without duration, but in which phenomena -appear and disappear simultaneously with our states of consciousness. -There is a real duration, whose heterogeneous moments -interpenetrate, but each of which can touch a state of the external -world contemporaneous with it, and so be made separate from -other movements. From the comparison of these two realities -arises a symbolic representation of duration drawn from space. -The trait common to these two terms, space and duration, is -simultaneity, the intersection of time and space. This is how -duration comes to get the illusory appearance of a homogeneous -medium. But time is not measurable.</p> - -<p>Neither is motion, the living symbol of time. Like duration, -motion is heterogeneous and indivisible. But it is universally -confused with the space through which the movable passes. The -successive positions of the movable are in space, but the motion -is not in space. Motion is passing from one position to another, -which operation occupies duration and has reality only for a -conscious spectator. Things occupy space; processes occupy duration, -because they are mental syntheses and are unextended.</p> - -<p>The synthesis which is motion is obviously not a new deploying -in another homogeneous medium, of the same positions that have -been perceived in space; for if it were such an act, the necessity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">121</a></span> -for resynthesis would be indefinitely repeated. The synthesis -which is motion is a qualitative synthesis, a gradual organization -of our successive sensations with each other, a unity analogous -to that of a melodic phrase. The space traversed is a quantity, -indefinitely divisible; the act by which space is traversed is a -quality, and indivisible. Again that endosmotic exchange takes -place, as between the melodically organized perception of the -series of the pendulum’s motions and its distinct objective presence -at each instant. That is, we attribute to the motion the divisibility -of the space traversed; and we project the act upon space, -implying that outside as well as inside of consciousness the past -coexists with the present. In space are only parts of space. -In any point of space where the movable may be considered, -there is only a position. You would search space in vain for -motion.</p> - -<p>From the fact that motion cannot be in space, Zeno concluded -wrongly that motion is impossible. But those who try to answer -his arguments by seeking it also in space, find it no more than he. -Achilles overtakes the tortoise because each Achilles step and -each tortoise step is not a space but a duration, whose nature is -not addible nor divisible, and whose production therefore does -not presuppose productions of parts of themselves, <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">ad infinitum</i>. -Their development is not construction. They are entire while -they are at all, and since the intersections of their terminal -moments with space are not at equal distances, these intersections -will coincide, or their spatial relations will be inverted, after a -certain number of these simultaneities—whether of Achilles’ steps -or of the tortoise’s—with points of the road have been counted; -in other words, Achilles will have overtaken or outrun the tortoise -after a certain number of steps.</p> - -<p>To measure the velocity of a motion is simply to find a simultaneity; -to introduce this simultaneity into calculation is to use -a convenient means of foreseeing a simultaneity. Just as in -duration there is nothing homogeneous except what does not -lapse, to wit space in which simultaneities are aligned, so the -homogeneous element of motion is that which least pertains to -it, to wit the space traversed, which is immobility.</p> - -<p>Science can work on time and motion only on condition of first -eliminating the essential and qualitative element, duration from -time, mobility from motion. Treatises on mechanics never define<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">122</a></span> -duration itself, but call two intervals of time equal when -two identical bodies in circumstances identical at the commencement -of each of these intervals, and subjected to identical actions -and influences of every kind, have traversed the same space at -the end of these intervals. There is no question, in science, of -duration, but only of space and of simultaneities between outer -change and certain of our psychic states. That duration does -not enter into natural science is seen in the fact that if all the -motions of the universe were quicker or slower, then, whereas -consciousness would have an indefinable and qualitative intuition -of this change, no scientific formulæ would be modified, since the -same number of simultaneities would be produced again in space.</p> - -<p>Analysis of the idea of velocity proves that mechanics has -nothing to do with duration. If, on a trajectory AB, points M, -N, P ... such that AM = MN = NP ... are reached -at equal intervals of time, as defined above, and AM etc. are smaller -than any assignable quantity, the motion is said to be uniform. -The velocity of a uniform motion is therefore defined without -appeal to notions other than those of space and simultaneity. -By a somewhat complicated demonstration<a name="FNanchor_106" id="FNanchor_106" href="#Footnote_106" class="fnanchor">106</a> the same is shown -to be true of the velocity of varying motion. Mechanics necessarily -works with equations, and equations always express accomplished -facts. It is of the essence of duration and motion to be -in formation, so that while mathematics can express any moment -of duration or any position taken by a movable in space, duration -and motion themselves, being mental syntheses and not things, -necessarily remain outside the calculation. The movable occupies -the points of a line in turn, but the motion has nothing -in common with this line. The positions occupied by the movable -vary with the different moments of duration; indeed, the movable -creates distinct moments merely by the fact that it occupies -different positions; but duration has no identical nor mutually -external moments, being essentially heterogeneous and indistinct.</p> - -<p>Only space, then, is homogeneous; only things in space are -distinctly multiple. There is no succession in space. So-called -“successive” states of the outer world exist each alone. Their -multiplicity is real only for a consciousness capable of preserving<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">123</a></span> -it and then juxtapositing it with others, thus externalizing them -by interrelation. They are preserved by consciousness because -they give rise to facts of consciousness which connect past and -present by their interpenetrating organization. But one ceases -when another appears, and so consciousness perceives them in -the form of a distinct multiplicity, which amounts to aligning -them in the space where each existed separately. Space used in -this way is just what is meant by homogeneous time.</p> - -<p>The spatial and the temporal kind of multiplicity are just as -different as space and the real time that lapses. Spatial multiplicity -is always substituted for the temporal kind, in discourse; -their distinction cannot be expressed in language, because language -is a product of space so that terms are inevitably spatial. Even -to speak of “several” conscious states interpenetrating is to characterize -them numerically, and so interrelate and mutually externalize -or spatialize them.<a name="FNanchor_107" id="FNanchor_107" href="#Footnote_107" class="fnanchor">107</a> On the other hand, we cannot form the -idea of a distinct multiplicity without considering, parallel to it, -a qualitative multiplicity. Even in counting units on a homogeneous -background, they organize in a dynamic, qualitative -way. That is the psychological explanation of the effect of a -“marked-down” price. The figures $4.98 have a quality of their -own, or rather the price has, that is quite inexpressible by the -formula “$5 minus 2¢.” <em>Quantity has its quality.</em></p> - -<p>In a succession of identical terms, then, each term has two -aspects, spatial and temporal, objective and subjective, one always -identical with itself, the other specific because of the unique -quality its addition gives the collective whole of the series. Now, -motion is just such a “qualifying,” the subjective aspect of what, -objectively, is a succession of identical terms, to wit the movable -in successive positions. It is always the same movable, but in -the synthesis, the images of it that memory calls earlier interpenetrate -with the actual image; the synthesis, the interpenetration, -is motion. Motion is real, and absolute; it is subjective, however, -not objective. To represent motion is to objectify it. That is -what Zeno did, and what everyone must do for <em>practical</em> purposes. -But Zeno’s purpose was speculative, and that, Professor Bergson<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">124</a></span> -thinks, is fatally different. When you objectify motion you deny -it, for its essence is subjective. Strictly speaking, Zeno was -right in finding motion <em>unthinkable</em>; he was wrong only in supposing -that what is unthinkable is <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">ipso facto</i> impossible.</p> - -<p>Evidently, the ego has these two aspects. The ego touches the -external world; and its sensations, though fused in each other, -retain something of the reciprocal externality which objectively -characterizes their causes. Now, in dreaming, the ego does not -touch the external world, and, in dreaming, time is not homogeneous; -we do not measure time, in dreams, but only feel it. -For sleep retards the play of organic functions and modifies the -surface of communication between the ego and external things. -But we need not sleep, to be thus withdrawn from environment. -As I compose this train of thought, the hour strikes. When I -notice the striking, I know some strokes have sounded which I -did not notice. I know even their number, four. I know it by -filling out the “melody,” as it were, of which I am now conscious. -I found the “four” in a way that was not counting, at all. The -number of strokes has its quality, and anything but four fails to -suit, differs in quality. A counted four and a felt four are absolutely -different forms of multiplicity, and each is multiplicity. Under -the ego of clearly-defined and countable states is the real ego -which it symbolizes, in which succession implies fusion and organization. -The states of this real ego language cannot seize, -for that were to objectify it and fix its mobility. In giving these -states the form of those of the symbolic ego, language makes -them fall into the common domain of space, where they straightway -become common and impersonal. This common and impersonal -ego is the social and practical ego; this is the ego that -uses language.</p> - -<p>To language is due the illusion that qualities are permanent. -But objects change by mere familiarity. We dislike, in manhood, -smells and tastes which we call the same as those we liked in -childhood. But they are not the same. It is only their causes -that remain the same. The interpenetrating elements of conscious -states are already deformed the moment a numerical multiplicity -is discovered in the confused mass. Just now it had a -subtle and unique coloration borrowed from its organization in -developing life; here it is decolored and ready to receive a name.</p> - -<p>This is the error of the associationistic school. Psychology<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">125</a></span> -cannot reason concerning facts <em>being</em> accomplished, as it may -concerning <em>accomplished</em> facts. The accomplishing of a fact can -in no wise enter into discourse. It is unthinkable in precisely -the same way as motion; or rather, it is the same case. Psychology -cannot present the living ego as an association of terms mutually -distinct and juxtaposited in a homogeneous medium.<a name="FNanchor_108" id="FNanchor_108" href="#Footnote_108" class="fnanchor">108</a> And association -is just conceptualism applied to psychology. Its problems -of personality have to be absurdly stated, in order to be stated -at all. The terms of such problems deny what the problem posits, -merely by being terms or names; they name the unnamable and -define the indefinable. The solution is to cease thinking spatially -of that which is temporal, to take the other attitude.<a name="FNanchor_109" id="FNanchor_109" href="#Footnote_109" class="fnanchor">109</a> Or, the -author says here, using merely a different phrase, the solution is -to substitute the real and concrete ego for its symbolic representation.</p> - -<div class="tb">* <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span></div> - -<p>This second chapter of <cite>Time and Free Will</cite> undertakes to show -that the successiveness of conscious states makes them uncountable. -Simultaneity is indispensable to distinctness, and so to -number. One can count the spatialized symbols of conscious -states because these are not successive, but simultaneous.</p> - -<p>Psychic multiplicity is non-numerical in the same sense and for -the same reason that psychic intensity is non-quantitative, namely -that it is pure heterogeneity and temporality. In the foregoing -report, I have sometimes mitigated the baldness of the paradox -as it is stated by Bergson, by substituting the term “variousness” -for “multiplicity,” in speaking of psychic facts. After all, it -was a thankless subterfuge—an impertinence, perhaps, since -Bergson himself is frank enough to insist that psychic multiplicity -is as genuine multiplicity as the spatial and material sort. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">126</a></span> -difference is that the former is indistinct and the latter distinct. -But this difference is abysmal—indeed, it is absolute. All the -power of Bergson’s forceful style is concentrated on it. The point -is turned and re-turned in every variety of expression. At the -same time, the common <em>multiplicity</em> belonging in both conceptions -is emphasized as much as their difference. The thesis thus -reduces to this, that two varieties of the same genus are “absolutely -different;” for we are explicitly advised, on one hand, -that there is a multiplicity which is distinct, and a multiplicity -which is indistinct; each is multiplicity. And, on the other hand, -one is numerical and the other “<em>has no analogy with number</em>.”</p> - -<p>In view of the superior qualities of the mind that is guilty of -this unreasonableness, the conviction of sincerity which it carries -tortures the conscientious critic. One cannot approve of the -intolerant scorn of a certain book, in which Bergson’s arguments -are vilified as vain display, mere word-play; but patience is overtaxed -in finding one’s way through the plausibility of this chapter. -The thesis, certainly, may be dismissed from any consideration -whatever. Because of it, one knows in advance, beyond peradventure, -that there is no validity in any argument in its defense. -Yet, in spite of all, the chapter challenges study; and thorough -study of it cannot fail to put the truth in clearer light, just because -its error is so plausible.</p> - -<p>Counting is synthesis, the argument goes; but a synthesized -succession is not a succession, it is a simultaneity. And simultaneity -presupposes spatial determination in the coexistent -elements. From Bergson’s point of view, it is a radical error, -however universal an error, to regard the relation of simultaneity -as a temporal determination. In fact, there is no such thing as -a temporal determination; and every determination, for Bergson, -not only is not temporal, but is spatial. Like the argument -about non-quantitative intensity, this argument for non-plural -multiplicity (save the mark!) turns on the equation of homogeneity -with space. But the present argument involves its own -peculiar fallacy, as well, namely the fallacy which Professor Perry -describes<a name="FNanchor_110" id="FNanchor_110" href="#Footnote_110" class="fnanchor">110</a> as confusion of a relation symbolized with the relation -between symbols. “It is commonly supposed,” Perry writes, -“that when a complex is represented by a formula, the elements<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">127</a></span> -of the complex must have the same relation as that which subsists -between the parts of the formula; whereas, as a matter of fact, <em>the -formula as a whole</em> represents or describes a complex other than -itself. If I describe <i>a</i> as ‘to the right of <i>b</i>,’ does any difficulty -arise because in my formula <i>a</i> is to the left of <i>b</i>? If I speak of <i>a</i> -as greater than <i>b</i>, am I to assume that because my symbols are -outside one another that <i>a</i> and <i>b</i> must be outside one another? -Such a supposition would imply a most naïve acceptance of that -very ‘copy theory’ of knowledge which pragmatism has so severely -condemned. And yet such a supposition seems everywhere to -underlie the anti-intellectualist’s polemic. The intellect is described -as substituting for the interpenetration of the real terms -[in an “indistinct” psychic multiplicity] the juxtaposition of -their symbols; as though analysis discovered terms, and then -<em>conferred</em> relations of its own ... Terms are found <em>in</em> relation, -and may be thus described without any more artificiality, without -any more imposing of the forms of the mind on its subject-matter, -than is involved in the bare mention of a single term.</p> - -<p>“... one may mean continuity despite the fact that the -symbols and words are discrete. The word ‘blue’ may mean -blue, although the word is not blue. Similarly, continuity may -be an arrangement meant by a discontinuous arrangement of -words and symbols.”</p> - -<p>So of the simultaneity or coexistence among the conceptual -symbols by which successive psychic states are counted: there is -nothing in such a relation among the symbols to falsify the process -of counting as a cognitive process whose meaning is a non-simultaneous -relation among the psychic facts symbolized. As was -noted above,<a name="FNanchor_111" id="FNanchor_111" href="#Footnote_111" class="fnanchor">111</a> the quantitative determination of psychic -facts depends solely on an aspect of homogeneity essential -to such facts, for which aspect no better evidence is possible than -that other aspect which Bergson attributes to them, of heterogeneity; -for the two conceptions, instead of excluding each other, -imply each other absolutely. All that is necessary, in order that -psychic facts should be countable, is that they should possess an -aspect of homogeneity. And for this, spatiality is unnecessary; for -spatiality is a conception distinct from homogeneity.</p> - -<p>Bergson’s identification of homogeneity with spatiality is a case<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">128</a></span> -of what Professor Perry calls “definition by initial predication.”<a name="FNanchor_112" id="FNanchor_112" href="#Footnote_112" class="fnanchor">112</a> -Space is homogeneous; therefore homogeneity is space. As if -the fact that homogeneity is a character of space were anything -against its being a character also of time or anything else. The -following is the justification offered by Bergson for identifying -homogeneity with space: “If space is to be defined as the homogeneous, -it seems that inversely every homogeneous and unbounded -medium will be space. For, homogeneity here consisting in the -absence of every quality, it is hard to see how two forms of the -homogeneous could be distinguished from one another.”<a name="FNanchor_113" id="FNanchor_113" href="#Footnote_113" class="fnanchor">113</a> The -first clause begs the question by defining space as “the” homogeneous. -Such identification of space and homogeneity is the -point to be proved. The second sentence begs the question again, -where homogeneity is supposed “here” (<i>i. e.</i> in the case of space) -to consist in the absence of every quality. Moreover, as we have -noted above (p. 43), space possesses a very determinate quality, -direction, which differentiates it from other homogeneity. -Finally, it can be true that homogeneity is absence of quality only -on the Bergsonian assumptions that quality is exclusively subjective, -that homogeneity is exclusively objective, and that only the -subjective is positive. Now, if quality is not objective, judgments -cannot be made concerning it; but Bergson is constantly making -such judgments. And to distinguish, in point of homogeneity -or of positivity, between “the subjective” and “the objective” -is to reify two equally abstract aspects of positive reality. The -quality of the homogeneous is doubtless <em>simple</em>, and so indefinable. -But Bergson nowhere shows how the homogeneous is less positive -than the heterogeneous, although the thesis is the sum and substance -of his philosophy. Lacking further light on the point, one -can only invoke such experiences as the simple colors, for instance,—or, -for that matter, any simple quality—for cases of reality as -positive as any heterogeneity, and, obviously, no less qualified. -And nothing seems easier than the distinction between -redness, for instance, and spatiality. Bergson’s whole dialectic -rests on reification of such correlative abstractions as homogeneity -and heterogeneity, quality and relation etc. in a -“purity” which not only is not concretely experienced, but -is not even capable of being conceived, because each concept<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">129</a></span> -drags the other ineluctably into its own definition. If -either space or homogeneity were indeed absence of quality, -they could not be distinguished from time, nor from heterogeneity, -nor from anything else; in short, they could not be -conceived at all.</p> - -<p>The present essay aims to report Bergson’s own work with a -fair degree of fulness; but it is beyond my plan to follow exposition -with criticism point by point in the details, even, in some cases, -when these are of important and wide implication. For discussion -of Bergson’s contention (based on analysis of the idea of velocity, -as outlined above) that mechanics has nothing to do with time, -the reader is referred to pages 255–61 of Perry’s <cite>Present Philosophical -Tendencies</cite>. Perry shows, in this passage, that such a contention, -again, depends on “confusing the symbol with what it -means. To one who falls into this confusion, it may appear that -an equation cannot refer to time because the structure of the -equation itself is not temporal; because the symbols are simultaneously -present in the equation. But if <i>t</i> is one of the terms of -the equation, and <i>t</i> <em>means</em> time, then the equation means a -temporal process. Furthermore, an equation may define a -relation, such as =, <, or >, between temporal quantities, in which -case the full meaning of the equation is still temporal. For -changes, events, or even pure intervals, may stand in non-temporal -relations, such as those above, without its in the least vitiating -their temporality.”</p> - -<p>Bergson’s solution of Zeno’s paradoxes is another detail of this -chapter which is of a good deal of interest; but it applies no new -principle to the support of the impossibility of counting psychic -facts. Without a clearer conception of the commerce or intersection -between time and space, which he characterizes only by -the name of “simultaneity,” his reply to Zeno leaves the question -of the divisibility of time as problematic as ever. Achilles out-strips -the tortoise, he says, “because each of Achilles’ steps and -each of the tortoise’s steps are indivisible acts in so far as they are -movements, and are different magnitudes in so far as they are -space.”<a name="FNanchor_114" id="FNanchor_114" href="#Footnote_114" class="fnanchor">114</a> They are indivisible in the same sense in which a -living organism is indivisible: if you divide them, no division <em>is</em> a -part of that which <em>was</em>. But the trouble is that they <em>are divisible</em><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">130</a></span> -also in the same sense in which the organism is divisible. It is the -most extravagant of assumptions that analysis of a living body -into right and left etc.—which, to be sure, is serviceable to activity -upon it—is, because of its service to action, not a character of the -object itself. And of motion the same sort of analysis is a patent -fact of experience: there is an earlier, middle and latter phase. -The possibility of this patent fact is the crux of the problem. No -extant answer to Zeno is satisfactory to everybody. I shall -refer the reader to Professor Fullerton’s treatment of the paradoxes, -in Chapter XI of his <cite>System of Metaphysics</cite>, as the solution -which seems to me to be at the same time the most closely related -of any that I know, to Bergson’s, and free of Bergson’s error. -Bergson’s solution has at least this element of truth, that Zeno -confuses the space traversed with something else concerned in -every case of motion. Fullerton makes a distinction between -any actual experience of space or time, and the possibility of -indefinitely magnified substitutes for such experience; and shows -a way in which motion can be relegated to the former (“apparent” -space) and denied to the latter (“real” space) without either -denying reality to motion or infinite divisibility to real space and -time.</p> - -<p>Bergson’s differentiation of temporal succession from spatial -seriality gets all its cogency from an exclusive attention, when -consciousness is concerned, to the aspects of heterogeneity (quality) -and compenetration (continuity) which consciousness shows; and, -when space is concerned, to <em>its</em> aspects of homogeneity (quantity) -and juxtaposition of parts (discreteness). As always, with correlative -abstractions, Bergson reifies them: they exclude each other, -for him, whereas, in truth, they imply each other, entering into -each other’s definition so that each is unthinkable except by means -of the other. Time is continuous, Bergson insists rightly; but -jumps to the conclusion that therefore time is not discrete. Time -is heterogeneous, therefore not homogeneous. Space is discrete -(its parts spread out), therefore not continuous; homogeneous, -therefore not heterogeneous. If any demonstration is necessary -that these terms do imply each other, instead of excluding each -other, the case of heterogeneity and homogeneity is only the case -of resemblance and difference (cf. page 44). In regard to the -heterogeneity of space, its differentiation by way of direction -must not be forgotten. As for the other pair of terms, continuity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">131</a></span> -can manifest itself only <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">in extenso</i>, and discreteness requires a -separating <em>medium</em>.</p> - -<p>Wherever Bergson objects to expressing time in terms of space, -the real objection is to the expression of time in terms of homogeneity. -This he would not only admit, but insist upon. But -his demonstration that homogeneity is a character exclusively -spatial is a <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">petitio principii</i>.<a name="FNanchor_115" id="FNanchor_115" href="#Footnote_115" class="fnanchor">115</a> Of the attempt to measure a minute, -he writes as follows: “I say, <i>e. g.</i>, that a minute has just elapsed, -and I mean by this that a pendulum, beating the seconds, has -completed sixty oscillations. If I picture these sixty oscillations -to myself all at once, by a single mental perception, I exclude by -hypothesis the idea of a succession. I do not think of sixty strokes -which succeed one another, but of sixty points on a fixed line, -each one of which symbolizes, so to speak, an oscillation of the -pendulum. If, on the other hand, I wish to picture these sixty -oscillations in succession, but without altering the way they are -produced in space, I shall be compelled to think of each oscillation -to the exclusion of the recollection of the preceding one, for space -has preserved no trace of it; but by doing so I shall condemn -myself to remain forever in the present; I shall give up the attempt -to think a succession or a duration.”</p> - -<p>Notwithstanding his acuteness as a psychologist, Bergson misses -the nature of the apperception both of sixty points on a line and of -sixty oscillations of a pendulum. And the impossibility of counting -psychic facts depends on this misapprehension. He misses -the fact that an apperception of sixty points on a line includes, -as an essential feature, the <em>serial</em> order, the here-and-there determination -(a distinctive qualitative determination) of this spatial -fact. And he misses the fact that an apperception of a non-spatial -rhythm includes, as an essential feature, the successive -<em>order</em>, the earlier-and-later determination, of this psychic fact. -Now, seriality is not succession, if you like, except in so far as -each is order. But this is no more than to say that the two -orders, time and space, are distinguishable—are two, in fact. -It is not the slightest obstruction to conceiving each as order, and -as numerically determined. For there is no evidence except -Bergson’s fundamental fallacy of “definition by initial predication,” -to show why homogeneity and order, as such, are exclusively<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">132</a></span> -spatial. The discreteness of parts of space is thinkable -only by the intervening spaces: space is as continuous (as “compenetrative”) -as time.<a name="FNanchor_116" id="FNanchor_116" href="#Footnote_116" class="fnanchor">116</a> On the other hand, the compenetration of -time is not only nothing <em>against</em> its divisibility, but divisibility -and compenetration (in the only rigorous meaning the word will -bear, that is, continuity) are indispensable to each other, inverse -aspects of each other. You can divide <em>only</em> what is connected, -as you can connect only what is distinct. Time, then, is as -discrete as space.</p> - -<p>For every instance of temporal “compenetration,” and “solidarity,” -its perfect spatial analogue is plain to the inspection of -anyone who will only look that way, to anyone whose attention -is not hypnotized by an ulterior purpose to its exclusion.<a name="FNanchor_117" id="FNanchor_117" href="#Footnote_117" class="fnanchor">117</a> Thus -the melodic phrase is present in each of its parts as much as, and -no more than, the mosaic figure is present in each of its parts. -The “felt four” of the clock strokes is felt as four not otherwise, -I think, than a four which might figure in the pattern of a frieze. -The same limitations, moreover, apply to such felt multiplicity, -whether of rhythm or of pattern. It must be a relatively simple -complex, to be apperceived, in either case. You could not feel -fifty, and the difficulty is the same difficulty in time as in space. -One measures a minute or a century just as one measures an inch -or the distance from the earth to the sun: the indispensable condition -is the continuity and homogeneity which belong to both -quantities.</p> - -<p>The proposition that oscillations of a pendulum measure -nothing, but count simultaneities apparently means that oscillations, -as physical facts, have no duration of their own, and so -cannot overlie duration as a unit of measurement. This would -at least be an intelligible, even if a false, representation; but, if -oscillations cannot measure, how can they count? What is just -that difference between counting and measuring, by virtue of -which that which can count cannot measure? Simultaneity -Bergson defines as the intersection of space and time. Now, -counting, as well as measuring, implies a continuum. Measuring,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">133</a></span> -certainly, if it is theoretically perfect, can apply only to a continuum; -but counting, which obviously presupposes discreteness, -then requires also the indispensable condition and correlative of -discreteness, which is continuity. The intersection of space and -time thus evidently involves equal continuity and discreteness in -both; if they can intersect, and their intersections are countable, -each is both countable and measurable. The “purely” temporal -phenomena of our conscious life, although interpenetrating, -“correspond individually” to an oscillation of the pendulum, -which, though a “purely” spatial phenomenon, “occurs at the -same time with” the former. Such “endosmotic commerce” -between psychical and physical events seems to be decisive for a -real community of nature between their respective forms, time -and space—such, for instance, as common homogeneity and -continuity.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h4 class="nobreak"><a name="bergson_64" id="bergson_64"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter II</span></h4><span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">134</a></span> -</div> - -<p class="bergchap">MIND AND MATTER, SPIRIT AND BODY</p> - -<p>Bergson regards knowledge of oneself as the optimal case of -knowing; oneself, he thinks, is the sample of reality which best -serves for an acquaintance with the nature of reality in general. -“The existence of which we are most assured and which we know -best is unquestionably our own, for of every other object we have -notions which may be considered external and superficial, whereas, -of ourselves, our perception is internal and profound.”<a name="FNanchor_118" id="FNanchor_118" href="#Footnote_118" class="fnanchor">118</a> It is this -perfect or optimal relation of identity or inwardness—which one -bears to oneself—that is the condition of true (<i>i. e.</i> intuitive) -knowledge. And in this case we find existence to be a perpetual -flow of transition. That we think of our states as distinct from -each other is due to the fact that reflection on one’s own existence -is, unlike the flow of that existence itself, necessarily discontinuous. -It is only now and then that motives arise which turn the attention -to the self as an object, like others, for examination. The flow of -change is not uniform, to be sure. It is quite imperceptible to -our reflective attention most of the time, but if it ever ceased, we -should at that moment cease to exist. Only the relatively sudden -and interesting periods of transition get our attention. Then we -see a new “state of consciousness” which we add to the others -that we have mentally strung together in a temporal line. So we -conceive of our history as the sum of elements as distinct as beads -on a string.</p> - -<p>This intellectualistic view of the self eliminates the peculiar -characteristic of its reality, namely, its duration, or the flow of its -change, like a snowball, accumulating its substance as it rolls, -duration goes on preserving itself in incessant change that accumulates<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">135</a></span> -all its past. Time, Bergson says, is the very stuff the psychological -life is made of. “There is, moreover, no stuff more resistant -nor more substantial.”<a name="FNanchor_119" id="FNanchor_119" href="#Footnote_119" class="fnanchor">119</a></p> - -<p>Life and inertia or matter are two antagonistic principles or -tendencies. Life is the positive and active principle; reality and -duration are predicable only of life. Matter is an “inversion” or -“interruption” of life; its value is negative to life and to reality. -“All that which seems <em>positive</em> to the physicist and to the geometrician -would become, from this new point of view, an interruption -or inversion of true positivity, which would have to be defined -in psychological terms.”<a name="FNanchor_120" id="FNanchor_120" href="#Footnote_120" class="fnanchor">120</a> Matter is a determination of reality in -much the same sense as that in which the reality of the Platonic -idea suffers diminution under the influence of the principle of -not-being, resulting in a world of sensible experience or of appearance. -Bergson points out that the real in Plato is the timeless, -motionless, definite idea, and the relatively unreal is the ever-changing -“infinite” or indefinable datum of experience, to which -duration is essential. Bergson reverses the Platonic metaphysics: -reality is the ever-changing and indefinable; rather, it is change -itself. “There are no things, there are only actions.” -“... things and states are only views, taken by our mind, of -becoming.”<a name="FNanchor_121" id="FNanchor_121" href="#Footnote_121" class="fnanchor">121</a> The principle antagonistic to reality gives rise to -the timeless, definite concept, which is a view or appearance of -reality operated by intelligence in the service of action. As our -practical interests break up the continuum of time into discrete -states, so they break up the continuum of matter into distinct -bodies. The active antagonism of time, which is pure quality or -heterogeneity, and space, which is pure quantity or homogeneity, -results in the world of our experience, comprising “states” of -consciousness and things or objects.</p> - -<p>The relation between life and matter in the evolution of the -world, Bergson represents by the figure of a generation of steam in -a boiler.<a name="FNanchor_122" id="FNanchor_122" href="#Footnote_122" class="fnanchor">122</a> Life, the positive principle, streams or flows, like the -steam, by the force which is its very nature. In its course, this -vital impetus is checked, as a jet of steam is checked, by its condensation, -and falls back upon itself in drops, retarding, but not -annihilating, the flow. But we are warned that the figure must be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">136</a></span> -corrected in that the interruption or inversion of the impetus is -due to a principle inherent in the impetus itself, not to an external -determination. If there were such an external principle, the two -would seem coördinate in reality, but the reality of matter is as -the reality of <em>rest</em>, which, as the negation of motion, is nothing -positive, yet is not a mere naught.</p> - -<p>Sometimes, in reading Bergson, it seems very clear that reality -and matter must exclude each other, since one is the negation of -the other; and perception and conception, whose object is matter, -are not knowledge, because that object is unreal. Moreover, not -only is the stuff of reality that <em>psychic process</em> which is life and -lapsing time, but there is no stuff more resistant nor more substantial. -And in numerous other ways the mutual exclusion of -reality and matter seems quite fundamental to Bergsonism. One -can never remain long in any security about this, however. If -Bergsonism is Platonism reversed, it is natural that the peculiarities -of the latter should reappear in some form. Platonic not-being -is much too important and too active to be denied a coequal -positivity with being. Over and above these “worlds,” moreover, -there is that one in which we live, with a third status. Perhaps it -is this which is most like Bergsonian matter—“nothing positive, -yet not a mere naught”! In the letter from which I have already -quoted, Monsieur Bergson wrote me, concerning a previous paper -of mine:<a name="FNanchor_123" id="FNanchor_123" href="#Footnote_123" class="fnanchor">123</a> “You give me the choice between ‘yes’ and ‘no,’ -whereas I cannot respond with either, but must mix them. In -each particular case, the ‘yes’ and ‘no’ have to be apportioned, -and this is just why the philosophy I adhere to is susceptible of -improvement and progress. For instance, you find that my -premises lead to this conclusion: ‘Matter has no duration; but -duration is synonymous with reality; therefore matter is not real.’ -But, to my mind, matter has exactly the same reality as rest, which -exists only as negation of motion, yet is something other than -absolute nothingness. All that is positive in my ‘vital impetus’ -is motion; stoppage of this motion constitutes materiality; the -latter, therefore, is nothing positive, yet not a mere naught, -absolute nothingness being no more stoppage than motion.”</p> - -<p>If one seek (it is not to be found, I think, in Bergson’s writings) -an explanation of this abatement or diminution of the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">élan vital</i>,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">137</a></span> -this tendency toward rest, the problem turns into the very ancient -problem of the polarity of being in subject and object. In Platonism, -matter arises as product of an eternal antagonism between two -coeval principles, the Idea and Not-being. Not-being is thus -something efficient, something that is capable of entering as a -factor, together with the Idea, into a product, the Sensible Object. -The truth is, therefore, that Not-being is something very real: it -<em>is</em> something because it <em>does</em> something. It is as real as the Idea, -because it is as efficient as the Idea. And in the Bergsonian -creative evolution there often seems just such an antagonism as -this, between two coördinate, efficient, and therefore real -principles. Thus: “The impetus of life ... is confronted -with matter, that is to say, with the movement that is the inverse -of its own.”<a name="FNanchor_124" id="FNanchor_124" href="#Footnote_124" class="fnanchor">124</a> And: “Life as a whole ... will appear as -a wave which rises, and which is opposed by the descending -movement of matter.”<a name="FNanchor_125" id="FNanchor_125" href="#Footnote_125" class="fnanchor">125</a> But, as with Plato, so with Bergson, -dubbing the hated principle “Not-being” or “Negation of Positive -Reality” hardly avails against the soundness of its claim to -positivity. And the case is not different if the “<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">élan vital</i>” is a -self-limited absolute instead of an eternal dualism: the philosopher’s -selection of one of the two coefficients or poles of this self-polarized -absolute, rather than the other, to be snubbed, is arbitrary, -instinctive, personal. With Plato it is one, with Bergson -the other; no logical principle determines it, in either case.</p> - -<p>On no other point, I believe, is criticism of Bergson so clamorous -or so unanimous as on his conception of matter. Without doubt, -his conception of matter is obscure. Time and space (terms -equivalent for Bergson, to life and matter) being essentially antagonistic, -must <em>essentially imply</em> each other; and if so, do they not -stand in the same rank as real existences? In what sense, then, -is either real and the other unreal, except by an arbitrary decree? -The ontological obscurity has its corresponding epistemological -obscurity as to the cognitive status of knowledge of matter, which -is the crux of Bergson’s philosophy. Instinct is suited to life and -duration; intelligence, to matter and space. Science says many -things about time, but affords no acquaintance with time itself. -The duration of the unit of time is a matter of indifference to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">138</a></span> -meaning and value of any scientific formula.<a name="FNanchor_126" id="FNanchor_126" href="#Footnote_126" class="fnanchor">126</a> For example, if -this unit were made infinity, and the physical process represented -by the formula were thus regarded as infinitely quick, <i>i. e.</i> an -instantaneous, timeless fact, the instantaneity of the fact would -be irrelevant to any truth expressed by the formula. The only -truth the formula expresses is a system of relations, which remains -the same for any unit of time. Science knows no past or future, -nothing but an incessantly renewed instantaneous present, without -substance. The conclusions of science are given in the premises, -mathematically; the world of science is a strict determinism. In -the real world of consciousness, on the other hand,—knowledge -of which can only be acquaintance with it—the future is essentially -contingent and unforseeable, for each new phase is an absolute -creation, into which the whole past is incorporated without -determining it.</p> - -<div class="tb">* <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span></div> - -<p>The active principle of life Bergson describes by the phrase -<em>tendency to create</em>. Its movement is a creative evolution. Life -flows, or, as we have said, rolls on like a snowball, in an unceasing -production of new forms, each of which retains, while it modifies -and adds to, all its previous forms. But the figure of the snowball -soon fails. One of the most significant facts of the creative evolution -of life is the division of its primitive path into divergent paths. -The primitive <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">élan</i> contains elementary virtualities of tendency -which can abide together only up to a certain stage of their development. -It is of the nature of a tendency to break up in -divergent elementary tendencies, as a fountain-jet sprays out. -As the primitive tendency develops, elements contained in it -which were mutually compatible in one and the same primitive -organism, being still in an undeveloped stage, become incompatible -as they grow. Hence the indefinite bifurcation of the forms of -life into realms, phyla, genera, species, individuals. It is a cardinal -error, Bergson thinks, to regard vegetative, instinctive and intellectual -life, in the Aristotelian manner, as successive stages in -one and the same line of development. They represent three -radically different lines of evolution, not three stages along the -same line.</p> - -<p>A tendency common to all life is to store the constantly diffused<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">139</a></span> -solar energy in reservoirs where its equilibrium is unstable. This -tendency, of alimentation, is complementary to the tendency to -resolve equilibrium of potential energy by sudden, explosive -release of energy in actions. As the primitive organism developed -(undoubtedly an ambiguous form, partaking of the characters of -both the animal and the vegetable) these two tendencies became -mutually incompatible in one and the same form of life. Those -forms which became vegetables owe their differentiation from -ancestral forms to a preponderant leaning toward the manufacture -of the explosive, as the animal owes its animality to a leaning -toward the release of energy in sudden and intermittent actions.</p> - -<p>The vegetable, drawing its nourishment wherever it may find -it, from the ground and from the air, has no need of locomotion. -The animal, dependent on the vegetable or on other animals for -food, must go where it may be found. The animal must move. -Now, consciousness emerges <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">pari passu</i> with the ability to act, -and torpor is characteristic of fixity. The humblest organism is -conscious to the extent to which it can act freely. Actions may -be effective either by virtue of an excellence in the use of instruments -of action or by virtue of an excellence in adapting the -instrument to the need. Action may thus assume either of two -very different characters, the one instinctive, self-adaptive reaction, -the other intelligent manufacture. The two tendencies have -bifurcated within the animal realm. One path reaches its present -culmination in certain hymenoptera (<i>e. g.</i> ants, bees, wasps), the -other in man.</p> - -<p>Thus the development of instinct in man has become subordinate; -human consciousness is dominated by intelligence. Hence -the universality of the vice of intellectualism in philosophy. Man, -because he is dominated by intelligence, supposes intelligence to -be coextensive with consciousness, whereas it is only one of the -elementary tendencies which consciousness comprises, and the -one which is impotent to know the flow of reality. Spencer’s -evolutionism affords no acquaintance with the reality of life. -His so-called evolution starts with the already evolved. Hence -all it reaches is the made, the once-for-all, the timeless. It is -merely a biological theory, and no advance over positive science. -It is not a philosophy.</p> - -<p>Having shown the origin of intelligence in the more extensive -principle of life, and limited its sphere of operation to inert matter,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">140</a></span> -the author turns to the nature of instinct. The greater part of -the psychic life of living beings that are characteristically instinctive -Bergson believes to be states which he describes as -knowledge in which there is no representation.<a name="FNanchor_127" id="FNanchor_127" href="#Footnote_127" class="fnanchor">127</a> “Representation -is stopped up by action.”<a name="FNanchor_128" id="FNanchor_128" href="#Footnote_128" class="fnanchor">128</a> A purely instinctive action would be -indistinguishable from a mere vital process. When the chick, -for example, breaks the shell, it seems merely to keep up the motion -that has carried it through the embryonic life. But neither -instinct nor intelligence is ever pure, and we have in ourselves a -vague experience of what must happen in the consciousness of an -animal acting by instinct. We have this experience in phenomena -of feeling, in unreflecting sympathies and antipathies. “Instinct -is sympathy. If this sympathy could extend its object and also -reflect upon itself, it would give us the key to vital operations.... -Intuition, to wit, instinct that has become disinterested, -self-conscious, capable of reflecting upon its object and of enlarging -it indefinitely, leads us into the very inwardness of life ... It -is true that this æsthetic intuition ... attains only the -individual, but we can conceive an inquiry turned in the same -direction as art, which would take life <em>in general</em> for its object.”<a name="FNanchor_129" id="FNanchor_129" href="#Footnote_129" class="fnanchor">129</a></p> - -<div class="tb">* <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span></div> - -<p>In <cite>Matter and Memory</cite>, mind is represented as varying, in its -states, between two limits, “pure perception,” which is just action, -and “dreaming.” The limit of action is where the rôle of mind -ceases, the vanishing-point of knowledge. But at the other limit, -dreaming, mind is in full swing, having freed itself, by an inner -tension, from the obstructive influence of body. Far from vanishing -at this limit, as at the other, knowledge is here at its apogee. -It is here “pure.”</p> - -<p>It is important for Bergson to recognize an organic connection -(obstructive to mind, as he Platonically conceives) between mind -and body, in order that he may establish the possibility of the state -of “pure perception,” in which mind activity coincides with -bodily activity by a yielding, relaxed concurrence with the latter’s -influence. Mind is here passive; its rôle in the life of the organism -ceases in this state. But it is equally important, for the ontological -independence of mind, that at the “dreaming” pole the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">141</a></span> -tension which is the very constitution of its knowing should free -mind from bodily influence. This tension, at its ideal limit, must -so disconnect the mind from the body that the former becomes -impotent, as Bergson says, for any efficiency in the physical world. -It seems to be, to all intents and purposes, a disembodied state. -Knowledge having then no possible end in action is clearly its own -end. Intellection is a utility, operating in the world of matter; -knowledge is absolute, self-centered identity of subject and object. -Such, I suppose, is God’s “thought of thought” in Aristotle’s -conception.</p> - -<p>This fluctuation of the relation between mind and body, from a -connection which is vital to absolute disconnection, is a reappearance -of the ambiguity discussed on pages 66–7. At one moment the -world seems a Platonic dualism; in the next, a self-limited or -polarized absolutism, like Fichte’s or Hegel’s. Whatever the -“ideal limit” of mind’s cognitive “tension” may be conceived to -be, there ought to be no question of more and less, in the matter -of disconnectedness, strictly speaking. We do not understand -movement from connection to disconnection, through intermediate -stages, as mind is here represented to move, in its states of -knowledge. First mind must be like a certain part of matter, so -that it can rebound by its “tension” from a certain other part; -and then, as soon as it has rebounded, what would be true of the -thing that could do this must suddenly become untrue of it, presumably -because of the rebound, no other reason being assignable -to account for the ensuing disconnection with matter. One bit of -matter can rebound from another, but it is then as much connected -with <em>matter</em> as before. We do not understand how mind, when it -has thus rebounded from one particular material attachment -thereby becomes materially unattached.</p> - -<p>This is nevertheless a suggestive scheme of relation. It seems -to me to be marred with one radical fault: these limits of knowledge -are wrongly related. Their negation of each other should be the -opposition of antipodes, not of contradictories. The difference is -the radical difference between implication and exclusion. They -do not exclude each other, but imply each other. Each vanishes -without the other.</p> - -<p>In activity, there is externalized motion on one hand and -resistance, or virtual reaction, on the other. Action and reaction -are cases of polarity; they are necessary to each other to give each<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">142</a></span> -other form. In the cognitive subject, reaction that were -purely virtual, without externalizing implication, would be indeterminate -dreaming; motion that were purely externalized, -without implication of inner virtuality, would be indeterminate -activity. Now, anything that is indeterminate or formless simply -is not, if being has any significance whatever; for formless significance -is a contradiction; certainly the significance of anything -would constitute a formal aspect of it. “Pure” matter or quantity -is pure nothing, in the sense that it is quantity of nothing. These -“pure” limits thus snuff themselves out. And variation between -them is not a progression from not-being to being or <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">vice versa</i>, not -a strengthening or weakening of the variable function’s essence. -Such a notion depends on the absurdity of a not-being that can do -things to being, with fluctuating prepotency in the struggle! -Strengthening and weakening—degree in any guise—has no application -to essence. In any phase, that is, knowledge is itself and -nothing else; it cannot be more or less itself.</p> - -<p>That which varies concomitantly with the variations in complexion -of consciousness, is the dynamic relation between subject and -object. It may be expressed as variation of ratio between virtual -and real action. At each pole activity vanishes, and consciousness -with it. At one pole, where the ratio is zero, it vanishes in the -direction of “real” or externalized action, which means that the -subject meets no opposing negativity, and so no object; the relation -of activity is extinguished through lack of one of its terms. At the -other pole, where the ratio is infinity, action vanishes in the direction -of “virtuality.” And this means that in the subject there is -no positivity, no subjectivity, to oppose to universal negativity or -objectivity. The result is the same extinction of the relation -through lack of a term. A subject term is lacking in one case, -an object in the other.</p> - -<p>Knowledge, for Bergson, corresponds only to the ratio infinity, -of virtual to real action; all other ratios between them are less -than knowledge. To this I object that infinite virtuality is indeterminate -virtuality, which is a naught reached in the opposite -way from that naught which is infinite and indeterminate actuality. -Indeterminate action is nothing, and so is indeterminate knowledge. -Identification of knowledge with any specific value of the -ratio of virtual to real action is not determined by any logical -principle. When a function varies between a positive and a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">143</a></span> -negative pole, neither pole is an apogee where the function is -most itself. On the contrary, as in the variation of an including -angle, each pole is a limiting position in which the essential -nature of the variable is extinguished. Nor is it most itself midway -between the poles, nor at any other privileged position, for -it is absolutely and fully itself, and nothing else, in every phase. -The genuineness of a state of awareness would then depend also -on the genuineness of the reciprocity between the terms of this -dynamic ratio. Where they are not distinct, where subject and -object are identical, awareness vanishes through lack of a quantitative -coefficient, as it vanishes at each pole through lack of -a qualitative coefficient. In other words, knowledge of a thing -by itself, like action of a thing on itself, is a cancelation of terms -of opposite sign, a contradiction, and <em>the subject and object, whether -of action or of consciousness, are essentially external to each other</em>.</p> - -<p>Bergson is treating consciousness as such as if it could be more -or less conscious, as, indeed, a conscious <em>subject</em> may be. That is, -he is treating consciousness as if it could be of a nature more or -less aware or cognitive; he is treating variations of phase as if they -were augmentations and diminutions of essence; he is treating -quality quantitatively, an error which would not have been possible -if he had adhered to the purely conceptual distinction between -quality and quantity. And he is treating the variations of cognitive -complexion or phase as if they depended on variations in a -certain relation (the mutual externality of subject and object) -which is invariable and absolute—incapable, that is, of degree.</p> - -<div class="tb">* <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span></div> - -<p>“This book,” says the first sentence of <cite>Matter and Memory</cite>, -“affirms the reality of spirit and the reality of matter.” Lower -in the same page, however, it is explained that “Matter, in our -view, is an aggregate of ‘images.’ And by ‘image’ we mean a certain -existence which is more than that which the idealist calls a <em>representation</em>, -but less than that which the realist calls a <em>thing</em>,—an -existence placed half-way between the ‘thing’ and the ‘representation.’ -... the object exists in itself, and, on the other hand, -the object is, in itself, pictorial, as we perceive it; image it is, but -a self-existing image (pp. vii, viii).</p> - -<p>“... memory ... is just the intersection of mind -and matter ... the psychical state seems to us to be ... -immensely wider than the cerebral state ... our cerebral<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">144</a></span> -state contains more or less of our mental state in the measure that -we reel off our psychic life into action or wind it up into pure -knowledge ... our psychic life may be lived at different -heights, now nearer to action, now further removed from it” -(pp. xii, xiii, xiv).</p> - -<p>The “intersection of mind and matter” suggests a profound -dualism, and this Bergson acknowledges to be essential to his -theory. It is true that no opportunity is lost, to discount the -reality of matter; but the relations which it sustains to mind are -such as can exist only between terms whose reality is coördinate. -Perception is just that biological reactive function of material -organism engaged with material stimulus, which every psychological -text-book proclaims it to be. But the actual conscious state -always has memory in it, as well as perception; or rather, the state -as conscious is nothing but memory; perception itself, “pure” -perception, is action pure and simple, and not cognitive at all.</p> - -<p>This is an abuse of the word “perception,” but the epistemology -can show a good deal of reason. After all, our perceptions (as we -call the states of mind in which we are involved with a material -stimulus) mean something, necessarily. They mean <em>something</em>, I -insist, the strangest of them. We sometimes speak otherwise, -saying that an object of perception means nothing to us. But, I -submit, this is only a manner of speaking. A state that meant -<em>nothing</em>, absolutely, were genuinely <em>blank</em>, empty, contentless; and -there is no difference, I take it, between a state without content and -a state that is unconscious. Well, then, meaning something, as a -conscious state must, what does it mean? Bergson, I am sure, is -right in holding that to mean is to recognize, to recall, to remember. -This makes of every concrete perceptive state, so-called, a rudimentary -deduction, a genuine syllogism, a work of intellect. The -major premise is a memory; the minor is an immediate reactive, -sensori-motor datum; the conclusion is the subsumption of the -present datum under the memory. Thus: The experience to -which I attach the name “orange” has such and such characters -(remembered major premise); the present reactive state has these -characters (perceptive datum, minor premise); therefore this state -is a case of the orange experience. The only difficulty is the nature -of the process of subsumption of the present datum with the -memory. The present datum in its purity as present is a reaction -merely, an event in the physical world. Its nature owns nothing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">145</a></span> -psychical. What commerce, then, can it have with mind? To -call its commerce with mind “subsumption” is to give a label to -a problem. To call memory the “intersection” of the physical -world with mind seems another label, of a metaphorical sort, for -the same problem.</p> - -<p>But, for the present, let us hear the doctrine. To my thinking, -it is Bergson’s best work, and full of illuminating suggestion. To -the radical dualist, it should be completely satisfactory. As an -adherent of a certain double-aspect conception of the body-mind -relation, I shall eventually propose a correction and completion, -very radical, certainly, but all that is necessary to make Bergson’s -treatment of this problem of the highest interest and value to -myself.</p> - -<p>The body, then, in Bergson’s theory, yes, the brain itself, is no -producer, repository nor reproducer of any element of consciousness. -The body is a center of reaction, and nothing else. “The size, -shape, even the color, of external objects is modified according as -my body approaches or recedes from them, ... the strength -of an odour, the intensity of a sound, increases or diminishes with -distance; finally, ... this very distance represents, above -all, the measure in which surrounding bodies are insured, in some -sort, against the immediate action of my body. In the degree -that my horizon widens, the images which surround me seem to be -painted upon a more uniform background and become to me more -indifferent. The more I narrow this horizon, the more the objects -which it circumscribes space themselves out distinctly according -to the greater or less ease with which my body can touch and move -them. They send back, then, to my body, as would a mirror, its -eventual influence; they take rank in an order corresponding to the -growing or decreasing powers of my body. <em>The objects which surround -my body reflect its possible action upon them.</em>”<a name="FNanchor_130" id="FNanchor_130" href="#Footnote_130" class="fnanchor">130</a> Cut a -sensory nerve, and the reactive process is destroyed, and with it, -perception. “Change the objects, or modify their relation to my -body, and everything is changed in the interior movements of my -perceptive centres. But everything is also changed in ‘my perception.’ -My perception is, then, a function of these molecular -movements; it depends upon them.”<a name="FNanchor_131" id="FNanchor_131" href="#Footnote_131" class="fnanchor">131</a> “What then are these -movements?... they are, within my body, the movements<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">146</a></span> -intended to prepare, while beginning it, the reaction of my body to -the action of external objects ... they foreshadow at each -successive moment its virtual acts.”<a name="FNanchor_132" id="FNanchor_132" href="#Footnote_132" class="fnanchor">132</a> It may seem that my reaction -to a body is the same whether I perceive it visually or tactually -or otherwise. But movements externally identical may differ -internally; there is a different organization of the same gross -function with different microscopic functions. The <em>meaning</em> has -ultimately an important sameness, since meaning is a function of -biological adjustment. But different inner organizations are still -the explanation of different ways of perceiving what is, in all -biologically important respects, the same object.</p> - -<p>Serious fault has been found<a name="FNanchor_133" id="FNanchor_133" href="#Footnote_133" class="fnanchor">133</a> with Bergson’s attempt to establish, -by scientific research in the subject of aphasia, the ontological -independence of spirit, the seat of memory, from body. But on -other grounds than such scientific investigation the issue of this -attempt appears to me at best a futile achievement; for the result -is in any case the reinstatement, untouched, of that problem of all -radical dualism, a problem which Bergson solves only by metaphor -whose brilliance may be luminous itself, but has no illumination -for the problem, which is how reactive states are also conscious.</p> - -<p>There is a theory which relates consciousness and matter to each -each other as the opposite sides of a surface in relief. The objection -to this “double aspect” theory that has weighed most, in -criticism, is that the ground of the parallelism between convexity -and concavity—to wit, a logical implication of each other—is obviously -absent in the parallelism of consciousness and matter. -Whatever parallelism experience actually finds between them is not -deducible from either concept: there is nothing in the definition of -the sensation blue to suggest an afferent nervous current; nothing -in the latter to suggest a sensation. They are incommensurate. -But when you conceive convexity, in that fact you conceive concavity -also, and <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">vice versa</i>. They are related as plus and minus. -The objection appeals to analysis of the definition of consciousness -or of matter, or challenges the advocate of the theory to study his -sensation or his neural process and see if there be in either of them -anything of the other.</p> - -<p>A difficulty which immediately arises when this challenge is -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">147</a></span>accepted has been understood to be decisive against the theory. It -is this: Any definition of consciousness which the advocate of the -theory may propose as the concept to be analyzed must, in order to -fulfil the first requirement of logical definition, be in terms of that -which is not consciousness. And this seems to the critic to beg the -question. If you define consciousness so, he objects, you make its -definition imply matter; but there is then nothing of consciousness -in it; what you have got is only matter. That is to assume an -equation between them. You state the value of <i>x</i> in terms of <i>y</i>, -but then you haven’t got <i>x</i>, but only <i>y</i>. It is otherwise with terms -that really have the correlation you claim for consciousness and -matter. Thus you can equate convexity with concavity in terms -of either alone, as <i>m</i> = -(-<i>m</i>). In this there is no assumption. -But what you say of <i>x</i> is that it equals <i>ay</i>, which is something <em>distinguishable</em> -from <i>x</i> and whose equality to <i>x</i> is just the problem.</p> - -<p>But if it be allowed that the disparity between consciousness and -matter must be either a distinction between two kinds of reality, or -else the distinction between being and not-being, the predicament -just described is worse for the critic of the “double aspect” theory -than for its advocate. If the distinction is that of being and not-being, -whichever is not-being has an internal constitution and -structure by virtue of which parts and relations are recognized -within it: matter has physical laws and the interaction of bodies; -consciousness has interrelated states. Not-being, so interpreted, -is hardly distinguished from being. And if the distinction is within -being, and exhausts it, either the connotation of consciousness and -that of matter are referable to each other—expressible in terms of -each other—or else the distinction is only denotative, and they are -not distinguished as <em>different</em>; for difference is a discursive relation -between differents: <em>dif</em>fering from each other is a case of <em>re</em>ferring -to each other.</p> - -<p>Excessive emphasis on the “ultimateness” and “absoluteness” -of the difference between these two concepts is just the inductive -cue that results in the “double aspect” theory. No one can regard -consciousness as not different from matter—least of all our critic, -who finds them incommensurable. Nay, among real things that -are <em>other</em> than each other, experience gives us no fellow to such -difference; for difference so utter, they that differ should coincide. -And so, in the fact of aspect, we have, indeed, in a thousand forms, -disparity that matches the difference between the concepts now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">148</a></span> -before us: <i>e. g.</i>, right, left; up, down; plus, minus; convex, concave.</p> - -<p>We confess three obvious differences between the two equations -which we have taken to represent our critic’s conception of the -relation of convexity to concavity and the relation of consciousness -to matter. In equation (1), which is <i>m</i> = -(-<i>m</i>), representing -the former relation, the same symbol <i>m</i> stands on both sides; in -equation (2) the symbols are different, <i>x</i> on one side, <i>y</i> on the other. -In (1) the coefficient also is the same on both sides, namely unity; -in (2) the coefficients are different, unity on one side, <i>a</i> on the other. -And in (1) the signs are opposite on the two sides, while in (2) the -sign is the same on both sides.</p> - -<p>What do these differences mean? To begin with, is (1) monomial -and (2) binomial? No; in spite of the fact that there is only -one symbol in (1), this equation is binomial in precisely the same -sense as (2) is binomial; for it means that a certain attitude toward -<i>m</i>, symbolized by the minus sign, transforms <i>m</i> into something <em>distinguishable -from</em> <i>m</i>. If equation (1) expressed an identity, it -would not represent the relation of convexity to concavity, which -are not identical but distinguishable. But what is thus expressed -in (1) by difference of sign is expressed in (2) by difference of coefficient; -for (2) means that a certain attitude toward the entity -symbolized by <i>x</i> (an attitude symbolized by the phrase “divide by -<i>a</i>”) transforms <i>x</i> into <i>y</i>. In short, the connotation differs, on the -two sides, <em>in both equations alike</em>. But on the other hand, the denotation -is the same on both sides in each equation, for such is the -nature of all equations, whether binomial or any other kind. Thus -we have identity of denotation with difference of connotation in -each of these equations, and they are so far homogeneous with each -other. Now connotation is aspect, which is determined by subjective -attitude; and attitudes are interrelated in determinate and -accurately expressible ways; as, for instance, by antagonism or mutual -exclusion, or by any of an indefinite number of forms of implication. -The difference of attitude called antipodal oppositeness, or polarity, -is the specific difference expressed in equation (1); whereas the -coefficient <i>a</i>, in (2), expresses <em>mere</em> difference of attitude, difference -in general, including, therefore, that specific difference which is -expressed by opposition of sign. Thus equation (1) is a case of -equation (2).</p> - -<p>To sum up: The objection, stated in these algebraic symbols, was -this: <i>m</i> implies -<i>m</i>; <i>x</i> does not imply <i>y</i>. Express the fact of relief<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">149</a></span> -in terms of <i>m</i> and you have the correlative fact in -<i>m</i> implied in -the very definition of <i>m</i>; while if you express <i>x</i> in terms of <i>y</i>, you -have <i>y</i> values, and nothing but <i>y</i>. In short, <i>x</i> and <i>y</i> exclude each -other; <i>m</i> and -<i>m</i> imply each other. Our answer is that <i>x</i> implies -<i>y</i> just as <i>m</i> implies -<i>m</i>; for <i>ay</i> is an aspect of the same denotation -as <i>x</i>; and, since the specificity of every aspect of a given denotation -is determinable or definable by relation to all other aspects of the -same denotation, any one of such aspects, as <i>x</i>, implies, in its definition, -every other, and so <i>y</i>, instead of excluding <i>y</i>.</p> - -<p>Turning from such abstract considerations to empirical study of -the sensation, the same sort of difficulty reappears. We think we -find a dynamic relationship of organic to extra-organic processes; -this relationship presents a material aspect, which we call neural -activity, and a formal aspect, which we call blue, for instance. But -the critic objects that all this is much more than sensation, and that -we have read our hypothesis into our data. We must keep to the -pure sensation; in that, there is no neural process. So, even as, -before, all our attempts to propose a definition of consciousness for -analysis were ruled out as begging the question, now every sample -of the experience to be observed is rejected as impure. There is no -sensation that is pure in such a sense as our critic means, for he -means subjectivity that implies no objectivity. If this is more -than a word, it is a self-contradiction, since subjectivity is subjectivity -only in the fact of correlation with objectivity. Indeed, if -our critic were to observe convexity as he proposes that we observe -sensation, he would find no implication of concavity in it; nor -would he find it convex. His observation would <em>be</em> the convexity; -the two would coincide, and so would not be two. Convexity in its -essence, as convex, would therein no longer be the object of the observation. -You have to get outside of your convexity to observe it -and its implication of concavity; just so, you have to get outside of -your sensation to know it; in it, you know only the object of it. -When convexity is said to imply concavity, convexity is just therein -not “pure,” as the sensation is supposed to be. “Pure” convexity, -analogous to “pure” sensation or subjectivity, would be -convexity without implication of concavity. That would be zero -convexity, so to speak—a self-contradiction. Just so, the “pure” -sensation, without implication of objectivity, is a fact of consciousness -without the essence of consciousness, which is dynamic relatedness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">150</a></span> -to an object. “Pure” consciousness is consciousness of -nothing, or no consciousness.</p> - -<p>If our critic have his way, we have nothing left us to discuss. -Let us invite his attention to a discussable phenomenon of our own -designating, and definable in some such way as this: the simultaneous -belonging of an experience to an organism and to another material -fact, say the sky. The two belongings are distinguished by a -<i xml:lang="la" lang="la">sui generis</i> difference of direction or relational “sense,” which unambiguously -determines the organism to be the subject of the -belonging, the sky the object. We have at least as good a right to -call this phenomenon by the name of consciousness, or sensation, -as our critic has to name that a sensation which he so defines that -its definition is contradicted by the naming.</p> - -<p>Now, experience is essentially dynamic, and, for an organism, to -be active is to be functionally ordinated or focalized. For example, -the eye and other parts may be subservient, in different ways and -degrees, to the hand. Then the organism is focalized into an organ -of touch, of striking, or whatever it may be. Every other function -contributes as accessory to this primary function, in the organism’s -present phase.</p> - -<p>We have called consciousness the formal aspect of activity, and -we mean by “form” applied to activity what we mean elsewhere, -determinateness or definableness. Here, in particular, it is that -character which depends on resistance or reactivity. Activity without -resistance would be without determination; its character or -content would have vanished; it would be activity upon nothing, -which, like consciousness of nothing, is nothing. So the resistance -that factors in activity is not extraneous to the essence of activity, -and consciousness and material processes imply each other not -only with the same logical necessity but with the same polar -oppositeness of mutual relation, as the aspects of relief.</p> - -<p>Consciousness is thus the inversion or reciprocal aspect of organic -activity, virtual, in distinction from externalized or real, activity. -Where attention is focalized, action is most resisted. As action -approaches free vent, consciousness of the object of this free -activity becomes more and more evanescent. At the limit where -action is unresisted, it and consciousness go out, vanish together, in -inverse “sense” or directions. Where action approaches “pure” -(<i>i. e.</i>, unresisted) activity, pure positivity, pure subjectivity, consciousness -approaches “pure” (<i>i. e.</i>, unreacting) passivity, pure<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">151</a></span> -negativity, pure objectivity. And such “pure” action and consciousness -are pure nothing, action on nothing, sensation of -nothing. The vanishing of the two relations together is, in each -case, for lack of one of its terms inverse to the term lacking in the -other case.</p> - -<p>This mutual symmetry between action and consciousness is an -implicate of their identity of denotation and mutual inversion of -aspect; and any study of the fluctuations and transitions of consciousness, -with its modulations of attention and inhibition, is -accordingly a study in inverse, a perfect logical function, of corresponding -modifications of organic activity; for in the play of the -organic functions we shall find incessant modulations between -their focalization and their dispersion, incessant shifting of their -mutual rank and of the position of primacy among them, to correspond -with the changes between margin and focus that are -always going on among the elements of consciousness.</p> - -<p>The organism is structurally and functionally centralized in a -sensori-motor system, where the afferent activity is opposed by the -efferent, in a common focus, or in coincident foci, in which action -and reaction give form to each other. Here organic reaction has its -inception in a preformation, schema or design, as Bergson says, of -the developed activity. An intricate manifold of functions are -organized: interest determines the ascendency or primacy of a certain -function, while others are subservient, being inhibited or reinforced -in varying degrees. The whole complex process has this -character of focal, unifying organization, a unity expressed in -opposite aspects as the simple form of activity, on the one hand, -and as the simple object of perceptive consciousness on the other.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h4 class="nobreak"><a name="bergson_82" id="bergson_82"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter III</span></h4><span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">152</a></span> -</div> - -<p class="bergchap">DOCTRINE OF FREEDOM</p> - -<p>The fallacy of conceptualism, which, as Bergson conceives it, is -to substitute space for time as the form of mental existence, has -been discussed in the first chapter of <cite>Time and Free Will</cite> in the -aspect of applying intensive magnitude, and in the second chapter, -numerical multiplicity, to psychic facts. It is the same fallacy -which is discussed in the third chapter, in the aspect of applying to -them the conception of determinate, causal organization. The -outcome of the book is thus that the problem of freedom is just the -problem of conceptualism, a problem of philosophic method. -This book, <cite>Time and Free Will</cite>, is a manual of instruction for knowing -the reality of mental existence; and its object is the <em>practical</em> -object of indicating the attitude necessary for that purpose. There -are two possible attitudes, that of space and that of time, or that of -conception and that of intuition. The conceptual is the attitude -taken by philosophy universally, to be sure; which explains the -futility of all extant discussions of the “persistent problems of -philosophy.” It is clear, for instance, Monsieur Bergson thinks, -that this attitude gives rise, in an automatic and inevitable way, to -the problem of freedom—that is, that there would be no such -problem but for this false cognitive attitude;—and at the same -time that by originating in this unhappy way the problem is necessarily -a pseudo-problem, cannot be stated without contradiction. -For when you regard mental facts in the spatial or conceptual way, -the question automatically arises, how are these facts causally -related with other spatial facts? It is a contradiction because by -“these” facts you mean non-spatial facts, which, in the nature of -causation, can not be causally related with spatial facts, but which, -the question presupposes, are so related. Such is the real meaning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">153</a></span> -of the traditional problem of freedom. The solution, says Bergson, -is to cease thinking spatially of that which is temporal; take -the other attitude. Once you have done so, the problem vanishes; -the causal relation is by definition a spatial relation, and there are -no longer two spatial terms to be related. Such determinism is -the associationistic conception of mind as an assemblage of distinct, -coexistent elements of which the strongest exerts a preponderant -influence on the others. Their organization is a -mechanical system, and their operations obey the laws of mechanical -causation.</p> - -<p>As relative (<i>i. e.</i> quantitative) intensity is to absolute, qualitative -intensity, as juxtaposited multiplicity is to interpenetrating multiplicity, -so is determinate organization to organization by free -evolution. The categories magnitude, number and cause apply to -space. The difference, for Bergson, between space and time is, as -we have seen, so absolute that it hardly expresses his theory aright -to say that to the above three characters of space three temporal -characters <em>correspond</em>. Reason seems lacking for any correspondence -whatever. This is certain, at any rate: that when intellect -makes time an object, and sees it greater or less, divisible and -regularly consequential, three things are true about the real, non-objective -nature of time, each of which truths manifests itself to -intellect, but wrongly, erroneously. Moreover, it is plainly by -reasoned, analytic discourse that Bergson discovers that the above -intellectual manifestations of time’s essence are false. One discovers, -furthermore, by this conceptual process, just how they are -false, and corrects them with a result so conceptually precise and -intelligible that, instead of these three characters falsely spatial, -other three are determined as truly temporal. Instead of magnitude, -quality has in this way been substituted; instead of multiplicity, -indivisible variousness. For cause, the last chapter of -the <cite>Essai</cite> substitutes freedom.</p> - -<p>We should now be well prepared for divining the nature of the -freedom which is consciousness, or more generally, life. The -organization of the facts of a given consciousness is such that the -person is focally entire in any one of them, even as the entire body -functions in each of its functions (cf. page 20). The determinate -type of organization is analogous to the mechanically actuated -manikin, not to the natural man, even though those fragments -which build up the structure of the associationist soul are forces;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">154</a></span> -for these forces are mutually distinct parts of the soul, whose -union in it, and so whose interaction, depends on some principle -extrinsic to any of them and is thus wholly determined from without. -In the developmental type of organization, on the contrary, -the <em>wholeness</em> of action is its freedom, rather than independence of -what is not itself. Although such independence seems to belong to -it, as well, what Bergson is interested to emphasize about the freedom -of the free action is that it is the expression of the entire -person.</p> - -<p>In the domain of life, there is no identity, for there is no permanence—“the -same does not remain the same,” as Bergson puts -it. The ego is not the same ego in any two moments; it is not the -same ego that deliberates from moment to moment; and two -contradictory feelings that move it are never respectively self-identical -in two moments. Indeed, if the case were otherwise, a decision -would never be made; the equilibrium of the opposing feelings -would never be resolved. Merely by the fact that the person has -experienced a feeling, he is modified when a second feeling comes. -The feelings are the continually modified ego itself, a dynamic -series of states that interpenetrate, reinforce each other and result -in a free act by a natural evolution, because it emanates from the -entire person.</p> - -<p>Such is the character of the free act, a very intelligible character, -it would seem, a character lending itself tractably enough to verbal -definition, that is, conceptual definition, as a certain relation of act -to agent. Yet it must immediately be added that what seems so -intelligible and so conceptual an explication of this “certain -relation”—what is contained in the two paragraphs preceding—is -not regarded by the author as a definition of freedom. It seems -that there is a distinction between the formulation of a conception -on one hand, and a definition, on the other, though Bergson does -not elucidate this distinction explicitly, and I have had to give up -the attempt. The distinction is evidently of crucial importance, -nevertheless. “We can now formulate our conception of freedom,” -says the author, on page 219 of <cite>Time and Free Will</cite>. -“Freedom is the relation of the concrete self to the act which it -performs. This relation is indefinable just because we <em>are</em> free. -For we can analyze a thing, but not a process; we can break up -extensity, but not duration. Or, if we persist in analyzing it, we -unconsciously transform the process into a thing, and duration<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">155</a></span> -into extensity ... and, as we have begun by, so to speak, -stereotyping the activity of the self, we see spontaneity settle down -into inertia and freedom into necessity. Thus, any positive -definition of freedom will ensure the victory of determinism.”</p> - -<p>The attempt is therefore unwisely made by indeterminists to -define freedom by meeting determinists on their own ground when -the latter turn the question of freedom into considerations of the -relations of the voluntary act to its antecedents, characterizing -voluntary activity as essentially foreseeable before, or apodictically -intelligible after the fact. When indeterminists permit themselves -to be thus ambushed, they commit themselves to the support of -determinism, by accepting the deterministic postulate, in the one -case that “foreseeable” has intelligible meaning applied to psychic -states, which it has not; or, in the other case, that willed acts are -intelligible both before and after the fact.</p> - -<p>The determinist, that is,—to take the second case first—professes -that an act depends in a mechanical way upon certain antecedents. -The indeterminist contends that the same antecedents -could have resulted in either of several different acts, equally -possible. Defenders and opponents of freedom agree in making -a kind of mechanical oscillation between two points precede the -action. I choose A. The indeterminists say, You have deliberated; -then B was possible. The determinists reply, I have chosen; -therefore I had some reason to do so, and when B is declared -equally possible, this reason is forgotten; one of the conditions of -the problem is ignored. Both represent the activity by a deliberative -route which divides. Call the point of the division O; then -the divisions of the forked line OA and OB symbolize the two -divisions which abstraction distinguishes within the continuous -activity, of which A is the termination. But while determinists -take account of everything, and find that the route MOA has been -traversed, their opponents ignore one of the data with which they -have constructed the figure; and, after tracing the lines OA and OB, -which ought to be united if they are to represent the progression -of the ego’s activity, they make this progression go back to O -and begin oscillating again!</p> - -<p>The trouble with both these solutions, Bergson says, is that they -presuppose an achieved deliberation and resolution, representable -in space by a geometrical figure. The question, Could the ego, -having traversed the route MO and decided on A, have chosen B?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">156</a></span> -is nonsense: to put such a question is to affirm the possibility of -adequately representing time by space, succession by simultaneity. -It is to attribute to the figure traced the value of an image and not -merely of a symbol. Figures represent things, not progressions: -how shall a figure furnish the least indication of the concrete -motion, of the dynamic progression by which the deliberation -results in the act? The defenders of freedom say, The route is not -yet traced; therefore one can take any direction. To which we -reply, You can speak of a route, in such a connection, only after -the action is accomplished, and then it has been traced. The -determinists say, The route has been traced <em>thus</em>; therefore its -possible direction was only that particular direction. To which -we reply, Before the route was traced there was no direction, possible -or impossible; there could, as yet, be no question of a route. -In its lowest terms this merely means: The act, once accomplished, -is accomplished; and the argument of the determinists: -The act, before being accomplished, was not as yet an act. The -question of freedom is not touched, because freedom is a shade or -quality of the act itself, not a relation of this act with what it is -not nor with what it can be. Deliberation is not oscillation in -space; it is dynamic progression, in which the ego and the motives -are in a continual becoming, as living beings.</p> - -<p>Indeterminists, Professor Bergson says, must beware, again, of -arguing against the prevision of voluntary acts. Once more, this -is not because prevision of a voluntary act is possible, but because -there is no sense in the phrase. If Paul knew all the conditions -under which Peter acts, his imagination would relive Peter’s -history. He must pass through Peter’s very own psychic states, -to know with precision their intensity and their importance in -relation to his other states. The intensity, in fact, is the peculiar -quality of the feeling itself. Now, to know <em>all</em> the antecedents of -the act would bring you to the act itself, which is their continuation, -and not merely their result, and above all in no way separate -from them. To relive Peter’s history is just to become Peter—that -is the only way Paul could conceivably “know all the antecedents” -of the act in question. There is no question of predicting -the act, but simply of acting. Knowledge of the antecedents of the -act without knowledge of the act is an absurdity, a contradiction. -The indeterminists can mean nothing, by such a contention as this, -but that the act is not an act until it is acted—which is hardly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">157</a></span> -worth meaning;—and the determinists can mean only that the act, -once acted, is acted—which is no better. The subject of freedom -is beside the point, in such a debate.</p> - -<p>So the question of prevision comes to this: Is time spatial? You -drew Peter’s states, you perceived his life as a marking in space. -You then rubbed out, in thought, the part OA, and asked if, -knowing the part before O, you could have determined OA beforehand. -That is the question you put when you bring in Paul’s -representation of the conditions (and therefore their materialization) -under which Peter shall act. After having identified Paul -with Peter, you make Paul take his former point of view, from -which he now sees the line MOA complete, having just traced it in -the rôle of Peter.</p> - -<p>Prevision of natural phenomena has not the slightest analogy -with that of a voluntary act. Time, in scientific formulæ, is -always and only a number of simultaneities. The intervals may be -of any length; they have nothing to do with the calculation. Foreseeing -natural phenomena is making them present, or bringing -them at least enormously nearer. It is the intervals, the units -themselves—just what the physicist has nothing to do with—that -interest the psychologist. A feeling half as long would not be the -same feeling. But when one asks if a future action can be foreseen, -one identifies physical time, which is a number, with real psychological -duration, which has no analogy with number. In the region -of psychological states there is no appreciable difference between -foreseeing, seeing and acting.</p> - -<p>According to the mechanical law of causation, the same causes -always produce the same effects. But, in the region of psychic -states, this law is neither true nor false, but meaningless; for in this -region there is no “always:” there is only “once.” A repeated -feeling is a radically different feeling. It retains the same name -only because it corresponds to the same external cause, or is outwardly -expressed by analogous signs. It was just said that the -ego is not the same in any two moments of its history. It is -modified incessantly by the accumulation of its past. One’s -character at any moment, is the condensation of one’s past. Duration -acts as a cause; but this temporal or psychological causation -has no more analogy with what is called causation in nature than -temporal variousness has with number, or intensity with magnitude. -A causality which is necessary connection is, at bottom,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">158</a></span> -identity; the effect is an expression of the cause, as mathematical -functions are expressions of each other. But no psychic state has -this virtual identity with, or mathematical reducibility to, any -other with which it would thus be in the “necessary” kind of -causal relation. Such effect is not given in the cause, but is -absolutely new.</p> - -<p>Time that has passed is an objective thing, and is representable -by space; time passing is a subjective process, and is not representable. -The free act is the actual passing of time; time in its passing -is the very stuff of the existence of freedom. Analyze an act, and -you make it a thing. Then its spontaneity is altered into inertia, -its freedom into necessity. Hence any definition of freedom makes -it determinism. But, though the analysis of the act and the -definition of freedom are illusory undertakings, the fundamental -fact of freedom remains unassailable by any argument.</p> - -<div class="tb">* <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span></div> - -<p>Bergson’s way of vindicating freedom is thus to find no case -against it. Of the positive sort, the only, and sufficient proof is -appeal to consciousness. Freedom is an immediate datum of -consciousness.</p> - -<p>This is confusing to anyone who cannot follow Bergson in his -view that subject and object, in actual intuitive consciousness, are -indistinguishable, identical. And this fusion of the poles of consciousness -while the nature of consciousness not merely suffers nothing -but even attains its apogee thereby, needs more justification than -Bergson has given it. Freedom is a datum of consciousness; but, as -undetermined, it must, on Bergson’s principles, be consciousness itself—which, -indeed, is plainly enough the teaching intended. Freedom -is consciousness, then, purely subjective. In what sense is it a -datum of consciousness? If it is a datum, is it not an object, of -consciousness? It seems a case where, in order to see, you musn’t -look, lest looking make what is purely subjective an object! This -is hardly the case of the fovea and the faint star, where looking -<em>loses</em> your object; for here, looking rather produces it where no -object belongs, or—perhaps one should say—transforms it. Your -look, says Gustave Belot,<a name="FNanchor_134" id="FNanchor_134" href="#Footnote_134" class="fnanchor">134</a> congeals and immobilizes it, denatures -it like the Gorgon’s stare! It is knowable, says Bergson, only by -being lived. It is a feeling we have. But the trouble is that, to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">159</a></span> -<em>known</em> as undetermined, as freedom, to be even a feeling we have, -it is back upon our hands as a datum, as an object.</p> - -<p>Before I comment in my own way on the Bergsonian view of -freedom, I wish to call to the attention of English readers the keen -reaction of this French critic of Bergson. Belot objects to the -modest-seeming statement that freedom is a feeling we have. -Neither psychology, he thinks, nor common sense, approves.<a name="FNanchor_135" id="FNanchor_135" href="#Footnote_135" class="fnanchor">135</a> -They establish, on the contrary, a sensible difference between -freedom, whatever it may be, and the feeling we have of it—any -feeling we can possibly have. Our feeling of freedom is much less -variable than our freedom. “We agree not to attribute a veritable -practical freedom to the dreaming man, to the somnambulist, to -the man affected with some mental disease. Yet the man who, in -dream, sees himself act, sees himself free in his action; the somnambulist -equally feels himself free and attributes to himself, in his -dream, a responsibility that we decline to put upon him, and which -he will reject, himself, when he wakes<a name="FNanchor_136" id="FNanchor_136" href="#Footnote_136" class="fnanchor">136</a> ... The furious -madman must ordinarily feel himself free in the accomplishment of -a murder for which a tribunal will not consent to punish him. The -fact is, it suffices, in order that we should feel ourselves free, that -our acts should be in harmony with our ideas and our feelings. -Now, that may very well be, in the cases of the dreamer, the -somnambulist, the madman.... They would therefore -feel themselves free. But they are not free; for they only act from -an incomplete consciousness; and a great number of elements of -their normal ego, which would permit the revision, the correction, -the inhibition, are lacking.” A glimmering of the fact of one’s -madness is a token of the only residuum there is of freedom. “It -is to conserve some freedom, to perceive that one no longer is -master of oneself.”</p> - -<p>Bergson is alive to all this—sometimes, as when he says that the -freedom of a free action is its <em>entirety</em>, its expression of the total -personality. But Belot is quite justified in charging him with forgetting -it, for only by forgetting it could he conceive of freedom as -an immediate datum of consciousness. It is, indeed, far from the -case that our freedom is nothing but the feeling we have of it, or -that it is proportional to this feeling. What is so altered by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">160</a></span> -determinist habit of mind, by the conceptual attitude toward will, -is not at all one’s feeling of freedom, but only one’s interpretation -of it. An immediate, spontaneous feeling, being prior to theory -and analysis, is safe from any influence from them. In the most -incorrigible determinist, consciousness of the wish, other things -equal, is exactly the same as in the most incorruptible indeterminist.</p> - -<p>Precise determination of will is not only not contrary to freedom -but is indispensable to it. Minimizing the value of motive in -activity is loss, not gain, to freedom. The motive is what connects -our act to our whole personality, and makes it ours. Without this -connection, we are not free; its interruption is a limitation, not the -condition, of freedom. And indeed freedom is so limited by the -mass of our unreflecting impulses. Bergson is right in saying that -we are rarely free. But therefore he is wrong in saying that freedom -is the mere spontaneity of the ego.</p> - -<p>In a certain passage<a name="FNanchor_137" id="FNanchor_137" href="#Footnote_137" class="fnanchor">137</a> Bergson describes freedom in a way which -seems almost explicitly to deny the doctrine that it is the entirety -of will. Here it is a revolution of one part of the self against the -rest, far from emanating from the total self. And such revolution, -just so far as it is purely spontaneous, or arbitrary, is irresponsible -instead of free. Just so far, on the other hand, as it is not arbitrary, -it is determined. In fact, however, appearance of arbitrariness -argues nothing about determination except that one is ignorant -about it.</p> - -<p>In showing the absurdity of all argumentation for or against the -determination of a future voluntary act by present conditions, the -considerations offered by Bergson are almost perfect proof of such -determination. The reason we cannot think another’s thought -without disfiguring it is just that the conditions of the thought, -and so of the act, are not all reunited. The act, then, is supposed -to depend on these conditions. Now, an absolute present is a -fiction; each moment of the true duration of consciousness is a -commencement and an achievement. Determination is nothing -but that intimate connection of events which prevents us from -isolating an absolute present. The case of Peter and Paul then, -proves only that foresight could not be adequate to determination, -not that determination is absent. The inability of even the author<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">161</a></span> -of an act to foresee it is no criterion of its freedom. Any free acts -of our own that we do foresee, we foresee as connected with our -present state, as ours, in fact; it is that which makes their freedom, -but that supposes also their determination. This foresight, it may -be said, is always insufficient and imperfect. So much the worse -for freedom, not the better. It is thereby limited, not made. -There are, indeed, always events outside of us that baffle our calculations, -as well as unconscious tendencies, unperceived forces -within us, indistinctly developing beneath the reflective and clear-seeing -ego (Bergson calls this the superficial, Belot the higher ego) -which suddenly break out, rout it and upset it. Such civil war is -anything but freedom.</p> - -<p>The uniqueness of psychic states, whether free or not, neither -exempts them from determination nor even differentiates them -from physical states. That a psychic state is not reproducible -Bergson shows to be because the past, incessantly accumulating -and modifying itself, is never the same in two moments. A clearer -statement of the solidarity of past and present—<i>i. e.</i> of determination—could -not be made. It may well be true that in the -physical as well as in the moral world, every individual is without -counterpart; it is none the less a product of nature, for its uniqueness; -and, as a product of nature, determined, in its own uniqueness, -by nature. Among our most unique acts, the most original -are far from being the freest. The eccentricities of the madman -are more original than the sober doings of the rational, but not so -free. The more enlightened men are, the freer; but the more they -do and think the same thing. Their divergences come from their -ignorances and their unconsciousness, which are also the limits of -their freedom. It is the same with them as with nature: it is -when it produces monsters that it is most new, but it is then also -that it has been least free, most constrained in its doings.</p> - -<p>Monsieur Bergson has not done away with psychological -determinism; but if he had, he would have hindered freedom rather -than helped it. But the problem is not purely psychological; it is -psycho-physical. We are at once body and consciousness. A -freedom which were not exerted in the outer world would be absolutely -nominal and illusory; and in order to manifest itself therein, -it must be accompanied by physical processes. These too, then, -if determinism is contrary to freedom, must be exempt from -determination.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">162</a></span> -Bergson’s denial of psycho-physical parallelism<a name="FNanchor_138" id="FNanchor_138" href="#Footnote_138" class="fnanchor">138</a> is no gain for -freedom. If no external effect is essentially involved in a volition, -the volition is impotent—which is surely not to be free. Nor -would it be characteristic of freedom to have activities going on in -the organism without the avowal of consciousness. So far as we -do possess such unconscious goings-on, we are absolutely passive to -their operation. Psycho-physiological parallelism<a name="FNanchor_139" id="FNanchor_139" href="#Footnote_139" class="fnanchor">139</a> is a condition -of freedom, not its negation. Some sort of correspondence is -necessary to the feeling of freedom, and in that case freedom cannot -dispense with determinism in nature, at least. One might, perhaps, -suppose a preestablished harmony between a contingency -(the moral world) and a determinism (the physical); it would be -easier to suppose it between two determinisms; but between two -contingencies—that is too much to ask!</p> - -<p>Suppose, then, the ability of mind to produce, veritably cause -physical modifications. Suppose an energy not subject to calculation. -But how shall we ever know such an energy in the external -world? All that is spatial is calculable, if number is derived from -space. How could an energy, then, be manifest in the physical -universe, <i>i. e.</i> in space, without being thereby subjected to the -same forms of quantity and to the requirements of calculation?</p> - -<p>Bergson’s attempt to repudiate the problem of determinism, as -a pseudo-problem, results in his vacillation between the two sides -of the controversy. Sometimes he accepts the solidarity of our -acts with the rest of our conscious life, sometimes he denies it; -which is to vindicate freedom sometimes by determinism, sometimes -by indeterminism. In the beginning he founds freedom in -the mutual penetration of the states of consciousness; even sensation -is a commencement of freedom, because it embraces “the -sketching and, as it were, prefiguring of the future automatic -movements;”<a name="FNanchor_140" id="FNanchor_140" href="#Footnote_140" class="fnanchor">140</a> and the free act is defined as that which “springs -from the self”<a name="FNanchor_141" id="FNanchor_141" href="#Footnote_141" class="fnanchor">141</a> without intervention of anything strange. Then, -little by little, the contrary thesis takes the upper hand: the act of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">163</a></span> -will becomes a <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">coup d’état</i>; “the successive moments of real time -are not bound up with one another;”<a name="FNanchor_142" id="FNanchor_142" href="#Footnote_142" class="fnanchor">142</a> the dynamic conception -supposes “that the future is not more closely bound up with the -present in the external world than it is in our own inner life.”<a name="FNanchor_143" id="FNanchor_143" href="#Footnote_143" class="fnanchor">143</a> -Bergson maintains, to be sure, that solidarity can be admitted -between the past and the present and denied between present and -future. Once the event happens it is indeed necessary that we -should be able to explain it, and we can always do so by plausible -reasons. But this connection is established after the fact for the -satisfaction of our discursive reason. The past is fixed, it cannot -<em>not have been</em>; it has become a <em>thing</em>, under the domain of the understanding -and of analysis. Whereas, at the moment of enactment, -the activity is a <em>process</em>, and so not capable of analysis. When the -route is traced, we can analyze its directions and windings, but it -is not traced in advance of being traced; it is the tracing that makes -the route, not the route that determines the tracing. You can -explain what is given, but there is no explaining what is not given.</p> - -<p>Bergson, however, does not keep this point of view. The future, -we have just seen, is “prefigured” in the present. Then it is as -necessary to the feeling of our freedom to be able to connect our -future to our present in our decision, as to be able, once the act is -accomplished, to give account of it by reasons drawn from our -consciousness. Bergson’s thought vacillates this way because he -attributes two incompatible characters to the inner life, qualitative -heterogeneity and mutual penetration of its states. Grant -the heterogeneity and you have an infinitesimal dust, the very -denial of connection and penetration. If the states penetrate -there are always two near enough to each other in quality to form -an identical whole, while they differ only in degree, as two very -near shades of the same color. But then there is a quantitative, -and so a homogeneous, aspect of the inner life.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h4 class="nobreak"><a name="bergson_94" id="bergson_94"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter IV</span></h4><span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">164</a></span> -</div> - -<p class="bergchap">BERGSON’S ABHORRENCE OF DETERMINATENESS</p> - -<p>A deep, temperamental abhorrence of determinateness—that is -the motive of Bergsonism. By admission of Bergson, any object -of the mind is determinate. But therefore a philosophy that -repudiates determinateness in the nature of reality is ineffable -because it is objectless. It is ineffable also because any reason -offered for the indeterminateness of reality is determination of it. -The dread of determinateness is the dread of reason, of explanation, -of interpretation—in a word, of philosophy. A consciousness -which can ‘testify that we are free’ is not an objectless consciousness; -and freedom, if consciousness can testify to it, cannot be an -indeterminate nor an immediate (<i>i. e.</i> unobjectified) datum of -consciousness. Bergson’s position is that it is essential to the true -nature of reality <em>in itself</em>, under whatever aspect—<i>e. g.</i> duration, -motion, freedom etc.—to be subjective; and that this is why Zeno -is right in finding motion, for instance, unthinkable; for “unthinkable” -properly means (though it did not mean, for Zeno) -incapable of becoming objective. This to say, is it not, that the -true nature of reality independently of all point of view is to be -viewed from a certain point! It comes to this, at least, if to be -subjective is compatible with being known in any sense, with -being contained within consciousness at all. Otherwise it comes -to the skeptical (and self-contradictory) doctrine that it is -essential to the true nature of reality to be unknowable in every -sense. The former, of course, is Bergson’s view regarding subjectivity.<a name="FNanchor_144" id="FNanchor_144" href="#Footnote_144" class="fnanchor">144</a></p> - -<p>The anti-intellectualist doctrine, however, that data of consciousness -cannot be understood, conceptualized, defined, or even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">165</a></span> -named—cannot, in short, be objectified—without contradiction is -as important for the problem of knowledge as it is for the problem -of freedom. Professor Perry’s analysis of immediatism<a name="FNanchor_145" id="FNanchor_145" href="#Footnote_145" class="fnanchor">145</a> shows the -misunderstanding of what it is to conceptualize, which underlies -such a doctrine. The anti-intellectualist idea seems to be that the -concept is static, and common to more than one consciousness, and -universal in its denotation, and sharply discrete; and that for these -reasons it could not correspond to what is fluid and private and -uniquely particular and continuous. It is evidently the “copy -theory” of knowledge, which unconsciously determines this criticism -of the concept. Concepts are invalid, applied to life, <em>because -they are not like living objects</em>! “You cannot make continuous -being out of discontinuities,” is James’s criticism.<a name="FNanchor_146" id="FNanchor_146" href="#Footnote_146" class="fnanchor">146</a> And Bergson’s: -“Instead of a flux of fleeting shades merging into each other -[intellect] perceives distinct and, so to speak, <em>solid</em> colors, set side -by side like the beads of a necklace.”<a name="FNanchor_147" id="FNanchor_147" href="#Footnote_147" class="fnanchor">147</a> But, as Perry shows, to -conceptualize is nothing like this procedure. Conception is <em>substitution</em> -of one object of immediate consciousness which is conveniently -abstract, for another object which is, in the circumstances of -the conceiving, inconvenient in its concrete fulness. All that is -necessary in order that this substitutional mode of consciousness -should be valid and true knowledge of the object so symbolized, is -that the substitute should <em>mean</em> that object. And that it can and -does mean it when the object is a subjective state is no more than -the fact that, on Bergson’s own showing, such states are symbolized. -For to mean is essentially to symbolize. Certainly no one concept -is a rounded-out exhaustive awareness, so to speak, of the symbolized -object. But this is no more than to say that conceiving is a -selective and eliminating mode of consciousness—which does not -distinguish it from any other mode, the most immediate and -intuitive possible state of genuine significant consciousness being -essentially as much an elimination as a positing.</p> - -<p>Since, then, a symbol never has (just by reason of its function as -symbol) the same structure as the object symbolized, there is -nothing either in the immobility, or the publicity, or the universality, -or the discreteness of any concept, or in its inclusion of all these -characters, to prevent its validly meaning the fluid and private<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">166</a></span> -and particular and continuous. And the real must necessarily -have the conceptual characters, since the characters correlative to -them, alone regarded by Bergson as characters of reality, have no -meaning <em>except correlatively</em> to the conceptual characters. Thus -“fluidity of nothing” is a phrase without meaning. The something -which is fluid, requires, in order that <em>fluidity</em> as such shall be -a datum of experience, a coefficient aspect of immobility. It is -not fluidity that flows. The immobile, snap-shot conceptual form—not -only does this <em>belong</em> to the cataract, as the possibility of -photographing it proves, but this very form is indispensable to the -fact of flow in its genuine concreteness. As for uniqueness, a fact -so unique that it is like nothing else in any respect, could not be -discriminated. The bare discernibleness of a datum requires a -basis of discrimination which is common to it and to that from -which it is discriminated. Continuity is analogous with unity, -and has no meaning if there is no aspect, in it, of composition, and -so of discreteness, as unity is nothing if not union of a plurality. -That the real has the aspects eulogistically favored by intuitionism -is beyond question. That it has not the complementary conceptual -aspects is demonstrably false, and is an illusion of “exclusive -particularity,” explainable only by that prepossession with a -certain abstract view, whose psychological origin has been repeatedly -noted in this study.</p> - -<p>Is it not truly a paradox to give the unnamable a long list of -names—life, consciousness, freedom, duration, intensity, quality, -heterogeneity etc.—and to write a book, whether practical or -speculative, concerning that which will not articulate into discourse, -(cf. above, p. 54–5), employing these names on every page; -and to conclude with a studied definition of freedom; and to avow -that the purpose of it all is to make the fact understood that the -subject-matter cannot even be named, still less defined or discoursed -about or understood? It seems improper to consider that -the book is <em>about</em> such a subject, and yet necessary to suppose that -it is about some subject, and impossible to assign another. If it is -true that, in seeming to name this subject, you are deluded; that, -in trying to talk about it, you fail, and name and talk about something -else, instead, its spatialized symbol—then the conclusion is -perfectly valid that such a book is a case of this delusion. And -the trouble lies in that reifying of the coefficients of reality and of -consciousness which is the condition of a philosophy of “pure”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">167</a></span> -intuition (cf. page 29). To suppose that genuine cases of awareness -can be either pure intuition or pure conception is to reify these -coefficient aspects of consciousness, which are as truly <em>both</em> indispensable -for the genuine concreteness of an actual case of awareness -as are the positive sine <em>and</em> cosine for the real acuteness of an angle -(<i>i. e.</i> for the angle to enclose acutely space revolved-through). -As the zero point of either trigonometric projection is the vanishing-point -of the entity of whose nature they are coefficient functions, -so the “purity” of either coefficient function of consciousness -is the vanishing of any real awareness.<a name="FNanchor_148" id="FNanchor_148" href="#Footnote_148" class="fnanchor">148</a></p> - -<p>If no logical reason impugns the validity of conceptual knowledge -of subjective states, no more does the pragmatic test discredit -such knowledge. It is as good, genuine knowledge in its satisfaction -of vital interest as the sensation, say, which is the object of -the state in question. Helen Keller, incapable of the sensation -blue, knows the sensation—conceptually alone, of necessity—rather -better, even, it may be, than she would ever have known it -if her life had been more occupied in the knowing of blue—and -other such—<em>things</em>; better, at any rate, certainly, than most -people know it. All this knowledge can be is a rationalizing of -“blue:” she can name it, define it, understand it, make articulate -and significant statements about it. The intellectual mode of -knowing blue is thoroughly significant. It finds blue in -experience, and enables the conscious subject to identify this object -when she comes across it. By this knowledge, blue is part of the -currency of Helen Keller’s social commerce. It is a factor in her -life, with its importance and interest. Obviously, she can have -got it only by conceptualizing it.</p> - -<p>Of course the proposition that consciousness is indefinable has -the same futility as the proposition that it is unnamable; because, -indeed, they have the same meaning. The meaning, we have -seen, is that, in trying to name or define what is fluid, private, etc., -there is a miscarriage; it is something else that gets named or -defined, to wit the representative or symbol of what was aimed at. -This symbol, being fixed and public, is able to lend itself to application -of the fixed and public name or concept. But we have also -seen that a name is only a symbol; an unnamable thing could not -be symbolized. If, by hypothesis, it <em>is</em> symbolized, it is therein -namable.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">168</a></span> -But naming a thing is <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">ipso facto</i> relating it, for it is associating it -with something else, its name or symbol; in naming the thing you -have started upon the process of defining it, which is the infinite -process of relating it or understanding it. Exempting things from -naming or definition, sequestering them from the rational domain, -is like setting a limit to space. Sequestering from the rational -domain is relating to it, and that is putting into it.</p> - -<p>If the illusion in trying to name and define mental states is due to -their fluidity and privacy, by the same token the same treatment -of physical objects, which Bergson regards as valid treatment, is in -fact equally illusory. To be sure, physical objects have not, -according to the author, the flow of duration, but they are even -less dependable creatures than mental states, for in every new -moment they are something absolutely other than anything which -was in the moment before. Besides which, in spite of this really -incessant instantaneity, something, not explained, causes them, upon -the “intersection” of our duration with them, to <em>appear</em> to us to be -self-identical but changed, even as we ourselves. Physical objects -are not fixed. One finds no exceptions in nature to the universal -law of change; and the state of any physical thing at a given -moment is the outcome, in continuity, of its previous states, to an -indefinite regress of antecedents, quite as the case stands with the -ego. In respect to duration, discriminating between physical and -mental is not valid. Even between organic and inorganic matter -or between conscious and unconscious organisms the difference is -only one of degree or tempo of change. But if so, it is arbitrary, if -one regards the present state of the conscious organism as embodying -the whole of its past, to deny this of the stick and the stone. -Of course mental states are not permanent; subjects, objects—nothing -is permanent that has existence. Nothing stays as it is. The -scope of naming and defining is not limited by permanence. -Neither, however, is the flux of nature chaos, that it should not be -understandable. Change, on the contrary, is the manifestation of -law, in the time of Heraclitus, now, and forever.</p> - -<p>Privacy or uniqueness is no more obstructive to understanding -than is change, and, like change, has no peculiar applicability to -mental states as matter of knowledge. Privacy or uniqueness -applies to physical objects of knowledge in essentially the same -way as it applies to mental states. Mere accessibility is, in principle,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">169</a></span> -common for all objects of knowledge, to all subjects.<a name="FNanchor_149" id="FNanchor_149" href="#Footnote_149" class="fnanchor">149</a> But -there is a special reason why the subject of the state is particularly -disqualified, as compared with others, for knowing his state -immediately, <i>i. e.</i> intuitively; namely, that, at the time of the -existence of the state, when, alone, it could be known intuitively, -he is mainly occupied with another object of knowledge, the object -of the state in question. You do not, then, know a mental state -best by living it, or rather <em>in</em> living it; your knowledge of it is just -then at its worst, since you are then preoccupied in knowing -something else. The state, as an attribute of the subject, is clearly -one of the subject’s relations, and, so, conceptually distinct from -either term. It cannot be at once a knowledge and the object of -that same knowledge. Bergson’s treatment of the conscious state -conceives it in just that way—as if the relation were itself one of -its own terms, the object.</p> - -<p>Knowing a mental state can only mean understanding it. It is -not a concrete datum, like the sky, but an abstraction from the -relationship in which the subject and the sky function as terms. -One does not intuitively know the subjective process of blueness, in -looking at the sky; one knows the sky in that sense, but the process -only conceptually, by reflection. Is it any less an authentic -object of knowledge? Is it not itself—is it any symbol of itself?—which -you name and define and talk about and understand?</p> - -<p>The practical significance of saying that one felt and now remembers -a feeling is not that the feeling is what one ever felt. Feeling -Number One is not an object for feeling Number Two, neither -during Number One nor afterward, in reminiscent feeling. So far -as the reminiscent state is another intuition, its object is the same -as that of the intuition remembered—so far. But to be reminiscent, -a conscious state must reflect upon, or refer to, a conscious -state distinct from itself. This reflective reference is a conceptual -co-element together with the intuitional character of the reminiscent -state. So far as the memory is reflective, consciousness is -oriented toward the original state itself as a fact, a process, conceptually -distinguishable from the object of it. It is thus only <em>so far -as conceptual</em> that subjective processes can be objects of knowledge, -or, in short, be known. But if so, Bergson is wrong in two essential -points: in denying that subjectivity can be objectified, and in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">170</a></span> -affirming that knowledge of subjectivity is immediate (<i>i. e.</i> non-conceptual) -or intuitive.</p> - -<p>Any reminiscent state, like every other conscious state, undoubtedly -<em>is</em> intuitive in a certain degree. The calmest reflection on an -originally affective experience is tinctured with a rudimentary -fluttering of the old feeling; just as, on the other hand, the most -violent early repetitions of a tempestuous joy or grief must relate, -in order to be reminiscent, to the original experience. No one else, -it may be said, can <em>appreciate</em> my feeling as I do, myself: this -appreciation is no conceptualization of that feeling. This is only -to say that the affective as well as the representative aspect of any -conscious state is unique for each subjective center of interest. -But privacy no more distinguishes subjectivity from objectivity -than does change. Every object, being self-identical, is unique, its -quality private. Inasmuch as each conscious subject is a distinct -center of interest as well as a distinct cognitive subject, the affective -value of a state of a given subject must also be theoretically unique -for that subject. But the state is nevertheless objective and -common as well as subjective and private, since in fact it is an -object for understanding. My state of mind is as accessible to -your understanding as your own (it may be more so, to be sure). -The understanding names the intuitive state—anybody’s at all, -indifferently, one’s own or another’s— as truly as it names any -other relationship or process, by virtue of its conceptual coefficient; -and as truly relates it to the rest of the rational universe, therein -understanding and defining it.</p> - -<p>The derivation of the three heterologies elucidated in the three -chapters of the <cite>Essai</cite>, is the inevitable consequence of the fundamental -heterology of an “absolutely” two-fold universe. The -intensity of mental states could not be homogeneous, for Bergson, -the variousness that belongs to them could not be plural, their -organization could not be determinate, because then they would be -objective, <em>by his definition</em> of objectivity. But why may a subjective -state not be an objective state? To the conceptualist, to -whom these terms are abstract concepts, points of view, discursive -contexts, there is no reason at all. To Professor Bergson, who does -what he accuses conceptualism of doing, namely substituting concepts -for concrete realities, it is a contradiction, for one concrete -reality cannot be another. But a concrete reality which, for a -certain purpose and in a certain context, one symbolizes by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">171</a></span> -term “subjective state,” may very well be the same concrete -reality which, for another purpose, one symbolizes by the phrase -“objective state.”</p> - -<p>We have seen that intensity which is “pure,” pure quality, is -pure nothing, being quality of nothing; since, if it is quality of -anything, it has its quantitative coefficient, which destroys its -purity. So variousness which is “pure” heterogeneity, is not even -various, but “nothing” again. For it is “interpenetrating” -instead of “juxtaposited” or impenetrable heterogeneity. But -impenetrability is just identity, as Bergson remarks;<a name="FNanchor_150" id="FNanchor_150" href="#Footnote_150" class="fnanchor">150</a> it is a logical -principle rather than a physical law. That two bodies cannot -occupy the same space and time means that they would therein not -be two, or coexistent. Now, interpenetration in any rigorous -sense, any but the loose colloquial sense of small division and -uniform diffusion, is the mere contradiction of impenetrability or -identity. It means that two bodies do occupy the same space at -the same time. If, then, this law of interpenetration thus means -to require (in the subject) the relation of coexistence, and also (in -the predicate) to forbid it—in other words, if it is contradictory to -itself—mental states can obey it no better than pebbles. And, -finally, non-quantitative causality is a third contradiction, since -its “pure” heterogeneity destroys its continuity in time as well as -in space (cf. above, page 93).</p> - -<p>How can any of these three pairs of heterologous principles of -space and time be “absolutely” different if, however different, -each pair have such essential community of nature that both must -be called by one name and thought under one category, as two -species of the same genus? For, in spite of all their differences, -they are, throughout the discussion, two kinds of intensity, of -multiplicity, of causation.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h4 class="nobreak"><a name="bergson_102" id="bergson_102"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter V</span></h4><span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">172</a></span> -</div> - -<p class="bergchap">THE MYSTICAL YEARNING OF INTUITIONISM</p> - -<p>I will conclude these comments on Professor Bergson’s teaching -by noting the mystical nature of the central idea of his epistemology, -the identification of subject and object. The yearning for -a more intimate acquaintance with the thing-in-itself, for a -knowledge truer and more searching than the “practical” and -“useful” reactive relations which we bear to our “phenomenal” -objects—as if such experience were unworthy the sacred name of -knowledge—this, the prime aspiration of the intuitional philosophy -of Bergson, reduces to a futile, if not a morbid, yearning after -self-contradiction. The more you know a thing “in itself,” the -more you “internalize” your relation to it—in short, the more you -identify yourself with it—the less you bear any significant relation -to it at all, any relation, obviously, but that of identity; the less, -notably, you bear the active and cognitive relations toward it. -The indispensable condition of Paul’s knowing Peter is that Paul -should <em>not</em> become Peter. Things can neither be nor be conceived -except in <em>some</em> relations, any more than relations without terms. -If you know the thing in its relations, you know the thing as much -in itself as a thing is capable of <em>being</em>.</p> - -<p>“You show,” writes Professor Bergson, in the letter quoted -before, “that perfect intuitive knowledge, as I mean it, would -consist in coincidence with the object known; but that then there -would no longer be knowledge of any object, since only the object -remains.—Yet, in the case of an entirely free action, <i>i. e.</i> an act in -which the entire person takes part, one is <em>altogether</em> in what he is -doing; one has, at the same time, consciousness of what he is doing; -and yet he is not duplicated in observing his own activity, absorbed -as he is in the act itself: here to act and to know (or rather to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">173</a></span> -possess) are one and the same thing. Intelligence, always outside -of what it observes, cannot conceive of knowledge without distinctness -of subject and object. It is intelligence that propounds -your dilemma: ‘Either there is knowledge of the object, hence -distinctness of object and subject; or subject coincides with object, -and then there is only object: knowledge vanishes.’—But reality does -not accept this dilemma. It presents us, in the case cited, subject -and object as a single indivisible reality, action and knowledge of -the action as a single indivisible reality, of which intelligence -<em>subsequently</em> takes two points of view, that of object and that of -subject, that of action without knowledge and that of pure knowledge. -We have no right to set up these <em>points of view</em> of reality as -<em>constitutive elements</em> of reality itself.”</p> - -<p>The last sentence accuses me of doing what I am most zealous to -show is the foundation fallacy of intuitionism! I have been contending -that, when Monsieur Bergson says that subjectivity cannot -be objectified, he is speaking as if “objectifying,” instead of meaning -to take a point of view, means to alter the reality symbolized -by the word “subjectivity.” (Of course the question concerns -concrete cases of subjectivity, the intuitionist contending that a -given subjective state cannot be objectified—<i>i. e.</i> named, defined, -etc.) Now, this seems to me precisely to “set up a point of view -of reality as a constitutive element of reality itself.” But intuitionism -does even worse than this. Having set up this point of -view of reality, and treated it in this concrete way, and worshipped -it as the Absolute, it snubs that other point of view, which, by the -very nature of the genuinely concrete reality, is coördinate with -the deified abstraction, its brother and peer. The object has -“such reality as that of rest, which is the negation of motion,” -the absolute and positive; “yet it is not absolute naught.”</p> - -<p>It seems to me that Bergson virtually admits the impossibility -of the coincidence of subject and object when he says that instinct -and intellect are neither possibly pure, which is deeply true. But -then an action “completely free” is only a limiting case, is it -not?—a case which would put the action out of relation and so out -of activity? In a certain obvious sense “the whole person takes -part,” perhaps, in <em>any</em> action; but I cannot imagine any action -or state that could be other than a relation between object and -subject. I cannot see how perfect self-expression in one’s act -makes in any degree for obliteration of ontological distinctness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">174</a></span> -between agent and patient, subject and object. How may action -be conceived to dispense with reaction? How deny its relational -character, then, without denying its activity—in short, without -contradiction? “Perfect self-expression” distinguishes certain -acts, no doubt, but the distinction is ethical, denoting a teleological -harmony, not a metaphysical identity between subject and -object.</p> - -<p>To say that one <em>is</em> completely one’s act and yet <em>knows</em> his act -again confuses a relation with one of its terms. Is it merely a -matter of taste to choose to say that such a state—<i>i. e.</i> perfect -absorption in one’s act—is <em>not knowledge</em> of the act just in so far as -it is the act? Is it not necessary to distinguish between the subject’s -relation to the act, on one hand, and to those things, on the -other (which are neither subject nor act) entering, together with -the subject, into the act? Those things, it seems to me, are the -object, and the act itself a relation between the subject and them, -a relation which wears a conscious as well as an active aspect, and -which, as knowledge, is knowledge of the things, not of the act, -not of itself.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h3 class="nobreak"><a name="PART_THREE" id="PART_THREE"></a>PART THREE</h3><span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">175</a></span> -</div> - -<p class="center in0 larger">BERGSON’S GENIUS</p> - -<hr /> - -<h4><a name="bergson_107" id="bergson_107"></a><span class="smcap">Bergson’s Genius</span></h4><p><span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">177</a></span></p> - -<p>Logical soundness is never amiss, and is notably desirable in a -philosopher; but Professor Bergson is assuredly right in thinking -that it is no measure of a philosopher’s genius. One’s feeling about -the fallacies of Spinoza and Berkeley and Kant may pale almost -into indifference, in the enthusiasm of following such heroic feats -of insight.</p> - -<p>But then, it would seem, their greatness is their <em>insight</em>, and not -their logic, and insight therefore, after all, is philosophical genius.</p> - -<p>We have seen that this is Professor Bergson’s conclusion. It -can be interpreted in a sense that is valid, of course: all depends on -the meaning of “insight.” I have insisted sufficiently on the -reasons why I cannot think Professor Bergson’s interpretation of -it is valid. It is a case in which the etymological and the actual -meaning of a word, in a certain context, differ and so give rise to -ambiguity. The word “intuition,” etymologically, means just -“insight.” But then it means consciousness functioning most -completely, least abstractly. Now, Bergsonian “intuition” is a -conception so far from concrete completeness that almost the -primary object of his philosophy is the demarcation of intuition -from any actual state of which consciousness is normally capable. -It is true that Bergson insists that consciousness, in a supernormal -effort, is capable of the purely intuitive act, and that in the capacity -for this feat of knowing lies all the hope of metaphysics. This is -the ground principle of Bergsonism, and I have nothing to add -here, concerning its merits. In a word, its fallacy is the fallacy of -reification. No such feat of consciousness is possible, not because -it is more than the limited power of actual mind can compass, but -because it is a contradiction, since it is consciousness without -object, which is consciousness of nothing.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">178</a></span> -The Bergsonian will object that, if Bergsonian “intuition” is -abstract, no less abstract is intellect; and, if philosophy is insight,—consciousness -most complete,—the thesis contrary to intuitionism, -that philosophy is intellectual judgment, is a case of the same -fallacy that has been charged to intuitionism, and is inconsistent -with the admission that philosophy is essentially an insight which -involves more than intellect.</p> - -<p>The answer is first, that intellectualism, unlike intuitionism, -regards philosophy as indeed an abstract interest, and for that -reason as not separable from the living of a life which supports this -interest in a larger total interest; but, also for that reason, as not -possibly identical, either with life entire or with any interest, such -as the æsthetic, of like abstractness with philosophy. The answer -to the second part of the objection is that an insight which is more -than intellect is not for that reason without its intellectual aspect. -Consciousness is always significant, certainly; but if it has any -meaning, if it <em>is</em> significant, it is, in that fact, intellectual. And insight -without meaning is a contradiction, and is assuredly not philosophy. -The appearance of inconsistency arises from the unconscious identifying -of insight with intuition in the falsely reified sense. Insight in any -such sense philosophy certainly is not. And yet the intellectualist -may properly attribute the greatness of a philosophy to its insight -rather than to its logical cogency, since cogent logic may be dull -and shallow and therefore not great. It is great if it is far-seeing -and deep. There is analytic insight, as well as intuitive.</p> - -<p>After all is said, the feeling that even serious lapse of logic may -not be sufficient to destroy the value of a great philosophy is not -the same as the opinion that logic is immaterial to that value. No -one, I dare say,—intuitionist, intellectualist or anyone else—ever -thought this. The genius of a great philosophy is a superior -perspicacity in the recognition of the significance of problems, a -superior discernment of the problematic as such. “The earliest -philosophers” says Professor James,<a name="FNanchor_151" id="FNanchor_151" href="#Footnote_151" class="fnanchor">151</a> “... were just men -curious beyond immediate practical needs, and no particular -problems, but rather the problematic generally, was their specialty.” -But the perspicacity which sees the meaning and bearings -of a problem cannot fail to attack its further interpretation with -a superior freshness and originality. And the interpretation of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">179</a></span> -problem, carried to the end, is its only solution. Genius in philosophy -thus also turns into superior richness of suggestion in the -solutions which it invents. Inasmuch as the problem-putting and -the problem-solving processes are continuous with each other, and -in this important sense one and the same thing, it should be expected -that philosophical genius would possess both virtues, in -any actual instance. And no doubt this is the historical fact. On -any view it is suggestiveness, fertility, which is the measure of -philosophical genius. And it seems to the intellectualist that the -possibility of philosophical fertility depends on a discursive, -intellectual co-implication of the parts of the realm of truth.</p> - -<p>But although these two phases of philosophical genius—the -problem-putting and the problem-solving phases—have so intimate -a relation with each other, they can and do appear in different -emphases in different philosophers. The emphasis in any particular -case is undoubtedly determined in part from without, -notably by the philosopher’s epochal relations. Thales is greater, -as well as more momentous historically, in his <em>quest</em> of an ἀρχή than -in the consummation of the quest. With Hegel’s material to work -upon, the emphasis in Thales’ genius would have been proportionately -modified. And if Bergson has not, like Thales, unearthed -new problems, that is nothing, for the question of the value of his -work.</p> - -<p>Indeed, the historical momentousness of a philosophy is quite -largely independent of its intrinsic merit in either of these senses, -or in any sense. Conditions which contribute to the vogue and -influence of a philosophy are many, some obvious enough, others -more recondite. The question of historical momentousness is thus -only partly germane to an estimate of a philosophy’s own intrinsic -worth; and, in the case of a contemporary philosophy, is in the -nature of things (while the history is yet to be made) an almost -unmitigated speculation. Such speculation regarding Bergson is -no part of the present purpose.</p> - -<p>One word more—before undertaking to appraise the genius of -Bergson—as to the motive of such an undertaking in this particular -essay. It is no part of the primary object of the essay. That -object is the very impersonal one of understanding his doctrine. -If logical fallacies are in any sense or degree irrelevant to the value -of a philosophy, it is nevertheless a method of studying a philosophical -work which is not without its value, to square it with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">180</a></span> -logical principles. When the philosophy under criticism is -already a classic, the omission of appreciative comment needs no -apology, just because the merit of the work is beyond dispute. On -Platonism and on Kantism much valuable light has been thrown in -this severe way. In studies so occupied, disquisition on the -immortal inspiration of the vision bequeathed to mankind in -syllogisms which sometimes halt would not have enhanced the -value of the study.</p> - -<p>When our philosopher is a contemporary, the case is different in -that then personal predilection and prejudice are without the -regulation imposed by historical perspective; and injustice, even -negative or privative, either to the living philosopher or to his -living antagonists, has a certain human import of which the conditions -are removed with mere temporal remoteness of the subject -of study, when history has placed him in a setting which includes -an “after” as well as a “before.”</p> - -<div class="tb">* <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span></div> - -<p>Professor A. D. Lindsay has pointed out<a name="FNanchor_152" id="FNanchor_152" href="#Footnote_152" class="fnanchor">152</a> that, in one important -respect, Bergson’s genius is of the Kantian kind. It is capacity -for such interpretation of old problems that they become veritably -renewed. “It is a great and essential proof of cleverness or insight,” -said Kant, “to know how to ask reasonable questions.” -Now, comments Professor Lindsay (without suggesting any comparison -in importance between Kant and Bergson), there is this -resemblance between them, that much of the interest of Bergson’s -work, as of Kant’s, consists in statement and exposition of antinomies -in philosophy. Like Kant’s, Bergson’s philosophy is -interesting because it is a new method, and, in the same sense as -Kant’s, is a critical philosophy, for it consists in finding the main -source of previous difficulties in uncriticized false assumptions.</p> - -<p>Such criticism of the question (“interpretation of the problem” -I called it above) is just the proper business of the philosopher. -For, every question is also an unconditional assertion. Falseness -in this implied assertion is a case of the fallacy of “many questions,” -which, accordingly, may be regarded as the philosopher’s -first concern.</p> - -<p>Bergson is a philosopher preeminently in this sense. He is a -philosopher also (in spite of the cavalier denial of Sir. E. Ray Lankester)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">181</a></span><a name="FNanchor_153" id="FNanchor_153" href="#Footnote_153" class="fnanchor">153</a> -in that he is a man with an articulate conviction concerning -the nature of being and of knowledge. In the aspersion of Bergson’s -thought by the above writer and by Mr. Hugh S. R. Elliot,<a name="FNanchor_154" id="FNanchor_154" href="#Footnote_154" class="fnanchor">154</a> -there is a rancour which, in spite of much valid criticism in -detail, produces an impression of ill-regulated prejudice.</p> - -<p>This impression is no more than fairly counterbalanced by the -contrary enthusiasm of such whole-souled votaries of Bergsonism -as Edouard LeRoy, William James and H. Wildon Carr.</p> - -<p>“There is a thinker,” writes M. LeRoy, “who is deemed by -acknowledged philosophers worthy of comparison with the greatest.... -Beyond any doubt, and by common consent, Mr. Henri -Bergson’s work will appear to future eyes among the most characteristic, -fertile and glorious of our era. It marks a never-to-be-forgotten -date in history; it opens up a phase of metaphysical -thought, it lays down a principle of development the limits of which -are indeterminable; and it is after cool consideration, with full -consciousness of the exact value of words, that we are able to -pronounce the revolution which it effects equal in importance to -that effected by Kant, or even by Socrates.”<a name="FNanchor_155" id="FNanchor_155" href="#Footnote_155" class="fnanchor">155</a> It is a “profoundly -original doctrine.” And of endless fertility: “There is no doctrine -... which is more open, and none which ... -lends itself to further extension.” Again: “... a doctrine -which admits of infinite development ... a work of such -profound thought that the least passing example employed takes -its place as a particular study.”<a name="FNanchor_156" id="FNanchor_156" href="#Footnote_156" class="fnanchor">156</a> And so on <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">ad libitum</i>.</p> - -<p>These are the glowing words of an ardent disciple (even though -not a pupil) and may be expected to be not, after all, altogether -regulated by a “full consciousness of the exact value of words.” -Such phrases as “worthy of comparison with the greatest,” -“beyond any doubt,” “by common consent,” are pleasantly -vague, and should not offend any judgment that is not literal in -season and out of season. As to the Bergsonian “revolution,” it -should offend no one at all who can put up with an expression of -purely speculative relish. So far, on the other hand, as this revolution -is accomplished fact in the prime of our philosopher’s middle -age, the mention of Socrates and Kant does savour of the -ornate!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">182</a></span> -Bergson is at least preeminent over all other living philosophers -as the expression of a very revolutionary <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Zeitgeist</i>. The generation -of Taine and Renan (LeRoy goes on to say) was characterized -by the positivistic presumption that any object whatever could be -‘inserted in the thread of one and the same unbroken connection.’ -But rationalistic arrogance has never failed to arouse an answering -voice of protest and dissent; and of our own generation such -anti-intellectualism is one of the controlling ideas. It is primarily -the reactionary conviction that the analytic method of philosophy -is abstract and empty. It is, says LeRoy, a demand for “<em>complete</em> -experience, anxious to neglect no aspect of being nor any resource -of mind.” “Everything is regarded from the point of view of life, -and there is a tendency more and more to recognize the primacy of -spiritual activity.” “That the attitude and fundamental procedure -of this new spirit are in no way a return to skepticism or a -reaction against thought cannot be better demonstrated than by -this resurrection of metaphysics, this renaissance of idealism, -which is certainly one of the most distinctive features of our -epoch.” “But ... we wish to think with the whole of -thought, and go to the truth with the whole of our soul ... -And what is that, really, but realism? By realism I mean the gift -of ourselves to reality, the work of concrete realization ... -to live what we think and think what we live. But that is positivism, -you will say; certainly it is positivism. But how changed! -For, from considering as positive only that which can be an object -of sensation or calculation, we begin by treating the great spiritual -realities with this title.”</p> - -<p>“A new philosophy was required to answer this new way of looking -at things. Already, in 1867, Ravaisson, in his celebrated <cite>Report</cite>, -wrote these prophetic lines: ‘Many signs permit us to forsee in -the near future a philosophical epoch of which the general character -will be the predominance of what may be called spiritualist realism -or positivism, having as generating principle the consciousness -which the mind has in itself of an existence recognized as being the -source and support of every other existence, being none other -than its action.’</p> - -<p>“... What Ravaisson had only anticipated, Mr. Bergson -himself accomplishes, with a precision which gives body to the -impalpable and floating breath of first inspiration, with a depth -which renews both proof and theses alike, with a creative originality<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">183</a></span> -which prevents the critic who is anxious for justice and precision -from insisting on any researches establishing connection of -thought.”</p> - -<p>“... Mr. Bergson has contributed more than anyone else -to awaken the very tendencies of the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">milieu</i> in which his new philosophy -is produced, to determine them and make them become -conscious of themselves.”<a name="FNanchor_157" id="FNanchor_157" href="#Footnote_157" class="fnanchor">157</a></p> - -<p>In the new and significant relation which LeRoy and others find -in Bergson to motives of thought so distinct as idealism, realism, -and positivism, he is a writer of the fertility of genius; in the skill -of his transfusion of these motives into a type of conception underlying -a very deep and widely extended tendency of the age, he is -the foremost expression of that tendency. In a very limited way, -only, can such enthusiasm as LeRoy’s, in a mind of his excellent -discernment, be reasonably discounted. Trimmed of all its -abounding fervours its fighting weight is still sufficiently impressive: -how resonant to motives and convictions of actually controlling -interest that mind must be which can elicit such response, -needs no better proof than the response itself. No one else is -so well attuned as Bergson to that demand for complete experience -which, if anything, is the spirit of our time. No one else has -carried so far in theory the possibilities of an intense instinctive -living, as the answer to the riddle of the universe. What can be -said for instinct as an organ of philosophy, Bergson has said.</p> - -<p>All philosophers of immediacy hold Bergson as chief. Carr, like -LeRoy, thinks Bergson’s doctrine as momentously original as -those of the greatest classics. “Great scientific discoveries,” he -writes,<a name="FNanchor_158" id="FNanchor_158" href="#Footnote_158" class="fnanchor">158</a> “are often so simple that the greatest wonder about them -is that humanity has had to wait so long for them.” Thus with -Berkeley’s “<i xml:lang="la" lang="la">esse est percipi</i>” and Kant’s autonomy of the intellectual -categories. And equally so with Bergson’s interpretation -of reality as life, “living creative evolution,” as distinct -both from solid matter and thinking mind.</p> - -<p>James, while others find quite determinate differences between -him and Bergson, was far less cognizant, himself, of differences -than of agreement. He was one of the keenest of Bergsonians, -and regarded himself, certainly with a great deal of genial modesty, -as a follower, a disciple. “... if I had not read Bergson,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">184</a></span> -he says,<a name="FNanchor_159" id="FNanchor_159" href="#Footnote_159" class="fnanchor">159</a> “I should probably still be blackening endless pages of -paper privately, in the hope of making ends meet that were never -meant to meet ... It is certain that without the confidence -which being able to lean on Bergson’s authority gives me, I should -never have ventured to urge these particular views of -mine ... In my opinion he has killed intellectualism -definitively and without hope of recovery.”</p> - -<div class="tb">* <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span></div> - -<p>The quantity and quality of the study of Bergson’s problems -by others, which his own treatment of them has stimulated, is -already an enviable monument to that best quality of philosophic -genius in his work, its fertility of suggestion. Speaking, as the -present writer must, from the point of view of critical reaction, -the value of Bergson is indeed incalculable. This is no conventional -phrase. His theoretical opponent is almost inclined to -feel that the stimulus which Bergson’s lucid exposition affords, to -a mind of contrary conviction, to understand itself, must be a -more precious good even than the quickening which his followers -so eloquently confess.</p> - -<p>The fact is that this eloquence is always more than eloquence; -it is a fervour almost like religious fervour. Witness the words -just quoted from James. Every true Bergsonian testifies in the -same tone. Thus LeRoy:<a name="FNanchor_160" id="FNanchor_160" href="#Footnote_160" class="fnanchor">160</a> “Mr. Bergson’s readers will undergo -at almost every page they read an intense and singular experience. -The curtain drawn between ourselves and reality, enveloping -everything, including ourselves, in its illusive folds, seems of a -sudden to fall, dissipated by enchantment, and display to the mind -depths of light till then undreamt, in which reality itself, contemplated -face to face for the first time, stands fully revealed. The -revelation is overpowering, and, once vouchsafed, will never afterwards -be forgotten.</p> - -<p>“Nothing can convey to the reader the effects of this direct and -intimate mental vision. Everything which he thought he knew -already finds new birth and vigor in the clear light of morning; on -all hands, in the glow of dawn, new intuitions spring up and open -out; we feel them big with infinite consequences, heavy and -saturated with life. Each of them is no sooner blown than it -appears fertile forever. And yet there is nothing paradoxical or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">185</a></span> -disturbing in the novelty. It is a reply to our expectation, an -answer to some dim hope....</p> - -<p>“... whether, in the long run, we each of us give or -refuse complete or partial adhesion, all of us at least have received -a regenerating shock, an internal upheaval ... henceforth -a new leaven works and ferments in us; we shall no longer think as -we used to think.” As for the attitude of mind proper to bring to -the reading of Bergson, “where the end is to understand rather -than to judge, criticism ought to take second place. It is more -profitable to attempt to feel oneself into the heart of the teaching, -to relive its genesis, to perceive the principle of organic unity, to -come at the mainspring. Let our reading be a course of meditation -which we live.”</p> - -<p>And Gaston Rageot: “... the reading of a work of -Bergson’s requires at the very beginning a sort of inner catastrophe; -not everyone is capable of such a logical revolution.”<a name="FNanchor_161" id="FNanchor_161" href="#Footnote_161" class="fnanchor">161</a> A little -further on he speaks of this preparation of the mind to receive the -Bergsonian doctrine as “<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">cette volte-face psychologique</i>.”</p> - -<p>Conversion to Bergsonism, indeed, suggests religious conversion. -Compare James’ words with the above. “... if, as Bergson -shows, [the conceptual or discursive form of reality] cannot even -pretend to reveal anything of what life’s inner nature is or ought -to be; why, then we can turn a deaf ear to its accusations. The -resolve to turn the deaf ear is the inner crisis or ‘catastrophe’ of -which [M. Rageot] spoke ... [This] comes very hard. It is -putting off our proud maturity of mind and becoming again as -foolish little children in the eyes of reason. But difficult as such a -revolution is, there is no other way, I believe, to the possession of -reality.”<a name="FNanchor_162" id="FNanchor_162" href="#Footnote_162" class="fnanchor">162</a></p> - -<p>Is not this experience very suggestive of the “regeneration” of -Christianity? I think it is, indeed; and I think this fact is suggestive -of the essential nature of Bergsonism. One may turn a deaf -ear to reason, one may execute a <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">volte-face psychologique</i>; but, -whatever the rewards, it seems unlikely (to the unregenerate, of -course!) that among them will be included a better comprehension -of the <em>meaning</em> of reality.</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h3 class="foot nobreak">FOOTNOTES:</h3> -</div> - -<div class="footnotes"> - -<div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_92" id="Footnote_92" href="#FNanchor_92" class="fnanchor">92</a> <cite>Creative - Evolution</cite> p. 176. I have italicized “reflecting” and “object” to indicate - the contradiction of “instinct.” And since, for Bergson, intuition is philosophic - consciousness, this reflectiveness which he imputes to it is no accident, no - inadvertence. Intuition must, indeed, in order to be philosophic, be reflective; - that is to say, it must absolutely contradict its own nature. (In all of the references - to Bergson’s works, the pages mentioned are those of the English translation.)</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_93" id="Footnote_93" href="#FNanchor_93" class="fnanchor">93</a> See - especially <cite>Creative Evolution</cite>, pp. 191–2 and 266.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_94" id="Footnote_94" href="#FNanchor_94" class="fnanchor">94</a> Cf. R. B. Perry’s - <cite>Present Philosophical Tendencies</cite>, the first two sections - of Chapter XI.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_95" id="Footnote_95" href="#FNanchor_95" class="fnanchor">95</a> J. W. Scott, - <cite>Pessimism of Bergson, Hibbert Journal</cite>. XI. 90–116. See also - below p. 94.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_96" id="Footnote_96" href="#FNanchor_96" class="fnanchor">96</a> <cite>Creative - Evolution</cite>, p. xi.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_97" id="Footnote_97" href="#FNanchor_97" class="fnanchor">97</a> <cite>Journal - of Philosophy, Psychology and Scientific Methods.</cite> Volume V. No. 22</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_98" id="Footnote_98" href="#FNanchor_98" class="fnanchor">98</a> Cf. - the second sentence of the present essay.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn2"><a name="Footnote_99" id="Footnote_99" href="#FNanchor_99" class="fnanchor">99</a> <cite>Henri - Bergson: The Philosophy of Change</cite>, p. 14.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_100" id="Footnote_100" href="#FNanchor_100" class="fnanchor">100</a> This - title has been given to the English translation of the <cite>Essai sur les - donnes</cite>, etc.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_101" id="Footnote_101" href="#FNanchor_101" class="fnanchor">101</a> Possibly - this representation of Leibniz’s thought requires a word of explanation. - Leibniz expresses the nature of reality in terms of force, on one hand, - and of consciousness on the other. The monad or elemental reality is a unit of - perception and also a unit of force. It is a living unit; as in Bergsonism, reality - is life, though life in Leibniz’s philosophy is ultimately plural instead of a simple - impetus. It is true that will is not a characteristic Leibnizian term, but existence - is always, I think, conceived by him very clearly as <em>conation</em>. The self-realization - of the monad is at the same time an intensification of its perceptiveness and of - its dynamic. Cf. the following passages from Rogers’ <cite>Student’s History of - Philosophy</cite>, pp. 307–8: “Leibniz was led by various motives to substitute, for - extension, <em>power of resistance</em>, as the essential quality of matter.... But - when, instead of extension, we characterize matter as <em>force</em>, a means of connection - [between matter and mind] is opened up. For force has its analogue in the conscious - life; corresponding to the activity of matter is conscious activity or will. - Indeed, are there any positive terms in which we can describe the nature of force, - unless we conceive it as identical with that conscious activity which we know - directly in ourselves?” This activity, then, “Is at bottom, when we interpret - it, a spiritual or perceptual activity.” In short, it is will.</p> - - <p>Leibniz is properly regarded as the first modern spiritualist. Leibnizian matter - is real, if you like, but then it is continuous, and of essentially identical nature, - with spirit. Matter is spirit in a low stage of development. Bergson has no - such clear and unambiguous conception of matter as this, when you consider the - whole or his doctrine; but there are passages in Bergson which might almost have - been written by Leibniz himself. For instance: ... “if, in fact, the humblest - function of spirit is to bind together the successive moments of the duration of - things, if it is by this that it comes into contact with matter and by this also that - it is first of all distinguished from matter, we can conceive an infinite number of - degrees between matter and fully developed spirit—a spirit capable of action - which is not only undetermined, but also reasonable and reflective.” (<cite>Matter - and Memory</cite>, pp. 295–6.)</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_102" id="Footnote_102" href="#FNanchor_102" class="fnanchor">102</a> There - is a good discussion of this point in an article reviewing the <cite>Essai</cite>, - by L. Levy-Bruhl, in the <cite>Revue Philosophique</cite>, Vol. XXIX (1890), pp. 513–538.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_103" id="Footnote_103" href="#FNanchor_103" class="fnanchor">103</a> Cf. below, - pp. 57, 58.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_104" id="Footnote_104" href="#FNanchor_104" class="fnanchor">104</a> Pages 72, 73, 97. - Professor Perry’s analysis of the conception of immediacy - (<cite>Present Philosophical Tendencies</cite>, Chapter X) has a result that is similar in principle - to the above.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_105" id="Footnote_105" href="#FNanchor_105" class="fnanchor">105</a> <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Op. - cit.</i>, p. 525.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_106" id="Footnote_106" href="#FNanchor_106" class="fnanchor">106</a> <cite>Time - and Free Will</cite>, pp. 118–119.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_107" id="Footnote_107" href="#FNanchor_107" class="fnanchor">107</a> But - Bergson apparently does not see that even the word “interpenetrate” - falls to express anything radically different in temporal “multiplicity” from a - certain character of spatial multiplicity. Cf. pp. 62, 101. In this, as in all its - argument, intuitionism arguing is inevitably intuitionism contradicting itself. - It is ineffable philosophy (see <cite>Journal of Philosophy, Psychology and Scientific Methods</cite>, - Vol. IV, p. 123.)</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_108" id="Footnote_108" href="#FNanchor_108" class="fnanchor">108</a> The - living ego is a fact-in-the-accomplishing. You cannot really discourse - about it! If psychology ever seems to manage this (and if this present book of - Bergson’s seems to manage it), the ego discoursed about is, in that fact, proven to - be not the concrete and living ego at all, but the impersonal and objective one.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_109" id="Footnote_109" href="#FNanchor_109" class="fnanchor">109</a> The - attitude, that is, of intuition, which we have called the temporal - attitude. The terms “spatial,” “logical,” “conceptual,” applied here so often - to the word “thought,” are epithets of thought generally. There is no thought, - in any meaning of the word more specific than “consciousness,” that is not logical, - conceptual and spatial in this Bergsonian sense.</p> - - <p>If we cannot conceptualize our psychic facts, we cannot think them, then—the - meaning is the same. But if we say that anything (which we name and, in the - saying, define and think) is unnamable, indefinable and cannot be thought, we - contradict ourselves. The doctrine, if true, must mean something that is not a - self-contradiction. Does it mean that what we name and discourse about is only - the spatialized symbol of the psychic fact? There can be little doubt. I think, - that this is Bergson’s meaning; but then the psychic fact is of such a nature as to - be symbolized; and the distinction between a symbol and a name, by virtue of - which a thing which can be symbolized may not be namable, requires explanation.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_110" id="Footnote_110" href="#FNanchor_110" class="fnanchor">110</a> <cite>Present - Philosophical Tendencies</cite>, pp. 232–4.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_111" id="Footnote_111" href="#FNanchor_111" class="fnanchor">111</a> Pp. 42, 43. - Cf. also below, p. 93.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_112" id="Footnote_112" href="#FNanchor_112" class="fnanchor">112</a> <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Op. cit.</i>, - p. 128.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_113" id="Footnote_113" href="#FNanchor_113" class="fnanchor">113</a> <cite>Time - and Free Will</cite>, p. 98.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_114" id="Footnote_114" href="#FNanchor_114" class="fnanchor">114</a> <cite>Time - and Free Will</cite>, p. 113.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_115" id="Footnote_115" href="#FNanchor_115" class="fnanchor">115</a> Cf. above, - p. 58.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_116" id="Footnote_116" href="#FNanchor_116" class="fnanchor">116</a> In - order to give any meaning to the term “compenetrating” or “interpenetration” - (which I take to be mutually equivalent, in Bergson’s use), I am - compelled to interpret them as synonymous with the “compactness” of a continuum—as - synonymous. In fact, with “continuity.” Bergson does not make clear how - these terms can mean anything else (cf. below, p. 101.)</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_117" id="Footnote_117" href="#FNanchor_117" class="fnanchor">117</a> Bergson - himself, of course, is perfectly aware—<em>in other connections</em>—of - the continuity of space!</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_118" id="Footnote_118" href="#FNanchor_118" class="fnanchor">118</a> <cite>Creative - Evolution</cite>, p. 1.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_119" id="Footnote_119" href="#FNanchor_119" class="fnanchor">119</a> <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Ibid.</i>, - p. 4.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_120" id="Footnote_120" href="#FNanchor_120" class="fnanchor">120</a> <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Ibid.</i>, - p. 208.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_121" id="Footnote_121" href="#FNanchor_121" class="fnanchor">121</a> <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Ibid.</i>, - p. 248.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_122" id="Footnote_122" href="#FNanchor_122" class="fnanchor">122</a> <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Ibid.</i>, - p. 247.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_123" id="Footnote_123" href="#FNanchor_123" class="fnanchor">123</a> <cite>Jour. - Phil. Psy. and Sci. Meth.</cite>, Vol. V, No. 22.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_124" id="Footnote_124" href="#FNanchor_124" class="fnanchor">124</a> <cite>Creative - Evolution</cite>, p. 251.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_125" id="Footnote_125" href="#FNanchor_125" class="fnanchor">125</a> <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Ibid.</i>, - p. 269.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_126" id="Footnote_126" href="#FNanchor_126" class="fnanchor">126</a> Cf. - Perry’s comment, <cite>Present Philosophical Tendencies</cite>, p. 235.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_127" id="Footnote_127" href="#FNanchor_127" class="fnanchor">127</a> <cite>Creative - Evolution</cite>, p. 175.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_128" id="Footnote_128" href="#FNanchor_128" class="fnanchor">128</a> <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Ibid.</i>, - p. 144.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_129" id="Footnote_129" href="#FNanchor_129" class="fnanchor">129</a> <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Ibid.</i>, - pp. 176, 177.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_130" id="Footnote_130" href="#FNanchor_130" class="fnanchor">130</a> <cite>Matter - and Memory</cite>, pp. 6, 7.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_131" id="Footnote_131" href="#FNanchor_131" class="fnanchor">131</a> <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Ibid.</i>, - p. 8.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_132" id="Footnote_132" href="#FNanchor_132" class="fnanchor">132</a> <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Ibid.</i>, - p. 10.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_133" id="Footnote_133" href="#FNanchor_133" class="fnanchor">133</a> Hugh - S. R. Elliot’s <cite>Modern Science and the Illusions of Professor Bergson</cite>, - pp. 98 ff.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_134" id="Footnote_134" href="#FNanchor_134" class="fnanchor">134</a> <cite>Une - theorie nouvelle de la liberte (Les donnees immediates)</cite>, in the <cite>Revue - Philosophique</cite>, Vol. XXIX (1890), pp. 361–392.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_135" id="Footnote_135" href="#FNanchor_135" class="fnanchor">135</a> <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Op. - cit.</i>, p. 368.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_136" id="Footnote_136" href="#FNanchor_136" class="fnanchor">136</a> The - feeling of guilt, and, so, of responsibility and freedom, can be crushing - in dreams, as anyone knows who is given to appearing in dream public indecently - clothed, or not clothed at all.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_137" id="Footnote_137" href="#FNanchor_137" class="fnanchor">137</a> <cite>Time - and Free Will</cite>, p. 158.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_138" id="Footnote_138" href="#FNanchor_138" class="fnanchor">138</a> <cite>Matter - and Memory</cite>, p. x: also an article entitled <cite>Le paralogisme psycho-physiologique</cite> - in the <cite>Revue de Metaphysique et de Morale</cite>, Vol. XII (1904), pp. - 895–908. This article is also in the <cite>Rapports et comptes rendus du deuxieme congres - international de philosophie</cite>, 1905, Part I.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_139" id="Footnote_139" href="#FNanchor_139" class="fnanchor">139</a> The - causal relation between mental and cerebral states—<i>i. e.</i> interaction—would - be an alternative “condition of freedom;” but this relation is included in - Bergson’s denial of any sort of correspondence or equivalence (such as the quantitative - equivalence of causation) between states of brain and states of mind.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_140" id="Footnote_140" href="#FNanchor_140" class="fnanchor">140</a> <cite>Time - and Free Will</cite>, p. 34.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_141" id="Footnote_141" href="#FNanchor_141" class="fnanchor">141</a> <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Ibid.</i>, - p. 172.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_142" id="Footnote_142" href="#FNanchor_142" class="fnanchor">142</a> <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Ibid.</i>, - p. 208.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_143" id="Footnote_143" href="#FNanchor_143" class="fnanchor">143</a> <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Ibid.</i>, - p. 215.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_144" id="Footnote_144" href="#FNanchor_144" class="fnanchor">144</a> <cite>Time - and Free Will</cite>, p. 83.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_145" id="Footnote_145" href="#FNanchor_145" class="fnanchor">145</a> <cite>Present - Philosophical Tendencies</cite>, Chapter X, section 6.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_146" id="Footnote_146" href="#FNanchor_146" class="fnanchor">146</a> <cite>A - Pluralistic Universe</cite>, p. 236. Quoted from Professor Perry’s work, - named above.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_147" id="Footnote_147" href="#FNanchor_147" class="fnanchor">147</a> <cite>Creative - Evolution</cite>, p. 3.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_148" id="Footnote_148" href="#FNanchor_148" class="fnanchor">148</a> The - analogy holds even in the oppositeness of direction in which the evanishment, - in the limiting cases, occurs (cf. above, pp. 72, 80).</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_149" id="Footnote_149" href="#FNanchor_149" class="fnanchor">149</a> Cf. - Perry’s analysis of subjective privacy, in Chapter XII of <cite>Present Philosophical - Tendencies</cite>.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_150" id="Footnote_150" href="#FNanchor_150" class="fnanchor">150</a> <cite>Time - and Free Will</cite>, p. 88.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_151" id="Footnote_151" href="#FNanchor_151" class="fnanchor">151</a> <cite>Some - Problems of Philosophy</cite>, p. 10.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_152" id="Footnote_152" href="#FNanchor_152" class="fnanchor">152</a> <cite>The - Philosophy of Bergson</cite>, pp. 1, 2, 3.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_153" id="Footnote_153" href="#FNanchor_153" class="fnanchor">153</a> <cite>Modern - Science and the Illusions of Professor Bergson</cite>, pp. vii, viii.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_154" id="Footnote_154" href="#FNanchor_154" class="fnanchor">154</a> <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Op. - cit., passim.</i></p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_155" id="Footnote_155" href="#FNanchor_155" class="fnanchor">155</a> <cite>The - New Philosophy of Henri Bergson</cite>, pp. 1 and 2.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_156" id="Footnote_156" href="#FNanchor_156" class="fnanchor">156</a> <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Ibid.</i>, - pp. 120, 230.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_157" id="Footnote_157" href="#FNanchor_157" class="fnanchor">157</a> <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Op. - cit.</i>, pp. 128 ff.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_158" id="Footnote_158" href="#FNanchor_158" class="fnanchor">158</a> <cite>Henri - Bergson: The Philosophy of Change</cite>, p. 12.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_159" id="Footnote_159" href="#FNanchor_159" class="fnanchor">159</a> <cite>A - Pluralistic Universe</cite>, pp. 214, 215.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_160" id="Footnote_160" href="#FNanchor_160" class="fnanchor">160</a> <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Op. - cit.</i>, pp. 3, 4, 5, 6.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_161" id="Footnote_161" href="#FNanchor_161" class="fnanchor">161</a> <cite>Revue - Philosophique</cite>, Ann. 32, No. 7 (July 1907), p. 85.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_162" id="Footnote_162" href="#FNanchor_162" class="fnanchor">162</a> <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Op. - cit.</i>, pp. 272–3.</p> - </div> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<hr class="fullb" /> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">187</a></span></p> -<p class="center in0 wide2 bm0 p2"><a id="No._3"></a>BULLETIN OF THE UNIVERSITY OF KANSAS<br /> -HUMANISTIC STUDIES</p> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<table id="stp_3" summary="bulletin heading_3"> - - <tr> - <td class="vol"><i>Vol. I</i></td> - <td> </td> - <td class="date"><i>May 15, 1914</i></td> - <td> </td> - <td class="num"><i>No. 3</i></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<h2 class="p2 wide2 p3">BROWNING AND<br /> -ITALIAN ART AND ARTISTS</h2> - -<p class="center in0 xsmall p2">BY</p> - -<p class="center in0 small smcap p2 bm0">PEARL HOGREFE, A. M.</p> - -<p class="center in0 xsmall p0"><i>Instructor in Mansfield College, Mansfield, Louisiana</i></p> - -<p class="center in0 small p6 bm0">LAWRENCE, MAY, 1914</p> - -<p class="center in0 xsmall">PUBLISHED BY THE UNIVERSITY</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -</div> - -<p class="center in0 llarger bm1">To G. A. L.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">189</a></span></p> - -<p class="center in0"><span class="smcap">Who Made Possible My<br /> -College and University Training</span></p> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> - -<p class="center large in0 p4">PREFACE<span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">191</a></span></p> -</div> - -<p>This paper has been prepared with the understanding that while -much has been printed concerning a few individual art poems of -Browning, such as <cite>Abt Vogler</cite>, <cite>Andrea del Sarto</cite> and <cite>Fra Lippo -Lippi</cite>, no complete, systematic survey of the place of Italian art -in Browning’s text has appeared; and in the belief that such a -survey might be worth while.</p> - -<p>Much of Browning’s treatment of art is of course omitted in the -discussion; for he introduces art data from other countries than -Italy, and has much to say of the nature and purpose of art in -general.</p> - -<p>Within the limits chosen, the purpose has been to make a practically -complete survey for each of the five fine arts, sculpture, -music, poetry, architecture and painting, in the order here given. -The attempt has also been made, based on data from letters and -biographies, to trace to some extent the chronological perspective -of Browning’s interest in the individual arts, and to indicate the -apparent sources of that interest. Chapter VII deals with “comparative -aesthetics” (within the limits of our title), the poetic -values Browning finds in the arts, the causes determining the relative -emphasis upon each art, and the relations of these data to -Browning’s dominant concern as a poet—human personality.</p> - -<p>That the study has been brought to its present form is due, in -part, to help and encouragement given by Professor S. L. Whitcomb. -The manuscript has been carefully read by Professor D. L. Patterson -and Professor Margaret Lynn. The former has given valuable -suggestions concerning the historical aspects of the paper, and the -latter, helpful criticism based on her special knowledge of Browning’s -text. To these three instructors in the University of Kansas, -and to all others who have given assistance, including fellow -students, a grateful acknowledgement of indebtedness is here made.</p> - -<p class="smcap pr1 right">Pearl Hogrefe.</p> - -<p class="in0 bm0 wide4">Mansfield, Louisiana,</p> - -<p class="in75 p0">May 1, 1914.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h3 class="nobreak"><a name="CONTENTS_3" id="CONTENTS_3"></a>CONTENTS</h3><span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">193</a></span> -</div> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<table id="toc_3" summary="CONTENTS_3"> - - <tr> - <td class="chapternum" colspan="3">Chapter I</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chaptername" colspan="3">Browning’s General Interest in Art.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">I.</td> - <td class="sectname">Subject Matter of Browning’s Poems</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_9">9</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">II.</td> - <td class="sectname">Interest in Music</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_10a">10</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">III.</td> - <td class="sectname">Relation to Painting</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_10b">10</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">IV.</td> - <td class="sectname">Relation to Sculpture</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_12a">12</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">V.</td> - <td class="sectname">Significance of the Preceding Sections</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_12b">12</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">VI.</td> - <td class="sectname">Time Spent in Italy</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_13a">13</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">VII.</td> - <td class="sectname">English Knowledge of Italian Art in Browning’s Time</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_13b">13</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">VIII.</td> - <td class="sectname">Non-English Themes and Settings in General</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_14a">14</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">IX.</td> - <td class="sectname">A Quantitative Statement</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_14b">14</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapternum" colspan="3">Chapter II</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chaptername" colspan="3">Italian Sculpture in the Poems of Browning.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">I.</td> - <td class="sectname">General Statement</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_15">15</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">II.</td> - <td class="sectname">Historical Scope</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_16">16</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">III.</td> - <td class="sectname">Poetic Functions of the References to Sculpture</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_17">17</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">IV.</td> - <td class="sectname">Source of Browning’s Knowledge</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_22">22</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapternum" colspan="3">Chapter III</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chaptername" colspan="3">Italian Music in the Poems of Browning.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">I.</td> - <td class="sectname">General Statement</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_23a">23</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">II.</td> - <td class="sectname">Catholic Hymns</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_23b">23</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">III.</td> - <td class="sectname">Poetic Functions of the References to Music</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_24">24</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">IV.</td> - <td class="sectname">Lack of Modern Italian References</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_26">26</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">V.</td> - <td class="sectname">Conformity to Facts</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_27a">27</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">VI.</td> - <td class="sectname">Source of Browning’s Knowledge</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_27b">27</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapternum" colspan="3">Chapter IV</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chaptername" colspan="3">Italian Poetry in the Poems of Browning.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">I.</td> - <td class="sectname">General Statement</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_29a">29</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">II.</td> - <td class="sectname">Predominance in Early Poems</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_29b">29</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">III.</td> - <td class="sectname">Sordello</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_30a">30</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">IV.</td> - <td class="sectname">The Imaginary Poets</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_30b">30</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">V.</td> - <td class="sectname">The Italian as the Type of Failure</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_31">31</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">VI.</td> - <td class="sectname">Italian Men of Letters: Dante</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_32">32</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">VII.</td> - <td class="sectname">Other Real Writers</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_33a">33</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">VIII.</td> - <td class="sectname">Browning’s Knowledge of Italian Literature</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_33b">33</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">194</a></span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">IX.</td> - <td class="sectname">Browning’s Interest in Italian Literature</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_34">34</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapternum" colspan="3">Chapter V</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chaptername" colspan="3">Italian Architecture in the Poems of Browning.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">I.</td> - <td class="sectname">General Statement</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_35">35</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">II.</td> - <td class="sectname">Source of Browning’s Knowledge</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_36">36</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">III.</td> - <td class="sectname">Importance of Architecture in the Poems</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_37">37</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">IV.</td> - <td class="sectname">Comparison with Other Writers</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_38">38</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">V.</td> - <td class="sectname"> Architecture and Personality</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_39">39</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapternum" colspan="3">Chapter VI</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chaptername" colspan="3">Italian Painting in the Poems of Browning.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">I.</td> - <td class="sectname">General Statement</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_40a">40</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">II.</td> - <td class="sectname">Extent of Browning’s Knowledge</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_40b">40</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">III.</td> - <td class="sectname">Irregular Distribution of References</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_41">41</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">IV.</td> - <td class="sectname">Sources of the Poems</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_42">42</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">V.</td> - <td class="sectname">Poetic Functions of the References to Painting</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_44">44</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">VI.</td> - <td class="sectname">Conformity to History</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_47">47</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapternum" colspan="3">Chapter VII</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chaptername" colspan="3">General Comparisons: Browning and the Fine Arts of Italy.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">I.</td> - <td class="sectname">Poetic Function and Method</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_48">48</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">II.</td> - <td class="sectname">Amount of Material Used from Each of the Fine Arts</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_49">49</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">III.</td> - <td class="sectname">Personality and the Arts</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_52">52</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum pb1">IV.</td> - <td class="sectname pb1">Browning as the Poet of Humanity</td> - <td class="sectpage pb1"><a href="#browning_54">54</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="appendixname smcap" colspan="3">Appendix</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">I.</td> - <td class="sectname">Poems Containing Reference to Italian Art</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_55">55</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">II.</td> - <td class="sectname">Tabulation of References to Individual Arts:</td> - <td> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td class="subsect">Sculpture</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_56">56</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td class="subsect">Music</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_58">58</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td class="subsect">Poetry</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_60">60</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td class="subsect">Architecture</td> - <td class="sectpage"><a href="#browning_61">61</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td class="subsect pb1">Painting</td> - <td class="sectpage pb1"><a href="#browning_66">66</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="indexname">Index</td> - <td> </td> - <td class="indexpage"><a href="#INDEX_3">75</a></td> - </tr> - -</table> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3 class="nobreak"><a name="CHAPTER_I_brown" id="CHAPTER_I_brown"></a>CHAPTER I</h3><span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">195</a></span> -</div> - -<p class="brownchap">Browning’s General Interest in Art.</p> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_9" id="browning_9"></a>I. Subject matter of browning’s poems.</h4>—Three prominent -facts concerning the subjects of Browning’s poetry are: the comparative -insignificance of nature, the extensive treatment of art, -and the predominance of the human soul. Only a few poems -contain any extended reference to nature; and where such reference -is found, nature is usually treated, as in <cite>By the Fireside</cite>, for its -effect on human beings, and the soul still remains the dominant -subject. Nature for its own sake is never a supreme concern. -It is never considered as a primary moral force, akin to a personality, -as in Wordsworth. The loveliness of nature is never personified -for the sake of its own sensuous beauty, as in Keats or Shelley. -<cite>Pauline</cite>, a youthful effort of which Browning later became ashamed, -was written under the influence of Shelley, and approaches the -style of that poet in the prominence and beauty of its nature -descriptions; but no such examples of pure nature descriptions -are found in Browning’s mature work. Several of the well-known -longer poems—<cite>Pippa Passes</cite>, <cite>Christmas-Eve and Easter-Day</cite>, -<cite>The Flight of the Duchess</cite>, for example—as well as other shorter -lyrical poems, contain the nature element; but it is comparatively -slight, and usually introduced for harmony, for contrast, -or to give a mere unshaded background for the characters.</div> - -<p>Concerning the predominance of the soul in Browning, every -critic of the poet has written. It does not seem necessary to repeat -any of this familiar criticism here. However, the emphasis placed -upon personality and the soul does have a bearing on the discussion -of Italian arts and artists as found in Browning. For personality -is the dominant factor behind Browning’s selection and treatment -of the Italian arts. Those arts in which personality is strongest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">196</a></span> -he uses most. The poems having some one of the arts as a main -theme usually had their origin in an interest aroused by some -unique personality. Some further discussions of the relations of -art and personality will be found in each of the five following -chapters devoted to the individual arts; and more extended discussion -is given in the general summary of Chapter VII.</p> - -<p>Concerning Browning’s treatment of art, numerous articles have -been written; but they are limited for the most part to consideration -of one art or one poem. Browning, however, is the poet not -of any one art but of art in general and of all the arts. Throughout -life he was interested in more than one art and in spite of the seeming -improbability of his ever having had serious doubts on the subject, -it is stated<a name="FNanchor_163" id="FNanchor_163" href="#Footnote_163" class="fnanchor">163</a> that he was long undecided whether to become a -poet, a musician, or a painter. He might, says his biographer, have -become an artist and perhaps a great one, because of his brilliant -general ability and his special gifts.</p> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_10a" id="browning_10a"></a>II. Interest in music.</h4>—As a child, Browning received a -musical education and became a pianist of some ability. His -appreciation of music was further cultivated, during his young -manhood, by attendance at the best concerts and operas which -London afforded. Beethoven seems to be the composer mentioned -most frequently in biographical sketches and in his letters, a fact -which may indicate his preference in music. During the latter -years of his married life, according to letters by Mrs. Browning, he -took charge of the musical education given to their son, Wiedemann. -So far as appreciation of Italian music and attendance at concerts -in Italy are concerned, he seems to have been little interested. -But again in the years following 1873, while Browning was in -London, he was in frequent attendance at musical concerts. His -interest in music, then, was no intermittent fancy. It was constant -and above the average. If any further proof of his interest in -music were needed, it is found in the influence of that interest upon -his poems; for they show a finer appreciation of music and a greater -knowledge of its technique than those of any other writer.</div> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_10b" id="browning_10b"></a>III. Relation to painting.</h4>—A knowledge of painting and -a liking for it as well, were cultivated in Browning’s earliest years, -through the medium of the Dulwich Gallery. Though it is probably -impossible to trace the exact influence of this gallery on his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">197</a></span> -writings, it may be suggested as the source of references to Italian -art before his visits to Italy, and as the original stimulus of his -interest in the subject. At least, the Dulwich Gallery was only a -pleasant walk from his home, and there his father constantly took -him.<a name="FNanchor_164" id="FNanchor_164" href="#Footnote_164" class="fnanchor">164</a> There “he became familiar with the names of the great -painters and learned something about their works. Later he -became a familiar figure in one or two London studios.”</div> - -<p>Whatever the cause of a certain decline of interest in painting -previous to 1841 may have been, that decline was of short duration. -Probably it was due to the increasing attention he was giving to -poetry as a serious occupation. When he began to feel himself -better established in his poetical career, he returned to his interest -in the sister art. A letter which he wrote to Miss Haworth (probably -in 1841) says that he is coming to love painting again as he did -once in earlier years. In the same letter he speaks of his early efforts -at the age of two years and three months, and characterizes himself -as a wonderful painter in his childhood; but he adds, “as eleven -out of every twelve of us are.” Such a remark, while it shows an -early interest in art, and indicates that his fond relatives may have -considered him a youthful prodigy in art, as fond relatives have a -habit of doing on slight premises, implies that he himself did not -consider his artistic ability seriously.</p> - -<p>Browning’s interest in painting, as well as in sculpture, was retained -throughout his life. On September 19, 1846, Mr. and Mrs. -Robert Browning set sail for Italy; and from that time on, the -wife’s letters are full of references to her husband’s interest in art. -In a letter from Pisa dated November 5, 1846, she says she means -to know something of pictures; for Robert does, and he will open her -eyes for her. Here at Pisa, she continues, the first steps in art, -for her, are to be taken. A letter dated October 1, 1847, mentions -their friend, Mr. Powers, the American sculptor. Mr. Story, -another sculptor; Mr. Kirkup, the art connoisseur; Fredrick Leighton; -a French sculptress named Mme. de Fauveau; Gibson; Page; -a Mr. Fisher, who was painting the portraits of Mr. Browning -and Wiedemann; Mr. Wilde, an American artist; and Harriet -Hosmer—all these artists are named as acquaintances of the literary -Brownings who were stay-at-home people in Florence. Many -letters also mention trips to certain places where individual pictures<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">198</a></span> -were seen, such as “a divine picture of Guercino” (August -1848), Domenichino’s “David” at Fano (August, 1848), and the -works of Guido Reni, Da Vinci, the Carracci, and Correggio.</p> - -<p>Although Browning never had a course of thorough instruction -in art, he gave some attention to drawing during the reaction from -literary work that followed the publication of <cite>Men and Women</cite>, -in 1855. A letter from Mrs. Browning to her old friend, Mrs. -Jameson, dated May 2, 1856, gives the story. After thirteen days -application on the part of her husband, she tells us, he produced -some really astonishingly good copies of heads, though his purpose -was only to fill in the pause in his literary career. Then Mrs. -Browning adds: “And really, with all his feeling and knowledge of -art, some of the mechanical trick of it can not be out of place.”</p> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_12a" id="browning_12a"></a>IV. Relation to sculpture.</h4>—A similar though less conspicuous -interest in sculpture<a name="FNanchor_165" id="FNanchor_165" href="#Footnote_165" class="fnanchor">165</a> was maintained through Browning’s -entire career. The first mention of it in either letters or -poems is found in a letter of 1838, to Miss Haworth, in which the -statement concerning Canova implies disappointment and previous -expectation. <cite>Sordello</cite>, 1840, contains the first reference found in -a poem; and from that time on, some references are found with a -considerable degree of regularity in both poems and letters. While -the interest was not great compared with that taken in painting, -it was fairly continuous. No mention of Italian sculpture is -found in the poems of Browning after the publication of <cite>The Ring -and the Book</cite>, in 1868–9; though references to the art of Greece, -the great home of sculpture, occur frequently.</div> - -<p>In 1860, a letter from Mrs. Browning says that her husband -has begun modeling under the direction of Mr. Story at his studio. -She speaks of his progress, of his turning his studies in anatomy to -account, and of the fact that he had already copied two busts—those -of young Augustus, and of Psyche. At this time he was -working six hours a day at modeling. “His habit,” says Mrs. -Browning, “was to work by fits and starts”; and as in the case -of drawing, he had undertaken work in sculpture until his mind -should be ready again for poetical work.</p> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_12b" id="browning_12b"></a>V. Significance of the preceding sections.</h4>—Many other -statements showing an appreciation of the arts are found in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">199</a></span> -biographies and letters of the Brownings. Of these, some details -will be mentioned later, in connection with the treatment of each -separate art. Only such facts have been noted here as tend to -establish the basis on which our discussion is built—namely, that -Browning had a great and continuous interest in the fine arts -and that it is only reasonable to expect a considerable amount of -knowledge and appreciation of them to appear in his writings. -Our final conclusions will concern <em>personality</em> as the source of -Browning’s interest in the arts.</div> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_13a" id="browning_13a"></a>VI. Time spent in italy.</h4>—The amount of time spent by -Robert Browning in Italy is a further reason for expecting Italian -art themes in his writings. In 1838, at the age of twenty-six, he -made his first trip to Italy; and in 1844 he was again there, from -August or September until December. In 1846, Robert and -Elizabeth Barrett Browning went to Italy to live, and excepting -intervals for trips to France and England, were there until the -death of the latter in 1861. For several years after this, Browning -spent most of his time in England. In 1878, however, he returned -to Northern Italy; and of his eleven remaining years, seven -autumns were spent in Venice, until his death there in 1889.</div> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_13b" id="browning_13b"></a>VII. English knowledge of italian art in browning’s -time.</h4>—In spite of the fact that Browning spent so much time in -Italy, the space given to Italian art in his poems is remarkable -because so little was known of that subject in England at that time. -Vasari’s rambling, gossipy, and sometimes inaccurate biographies -may have been known in England at this time. Even if so, -Browning, at least, seems not to have become acquainted with -them until the years of his residence in Italy; for a letter written -in 1847 by Mrs. Browning to Horne, says that they are engaged -in reading Vasari.</div> - -<p>During the nineteenth century, the history of art began to -assume a more important place as a distinct branch of general -history. The century was well advanced, however, when the first -complete work in this subject appeared—Kugler’s <cite>Handbook -of the History of Art</cite>. It was not translated from the German -until 1855, when the part referring to Italy was published in an -English translation by Sir Charles Eastlake. (Many of Browning’s -best art poems were published in 1855, and some of them -previous to that time.) Taking this work as the beginning of -modern treatment of art history, and noting the fact that the next<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">200</a></span> -work of importance referring to Italian art alone and treating it -from the historical standpoint was published by Crowe and Cavalcaselle -in 1876, it is evident that nothing like the present general -knowledge of it could have existed in England in Browning’s -time. Certainly this makes his treatment of art history, particularly -the facility with which he presents the tendencies of different -periods, more remarkable than similar attainment would be in -more recent times. Even with the added knowledge resulting -from recent investigations, no other writer has been able to produce -such perfect poems of the musician or the painter as Browning has -built about Fra Lippo Lippi, or the Italian by adoption, Abt -Vogler.<a name="FNanchor_166" id="FNanchor_166" href="#Footnote_166" class="fnanchor">166</a></p> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_14a" id="browning_14a"></a>VIII. Non-english themes and settings in general.</h4>—The -Italian element is only one result, though a very significant result, -of a general tendency on the part of Browning to choose poetic -subjects of non-English character. From the Orient,<a name="FNanchor_167" id="FNanchor_167" href="#Footnote_167" class="fnanchor">167</a> from -Greece,<a name="FNanchor_168" id="FNanchor_168" href="#Footnote_168" class="fnanchor">168</a> from France,<a name="FNanchor_169" id="FNanchor_169" href="#Footnote_169" class="fnanchor">169</a> from any region, in fact, which pleased his -fancy, however remote, he levied his contributions. With this -general non-English tendency, it is not surprising that in Italy, -where he spent so much time, he found material for every sort of -poem from <cite>Fra Lippo Lippi</cite> to <cite>Luria</cite> and <cite>The Ring and the Book</cite>, -and that he should shape his material into poems with much of -the atmosphere of Italy, the home of the arts.</div> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_14b" id="browning_14b"></a>IX. A quantitative statement.</h4>—As a matter of fact, the -supposition that Browning’s poetry embodies a large amount of -Italian art reference is correct. Forty-nine poems out of two -hundred and twenty-two, or more than one-fifth of the entire -number, have some mention of one or more of the arts or artists -of Italy, while other poems deal with the arts of other nations or -with a general comparison of the arts.</div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3 class="nobreak"><a name="CHAPTER_II_brown" id="CHAPTER_II_brown"></a>CHAPTER II</h3><span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">201</a></span> -</div> - -<p class="brownchap">Italian Sculpture in the Poems of Browning.</p> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_15" id="browning_15"></a>I. General statement.</h4>—While forty-nine out of a total of -two hundred twenty-two poems by Robert Browning refer to -some one of the five fine arts—sculpture, music, poetry, architecture, -and painting—only eight mention sculpture; and the references -in these poems are comparatively insignificant. No one -poem deals with sculpture as a theme, nor does any sculptor -express his views of the art in dramatic monologue, as Abt Vogler -does for music, and Fra Lippo Lippi for painting. Reasons for -the preponderance of the other arts will be discussed later, in -connection with further suggestions concerning personality and -its relations to art in Browning’s poetry.</div> - -<p>It is often difficult to estimate separately Browning’s treatment -of sculpture and painting, since he discusses the two arts together -in several of his poems (for example, <cite>Old Pictures in Florence</cite>) -and since many important Italian artists were both painters and -sculptors. However, the predominant art of the man in question, -or the art which Browning emphasizes most in connection with -him, has been taken as a basis for classification. Estimating in -this manner, one finds that the poet refers, in the eight poems, to -seven artists—Niccolo Pisano and Giovanni Pisano, Canova, -Ghiberti, Giovanni da Bologna, Baccio Bandinelli and Bernini—all -of historical interest. Claus of Innsbruck (in <cite>My Last Duchess</cite>), -and Jules (in <cite>Pippa Passes</cite>) with his companion art students, -are purely imaginary. Reference is made to seven historical -works of sculpture: the Psiche-fanciulla and Pietà of Canova, -the statue of Duke Ferdinand, John of the Black Bands, Pasquin’s -statue, the Fountain of the Tritons, and the Bocca-dell’-Verità. -Three fictitious pieces of sculpture which are named are also introduced, -besides a number of imaginary unnamed works.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">202</a></span> -Such references to sculpture as exist in the poems seem to conform -entirely to the facts of history, where there is any pretense -of historical accuracy. Sculpture is so unimportant a feature of -most of the poems that there was certainly very little temptation -to enlarge on the facts for dramatic purposes, or for any other -reason.</p> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_16" id="browning_16"></a>II. Historical scope.</h4>—It is improbable that Browning consciously, -or unconsciously either, for that matter, decided to treat -different periods of sculpture until he had covered the historical -field, or that he ever selected any one phase of this art with so -general a purpose in mind. In certain cases he chose some event -or characteristic feature of a period, and before he had finished -the poem referred to a sculptor, or to the condition of the art at -that time, as one of the details in a realistic background for his -picture of the times. Nevertheless he has accomplished, without -any definite purpose, a result similar to a brief historical survey -of sculpture in Italy; his references showing relation to practically -every important period of the art.</div> - -<p>The first reference to sculpture is in <cite>Sordello</cite> (1840), where the -lines concerning the Pisani (Book I, l. 574) characterize the art -of Sordello’s time as just dawning into the Renaissance. In -<cite>Pippa Passes</cite> (1841) the poet, passing over something like five -hundred years’ development, brings before the reader a picture -of nineteenth century art life among students in Italy. <cite>My -Last Duchess</cite> (1842) deals with the decadent Renaissance, while -<cite>The Bishop orders his Tomb at St. Praxed’s Church</cite> (1845) presents -a faithful picture of the same period. In <cite>Christmas-Eve and -Easter-Day</cite> (1850), the pendulum swings backward to the early -days of Christianity, when the church Fathers abhorred the -physical beauty of their art inheritance from Greece. <cite>The Statue -and the Bust</cite> (1855) relates events of the sixteenth century also; -but they are such as have no historical significance in a chronological -way, and could just as readily have happened in the thirteenth -or the nineteenth century. <cite>Old Pictures in Florence</cite> (1855) -has the early masters as its theme, with another reference to -Niccolo Pisano, the first Renaissance sculptor, though the poem -concerns itself mainly with architecture and painters. <cite>The Ring -and the Book</cite> (1868–69) can hardly be said to deal with any particular -period in art history.</p> - -<p>Chronological order is not followed, nor is there any reason in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">203</a></span> -the logic or emotion of poetry why such order should obtain. -Whether one denies or affirms on the question of poetical inspiration, -one is compelled to admit that the practice in the past has -not been to follow set formulas of time or place. No poet, unless -it be a pedantic one whose work would fail utterly in spontaneity, -would read history and write a poem on each period as he read.</p> - -<p>The diagram below indicates that Browning’s work was no -exception to the normal procedure.</p> - -<table id="brown_1" summary="Periods"> - - <tr> - <td class="num">1.</td> - <td class="per">Early Art</td> - <td class="chart">.........................e..............</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="num">2.</td> - <td class="per">Dawn of Renaissance</td> - <td class="chart">.....a................/....\........g..</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="num">3.</td> - <td class="per">Height of Renaissance</td> - <td class="chart">........\............/.........\f/......</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="num">4.</td> - <td class="per">Decadent Renaissance</td> - <td class="chart">..........\...c__/d..................</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="num">5.</td> - <td class="per">Modern</td> - <td class="chart">..........b\./..........................</td> - </tr> - -</table> - -<table id="brown_2" summary="Browning's works"> - - <tr> - <td class="alpha">a.</td> - <td class="work"><cite>Sordello</cite>—1840.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="alpha">b.</td> - <td class="work"><cite>Pippa Passes</cite>—1841.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="alpha">c.</td> - <td class="work"><cite>My Last Duchess</cite>—1842.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="alpha">d.</td> - <td class="work"><cite>The Bishop orders his Tomb</cite>—1845.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="alpha">e.</td> - <td class="work"><cite>Christmas-Eve and Easter-Day</cite>—1850.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="alpha">f.</td> - <td class="work"><cite>The Statue and the Bust</cite>—1855.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="alpha">g.</td> - <td class="work"><cite>Old Pictures in Florence</cite>—1855.</td> - </tr> - -</table> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_17" id="browning_17"></a>III. Poetic functions of the references to sculpture.</h4>—Of -the function of portraying the times, <cite>Sordello</cite> gives an example. -Browning became interested in the thirteenth-century troubadour, -and then in his historical surroundings. In working out the social -medium in which Sordello was to live and move, Browning named -the Pisan Brothers to illustrate the sculptural conditions at the -time—one of those numerous small details of which the ordinary -reader is scarcely conscious, which are yet extremely important in -making a perfect word picture. He spoke of Sordello as—</div> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent10">. <span class="in1">.</span> <span class="in1">.</span> <span class="in1">“Born just now,</span></div> - <div class="verse">With the new century, beside the glow</div> - <div class="verse">And efflorescence out of barbarism;</div> - <div class="verse">Witness a Greek or two from the abysm</div> - <div class="verse">That stray through Florence-town with studious air,</div> - <div class="verse">Calming the chisel of that Pisan pair:</div> - <div class="verse">If Nicolo should carve a Christus yet!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">While the entire passage is carefully subordinated to the main -purpose of studying Sordello, it also clearly pictures the dawn of -the Renaissance light upon sculpture.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">204</a></span> -<cite>The Bishop orders his Tomb at St. Praxed’s Church</cite>, and <cite>My -Last Duchess</cite>, deal with characteristics of their times; but in neither -case is sculpture used as a mere detail in the picture. Because of -the extensive art treatment in each, the two will be discussed -together under the head of Renaissance decadence.<a name="FNanchor_170" id="FNanchor_170" href="#Footnote_170" class="fnanchor">170</a></p> - -<p>Besides being important enough in itself to deserve somewhat -extensive treatment, the art element in <cite>Pippa Passes</cite> is notable -because it marks the only instance in which Browning concerns -himself with the life of modern art students. He certainly did -did not begin the poem with the intention of making the artists a -theme, nor did he attain any such unexpected result. Instead he -began with the thematic idea of the power in unconscious influence, -and through four sections of this dramatic poem developed this -idea by recording the effects of the song of Pippa, upon murderers, -an art student, a fanatical patriot and a scheming bishop. About -one-fourth of the poem deals directly with the student life of artists. -Canova, who is frequently mentioned, represents the ideal of -sculpture; and Jules, the young student who is seeking to attain. -In contrast to Jules, the idealist, is the group of evil-minded -students who induce him to marry a model, under the impression -that she is a cultured Greek woman. It is Browning’s best example -of the “other side,” as illustrated by the group of plotting would-be -artists. This is the only example in all of Browning’s poetry -(with the exception of <cite>A Soul’s Tragedy</cite>) in which the poet descends -to the level of prose as a medium of speech, and here it is used by -knaves and villains. All the crude reality of life among low-minded -students, their jealousy of one with higher ideals than -their own, the poet gives us in detail by means of their prose -speeches; returning to blank verse, however, for the ideals of -Jules and the aspirations of Phene’s awakening soul. Love of -personality, that great guide to the appreciation of Browning -from whatever position we approach him, and the possibilities of -human development, are written large throughout his works. -Nowhere are these ideas in relation to art more clearly expressed -than in the words of Jules. An artist of the highest ideals, he -has just realized through the singing of Pippa, that a woman’s -soul is in his keeping. He meditates:</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse quote">“Shall to produce form out of unshaped stuff<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">205</a></span></div> - <div class="verse">Be Art—and further, to evoke a soul</div> - <div class="verse">From form be nothing? This new soul is mine!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">Then, since art is the expression of personality, and Jules has met -with so great a change in ideals, he resolves to break his ‘paltry -models up To begin Art afresh.’ His change in personality, it -should be noticed, is due to the fact that he realizes the soul has -greater significance than art—an idea exactly expressing Browning’s -view.</p> - -<p><cite>My Last Duchess</cite> (1842) is entirely imaginary, but it sums up, -in a short poem, the entire decadent Renaissance attitude toward -art so fully that no historical names could improve it. Its one -mention of sculpture is in the closing lines:</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">. <span class="in1">.</span> <span class="in1">.</span> <span class="in1">.</span> <span class="in1">.</span> <span class="in1">“Notice Neptune, though,</span></div> - <div class="verse">Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,</div> - <div class="verse">Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">In two and one-half lines it gives a powerful suggestion of admiration -for art because it was fashionable, of emphasis on technique -rather than content, of the classical subject matter and bronze -material that were in vogue at the time, and of the character expressed -in the intellectual but heartless Duke’s purpose of taming -the Duchess.</p> - -<p><cite>The Bishop orders his Tomb at St. Praxed’s Church</cite> (1845) is -imaginary in its narrative, and probably in all the sculpture named, -though the church of Santa Prassede, in Rome, by its richness of -decoration, and by a tomb similar to the one the Bishop is represented -as desiring, gave the suggestion for the poem. Probably -in all literature there is no more skilful summary of a corrupt -churchman’s attitude toward his church, his fellow churchmen, the -future, earthly love, and art. The characterization is both fearless -and powerful. This poem and <cite>My Last Duchess</cite> are companion -studies. Both the Duke and the Bishop are fond of power -and prestige, both are jealous and envious, each displays his -attitude toward woman and toward art. The Bishop has more -feeling, though it is largely feeling for himself; and the Duke possesses -more icy pride. Each values art, particularly sculpture, as -something for display, something luxurious and (contrary to the -highest ideas of art) something beyond the power of common -people to appreciate. The poems deal with the same period, -but <cite>My Last Duchess</cite> is a summary of the secular attitude, <cite>The -Bishop orders his Tomb</cite> presents the view of an official of the church.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">206</a></span> -<cite>Christmas-Eve and Easter-Day</cite> (1850), in a section devoted to -the reverie of the seeker for religious truth after his inspection of -Catholicism at Rome, censures the attitude of the early church -toward the physical beauty of the statuary Italy had inherited -from Greece. While the subject of the poem is religion, not art, -incidentally it contains one of Browning’s best defences of the nude. -He viewed the nude as a fitting expression of the beauty God has -placed in the world, and rejoiced in the “noble daring, steadfast -duty, The heroic in action or in passion,” or even the merely beautiful -physique—all as presented in sculpture. In Chapter VI will -be found further mention of the nude, in connection with <cite>Francis -Furini</cite> (1887).<a name="FNanchor_171" id="FNanchor_171" href="#Footnote_171" class="fnanchor">171</a> <cite>The Lady and the Painter</cite>, a non-Italianate poem, -published in the Asolando group (1889), also throws further light -on Browning’s attitude toward the nude. These two poems are -of interest in the present discussion, however, only because they -prove the attitude expressed in 1850 to have been a permanent one.</p> - -<p>In <cite>The Statue and the Bust</cite>, the art references were not introduced -for their own sake, but because they suggested a situation with -dramatic possibilities. The statue of Duke Ferdinand exists as -Browning pictured it. The bust seems to be an addition for -poetic purposes, but it conforms to the spirit of the palace decorations, -in that it was made of Robbia ware, for traces of that material -still adorned the palace when the poem was written.</p> - -<p>In <cite>Sordello</cite> (1840), the first poem containing any reference to -Italian sculpture, the castle of Goito, the early home of Sordello, -is rich in sculpturesque effects. “Those slim pillars, ... Cut like a -company of palms—Some knot of bacchanals, flushed cheek combined -With straining forehead, shoulders purpled—A dullish grey-streaked -cumbrous font ... shrinking Caryatides, Of just-tinged -marble—” all present a physical setting. They do more, however, -than merely locate. Their lonely magnificence harmonizes with the -tone of the story, and they exercise an influence on the nature of -the dreaming, beauty-loving Sordello.</p> - -<p>The best examples of sculpture used purely for setting are found -in <cite>The Ring and the Book</cite>. Containing only its few references to -pieces of sculpture in Florence and Rome, it is the one of the list -of poems in which this art is least prominent. It presents no -picture of a period, no discussion of an attitude toward art, no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">207</a></span> -poetical background of the times aided by art references. Each -instance tells us that at such-and-such a place in Rome, in sight -of the statue named, a certain event occurred. “Toward Baccio’s -Marble” (Part I, l. 44) is used to help locate the Florentine book-stall -where Browning found the ‘old yellow book’ that became the -basis of the poem. Part I, l. 889, quotes an example of the current -gossip in Rome, as taking place “i’ the market-place O’ the Barberini -by the Capucins; Where the old Triton ... Puffs up -steel sleet.” This instance serves as setting, and further, in a -continuation of the description—“out o’ the way O’ the motley -merchandising multitude”—contrasts the quiet, regular play of -the fountain to the turmoil of the characters. Part VI refers to -Pasquin’s statue in a double comparison which emphasizes Pompilia’s -innocence in contrast to the bestiality of the squibs that -were formerly posted on the statue. In Part XI Guido says his -first sight of an instrument for beheading was ‘At the Mouth-of-Truth -o’ the river-side you know, Retiring out of noisy crowded -Rome’—a reference which serves as a definite means of location.</p> - -<p>Yet all instances from <cite>The Ring and the Book</cite> prove little -concerning Browning’s interest in art, or his specialized attention -to sculpture. The fact that pieces of statuary serve a man as landmarks -in Florence or Rome implies little beyond an effort at clearness -in location. <cite>The Ring and the Book</cite>, then, in sculpture, is -interesting rather for absence than for presence of such references. -In fact sculpture is not prominent in the Italian art references -of Browning. Not only is it a lesser art quantitatively in Browning’s -poetry, but it seems to be placed on a distinctly lower plane. -Reasons for these facts, are, in part, the predominance of the other -arts over sculpture in Italy, and the particular quality of sculpture -as an art which makes it tend toward the expression of physical -beauty instead of the soul.</p> - -<p>Though Browning himself did some work in modeling,<a name="FNanchor_172" id="FNanchor_172" href="#Footnote_172" class="fnanchor">172</a> he used -very few technical terms connected with that art. Since he -never put a sculptor speaker on the stage of his poet-world, one -does not expect to hear the language of that art spoken. The -Duke and the Bishop, it is true, express considerable interest in -art, though it is rather in the dilettante spirit than that of serious -criticism. “Caryatides,” used in <cite>Sordello</cite>, and “caritellas,” evidently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">208</a></span> -used for cartellas<a name="FNanchor_173" id="FNanchor_173" href="#Footnote_173" class="fnanchor">173</a> seem to be almost the only instances of -technical—or semi-technical—terms connected with sculpture.</p> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_22" id="browning_22"></a>IV. Source of browning’s knowledge.</h4>—Proof has already -been given of the statement that Browning had a strong, lasting -interest in the arts, even before he went to Italy. The remark in -the letter to Miss Haworth (1838) concerning disappointment in -Canova, implying previous knowledge, was written during his -first visit to Italy. It is certain, then, that he had formed an -opinion of one Italian sculptor before going to that country. -Probably some of his knowledge of sculpture was gained from -reading, also. In every case in which he described a particular piece -of work, he had previously visited the place where it was located. -<cite>Sordello</cite>, while it refers to artists rather than particular works, -and exhibits an art knowledge that was probably gained from -reading, was published two years after Browning’s first Italian -visit in 1838. <cite>Pippa Passes</cite> (1841) was one of the direct results -of the same trip, when Venice and delicious Asolo were visited. -<cite>My Last Duchess</cite> contains none but imaginary works. <cite>The Bishop -orders his Tomb</cite> (1845) has its architectural setting at Rome, one -of the points included in Browning’s second visit in 1844. <cite>Christmas-Eve -and Easter-Day</cite> (1850) also mentions Rome. <cite>The Statue -and the Bust</cite> (1855) refers to Florence, <cite>Old Pictures in Florence</cite> -(1855) has the same setting; and <cite>The Ring and the Book</cite> (1868–9) -refers to Rome and Florence, visited in 1844 and 1847. These -data all tend to support the foregoing statement that the poet -had seen the things of which he wrote.</div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3 class="nobreak"><a name="CHAPTER_III_brown" id="CHAPTER_III_brown"></a>CHAPTER III</h3><span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">209</a></span> -</div> - -<p class="brownchap">Italian Music in the Poems of Browning.</p> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_23a" id="browning_23a"></a>I. General statement.</h4>—Only ten poems refer to Italian -music or musicians—seemingly a small number for a writer who -is known as the musician’s poet. Thirteen Italian musicians—Bellini, -Galuppi, Palestrina, Verdi, Rossini, Abt Vogler, Grisi, -Corelli, Guarnerius, Stradivarius, Paganini, Buononcini, and Geminiani—constitute -the group of performers whom he mentions. -Four of these were famous violinists; one was a vocalist. Only -two, Galuppi and Abt Vogler, received any extended treatment, -though an entire poem is also devoted to Master Hugues of Saxe-Gotha, -an imaginary composer. There are many references to -musicians of other nationalities in Browning; but every poem -having this art as its main theme, unless it be <cite>Saul</cite>, in which the -influence of music is prominent, is included among the ten referring -to Italy.</div> - -<p>Thus while Browning is known, even to the general mind, as -a poet who writes about musicians, his fame in this particular field -is founded on a very few well-known poems. Suppose it were -possible to eliminate <cite>Abt Vogler</cite> from the text of Browning’s -poetry and from the consciousness of the world. Would the -cursory student then know him as the celebrator of music? Or -at least, if one could filch from the human race both <cite>Abt Vogler</cite> -and <cite>A Toccata of Galuppi’s</cite>, their author might still be known in -the popular mind as an admirer of the arts, but hardly as a devotee -of music. Quality rather than quantity, then, is the measure -of the element of music in the poems of Robert Browning.</p> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_23b" id="browning_23b"></a>II. Catholic hymns.</h4>—A by no means unusual introduction -of music, nor one peculiar to Browning (see Byron and others) is -found in the mention of Catholic hymns. However, they are not -employed in any of the poems whose principal theme is music,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">210</a></span> -nor are they introduced because he deliberately wished to write -about that art. They form a part of the Italian consciousness; -they are stages in daily life; and they mark the passing of time in a -highly poetic way, and in a method characteristic of the Italian -nation.</div> - -<p><cite>The Ring and the Book</cite>, in five of the twelve sections, includes -the names of Catholic hymns. In Part IV the <cite>Magnificat</cite> signifies -the triumphant spirit of Violante Comparini, the old woman who -has completed the bargain by means of which she is to trick her -husband into the belief that he is to have an heir. The same section -gives an account of the plan of Pietro and Violante Comparini -to find a titled husband for their so-called daughter, and illustrates -the situation in these words—“And when such paragon was found -and fixed, Why, they might chant their ‘<i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Nunc dimittis</i>’ straight.” -Both of these passages, then, mark psychological states, in one or -both of the parents of Pompilia. Section VI, the defense of Caponsacchi, -contains two references which mark the time of day. -The first, in a quotation from one of the forged letters purporting -to be from Pompilia to Caponsacchi, suggests that he come to -her window at the time of the <cite>Ave</cite>. The second, in the account of -the flight of Pompilia and Caponsacchi to Rome, is phrased “At -eve we heard the <i>angelus</i>,” indicating time and suggesting, also, -a certain regret for the past on the part of Pompilia. In Section -VII, Pompilia, yielding at last to her own desires for rescue and -to the importunities of her treacherous maid, names the <cite>Ave -Maria</cite> to indicate the time when she will be standing on the terrace -to talk with Caponsacchi. The Pope, in Section X, gives his -opinion of what will be said of his leniency to the church, should -he free Caponsacchi, and sarcastically observes “in the choir -<cite>Sanctus et Benedictus</cite>, with a brush Of soft guitar strings that obey -the thumb.” Section XII, in describing the death of Guido, the -wife-murderer, gives his last words as a request for a <cite>Pater</cite>, an -<cite>Ave</cite>, with the hymn <cite>Salve Regina Cœli</cite>. This completes the list -of Catholic hymns mentioned by Browning—six in all.</p> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_24" id="browning_24"></a>III. Poetic functions of the references to music.</h4>—Six -different poems contain the names of Italian musicians for -purposes of comparison. <cite>The Englishman in Italy</cite>, in an implied -comparison, contrasts the fiddlers, fifers, and drummers, at the -Feast of the Rosary’s Virgin, to Bellini. So courageous and confident -do they become on this day that (implying their inferiority)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">211</a></span> -they play boldly on, says the poem, not caring even for the great -Bellini.</div> - -<p><cite>Bishop Blougram’s Apology</cite> presents that politic churchman’s -defense of his fidelity to established doctrines on the ground of -expediency—ease in this life and a possible reward in the next. -He admits that wise men look beneath his pretense of a belief in -the winking Virgin and class him as either knave or fool. In -this respect the Bishop likens himself to Verdi at the close of his -worst opera. Though the populace applauded, the composer -looked beyond them for the judgment of Rossini, the master.</p> - -<p>In <cite>Youth and Art</cite>, the struggling girl with aspirations for operatic -honors, who misses a possibility for happiness in her futile quest -for fame, compares herself with Grisi in her hopes of success. -To surpass that prima donna, which, by the way, she never succeeds -in doing, constitutes the height of her dream of happiness. -<cite>Red Cotton Night-Cap Country</cite>, with its fantastic symbolism of -night-caps, mentions the many varieties of that article and compares -them to the various kinds of violins on exhibition at Kensington -when the poem was composed, with special reference to those of -Italy:</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“I doubt not there be duly catalogued</div> - <div class="verse">Achievements all, and some of Italy,</div> - <div class="verse">Guarnerius, Straduarius,—old and new.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="tb">* <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span></div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“Over this sample would Corelli croon,</div> - <div class="verse">Grieving by minors, like the cushat-dove,</div> - <div class="verse">Most dulcet Giga, dreamiest Saraband.</div> - <div class="verse">From this did Paganini comb the fierce</div> - <div class="verse">Electric sparks....”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p><cite>Parleyings with Charles Avison</cite>, the only poem which has comparative -estimates of different musicians, names the Italians -Buononcini and Geminiani as having been appreciated along with -Wagner, Dvorak, Liszt and Handel. It is worthy of note that -Rossini, Bellini, and Verdi, of the modern Italian school, are not -mentioned in any such connection.</p> - -<p><cite>Abt Vogler</cite>, <cite>A Toccata of Galuppi’s</cite>, <cite>Master Hughes of Saxe-Gotha</cite>, -and <cite>Charles Avison</cite>, are all concerned with music as the -principal subject. Each has minor references to Italy, and in -the first two, the musician is an Italian one. <cite>Abt Vogler</cite> is probably -the finest poem on music in the English language. It contains -a perfect idealized expression of the aims of the musician<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">212</a></span> -and a thorough knowledge of his technique. Like <cite>A Toccata of -Galuppi’s</cite> it is based on extemporization and the transitory quality -of music; but it is unlike that poem in emphasizing the permanence -of good. <cite>Abt Vogler</cite> voices the musician’s own musings on the -stately but vanishing castle he has built. <cite>A Toccata</cite> probably -refers to an improvization on the harpsichord, a frequent occurrence -at the time concerned, and presents the poet as speaker, -questioning the musician concerning the effect of his performance -on the audience. Very different psychological states produced -these two poems. <cite>Abt Vogler</cite> was written in a mood of reverent -optimism; <cite>A Toccata</cite>, in a mood of half careless, half earnest -pessimism. Where <cite>A Toccata</cite> closes with “dust and ashes” the -other poem passes on to the “ineffable name,” and a belief in the -future existence of “All we have willed, or hoped, or dreamed, of -good.” The one closes hope in the grave; the other poem opens -heaven. The transitory quality of human life in <cite>A Toccata of -Galuppi’s</cite> accords with the music being played, and many terms, -such as “lesser thirds,” “sixths diminished,” “suspensions,” “solutions,” -“commiserating sevenths,” express the different phases of -the listener’s mood.</p> - -<p>No attempt will be made in this paper to consider Browning’s -musical terms; for with the exception of “toccata”, meaning a -light touch piece, an overture, they seem mostly non-Italianate. -<cite>Abt Vogler</cite>, <cite>A Toccata of Galuppi’s</cite>, <cite>Master Hugues of Saxe-Gotha</cite>, -and <cite>Parleyings with Charles Avison</cite>, all contain a considerable -number of musical terms; but beside the fact that they are non-Italianate, -those in at least part of the poems have already been -discussed somewhat extensively in various articles among the -Browning Society papers.</p> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_26" id="browning_26"></a>IV. Lack of modern italian references.</h4>—The number of -references to Italian musicians is comparatively small, even though -the treatment of music in a few poems is unexcelled. Especially -when one considers that the great modern group of Italian opera -composers was so near Browning in both time and place, his mention -of them seems curiously insignificant. Verdi, the greatest of -them, appears in the poems only once, and then in connection -with his worst opera. That the Brownings heard at least one of -Verdi’s operas produced, is established by a letter by Mrs. Browning -dated in 1853. She speaks of their having heard <cite>Il Trovatore</cite> -a few nights previous, at the Pergola in Florence, and concludes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">213</a></span> -with the peculiarly suggestive remark, “Very passionate and dramatic, -surely.”</div> - -<p>Probably there are several reasons for this neglect of Italian -opera composers. Few poets, least of all Browning, are prone -to bestow unmitigated praise on contemporaries. In the poems -of Browning there are few extended references to any artists who -were living at the time. He particularly loved to choose an -obscure Galuppi, or an Andrea del Sarto, instead of a Michael -Angelo or a Raphael, as a personality about whom to weave a poem. -A more potent reason for the indifference to modern Italian music, -however, lies in the diverging values of the Italian school and that -of northern Europe. A musician who had been trained in the -German music of London concerts could hardly be expected to -welcome the operas of Verdi and Rossini with anything approaching -ecstatic admiration. At the most he might venture a half-conciliatory -remark, such as Mrs. Browning’s concerning <cite>Il Trovatore</cite>.</p> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_27a" id="browning_27a"></a>V. Conformity to facts.</h4>—Browning seldom took occasion -to depart from the facts of history in his presentation of Italian -music. One exception is found, going beyond all allowances for -poetic idealization. It is the Verdi reference in <cite>Bishop Blougram’s -Apology</cite>.<a name="FNanchor_174" id="FNanchor_174" href="#Footnote_174" class="fnanchor">174</a> The statement concerns a Verdi composition, and mentions -it as having been given in Florence with Rossini present. As -a matter of fact <cite>Un Giorno di Regno</cite>, conceded to be Verdi’s worst -opera, and the only one which was a complete failure, was not -given in Florence on its first production and was probably never -repeated. <cite>Macbeth</cite> alone was given at Florence first, and it met -with a moderate degree of success.</div> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_27b" id="browning_27b"></a>VI. Source of browning’s knowledge.</h4>—Browning’s life in -Italy probably had less influence on his poetic use of music than -on his use of any other art, as the data he gives might easily have -become known to him without any such experience. Six of the -thirteen musicians whom he named performed in London, and -three of them, Grisi, Bellini, and Paganini, in Browning’s youth. -It is even possible that he attended some or all of their concerts. -Rossini was living in Florence from 1847 to 1855, while the Brownings -were also making that city their home. But while letter after -letter written to friends at home refers to such painters or sculptors<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">214</a></span> -as Story, Powers, and Leighton, there is absolute silence concerning -Rossini. As compared with remarks on sculpture, architecture, -or painting, the letters from Italy, as a whole, show an almost -absolute indifference to Italian music as a historical development, -or as a national achievement. With his fondness for out-of-the-way -investigations and obscure characters from any nation, however, -Browning has taken some characters from Italian music -and has woven their personalities into a few of the best poems on -music ever written.</div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3 class="nobreak"><a name="CHAPTER_IV_brown" id="CHAPTER_IV_brown"></a>CHAPTER IV</h3><span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">215</a></span> -</div> - -<p class="brownchap">Italian Poetry in the Poems of Browning.</p> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_29a" id="browning_29a"></a>I. General statement.</h4>—Of the two hundred and twenty-two -of Browning’s poems, ten contain the name of an Italian poet -or of his writings. Five imaginary writers—Aprile, Plara, Bocafoli, -Eglamor, Stiatta—and eleven who belong to the history of -Italian literature—Sordello, Nina, Alcamo, Dante, Petrarch, Boccaccio, -Tasso, Sacchetti, Marino, Aretino, and Tommaseo—compose -the list. Of the historical poets, Dante is given the most -important place; for besides the direct tribute that is paid him, -his name or the name of his great work occurs in seven poems out -of the ten. Sordello, a most insignificant poet from the historical -standpoint, receives more extended treatment than any other -literary figure in Browning’s works. Of the entire list of poems, -three deal with the life and aspirations of a poet as the main -theme—<cite>Pauline</cite>, which, by the way, is really non-Italianate, -<cite>Paracelsus</cite>, in which the poet Aprile is contrasted with the -scholar, and <cite>Sordello</cite>.</div> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_29b" id="browning_29b"></a>II. Predominance in early poems.</h4>—Within the first eight -years of Browning’s career, he published four long poems—<cite>Pauline</cite>, -<cite>Paracelsus</cite>, <cite>Strafford</cite>, and <cite>Sordello</cite>. Three of them deal in some -way with the life of a poet. After this first period, with the possible -exception of <cite>One Word More</cite>, which is essentially a study in -comparative art, there is no extended discussion of this sort in -any poem, either Italianate or non-Italianate. <cite>How it Strikes a -Contemporary</cite> deals with the attitude of the general public toward -the life and purposes of a poet, but not, as did the early group, -with the poet’s solution of his own problem concerning his relation -toward his work and humanity. It was written much later, -when Browning was more fully settled in his poetical career.</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">216</a></span> -<cite>Pauline</cite> is an autobiographical sketch of a poet’s early doubts -and aspirations, largely devoted to appreciation of Shelley, and -without Italianate quality; <cite>Paracelsus</cite> and <cite>Sordello</cite> deal with -Italian writers of verse. Since these all belong in the same period -and that the early one, it is clear that Browning was endeavoring -to establish his own ideas of a poet, and these poems were the expression -of that effort. But he chose to express his conclusions by -giving the negative side, not the positive; for Aprile, Sordello, -Eglamor, Plara, Bocafoli, and in a lesser degree Nina and Alcamo, -are all failures. Not all of them absolute and hopeless, for Sordello -dies with a moral victory won, Aprile is successful in part, -and Nina and Alcamo have their strength and grace; but still none of -these poets has fully attained.</p> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_30a" id="browning_30a"></a>III. Sordello.</h4>—In <cite>Sordello</cite>, the character of that name has a -shadowy existence in history as one of the most famous of the Italian -troubadours. He seems to have been confused with another Sordello -who was a politician and man of action. Since such scant -facts as can be gathered speak of scandals, and tavern brawls, -Browning’s portrait of him is clearly an idealization, and he -probably chose Sordello instead of some better known figure that -the facts might not interfere with the imaginative picture with -which he wished to surround him. The thirty books which Browning -read on the history of the period were not read to add to -his knowledge of the troubadour, but since even the idealized -Sordello had to be represented as having lived at some time -and place, to give the correct background for his life and actions.</div> - -<p>Browning shows that Sordello failed because he loved the -applause he received rather than the poetry itself, because the -aspirations of the man and the poet were at war within him, -because he lacked feeling for humanity, and because he was not -decisive enough to succeed when he attempted action. The moral -victory at the close is for dramatic purposes, and the dominant -theme of the poem as a whole is the failure of a poet.</p> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_30b" id="browning_30b"></a>IV. The imaginary poets.</h4>—Eglamor, a purely fictitious poet -in <cite>Sordello</cite>, has made verse his only ambition. Lacking all perception -of his life as a man, when he is vanquished in verse-making, -he dies. Plara, in the same poem, stands for the poet without -depth or genius, unable to write anything of thought value, -polishing his poems until they were merely pretty words, lacking -utterly in any interpretation of human life. Bocafoli, with his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">217</a></span> -“stark-naked” psalms, represents the sensualist. While Nina -and Alcamo belong to history, they have such shadowy existence -so far as present knowledge is concerned, that they will be -considered here. They stand respectively for strength and for -grace, and Browning represents the low voice as saying to Sordello:</div> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“Nina’s strength, but Alcamo’s the grace,</div> - <div class="verse">Each neutralises each then! Search your fill;</div> - <div class="verse">You get no whole and perfect Poet—still</div> - <div class="verse">New Ninas, Alcamos, till time’s midnight</div> - <div class="verse">Shrouds all—or better say, the shutting light</div> - <div class="verse">Of a forgotten yesterday.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p>Aprile, in the poem fashioned about Paracelsus, the wandering -scholar, typifies love as the latter represents knowledge. Through -Aprile, the foil to Paracelsus, the latter comes to see in part the -mistakes in his attitude toward life, and declares</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“I too have sought to <span class="smcap smaller">KNOW</span> as thou to <span class="smcap smaller">LOVE</span>—</div> - <div class="verse">Excluding love as thou refusedst knowledge.</div> - </div> - - <div class="tb">* <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span></div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">Are we not halves of one dissevered world,</div> - <div class="verse">Whom this strange chance unites once more?”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">And Aprile exclaims:</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“Yes, I see now. God is the perfect poet,</div> - <div class="verse">Who in his person acts his own creations.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_31" id="browning_31"></a>V. The italian as the type of failure.</h4>—Browning used -seven poets to typify failure, three historical and four imaginary -ones. All these were Italians, and all suggest the conclusion—“You -get no whole and perfect Poet.” This, then, must have -been Browning’s conclusion. Naturally enough he does not picture -for us a poet representing that for which he himself, after -considering different kinds of failure, has decided to strive. By -the very values the failures do not represent, however, Browning -gave us a vision of his own ideals. Lack of knowledge, lack of -strength, of grace, sensuality, superficiality, lack of purpose, and -of interest in humanity—these are the causes of failure as represented -by Aprile, Alcamo, Nina, Bocafoli, Plara, and Sordello.</div> - -<p>It would be unfair to say that these unsuccessful poets are typical -of the Italian nation; but it can be safely stated that they are -fairly representative of Italian weaknesses. A predominance of ill -controlled feeling is the most inclusive characteristic of the group<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">218</a></span> -—a trait which is perhaps marked in Italians of the least desirable -class. It is also significant, in contrast to Browning’s own nature, -that no poet of his group of failures represents an intelligent, unselfish -interest in human life.</p> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_32" id="browning_32"></a>VI. Italian men of letters: dante.</h4>—Of the great Italian -men of letters, Dante is the only one who is mentioned in <cite>Sordello</cite>, -and with the exception of the Shelley references in <cite>Memorabilia</cite> -and <cite>Pauline</cite>, Browning pays him the most perfect tribute he ever -gave a writer, in the last two lines of the following passage:</div> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“Dante, pacer of the shore</div> - <div class="verse">Where glutted hell disgorgeth filthiest gloom,</div> - <div class="verse">Unbitten by its whirring sulphur-spume,</div> - <div class="verse">Or whence the grieved and obscure waters slope,</div> - <div class="verse">Into a darkness quieted by hope;</div> - <div class="verse">Plucker of amaranths grown beneath God’s eye,</div> - <div class="verse">In gracious twilights where his chosen lie.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p>Referring to the fact that Dante’s <cite>Divina Commedia</cite> includes -Sordello as a character, and that <cite>De Vulgari Eloquio</cite> praises him -because he had first attempted to establish an Italian vernacular, -Browning names Sordello as the forerunner of Dante. Again in -the same poem, Dante is mentioned as having called the “Palma” -of Browning’s poem “Cunizza,” and as having taken advantage -of Sordello’s lost chance to establish a vernacular.</p> - -<p>In most of the other poems, the references to Dante are merely -incidental. <cite>Up at a Villa</cite> refers to the great literary triumvirate -of Italy, Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio, as standing in the popular -mind for all that is great in Italian letters. In <cite>Time’s Revenges</cite> -Dante appears as being, in the mind of a poor, starving poet, the -highest possible standard of fame.</p> - -<p>The only other Dante reference of any importance is in <cite>One -Word More</cite>. In this poem, Browning’s most beautiful tribute to -his wife, he represents every artist as wishing once, in his life, to -honor his Margarita or his Beatrice. Dante, he says in speaking -of that poet, once prepared to paint an angel, laying aside his own -art of poetry. A historical basis for this statement is found in the -<cite>Vita Nuova</cite>. But Browning, either intentionally or unintentionally, -probably the former, for the purpose of making this basis -accord with his poetical conception, departs from the facts in two -important particulars. Dante plainly states that his attempt at -the drawing grew out of his meditations on the anniversary of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">219</a></span> -the death of Beatrice; and the people who broke in upon him were -those of his own town, to whom he apologized for his delayed salutation, -by “Another was with me.” Browning assumes that the -picture was drawn to please Beatrice and that the people who -interrupted symbolized Dante’s own thoughts about the characters -of his <cite>Inferno</cite>.</p> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_33a" id="browning_33a"></a>VII. Other real writers.</h4>—Aretino and Boccaccio are both -presented throughout <cite>The Ring and the Book</cite> as examples of questionable -morality in literature, or at least of tendencies in that -direction.</div> - -<p>In Part III, the gossipers speak of the case of Guido and his -wife as “this last best of the Hundred Merry Tales.” In Part V, -Guido, in his complaint against the parents of Pompilia, appeals -to Boccaccio’s “Book” and “Ser Franco’s [Sacchetti’s] Merry -Tales,” as proofs of the greed and wrong-doing of the parents in -contrast to his own innocence. Caponsacchi, in Part VI, refers -to the forged letters claimed to have been passed between himself -and Pompilia, as worthy of the profligate Aretine. In Part X, -the Pope makes the same comparison, declaring that the letters -are “False to body and soul they figure forth—As though the man -had cut out shape and shape From fancies of that other Aretine.” -In Part XI, Guido attempts to prove that the Pope, in former -times, was very human, since he used to “chirrup o’er the Merry -Tales.” Later in the same section, he asserts his right to enjoy -“When Master Pietro [Aretino] rhymes a pleasantry.”</p> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_33b" id="browning_33b"></a>VIII. Browning’s knowledge of italian literature.</h4>—Browning’s -poems display no remarkable knowledge of Italian -literature. In comparison with that of the average American or -English citizen, it is above the ordinary, but not more than any -student of literature might very readily acquire without visiting -Italy or residing there. However, the average English student of -literature, if he were a poet, would probably embody less of that -knowledge of Italy in his verse than Browning has done. Except -for the idea of failure as typified by lesser Italian poets, the references -are mainly of secondary importance, introduced because he -had chosen an Italian theme and wished to give it reality of detail. -The stimulus of Italian residence on Browning, then, probably led -to the embodiment in his poems of the literary knowledge he -already possessed. He seems to have made no particular study of -Italian letters, even after going to that country. Some scattered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">220</a></span> -references to readings in Italian literature (for example in the -novels of Sacchetti<a name="FNanchor_175" id="FNanchor_175" href="#Footnote_175" class="fnanchor">175</a>) exist in the records of the Brownings in -Italy; but these references are few in comparison to those concerning -sculpture and painting.</div> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_34" id="browning_34"></a>IX. Browning’s interest in italian literature.</h4>—While -all the historical references, except the one to Dante noted above -as a probably intentional departure from history, are substantially -correct in both fact and spirit, Browning did not have any great -interest in Italian literature as it existed in his day. Much more -space is given to the treatment of imaginary poets, or to the idealization -of a historical one, for the sake of personality, as in the case -of Sordello. As for the other arts, then, personality is the keynote -of Browning’s appreciation of Italian literature, and of its -place in his poetry.</div> - -<p>Browning gives very little space to any formal praise of Italian -poetry or poets, either of the past, or contemporary with himself. -In this respect his treatment of them is very similar to that he -gives to English poets. <cite>Memorabilia</cite>, in praise of Shelley, is his -only poem which has for its theme the unmodified praise of another -poet. As this poem and the Shelley references in <cite>Pauline</cite> are -Browning’s only tributes to writers of his own country, so the praise -of Dante, in <cite>Sordello</cite>, is the only instance of an expressed appreciation -of Italian literature. The only Italian poet contemporary -with himself whom he mentions is Tommaseo; and he is noticed -only as the author of the inscription on the tablet erected by the -city of Florence to the memory of Elizabeth Barrett Browning.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3 class="nobreak"><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h3><span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">221</a></span> -</div> - -<p class="brownchap">Italian Architecture in the Poems of Browning.</p> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_35" id="browning_35"></a>I. General statement.</h4>—Twenty-five poems of Robert Browning -make some reference, brief or extended, to an Italian work of -architecture. Two architects, as such, are mentioned in <cite>Old -Pictures in Florence</cite>. They are Giotto (1267–1337), the original -designer of the Florentine Campanile, and Taddeo Gaddi (c. 1300-c. -1366), his successor. In the twenty-five poems, about fifty-eight -Italian buildings are named, not all of them important architecturally. -Of these, almost exactly one-third are in Florence, and -one or two less than another third are in Rome. Venice and Asolo -claim mention of five and six respectively; but all the remaining -towns must content themselves with a mention of one, two, or -three buildings. The entire number of works of architecture -is divided between twelve towns: Venice, Verona, Bassano, Rome, -Florence, Passagno, Asolo, Padua, Fano, Bagni di Lucca, Arezzo -and Siena.</div> - -<p>There are two apparent reasons why the number of buildings -named at Rome and Florence is exceptionally large: first, the -former city has been the historical and political center of Italy -ever since the beginning, and the latter is the art center of the -world; second, Browning spent a considerable amount of time in -Rome, both in 1844, during his second trip to Italy, and in his -visits of 1853 and 1854, while Florence was his home for fifteen -years.</p> - -<p>The number of ecclesiastical buildings is something more than -one-half of the entire list; while the remaining ones are about -equally divided between those for state use and private buildings -of a secular character. Considering the large number of beautiful -churches and cathedrals in Italy, the result so far as these are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">222</a></span> -concerned is in entire accordance with one’s expectations. St. -Mark’s, St. Peter’s, the Vatican, and the Florentine Duomo, all -buildings of world interest, lead in the number of times they receive -mention.</p> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_36" id="browning_36"></a>II. Source of browning’s knowledge.</h4>—Browning had seen -almost all if not every one of the Italian buildings he introduces -in his poems. He knew whereof he wrote. <cite>Sordello</cite>, published in -1840, is concerned with the cities of Venice, Bassano, Verona, -Rome, and Florence; but the references to the last two are very -slight. The first three cities he had visited in his trip of 1838, -along with his “delicious Asolo”, which became the scene of <cite>Pippa -Passes</cite>, in 1841. Ferrara formed a very large part of the setting -in <cite>Sordello</cite>, also; but no particular buildings in it are described. -<cite>A Toccata of Galuppi’s</cite>, 1855, refers to St. Mark’s in Venice. <cite>Old -Pictures in Florence</cite>, with its distinct Florentine setting, was given -to the world after Browning had lived in that city for nine years. -Doubtless its Campanile, which he mentions in the poem, was at -that time as familiar to him as any building of his native land. <cite>By -the Fireside</cite> (with reference to the chapel in the gorge) was written -either during the visit of the Brownings to Bagni di Lucca in 1853, -or shortly after it, and was published in 1855. Near Bagni di -Lucca is the scene of the story. There is the same relation between -architectural subject and personal observation in <cite>The Boy and the -Angel</cite> (Rome), 1842; <cite>The Italian in England</cite> (Padua), 1845; <cite>In a Gondola</cite> -(Venice), 1842; <cite>The Statue and the Bust</cite> (Florence), 1855; <cite>Luria</cite> -(Florence), 1846; <cite>Christmas-Eve and Easter-Day</cite> (Rome), 1850; -<cite>Fra Lippo Lippi</cite> (Florence), 1855; <cite>The Bishop orders his Tomb</cite> -(Rome), 1845; <cite>Bishop Blougram’s Apology</cite> (Rome), 1855; <cite>One -Word More</cite> (Florence), 1855; <cite>Abt Vogler</cite> (Rome), 1864; <cite>Pacchiarotto</cite> -(Siena), 1876. Padua and Venice were visited in 1838, Rome -in 1844, Florence in 1846, if not sooner, and Siena in 1850.</div> - -<p><cite>The Ring and the Book</cite> is an interesting example of Browning’s -procedure in the case of an architectural work he wished to introduce. -Florence and Rome, more particularly the latter, are concerned -with the whole action of the poem, while Arezzo is utilized -in a minor way. By this time (1864–68) Browning had long been -familiar with Florence and Rome. However, the poem was written -in England; and a letter to Frederick Leighton, October 17, 1864, -asks him if he will go into the Church of San Lorenzo, in the Corso, -look at it carefully, and describe it to Browning. Browning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">223</a></span> -asks particularly about the arrangement of the building, nave, -pillars, the number of altars, and the ‘Crucifixion’ over the altar, -by Guido, and adds that he does not care for the outside. This -church Browning uses more than any other in <cite>The Ring and the -Book</cite>, making it the scene of the baptism and the marriage of -Pompilia, as well as the place to which the dead bodies were taken. -Mr. Kenyon tells us that the poet was always accustomed to visualize -a scene completely and to keep it constantly before him -mentally as he wrote. It was his general rule to use only buildings -which he had seen, even when he refers to them very slightly; and -in this case, he wrote to inquire about one which he had seen, but -of which he did not have a perfectly clear mental image. The -only possible exception to the personal observation of a building -to be poetically described is in the case of the Pieve, at Arezzo. -The Pieve is described in considerable detail; and so far as can be -learned, the poet probably did not visit it. The Brownings had -planned to visit it in September, 1847, on their way to Rome. -But this trip, in connection with which Arezzo is mentioned, was -abandoned. Later trips were made to Rome, however, and it is -very possible that Arezzo was made a stopping place on one of -them, and the Pieve, after all, was not an exception to the general -rule.</p> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_37" id="browning_37"></a>III. Importance of architecture in the poems.</h4>—When -the amount of architecture Browning introduces is first considered, -it seems remarkably large. But such conclusion could be reached -only by failing to take into consideration the manner in which the -references are employed. About ten of the buildings he names, -including those at Asolo and a few others, are of no importance -whatever, from either an architectural or a historical standpoint. -Most of the remaining ones are discussed in histories of architecture -or mentioned in guide books, and a considerable number of -them are of importance architecturally. But with very few -exceptions, Browning does not employ them for the sake of their -architecture; and cared very little whether they were architecturally -good or bad. He usually had a story to tell; and for that story -a location was necessary. Often he used such buildings as had -been significant in the original events on which he based his poem.</div> - -<p>There are, to be sure, numerous instances in which the particular -church or castle he names suits the tone of the story just a trifle -better than anything else he could have found. In <cite>Sordello</cite>, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">224</a></span> -example, he constructed an imaginary castle, Goito, which both -harmonized with the character of Sordello and influenced his life, -since it was the home of his youth. An excellent example of a -building chosen to illustrate the theme of the story is <cite>The Bishop -orders his Tomb at St. Praxed’s Church</cite>. Perhaps no such tomb -as the Bishop’s ever existed, exactly as described in the poem; but -if it had, St. Praxed (Santa Prassede) with its ornate beauty was -exactly suited to be its location.</p> - -<p><cite>The Ring and the Book</cite> and <cite>The Statue and the Bust</cite> are both -excellent examples of poems in which the buildings were already -selected for Browning by the stories on which he based his poems.</p> - -<p>Examples of buildings chosen for harmony, such as those in -<cite>Sordello</cite> and <cite>The Bishop orders his Tomb</cite>, are rather exceptional -cases. Browning’s poetic architecture, for the most part, may be -grouped in three divisions—(1) buildings already chosen for him -by the story which he wished to embody in a poem, (2) buildings -chosen by himself, to harmonize with the tone of the story, (3) -buildings used for setting with no regard whatever for architectural -qualities. The last division is by far the largest. Or, to classify -more broadly, there are two ways in which he uses architecture—(1) -for the sake of an emotional value, of which there is one -example, and (2) for the sake of background effects, to which -practically all the other instances belong.</p> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_38" id="browning_38"></a>IV. Comparison with other writers.</h4>—Wordsworth has -several poems—for example, <cite>Old Abbeys</cite>, <cite>In the Cathedral at Cologne</cite>, -<cite>Inside of King’s College Chapel</cite>—that within a short space and in a -lyrical fashion deal with architecture in a highly appreciative -manner. Somewhat similar examples from Byron are the <cite>Elegy on -Newstead Abbey</cite> and the familiar <cite>Sonnet on Chillon</cite>. But Browning, -whose writings contain few poems of lyric or descriptive subjectivity, -did not devote himself to any such effusions over inanimate -objects. His only description of architecture as something -appealing to the emotion and imagination of man is contained in a -few lines of a very long poem, <cite>Christmas-Eve and Easter-Day</cite>. -The speaker is searching for religious truth and finds himself, in -his visit to the homeland of Catholicism, viewing St. Peter’s at -Rome. Then follows that wonderfully comprehensive description—</div> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“And what is this that rises propped,</div> - <div class="verse">With pillars of prodigious girth?</div> - <div class="verse">Is it really on the earth,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">225</a></span></div> - <div class="verse">This miraculous Dome of God?</div> - <div class="verse">Has the angel’s measuring-rod</div> - <div class="verse">Which numbered cubits, gem from gem,</div> - <div class="verse">’Twixt the gates of the New Jerusalem,</div> - <div class="verse">Meted it out,—and what he meted,</div> - <div class="verse">Have the sons of men completed?</div> - <div class="verse">—Binding, ever as he bade,</div> - <div class="verse">Columns in the colonnade,</div> - <div class="verse">With arms wide open to embrace</div> - <div class="verse">The entry of the human race ...”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p>But even in this instance, Browning, before his description is -finished, cannot content himself with mere abstract statements of -beauty divorced from human life. He turns to the builders—the -people, and to the purpose—service to humanity.</p> - -<p>In the only poem of Browning which deals with an architect at -all, (<cite>Old Pictures in Florence</cite>, in which Giotto is considered at some -length), the discussion is from the standpoint of the architect’s -aim, his partial achievement, and the relation his work, when it -is finally finished, will have to the people of his city; not from the -standpoint of any technical interest in the art.</p> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_39" id="browning_39"></a>V. Architecture and personality.</h4>—With all his mention of -Italian works of architecture, then, Browning’s primary object -was never the abstract beauty of that art itself. He has far less -treatment of it, from an abstract standpoint, than many another -English writer who has scarcely gone outside his native land for -material. A building, as a building! What was there in it related -to personality as that expressed itself in the struggles of the soul? -And, therefore, what could there be in it to concern Robert Browning?</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> - -<h3 class="nobreak"><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h3><span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">226</a></span> -</div> - -<p class="brownchap">Italian Painting in the Poems of Browning.</p> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_40a" id="browning_40a"></a>I. General statement.</h4>—Twenty-nine poems contain the -names of Italian painters, and fifty-one Italian painters are mentioned -by name; while several of the great artists are mentioned -in many poems. Michael Angelo is referred to in ten different -poems; Raphael in seven, besides the duplicate mention in three -sections of <cite>The Ring and the Book</cite>; Correggio, and Titian, each in -six poems, and Da Vinci in five different poems. These are all -great masters of the High Renaissance in Italy; and therefore, -they are the greatest artists the world has known: the repeated -introduction of their names is perfectly natural. But among -Browning’s fifty-one painters, some of so little importance are -named that references to them are rare in histories of art. Even -with the most insignificant, some telling phrase is often used to -express with admirable precision the artist’s relation to the history -of art. The best example of this is found in <cite>Old Pictures in -Florence</cite>, where the poet capriciously calls the roll of the past -Florentine artists, chiding them because none of their works have -come into his possession. In the one poem seventeen men who -have been classified as painters, besides some who are sculptors and -architects primarily, find a place. Only two or three of the artists -are given more than a line or two; but many of even the most insignificant -are summed up in some phrase like the following: “Da -Vincis derive in good time from Dellos;” “Stefano ... -called Nature’s Ape and the world’s despair;” “the wronged -Lippino,” or “my Pollajolo, the twice a craftsman.”</div> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_40b" id="browning_40b"></a>II. Extent of browning’s knowledge.</h4>—To cover the entire -field as he does, from Cimabue through the Renaissance and down -to modern times (for he omits almost no artist of importance in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">227</a></span> -the whole history of painting, besides including many surprises -in the way of insignificant ones), Browning must have had a wonderful -amount of historical knowledge. This familiarity with the -development of the art was gained in three ways—by some study -of the subject before he went to Italy, by reading histories of the -painters after going there, and by visiting galleries and churches -in Italy and studying the pictures found therein.</div> - -<p>The fact that Browning had an interest in studying the London -galleries before he went to Italy, and indeed, was a student of -pictures from his childhood, has already been noted in the introductory -remarks.<a name="FNanchor_176" id="FNanchor_176" href="#Footnote_176" class="fnanchor">176</a> Just how great the poet’s knowledge of Italian -art was at this period, is hard to determine. But his first poem, -<cite>Pauline</cite>, contains a reference to Andromeda, a picture by Caravaggio, -who was a Renaissance artist. Mrs. Orr<a name="FNanchor_177" id="FNanchor_177" href="#Footnote_177" class="fnanchor">177</a> tells us that the -picture was always before him as a boy and that he loved the story -of the divine deliverer and the innocent victim which it represented. -In one of his early letters to Elizabeth Barrett, Browning gives -the following account of his fondness for Andromeda: “How some -people use their pictures, for instance, is a mystery to me. My -Polidore’s perfect Andromeda along with ‘Boors Carousing’ where -I found her—my own father’s doing, or I would say more.”</p> - -<p>These statements prove that a fondness for <cite>some</cite> Italian art, at -least, had been a part of his life from a very early age; and in addition, -they suggest that a person who had so keen an appreciation -for a picture by an artist so little known as Caravaggio, must -have known a great deal more about Italian art than is implied in -this one statement. Browning was in his twenty-first year when -<cite>Pauline</cite>, the poem referring to Andromeda, was published. This -was five years before his first visit to Italy, but even at this time, -his appreciation of the picture was so complete that he compared -the ever-beautiful and unchanging Andromeda to himself and -seemed to feel that she had as real an existence.</p> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_41" id="browning_41"></a>III. Irregular distribution of references.</h4>—While the influence -of painting began so early in Browning’s poetical career, -and extended to its close, the last art poem being <cite>Beatrice Signorini</cite>, -in the Asolando group, published just at the time of his -death, the chronological distribution of the subject is by no means<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">228</a></span> -regular. In <cite>Paracelsus</cite>, reference to painting is found; <cite>Sordello</cite> -has some minor references; <cite>Pippa Passes</cite> contains some mention of -painting and much concerning sculpture. <cite>Pictor Ignotus</cite>, the first -poem devoted entirely to a painter, was published in 1845. All -these items form a comparatively slender thread of references up -to the publications of 1855. At that date Browning had lived in -Italy nine years, had studied art histories, and seen pictures. -Our chronicler, Mrs. Browning, we recall, furnishes us the information—in -the previously mentioned letter of 1847 to Horne—that -they were reading Vasari. This was the next year after the Brownings -went to Italy to take up their residence there. Though Browning’s -early trips (in 1838 and 1844) seem to have had small influence -on his poetic treatment of painting, the Italian residence -bore fruit. Between 1847, the year when the residence began, and -1855, only one poem of Browning’s was published, and some references -to painting are found in it. The publications of 1855 include -the following poems on painting: <cite>Old Pictures in Florence</cite>, <cite>The -Guardian Angel</cite>, <cite>Fra Lippo Lippi</cite>, <cite>Andrea del Sarto</cite>, and <cite>One Word -More</cite>. In this one year, all the finest and best known of his poems -on painting were given to the world. Just why this is true is -hard to prove but easy to conjecture. The time just previous to -their publication marks the period of greatest, most intimate art -study, since these poems were the product of the first nine years in -Italy. There was a certain power, appreciation, and a fineness of -feeling associated with these first years in the great art center of -Florence that never returned again. For some time before this, -Browning had been an interested student of art, and the Florentine -residence brought his ideas to their full maturity. The best that -he was capable of putting into verse on the subject of painting was -both imagined and written during this first period in Italy, the -home of painting.</div> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_42" id="browning_42"></a>IV. Sources of the poems.</h4>—An event recorded by Mrs. -Browning, in a letter to Mrs. Jameson, dated May 4, 1850, throws -light on the source of <cite>Old Pictures in Florence</cite>. She says that her -husband had picked up at a few pauls each some “hole and corner -pictures” in a corn shop a mile from Florence. Mr. Kirkup (one -of the best judges of pictures in Florence) threw out such names -for them as “Cimabue, Ghirlandajo, Giottino, a Crucifixion painted -on a banner, Giottesque, if not Giotto, but unique or nearly so, on -account of linen material—and a little Virgin by a Byzantine master.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">229</a></span> -Two angel pictures, bought last year, prove to have been -sawed off of the Ghirlandajo, so-called.”</div> - -<p>Besides showing, as do many other statements of their life in -Italy, that Browning was deeply interested in art, these words -suggest both the title and the origin of <cite>Old Pictures in Florence</cite>, -in which the poet reproaches the spirits of the early masters for -failing to leave some of their works to one so appreciative as -himself. What could be more natural in its development? A -poet-artist finds the pictures, is told that they are genuine, and is -very desirous of believing it. His interest in personality turns -his mind to the painters themselves, his fancy runs with a loose -rein—and we have the half-thoughtful whimsicality of <cite>Old Pictures -in Florence</cite>. On the serious side it pleads for the following: (1) -more attention to the early almost unknown masters, instead of -praise for Angelo, Raphael, and such famous artists; (2) a greater -appreciation of the development of Italian painting, because it -was development, than of the dead perfection of Greek sculpture; -(3) Italian freedom from Austria, and with it the return of art to -Florence, resulting in the completed Campanile with the new flag -upon it. The first two pleas are made on the ground of the noble -development of the early Italian painting, in contrast with the -later art of Italian painting and that of perfect Greek sculpture, -which were at a standstill.</p> - -<p><cite>The Guardian Angel</cite> was the direct result of a visit by the -Brownings to Fano; probably in 1848, for during that year Murray -sent them there to find a summer residence. Mrs. Browning -reports<a name="FNanchor_178" id="FNanchor_178" href="#Footnote_178" class="fnanchor">178</a> that it was unspeakable for such a purpose, but “the -churches are very beautiful, and a divine picture of Guercino’s -is worth going all that way to see.” The poem was published with -the group of 1855, and in it mention is made of three trips to see -the picture while the Brownings were at Fano.</p> - -<p>While <cite>The Guardian Angel</cite> may be the only poem written as a -direct result of seeing a picture, <cite>Andrea del Sarto</cite> was at least the -result of the existence of a picture. Mr. Kenyon, an intimate -friend of the Brownings, and a relative of Mrs. Browning, asked -them to obtain for him, if possible, a copy of Andrea’s picture of -himself and wife. Since he was unable to secure it, Browning -wrote the poem and sent it as a record of what the picture contained.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">230</a></span> -Vasari was the source of much of the historical material which -Browning used in his poems. His gossipy narrative was followed -almost exactly in <cite>Fra Lippo Lippi</cite>, and partly in <cite>Andrea del Sarto</cite> -and other poems. Baldinucci’s histories of the Italian painters -furnish material for <cite>Beatrice Signorini</cite>, and the first part of <cite>Filippo -Baldinucci</cite>. Browning invented the last part of the latter, and -makes his invention more real by Filippo’s declaration, “Plague -o’ me if I record it in my book.”</p> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_44" id="browning_44"></a>V. Poetic functions of the references to painting.</h4>—Many -references to painters or painting are used for comparisons, -just as in the case of other arts. Such is the one in <cite>Pauline</cite>, in -which the poet describes the Andromeda of Caravaggio, and contrasts -her to his own changing soul; and also the comparison in -<cite>Sordello</cite>, of the hero to the same picture. A third mention of -Andromeda, in <cite>Francis Furini</cite>, illustrates the beauty of the nude -art. The painter of Andromeda, Polidoro da Caravaggio, is introduced -in <cite>Waring</cite>, in a far from serious comparison, in which -Browning wonders if his long-silent friend is splashing in painting -“as none splashed before, Since great Caldara Polidore.”</div> - -<p>In <cite>Pippa Passes</cite>, the Bishop compares one artist with another, -by expressing the hope that Jules will found a school like that of -Correggio. <cite>In Three Days</cite> includes a comparison of the lights and -shades of a woman’s hair to painting, with the line, “As early Art -embrowns the gold.” <cite>Any Wife to Any Husband</cite> compares the -husband who greatly admires other beautiful women, with anyone -who looks at Titian’s Venus—“Once more what is there to -chide?” Passages in <cite>Bishop Blougram’s Apology</cite> name Correggio’s -works and the pictures of Giulio Romano as desirable -things to own. The Bishop also states that he keeps his restless -unbelief quiet, “like the snake ’neath Michael’s foot,” referring to -the well-known painting by Raphael. In <cite>James Lee’s Wife</cite>, the -attitude toward an unbeautiful hand is illustrated by the line—“Would -Da Vinci turn from you?”</p> - -<p>One of the most striking examples of the comparison of a person -with a picture is found in Part VI of <cite>The Ring and the Book</cite>, where -Caponsacchi likens Pompilia to the Madonna of Raphael in innocence. -In Part VII, Pompilia compares her deliverer, Caponsacchi, -to the picture of St. George. In Part VIII, the speaker who defends -Guido reads a description of a man moved by too much grief, -and says it fits Guido’s case just as exactly as Maratta’s portraits<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">231</a></span> -are like the life. The prosecutor, in Part IX, compares himself -in his descriptions of the family of Pompilia, to a painter, carefully -planning to paint a ‘Holy Family’. In this connection he names -Carlo Maratta, Luca Giordano, Angelo, Raphael, Pietro da Cortona, -and Ferri. Four or five other comparisons are found in <cite>The -Ring and the Book</cite>, but in general, they are very similar to the ones -given above, and little would be gained by enumerating all of them.</p> - -<p>About forty lines of <cite>Fifine at the Fair</cite> are concerned with an -extended comparison of a man’s treatment of his wife with his -attitude toward an authentic Raphael which he has bought. In -each case he makes much over the new treasure when it has first -come into his possession, then seems neglectful, but in case of any -danger, thinks first of his real object of affection, forgetting such -light fancies as other women and Doré picture books. The comparison -is further extended by likening the soul in its choice of -another soul to finding satisfaction in art—poetry, music, and -painting. The Italian artists, Bazzi, Raphael, and Michael Angelo, -are named as examples in this connection.</p> - -<p><cite>Red Cotton Night-Cap Country</cite> contains a very Browningesque -description of a soul, and pleads:</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“Aspire, break bounds! I say,</div> - <div class="verse">Endeavor to be good and better still,</div> - <div class="verse">And best! Success is nought, endeavor’s all.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="tb">* <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span></div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">... “there the incomplete,</div> - <div class="verse">More than completion, matches the immense,—</div> - <div class="verse">Then Michael Angelo against the world.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p><cite>With Charles Avison</cite>, <cite>Cenciaja</cite>, and <cite>With Christopher Smart</cite> -contain comparisons similar to those noted above.</p> - -<p>Eleven poems in all deal with Italian painters or painting as -the principal theme. They are: <cite>Pictor Ignotus</cite>, <cite>Old Pictures in -Florence</cite>, <cite>The Guardian Angel</cite>, <cite>Fra Lippo Lippi</cite>, <cite>Andrea del Sarto</cite>, -<cite>One Word More</cite>, <cite>A Face</cite>, <cite>Pacchiarotto</cite>, <cite>Filippo Baldinucci</cite>, <cite>With -Francis Furini</cite>, and <cite>Beatrice Signorini</cite>. Eight of these center -around the work, personality, or history of a single artist. Of the -eight, <cite>Pictor Ignotus</cite>, <cite>Andrea del Sarto</cite>, <cite>Fra Lippo Lippi</cite>, and -<cite>With Francis Furini</cite>, are serious poetic efforts, having as the theme -a painter’s endeavor, and dealing in each case with some shortcoming -or lack of acknowledged success. Each of the first three, -as poetry, is excellent in conception and execution. <cite>With Francis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">232</a></span> -Furini</cite>, however, is rather didactic and heavy, lacking in lyricism -and beauty.</p> - -<p>The failure of Pictor Ignotus was due to his high conception of -art—so high that he could not bear to submit pictures of real -worth to the world. With his extremely sensitive disposition he -could not endure the thought of ignorant criticism by people who -had no comprehension of the aim or purpose of the artist. Lippi -failed to gain approbation because he would not sacrifice his conception -of painting things as God made them to the misguided -saintliness of the monks. Furini, according to Browning’s estimate, -failed in part, because of his attitude toward the nude. -Andrea del Sarto, the greatest failure in all Browning, possessed a -masterly technique, but failed through his weakness of character.</p> - -<p>Of the later art poems, published after 1855, <cite>With Francis -Furini</cite> is the most serious effort. It contains an extended defense -of the nude in art, the substance of which is summed up in the -following quotations:</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“No gift but in the very plentitude</div> - <div class="verse">Of its perfection, goes maimed, misconstrued,</div> - <div class="verse">By wickedness or weakness: still some few</div> - <div class="verse">Have grace to see thy purpose, strength to mar</div> - <div class="verse">Thy work with no admixture of their own.”</div> - </div> - - <div class="tb">* <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span></div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">... “Show beauty’s May, ere June</div> - <div class="verse">Undo the bud’s blush, leave a rose to cull</div> - <div class="verse">—No poppy neither! Yet less perfect-pure,</div> - <div class="verse">Divinely precious with life’s dew besprent.</div> - <div class="verse">Show saintliness that’s simply innocent</div> - <div class="verse">Of guessing sinnership exists.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p>Among the less serious works, <cite>Pacchiarotto</cite> tells the story of a -reformer-painter, suffering at the hands of the people who opposed -him. With a decidedly humorous treatment, rollicking verse, -and impossible rhymes, Browning carried on the poem to its -conclusion of a fling at the critics of his own verse. <cite>Filippo -Baldinucci</cite> simply retells a rather amusing story, quite distinct from -any serious consideration of the painter as an artist, with an added -conclusion which Browning imagined for himself. In like manner, -<cite>Beatrice Signorini</cite> consists of a poetized version of some very -personal history, which Browning took from Baldinucci. The -husband of Beatrice, who was the painter Romanelli, fell in love -with Artemisia Genteleschi, and having painted her portrait,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">233</a></span> -showed it to his wife. She immediately destroyed it, Romanelli -approved her spirit, and ever after loved her more.</p> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_47" id="browning_47"></a>VI. Conformity to history.</h4>—A few instances of departure -from historical facts are found in the poems on painting, though -it is really remarkable that they were not less accurate, written -as they were at a time when the history of painting had been so -slightly investigated. Such errors as existed are usually the result -of mistakes in the sources Browning followed, though these were -the best in their day, rather than from carelessness on his part.</div> - -<p>Some very recent investigators assert that Browning unduly -exaggerated the character of Andrea’s wife, in <cite>Andrea del Sarto</cite>. -However, no less an authority than W. M. Rossetti insists that -he was essentially true to the facts in representing her. Others -insist that he was somewhat unfair in the general impression -which he gives of Andrea. At least he has not changed the facts -materially in this particular case; and if any liberty has been taken, -from a poetic standpoint it is well taken. There are several slight -errors in <cite>Fra Lippo Lippi</cite>. For example, Guidi (Masaccio) is -now known to have been the master, not the pupil of Lippi, and -the picture in Sant’ Ambrogio was probably not the expiation of a -prank.</p> - -<p>The few changes in the facts, however, are comparatively slight, -all told. Allowing for mistaken authorities whom Browning followed, -variations are much more trivial than might be expected. -By the old well-worn charity cloak of poetic license it is customary -to allow for considerable idealization. But Browning, the artist -of things as they really exist, held to the truth as he saw it, even -in his treatment of art. This he did in spite of the fact that his -purpose was not to give art history, but to present personality -as it existed in relation to art. With his deep insight into human -nature, as well as art history, he took the characters which he -found in the world of art, the good or bad, and gave them to us as -examples of the striving, often unsuccessful soul.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3 class="nobreak"><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h3><span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">234</a></span> -</div> - -<p class="brownchap">General Comparisons: Browning and the Fine Arts of Italy.</p> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_48" id="browning_48"></a>I. Poetic function and method.</h4>—About fifteen poems from -Browning deal with the arts or artists of Italy as primary subject -matter. The remainder of the entire number of forty-nine which -refer to art at all, treat it as a secondary consideration. Taking -the subject art as a whole, as Browning introduces it in poetry, -it appears in the following forms: (1) main theme; (2) comparison -of two or more artists working in the same art; (3) comparison of -artists in one art with those in another, as painters with musicians, -or with poets; (4) illustrative material when the main theme of -the poem has no immediate bearing on art. <cite>Abt Vogler</cite>, in music, -or <cite>Fra Lippo Lippi</cite>, in painting, are examples of the first. <cite>Andrea -del Sarto</cite>, besides exemplifying the first form, contains numerous -comparisons of its main character with other painters. <cite>With -Charles Avison</cite> has a musician as a theme, and he is compared -with other artists, for example, Michael Angelo. <cite>Fifine at the -Fair</cite>, whose main theme has no connection with art, names Raphael, -Bazzi, and Angelo as illustrative material. Numerous instances -of incidental art references, used in such ways as these, attest the -fact that Browning had a large art consciousness, gained from past -interest in the different fields, and of sufficient activity to cause -almost constant references to the fine arts.</div> - -<p>Where Wordsworth would have chosen English natural scenery -for purposes of illustration, and Shelley nature in Italy, Browning -chose art. Fifteen poems with nature as the main theme, besides -numerous others with references to nature, would not seem -unusual; but a group of fifteen poems, all moderately long, -based on the fine arts, besides a very large number of comparisons<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">235</a></span> -to the arts in other poems, seems an exceptional product for a -nineteenth century English poet.</p> - -<p>Browning’s art monologue is of two kinds—the monologue of -the artist who is the chief character in the poem, and the monologue -of the poet addressing the artist directly. Nor are these forms -confined entirely to Italian art poems. <cite>My Last Duchess</cite>, <cite>The -Bishop orders his Tomb</cite>, <cite>Pictor Ignotus</cite>, <cite>Fra Lippo Lippi</cite>, <cite>Andrea -del Sarto</cite>, <cite>Abt Vogler</cite>, are all in dramatic monologue, with either -an artist or one interested in art, as the speaker. <cite>A Toccata of -Galuppi’s</cite>, <cite>Master Hughes of Saxe-Gotha</cite>, and <cite>Old Pictures in -Florence</cite>, represent the poet addressing the artist. <cite>Filippo Baldinucci</cite> -is presented in the first person, in monologue form. In -<cite>The Guardian Angel</cite> the poet directly addressed the angel of the -picture. <cite>One Word More</cite> and <cite>A Face</cite>, in which the art element -is strong, are written in the first person, the former addressed -directly to Mrs. Browning with the poet speaking, and the second -addressed to no particular person. This review establishes the -fact that the monologue is Browning’s favorite form for poems -about art, since the list just quoted includes all important poems -of that kind. In every case he made some personality prominent, -and in all serious poems on art, that personality is either speaking -or spoken to, the very finest poems being of the former type.</p> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_49" id="browning_49"></a>II. Amount of material used from each of the fine arts.</h4>—In -the foregoing discussion of the five branches of Italian art in -Browning,—sculpture, music, poetry, architecture, and painting—the -order has been determined largely by a quantitative standard. -In the Appendix are systematic lists showing the number of poems -and the exact references in connection with each art. No extensive -comparison of the different arts regarding frequency of introduction, -therefore, is needed here; but a few generalizations concerning -some of the reasons for the variation in emphasis seem not -amiss.</div> - -<p>Architecture is the art of a concrete bodily form, absolutely -separated from any representation of humanity, unless one looks -beyond it to the architect, or to the people for whom it is constructed. -In contradistinction to the other fine arts discussed here, it -is characterized by usefulness. While it should, and does, in its -highest forms, surmount mere utility, and give an impression of -harmony, beauty, and grandeur, it never directly portrays the -finest feelings of which humanity is capable and never inspires<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">236</a></span> -one directly with a feeling of achievement or struggle in character. -Utility is the chief interest guiding Browning’s treatment of -architecture—not architectural utility, but the service to the -poet in fixing the setting of his poems. Such service is clear in nearly -every instance in all of the twenty-five poems in which some Italian -building is mentioned, and in the case of nearly all the fifty-eight -edifices named. The description of St. Peter’s in <cite>Christmas-Eve -and Easter-Day</cite> is practically the only exception, and there, as -has already been stated, the poet passed from the grandeur of the -structure itself to the builders. Lack of personality in architecture -is, then, the reason for its very slight introduction as an actual -art in Browning’s verse.</p> - -<p>Passing on from architecture to sculpture one finds that we -have another art of concrete bodily form, with the added power of -portraying the human form, face, and to a very slight degree, the -soul. While the number of sculptors named is very small, then, -Browning’s appreciation of this art surpasses his appreciation of -architecture. Examples of this are <cite>Old Pictures in Florence</cite>, in -which sculpture is treated at considerable length, by comparing its -merits with the aspirations of the early painters, and <cite>Pippa -Passes</cite>, in which Jules, the sculptor, is a prominent figure. <cite>The -Bishop orders his Tomb</cite> deals almost entirely with sculpture. Still -sculpture was not Browning’s favorite art by any means. Bodily -perfection he admired; but he wished to go beyond it to the soul -in dramatic situations, to its struggle and endeavor. And for -these values the powers of sculpture are limited. To portray -successfully any very great struggle or intense feeling of the soul -is beyond its nature.</p> - -<p>A cause for the large amount of Italian poetry in the writings of -Browning has already been suggested, in part.<a name="FNanchor_179" id="FNanchor_179" href="#Footnote_179" class="fnanchor">179</a> But one -must further consider the fact that he did not continue to deal -with poets and their writings as subject matter. After the first -eight years of his career, he ceased to deal with the causes connected -with the failure of poets. Fundamentally, all arts are agencies -of expression through the representation of nature and humanity. -With the breadth of vision which Browning possessed concerning -the possibilities of expression in all the arts, there was none of the -five in which he did not, at some time or other, wish to express<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">237</a></span> -himself. In the beginning of his career, when he was formulating -his ideas of a poet, he expressed his ideas of that art by writing -about other poets. But with ideas and forms for his own art once -fully established, the art became self-expressive. He no longer -needed to write about other poets; for the poet in himself had found -his own purpose and method.</p> - -<p>It has already been suggested that Browning’s appreciation -of music, as he expressed it in his poems, was qualitative, rather -than quantitative, so far as Italian music is concerned. This art -rivals poetry in expressing the highest yearnings and ideals of -which the soul is capable, and is, therefore, in a very high degree, -though in abstract form, the art of personality. And this art -Browning expressed most perfectly, as to the aims and ideals of -its artists, when he chose to do so. But with all his own feeling -for music and with such ability as he expressed in performance, -it, like poetry, was largely self-expressive for him. That is he -played, instead of writing poetry about music. Browning’s -evident preference for other music than that of the modern composers -of Italy explains the lack of space accorded to them. Yet -in spite of this preference the best of his musical poems were -built about Italians—obscure ones though they may be.</p> - -<p>Browning did no work in actual study of the technique of painting. -The nearest he came to it was at the time of his thirteen -days application to drawing.<a name="FNanchor_180" id="FNanchor_180" href="#Footnote_180" class="fnanchor">180</a> Yet painting is in a very large -degree expressive of the soul—its anguish, sorrow, failure, joy, -ecstasy, or endeavor. Drawn to it by his interest in personality, -Browning made it contribute largely to his poems. The Italian -painting with which he dealt had little to do with landscape or -other phases of nature. It portrayed persons; and stimulated by the -pictures which he saw, or by records of personality in the biography -of artists, he incorporated many references to painting in his poems, -dealing more largely with it than with any other art. Since, -too, Italy was the home of painting, his environment was very -conducive to a development of his tendency to make painting -an important element in his poems.</p> - -<p>Browning, as poet and man, was able to forgive any sort of -failure if the person whom he was judging had only made a thorough -effort to accomplish something. He carried this doctrine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">238</a></span> -so far as to make a lack of effort the cause of his censure of the -Duke and the Lady in <cite>The Statue and the Bust</cite>, even though the -fulfillment of their plan would have been a sin. This love for -endeavor, which always accompanies his attitude toward any -personality, along with his enthusiasm for personality itself explains -his selection and emphasis in his treatment of the arts. Painting he -decidedly preferred above sculpture for other reasons than its -greater ability in portraying the soul. This preference is stated -in <cite>Old Pictures in Florence</cite>, and is based on the fact that Greek -art had run, and “reached the Goal.” Its effort, then, was over:</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“They are perfect—how else? they shall never change:</div> - <div class="verse">We are faulty—why not? we have time in store.</div> - <div class="verse">The Artificer’s hand is not arrested</div> - <div class="verse">With us ...”</div> - </div> - - <div class="tb">* <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span></div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“’Tis a life-long toil till our lump be leaven—</div> - <div class="verse">The better! What’s come to perfection perishes.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">These quotations from <cite>Old Pictures in Florence</cite>, in which the -poet, by using the first person in his references to the early masters -of Italy places himself in their group and refers to Greek art -in the third person, are indications of the spirit of the poem and -of Browning’s entire attitude toward endeavor in art.</p> - -<p>To summarize, then: few persons have as great an interest in -expressing themselves through all the arts as did Robert Browning. -Architecture and sculpture he appreciated least; therefore he expressed -least concerning their spirit and feeling. Music was a -fundamental part of his life; but he was able to embody his feelings -about it in music itself, not merely in poetry about it. Yet -because of his perfect understanding of it, he has embodied its -spirit in a few choice poems, making permanent, by his treatment -of its evanescent quality, the ideas that could not be left to the -world by his playing. Painting he deeply appreciated from childhood; -but beyond a few amateur efforts for diversion, he could -not express his appreciation of it by means of that art itself. Consequently, -in an unusually large number of his poems, he gave us -his view of that art, his portraits of its followers, historical or -imaginary.</p> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_52" id="browning_52"></a>III. Personality and the arts.</h4>—Through his presentation -of artists, Browning has given the world many different types of -character. Prominent among them are the following: The non-altruistic,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">239</a></span> -impractical poet—Sordello; the sensualist—Bocafoli; -the superficial character—Plara; the regretful but optimistic -idealist—Abt Vogler; the coarse realist, who yet possessed a -really fine appreciation of God’s world—Fra Lippo Lippi; the -weak, ambitionless man—Andrea del Sarto; the keenly sensitive -mind—Pictor Ignotus; and the reformer—Pacchiarotto.</div> - -<p>Art is also connected with Browning’s character portrayal in a -secondary sort of way, of which <cite>The Ring and the Book</cite> furnishes -excellent illustrations. In that poem people are characterized -by their likeness to some work of art—<i>e. g.</i>, Pompilia is compared -to Raphael’s Madonna; or by their fondness for some particular -work of art—<i>e. g.</i>, the Pope chuckling over the <cite>Merry Tales</cite>.</p> - -<p>While Browning mentioned the great masters in many different -poems, it is noticeable that he never used one of them as the main -subject of a poem. There are Andrea, Lippo, and Furini, but -there is no Angelo and no Raphael. This is due to the one element -of interest on Browning’s part that has already been emphasized -in this chapter and previous ones—personality. Browning was -interested in the artist he selected, not merely as an artist, not as -a distinguished figure, but as a human being, whose attempts, -partial failure, or development, the poet wished us to study with -him.</p> - -<p>Very often the characters whom Browning chose to present -either in connection with the arts or otherwise, were such as we -do not approve of—but neither did Browning approve of them. -His theory of art was no mere aesthetic one of art for art’s sake, no -mere dogma of didacticism. It was rather, art for the sake of -human nature, of personality. Of all the characters he has drawn -for us, the one whose expression of art best gives Browning’s own -sentiments is Fra Lippo Lippi, the painter and realist, enthusiastic -for</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“The beauty and the wonder and the power,</div> - <div class="verse">The shapes of things, their colors, lights, and shades,</div> - <div class="verse">Changes, surprises—and God made it all!</div> - </div> - - <div class="tb">* <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span></div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“But why not do as well as say,—paint these</div> - <div class="verse">Just as they are, careless what comes of it?”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">Numerous instances might be cited as a proof of this—Guido, the -Duke, the Bishop, and many others. All his human beings, -then, Browning chose because their personality appealed to him,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">240</a></span> -as a study, rather than because they compelled his admiration, -whether he selected them from the world of art or elsewhere.</p> - -<div class="para"><h4 class="brown4"><a name="browning_54" id="browning_54"></a>IV. Browning as the poet of humanity.</h4>—By consideration -of Browning’s general attitude towards the arts, of his fondness -for the struggle of the human soul as a poetic theme, and by a -discussion of his relative emphasis on each art and the method in -which he chose to treat it, the fact has been established that -Browning was primarily the poet of the human soul, and a poet -of the arts as seen through the medium of personality.</div> - -<p>When he was once asked if he liked nature, he replied, “Yes -but I love men and women better.” The arts—architecture, -music, poetry, sculpture, and painting—he loved also; but he -loved them most because they recorded human experience, -and best when they most fully expressed the struggles of the soul, -and thus became the direct embodiment of personality.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3><a name="APPENDIX_3" id="APPENDIX_3"></a>APPENDIX</h3><span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">241</a></span> -</div> - -<div class="appendix p4"> -<ul> -<li class="sec1 r1"><h4 class="appendix"><a name="browning_55" id="browning_55"></a><span class="smcap bm2">I. Poems Containing Reference to Italian Art.</span></h4></li> - - <li class="sec2a pt1"> 1. Pauline, 1833.</li> - <li class="sec2a"> 2. Paracelsus, 1835.</li> - <li class="sec2a"> 3. Sordello, 1840.</li> - <li class="sec2a"> 4. Pippa Passes, 1841.</li> - <li class="sec2a"> 5. My Last Duchess, 1842.</li> - <li class="sec2a"> 6. In a Gondola, 1842.</li> - <li class="sec2a"> 7. Waring, 1842.</li> - <li class="sec2a"> 8. The Boy and the Angel, 1845.</li> - <li class="sec2a"> 9. Time’s Revenges, 1845.</li> - <li class="sec2a">10. The Bishop orders his Tomb at St. Praxed’s Church, 1845.</li> - <li class="sec2a">11. Pictor Ignotus, 1845.</li> - <li class="sec2a">12. The Italian in England, 1845.</li> - <li class="sec2a">13. Luria, 1846.</li> - <li class="sec2a">14. A Soul’s Tragedy, 1846.</li> - <li class="sec2a">15. Christmas-Eve and Easter-Day, 1850.</li> - <li class="sec2a">16. Up at a Villa, 1855.</li> - <li class="sec2a">17. A Toccata of Galuppi’s, 1855.</li> - <li class="sec2a">18. Old Pictures in Florence, 1855.</li> - <li class="sec2a">19. By the Fireside, 1855.</li> - <li class="sec2a">20. Any Wife to Any Husband, 1855.</li> - <li class="sec2a">21. In Three Days, 1855.</li> - <li class="sec2a">22. The Guardian Angel, 1855.</li> - <li class="sec2a">23. Master Hugues of Saxe-Gotha, 1855.</li> - <li class="sec2a">24. The Statue and the Bust, 1855.</li> - <li class="sec2a">25. How it Strikes a Contemporary, 1855.</li> - <li class="sec2a">26. Fra Lippo Lippi, 1855.</li> - <li class="sec2a">27. Andrea del Sarto, 1855.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">242</a></span></li> - <li class="sec2a">28. Bishop Blougram’s Apology, 1855.</li> - <li class="sec2a">29. One Word More, 1855.</li> - <li class="sec2a">30. James Lee’s Wife, 1864.</li> - <li class="sec2a">31. Abt Vogler, 1864.</li> - <li class="sec2a">32. Youth and Art, 1864.</li> - <li class="sec2a">33. A Face, 1864.</li> - <li class="sec2a">34. Apparent Failure, 1864.</li> - <li class="sec2a">35. The Ring and the Book, 1868–9.</li> - <li class="sec2a">36. Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, 1871.</li> - <li class="sec2a">37. Fifine at the Fair, 1872.</li> - <li class="sec2a">38. Red Cotton Night-Cap Country, 1873.</li> - <li class="sec2a">39. The Inn Album, 1875.</li> - <li class="sec2a">40. Pacchiarotto, 1876.</li> - <li class="sec2a">41. Cenciaja, 1876.</li> - <li class="sec2a">42. Filippo Baldinucci, 1876.</li> - <li class="sec2a">43. Pietro of Abano, 1880.</li> - <li class="sec2a">44. Christina and Monaldeschi, 1883.</li> - <li class="sec2a">45. With Christopher Smart, 1887.</li> - <li class="sec2a">46. With Francis Furini, 1887.</li> - <li class="sec2a">47. With Charles Avison, 1887.</li> - <li class="sec2a">48. Ponte dell’ Angelo, Venice, 1889.</li> - <li class="sec2a">49. Beatrice Signorini, 1889.</li> - -<li class="sec1 r2"><h4 class="appendix pt1"><span class="smcap">II. Tabulation of References To Individual Arts.</span></h4></li> - - <li class="cen"><h5 class="appendix"><a name="browning_56" id="browning_56"></a>SCULPTURE</h5></li> - - <li class="sec2 r1">I. <cite>Sordello.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Niccolo Pisano (1206–1278). By his study of nature - and the ancients, gave the death-blow to Byzantinism - and heralded the Renaissance.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. Giovanni Pisano (c. 1250–1330). His many pupils - carried the continuation of his father’s principles - throughout northern Italy.</li> - - <li class="sec2 r2">II. <cite>Pippa Passes.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Canova (1757–1822). A refined, classical, but - somewhat artificial reviver of Italian sculpture in - the modern era.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">243</a></span></li> - <li class="sec4">a. The Psiche-fanciulla—Psycheas a young girl - with a butterfly, in the Possagno Gallery.</li> - <li class="sec4">b. Pietà—a statue of the Virgin with the dead - Christ in her arms, in Possagno Church.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. Jules. An imaginary young sculptor, studying - Italian models.</li> - <li class="sec4">a. Almaign Kaiser.</li> - <li class="sec4">b. Hippolyta.</li> - <li class="sec4">c. Psyche.</li> - <li class="sec4">d. Tydeus.</li> - - <li class="sec2 r3">III. <cite>My Last Duchess.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Claus of Innsbruck. An imaginary Renaissance - sculptor.</li> - <li class="sec4">a. Neptune taming a sea-horse.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rv1">IV. <cite>The Bishop orders his Tomb at St. Praxed’s Church.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Tomb of the Bishop.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. Globe in the Church of Il Gesu.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rv">V. <cite>Christmas-Eve and Easter-Day.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Early Christian attitude toward art.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rv1">VI. <cite>Old Pictures in Florence.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Niccolo Pisano.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. Ghiberti (1378–1455). A Florentine sculptor, also - important for perspective in painting, whose ideal - combined religious feeling with classical beauty.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rv2">VII. <cite>The Statue and the Bust.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Giovanni da Bologna (John of Douay) (c. 1524–1608). - An Italian Renaissance sculptor who combines - technical knowledge with fine poetic feeling.</li> - <li class="sec4">a. Statue of Duke Ferdinand, by Giovanni.</li> - <li class="sec4">b. A bust of the Lady.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rv3">VIII. <cite>The Ring and the Book.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3r pr1">(I.)  1. Baccio’s marble (by Baccio Bandinelli)—statue - of John of the Black Bands, father of - Cosimo de’ Medici.</li> - <li class="sec3r"> 2. Bernini’s Triton.</li> - <li class="sec3r pr3">(III.)  3. Bernini’s Triton.</li> - <li class="sec3r prv1">(VI.)  4. Pasquin’s statue.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">244</a></span></li> - <li class="sec3r prv2">(VII.)  5. Marble lion in San Lorenzo.</li> - <li class="sec3r"> 6. Virgin at Pompilia’s street corner.</li> - <li class="sec3r prx1">(XI.)  7. Bocca-dell’-Verità—the fabled test for the verity - of witnesses, a mask of stone in the portico - of the Church Santa Maria in Cosmedin.</li> - -</ul> -<hr class="r10" /> -<ul> - - <li class="cen"><h5 class="appendix"><a name="browning_58" id="browning_58"></a>MUSIC</h5></li> - - <li class="sec2 r1">I. <cite>The Englishman in Italy.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Bellini (1801–1835). An Italian opera composer.</li> - - <li class="sec2 r2">II. <cite>A Toccata of Galuppi’s.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Galuppi (1706–1785). A composer of melodious - rather than original operas, whose workmanship - was superior to that of his contemporaries in harmony - and orchestration.</li> - - <li class="sec2 r3">III. <cite>Master Hugues of Saxe-Gotha.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Master Hugues of Saxe-Gotha. An imaginary - composer.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. Palestrina (1526–1594). Famous for saving music - to the church by submitting some that met with - approval when ecclesiastical authorities were about - to forbid its use.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rv1">IV. <cite>Bishop Blougram’s Apology.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Verdi (1813–1901). One of the greatest modern - Italian composers, best known by <cite>Il Trovatore</cite>, - <cite>Rigoletto</cite>, and <cite>La Traviata</cite>.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. Rossini (1782–1868). A composer whose success - antedates that of Verdi; best known by his opera - <cite>William Tell</cite>.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rv">V. <cite>Abt Vogler.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Abt or Abbe Vogler (1749–1814). An organist - and composer of Bavarian birth, some of whose - study and public work were done in Italy. Though - he invented a new system of musical theory, his - ideas were empirical.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rv1">VI. <cite>Youth and Art.</cite><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">245</a></span></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Grisi (1811–1869). An Italian opera singer.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rv2">VII. <cite>The Ring and the Book.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3r pr1">(I.)  1. Corelli (1653–1713). A violin player and composer - who, though he employed only a limited - part of his instrument’s compass, made an epoch - in chamber music and influenced Bach.</li> - <li class="sec3r prv1">(IV. ) 2. Magnificat—Catholic music.</li> - <li class="sec3r"> 3. Nunc Dimittis.</li> - <li class="sec3r prv1">(VI.)  4. Ave.</li> - <li class="sec3r"> 5. Angelus.</li> - <li class="sec3r prv2">(VII.)  6. Ave Maria.</li> - <li class="sec3r prx">(X.)  7. Sanctus et Benedictus.</li> - <li class="sec3r prx2">(XII.)  8. Pater.</li> - <li class="sec3r"> 9. Ave.</li> - <li class="sec3r">10. Salve Regina Cœli.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rv3">VIII. <cite>Red Cotton Night-Cap Country.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Guarnerius (1687–1745). Joseph del Gesu, one of - the most famous violin makers, who worked for - boldness of outline and massive construction, - securing in consequence, a robust tone.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. Antonius Stradivarius (1644–1737). His final model, - with its soft varnish, now irrecoverable, brought - violin making to its highest perfection.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 3. Corelli.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 4. Paganini (1784–1840). A violin player who achieved - such brilliant success that his name still stands - for all that is wonderful in execution on that - instrument.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rx1">IX. <cite>Parleyings with Charles Avison.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Buononcini (1672–1750). The author of a musical - treatise; his chief claim to fame being the fact that he - influenced Handel and Scarlotti.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. Geminiani (c. 1680–1762). A violinist of considerable - ability, but as a composer, dry and deficient - in melody.</li> - -</ul> -<hr class="r10" /> -<ul> - - <li class="cen"><h5 class="appendix"><a name="browning_60" id="browning_60"></a>POETRY</h5><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">246</a></span></li> - - <li class="sec2 r1">I. <cite>Paracelsus.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Aprile. An imaginary poet.</li> - - <li class="sec2 r2">II. <cite>Sordello.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Sordello (13th. century). The most famous of - the Mantuan troubadours.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. Nina. A contemporary of Sordello.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 3. Alcamo. A contemporary of Sordello.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 4. Plara. An imaginary poet.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 5. Bocafoli. An imaginary poet.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 6. Eglamor. An imaginary poet.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 7. Dante. (1265–1321).</li> - - <li class="sec2 r3">III. <cite>Time’s Revenges.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Dante.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rv1">IV. <cite>A Soul’s Tragedy.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Stiatta. An imaginary poet.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rv">V. <cite>Up at a Villa.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Dante.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. Petrarch (1304–1374).</li> - <li class="sec3"> 3. Boccaccio (1313–1375).</li> - - <li class="sec2 rv1">VI. <cite>Old Pictures in Florence.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Dante.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rv2">VII. <cite>One Word More.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Dante—The <cite>Inferno</cite>.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rv3">VIII. <cite>Apparent Failure.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Petrarch.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rx1">IX. <cite>The Ring and the Book.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3r pr3">(III).  1. <cite>Hundred Merry Tales.</cite> (Boccaccio).</li> - <li class="sec3r prv">(V).  2. Boccaccio.</li> - <li class="sec3r"> 3. Sacchetti (1335–1400). A poet and novelist - who left many unpublished sonnetti, canzoni, - ballate, and madrigale, and whose novelle throw - light on the manners of his age.</li> - <li class="sec3r prv1">(VI).  4. A Marinesque Adoniad.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">247</a></span></li> - <li class="sec3r"> 5. Marino (1569–1625). A poet of disreputable - life, leader of the Secentisimo period, whose aim - was to excite wonder by novelties and to cloak - poverty of subject under form.</li> - <li class="sec3r"> 6. Dante.</li> - <li class="sec3r"> 7. Pietro Aretino (1492–1556). Author of satirical - sonnets, burlesques, comedies; and a man of - profligate life.</li> - <li class="sec3r prx">(X).  8. Aretino.</li> - <li class="sec3r prx1">(XI).  9. <cite>Merry Tales</cite> (Boccaccio).</li> - <li class="sec3r">10. Aretino.</li> - <li class="sec3r prx2">(XII). 11. Petrarch.</li> - <li class="sec3r">12. Tommaseo (1803–1874). A modern Italian - poet, author of the inscription to Mrs. Browning - placed by the city of Florence on the walls - of Casa Guidi.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rx">X. <cite>The Inn Album.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Dante—The <cite>Inferno</cite>.</li> - -</ul> -<hr class="r10" /> -<ul> - - <li class="cen"><h5 class="appendix"><a name="browning_61" id="browning_61"></a>ARCHITECTURE</h5></li> - - <li class="sec2 r1">I. <cite>Sordello.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Goito. An imaginary 13th century castle, used - to influence the life of Sordello by its beauty and - solitude.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. St. Mark’s. A great landmark of Italian architecture, - in construction from the ninth to the fifteenth - century, and the most splendid polychromatic - building in Europe.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 3. Piombi. Torture cells under the Ducal Palace - at Venice.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 4. San Pietro (Martire). A Veronese Gothic church - of 1350.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 5. St. Francis. A Lombard Gothic church at Bassano.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 6. Castle Angelo. A huge Roman fortress constructed - in the time of Hadrian.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 7. San Miniato. A Florentine church built in Central - Romanesque style.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">248</a></span></li> - <li class="sec3"> 8. Sant’ Eufemia. A 13th century Veronese church, - now modernized internally.</li> - - <li class="sec2 r2">II. <cite>Pippa Passes.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. St. Mark’s—Venice.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. Possagno Church. Designed by Canova in 1819, - as a place for statues of religious subjects.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 3. Fenice—or Phoenix. The best modern theatre of - Venice, built in 1836.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 4. Academy of Fine Arts. A Renaissance building - in Venice.</li> - - <li class="offcen">Asolo Group.</li> - - <li class="sec3"> 5. Duomo of Asolo.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 6. Pippa’s Tower. Later the studio of Browning’s - son.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 7. Church.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 8. Castle of Kate—of which the banqueting hall is - now a theatre.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 9. Turret.</li> - <li class="sec3">10. Palace.</li> - <li class="sec3">11. Mill—now a lace school.</li> - - <li class="sec2 r3">III. <cite>In a Gondola.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Pulci Palace—Venice.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rv1">IV. <cite>The Boy and the Angel.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. St. Peter’s. In process of construction during - the 16th and 17th centuries; the building that - best typifies the importance of the church during - the middle ages. Built on the Greek cross - plan, it is surmounted by the dome of Michael - Angelo, the most nobly beautiful of architectural - creations.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rv">V. <cite>The Italian in England.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Duomo at Padua. A 16th century building of - admirable proportions.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rv1">VI. <cite>The Bishop orders his Tomb at St. Praxed’s Church.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Santa Prassede—or St. Praxed’s. A church in - Rome, founded on the former site of a refuge for - <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">249</a></span>persecuted Christians. It is notable for the beauty - of its stone work and mosaics, one of its rich chapels - being called Orto del Paradiso. The building is - old but was restored in the 15th century.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. Il Gesu. An ornate 16th century church in Rome, - representing the retrograde movement in architecture.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rv2">VII. <cite>Luria.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Duomo. The Florentine cathedral, famous for its - dome of 1420, its beautiful sculptured exterior - and its cold brown interior.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. Towers of Florence—San Romano, Sant’ Evola, San - Miniato, Santa Scala, and Sant’ Empoli.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rv3">VIII. <cite>Christmas-Eve and Easter-Day.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. St. Peter’s—Rome.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rx1">IX. <cite>A Toccata of Galuppi’s.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. St. Mark’s—Venice.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rx">X. <cite>The Guardian Angel.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Chapel at Fano.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rx1">XI. <cite>Old Pictures in Florence.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Giotto (1267–1337). Architect, and the humanizer - of painting, as well as the builder of the - Campanile.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. Campanile. The bell tower of the Florentine - Duomo, built by Giotto in 1332; an architectural - triumph in beauty and splendor.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 3. Santo Spirito. A 14th century Florentine church.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 4. Duomo—Florence.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 5. Ognissanti—Florence.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rx2">XII. <cite>By the Fireside.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Chapel near Bagni di Lucca.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rx3">XIII. <cite>The Statue and the Bust.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Antinori Palace. An example of Renaissance - secular architecture, built about 1481, in Florence.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">250</a></span></li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. Riccardi Palace. A Florentine castle, the earliest - and finest example of secular Renaissance architecture.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rxv1">XIV. <cite>Fra Lippo Lippi.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Santa Maria del Carmine. A 15th century church - and convent in Florence, containing frescoes by - Masaccio and Filippino Lippi.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. Palace of the Medici—Florence.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 3. St. Lawrence—or San Lorenzo. A Florentine - Renaissance church, rebuilt about 1425.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 4. St. Ambrose. A Florentine edifice, the reputed scene - of a transubstantiation miracle in 1746.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rxv">XV. <cite>Bishop Blougram’s Apology.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Vatican. The papal palace at Rome, most of - which as it exists now, was built no earlier than the - fifteenth century.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rxv1">XVI. <cite>Andrea del Sarto.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Chapel and the Convent—Florence.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rxv2">XVII. <cite>One Word More.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. San Miniato—Florence.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rxv3">XVIII. <cite>Abt Vogler.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. St. Peter’s.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rxx1">XIX. <cite>The Ring and the Book.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3r pr1">(I).  1. San Lorenzo. The original building by Brunelleschi - in 1425 or perhaps 1420, was entrusted to - Michael Angelo for the facade. Florence.</li> - <li class="sec3r"> 2. Riccardi Palace—Florence.</li> - <li class="sec3r"> 3. San Felice Church. A little grey-walled Florentine - church, mostly in a very ancient Romanesque - style, which could be seen from the windows of - Casa Guidi.</li> - <li class="sec3r"> 4. Fiano Palace. An example of secular architecture - in Rome, built about 1300.</li> - <li class="sec3r"> 5. Ruspoli Palace. Built by the Rucellai family in - 1586; has one of the finest white marble stair - cases in Rome.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">251</a></span></li> - <li class="sec3r pr2">(II).  6. San Lorenzo—Rome. Founded by Sixtus III in - 440 and modernized in 1506; has a Crucifixion by - Guido Reni, above the high altar.</li> - <li class="sec3r"> 7. Ruspoli Palace—Rome.</li> - <li class="sec3r pr3">(III).  8. Saint Anna’s. A monastery in Rome.</li> - <li class="sec3r"> 9. San Lorenzo—Rome.</li> - <li class="sec3r prv1">(IV). 10. San Lorenzo—Rome.</li> - <li class="sec3r">11. Vatican—Rome.</li> - <li class="sec3r prv">(V). 12. Tordinona—Rome.</li> - <li class="sec3r">13. New Prisons—Rome.</li> - <li class="sec3r">14. San Lorenzo—Rome.</li> - <li class="sec3r prv1">(VI). 15. Pieve, or Santa Maria della Pieve. A great church - in Arezzo, built in the capricious, extravagant - style of the 13th century.</li> - <li class="sec3r">16. San Lorenzo—Rome.</li> - <li class="sec3r">17. Duomo—Arezzo.</li> - <li class="sec3r prv2">(VII.) 18. San Lorenzo—Rome.</li> - <li class="sec3r">19. San Giovanni. A Tuscan church built in Rome - at the expense of the Florentines.</li> - <li class="sec3r">20. Pieve—Arezzo.</li> - <li class="sec3r prv3">(VIII). 21. Sistine Chapel. Chapel of the Vatican, at Rome; - a most extreme example of figure painting in - decoration, but justified by the excellence of the - work. The ceiling is Michael Angelo’s, and on - the altar wall is his “Last Judgment.”</li> - <li class="sec3r prx">(X). 22. Vatican—Rome.</li> - <li class="sec3r">23. Pieve—Arezzo.</li> - <li class="sec3r">24. Monastery of the Convertites—Rome. Founded - in 1584, for the spiritual care of the sick at Rome.</li> - <li class="sec3r prx1">(XI). 25. Certosa. A beautifully situated, very richly built - monastery of the Carthusians in Val d’ Ema, four - miles from Florence, built in the 14th century - Gothic style.</li> - <li class="sec3r">26. Vallombrosa Convent. Situated near Florence; - founded about 1650, by a repentant profligate.</li> - <li class="sec3r">27. Palace in Via Larga. Secular Florentine architecture.</li> - <li class="sec3r">28. San Lorenzo—Rome.</li> - <li class="sec3r">29. Vatican—Rome.</li> - <li class="sec3r prx2">(XII). 30. New Prisons—Rome.</li> - <li class="sec3r">31. San Lorenzo—Rome.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">252</a></span></li> - <li class="sec3r">32. Monastery of the Convertites—Rome.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rxx">XX. <cite>Fifine at the Fair.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. St. Mark’s—Venice.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rxx1">XXI. <cite>Pacchiarotto.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. San Bernardino. A Renaissance church at Siena, - with an Oratory, containing work of Beccafumi, - Pacchia, and Pacchiarotto.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. Duomo at Siena. An unfinished cathedral, the - most purely Gothic of all of those of Italy, of - unrivalled solemnity and splendor.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rxx2">XXII. <cite>Filippo Baldinucci.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. San Frediano. A modern Florentine church.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rxx3">XXIII. <cite>Pietro of Abano.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Lateran. Formerly the Papal residence, though - the present structure, of 1586, was never used for - that purpose and is now a museum of classical - sculpture and early Christian remains.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rxxv1">XXIV. <cite>With Francis Furini.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. San Sano, or Ansano. A Florentine parish church.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rxxv">XXV. <cite>Ponte del Angelo, Venice.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. House along the Bridge, of no importance architecturally, - but connected with an old legend which - is the subject of the poem.</li> - -</ul> -<hr class="r10" /> -<ul> - - <li class="cen"><h5 class="appendix"><a name="browning_66" id="browning_66"></a>PAINTING</h5></li> - - <li class="sec2 r1">I. <cite>Pauline.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Andromeda. By Polidoro da Caravaggio—the picture - of Perseus freeing her from the sea monster.</li> - - <li class="sec2 r2">II. <cite>Sordello.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Guido of Siena (c. 1250—). The disputed artist of - a Virgin and Child, the date of which may be either - 1221 or 1281. If it be the former, some of Cimabue’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">253</a></span> - claims are disturbed by Guido’s earlier work.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. Guido Reni (1575–1642). A prime master in the - Bolognese school, faithful to its eclectic principles - and working with considerable artistic feeling, but - still with a certain “core of the commonplace.”</li> - <li class="sec3"> 3. Andromeda. By Caravaggio.</li> - - <li class="sec2 r3">III. <cite>Pippa Passes.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Annibale Carracci (burlesque—“Hannibal - Scratchy”) (1560–1609). With his brother and his - uncle founded the Bolognese school, which was eclectic - and comprised the good points of all the great - masters.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. Correggio (1494–1534). The head of the Lombard - School at Parma, a painter of graceful naturalness - and sweetness and of great technical power in - chiaroscuro.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 3. Titian (1477–1576). A Venetian painter who lacked - inventiveness but was the greatest of colorists.</li> - <li class="sec4">a. Annunciation—in the Cathedral at Treviso, - painted by Titian in 1519.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rv1">IV. <cite>My Last Duchess.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Fra Pandolf. An imaginary artist.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rv">V. <cite>In a Gondola.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Schidone (c. 1570–1615). A portrait painter of - the Lombard school.</li> - <li class="sec4">a. Eager Duke. An imaginary picture.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. Luca Giordano (1632–1705). Called Luke-work-fast - because of his father’s miserly urging; a painter - of superficiality and facility.</li> - <li class="sec4">a. Prim Saint. An imaginary picture.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 3. Giorgione (Castelfranco) (1477–1510). A Venetian - painter who did for his school what Leonardo - da Vinci had done for Florence twenty years - earlier.</li> - <li class="sec4">a. Magdalen—imaginary.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 4. Titian.</li> - <li class="sec4">a. Ser (a picture).</li> - - <li class="sec2 rv1">VI. <cite>Waring.</cite><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">254</a></span></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Polidoro da Caravaggio.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rv2">VII. <cite>Pictor Ignotus.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Pictor Ignotus—an imaginary painter of Italy.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rv3">VIII. <cite>Christmas-Eve and Easter-Day.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Michael Angelo and discussion of painting.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rx1">IX. <cite>Old Pictures in Florence.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Michael Angelo (1475–1564). A Florentine master - in painting, sculpture, and architecture. No - other single person ever so dominated art as he, - with his Italian “terribilita”, or stormy energy of - conception, and his great dramatic power.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. Raphael (1483–1520). A master of combined - draughtsmanship, coloring, and graceful composition; - popular and unexcelled in versatility.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 3. Leonardo da Vinci (1452–1519). The earliest of - the great masters of the High Renaissance, and - the first to completely master anatomy and technique.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 4. Cavaliere Dello (c. 1404-c. 1464). An unimportant - Florentine painter of frescoes.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 5. Stefano (1324?-1357?). Called the “Ape of Nature” - because he followed her closely in an age of - unrealistic painting.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 6. Cimabue (1240-c. 1302). The first painter of - importance in the revival of that art, the one who - formed its first principles, though he owed something - to the Pisan sculptors.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 7. Ghirlandajo (1449–1494). Good in his general - attainment but lacking in originality, and remembered - for one famous pupil—Michael Angelo.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 8. Sandro (Botticelli) (1444–1510). A Florentine - painter, imbued with a strain of fantasy, mysticism, - and allegory.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 9. Lippino (1460–1505). The son of Fra Lippo Lippi, - a painter of considerable skill, the first to introduce - detail in antique costumes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">255</a></span></li> - <li class="sec3">10. Fra Angelico (1387–1455). A holy, self-denying - painter of faces that showed a “sexless religiosity.”</li> - <li class="sec3">11. Lorenzo Monaco (1370–1425). A Florentine monk - and painter of much religious sentiment.</li> - <li class="sec3">12. Pollajolo (1429–1498). An important painter - whose works show brutality, but who was a close - student of muscular anatomy.</li> - <li class="sec3">13. Baldovinetti (1427–1499). A Florentine; one of a - group of scientific realists and naturalists.</li> - <li class="sec3">14. Margheritone (c. 1236–1289). An early Tuscan - painter whose work shows the stiffness and crude - color of the Byzantine artists.</li> - <li class="sec3">15. Carlo Dolci (1616–1686). An unimportant Florentine - painter of careful workmanship and religious - sentimentality.</li> - <li class="sec3">16. Giotto (1267?-1337). A painter and architect, - the real humanizer of painting.</li> - <li class="sec3">17. Andrea Orgagna (1308–1368). A Florentine painter - and artist in other lines as well.</li> - <li class="sec3">18. Taddeo Gaddi (c. 1300–1366). Painter and - architect.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rx">X. <cite>In Three Days.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. General reference to early art.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rx1">XI. <cite>The Guardian Angel.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Guercino (1591–1666). The “squint-eyed”; a Bolognese - painter.</li> - <li class="sec4">a. Angel at Fano.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rx2">XII. <cite>Any Wife to Any Husband.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Titian’s Venus.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rx3">XIII. <cite>How it Strikes a Contemporary.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Titian.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rxv1">XIV. <cite>Fra Lippo Lippi.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Lippi (1406–1469). A realist of good coloring and - technique, a painter of enjoyable pictures showing - power of observation.</li> - <li class="sec4">a. Jerome.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">256</a></span></li> - <li class="sec4">b. St. Lawrence.</li> - <li class="sec4">c. Coronation of the Virgin—in St. Ambrose.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. Angelico.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 3. Monaco.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 4. Guidi Masaccio (1402–1429). A Florentine; the - master of Lippi, the first to make considerable - advancement in atmospheric perspective and to - paint architectural background in proportion to - the human figures.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 5. Giotto.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rxv">XV. <cite>Andrea del Sarto.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Andrea (1487–1513). A Florentine, the “faultless - painter,” who lacked elevation and ideality in his - works.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. Raphael.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 3. Vasari (1511–1571). A Florentine artist, student - of Michael Angelo, imitative and feeble as a painter, - but interesting as an art historian.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 4. Michael Angelo.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 5. Leonardo da Vinci.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rxv1">XVI. <cite>Bishop Blougram’s Apology.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Correggio.</li> - <li class="sec4">a. Jerome.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. Giulio Romano (1429–1546). A rather ornate artist, - the executor of some work on the Vatican.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 3. Raphael.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 4. Michael Slaying the Dragon—by Raphael.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rxv2">XVII. <cite>One Word More.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Raphael.</li> - <li class="sec4">a. Sistine Madonna.</li> - <li class="sec4">b. Madonna Foligno.</li> - <li class="sec4">c. Madonna of the Grand Duke.</li> - <li class="sec4">d. Madonna of the Lilies.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. Guido Reni.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 3. Lippi.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 4. Andrea.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rxv3">XVIII. <cite>James Lee’s Wife.</cite><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">257</a></span></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Leonardo da Vinci.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rxx1">XIX. <cite>A Face.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Correggio.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. General reference to the early art of Tuscany.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rxx">XX. <cite>The Ring and the Book.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3r pr1">(I).  1. Luigi Ademollo (1764–1849). A Florentine painter - of historical and fresco works, whose works show - superficial skill.</li> - <li class="sec3r">  2. Joconde, or Mona Lisa, by Da Vinci—the woman - of the mysterious smile, recently returned to the - Louvre.</li> - <li class="sec3r pr2">(II).  3. Guido Reni.</li> - <li class="sec4r">a. Crucifixion, in San Lorenzo at Rome.</li> - <li class="sec3r pr3">(III).  4. Carlo Maratta (1625–1713). A painter at Rome, - an imitator of Raphael and the Carracci.</li> - <li class="sec3r prv1">(IV).  5. Raphael.</li> - <li class="sec3r">  6. Correggio.</li> - <li class="sec4r">a. Leda.</li> - <li class="sec3r prv">(V).  7. Pietro da Cortona (1596–1669). Mainly a scenic - and fresco painter, the estimate of whom has declined - since his own time.</li> - <li class="sec3r">  8. Ciro Ferri (1634–1689). A pupil of Pietro, so - imitative of his master that the work of the two - cannot be distinguished.</li> - <li class="sec3r prv1">(VI).  9. Raphael.</li> - <li class="sec3r prv2">(VII). 10. St. George Slaying the Dragon—by Vasari.</li> - <li class="sec3r prv3">(VIII). 11. Carlo Maratta.</li> - <li class="sec3r prx1">(IX). 12. Maratta.</li> - <li class="sec3r">13. Luca Giordano.</li> - <li class="sec3r">14. Michael Angelo.</li> - <li class="sec3r">15. Raphael.</li> - <li class="sec3r">16. Pietro da Cortona.</li> - <li class="sec3r">17. Ciro Ferri.</li> - <li class="sec3r prx">(X). 18. St. Michael.</li> - <li class="sec3r prx1">(XI). 19. Albani (1587–1660). A Bolognese who also worked - at Rome; a painter of minute elaboration and - finish, and one of the first to devote himself to - cabinet painting.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">258</a></span></li> - <li class="sec3r">20. Picture in Vallombrosa Convent.</li> - <li class="sec3r">21. Raphael—any picture.</li> - <li class="sec3r">22. Titian.</li> - <li class="sec3r">23. Fra Angelico.</li> - <li class="sec3r">24. Michael Angelo.</li> - <li class="sec3r prx2">(XII). 25. Michael Angelo.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rxx1">XXI. <cite>Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Raphael.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. Salvator Rosa (1615–1673). A Neapolitan painter - of battle scenes and landscapes, with a tendency - toward the picturesque and romantic.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rxx2">XXII. <cite>Fifine at the Fair.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Raphael.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. Bazzi (1477–1594). An Italian Renaissance painter - who was greatly influenced by Leonardo da - Vinci, and in turn, had great influence on the - Sienese school.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 3. Michael Angelo.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rxx3">XXIII. <cite>Red Cotton Night-Cap Country.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Michael Angelo.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. Correggio.</li> - <li class="sec4">a. Leda.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rxxv1">XXIV. <cite>Pacchiarotto and How He Worked in Distemper.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Pacchiarotto (1474-?). A Sienese painter, reformer, - and conspirator.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. Pacchia (b. 1477). A Sienese painter contemporary - to Pacchiarotto, and also a reformer and - conspirator.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 3. Fungaio (c. 1460-c. 1516). One of the last of the - old school. His works have rigidity and awkward - stiffness.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 4. Bazzi.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 5. Beccafumi (1486–1551). A Sienese painter who - weakly imitated Angelo and attempted to rival - Sodoma.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 6. Giotto.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rxxv">XXV. <cite>Filippo Baldinucci.</cite><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">259</a></span></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Buti. The painter’s name under which Baldinucci, - in his history of art, records the events forming - the subject of Browning’s poem.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. Titian.</li> - <li class="sec4">a. Leda.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 3. Baldinucci (1624–1696). A Florentine art historian - who attempted to prove the theory that all art - was derived from his native city.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rxxv1">XXVI. <cite>Cenciaja.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Titian.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rxxv2">XXVII. <cite>Christina and Monaldeschi.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Primaticcio (1504–1570). An Italian painter of - the Bolognese school, who did the first important - stucco and fresco work in France.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rxxv3">XXVIII. <cite>Mary Wollstonecraft and Fuseli.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Fuseli. (1741–1825). An English painter of exaggerated - style, who attempted to be Italianate and - changed his name to harmonize with the attempt.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rxxx1">XXIX. <cite>Parleyings with Christopher Smart.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Michael Angelo.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. Raphael.</li> - - <li class="sec2 rxxx">XXX. <cite>Parleyings with Francis Furini.</cite></li> - <li class="sec3"> 1. Furini (1600–1649). A Florentine artist and an - excellent painter of the nude, who later became a - parish priest and wished his undraped pictures - destroyed.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 2. Michael Angelo.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 3. Baldinucci.</li> - <li class="sec3"> 4. Da Vinci.</li> - - </ul> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<h3 class="p0"><a name="INDEX_3" id="INDEX_3"></a>INDEX</h3><p><span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">261</a></span></p> - -<div class="nobreak p2 index"> - -<ul> -<li class="let"><cite>Abt Vogler</cite>, <a href="#Page_200">14</a>, <a href="#Page_201">15</a>, <a href="#Page_209">23</a>, <a href="#Page_211">25</a>, <a href="#Page_212">26</a>, <a href="#Page_222">36</a>, <a href="#Page_234">48</a>, <a href="#Page_235">49</a>, <a href="#Page_239">53</a>, <a href="#Page_244">58</a>, <a href="#Page_250">64</a></li> - -<li>Academy of Fine Arts, Venice, <a href="#Page_248">62</a></li> - -<li>Ademollo, Luigi, <a href="#Page_257">71</a></li> - -<li><cite>Agamemnon</cite>, <a href="#Page_200">14</a></li> - -<li>Albani, <a href="#Page_257">71</a></li> - -<li>Alcamo (in <cite>Sordello</cite>), <a href="#Page_215">29</a>, <a href="#Page_216">30</a>, <a href="#Page_217">31</a>, <a href="#Page_246">60</a></li> - -<li><cite>Andrea del Sarto</cite>, <a href="#Page_213">27</a>, <a href="#Page_228">42</a>, <a href="#Page_229">43</a>, <a href="#Page_230">44</a>, <a href="#Page_231">45</a>, <a href="#Page_232">46</a>, <a href="#Page_233">47</a>, <a href="#Page_234">48</a>, <a href="#Page_235">49</a>, <a href="#Page_239">53</a>, <a href="#Page_250">64</a>, <a href="#Page_256">70</a></li> - -<li>“Andromeda,” Caravaggio’s, <a href="#Page_227">41</a>, <a href="#Page_230">44</a>, <a href="#Page_252">66</a>, <a href="#Page_253">67</a></li> - -<li><cite>Any Wife to Any Husband</cite>, <a href="#Page_230">44</a>, <a href="#Page_255">69</a></li> - -<li><cite>Apparent Failure</cite>, <a href="#Page_246">60</a></li> - -<li>Aprile (in <cite>Paracelsus</cite>), <a href="#Page_215">29</a>, <a href="#Page_216">30</a>, <a href="#Page_217">31</a>, <a href="#Page_246">60</a></li> - -<li>Aretino, Pietro, <a href="#Page_215">29</a>, <a href="#Page_219">33</a>, <a href="#Page_247">61</a></li> - -<li><cite>Aristophanes’ Apology</cite>, <a href="#Page_200">14</a></li> - -<li>Augustus, a bust by Browning, <a href="#Page_198">12</a></li> - -<li class="let">Baldovinetti, <a href="#Page_255">69</a></li> - -<li>Bandinelli, Baccio, <a href="#Page_201">15</a>, <a href="#Page_207">21</a>, <a href="#Page_243">57</a></li> - -<li>Bazzi, Giovanni Antonio, <a href="#Page_231">45</a>, <a href="#Page_234">48</a>, <a href="#Page_258">72</a></li> - -<li><cite>Beatrice Signorini</cite>, <a href="#Page_227">41</a>, <a href="#Page_230">44</a>, <a href="#Page_231">45</a>, <a href="#Page_232">46</a></li> - -<li>Beccafumi, <a href="#Page_252">66</a>, <a href="#Page_258">72</a></li> - -<li>Beethoven, <a href="#Page_196">10</a></li> - -<li>Bellini, Vincenzo, <a href="#Page_209">23</a>, <a href="#Page_210">24</a>, <a href="#Page_211">25</a>, <a href="#Page_213">27</a>, <a href="#Page_244">58</a></li> - -<li>Bernini, <a href="#Page_201">15</a>, <a href="#Page_243">57</a></li> - -<li><cite>Bishop Blougram’s Apology</cite>, <a href="#Page_212">26</a>, <a href="#Page_213">27</a>, <a href="#Page_222">36</a>, <a href="#Page_230">44</a>, <a href="#Page_244">58</a>, <a href="#Page_250">64</a>, <a href="#Page_256">70</a></li> - -<li><cite>Bishop orders his Tomb, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_202">16</a>, <a href="#Page_203">17</a>, <a href="#Page_204">18</a>, <a href="#Page_205">19</a>, <a href="#Page_208">22</a>, <a href="#Page_222">36</a>, <a href="#Page_224">38</a>, <a href="#Page_235">49</a>, <a href="#Page_236">50</a>, <a href="#Page_243">57</a>, <a href="#Page_248">62</a></li> - -<li>Bocafoli (in <cite>Sordello</cite>), <a href="#Page_215">29</a>, <a href="#Page_216">30</a>, <a href="#Page_217">31</a>, <a href="#Page_239">53</a>, <a href="#Page_246">60</a></li> - -<li>Boccaccio, <a href="#Page_215">29</a>, <a href="#Page_218">32</a>, <a href="#Page_219">33</a>, <a href="#Page_246">60</a>, <a href="#Page_247">61</a></li> - -<li>“Bocca-dell’-Verita,” <a href="#Page_201">15</a>, <a href="#Page_207">21</a>, <a href="#Page_244">58</a></li> - -<li>Botticelli, <a href="#Page_254">68</a></li> - -<li><cite>Boy and the Angel, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_222">36</a>, <a href="#Page_248">62</a></li> - -<li>Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, <a href="#Page_196">10</a>, <a href="#Page_197">11</a>, <a href="#Page_198">12</a>, <a href="#Page_199">13</a>, <a href="#Page_212">26</a>, <a href="#Page_220">34</a>, <a href="#Page_227">41</a>, <a href="#Page_228">42</a>, <a href="#Page_229">43</a>, <a href="#Page_235">49</a>, <a href="#Page_247">61</a></li> - -<li>Browning, Wiedemann, <a href="#Page_196">10</a>, <a href="#Page_197">11</a></li> - -<li>Buononcini, Giovanni Battista, <a href="#Page_209">23</a>, <a href="#Page_211">25</a>, <a href="#Page_245">59</a></li> - -<li>Buti, <a href="#Page_259">73</a></li> - -<li>Byron, Lord, <a href="#Page_209">23</a>, <a href="#Page_224">38</a></li> - -<li><cite>By the Fireside</cite>, <a href="#Page_195">9</a>, <a href="#Page_222">36</a>, <a href="#Page_249">63</a></li> - -<li class="let">Campanile, The, Florence, <a href="#Page_221">35</a>, <a href="#Page_222">36</a>, <a href="#Page_229">43</a>, <a href="#Page_249">63</a></li> - -<li>Canova, <a href="#Page_198">12</a>, <a href="#Page_201">15</a>, <a href="#Page_204">18</a>, <a href="#Page_208">22</a>, <a href="#Page_242">56</a>, <a href="#Page_243">57</a>, <a href="#Page_248">62</a></li> - -<li>Caravaggio, <a href="#Page_227">41</a>, <a href="#Page_230">44</a>, <a href="#Page_252">66</a>, <a href="#Page_253">67</a>, <a href="#Page_254">68</a></li> - -<li>Carracci, Annibale, <a href="#Page_198">12</a>, <a href="#Page_253">67</a></li> - -<li>Castle Angelo, <a href="#Page_247">61</a></li> - -<li>Catholic Hymns, <a href="#Page_209">23–24</a>, <a href="#Page_245">59</a></li> - -<li><cite>Cenciaja</cite>, <a href="#Page_231">45</a>, <a href="#Page_259">73</a></li> - -<li>Chapel near Bagni di Lucca, <a href="#Page_249">63</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">at Fano, <a href="#Page_249">63</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">at Florence, <a href="#Page_250">64</a></li> - -<li><cite>Charles Avison, Parleyings with</cite>, <a href="#Page_211">25</a>, <a href="#Page_212">26</a>, <a href="#Page_231">45</a>, <a href="#Page_234">48</a>, <a href="#Page_245">59</a></li> - -<li><cite>Christina and Monaldeschi</cite>, <a href="#Page_259">73</a></li> - -<li><cite>Christmas-Eve and Easter-Day</cite>, <a href="#Page_195">9</a>, <a href="#Page_202">16</a>, <a href="#Page_203">17</a>, <a href="#Page_206">20</a>, <a href="#Page_208">22</a>, <a href="#Page_222">36</a>, <a href="#Page_224">38</a>, <a href="#Page_236">50</a>, <a href="#Page_243">57</a>, <a href="#Page_249">63</a>, <a href="#Page_254">68</a></li> - -<li><cite>Christopher Smart, Parleyings with</cite>, <a href="#Page_231">45</a>, <a href="#Page_259">73</a></li> - -<li>Churches, Italian:</li> - <li class="sec">Il Gesu, <a href="#Page_243">57</a>, <a href="#Page_249">63</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">Ognissanti, <a href="#Page_249">63</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">Pieve at Arezzo, <a href="#Page_223">37</a>, <a href="#Page_251">65</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">Possagno, <a href="#Page_243">57</a>, <a href="#Page_248">62</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">St. Francis, <a href="#Page_247">61</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">St. Mark’s, <a href="#Page_222">36</a>, <a href="#Page_247">61</a>, <a href="#Page_248">62</a>, <a href="#Page_249">63</a>, <a href="#Page_252">66</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">St. Peter’s, <a href="#Page_222">36</a>, <a href="#Page_224">38</a>, <a href="#Page_225">39</a>, <a href="#Page_236">50</a>, <a href="#Page_248">62</a>, <a href="#Page_249">63</a>, <a href="#Page_250">64</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">S. Ambrogio, <a href="#Page_233">47</a>, <a href="#Page_250">64</a>, <a href="#Page_256">70</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">S. Bernardino, <a href="#Page_252">66</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">S. Empoli, <a href="#Page_249">63</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">S. Eufemia, <a href="#Page_248">62</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">S. Evola, <a href="#Page_249">63</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">S. Felice, <a href="#Page_250">64</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">S. Frediano, <a href="#Page_252">66</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">S. Giovanni, <a href="#Page_251">65</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">S. Lorenzo, <a href="#Page_222">36</a>, <a href="#Page_244">58</a>, <a href="#Page_250">64</a>, <a href="#Page_251">65</a>, <a href="#Page_252">66</a>, <a href="#Page_257">71</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">S. Miniato, <a href="#Page_247">61</a>, <a href="#Page_249">63</a>, <a href="#Page_250">64</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">S. Maria della Scala, <a href="#Page_249">63</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">S. Maria del Carmine, <a href="#Page_250">64</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">S. Maria in Cosmedin, <a href="#Page_244">58</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">S. Pietro Martire, <a href="#Page_247">61</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">S. Pressede (St. Praxed’s), <a href="#Page_205">19</a>, <a href="#Page_224">38</a>, <a href="#Page_248">62</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">S. Romano, <a href="#Page_249">63</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">S. Sano, <a href="#Page_252">66</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">S. Spirito, <a href="#Page_249">63</a></li> - -<li>Cimabue, <a href="#Page_226">40</a>, <a href="#Page_228">42</a>, <a href="#Page_252">66</a>, <a href="#Page_254">68</a></li> - -<li>Claus of Innsbruck (in <cite>My Last Duchess</cite>), <a href="#Page_201">15</a>, <a href="#Page_205">19</a>, <a href="#Page_243">57</a></li> - -<li>Convent, at Florence, <a href="#Page_250">64</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">Vallombrosa, <a href="#Page_251">65</a>, <a href="#Page_258">72</a></li> - -<li>Corelli, Arcangelo, <a href="#Page_209">23</a>, <a href="#Page_211">25</a>, <a href="#Page_245">59</a></li> - -<li>Correggio, <a href="#Page_198">12</a>, <a href="#Page_226">40</a>, <a href="#Page_230">44</a>, <a href="#Page_253">67</a>, <a href="#Page_256">70</a>, <a href="#Page_257">71</a>, <a href="#Page_258">72</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">his “Jerome”, <a href="#Page_256">70</a>, <a href="#Page_258">72</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">“Leda”, <a href="#Page_257">71</a>, <a href="#Page_258">72</a></li> - -<li>“Crucifixion”, Guido’s, <a href="#Page_223">37</a>, <a href="#Page_257">71</a></li> - -<li class="let">Dante, <a href="#Page_215">29</a>, <a href="#Page_218">32</a>, <a href="#Page_219">33</a>, <a href="#Page_220">34</a>, <a href="#Page_246">60</a>, <a href="#Page_247">61</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">262</a></span></li> - -<li>“David”, Domenichino’s, <a href="#Page_198">12</a></li> - -<li>Da Vinci, Leonardo, <a href="#Page_198">12</a>, <a href="#Page_226">40</a>, <a href="#Page_230">44</a>, <a href="#Page_253">67</a>, <a href="#Page_254">68</a>, <a href="#Page_256">70</a>, <a href="#Page_257">71</a>, <a href="#Page_258">72</a>, <a href="#Page_259">73</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">“Mona Lisa”, <a href="#Page_257">71</a></li> - -<li><cite>Decameron</cite>, The, <a href="#Page_219">33</a>, <a href="#Page_246">60</a>, <a href="#Page_247">61</a></li> - -<li>Dello di Niccolo Delli, <a href="#Page_226">40</a>, <a href="#Page_254">68</a></li> - -<li><cite>De Vulgario Eloquio</cite>, <a href="#Page_218">32</a></li> - -<li><cite>Divine Comedy, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_218">32</a></li> - -<li>Dolci, Carlo, <a href="#Page_255">69</a></li> - -<li>Domenichino, <a href="#Page_198">12</a></li> - -<li>Dore, Gustave, <a href="#Page_231">45</a></li> - -<li>Dramatic Monologue, Use of, <a href="#Page_235">49</a></li> - -<li>Dulwich Gallery, <a href="#Page_196">10</a>, <a href="#Page_197">11</a></li> - -<li>Duomo, The, at Arezzo, <a href="#Page_251">65</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">at Asolo, <a href="#Page_248">62</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">at Florence, <a href="#Page_222">36</a>, <a href="#Page_249">63</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">at Padua, <a href="#Page_248">62</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">at Siena, <a href="#Page_252">66</a></li> - -<li>Dvorak, Antonin, <a href="#Page_211">25</a></li> - -<li class="let">“Eager Duke, The”, (in <cite>In a Gondola</cite>), <a href="#Page_253">67</a></li> - -<li>Eastlake, Sir Charles, <a href="#Page_199">13</a></li> - -<li>Eglamor (in <cite>Sordello</cite>), <a href="#Page_215">29</a>, <a href="#Page_216">30</a>, <a href="#Page_246">60</a></li> - -<li><cite>Elegy on Newstead Abbey</cite>, Byron’s, <a href="#Page_224">38</a></li> - -<li><cite>Englishman in Italy, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_210">24</a>, <a href="#Page_244">58</a></li> - -<li><cite>Epistle of Karshish, An</cite>, <a href="#Page_200">14</a></li> - -<li class="let"><cite>Face, A</cite>, <a href="#Page_231">45</a>, <a href="#Page_235">49</a>, <a href="#Page_257">71</a></li> - -<li>Fauveau, Mme. de, <a href="#Page_197">11</a></li> - -<li>Fenice Theatre, Venice, <a href="#Page_248">62</a></li> - -<li>Ferdinand, Statue of Duke, <a href="#Page_201">15</a>, <a href="#Page_206">20</a>, <a href="#Page_243">57</a></li> - -<li><cite>Ferishtah’s Fancies</cite>, <a href="#Page_200">14</a></li> - -<li>Ferri, Ciro, <a href="#Page_231">45</a>, <a href="#Page_257">71</a></li> - -<li><cite>Fifine at the Fair</cite>, <a href="#Page_231">45</a>, <a href="#Page_234">48</a>, <a href="#Page_252">66</a>, <a href="#Page_258">72</a></li> - -<li><cite>Filippo Baldinucci</cite>, <a href="#Page_230">44</a>, <a href="#Page_231">45</a>, <a href="#Page_232">46</a>, <a href="#Page_235">49</a>, <a href="#Page_252">66</a>, <a href="#Page_259">73</a></li> - -<li>Fisher, Mr., <a href="#Page_197">11</a></li> - -<li><cite>Flight of the Duchess, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_195">9</a></li> - -<li>Fountain of the Tritons, <a href="#Page_201">15</a>, <a href="#Page_207">21</a>, <a href="#Page_243">57</a></li> - -<li>Fra Angelico, <a href="#Page_255">69</a>, <a href="#Page_256">70</a>, <a href="#Page_258">72</a></li> - -<li><cite>Fra Lippo Lippi</cite>, <a href="#Page_200">14</a>, <a href="#Page_201">15</a>, <a href="#Page_222">36</a>, <a href="#Page_228">42</a>, <a href="#Page_230">44</a>, <a href="#Page_231">45</a>, <a href="#Page_232">46</a>, <a href="#Page_233">47</a>, <a href="#Page_234">48</a>, <a href="#Page_235">49</a>, <a href="#Page_239">53</a>, <a href="#Page_250">64</a>, <a href="#Page_254">68</a>, <a href="#Page_255">69</a>, <a href="#Page_256">70</a></li> - -<li><cite>Francis Furini, Parleyings with</cite>, <a href="#Page_231">45</a>, <a href="#Page_232">46</a>, <a href="#Page_239">53</a>, <a href="#Page_252">66</a>, <a href="#Page_259">73</a></li> - -<li>Fungaio, <a href="#Page_258">72</a></li> - -<li>Fuseli, <a href="#Page_259">73</a></li> - -<li class="let">Gaddi, Taddeo, <a href="#Page_221">35</a>, <a href="#Page_255">69</a></li> - -<li>Galuppi, Baldassaro, <a href="#Page_209">23</a>, <a href="#Page_213">27</a>, <a href="#Page_244">58</a></li> - -<li>Geminiani, Francesco, <a href="#Page_209">23</a>, <a href="#Page_211">25</a>, <a href="#Page_245">59</a></li> - -<li>Ghiberti, Lorenzo, <a href="#Page_201">15</a>, <a href="#Page_243">57</a></li> - -<li>Ghirlandajo, <a href="#Page_228">42</a>, <a href="#Page_229">43</a>, <a href="#Page_254">68</a></li> - -<li>Gibson, John, <a href="#Page_197">11</a></li> - -<li>Giorgione, <a href="#Page_253">67</a></li> - -<li>Giordano, Luca, <a href="#Page_231">45</a>, <a href="#Page_253">67</a>, <a href="#Page_257">71</a></li> - -<li><cite>Giorno di Regno, Un</cite>, Verdi’s, <a href="#Page_213">27</a></li> - -<li>Giottino, <a href="#Page_228">42</a></li> - -<li>Giotto, <a href="#Page_221">35</a>, <a href="#Page_225">39</a>, <a href="#Page_228">42</a>, <a href="#Page_249">63</a>, <a href="#Page_255">69</a>, <a href="#Page_256">70</a>, <a href="#Page_258">72</a></li> - -<li>Giovanni da Bologna (John of Douay), <a href="#Page_201">15</a>, <a href="#Page_243">57</a></li> - -<li>Goito Castle, <a href="#Page_206">20</a>, <a href="#Page_224">38</a>, <a href="#Page_247">61</a></li> - -<li><cite>Gold Hair</cite>, <a href="#Page_200">14</a></li> - -<li>Grisi, Giulia, <a href="#Page_209">23</a>, <a href="#Page_211">25</a>, <a href="#Page_213">27</a>, <a href="#Page_245">59</a></li> - -<li><cite>Guardian Angel, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_228">42</a>, <a href="#Page_229">43</a>, <a href="#Page_231">45</a>, <a href="#Page_235">49</a>, <a href="#Page_249">63</a>, <a href="#Page_255">69</a></li> - -<li>Guarnerius (Joseph del Jesu), <a href="#Page_209">23</a>, <a href="#Page_211">25</a>, <a href="#Page_245">59</a></li> - -<li>Guercino, <a href="#Page_198">12</a>, <a href="#Page_229">43</a>, <a href="#Page_255">69</a></li> - -<li>Guido of Siena, <a href="#Page_252">66</a></li> - -<li class="let">Handel, George Frederick, <a href="#Page_211">25</a>, <a href="#Page_245">59</a></li> - -<li>Haworth, Miss, <a href="#Page_197">11</a>, <a href="#Page_198">12</a>, <a href="#Page_208">22</a></li> - -<li><cite>Herakles</cite>, <a href="#Page_200">14</a></li> - -<li>Horne, R. H., <a href="#Page_199">13</a>, <a href="#Page_228">42</a></li> - -<li>Hosmer, Harriet, <a href="#Page_197">11</a></li> - -<li><cite>How it Strikes a Contemporary</cite>, <a href="#Page_215">29</a>, <a href="#Page_255">69</a></li> - -<li class="let"><cite>In a Gondola</cite>, <a href="#Page_222">36</a>, <a href="#Page_248">62</a>, <a href="#Page_253">67</a></li> - -<li><cite>Inn Album, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_247">61</a></li> - -<li><cite>Inside of the King’s College Chapel</cite> (Wordsworth), <a href="#Page_224">38</a></li> - -<li><cite>In the Cathedral at Cologne</cite> (Wordsworth), <a href="#Page_224">38</a></li> - -<li><cite>In Three Days</cite>, <a href="#Page_230">44</a>, <a href="#Page_255">69</a></li> - -<li><cite>Italian in England, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_222">36</a>, <a href="#Page_248">62</a></li> - -<li class="let"><cite>James Lee’s Wife</cite>, <a href="#Page_230">44</a>, <a href="#Page_257">71</a></li> - -<li>Jameson, Mrs., <a href="#Page_198">12</a>, <a href="#Page_228">42</a></li> - -<li>“John of the Black Bands,” statue of, <a href="#Page_201">15</a>, <a href="#Page_243">57</a></li> - -<li>Jules (in <cite>Pippa Passes</cite>), <a href="#Page_201">15</a>, <a href="#Page_204">18</a>, <a href="#Page_230">44</a>, <a href="#Page_236">50</a>, <a href="#Page_243">57</a></li> - -<li class="let">Keats, <a href="#Page_195">9</a></li> - -<li>Kenyon, Frederick G., <a href="#Page_196">10</a>, <a href="#Page_223">37</a>, <a href="#Page_229">43</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">263</a></span></li> - -<li>Kirkup, Mr., <a href="#Page_197">11</a>, <a href="#Page_228">42</a></li> - -<li>Kugler, Franz, <cite>Handbook of the History of Art</cite>, <a href="#Page_199">13</a></li> - -<li class="let"><cite>Lady and the Painter, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_206">20</a></li> - -<li>Lateran, The, <a href="#Page_252">66</a></li> - -<li>Leighton, Frederick, <a href="#Page_197">11</a>, <a href="#Page_214">28</a>, <a href="#Page_222">36</a></li> - -<li>Lippi, Filippino, <a href="#Page_226">40</a>, <a href="#Page_250">64</a>, <a href="#Page_254">68</a></li> - -<li>Liszt, Franz, <a href="#Page_211">25</a></li> - -<li><cite>Luria</cite>, <a href="#Page_200">14</a>, <a href="#Page_222">36</a>, <a href="#Page_249">63</a></li> - -<li class="let">Madonna, Raphael’s, <a href="#Page_230">44</a>, <a href="#Page_239">53</a></li> - -<li>Magdalen (<cite>In a Gondola</cite>), <a href="#Page_253">67</a></li> - -<li>Maratta, Carlo, <a href="#Page_230">44</a>, <a href="#Page_231">45</a>, <a href="#Page_257">71</a></li> - -<li>Margheritone, <a href="#Page_255">69</a></li> - -<li>Marino, <a href="#Page_215">29</a>, <a href="#Page_247">61</a></li> - -<li><cite>Mary Wollstonescraft and Fuseli</cite>, <a href="#Page_259">73</a></li> - -<li>Masaccio, Guidi, <a href="#Page_233">47</a>, <a href="#Page_250">64</a>, <a href="#Page_256">70</a></li> - -<li><cite>Master Hugues of Saxe-Gotha</cite>, <a href="#Page_209">23</a>, <a href="#Page_211">25</a>, <a href="#Page_212">26</a>, <a href="#Page_235">49</a>, <a href="#Page_244">58</a></li> - -<li><cite>Memorabilia</cite>, <a href="#Page_218">32</a>, <a href="#Page_220">34</a></li> - -<li><cite>Men and Women</cite>, <a href="#Page_198">12</a></li> - -<li><cite>Merry Tales</cite>, Sacchetti’s, <a href="#Page_219">33</a></li> - -<li>Michael Angelo, <a href="#Page_213">27</a>, <a href="#Page_226">40</a>, <a href="#Page_229">43</a>, <a href="#Page_231">45</a>, <a href="#Page_234">48</a>, <a href="#Page_239">53</a>, <a href="#Page_248">62</a>, <a href="#Page_250">64</a>, <a href="#Page_251">65</a>, <a href="#Page_254">68</a>, <a href="#Page_256">70</a>, <a href="#Page_257">71</a>, <a href="#Page_258">72</a>, <a href="#Page_259">73</a></li> - -<li>Michael, Raphael’s, <a href="#Page_230">44</a>, <a href="#Page_256">70</a></li> - -<li>Monaco, Lorenzo, <a href="#Page_255">69</a>, <a href="#Page_256">70</a></li> - -<li>Monastery, Certosa, <a href="#Page_251">65</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">of the Convertites, <a href="#Page_251">65</a>, <a href="#Page_252">66</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">of St. Anna, <a href="#Page_251">65</a></li> - -<li><cite>My Last Duchess</cite>, <a href="#Page_201">15</a>, <a href="#Page_202">16</a>, <a href="#Page_203">17</a>, <a href="#Page_204">18</a>, <a href="#Page_205">19</a>, <a href="#Page_208">22</a>, <a href="#Page_235">49</a>, <a href="#Page_243">57</a>, <a href="#Page_253">67</a></li> - -<li class="let">Neptune, (statue in <cite>My Last Duchess</cite>), <a href="#Page_205">19</a>, <a href="#Page_243">57</a></li> - -<li>Nina (in <cite>Sordello</cite>), <a href="#Page_215">29</a>, <a href="#Page_216">30</a>, <a href="#Page_217">31</a>, <a href="#Page_246">60</a></li> - -<li class="let"><cite>Old Abbeys</cite> (Wordsworth), <a href="#Page_224">38</a></li> - -<li><cite>Old Pictures in Florence</cite>, <a href="#Page_201">15</a>, <a href="#Page_202">16</a>, <a href="#Page_203">17</a>, <a href="#Page_208">22</a>, <a href="#Page_221">35</a>, <a href="#Page_222">36</a>, <a href="#Page_225">39</a>, <a href="#Page_226">40</a>, <a href="#Page_228">42</a>, <a href="#Page_229">43</a>, <a href="#Page_231">45</a>, <a href="#Page_235">49</a>, <a href="#Page_236">50</a>, <a href="#Page_238">52</a>, <a href="#Page_243">57</a>, <a href="#Page_246">60</a>, <a href="#Page_249">63</a>, <a href="#Page_254">68</a></li> - -<li><cite>One Word More</cite>, <a href="#Page_215">29</a>, <a href="#Page_218">32</a>, <a href="#Page_222">36</a>, <a href="#Page_228">42</a>, <a href="#Page_231">45</a>, <a href="#Page_235">49</a>, <a href="#Page_246">60</a>, <a href="#Page_250">64</a>, <a href="#Page_256">70</a></li> - -<li>Orgagna, <a href="#Page_255">69</a></li> - -<li>Orr’s, Mrs., <cite>Life of Browning</cite>, <a href="#Page_196">10</a>, <a href="#Page_197">11</a>, <a href="#Page_227">41</a></li> - -<li class="let">Pacchia, <a href="#Page_252">66</a>, <a href="#Page_258">72</a></li> - -<li><cite>Pacchiarotto</cite>, <a href="#Page_222">36</a>, <a href="#Page_231">45</a>, <a href="#Page_232">46</a>, <a href="#Page_239">53</a>, <a href="#Page_252">66</a>, <a href="#Page_258">72</a></li> - -<li>Paganini, Niccolo, <a href="#Page_209">23</a>, <a href="#Page_211">25</a>, <a href="#Page_213">27</a>, <a href="#Page_245">59</a></li> - -<li>Page, William, <a href="#Page_197">11</a></li> - -<li>Palace, Antinori, <a href="#Page_249">63</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">Ducal, Venice, <a href="#Page_247">61</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">Fiano, <a href="#Page_250">64</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">Medici, <a href="#Page_250">64</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">Pulci, <a href="#Page_248">62</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">Riccardi, <a href="#Page_250">64</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">Ruspoli, <a href="#Page_250">64</a>, <a href="#Page_251">65</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">Via Larga, <a href="#Page_251">65</a></li> - -<li>Palestrina, <a href="#Page_209">23</a>, <a href="#Page_244">58</a></li> - -<li>Pandolf, Fra (in <cite>My Last Duchess</cite>), <a href="#Page_253">67</a></li> - -<li><cite>Paracelsus</cite>, <a href="#Page_215">29</a>, <a href="#Page_216">30</a>, <a href="#Page_217">31</a>, <a href="#Page_228">42</a>, <a href="#Page_246">60</a></li> - -<li>Pasquin’s statue, <a href="#Page_201">15</a>, <a href="#Page_207">21</a>, <a href="#Page_244">58</a></li> - -<li><cite>Pauline</cite>, <a href="#Page_195">9</a>, <a href="#Page_215">29</a>, <a href="#Page_216">30</a>, <a href="#Page_218">32</a>, <a href="#Page_220">34</a>, <a href="#Page_227">41</a>, <a href="#Page_230">44</a>, <a href="#Page_252">66</a></li> - -<li>Petrarch, <a href="#Page_215">29</a>, <a href="#Page_218">32</a>, <a href="#Page_246">60</a>, <a href="#Page_247">61</a></li> - -<li><cite>Pheidippides</cite>, <a href="#Page_200">14</a></li> - -<li><cite>Pictor Ignotus</cite>, <a href="#Page_228">42</a>, <a href="#Page_231">45</a>, <a href="#Page_232">46</a>, <a href="#Page_235">49</a>, <a href="#Page_239">53</a>, <a href="#Page_254">68</a></li> - -<li>“Pieta”, Canova’s, <a href="#Page_201">15</a>, <a href="#Page_243">57</a></li> - -<li>Pietro d’ Abano, <a href="#Page_252">66</a></li> - -<li>Pietro da Cortona, <a href="#Page_231">45</a>, <a href="#Page_257">71</a></li> - -<li><cite>Pippa Passes</cite>, <a href="#Page_195">9</a>, <a href="#Page_201">15</a>, <a href="#Page_202">16</a>, <a href="#Page_203">17</a>, <a href="#Page_204">18</a>, <a href="#Page_205">19</a>, <a href="#Page_208">22</a>, <a href="#Page_222">36</a>, <a href="#Page_228">42</a>, <a href="#Page_230">44</a>, <a href="#Page_236">50</a>, <a href="#Page_242">56</a>, <a href="#Page_248">62</a>, <a href="#Page_253">67</a></li> - -<li>Pisano, Giovanni, <a href="#Page_201">15</a>, <a href="#Page_202">16</a>, <a href="#Page_203">17</a>, <a href="#Page_242">56</a>, <a href="#Page_254">68</a></li> - -<li>Pisano, Niccolo, <a href="#Page_201">15</a>, <a href="#Page_202">16</a>, <a href="#Page_203">17</a>, <a href="#Page_242">56</a>, <a href="#Page_243">57</a>, <a href="#Page_254">68</a></li> - -<li>Plara (in <cite>Sordello</cite>), <a href="#Page_215">29</a>, <a href="#Page_216">30</a>, <a href="#Page_217">31</a>, <a href="#Page_239">53</a>, <a href="#Page_246">60</a></li> - -<li>Pollajola, Antonio, <a href="#Page_226">40</a>, <a href="#Page_255">69</a></li> - -<li><cite>Ponte dell’ Angelo, Venice</cite>, <a href="#Page_252">66</a></li> - -<li>Powers, Hiram, <a href="#Page_197">11</a>, <a href="#Page_214">28</a></li> - -<li>Primaticcio, <a href="#Page_259">73</a></li> - -<li>“Prim Saint” (in <cite>In a Gondola</cite>), <a href="#Page_253">67</a></li> - -<li><cite>Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau</cite>, <a href="#Page_258">72</a></li> - -<li>“Psiche-fanciulla”, Canova’s, <a href="#Page_201">15</a>, <a href="#Page_243">57</a></li> - -<li>Psyche, a bust by Browning, <a href="#Page_198">12</a></li> - -<li class="let">Raphael, <a href="#Page_213">27</a>, <a href="#Page_226">40</a>, <a href="#Page_229">43</a>, <a href="#Page_230">44</a>, <a href="#Page_231">45</a>, <a href="#Page_234">48</a>, <a href="#Page_239">53</a>, <a href="#Page_254">68</a>, <a href="#Page_256">70</a>, <a href="#Page_257">71</a>, <a href="#Page_258">72</a>, <a href="#Page_259">73</a></li> - -<li><cite>Red Cotton Night-Cap Country</cite>, <a href="#Page_211">25</a>, <a href="#Page_231">45</a>, <a href="#Page_245">59</a>, <a href="#Page_258">72</a></li> - -<li>Reni, Guido, <a href="#Page_198">12</a>, <a href="#Page_229">43</a>, <a href="#Page_251">65</a>, <a href="#Page_253">67</a>, <a href="#Page_255">69</a>, <a href="#Page_256">70</a>, <a href="#Page_257">71</a></li> - -<li><cite>Ring and the Book, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_198">12</a>, <a href="#Page_200">14</a>, <a href="#Page_202">16</a>, <a href="#Page_206">20</a>, <a href="#Page_207">21</a>, <a href="#Page_208">22</a>, <a href="#Page_210">24</a>, <a href="#Page_219">33</a>, <a href="#Page_222">36</a>, <a href="#Page_223">37</a>, <a href="#Page_224">38</a>, <a href="#Page_226">40</a>, <a href="#Page_230">44</a>, <a href="#Page_231">45</a>, <a href="#Page_239">53</a>, <a href="#Page_243">57</a>, <a href="#Page_244">58</a>, <a href="#Page_245">59</a>, <a href="#Page_246">60</a>, <a href="#Page_250">64</a>, <a href="#Page_251">65</a>, <a href="#Page_257">71</a></li> - -<li>Romanelli, <a href="#Page_232">46</a>, <a href="#Page_233">47</a></li> - -<li>Romano, Giulio, <a href="#Page_230">44</a>, <a href="#Page_256">70</a></li> - -<li>Rossetti, W. M., <a href="#Page_233">47</a></li> - -<li>Rossini, <a href="#Page_209">23</a>, <a href="#Page_211">25</a>, <a href="#Page_213">27</a>, <a href="#Page_214">28</a>, <a href="#Page_244">58</a></li> - -<li class="let">Sacchetti, Franco, <a href="#Page_215">29</a>, <a href="#Page_219">33</a>, <a href="#Page_220">34</a>, <a href="#Page_239">53</a>, <a href="#Page_246">60</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">264</a></span></li> - -<li>St. George, Vasari’s, <a href="#Page_257">71</a></li> - -<li>Salvator Rosa, <a href="#Page_258">72</a></li> - -<li><cite>Saul</cite>, <a href="#Page_209">23</a></li> - -<li>Schidone, <a href="#Page_253">67</a></li> - -<li>Ser (a picture), <a href="#Page_253">67</a></li> - -<li>Ser Giovanni, <a href="#Page_251">65</a></li> - -<li>Shelley, <a href="#Page_195">9</a>, <a href="#Page_216">30</a>, <a href="#Page_218">32</a>, <a href="#Page_220">34</a>, <a href="#Page_234">48</a></li> - -<li><cite>Sonnet on Chillon</cite>, Byron’s, <a href="#Page_224">38</a></li> - -<li><cite>Sordello</cite>, <a href="#Page_198">12</a>, <a href="#Page_202">16</a>, <a href="#Page_203">17</a>, <a href="#Page_206">20</a>, <a href="#Page_207">21</a>, <a href="#Page_208">22</a>, <a href="#Page_215">29</a>, <a href="#Page_216">30</a>, <a href="#Page_217">31</a>, <a href="#Page_218">32</a>, <a href="#Page_220">34</a>, <a href="#Page_222">36</a>, <a href="#Page_223">37</a>, <a href="#Page_224">38</a>, <a href="#Page_228">42</a>, <a href="#Page_230">44</a>, <a href="#Page_239">53</a>, <a href="#Page_242">56</a>, <a href="#Page_246">60</a>, <a href="#Page_247">61</a>, <a href="#Page_252">66</a></li> - -<li><cite>Soul’s Tragedy, A</cite>, <a href="#Page_204">18</a>, <a href="#Page_215">29</a>, <a href="#Page_246">60</a></li> - -<li><cite>Statue and the Bust, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_202">16</a>, <a href="#Page_203">17</a>, <a href="#Page_206">20</a>, <a href="#Page_208">22</a>, <a href="#Page_222">36</a>, <a href="#Page_224">38</a>, <a href="#Page_238">52</a>, <a href="#Page_243">57</a>, <a href="#Page_249">63</a></li> - -<li>Stefano, <a href="#Page_226">40</a>, <a href="#Page_254">68</a></li> - -<li>Stiatta (in <cite>A Soul’s Tragedy</cite>), <a href="#Page_215">29</a>, <a href="#Page_246">60</a></li> - -<li>Story, W. W., <a href="#Page_197">11</a>, <a href="#Page_198">12</a>, <a href="#Page_214">28</a></li> - -<li>Stradivarius, Antonius, <a href="#Page_209">23</a>, <a href="#Page_211">25</a>, <a href="#Page_245">59</a></li> - -<li><cite>Strafford</cite>, <a href="#Page_215">29</a></li> - -<li class="let">Tasso, Torquato, <a href="#Page_215">29</a></li> - -<li>Technical Art Terms, Browning’s use of, <a href="#Page_207">21</a>, <a href="#Page_212">26</a></li> - -<li><cite>Time’s Revenges</cite>, <a href="#Page_218">32</a>, <a href="#Page_246">60</a></li> - -<li>Titian, <a href="#Page_226">40</a>, <a href="#Page_230">44</a>, <a href="#Page_253">67</a>, <a href="#Page_258">72</a>, <a href="#Page_259">73</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">“Annunciation,” <a href="#Page_253">67</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">“Venus,” <a href="#Page_230">44</a>, <a href="#Page_255">69</a></li> - -<li><cite>Toccata of Galuppi’s, A</cite>, <a href="#Page_209">23</a>, <a href="#Page_211">25</a>, <a href="#Page_212">26</a>, <a href="#Page_222">36</a>, <a href="#Page_235">49</a>, <a href="#Page_244">58</a>, <a href="#Page_249">63</a></li> - -<li>Tommaseo, Niccolo, <a href="#Page_215">29</a>, <a href="#Page_220">34</a>, <a href="#Page_247">61</a></li> - -<li>Tordinona, <a href="#Page_251">65</a></li> - -<li>Towers of Florence, <a href="#Page_249">63</a></li> - -<li><cite>Trovatore, Il</cite>, Verdi’s, <a href="#Page_212">26</a>, <a href="#Page_244">58</a></li> - -<li><cite>Two Poets of Croisic</cite>, The, <a href="#Page_200">14</a></li> - -<li class="let"><cite>Up at a Villa</cite>, <a href="#Page_218">32</a>, <a href="#Page_246">60</a></li> - -<li class="let">Vallombrosa Convent, <a href="#Page_251">65</a>, <a href="#Page_258">72</a></li> - -<li>Vasari, Giorgio, <a href="#Page_199">13</a>, <a href="#Page_228">42</a>, <a href="#Page_230">44</a>, <a href="#Page_256">70</a></li> - -<li>Vatican, The, <a href="#Page_222">36</a>, <a href="#Page_250">64</a>, <a href="#Page_251">65</a>, <a href="#Page_256">70</a>;</li> - <li class="sec">Sistine Chapel, <a href="#Page_251">65</a></li> - -<li>Verdi, Giuseppe, <a href="#Page_209">23</a>, <a href="#Page_211">25</a>, <a href="#Page_212">26</a>, <a href="#Page_213">27</a>, <a href="#Page_244">58</a></li> - -<li><cite>Vita Nuova, La</cite>, <a href="#Page_218">32</a></li> - -<li class="let">Wagner, Richard, <a href="#Page_211">25</a></li> - -<li><cite>Waring</cite>, <a href="#Page_230">44</a>, <a href="#Page_254">68</a></li> - -<li>Wilde, Mr., <a href="#Page_197">11</a></li> - -<li>Wordsworth, <a href="#Page_195">9</a>, <a href="#Page_224">38</a>, <a href="#Page_234">48</a></li> - -<li class="let"><cite>Youth and Art</cite>, <a href="#Page_211">25</a>, <a href="#Page_245">59</a></li> - - </ul> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> -</div> - -<div class="footnotes"> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_163" id="Footnote_163" href="#FNanchor_163" class="fnanchor">163</a> Mrs. - Sutherland Orr’s <cite>Life of Browning</cite>, revised by Frederick G. Kenyon.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_164" id="Footnote_164" href="#FNanchor_164" class="fnanchor">164</a> Mrs. - Orr: <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">op. cit.</i></p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_165" id="Footnote_165" href="#FNanchor_165" class="fnanchor">165</a> For - the sources and nature of this interest, see below, Chapter II and - p. 50.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_166" id="Footnote_166" href="#FNanchor_166" class="fnanchor">166</a> Bavarian - by birth, Abt Vogler was ordained a priest at Rome, and played - in that city for years. His significance in musical history seems associated with - Italy rather than Bavaria.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_167" id="Footnote_167" href="#FNanchor_167" class="fnanchor">167</a> See - <cite>An Epistle of Karshish</cite>; <cite>Ferishtah’s Fancies</cite>.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_168" id="Footnote_168" href="#FNanchor_168" class="fnanchor">168</a> See - <cite>Pheidippides</cite>; <cite>Aristophanes’ Apology</cite>; <cite>Herakles</cite>; <cite>Agamemnon</cite>.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_169" id="Footnote_169" href="#FNanchor_169" class="fnanchor">169</a> See - <cite>Gold Hair, A Story of Pornic</cite>; <cite>The Two Poets of Croisic</cite>.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_170" id="Footnote_170" href="#FNanchor_170" class="fnanchor">170</a> See - the next page.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_171" id="Footnote_171" href="#FNanchor_171" class="fnanchor">171</a> See - below, pp. 44, 46.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_172" id="Footnote_172" href="#FNanchor_172" class="fnanchor">172</a> See - above, p. 12.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_173" id="Footnote_173" href="#FNanchor_173" class="fnanchor">173</a> See - <cite>Ring and the Book</cite>, I.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_174" id="Footnote_174" href="#FNanchor_174" class="fnanchor">174</a> Line - 382.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_175" id="Footnote_175" href="#FNanchor_175" class="fnanchor">175</a> Letter - by Mrs. Browning, December, 1847.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_176" id="Footnote_176" href="#FNanchor_176" class="fnanchor">176</a> See - above, p. 10.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_177" id="Footnote_177" href="#FNanchor_177" class="fnanchor">177</a> <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Op. - cit.</i></p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_178" id="Footnote_178" href="#FNanchor_178" class="fnanchor">178</a> August, - 1848.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_179" id="Footnote_179" href="#FNanchor_179" class="fnanchor">179</a> See - Chapter IV, p. 30 and <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">passim</i>.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_180" id="Footnote_180" href="#FNanchor_180" class="fnanchor">180</a> See - above, p. 12.</p> - </div> -</div> - -<hr class="fullb" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">265</a></span></p> -<p class="center in0 wide2 bm0 p2"><a id="No._4"></a>BULLETIN OF THE UNIVERSITY OF KANSAS<br /> -HUMANISTIC STUDIES</p> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<table id="stp_4" summary="bulletin heading_4"> - - <tr> - <td class="vol"><i>Vol. I</i></td> - <td> </td> - <td class="date"><i>January 1, 1915</i></td> - <td> </td> - <td class="num"><i>No. 4</i></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<h2 class="p2 wide2 p3">THE SEMANTICS OF<br /> --MENTUM, -BULUM, AND -CULUM</h2> - -<p class="center in0 xsmall p2">BY</p> - -<p class="center in0 small smcap p2 bm0">EDMUND D. CRESSMAN, Ph. D.</p> - -<p class="center in0 xsmall p0"><i>Assistant Professor of Latin in the University of Kansas</i></p> - -<p class="center in0 small p6 bm0">LAWRENCE, JANUARY, 1915</p> - -<p class="center in0 xsmall">PUBLISHED BY THE UNIVERSITY</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center large in0 p4">PREFACE<span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">267</a></span></p> -</div> - -<p>This treatise is printed in substantially the same form in which -it was presented to the faculty of Yale University as a doctor’s -thesis. The subject was suggested by Professor E. P. Morris, and -the study was carried on under his direction. To him, and to -Professor Hanns Oertel, who made helpful suggestions, the author -is under obligation not only for the method employed but also for -the general theory underlying the whole study.</p> - -<p>The writer also wishes to thank Professor S. L. Whitcomb, the -editor of this series, for valuable help in preparing the work for -publication.</p> - -<p class=" pr1 right">E. D. C.</p> - -<p class="in0 bm0 wide4">Lawrence, Kansas,</p> -<p class="in75 p0">Jan. 1, 1915.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3 class="nobreak"><a name="CONTENTS_4" id="CONTENTS_4"></a>CONTENTS</h3><span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">269</a></span> -</div> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<table id="toc_4" summary="contents"> - - <tr> - <td class="chap" colspan="5">Chapter I</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapdes" colspan="4">Introductory</td> - <td class="pgnum"><a href="#semantics_7">7</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chap" colspan="5">Chapter II</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapdes" colspan="4">Influence of Stem-Meaning</td> - <td class="pgnum"><a href="#semantics_10a">10</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">I.</td> - <td class="sectname" colspan="4">-Mentum.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td class="subsectnum">A.</td> - <td class="subsectname" colspan="3">Concrete -mentum Words on Verb Stems.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td> </td> - <td class="subsubnum">1.</td> - <td class="subsubname">Nouns denoting result of action, with general application</td> - <td class="pgnum"><a href="#semantics_10b">10</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td> </td> - <td class="subsubnum">2.</td> - <td class="subsubname">Nouns denoting result of action, with restricted application</td> - <td class="pgnum"><a href="#semantics_11">11</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td> </td> - <td class="subsubnum">3.</td> - <td class="subsubname">Nouns denoting instrument, with general application</td> - <td class="pgnum"><a href="#semantics_12">12</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td> </td> - <td class="subsubnum">4.</td> - <td class="subsubname">Nouns denoting instrument, with both general and figurative application</td> - <td class="pgnum"><a href="#semantics_13">13</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td> </td> - <td class="subsubnum">5.</td> - <td class="subsubname">Nouns denoting instrument, with specialized application</td> - <td class="pgnum"><a href="#semantics_14">14</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td> </td> - <td class="subsubnum">6.</td> - <td class="subsubname">Nouns denoting instrument, with both specialized and figurative application</td> - <td class="pgnum"><a href="#semantics_15">15</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td> </td> - <td class="subsubnum">7.</td> - <td class="subsubname">Nouns not classified</td> - <td class="pgnum"><a href="#semantics_16">16</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td class="subsectnum">B.</td> - <td class="subsectname" colspan="2">Concrete -mentum Words on Noun and Adjective Stems</td> - <td class="pgnum"><a href="#semantics_17">17</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td class="subsectnum">C.</td> - <td class="subsectname" colspan="3">Abstract -mentum Words on Verb Stems.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td> </td> - <td class="subsubnum">1.</td> - <td class="subsubname">Nouns denoting result of action</td> - <td class="pgnum"><a href="#semantics_18">18</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td> </td> - <td class="subsubnum">2.</td> - <td class="subsubname">Nouns denoting instrument</td> - <td class="pgnum"><a href="#semantics_20">20</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td> </td> - <td class="subsubnum">3.</td> - <td class="subsubname">Nouns denoting action</td> - <td class="pgnum"><a href="#semantics_22">22</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td class="subsectnum">D.</td> - <td class="subsectname" colspan="2">Abstract -mentum Words on Noun Stems</td> - <td class="pgnum"><a href="#semantics_23">23</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">II.</td> - <td class="sectname" colspan="4">-Bulum.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td> </td> - <td class="subsubnum">1.</td> - <td class="subsubname">Nouns denoting instrument</td> - <td class="pgnum"><a href="#semantics_24">24</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td> </td> - <td class="subsubnum">2.</td> - <td class="subsubname">Nouns denoting place</td> - <td class="pgnum"><a href="#semantics_25">25</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td> </td> - <td class="subsubnum">3.</td> - <td class="subsubname">Nouns denoting person</td> - <td class="pgnum"><a href="#semantics_26">26</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="sectnum">III.</td> - <td class="sectname" colspan="4">-Culum.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td class="subsectnum">A.</td> - <td class="subsectname" colspan="3">Concrete -culum Words.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td> </td> - <td class="subsubnum">1.</td> - <td class="subsubname">Nouns denoting instrument</td> - <td class="pgnum"><a href="#semantics_27">27</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td> </td> - <td class="subsubnum">2.</td> - <td class="subsubname">Nouns denoting place</td> - <td class="pgnum"><a href="#semantics_29">29</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td> </td> - <td class="subsubnum">3.</td> - <td class="subsubname">Nouns denoting object of action</td> - <td class="pgnum"><a href="#semantics_30a">30</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td class="subsectnum">B.</td> - <td class="subsectname" colspan="2">Abstract -culum Words, All Denoting Action</td> - <td class="pgnum"><a href="#semantics_30b">30</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chap" colspan="5">Chapter III<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">270</a></span><br /></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapdes" colspan="4">Influence of Context</td> - <td class="pgnum"><a href="#semantics_32">32</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chap" colspan="5">Chapter IV</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapdes" colspan="4">Overlapping of Suffixes</td> - <td class="pgnum"><a href="#semantics_43">43</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td class="subsectnum">A.</td> - <td class="subsectname" colspan="2">Parallels of -mentum and Accessory Suffixes</td> - <td class="pgnum"><a href="#semantics_44">44</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td class="subsectnum">B.</td> - <td class="subsectname" colspan="2">Parallels of -bulum and Accessory Suffixes</td> - <td class="pgnum"><a href="#semantics_49">49</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> </td> - <td class="subsectnum">C.</td> - <td class="subsectname" colspan="2">Parallels of -culum and Accessory Suffixes</td> - <td class="pgnum"><a href="#semantics_50">50</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chap" colspan="5">Chapter V</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapdes" colspan="4">Suffixes and the Theory of Adaptation</td> - <td class="pgnum"><a href="#semantics_52">52</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapdes" colspan="4">Index of Words</td> - <td class="pgnum"><a href="#semantics_55">55</a></td> - </tr> - -</table> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="large center p4 in0">The Semantics of -mentum, -bulum, and -culum<span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">271</a></span></p> -</div> - -<hr /> -<h3 class="nobreak"><a name="CHAPTER_I_semantics" id="CHAPTER_I_semantics"></a>CHAPTER I</h3> - -<p class="chapdes"><a name="semantics_7" id="semantics_7"></a>Introductory</p> - -<p>The primary object of this study will be to show, first, the range -of semantic variability discernible in a set of noun-formative -suffixes and the reason for it; and second, by a comparison of -these suffixes with other suffixes used on the same stem, to illustrate -the comparatively fluid semantic condition of formative suffixes -in general. The semantic value will be determined by an examination -of the meaning of the whole noun and its relation to the -surrounding context.</p> - -<p>The suffixes chosen for investigation were <i>-mentum</i>, <i>-bulum</i>, and -<i>-culum</i>. They form neuters and are joined mainly to verb stems. -In all grammars they are grouped together as forming nouns signifying -the instrument or means of action, sometimes result of -action, sometimes place, rarely the action itself. Such general -statements are true and perhaps adequate for the purpose of stating -a brief grammatical rule; but it will be seen from the following -pages that these suffixes are capable of much greater variations.</p> - -<p>The material for investigation was collected from the literature -extending to the Augustan period, and consisted of approximately -four thousand examples, many of which were of course duplicates, -so that comparatively only a small percentage of them were really -valuable. In order that the material might not seem too slight for -drawing conclusions as to later periods, useful examples were also -gathered from the literature of the Empire, by means of the lexicons -and indexes; but the evidence contributed by the latter was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">272</a></span> -in large part only cumulative, not revealing any other influences -upon meaning than those found in the earlier period. In -Chapter IV the difference in frequency of use of nouns in -different periods will be discussed in detail.</p> - -<p>Inscriptions were not taken as sources of material on account -of the isolated positions in which words usually occur. Such -fragmentary evidence would not contribute much where the meaning -of a word, which depends so much on its immediate context, is -to be examined.</p> - -<p>For purposes of clearness, it will be well to explain here in just -what sense the term “meaning” will be used. Linguistic history -shows that “words are constantly gaining in precision. Through -the associations set up in the process of expression, the meaning -of a word is being constantly deepened and enriched. The connotation -is, in general, increasing and the denotation, that is, the -range of application, is narrowing.”<a name="FNanchor_181" id="FNanchor_181" href="#Footnote_181" class="fnanchor">181</a></p> - -<p>There is of course something fundamental in every word that -distinguishes it from other words; but this does not exhaust the -whole meaning of most words. Only when used in a sentence, with -other words, in a context, does a word acquire its full and precise -meaning. By stripping a word of the connotation and denotation -which it shows in many contexts, there is left, as it were, a common -denominator; and it is as a result of this logical operation that we -assign a meaning to a detached and isolated word.</p> - -<p>Caution must also be exercised in speaking of the “meaning” -of suffixes. Isolated suffixes have a meaning even less than words -do. It is incorrect to say that <i>-mentum</i>, or <i>-bulum</i>, or <i>-culum</i> -means instrument; the nouns made with them may have this -meaning, but the suffixes are perhaps colorless in themselves. -This is true of suffixes used to form other parts of speech as well -as nouns; <i>e. g.</i>, a suffix forming an adjective signifying material or -appurtenance cannot be said to <em>mean</em> “made of,” “belonging to,” -or “full of,” although its equivalence to such expressions can be -shown when in each occurrence of the adjective the relation of the -stem of the adjective to the governing noun is taken into consideration.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">273</a></span> -The etymology of the three suffixes will be explained in -Chapter IV.</p> - -<p>The investigation of my material revealed at least two fairly -definite influences at work on any single meaning of a word: -(1) Stem-meaning; (2) Context; while (3) a very important -factor in illustrating the variability and non-stability of the -suffixes is seen in comparing them with other suffixes on the same -stem, noting their similarity or difference, and finding if possible -the reason for it. A chapter will be devoted to each one of these -main topics. Sometimes all three of these factors exert their -influence on a word, more often one or both of the first two make the -meaning clear. The first, or stem-meaning, regularly gives a -general meaning to the word, while the context gives a special or -more precise meaning. As far as possible only one influence will -be discussed in each chapter, but as the determination of the -meaning of a word is so complex a process, a slight overlapping will -be unavoidable in some instances.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3 class="nobreak"><a name="CHAPTER_II_semantics" id="CHAPTER_II_semantics"></a>CHAPTER II</h3><span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">274</a></span> -</div> - -<p class="chapdes"><a name="semantics_10a" id="semantics_10a"></a>Influence of Stem-Meaning</p> - -<p>The examination of the words with a view to finding the influence -of stem-meaning is not directly concerned with semantic -variability: that will be illustrated in the next chapter. For -purposes of classification in this chapter, only the prevailing -meaning of each word is considered. For doubtful etymologies, -Walde (<cite>Lat. Etym. Wörterbuch</cite>) is taken as guide.</p> - -<h4 class="semantics">I -MENTUM</h4> - -<p>The great majority of the stems with which this suffix is used -are verb stems, but there are a few noun stems and two adjective -stems. For convenience, the whole number may be divided into -two large classes: one consisting of those that denote concrete -things, and the other, of those that denote abstract things. An -absolute division here is impossible and for the present purpose -unimportant, and any criterion must be somewhat arbitrary. -I have called everything concrete which has physical form, and -everything else, including actions, abstract. Many concrete -words, especially those capable of general application, are often -used in a transferred or figurative sense, and thus have also an -abstract meaning.</p> - -<h5 class="semantics">A. Concrete -mentum Words on Verb Stems.</h5> - -<div class="para"><h6><span class="smcap"><a name="semantics_10b" id="semantics_10b"></a>1. Nouns denoting result of action, with general application.</span></h6>—Of -the concrete words, there are a few, like fragmentum, -caementum, ramentum, which clearly do not express the instrument -of an action, nor the action itself, nor the place, but the -result of an action. Some, like fragmentum and stramentum, are -formed on verbs whose action can be directed toward several -kinds of materials or objects. This class of nouns then has general<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">275</a></span> -application, and their precise meaning must be obtained from the -context. This influence will be pointed out in the next chapter.</div> - -<p>As far as the verb stem (frango) is concerned, the examples -show only that fragmentum means “a piece broken off” or “fragment”: -tribunum adoriuntur fragmentis saeptorum, Sest. 79; -cum puerum fragmentis panis adlexisset, Plin. 9, 8, 8; ut glaebum -aut fragmentum lapidis dicimus, N. D. II, 82; non modo fragmenta -tegularum sed etiam ambusta tigna ad armatos pervenire, Liv. 34, -39, 11.</p> - -<p>In the first two examples, the fragmenta, being in the ablative, -are plainly the instrument of the action of the main verb, but -without the dependent genitives we should not know what sort of -“pieces” or “fragments” were used. In the last two examples -the meaning of “particle” is suggested by “glaebum” and “tigna”. -The dependent genitives here also give precision.</p> - -<p>Many things may be strewn or scattered, so stramentum gets -from its verb stem (sterno) the general meaning of something -strewn or scattered: noctem in stramentis pernoctare, Truc. 278; -casae quae stramentis tecta erant, B. G. 5, 43; fasces stramentorum -ac virgultorum incendunt, B. G. 8, 15.</p> - -<p>Ramentum (rado) is “something scraped or rubbed off,” “bits -or small pieces:” et ramenta simul ferri furere intus ahenis in -scaphiis, Lucr. 6, 1043; ramenta ligni decocta in vino prosunt, -Plin. 24, 2, 2; patri omne [aurum] cum ramento reddidi, Bacc. 680.</p> - -<p>Delectamentum (delecto) might at first sight be taken to be -the means by which one is delighted. That such is not necessarily -so may be seen from the examples: qui me pro ridiculo ac delectamento -putat, Heaut. 952; inania sunt ista delectamenta puerorum, -captare plausus, vehi per urbem, Pis. 25, 60. In both these examples -the source of delight and the delight itself are too close in -meaning to warrant the drawing of any distinction.</p> - -<div class="para"><h6><span class="smcap"><a name="semantics_11" id="semantics_11"></a>2. Nouns denoting result of action, with restricted -application.</span></h6>—The preceding four words, as has been said, -are of general application, because their verb stems have a general -meaning. There are five nouns expressing result of action which -have a narrower and more restricted sense than their verb stems -would require.</div> - -<p>Caementum (caedo) means not everything that is cut off, but a -piece of rough stone: in eam insulam materiem, calcem, caementa, -arma convexit, Mil. 27, 74; caementum de silice frangatur, Vitr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">276</a></span> -8, 7, 14. The influence of caedo here is slight; only the context -shows the meaning of “stone.”</p> - -<p>Sarmentum (sarpo) is not everything that is plucked, but twigs or -fagots: ligna et sarmenta circumdare, ignemque subicere coeperunt, -Verr. II, 1, 27; sarmentis virgultisque collectis, quibus fossas -compleant, ad castra pergunt, B. G. 3, 18; ne vitis sarmentis -silvescat, C. 15. In the last example the noun is used of objects -not at all necessarily affected by the verb stem sarpere.</p> - -<p>Pavimentum (pavio) is a floor, or pavement (something beaten -down): ubi structum erit, pavito fricatoque oleo, uti pavimentum -bonum siet, Cato, R. R. 18; mero tingete pavimentum, Hor. C. -2, 14, 26. In Bell. Alex. 1, it means a roof: aedificia tecta sunt -rudere aut pavimentis. The predominating element in the meaning -of the word is that it denotes the result of the action expressed in -pavire.</p> - -<p>Sicilimentum (sicilio) in the single instance of its occurrence -plainly means what is cut with a sickle: faenum cordum, sicilamenta -de prato, ea arida condito, Cato, R. R. 5.</p> - -<p>Testamentum (testor) is not necessarily the <em>means</em> of bearing -witness nor of making a will—a particular significance which this -verb stem sometimes has,—but is the document itself: antequam -tabulas testamenti aperuit, Ad Her. I, 24; quare sit in lege aut -in testamento scriptum, Inv. II, 137; una fui, testamentum -simul obsignavi, Mil. 18, 48.</p> - -<p>Lutamentum (lutare) in the single occurrence we have of it -evidently means, by inference from the passage in which it is -found, a mud wall, or a piece of work bedaubed with mud: neque -lutamenta scindent se, Cato, R. R. 128.</p> - -<p>The contribution of stem-meaning, in this class of <i>-mentum</i> -words to the meanings of the words themselves is quite apparent. -Whatever else they suggest, the verb stems all suggest the result -of the action expressed by them; and this result of action is -expressed by the <i>-mentum</i> word.</p> - -<div class="para"><h6><span class="smcap"><a name="semantics_12" id="semantics_12"></a>3. Nouns denoting instrument, with general application.</span></h6>—A -second, and the largest class of concrete <i>-mentum</i> words -clearly express in a general way the instrument of the action. -Here, too, some of the words keep a general meaning which they -get from the verb stem, while others receive a special meaning. -The verb stems themselves admit more or less of a general or -special meaning.</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">277</a></span> -Ammentum (apo?) is a means of fastening, a strap, or thong: -epistola ad ammentum tragulae deligata, B. G. 5. 48; umor -iaculorum ammenta emollierat, Liv. 37, 41. Both these examples -show it to be a strap fastened to a javelin.</p> - -<p>Armamenta (always plural) are utensils for almost any purpose. -It is difficult to say whether the word is formed on the verb stem -armo, or is an extended form of the noun arma; the former is -entirely possible, while the equivalence of meaning in the two -nouns supports the latter supposition. At any rate the meaning is -“equipment”, “that with which one is armed”: hic tormenta, -armamenta, arma, omnis apparatus belli est, Liv. 26, 43; cum -omnibus Gallicis navibus spes in velis armamentisque consisteret, -B. G. 3, 14; armamenta vinearum, Plin. 17, 21, 35. The most -frequent use is that seen in the second example, where it means -the rigging of a ship, in this instance, however, excluding the -sails.</p> - -<p>Medicamentum (medicor) is a remedy, a means of healing or -curing: Si eo medicamento sanus factus erit, Off. 3, 24; multis -medicamentis propter dolorem artuum delibutus, Brut. 60.</p> - -<p>Operimentum (operio) is a cover, or means of covering: nuces -gemino protectae operimento, Plin. 15, 22, 24; detracto oculorum -operimento, Plin, 8, 42, 64. That the meaning “covering” is -general, may be seen by comparing the second example with N. D. -2, 52, 147: palpebrae, quae sunt tegumenta oculorum. In the latter -instance the “covering” is the eyebrow, in the former, some -external object, probably wearing apparel.</p> - -<p>Suffimentum (suffio) is a means of fumigating: in iis sine illius -suffimentis expiati sumus, Leg. 1, 14, 40; laurus sit suffimentum -caedis hostium et purgatio, Plin. 15, 30, 40.</p> - -<p>Tegumentum, like operimentum, gets its fundamental meaning -of “covering” from its verb stem, (tego), but is capable of being -applied to many objects, as will be shown in Chapter III: tegumenta -corporum, vel texta, vel suta, N. D. 2, 60; scutis tegimenta -detrudere non tempus erat, B. G. 2, 21.</p> - -<div class="para"><h6><span class="smcap"><a name="semantics_13" id="semantics_13"></a>4. Nouns denoting instrument, with both general and -figurative application.</span></h6>—The generalized concrete instruments -so far illustrated have rarely any abstract meaning. The remainder -of them are used both concretely and figuratively.</div> - -<p>Alimentum (alo) signifies a means of support or nourishment:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">278</a></span> -nec desiderabat alimenta corporis, Timaeus, 6; addidit alimenta -rumoribus, Liv. 35, 23.</p> - -<p>Instrumentum (instruo) is a very general word meaning implement, -furniture, supplies: arma, tela, equos et cetera instrumenta -militiae parare, Sall. Jug. 25, 2; spolia, ornamenta, monumenta -in instrumento et supellectile Verris nominabuntur, Verr. 2, 4, 44; -ut instrumentum oratoris exponeret, De Or. II, 146.</p> - -<p>Integumentum (intego) is so similar to tegumentum that it -hardly needs separate treatment; however, it is used more frequently -with an abstract meaning: istaec ego mihi semper habui -aetati integumentum meae, Trin. 313; lanx cum integumentis, -quae Iovi adposita fuit, Liv. 40, 59, 7.</p> - -<p>Monumentum (moneo) is anything that serves as a reminder: -statuam quae sit factis monumentum suis, Curc. 441; tum -monumenta rerum gestarum oratori nota esse debere, De Or. -I, 201.</p> - -<p>Ornamentum (orno) is anything for adorning or equipping: -hominem cum ornamentis omnibus exornatum adducite ad me, -Pseud. 765; audieram quae de orationis ipsius ornamentis traderentur, -De Or. II, 122; vidi hunc ipsum Q. Hortensium -ornamentum rei publicae paene interfici, Milo, 37.</p> - -<p>Saepimentum (saepio) is any means of inclosure or defense: -haec omnia quasi saepimento aliquo animus ratione vallabit, -Leg. I, 62; tertium militare saepimentum est fossa et terreus -agger, Varr. R. R. 1, 142.</p> - -<p>Stabilimentum (stabilio) is a means of support or strength: -haec sunt ventri stabilimenta: pane et assa bubula, Curc. 367; -Sicilia et Sardinia stabilimenta bellorum, Val. Max. 7, 6, 1.</p> - -<div class="para"><h6><span class="smcap"><a name="semantics_14" id="semantics_14"></a>5. Nouns denoting instrument, with specialized application.</span></h6>—This -concludes the list of generalized concrete instruments. -Those with specialized meanings are as follows; sometimes -the verb stem is specialized, but more often not.</div> - -<p>Armentum (aro) always means cattle, originally those used for -plowing: et variae crescunt pecudes, armenta feraeque, Lucr. 5, -228; armentum aegrotat in agris, Hor. Ep. I, 8, 6. This word -can mean only the secondary instrument for plowing, <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">viz.</i>, cattle, -because there is another word (aratrum) for the plow itself.</p> - -<p>Calceamentum (calceo) always means a shoe, an “instrument” -for covering the feet: mihi amictui est Scythicum tegimen, calceamentum -solorum callum, T. 5, 90.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">279</a></span> -Frumentum (fruor) always means grain, a “means of enjoyment”: -ut hortum fodiat atque ut frumentum metat, Poen. 1020; -non modo frumenta in agris mature non erant, B. G. I, 16, 2.</p> - -<p>Lomentum (lavo) is a “means” of washing, of a particular -kind, however, <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">viz.</i>, a cosmetic: lomento rugas condere temptas, -Mart. 3, 42, 1. In Ciceronian Latin it occurs only once, and then -figuratively: persuasum ei censuram lomentum aut nitrum esse, -Fam. VIII, 14, 4.</p> - -<p>In iugumentum (iugo) it is a little difficult to see the influence -of the stem. The two occurrences of it in Cato are the only ones -in literature, and from the context it would seem to mean “threshold” -or some other part of the front of the house: limina, postes -iugumenta, asseres, fulmentas faber faciat oportet, R. R. 14, 1; -iugumenta et antepagmenta quae opus erunt indito, R. R. 14, 5.</p> - -<p>Iumentum (iungo) always means an animal for drawing or -carrying, a beast of burden: iumento nihil opus est, Att. XII, 32; -omnia sarcinaria iumenta interfici iubet, B. C. 1, 81.</p> - -<p>Supplementum (suppleo) before the Augustan period means only -that with which an army is “filled up” or recruited: partem -copiarum ex provincia supplementumque quod ex Italia adduxerat, -convenire iubet, B. G. 7, 7, 5; ceterum supplementum etiam -laetus decreverat, Sall. Jug. 84, 3. Later it has its literal meaning: -ex geminis singula capita in supplementum gregis reservantur, -Col. 7, 6, 7.</p> - -<p>In vestimentum, the verb stem vestio has the same influence -that “clothe” does in our word clothing: me vides ornatus ut sim -vestimentis uvidis, Rud. 573; huc est intro latus lectus vestimentis -stratus, Heaut. 903.</p> - -<p>Libamentum (libo) is a libation, drink offering: dona magnifica, -quasi libamenta praedarum, Rep. 2, 44; haec ego ad aras libamenta -tuli, Stat. S. 3, 1, 163.</p> - -<div class="para"><h6><span class="smcap"><a name="semantics_15" id="semantics_15"></a>6. Nouns denoting instrument, with both specialized and -figurative application.</span></h6>—The specialized concrete nouns so -far given are never used figuratively; there are six additional ones -which do sometimes have an abstract meaning.</div> - -<p>Tormentum (torqueo) is an instrument of torture, an instrument -for hurling, or torture itself: rotam id est genus quoddam -tormenti apud Graecas, T. 5, 24; castella constituit ibique tormenta -collocavit, B. G. 8, 3; huic licebit tum dicere se beatum in -summo cruciatu atque tormentis, T. 5, 73.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">280</a></span> -Condimentum (condio) is anything used for spicing or seasoning: -cocos equidem nimio demiror, qui utuntur condimentis, Cas. 219: -animus aequus optumumst aerumnae condimentum, Rud. 402.</p> - -<p>Fundamentum (fundo) is that with which anything is founded, -a foundation: quin cum fundamento aedes perierint, Most. 148; -fundamenta rei publicae ieci, Fam. XII, 25, 2.</p> - -<p>Impedimentum (impedio) is a means of hindrance, and in the -plural, baggage: hinc vos amolimini, nam mi impedimenta estis, -And. 707; Demosthenes impedimenta naturae diligentia industriaque -superavit, De Or. I. 61, 260; ad impedimenta et carros se -contulerunt, B. G. 1, 26.</p> - -<p>Nutrimentum (nutrio) like alimentum, is a means of nourishment -or support, but it is not found meaning food for the body: -educata huius generis nutrimentis eloquentia, Orat. 42; arida -circum [igni] nutrimenta dedit, Aen. 1, 176.</p> - -<p>Pigmentum (pingo) is paint, or material for coloring: quem -Appella et Zeuxis duo pingent pigmentis ulmeis, Epid. 626; -sententiae tam verae, tam sine pigmentis fucoque puerili, De Or. -II, 188.</p> - -<div class="para"><h6><span class="smcap"><a name="semantics_16" id="semantics_16"></a>7. Nouns not classified.</span></h6>—This completes the list of concrete -<i>-mentum</i> words on verb stems with the exception of three whose -stems are unusual or uncertain and contribute little if any influence -to the meaning of the word. They do not mean instrument, nor -result of action. The fewness of examples also makes it difficult to -say just what the words mean. However, they probably have -the following signification.</div> - -<p>Antepagmentum (from pango, with prefix ante-) from the context -seems to be some sort of ornament for the exterior of a house: -iugumenta et antepagmenta quae opus erunt indito, Cato, R. R. 14, -5; fulloniam I, antepagmenta, vasa torcula II faber faciat oportet, -Cato, R. R. 14, 2; ostiorum et eorum antepagmentorum in aedibus -hae sunt rationes, Vitr. 4, 6.</p> - -<p>Coagmenta (cogo) undoubtedly means a “joint” of some kind, -as may be seen from the context: viden coagmenta in foribus? -Most. 829; ut aptior sit oratio, ipsa verba compone et quasi coagmenta, -quod ne Graeci quidem veteres factitaverunt, Brut. 68.</p> - -<p>Omentum, whatever its etymology, means “fat”: omentum in -flamma pingue liquefaciens, Catul. 90, 6.</p> - -<p>Each of these <i>-mentum</i> nouns has been illustrated not for the -purpose of showing that the verb stem does have influence on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">281</a></span> -meaning of the noun—that is of course very obvious; the purpose -has rather been to show that the character of the verb stem—<i>e. g.</i>, -whether it admits of general or special application, or whether it -suggests the result of action or requires an instrument—so affects -the resulting character of the noun, as to make it, as a rule, similar -to that of the stem. Of this second class of nouns (those that mean -instrument) we may say that among other influences of the verb -stems, one is that they have such a meaning as requires an instrument -for the accomplishment of their action. This does not imply -that those in the first class do not also require an instrument. -While these nouns do mean instrument or result of action, when -viewed in regard to their verb stems, we can not say that such -meaning is always felt in every occurrence of the noun. In certain -contexts, even most contexts, they lose it entirely and are used as -perfect equivalents of nouns that have no such meaning.</p> - -<p>Of the two classes of concrete <i>-mentum</i> words on verb stems, -therefore, the smaller class has the tendency to mean result of -action, the larger class, instrument of action. Whether the instrument -is literal or figurative (as it is in the case of a few of these -nouns), must be ascertained from the context.</p> - -<h5 class="semantics"><a name="semantics_17" id="semantics_17"></a>B. <span class="smcap">Concrete -mentum Words on Noun and Adjective Stems</span></h5> - -<p>The concrete <i>-mentum</i> nouns on noun and adjective stems must, -on account of their fewness, clearly be analogical formations. They -cannot express the instrument or result of an action, but are only -an extended form of the noun with a specialized meaning.</p> - -<p>Ferramenta are tools made of iron (ferrum): de ferramentorum -varietate Cato scribit permulta, ut falces, palas, rastros, Varro, -R. R. 1, 22, 5.</p> - -<p>Nidamentum (used only once, and allegorically) is material -for a nest (nidus): in nervum ille hodie nidamenta congeret, Rud. -889.</p> - -<p>Pulpamentum (and its shorter form pulmentum) are tidbits -made from pulpa (meat): voltisne olivas, aut pulpamentum, aut -capparim? Curc. 90; mihi est cubile terra, pulpamentum fames, -T. 5, 90; primus ad cibum vocatur, primo pulmentum datur, -M. G. 349; num ego pulmento utor magis unctiusculo? Pseud. 220.</p> - -<p>Salsamenta are pickled fish (salsus) although once in Cicero -the word in the singular means brine: salsamenta haec, Stephanio,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">282</a></span> -fac macerentur, Adel. 380; de vino aut salsamento putes loqui -quae evanescunt vetustate, Div. II, 117.</p> - -<p>Sincipitamentum (Ritschl and Brix) is a comic word, with the -same meaning as its noun stem, sinciput: iube opsonarier pernonidam -aut sincipitamenta porcina, Men. 211; comedam, inquit, -flebile nati sinciput elixi, Juv. 13, 85.</p> - -<p>Atramentum is a liquid possessing the quality expressed by -the adjective stem (ater); this context shows it to mean ink: -calamo et atramento res agitur, Q. fr. II, 14, 1. In one example -it means shoe blacking: pater accusatus a M. Antonio sutorio -atramento absolutus putatur, Fam. IX, 21, 3. In one example -also, it is used in speaking of fish: atramenti effusione sepiae se -tutant, N. II, 127.</p> - -<p>Scitamenta (scitus) are tidbits, dainties both literal and figurative: -iube aliquid scitamentorum de foro opsonarier, Men. 209; -ὁμοιοτέλευτα καὶ ὁμοιόπτωτα ceteraque huiusmodi scitamenta, Gell. -18, 8, 1.</p> - -<p>Perhaps the variety of meaning of these analogical formations -indicates that no single precise meaning had become attached to -<i>-mentum</i>.</p> - -<h5 class="semantics">C. <span class="smcap">Abstract -mentum Words on Verb Stems</span></h5> - -<p>The majority of abstract <i>-mentum</i> words also fall into the two -large classes of result of action and instrument, but there is a -small list of nouns which plainly express the action itself. There -are only two words on noun stems.</p> - -<div class="para"><h6><span class="smcap"><a name="semantics_18" id="semantics_18"></a>1. Nouns denoting result of action.</span></h6>—Additamentum (addo) -is an increase, or accession: intercessit Ligus iste nescio qui, -additamentum amicorum meorum, Sest. 31; sapientia erit ultimum -vitae instrumentum et, ut ita dicam, additamentum, Sen. Ep. 17.</div> - -<p>Adiumentum (adiuvo) means aid, assistance: Romae vos esse -tuto posse per Dolabellam eamque rem posse nobis adiumento -esse, Fam. XIV, 18, 1; nulla res est quae plura adiumenta doctrinae -desideret, De Or. III, 84.</p> - -<p>Cruciamentum (crucio) is not the instrument of torture, but -torture itself, or rather the feeling caused by torturing: vidi ego -multa saepe picta quae Acherunti fierent cruciamenta, Capt. 998; -carnificum cruciamenta et morborum tormenta, Phil. XI. 4, 8.</p> - -<p>Delenimentum (delenio) is an allurement or blandishment;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">283</a></span> -illam furiam omnibus delenimentis animum suum avertisse -atque alienasse, Liv. 30, 13; paulatim discursum ad delenimenta -vitiorum, Tac. A. 21; simul comparant delenimenta et differunt -vos in adventum Cn. Pompei, Sall. Macer, 21.</p> - -<p>Dehonestamentum<a name="FNanchor_182" id="FNanchor_182" href="#Footnote_182" class="fnanchor">182</a> (dehonesto) is a general word for any -object of dishonor or disgrace: Fufidius, ancilla turpis, bonorum -omnium dehonestamentum, Sall. Lep. 22; auribus decisis vivere -iubet, ostentui clementiae suae, et in nos dehonestamento, Tac. -A. 12.</p> - -<p>Deliramenta (deliro) means nonsense, the result of “going out -of the furrow”: audin tu ut deliramenta loquitur? Men. 920; -matrimonia inter deos credi puerilium prope deliramentorum est, -Plin. 2, 7, 5.</p> - -<p>Detrimentum (detero) nowhere has its literal meaning of -“loss by rubbing”, but only loss in general, more often disadvantage -or misfortune: tantis detrimentis acceptis Octavius sese -ad Pompeium recepit, B. C. 3, 9, 8; futurum ut detrimentum in -bonum verteret, B. C. 3, 73, 6; ne quid res publica detrimenti -accipiat, Cat. 1, 2. (<i xml:lang="la" lang="la">et saepe</i>).</p> - -<p>For the etymology of the interesting word elementum, see -Walde.</p> - -<p>Emolumentum (emolior) means the result of effort, gain, reward: -suscepta videntur a viris fortibus sine emolumento ac praemio, -De Or. II, 346.</p> - -<p>Inanimentum (inanio) occurs only once, but in its context -clearly means “emptiness”: inanimentis explementum quaerito, -Stich. 174.</p> - -<p>Intertrimentum (intertero) unlike detrimentum, does have the -literal meaning of “loss by rubbing” as well as loss in general: -in auro vero, in quo nihil intertrimenti est, quae malignitas est? -Liv. 34, 7; sine magno intertrimento non potest haberi, quidvis -dare cupis, Heaut. 448.</p> - -<p>Laxamentum (laxo) means relaxation, alleviation, any unit of -time or space: ego nactus in navigatione nostra pusillum laxamenti, -Fam. XII, 16, 3; alii removentes parietes aedis efficiunt amplum<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">284</a></span> -laxamentum cellae, Vitr. 4, 7; eo laxamento cogitationibus dato, -quievit in praesentia seditio, Liv. 7, 38.</p> - -<p>Momentum (moveo) means weight, impulse, importance: -astra forma ipsa figuraque sua momenta sustentat, N. II, 117; -animus paulo momento huc vel illuc impellitur, And. 266; sentiebat -nullius momenti apud exercitum futurum, Nep. VII, 8, 4.</p> - -<p>Temperamentum (tempero) means moderation, moderate condition: -senatus Caesar orationem habuit meditato temperamento, -Tac. A. III, 12; egregium principatus temperamentum, si demptis -utriusque vitiis solae virtutes miscerentur, Tac. H. 2, 5.</p> - -<p>Termentum (tero) is used once, in Plautus, where it is equivalent -to detrimentum: non pedibus termento fuit praeut ego erum expugnabo -meum, Bacch. 929. Festus says (p. 363) termentum pro -eo, quod nunc dicitur detrimentum, utitur Plautus in Bacchidibus.</p> - -<p>Formamentum may be, and probably is, only an extended form -of the noun stem forma. It is not inconceivable that it is made on -the verb stem formo, but the other supposition is better. In the -one occurrence of it in classical Latin, the context plainly shows -that it means shape, form: omnia principiorum formamenta -queunt in quovis esse nitore, Lucr. 2, 817. Arnobius (3, 109) uses -it of the gods: formamenta divina.</p> - -<div class="para"><h6><span class="smcap"><a name="semantics_20" id="semantics_20"></a>2. Nouns denoting instrument.</span></h6>—As was the case in the -corresponding list of concrete words, the foregoing words are all -formed on verb stems which suggest the result of their action. -And again there is a larger class of abstract <i>-mentum</i> words which -in a general way express the figurative instrument. The idea of -instrument is not always strong, but when viewed in regard to -their verb stem, all the nouns will be seen to show this meaning -in a greater or less degree.</div> - -<p>Allevamentum (allevo) is ἃπαξ λεγόμενον; the context shows -it to mean a remedy or means of alleviation: Sulla coactus -est in adversis sine ullo remedio atque allevamento permanere, -Sulla, 66.</p> - -<p>Auctoramentum (auctoro) is a means of binding, or of bringing -one under obligation, a contract, also the pay or hire: illius -turpissimi auctoramenti [gladiatorii] sunt verba: uri, vinciri, -ferroque necari, Sen. Ep. 37; est in ipsa merces, auctoramentum -servitutis, Off. 1, 42.</p> - -<p>Argumentum (arguo) is primarily a means of proving, a proof, -but takes also many other meanings as will be shown in the next<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">285</a></span> -chapter: quid nunc? vincon argumentis te non esse Sosiam?, Am. 433; -quod ipsum argumento mihi fuit diligentiae tuae, Fam. X. 5, 1.</p> - -<p>Blandimentum (blandio) is a means of flattering or alluring: -illum spero immutari potest blandimentis, oramentis, ceteris -meretriciis, Truc. 318; epistolae muliebris blandimentis infectae, -Tac. H. 1, 174.</p> - -<p>Complementum (compleo) is a means of filling up: apud alios -numero servientes inculcata reperias inania quaedam verba, -quasi complementa numerorum, Orat. 69.</p> - -<p>Documentum (doceo) is a very general word, meaning primarily -a means of warning or instructing: documento, quantum in bello -fortuna posset, B. C. 3, 10, 6; ego illis captivis aliis documentum -dabo ne...., Capt. 752; quarum rerum maxima documenta haec -habeo, Sall. Cat. 9. 4.</p> - -<p>The strong influence of the verb stem is seen in this noun by -the subordinate adverbial clauses which follow it, as in the first -two examples given. It is interesting also to note the contrast -between documentum and monumentum; their verb stems are -practically synonymous, but one noun is prevailingly concrete, -while the other is always abstract or figurative. Monumentum -has an additional shade of meaning, in that it regularly looks -toward the past, while documentum looks toward the future. -The explanation for this is difficult to find; perhaps it is only the -result of usage and association.</p> - -<p>Explementum (expleo) is a means of filling: inanimentis explementum -quaerito, Stich. 174. (“Look for something to fill your -empty stomach with.”).</p> - -<p>Hostimentum (hostio) is a means of making requital, a recompense: -par pari datum hostimentum est, opera pro pecunia, As. -172.</p> - -<p>Incitamentum (incito) is a means of inducing or inciting: hoc -maximum et periculorum et laborum incitamentum est, Arch. 23; -quae apud concordes vincula caritatis, incitamenta irarum apud -infensos erant, Tac. A. 1, 55, 15.</p> - -<p>Invitamentum (invito) is the means of inducing or attracting: -cum multa haberet invitamenta urbis et fori propter summa -studia amicorum, Sulla, 74.</p> - -<p>Irritamentum (irrito) is very similar to the preceding two -nouns, meaning a provocative or incentive: neque salem neque<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">286</a></span> -alia irritamenta gulae quaerebant, Sall. Jug. 89, 7; iras militum -irritamentis acuebat, Liv. 40, 27.</p> - -<p>Hortamentum (hortor) is probably the exhortation itself as -well as the means of exhorting: ea cuncta Romanis ex tenebris et -editioribus locis facilia visu magnoque hortamento erant, Sall. -Jug. 98, 7; in conspectu parentum coniugumque ac liberorum -quae magna etiam absentibus hortamenta animi sunt, Liv. 7, 11, 6.</p> - -<p>Oblectamentum is probably the condition of delight as well as -the means of delighting: ut meae senectutis requietem oblectamentumque -noscatis, C. 15; cum spinae albae cauliculi inter -oblectamenta gulae condiantur, Plin. 21, 2, 39.</p> - -<p>Levamentum (levo) is a means of alleviating, also the resulting -condition: nos non solum beatae vitae istam esse oblectationem -videmus, sed etiam levamentum miseriarum, F. 5, 53; ad unicum -doloris levamentum, studia confugio, Plin. Ep. 8, 19.</p> - -<p>Opprobramentum (opprobro) is another example of ἃπαξ λεγόμενον -but clearly means, like opprobrium, a disgrace or reproach: -facere damni mavolo quam opprobramentum aut flagitium muliebre -exferri domo, Merc. 423.</p> - -<p>Praepedimentum (praepedio) occurs only once, and then with -a meaning exactly equivalent to impedimentum: intro abite, ne -hic vos conspicatur leno neu fallaciae praepedimentum obiciatur, -Poen. 606.</p> - -<p>Turbamentum (turbo) occurs twice, meaning in both cases, -a means of disturbance: maxima turbamenta rei publicae atque -exitia probate, Sall. Lep. 25; inserendo ambiguos de Galba sermones, -quaeque alia turbamenta vulgi, Tac. H. 1, 23.</p> - -<p>Firmamentum (firmo) is a means of strengthening, a support: -transversaria tigna iniciuntur, quae firmamento esse possint, -B. C. 2, 15, 2. In this instance it is concrete; more often it is -abstract: eum ordinem firmamentum ceterorum ordinum recte -esse dicemus, Pomp. 7, 17.</p> - -<p>Libramentum (libro) is probably rather the result of the action -than the instrument, at least in the meaning of “level surface” -which it has in its only occurence in Ciceronian Latin: punctum -esse, quod magnitudinem nullam habet, extremitatem et quasi -libramentum, in quo nulla omnino crassitudo sit, Ac. II, 116. -In Livy it means “weight”: arietem admotum, libramento -plumbi gravatum, ad terram urgebant, Liv. 42, 63.</p> - -<div class="para"><h6><span class="smcap"><a name="semantics_22" id="semantics_22"></a>3. Nouns denoting action.</span></h6>—There remain a few nouns which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">287</a></span> -clearly express the action itself. The reason for this does not lie in -the suffix—even in <i>-tio</i> nouns it does not lie in the suffix; but -these nouns, through usage and association, came to have this -meaning in spite of the fact that the tendency of other nouns with -the same suffix was to mean instrument or result of action.</div> - -<p>Molimentum (molior) means exertion, effort: neque se exercitum -sine magno commeatu atque molimento in unum locum -contrahere posse, B. G. 1, 34, 3.</p> - -<p>Experimentum (experior) means a trial, experiment: probatur -experimento, sitne feracius...., Plin. Ep. 10, 43. More often the -result is emphasized and it means proof: hoc maximum est experimentum, -aegritudinem vetustate tolli, T. 3, 74.</p> - -<p>Oramentum (oro) is not found in the manuscripts, but is adopted -by Ritschl and Leo, and as we may judge from its context, means -a begging, or praying: spero illum immutari potest blandimentis, -oramentis, ceteris meretriciis, Truc. 317. The Ambrosian -manuscript has hortamentis, the others ornamentis, but neither of -these readings is suitable.</p> - -<p>Sternumentum (sternuo) is a sneezing: pedis offensio nobis et -sternumenta erunt observanda, Div. 2, 84. But in Pliny and -Celsus it sometimes also means a provocative of sneezing, sneezing -powder: fit ex callitriche sternumentum, Plin. 25, 86; radix -ranunculi sicca concisa sternumentum est, Plin. 13, 109.</p> - -<p>Tinnimentum (tinnio) occurs only once, but from the context -it plainly means a tinkling: illud quidem edepol tinnimentumst -auribus, Rud. 806.</p> - -<h5 class="semantics"><a name="semantics_23" id="semantics_23"></a>D. <span class="smcap">Abstract -mentum Words on Noun Stems</span></h5> - -<p>Of the two noun stem words in this class of abstract words, -cognomentum is properly not a <i>-mentum</i> word. According to -Lindsay (p. 335) the <i>-to</i> suffix is merely added to the <i>-men</i> suffix. -An example is: meum cognomentum commemorat, M. G. 1038.</p> - -<p>Lineamentum (linea) is seen from the following parallel examples -to have the same meaning as its noun stem: in geometria lineamenta, -formae, intervalla, magnitudines sunt, De Or. I, 187; -ignis rectis lineis in caelestem locum subvolat, T. 1, 40; lineamentum -esse longitudinem latitudine carentem, Ac. II, 116; -eam M. Varro ita definit: linea est, inquit, longitudo quaedam sine -latidudine et altitudine, Gell. 1, 20, 7.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">288</a></span> -This detailed view of the <i>-mentum</i> words gives occasion for -making the following comment: the tendency of these nouns is -to mean the instrument of an action, often the result of an action, -rarely action itself. The verb stems are such as require an -instrument for their action or suggest its result. The instrument -is sometimes literal, sometimes figurative, and whether it is the -one or the other is determined by the context. Given a verb stem -which both suggests the result of action and requires an instrument, -it is difficult to explain why a <i>-mentum</i> noun formed on it -should mean only instrument, and not result of action, or vice -versa.</p> - -<h4 class="semantics">II -BULUM</h4> - -<p>The list of <i>-bulum</i> words is small, and they are nearly all concrete. -Only two are abstract. As these two denote only figurative -instruments, the treatment here will take no account of the -division into concrete and abstract. There are two noun stem -words. Three distinct classes of these words may be made, when -viewed in relation to their verb stems: (1) Those denoting instrument; -(2) Those denoting place; (3) Those denoting person. -The second meaning is quite as common as the first, the third -very rare (found only in two nouns).</p> - -<div class="para"><h6><span class="smcap"><a name="semantics_24" id="semantics_24"></a>1. Nouns denoting instrument.</span></h6>—Infundibulum (infundo) -is an instrument for pouring from one vessel to another, a funnel: -illa quae reflexa et resupina, more infundibuli per medullam -transmittit quidquid aquarum superfluit, Col. 3, 18; in qua -machina impedens infundibulum subministrat molis frumentum, -Vitr. 10, 10.</div> - -<p>Patibulum (pateo) is plainly an instrument, but having the -<em>shape</em> expressed by the verb stem, a fork-shaped yoke: dispessis -manibus patibulum quom habebis, M. G. 360; caedes, patibula, -ignes, cruces festinabant, Tac. A. 14, 33.</p> - -<p>Rutabulum (ruo) is an instrument for raking or stirring up: -iubebis rutabulo ligneo agitari quod decoxeris, Col. 12, 20. It -occurs twice in Cato, in a list of other tools for use around a -fire-place.</p> - -<p>Tintinnabulum (tinnio) is an instrument for making a ringing -noise, a bell: lanios inde accersam duo cum tintinnabulis, Pseud. -332; tintinnabula quae vento agitata longe sonitus referant, -Plin. 36, 13, 19.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">289</a></span> -Pabulum (pasco) is that with which anything is fed, usually -with reference to the feed of cattle: bubus pabulum parare oportet, -Cato, R. R. 54, 1.</p> - -<p>Venabulum (venor) is a hunting spear, an instrument for hunting: -tantam bestiam percussisset venabulo, Verr. 5, 7.</p> - -<p>Exorabulum, which occurs only twice, is perhaps rather the -begging (exoro) itself, which is, in turn, a means of obtaining -something: quod modis pereat, quotque exoretur exorabulis, -Truc. 27; exorabula incidantium, decipula adversantium artificia -dicentium perdidicit, App. Flor. n. 18. The first example is -interesting as the noun is used with a form of the same verb as its -verb stem.</p> - -<p>Vocabulum (voco) is the instrument for calling or naming, a -name: si res suum nomen et proprium vocabulum non habet, -De Or. III, 159; Aristotelis orationis duas partes esse dixit, -vocabula et verba, ut homo et equus, ut legit et currit, Varr. L. L. 8.</p> - -<p>Two interesting analogical formations with the suffix <i>-bulum</i> -are nucifrangibula and dentifrangibula in Plautus: ne nucifrangibula -excussit ex malis meis, Bacc. 598; ita dentifrangibula haec meis -manibus gestiunt, Bacc. 596.</p> - -<div class="para"><h6><span class="smcap"><a name="semantics_25" id="semantics_25"></a>2. Nouns denoting place.</span></h6>—Conciliabulum (concilio) is a -place of assembly<a name="FNanchor_183" id="FNanchor_183" href="#Footnote_183" class="fnanchor">183</a>, a public place, but also the assembly itself: -supplicationem in biduum per omnia fora conciliabulaque -edixerunt, Liv. 40, 37; ne penetrarem me usquam ubi esset -damni conciliabulum, Trin. 314; per conciliabula et coetus -seditiosa disserebant, Tac. A. 3, 40.</div> - -<p>Latibulum (lateo) is a hiding place: cum etiam ferae latibulis -se tegant, Rab. Post. 42.</p> - -<p>Sessibulum is a place for sitting, a chair: quae tibi olant -stabulumque stratumque, sellam et sessibulum merum, Poen. 268.</p> - -<p>Stabulum (sto) is in general a place for standing; its precise -meanings as acquired from the context will be illustrated in the -next chapter: neutrubi habeam stabile stabulum, siquid divorti -fuat, Aul. 233.</p> - -<p>Vestibulum<a name="FNanchor_184" id="FNanchor_184" href="#Footnote_184" class="fnanchor">184</a>, is probably originally the place for putting on -and taking off garments (vestio), then entrance, or space in front of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">290</a></span> -a house<a name="FNanchor_185" id="FNanchor_185" href="#Footnote_185" class="fnanchor">185</a>: viden vestibulum ante aedes hoc? Most. 819; si te -armati non modo limine tectoque aedium tuarum, sed primo aditu -vestibuloque prohibuerint, Caec. 12, 35.</p> - -<p>Acetabulum and turibulum are both formed on noun stems, -and are both receptacles for holding the material denoted by -the noun stem. But all the examples of acetabulum show the noun -extended to mean any kind of vessel, or a measure: melanthi -acetabulum conterito in vini veteris hemina, Cato, R. R. 102; -turibulis ante ianuas positis atque accenso ture, Liv. 29, 14, 13.</p> - -<p>Desidiabulum occurs only once, and from the context clearly -means the place of action of its stem, which is a verbal noun -(desidia): ut celem tua flagitia aut damna aut desidiabula, Bacc. -376.</p> - -<p>Cunabula and incunabula are formed on the same noun stem -cunae, the latter with the preposition <i>in</i> prefixed. Both the nouns -and the stem all mean the same thing (cradle, or origin), but -incunabula has the additional meaning of “swaddling clothes”: -opus est pulvinis, cunis, incunabulis, Truc. 905; qui cum esset in -cunabulis, Div. F. 79; de oratoris quasi incunabulis dicere, Orat. -42; si puer in cunis occidit, ne quaerendum quidem, T. 1, 93; -qui non in cunabulis sed in campis sunt consules facti, Agr. 2, 100.</p> - -<div class="para"><h6><span class="smcap"><a name="semantics_26" id="semantics_26"></a>3. Nouns denoting person.</span></h6>—The two <i>-bulum</i> words that -denote persons are mendicabulum (mendicor) and prostibulum -(prostare). Their bad meaning is due in large part to the stem; -but undoubtedly the contempt underlying the application to a -person of a neuter word denoting a thing is also responsible for the -formation of these words as neuters and with the suffix <i>-bulum</i>. -Examples of such terms of reproach are seen also in <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">monstrum -hominis</i>, and in the German <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">das Mensch</i>.</div> - -<p>Mendicabulum is found only twice: istos reges ceteros memorare -nolo, hominum mendicabula, Aul. 703; cum crotalis et cymbalis -circumforaneum mendicabulum producor ad viam, App. Met. 9.</p> - -<p>Of prostibulum also there are only two examples: bellum et -pudicum vero prostibulum popli, Aul. 285; nam meretricem -adstare in via solam prostibuli sanest, Cist. 331.</p> - -<p>The influence of stem meaning on the <i>-bulum</i> words may then -be said to be the same as in the case of the <i>-mentum</i> words, only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">291</a></span> -here there is a class of verb stems that suggest the place of action, -and none that suggest the result of action.</p> - -<h4 class="semantics">III -CULUM</h4> - -<h5 class="semantics">A. <span class="smcap">Concrete -culum Words</span></h5> - -<p>The great majority of <i>-culum</i> words<a name="FNanchor_186" id="FNanchor_186" href="#Footnote_186" class="fnanchor">186</a> also are concrete. They -may be grouped into three classes as far as their verb stems are -concerned: (1) Those denoting instrument; (2) Those denoting -place; (3) Those denoting the object of the action expressed by -their verb stems.</p> - -<div class="para"><h6><span class="smcap"><a name="semantics_27" id="semantics_27"></a>1. Nouns denoting instrument.</span></h6>—Adminiculum (ad-manus) -is properly anything on which the hand may rest, but the examples -show it meaning regularly a prop, or support, both concretely -and figuratively: adminiculorum ordines me delectant, capitum -iugatio, religatio vitium, C. 53; natura semper ad aliquod tamquam -adminiculum adnititur, Lael. 88.</div> - -<p>Baculum (etymology very uncertain, but probably same root -as seen in βαίνω) from its verb stem, should mean only a walking -stick, but it is applied to almost any kind of staff or sceptre: -proximus lictor converso baculo oculos misero tundere vehementissime -coepit, Verr. 5, 142; baculum aureum regis berylli distinguebant, -Curt. 9, 1, 30.</p> - -<p>Everriculum (everro) is a sweep net (also used figuratively): -neque everriculo in litus educere possent, Varr. R. R. 3, 17, 7; -quod umquam huiusmodi everriculum ulla in provincia fuit?, -Verr. 4, 5, 3.</p> - -<p>Ferculum (fero) is that on which anything is carried: spolia -ducis hostium caesi suspensa fabricato ad id apte ferculo gerens in -Capitolium ascendit, Liv. 1, 10, 5; ubi multa de magna superessent -fercula cena, Hor. S. 2, 6, 104.</p> - -<p>Gubernaculum (guberno) is an instrument for guiding: piscium -meatus gubernaculi modo regunt caudae, Plin. 11, 50, 111; hic -ille naufragus ad gubernaculum accessit, et navi, quod potuit, est -opitulatus, Inv. 2, 154.</p> - -<p>Incerniculum (incerno) is an instrument for sifting, a sieve; it -occurs only twice, and it is difficult to see how it differs from another<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">292</a></span> -noun on the same stem, cribrum: opus est incerniculum unum, -cribrum unum, Cato, R. R. 13; Athenienses decretum fecere, ne -frumentarii negotiatores ab incerniculis eum [mulum] arcerent, -Plin. 8, 44, 69. In the latter example the incernicula are the vessels -in which bran, sifted from the flour, was set up for sale.</p> - -<p>Operculum (operio) like operimentum is an instrument -for covering: aspera arteria tegitur quodam quasi operculo -quod ob eam causam datum est, ne spiritus impediretur, N. II, 136; -operculum in dolium imponito, Cato, R. R. 104.</p> - -<p>Perpendiculum (perpendo) is a plumb line, but is found most -frequently with <i>ad</i> forming an adverbial phrase meaning perpendicularly: -non egeremus perpendiculis, non normis, non regulis, -Cic. A. fr. 8; tigna non directa ad perpendiculum, sed prone et -fastigate, B. G. 4, 17.</p> - -<p>Piaculum is a means of appeasing, an offering; perhaps also -the appeasing itself; and the act requiring expiation: decrevit -habendas triduum ferias, et porco femina piaculum pati, Leg. 2, 22; -nonne in mentem venit quantum piaculi committatur? Liv. 5, 52; -duc nigras pecudes: ea prima piacula sunto, Aen. 6, 153.</p> - -<p>Poculum (probably from root seen in bibo) is a drinking vessel, -cup: Socrates paene in manu iam mortiferum illud tenens poculum, -T. 1, 71.</p> - -<p>Redimiculum (redimio) is anything used for binding, a band or -fillet: et tunicae manicas, et habent redimicula mitrae, Aen. 9, 616; -ut esset aliquis laqueus et redimiculum, reversionem ut ad me -fecerit denuo, Truc. 395.</p> - -<p>Retinaculum (retineo), always used in the plural, is anything -which holds back or binds: ratem pluribus validis retinaculis -parte superiore ripae religatam humo iniecta constraverunt, Liv. -21, 28; missae pastum retinacula mulae nauta piger saxo religat, -Hor. S. 1, 5, 18.</p> - -<p>Spiraculum (spiro) is a breathing hole: per spiracula mundi -exitus introitusque elementis redditus exstat, Lucr. 6, 493.</p> - -<p>Subligaculum (subligo) is a waistband, judging from the context -in which the only example of it occurs: scenicorum quidem mos -tantam habet veteri disciplina verecundiam, ut in scenam sine -subligaculo prodeat nemo, Off. 1, 35.</p> - -<p>Sarculum (sario) is an instrument for hoeing, a hoe: familiam -cum ferreis sarculis exire oportet, Cato, R. R. 155; gaudentem -patrios findere sarculo agros numquam dimoveas, Hor. C. 1, 1, 11.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">293</a></span> -Vehiculum (vehor) is a means of transportation, a carriage or -ship; its meaning and that of ferculum differ exactly as their stems -differ: ut procul divinum et novum vehiculum Argonautorum e -monte conspexit, N. II, 89; mihi aequum est dare vehicula, qui -vehar, Aul. 502.</p> - -<div class="para"><h6><span class="smcap"><a name="semantics_29" id="semantics_29"></a>2. Nouns denoting place.</span></h6>—Cenaculum (ceno) originally was -the dining room.<a name="FNanchor_187" id="FNanchor_187" href="#Footnote_187" class="fnanchor">187</a> As this was usually in an upper story, the word -came to have the regular meaning of attic or garret, and the force -of the stem meaning was lost: in superiore qui habito cenaculo, -Am. 863; ipse Circenses ex amicorum cenaculis spectabat, Suet. -Aug. 45.</div> - -<p>Conventiculum (convenio) like conciliabulum, means both the -place of assembly and the assembly itself. As far as the form is -concerned, it might be a diminutive from conventus, but it shows -no such meaning: exstructa sunt apud nemus conventicula, Tac. A. -14, 15; conventicula hominum quae postea civitates nominatae sunt, -Sest. 91.</p> - -<p>Cubiculum (cubo) always means a place for reclining, a bedroom: -cubui in eodem lecto tecum una in cubiculo, Am. 808.</p> - -<p>Deverticulum (deverto) is a place to turn aside, a by-path, also -a lodging: ubi ad ipsum veni deverticulum, constiti, Eun. 635; -cum gladii abditi ex omnibus locis deverticuli protraherentur, -Liv. 1, 51.</p> - -<p>Hibernaculum (hiberno) is a place for spending the winter, -and, particularly in the plural, the winter quarters of soldiers: -hoc hibernaculum, hoc gymnasium meorum est, Plin. Ep. 2, 17, 7; -legionum aliae itinere terrestri in hibernacula remissae sunt, Tac. -A. 2, 23.</p> - -<p>Propugnaculum (propugno) is the place for (means of?) defending, -a bulwark or tower: solidati muri, propugnacula addita, -auctae turres, Tac. H. 2, 19; lex Aelia, et Fufia eversa est, propugnacula -tranquillitatis atque otii, Piso, 9.</p> - -<p>Receptaculum (recepto) is a place to receive or keep things, -also a place of refuge: illud tibi oppidum receptaculum praedae -fuit, Verr. 5, 59; insula incolis valida et receptaculum perfugarum, -Tac. A. 14, 29.</p> - -<p>Tabernaculum (taberna), “tent,” has a meaning specialized<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">294</a></span> -from its noun stem: Caesar eo die tabernacula statui passus non -est, B. C. 1, 81.</p> - -<p>Umbraculum (umbra) means both a shady place and the thing -that furnishes shade: aurea pellebant tepidos umbracula soles, -Ov. F. 2, 311; prope aream faciundum umbracula, quo succedant -homines in aestu tempore meridiano, Varro, R. R. 1, 51, 2.</p> - -<div class="para"><h6><span class="smcap"><a name="semantics_30a" id="semantics_30a"></a>3. Nouns denoting object of action.</span></h6>—There is also a small -group of concrete <i>-culum</i> words which are alike in that they denote -the object of the action expressed by their verb stems.</div> - -<p>Deridiculum (derideo) is something to laugh at, an object of -derision, (also ridicule itself): deridiculo fuit senex foedissimae -adulationis tantum infamia usurus, Tac. A. 3, 57; quid tu me -deridiculi gratia sic salutas? Am. 682.</p> - -<p>Ientaculum (iento) is something to eat, or breakfast: epulas -interdum quadrifariam dispertiebat: in ientacula et prandia et -cenas commissationesque, Suet. Vit. 13.</p> - -<p>Miraculum (miror) is something to wonder at, a miracle: -audite portenta et miracula philosophorum somniantium, N. 1, 18; -omnia transformat sese in miracula rerum, Ignemque horribilemque -feram, Georg. 4, 441.</p> - -<p>Spectaculum is something to look at, a spectacle, show: quom -hoc mihi optulisti tam lepidum spectaculum, Poen. 209.</p> - -<p>The verb stems of these four nouns, with the exception of the -first, could conceivably form nouns meaning instrument, or -result of action, or place; but only one of them, spectaculum, -has any of these meanings, and that, of place: tantus est ex omnibus -spectaculis usque a Capitolio plausus excitatus est, Sest. 124.</p> - -<h5 class="semantics"><a name="semantics_30b" id="semantics_30b"></a>B. <span class="smcap">Abstract -culum Words, All Denoting Action</span></h5> - -<p>There are four abstract <i>-culum</i> words, all expressing primarily -action itself.</p> - -<p>Curriculum (curro) is a running: curre in Piraeum atque unum -curriculum face, Trin. 1103.</p> - -<p>Periculum (stem seen in experire) is a trial, attempt, also danger, -risk: fac semel periculum, Cist. 504; nescio quanto in periculo -sumus, Phor. 58.</p> - -<p>Saeculum (sero), if this etymology is correct, is originally a -sowing, then the thing sown, a generation, race, period of time: -quid mirum si se temnunt mortalia saecula, Lucr. 5, 1238; et -muliebre oritur patrio de semine saeculum, Lucr. 4, 1227; saeculum -spatium annorum centum vocarunt, Varro, L. L. 6, 2.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">295</a></span> -Oraculum (oro) is an utterance, usually of some god or prophet, -sometimes the place where it is given: oracula ex eo ipso appellata -sunt, quod inest in his deorum oratio, Top. 20, 77; exposui somnii -et furoris oracula, quae carere arte dixeram, Div. 1, 32, 70; numquam -illud oraculum Delphis tam celebre fuisset nisi...., Div. 1, 19, -37.</p> - -<p>With regard, then, to the verb stems of the <i>-culum</i> nouns we -may say that they are such as require an instrument, suggest a -place, or imply the object of their action, while a few form nouns -denoting action itself.</p> - -<div class="tb">* <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span></div> - -<p>The tendency seen in the above classification must not be -taken as a systematic and conscious process of language for the -purpose of making these suffixes mean one thing more than another. -The verb stems do strongly influence the meaning of the whole -noun, usually more than anything else does, but the variety of -precise meanings due to context, which will be shown in the next -chapter, almost precludes a systematic classification on any basis.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3 class="nobreak"><a name="CHAPTER_III_semantics" id="CHAPTER_III_semantics"></a>CHAPTER III</h3><span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">296</a></span> -</div> - -<p class="chapdes"><a name="semantics_32" id="semantics_32"></a>Influence of Context</p> - -<p>An attempt was made in the preceding chapter to show how -the meaning of words formed with <i>-mentum</i>, <i>-bulum</i> and <i>-culum</i> -was influenced by the verb stem. It will be the purpose of this -chapter to illustrate how such general meanings get still greater -precision from some element in the context. This study, as is -intimated in the introductory paragraph of this paper, is a semantic -one, but it is not lexicographical; and no attempt will be made to -explain, any farther than was done in the preceding chapter, such -words as show no variation in meaning due to context. For -example, frumentum always means grain, no matter in what -context it stands; iumentum, cattle; testamentum, a will; venabulum, -a hunting spear; cubiculum, a bed-room. The reason is -that these words are neat expressions of a precise idea and their -meaning is therefore less likely to be shifted. This fact also illustrates, -in general, the difference in variation possible in a noun and -in an adjective. The latter, being in so many instances equivalent -to a genitive, can, like the genitive, express a great variety of -relations between its governing noun and its noun stem; while a -noun, being a more finished product, that is, its meaning settling -more easily in clear-cut limits, cannot be expected to show such -wide variations. Aside from the figurative use of the nouns, the -most frequent influence of context comes from a genitive dependent -on the noun. The other elements that enter in will be noticed as -each word is discussed, and wherever possible, the word or group -of words which contributes to the meaning will be italicized.</p> - -<p>First, there are a few nouns which are used in apposition with -a proper noun, or are applied to persons. This use is a special -illustration of the figurative meaning of these words: intercessit -iste <em>Ligus</em> nescio qui, additamentum inimicorum meorum, Sest. 68;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">297</a></span> -<em>Sertia</em> uxor, quae incitamentum mortis et particeps fuit, Tac. A. -6, 29; in conspectu <em>parentum coniugumque</em> ac <em>liberorum</em>, quae -magna etiam absentibus hortamenta animi sunt, Liv. 7, 11, 6; -acerrima seditionum ac discordiae incitamenta, <em>interfectores</em> -Galbae, Tac. H. 2, 23; Fufidius, ancilla turpis bonorum omnium -dehonestamentum, Sall. Lep. 22; <em>P. Rutilius</em> qui fuit documentum -hominibus nostris virtutis, antiquitatis, prudentiae, Rab. Post. 27; -illius <em>sum</em> integumentum corporis, Bacc. 602; vidi hunc ipsum -<em>Hortensium</em>, ornamentum rei publicae, paene interfici, Milo, 37; -<em>ipsa quae</em> sis stabulum nequitiae, Truc. 587; quod umquam huiuscemodi -everriculum [<em>Verres</em>] ulla in provincia fuit, Verres, 4, 5, 3; -quid, duo propugnacula belli Punici, <em>Cn.</em> et <em>P. Scipiones</em> cogitassene -videntur, P. 12; qui sibi <em>me</em> pro deridiculo et delectamento -putat, Heaut. 952.</p> - -<p>These examples show that the suffixes do not imprint on the -nouns the idea of instrument, or any other idea, so strongly that -the nouns may not be applied to human beings as well.</p> - -<p>Of those nouns which get precision of meaning from a dependent -genitive, perhaps there is no better example than fragmentum, -which, expressing the result of the action of breaking, may mean a -piece or fragment of any breakable object: tribunum adoriuntur -fragmentis <em>saeptorum</em>, Sest. 79; ut glaebum aut fragmentum -<em>lapidis</em> dicemus, N. II, 82; fragmenta <em>tegularum</em>, Liv. 34, 89, 11; -fragmenta <em>ramorum</em>, Liv. 23, 24, 10; fragmenta <em>crystalli</em> sarciri -nullo modo queunt, Plin. 37, 2, 10; fragmenta <em>panis</em>, Plin. 9, 8, 8; -mille carinis abstulit Emathiae secum fragmenta <em>ruinae</em> [the -remnants of the army], Lucan, 9, 38. The genitives all answer the -question, fragments of what?</p> - -<p>Another noun of general meaning which gets precision from a -genitive is fundamentum; whether literal or figurative, we want -to know, the foundations of what? and the context tells, though -not always merely by means of a genitive: quin cum fundamento -<em>aedes</em> perierunt, Most. 148; solum et quasi fundamentum <em>oratoris</em> -vides, <em>locutionem emendatam</em> et <em>Latinam</em>, Brut. 258; fundamenta -<em>rei publicae</em> ieci, Fam. XII, 25, 2; fundamenta ieci <em>salutis</em> tuae, -Fam. X, 29, 1; <em>arcem</em> Syracusis a fundamentis disiecit, Nepos, -XX, 3, 3; hic locus sicut aliquod fundamentum est huius <em>constitutionis</em>, -Inv. II, 19; qui a fundamentis mi usque movisti <em>mare</em>, -Rud. 539; prima fundamenta <em>urbi</em> iacere, Liv. 1, 12, 4; alta -fundamenta <em>theatri</em> locare, Aen. 1, 428; fundamenta altae <em>Carthaginis</em><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">298</a></span> -locare, Aen. 4, 266; <em>urbs</em> a fundamentis diruta, Liv. 42, 63, -11; fodere fundamenta <em>delubro</em>, Plin. 28, 2, 4; <em>pietas</em> fundamentum -est omnium <em>virtutum</em>, Planc. 29; fundamentum <em>iustitiae</em> est -fides, Off. 1, 7, 23; narratio est fundamentum <em>constituendae -fidei</em>, Part. 9, 31; fundamentum <em>eloquentiae</em>, De Or. 3, 151; -fundamentum <em>philosophiae</em>, Div. 2, 1, 2; initium ac fundamentum -<em>defensionis</em>, Clu. 10, 30; quod fundamentum huius <em>quaestionis</em> -est, id videtis, N. I, 44; fundamentum horum <em>criminum</em>, Cael. -13, 30; disciplina nixa fundamento <em>veritatis</em>, Gell. 14, 1, 20; -fundamentum et causa <em>imperii</em>, Sen. Ep. 87, 41; fundamenta -<em>libertatis</em>, Balb. 13, 31; fundamentum <em>consulatus</em> tui, Pis. 4, 9; -senectus quae fundamentis <em>adolescentiae</em> constituta est, C. 18, 62; -fundamenta <em>pacis</em> ieci, Phil. 1, 1, 1; fundamentum <em>domus novae</em> -iacere, Suet. Cal. 22; <em>villa</em> a fundamentis inchoata, Suet. Caes. 46.</p> - -<p>Incitamentum is nearly always followed by a genitive or a -gerundive construction expressing the object toward which a thing -or circumstance is an inducement. The noun is used most frequently -in Tacitus: hoc maximum et <em>periculorum</em> incitamentum -est et <em>laborum</em>, Arch. 23; uxor, quae incitamentum <em>mortis</em> fuit, -Tac. A. 6, 29; incitamenta <em>irarum</em>, Tac. A. 1, 55; incitamenta -<em>victoriae</em>, Tac. Agr. 32; incitamentum <em>ad</em> honeste <em>moriendum</em>, -Curt. 9, 5, 4; incitamentum <em>fortitudinis</em>, Tac. G. 7, 9; incitamentum -<em>cupidinis</em>, Tac. A. 6, 1, 10; incitamenta <em>belli</em>, Tac. A. 12, -34, 2; est magna illa eloquentia alumna licentiae, comes seditionum, -<em>effrenati populi</em> incitamentum, Tac. D. 40, 11. In the last -example the genitive is a real objective genitive, while the participle -limiting it expresses the result of incitement expressed by the -genitives in the other examples.</p> - -<p>Like incitamentum, invitamentum and irritamentum usually -get precision of meaning from a genitive: invitamenta <em>urbis</em> et -<em>fori</em>, Sulla, 74; honos, non invitamentum <em>ad tempus</em>, sed perpetuae -virtutis praemium, Fam. X, 10, 2; invitamenta <em>temeritatis</em>, Liv. -2, 42, 6; invitamentum <em>sceleris</em>, Vell. 2, 67, 3; pulchritudinem eius -non <em>libidinis</em> habuerat invitamentum, sed <em>gloriae</em>, Curt. 4, 10, 24; -fons reperiendus est, in quo sint prima invitamenta <em>naturae</em>, Fin. -5, 6; neque irritamenta <em>gulae</em> quaerebant, Sall. Jug. 89, 7; quod -irritamentum <em>certaminum</em> equestrium est, Liv. 30, 11; <em>opes</em>, irritamenta -<em>malorum</em>, Ov. M. 1, 140; irritamenta <em>luxuriae</em>, Val. -Max. 2, 6, 1; irritamentum <em>invidiae</em>, Tac. A. 3, 9; irritamentum -<em>pacis</em>, Tac. Agr. 20.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">299</a></span> -Tegumentum and integumentum have only their general -meaning of “cover” which they get from their verb stem, unless -something in the context tells what it is a covering for: <em>lanx</em> -cum integumentis, quae Iovi adposita fuit, Liv. 40, 59, 7; illius -sum integumentum <em>corporis</em>, Bacc. 602; istaec ego mihi semper -habui integumentum meae, Trin. 313; integumentum <em>frontis</em>, -Cic. post Red. in Sen. 7, 15; integumentum <em>flagitiorum</em>, Cael. 20, -47; integumentum <em>dissimulationis</em>, De Or. 2, 86; tegumenta -<em>galeis</em> milites ex viminibus facere iubet, B. C. 3, 62, 1; ad tegumenta -detrahenda <em>scutis</em> tempus defuerit, B. G. 2, 21, 5; quae [<em>palpebrae</em>] -sunt tegmenta <em>oculorum</em>, N. II, 142; <em>tunicos</em> aut tegimenta fuerant, -B. G. 3, 44, 7; <em>humus</em> satis solidum est tegimentum <em>repellendis -caloribus</em>, Sen. Ep. 90; <em>equo</em> purpurea tegumenta dedit, Suet. Cal. -55.</p> - -<p>Documentum has the meaning of “example”, particularly -when there is a limiting genitive: Rutilius qui documentum fuit -<em>virtutis</em>, <em>antiquitatis</em>, <em>prudentiae</em>, Rab. Post. 10, 27. The common -occurrence of the word with verbs like dare, together with an -indirect question, shows it to mean proof: <em>dederas</em> enim, quam contemneres -populares insanias, iam ab adolescentia documenta maxima, -Mil. 8; multa documenta egregii principis <em>dedit</em>, Suet. Galb. 14. -With capere the natural meaning is “warning” or “instruction”: -ex quo documentum nos <em>capere</em> fortuna voluit, quid esset victis -pertimescendum, Phil. 11, 2. This meaning is also very commonly -seen in the use of the dative case to express purpose, followed -by a supplementary clause of purpose. The noun need not be -in the dative, however: insigne documentum Sagunti ruinae erunt -<em>ne</em> quis fidei Romanae aut societati confidat, Liv. 21, 19, 10; -deletum cum duce exercitum documento fuisse, <em>ne</em> deinde turbato -gentium iure comitia haberentur, Liv. 7, 6, 11.</p> - -<p>Monumentum is quite as general in meaning as documentum, -and shows as great variety of meaning. It is applied to a whip: -vos monumentis commonefaciam <em>bubulis</em>, Stich. 63; a statue: -<em>statuam</em> volt dare, factis monumentum suis, Curc. 441; a literary -record: monumenta <em>rerum gestarum</em> oratori nota esse debent, De -Or. I, 201; an action or circumstance: cum Sex. Pompeium <em>restituit</em> -civitati, clarissimum monimentum <em>clementiae</em> suae, Phil. 5, 39; -a tomb: <em>sepultus est</em> in monumento avunculi sui, Nepos, Att. -22, 4. Sometimes the word gets precision of meaning from an -appositional genitive: hoc <em>statuae</em> monumento non eget, Phil. 9, 11;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">300</a></span> -ut tu monumentum aliquod <em>decreti</em> aut <em>litterarum</em> tuarum relinquas, -Q. fr. I, 2, 11; <em>sepulcri</em> monumento donatus est, Nep. Dion. 10. -Sometimes it is used without any suggestion of a concrete object -(cf. also the third example above): nullum monumentum <em>laudis</em> -postulo praeterquam huius diei memoriam sempiternam, Cat. 3, 11, -26.</p> - -<p>Argumentum (always abstract) has the very frequent general -meaning of proof, reason, argument: quid nunc? <em>vincon</em> argumentis -te non esse Sosiam?, Am. 437; nunc, huc <em>qua causa</em> veni, argumentum -eloquar, Rud. 31; <em>quod</em> pridie noctu conclamatum esset -in Caesaris castris argumenti sumebant loco non posse clam exiri -B. C. 1, 67, 1. A common meaning in comedy is plot, or theme of a -play (our “argument” of an epic or a drama): ne exspectetis -argumentum <em>fabulae</em>, Adel. 22. Then it comes to mean the subject -matter of a speech or letter: ut mihi nascatur <em>epistulae</em> argumentum, -Fam. XV, 1, 22, 2; a sign or indication: ubi lyrae, tibia et -cantus, <em>animi</em> felicia <em>laeti</em> argumenta, sonant, Ov. M. 4, 762; -reality or meaning: haec tota <em>fabella</em> quam est sine argumento, -Cael. 27; the subject of artistic representations: ex <em>ebore</em> perfecta -argumenta erant in <em>valvis</em>, Verr. II, 4, 56. Twice in Ciceronian -Latin this word is defined in two of the ways mentioned: argumentum -est ficta res quae tamen fieri potuit, velut argumentum -comoediarum, Ad Her. 1, 8; argumentum esse rationem quae rei -dubiae faciat fidem, Top. 8.</p> - -<p>Experimentum, when followed by indirect discourse, as in -the following example, must mean the result of trial; <em>viz.</em>, “proof”: -hoc maximum est experimentum <em>hanc vim esse</em> in cogitatione -diuturna, T. 4, 56. In the plural, being the accumulation -of a number of trials, it is equivalent to experientia, -(experience): Metello experimentis <em>cognitum erat</em>, genus Numidarum -infidum esse, Sall. Jug. 46, 3.</p> - -<p>Firmamentum often gets precise meaning from a limiting -genitive, which is also sometimes appositional: ossa nervique et -articuli, firmamenta <em>totius corporis</em>, Sen. De Ira, 2, 1, 2; firmamenta -<em>stabilitatis constantiaeque</em> est eius quam in amicitia quaerimus fides, -Lael. 65; eum <em>ordinem</em> firmamentum ceterorum <em>ordinum</em> recte esse -dicimus, Pomp. 17; transversaria <em>tigna</em> iniciuntur, quae firmamento -esse possint, B. G. 2, 15, 2; firmamentum ac robur totius -<em>accusationis</em>, Mur. 28, 58; firmamentum <em>rei publicae</em>, Planc. 9, 23;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">301</a></span> -firmamentum <em>dignitatis</em>, T. 4, 7; inventa ratione firmamentum -[<em>orationi</em>] quaerendum est, Inv. I, 34.</p> - -<p>Instrumentum is a word which has the most general meaning, -and really receives less influence from its verb stem than from the -context. Even when there is a qualifying genitive or other limiting -factor it retains more or less of its general character. Probably -its most definite meaning is that of furniture (of a house): decora -atque ornamentum fanorum in instrumento ac <em>supellectili</em> C. -Verris nominabuntur, Verr. 2, 4, 44; instrumenti ne magni siet (of a -<em>villa</em>), Cato, R. R. I. 5. A common meaning is that of a tool, or -utensil of any kind: inest huic computationi sumptus fabrorum et -<em>venatorii</em> instrumenti, Plin. 3, 19; crudelia iussae instrumenta -necis, <em>ferrumque ignisque</em> parantur, Ov. M. 3, 697; <em>arma</em>, <em>tela</em>, -<em>equos</em> et cetera instrumenta militiae parare, Sall. Jug. 43, 3; -naves <em>nautico</em> instrumento aptae, Liv. 30, 10, 3. The following -example shows it meaning a legal document: opus est intueri -omne <em>litis</em> instrumentum; quod videre non est satis, <em>perlegendum</em> -est, Quint. 12, 8, 12. The meaning of supply, provisions (both -literal and figurative) is illustrated by the following examples: -quid <em>viatici</em>, quid instrumenti satis sit, Att. XII, 32, 2; instrumenta -<em>naturae</em> deerant, sed tantus animi splendor erat ut.., Brut. 77, 268; -in <em>oratoris</em> vero instrumento tam lautam supellectilem numquam -videram, De Or. I, 36, 165. In one instance it plainly means -apparel, dress: in iuvenem rediit, <em>anilia</em> demit instrumenta, -Ov. M. 14, 766. The meaning of aid or assistance is seen in these -citations: quanta instrumenta habeat <em>ad obtinendam</em> adipiscendamque -sapientiam, Leg. 1, 22; industriae <em>subsidia</em> atque instrumenta -virtutis in libidine audaciaque consumpsit, Cat. 2, 5.</p> - -<p>Ornamentum is very similar in meaning to instrumentum, and -shows similar variety of signification due to context, although -the verb stem is a little more specialized. The number of things -which may be spoken of as having ornamenta are seen from the -examples: ornamenta <em>bubus</em>, ornamenta <em>asinis</em> instrata (esse -oporteat), Cato, R. R. 11, 4; <em>elephantos</em> ornatos armatosque cum -turribus et ornamentis capit, Auct. B. Afr. 86; <em>pecuniam</em> omniaque -ornamenta ex <em>fano</em> Herculis in oppidum Gadis contulit, B. C. 2, -18, 2; <em>eloquentia</em> principibus maximo ornamento est, F. 4, 61; -pecuniam et ornamenta <em>triumphi</em> Caesaris retinenda curaret, -Auct. B. Afr. 28, 2; audieram quae de <em>orationis</em> ipsius ornamentis -traderentur, De Or. I, 144; pulcherrima totius Galliae <em>urbs</em>, quae<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">302</a></span> -praesidio et ornamento est <em>civitati</em>, B. G. 7, 15; mihi hoc subsidium -comparavi ad decus atque ornamentum <em>senectutis</em>, Orat. 1, 45; -Hortensius, lumen atque ornamentum <em>rei publicae</em>, Mil. 14; -<em>urceoli</em> sex, ornamentum <em>abaci</em>, Juv. 3, 203; neminem omnium -tot et tanta, quanta sunt in Crasso, habuisse ornamenta <em>dicendi</em>, -Orat. 2, 28. Sometimes adjectives show the ornamenta to be a -special sort of distinction: pluribus <em>triumphalia</em> ornamenta -decernenda curavit, Suet. Aug. 38; decem praetoriis viris <em>consularia</em> -ornamenta tribuit, Suet. Caes. 76. In comedy especially -it means dress, costume: ipse ornamenta a <em>chorago</em> haec sumpsit: -si potero ornamentis <em>hominem circumducere</em>, dabo operam ut...., -Trin. 859, 860; hominem cum ornamentis omnibus <em>exornatum</em> -adducite ad me, Pseud. 756; also trinkets: i, Palaestrio, <em>aurum</em>, -ornamenta, <em>vestem</em>, omnia duc, M. G. 1302; in one instance, the -dress of tragedy: ornamenta absunt: <em>Aiacem</em>, hunc quom vides -ipsum vides, Capt. 615.</p> - -<p>Stramentum is applied to a number of things which can be conceived -of as being strewn or covered with straw, but is also sometimes -used absolutely: <em>fasces</em> stramentorum <em>virgultorumque</em> -incenderunt, B. G. 8, 15, 5; iubet magnum numerum <em>mulorum</em> -produci deque his stramenta detrahi, B. G. 7, 45; cum ea noctem -in stramentis <em>pernoctare</em> (a bed), Truc. 278; stramenta si deerunt, -<em>frondem ligneam</em> legito: eam substernito <em>ovibus bubusque</em>, Cato, R. -R. 5. There are two examples in which it means the roof of a -house, or thatch: <em>casae</em>, quae stramentis <em>tectae erant</em>, B. G. 5, 43; -pars ignes <em>casis</em> stramento arido <em>tectis</em> iniciunt, Liv. 25, 39.</p> - -<p>Tormentum, an instrument with which anything is turned or -twisted, is applied especially to a military engine for hurling -missiles: aciem eo loco constituit, unde tormento <em>missa tela</em> in -hostium cuneos conici possent, B. G. 8, 14, 5; the missile itself: -quod unum genus tegumenti nullo <em>telo</em> neque tormento <em>transici</em> -posse, B. C. 2, 9; a (twisted) cord or rope: praesectis omnium -mulierum <em>crinibus</em> tormenta <em>effecerunt</em>, B. C. 3, 9, 3; a chain or -fetter: nam si non ferat, tormento non <em>retineri</em> potuit <em>ferreo</em>, Curc. -227; an instrument of torture: <em>rotam</em>, id est genus quoddam tormenti -apud Graecos, T. 5, 24; tum <em>verberibus</em> ac tormentis -quaestionem habuit pecuniae publicae, Phil. 11, 2, 5; torture, -pain: cum incredibles <em>cruciatus</em> et indignissima tormenta pateretur, -Plin. Ep. 1, 12, 6; hinc licebit tum dicere se beatum in summo -<em>cruciatu</em> atque tormentis, T. 5, 73.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">303</a></span> -Vestimentum, in addition to having its common meaning of -clothing: me vides ut sim vestimentis <em>uvidis</em>, Rud. 573; is once -applied to the covering of a bed: huc est intro latus <em>lectus</em>, vestimentis -stratus, Heaut. 903.</p> - -<p>From the above examples it will be clear that at least some -<i>-mentum</i> words get precision of meaning from the context. -The different means by which the context exerts influence would -be difficult to classify; still less could one assert that <i>-mentum</i> -tends to have any meaning. Perhaps we should not speak of a -word varying semantically when it is used figuratively, yet it -is only from the context that we can ascertain whether it is used -figuratively or not. A word can be used in a figurative sense -only when, in one context, it has certain elements identical with -those which it has in another context. The more definite and -concrete the object expressed by a noun, the less variability -will be expected, either in a literal or figurative use. This is -true of the <i>-bulum</i> and <i>-culum</i> words, which, while admitting -a small range of variation, are much more limited in their variation -than the <i>-mentum</i> words were found to be. The best examples -will be given below.</p> - -<p>Conciliabulum is a place of assembly and is expressly so defined -by Festus (cf. Chapter II, p. 25): mulieres <em>ex oppidis</em> conciliabulisque -conveniebant, Liv. 34, 1, 6; sacerdotes non Romae modo, -sed per omnia <em>fora</em> et conciliabula conquiri, Liv. 39, 14, 7. The -following example, however, shows that it may also mean the -assembly itself: igitur per conciliabula et <em>coetus</em> seditiosa disserebant, -Tac. A. 3, 40. In a few instances it takes on a bad meaning: -ne penetrarem me usquam ubi esset <em>damni</em> conciliabulum, Trin. -314; forte aut cena, ut solet in <em>istis</em> fieri conciliabulis, Bacc. 80.</p> - -<p>Latibulum is seen to be a hiding place for different animals -and even of men, and also a refuge (figurative): cum etiam se -<em>ferae</em> latibulis tegant, Rab. Post. 42; repente te tamquam <em>serpens</em> -a latibulis intulisti, Vatin. 4; defendendi facilis est cautio non -solum latibulis occultorum <em>locorum</em>, sed etiam tempestatum -moderatione et conversione (of pirates), Flacc. 13, 31; ego autem -volo aliquod emere latibulum et perfugium <em>doloris</em> mei, Att. -XII, 13, 2.</p> - -<p>Pabulum is used not only of food for animals but also, in poetry, -of food for men, and sometimes for the pastures, or feeding places. -Its figurative meaning is also quite common: <em>bubus</em> pabulum parare<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">304</a></span> -oportet, Cato, R. R. 54, 1; pabula carpsit <em>ovis</em>, Ov. F. 4, 750; -ferae <em>pecudes persultant</em> pabula laeta, Lucr. 1, 14; novitas mundi -pabula dura tulit, miseris <em>mortalibus</em> ampla, Lucr. 5, 944; si -animus habet aliquod tamquam pabulum <em>studii</em> atque <em>doctrinae</em>, -C. 49; sed fugitare decet simulacra et pabula <em>amoris</em>, Lucr. 4, 1063.</p> - -<p>Stabulum has its literal and general meaning of standing-place -in only two examples: neutrubi <em>habeam stabile</em> stabulum, siquid -divorti fuat, Aul. 233; nusquam stabulum <em>confidentiae</em>, Most. 350. -Most frequently it means a stable for animals or lair of wild beasts: -neque iam stabulis gaudet <em>pecus</em> aut arator igni, Hor. C. 1, 4, 3; -itur in antiquam silvam, stabula alta <em>ferarum</em>, Aen. 6, 179. The -agricultural writers use it in speaking of a variety of animals, birds -and fishes: <em>pecudibus</em> sient stabula, Col. 1, 6, 4; <em>avium</em> cohortalium -stabula (an aviary), Col. 8, 1; ut sit <em>pavonum</em> stabulum, Col. 8, -11, 3; hac ratione stabulis ordinatis <em>aquatile pecus</em> inducemus, -Col. 8, 17, 7; absint et picti squalentia terga lacerti pinguibus a -stabulis (of bees), Georg. 4, 14. It also means a cottage, a hut, a -dwelling like a stable: cum Catilina <em>pastorum</em> stabula praedari -coepisset, Sest. 12; pueros ab eo ad stabula <em>Larentiae uxori</em> -educandos datos, Liv. 1, 4, 7. A number of times the context -shows it applied to a house of ill fame: pistorum <em>amicas</em>, quae -tibi olant stabulum stratumque, Poen. 267. Twice it is applied to -persons as a term of reproach: <em>ipsa quae</em> sis stabulum flagitii, -Truc. 587; faciam uti proinde ut est dignus vitam colat, Acheruntis -pabulum, stabulum <em>nequitiae</em>, Cas. 160. In the last example -pabulum is also used with an emotional tone.</p> - -<p>Vocabulum is a name or appellation, the name of the thing -itself being expressed, if at all, in the genitive, or in the nominative -with vocabulum in the ablative: si res suum <em>nomen</em> et proprium -vocabulum non habet, De Or. III, 159; deligitur artifex talium -vocabulo <em>Locusta</em>, Tac. A. 12, 66. It also signifies as a grammatical -term, a noun, as opposed to a verb: Aristotelis orationis duas -partes esse dicit, vocabula et <em>verba</em>, ut homo et equus, et legis et -currit, Varro, L. L. 8.</p> - -<p>Conventiculum regularly means an assembly (without any -diminutive notion): conventicula <em>hominum</em> quae postea <em>civitates</em> -nominatae sunt, Sest. 91; but it may also mean the place of -assembly: <em>exstructa</em> sunt apud nemus conventicula, Tac. A. 14, 15.</p> - -<p>Oraculum may mean a prophetic declaration by gods, or by men: -cum praesertim <em>deorum immortalium</em> iussis atque oraculis id<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">305</a></span> -fecisse dicantur, Sex. Rosc. 66; haec ego nunc <em>physicorum</em> oracula -fundo, vera an falsa nescio, N. 1, 66. Also the place where -oracular responses were given: numquam illud oraculum <em>Delphis</em> -tam celebre fuisset nisi...., Div. I, 19, 37.</p> - -<p>Periculum, in the sense of trial, is always the object of the verb -facere: <em>fac</em> semel periculum, Cist. 504; priusquam periculum -<em>faceret</em>, B. G. 4, 21. Its change to the meaning of danger must -have been by some such step as is seen in the following example, -although periculum facere, “make a trial,” is also practically -the same as “run a risk”: nescio quanto in periculo <em>sumus</em>, -Phor. 58. The common meaning of risk or danger hardly needs to -be illustrated: salus sociorum summum <em>in</em> periculum <em>vocatur</em>, -Pomp. 5, 12. The context shows it to have also two other meanings; -<i xml:lang="la" lang="la">viz.</i>, a lawsuit: meus labor in periculis <em>privatorum</em> caste integreque -<em>versatus</em>, Pomp. 1, 2; a judicial sentence: petiit ut <em>in</em> periculo suo -<em>inscriberent</em>, Nep. Ep. 8; est honestus, quod eorum hominum -fidei <em>tabulae publicae</em> periculaque <em>magistratuum</em> committuntur, -Verr. 2, 3, 79.</p> - -<p>Piaculum is properly an offering performed as a means of -appeasing a deity: porco femina piaculum <em>faciundum</em> est, Leg. II, -57; apparet omnia nec ullis piaculis <em>expiari</em> posse, Liv. 5, 53; and -then naturally it is applied to the victim itself: duc <em>nigras pecudes</em>: -ea prima piacula sunto, Aen. 6, 153; then also a sinful action, -which needs expiation: nonne in mentem venit, quantum piaculi -<em>committatur</em>?, Liv. 5, 52.</p> - -<p>Spectaculum is properly a “sight”, anything seen: quom hoc -mihi <em>optulisti</em> tam lepidum spectaculum, Poen. 209; then a show, -on the stage or in the arena: spectacula sunt tributim <em>data</em>, -Muren. 72. Once in Plautus it clearly means a part of the theater -itself: exoritur ventus turbo, spectacula ibi <em>ruont</em>, Curc. 647; -that it means also the theater in general is seen from a few examples: -<em>resonant</em> spectacula plausu, Ov. M. 10, 668; <em>ex</em> omnibus spectaculis -<em>plausus est excitatus</em>, Sest. 58.</p> - -<p>Umbraculum is a shady place: faciundum umbracula, <em>quo -succedant</em> homines in aestu tempore meridiano, Varro, R. R. I, 51; -also anything that furnishes shade, an umbrella: aurea <em>pellebant</em> -tepidos umbracula <em>soles</em>, Ov. F. II, 311. The limiting genitive in -the following example shows the noun to have lost its regular -stem-meaning and to have been used for “school”: Demetrius<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">306</a></span> -mirabiliter doctrinam ex umbraculis <em>eruditorum</em> otioque produxit, -Leg. III, 14.</p> - -<p>Vehiculum, a means of transportation, is applied to wagons or -carts: omnes di, qui vehiculis <em>tensarum</em> solemnes coitus ludorum -initis, Verr. 5, 186; but also to ships: ut procul divinum et -novum vehiculum <em>Argonautarum</em> e monte conspexit, N. II, 89.</p> - -<div class="tb">* <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span></div> - -<p>That the words which we have treated vary in meaning according -to the context seems perfectly obvious; but the extent to which -this is true in general has received little if any attention from -linguistic students. The tracing of the meaning of a word through -various periods of the language has been commonly enough done; -that side of the question, however, this investigation has not -touched except incidentally. But the material presented in this -chapter and the preceding has, it is hoped, been sufficient to -illustrate how the words formed with our suffixes, while revealing -a limited tendency in meaning due to their verb stems, often also -owe much of their meaning to the context in which they are used.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3 class="nobreak"><a name="CHAPTER_IV_semantics" id="CHAPTER_IV_semantics"></a>CHAPTER IV</h3><span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">307</a></span> -</div> - -<p class="chapdes"><a name="semantics_43" id="semantics_43"></a>Overlapping of Suffixes</p> - -<p>However great a tendency the suffixes under investigation -have toward giving to the nouns a certain meaning, the variations -of which they are capable,—due, as has been shown, to stem and -context,—strongly suggest that there can be nothing very stable -in the suffix itself. If there really were a fundamental meaning -in the suffixes, there would be no such variation as we find.</p> - -<p>But a consideration which points even more to the comparatively -fluid condition of these suffixes is the fact that we find other -words, formed on the same stem, but with a different suffix, -meaning precisely the same as the nouns made with these suffixes. -Here again, the meanings are derived from an examination of the -context. Sometimes the contexts are exactly parallel, at other -times there is a sufficiently large element common to both to warrant -us in saying that the nouns do not, at least in these particular -instances, differ in meaning.</p> - -<p>The fact that some of these parallel words occur at different -periods in the language does not weaken the argument, as the -mere occurrence of them shows the unstable influence of the -suffix; and, moreover, we need not suppose because one word is -not found at a certain period while another on the same stem with -a different suffix is found, that the first word was not in existence. -It is just as reasonable to assume that the preservation of one -word and not the other is due merely to common usage or the -personal preference of the author. Metrical considerations -might exclude the use of a certain word in poetry, but the instances -are very rare, and will be noted in the proper place.</p> - -<p>The most common suffix which makes accessory forms with -<i>-mentum</i> is <i>-men</i>. Most authorities regard <i>-mentum</i> as an extension -of <i>-men</i> by the addition of <i>-to</i>. Whether this is true or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">308</a></span> -not, there <em>are</em> many <i>-mentum</i> words that have no accessory forms -in <i>-men</i>, and a large number of <i>-men</i> words that have no accessory -forms in <i>-mentum</i>. Corssen (<cite>Krit. Nach.</cite> p. 125 ff.) gives fifty-one -<i>-men</i> words from old, classical, and later Latin to which there -are no forms in <i>-mentum</i>, fifty-two <i>-mentum</i> words from the same -periods to which there are no forms in <i>-men</i>; twenty-five -words with both forms in any one period. He also gives a table -showing how the words in the older and classical language preferred -the form <i>-men</i> while in later Latin the same words preferred -the form <i>-mentum</i>. He says the suffix <i>-mentum</i> is only the -the extension, on Latin soil, of the suffix <i>-men</i> (Sanskrit, <i>-man</i>) -with <i>-to</i>; and this explains why in later Latin the forms in <i>-mentum</i> -become more frequent, also why they are not found in other -Italic dialects, nor in the Greek and other related languages.</p> - -<p>Lindsay says (p. 335) that the suffix <i>-men</i> is found more often -in poetry, while <i>-mentum</i> predominates in prose.</p> - -<p>Etymologically, the suffixes <i>-bulum</i> and <i>-culum</i> go back to -original <i>-dhlo</i> and <i>-tlo</i> respectively (Lindsay pp. 334 and 332).</p> - -<p>A study of the other suffixes which make accessory forms to -these words would probably yield results similar to those seen in -the case of our suffixes; but all that will be attempted here will -be to show parallels wherever possible. Italics will be used here, -also, to show what elements in the context go to prove the equivalence -in semantic content of the nouns under discussion.</p> - -<h5 class="semantics"><span class="smcap"><a name="semantics_44" id="semantics_44"></a>A. Parallels of -mentum and Accessory Suffixes</span></h5> - -<p>One of the neatest examples of identity in meaning is the -following exactly parallel usage of stramen and stramentum: -<em>tectam</em> stramine vidit <em>casam</em>, Ov. M. 5, 443; <em>casae</em>, quae stramentis -<em>tectae</em> erant, B. G. 5, 43.</p> - -<p>From the use of a genitive denoting a concrete object, -fragmentum and fragmen are seen to be identical in meaning in -the following examples: adiacebant fragmina <em>telorum</em> equorumque -artus, Tac. A. 1, 61; tribunum adoriuntur fragmentis <em>saeptorum</em>, -Sest. 79.</p> - -<p>The genitives depending on irritamen and irritamentum in -the following examples are not exactly alike, one being concrete -and the other abstract; but they are near enough in meaning, -and the nouns themselves are used in sufficiently similar contexts<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">309</a></span> -to justify us in saying that either one might have been used in -place of the other: nisi adiecisset opes, irritamen <em>animi</em> avari, -Ov. M. 13, 434; neque salem neque alia irritamenta <em>gulae</em> quaerebant, -Sall. Jug. 89, 7.</p> - -<p>Levamen and levamentum are used in parallel examples: -cuius <em>mali</em> (debt) plebes nullum levamen speraret, Liv. 6, 35, 1; -non aliud <em>malorum</em> levamentum quam si linquerent castra, Tac. -H. 1, 30, 9.</p> - -<p>The verbs used with medicamen and medicamentum show a lack -of differentiation between these nouns: quod diceres te violentis -quibusdam medicaminibus solere <em>curari</em>, Pis. 6, 13; si eo medicamento -<em>sanus factus</em> esset, Off. 3, 92.</p> - -<p>The verbs with molimen and molimentum in the following examples -are very similar, and there is the same adjective modifying -each noun: temptat <em>revellere</em> annosam pinum <em>magno</em> molimine, -Ov. M. 12, 357; neque exercitum sine <em>magno</em> commeatu atque -molimento in unum locum <em>contrahere</em> posse, B. G. I, 34, 3.</p> - -<p>Identity of verbs and the case of momen and momentum show -there is no difference in their meaning: momine uti <em>parvo</em> possint -<em>impulsa</em> moveri, Lucr. 3, 188; animus <em>paulo</em> momento huc vel -illuc <em>impellitur</em>, And. 266.</p> - -<p>Parallel instances of blanditia and blandimenta are seen in -these examples: haec <em>meretrix</em> meum erum sua blanditia intulit -in pauperiem, Truc. 572; illum spero immutari potest blandimentis, -oramentis, ceteris <em>meretriciis</em>, Truc. 318; <em>benevolentiam</em> civium -blanditiis et adsentando <em>colligere</em> turpe est, Lael. 61; Lepida -blandimentis ac largitionibus iuvenilem <em>animum devinciebat</em>, -Tac. H. 13, 13.</p> - -<p>Adiutorium is a rare word, but in the following examples it -is seen to have the same general meaning as adiumentum, “help”: -sine adiutorio <em>ignis</em> nihil calidum est, Sen. Ep. 31; neque apud -homines res est ulla difficilior neque quae plura adiumenta -<em>doctrinae</em> desideret, De Or. III, 84.</p> - -<p>Experimentum in the plural naturally means the same as experientia -(experience), but in the singular also they both mean a -trial or attempt, or the result of trial, proof: debemus <em>temptare</em> -experientia quaedam, sequentes non aleam, sed rationem aliquam, -Varro, R. R. 1, 18, 8; hoc est maximum experimentum, <em>hanc -vim</em> esse non in die positam sed in cogitatione diuturna, T. 3, 74. -With the meaning of experience: Agrippa non <em>aetate</em> neque<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">310</a></span> -<em>rerum</em> experientia tantae moli par, Tac. A. 1, 4; Metello experimentis -<em>cognitum erat</em>, genus Numidarum infidum esse, Sall. Jug. -40, 3.</p> - -<p>Firmamen and firmamentum might be interchanged, in both -their figurative and literal meanings: ruptosque obliqua per ungues -porrigitur <em>radix</em>, longi firmamina <em>trunci</em>, Ov. M. 10, 491; -<em>ossa nervique</em>, firmamenta totius <em>corporis</em>, Sen. De Ira, 2, 1, 2. -Both the dependent genitives above express concrete objects; -in the following they express abstract objects: unicum lapsae -<em>domus</em> firmamen, unum lumen afflicto malis temet reserva, Sen. -Herc. Fur. 1251; sic ille annus duo firmamenta <em>rei publicae</em> per -me unum constituta evertit, Att. I, 18, 3.</p> - -<p>Documen occurs only once, but its context shows it to be -equivalent in meaning to documentum, which is used in strikingly -similar contexts: flammas ut fulguris halent pectore perfixo, -documen <em>mortalibus acre</em>, Lucr. 6, 391; ut sint reliquis documento -et magnitudine <em>poenae perterreant</em> alios, B. G. 7, 4, 10.</p> - -<p>Words with the suffix <i>-tio</i> we naturally think of as verbals, -or nomina actionis, but in the following examples the context -makes it fairly certain that they mean the same as their corresponding -<i>-mentum</i> nouns.</p> - -<p>Formamenta is found only twice: omnia <em>principiorum</em> formamenta -queunt in quovis esse nitore, Lucr. 2, 819; si vos -fateremini id quod vestra suspicio credidisset formamentis -<em>divinis</em> attribuisse, minus erat iniuriae praesumpta in opinatione -peccasse, Arn. 3, 16. In the first example, formamenta is used -closely following formae and must mean the same thing, the -“shapes” of the atoms; in the second example the adjective -“divinis” indicates a similar meaning for formamentum; in the -following example Vitruvius is giving directions concerning the -building of a forum: ita enim erit <em>oblonga</em> eius [<em>forum</em>] formatio et -ad spectaculorum rationem utilis dispositio, Vitr. 5, 1. While -the directions for the future building might lead us to believe that -the word has a predominant verbal force, yet it is just as possible -to conceive of it as expressing the result of the process; and this -interpretation is even more probable, as the adjective oblonga -would properly not be applied to a purely verbal noun.</p> - -<p>The verb fodior shows the identity in meaning between fundatio -and fundamenta in the following instances: cum <em>fodientes</em> delubro -fundamenta caput humanum invenissent, Plin. 28, 2, 4; fundationes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">311</a></span> -eorum operum <em>fodiantur</em>, Vitr. 3, 3. Res Romana and -libertas are near enough alike to show that fundamen and -fundamentum have the same general meaning in these instances: -fundamine magno <em>res Romana</em> valet, Ov. M. 4, 808; haec sunt -fundamenta firmissima nostrae <em>libertatis</em>, Balb. 13.</p> - -<p>The contexts of hortamen and hortamentum in the two following -examples are near enough alike to warrant our saying that the -nouns might be interchanged: Decii eventus, ingens hortamen <em>ad</em> -omnia pro re publicia <em>audenda</em>, Liv. 10, 29, 5; in conspectu parentum -coniugumque ac liberorum quae magna etiam <em>absentibus</em> -hortamenta <em>animi</em> sunt, Liv. 7, 11, 6.</p> - -<p>There is undoubtedly no more verbal force in the following -example of allevatio than in the example of allevamentum, (which -is the only one extant): <em>tantis rebus</em> urgemur, <em>nullam</em> ut allevationem -quisquam non stultissimus sperare debeat, Fam. IX, 1; Sulla -coactus est in <em>adversis fortunis sine ullo</em> remedio atque allevamento -permanere, Sulla, 66.</p> - -<p>Besides alimentum there are two other nouns, formed on the -verb alo, alimonium and alimonia, which also mean support or -nourishment, as seen from these parallel examples: plus alimenti -in <em>pane</em> quam in ullo alio est, Cels. 2, 18; quid temperatus ab -alimonio <em>panis</em>, cui rei dedistis nomen castus?, Arn. 5, 16; amisso -omni <em>naturalis</em> alimoniae fundamento, homo <em>exhaustus intereat</em>, -Gell. 17, 15, 5.</p> - -<p>Although <i>-tus</i> is also usually considered as forming nomina -actionis, the example of cruciatus clearly is parallel with that -of cruciamentum: <em>confectus</em> iam cruciatu maximorum <em>dolorum</em>, -ne id quidem scribere possim, quod...., Att. XI. 11, 1; nec <em>graviora</em> -sunt tormenta carnificum, quam interdum cruciamenta <em>morborum</em>, -Phil. 11, 4.</p> - -<p>Calceamentum, “shoe” or covering for the feet, has two accessory -forms, calceamen and calceatus, which are synonymous -with it (the former being found only in Pliny): mihi est calciamentum -<em>solorum callum</em>, amictui Scythicum tegimen, T. 5, 90; -<em>vestitu</em> calceatuque et cetero habitu neque patrio neque civili -usus est, Suet. Calig. 52; hinc [<em>sparto</em>] strata rusticis eorum, hinc -ignes facesque, hinc calceamina et pastorum <em>vestis</em>, Plin. 19, 2, 7.</p> - -<p>The use of <i>ad</i> and a gerund after both invitatio and invitamenta -indicate their lack of difference in meaning in these two instances: -ad eundem fontem revertendum est, <em>aegritudinem omnem abesse</em><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">312</a></span> -a sapiente, quod inanis sit, quod frustra suscipiatur, quod -non natura exoriatur, sed iudicio, sed opinione sed quadam -invitatione <em>ad dolendum</em>, cum id decreverimus ita fieri oportere, -T. 3, 82; quocirca intellegi necesse est in ipsis rebus, quae -discuntur et cognoscuntur, invitamenta inesse, quibus <em>ad discendum</em> -cognoscendumque moveamur, F. 5, 52.</p> - -<p>Munitio is another <i>-tio</i> noun that ordinarily has verbal force, -but not at all infrequently it coincides in meaning with both -munimen and munimentum: cum urbem <em>operibus</em> munitionibusque -saepsisset, Phil. 13, 9, 20; <em>castella</em> et munitiones idoneis locis -imponens, Tac. A. 3, 74. The genitives following munimen and -munitio are alike in meaning and function, both being appositional: -confisus munitione <em>fossae</em>, B. C. 1, 42, 3; narrat esse locum -solidae tectum munimine <em>molis</em>, Ov. M. 4, 771. Munimentum is -used of the same kind of “fortification”: <em>fossa</em>, haud parvum munimentum, -Liv. 1, 33, 7.</p> - -<p>Natura and ignis are the similar elements in the following -contexts that indicate the identity in meaning between nutrimen -and nutrimentum:</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">nempe ubi terra cibos alimentaque pinguia flammae</div> - <div class="verse">non dabit absumptis per longum viribus aevum</div> - <div class="verse"><em>naturaeque</em> suum nutrimen deerit edaci, Ov. M. 15, 354;</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">suscepit <em>ignem</em> foliis atque arida circum</div> - <div class="verse">nutrimenta dedit, Aen. 1, 176.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class="in0">In the first example, curiously enough, nutrimen seems to be also -synonymous with alimenta in the second line before it.</p> - -<p>Nato and puerorum following oblectamina and oblectamenta -indicate identity in meaning, although the latter is still vague, -while the former is specified by “flores”: carpserat <em>flores</em>, quos -oblectamina <em>nato</em> porrigeret, Ov. M. 9, 342; obsecro te non ut -vincla virorum sint, sed ut oblectamenta <em>puerorum</em>, Par. 5, 2, 38.</p> - -<p>We have the clear testimony of Varro that operculum and -operimentum are both used to mean “covering”: quibus operibantur -operimenta et opercula dixerunt, Varro, L. L. 5, 167; and -the fact is illustrated by the following examples, in which both -are used in the ablative after tego: aspera arteria <em>tegitur</em> quasi -quodam operculo, N. 2, 54; nuces gemino <em>protectae</em> operimento -sunt, Plin. 15, 22.</p> - -<p>Both ornatus and ornamentum are used of a speech, oratio:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">313</a></span> -mihi eripuisti ornamentum <em>orationis</em> meae, Planc. 83; -reliqua quasi lumina afferunt magnum ornatum <em>orationi</em>, Or. 39, -134. The following examples of these nouns, although still general -in meaning, are interesting as being used with the verb which is -their stem: ornatus appellatur cultus ipse, quo quis <em>ornatur</em>, -Fest. 184; hominem cum ornamentis omnibus <em>exornatum</em> adducite -ad me, Bacc. 756.</p> - -<p>Although the circumstances in the following passages are -not alike, the immediate contexts are similar enough to show that -sarmen and sarmentum have the same meaning: iam iubeo -<em>ignem</em> et sarmen <em>arae</em>, carnifex, <em>circumdari</em>, Most. 1114; <em>ligna</em> -et sarmenta <em>ignemque circumdare</em> coeperunt, Verr. 2, 1, 69.</p> - -<p>Tegimen and tegimentum both mean a covering for the body: -mihi <em>amictui</em> Scythicum tegimen est, T. 5, 90; pennarum contextu -<em>corpori</em> tegimentum faciebat, F. 5, 32.</p> - -<p>As shown earlier in this paper, tinnimentum in its single -occurrence undoubtedly means a “tinkling” in the ears, caused -by chattering talk; tinnitus also seems to mean the same thing -in the following contexts: cuminum silvestre <em>auribus</em> instillatur ad -<em>sonitus</em> atque tinnitus, Plin. 20, 15, 57; illud tinnimentumst -<em>auribus</em>, Rud. 806.</p> - -<p>If there is any difference between vestitus and vestimentum -in these two examples, it is difficult to find: credo te audisse, -venisse, eo <em>muliebri</em> vestitu virum, Att. I, 13, 3; mulierem aequomst -vestimentum <em>muliebre</em> dare foras, virum virile, Men. 659.</p> - -<p>From the fragments in Nonius we find that two of our <i>-mentum</i> -nouns have accessory forms in <i>-menta</i> (fem.) with the same meaning: -ipsius armentas ad easdem, Ennius ap. Non. 190, 20; tu -cornifrontes pascere armentas soles, Pacuvius ap. Non. 190, 22; -labei labuntur saxa, caementae cadunt, Ennius ap. Non. 196, 30.</p> - -<h5 class="semantics"><a name="semantics_49" id="semantics_49"></a>B. <span class="smcap">Parallels of -bulum and Accessory Suffixes</span></h5> - -<p>Latibulum and latebra: repente te tamquam <em>serpens</em> e latibulis -intulisti, Vat. 2; curvis frustra defensa latebris <em>vipera</em>, Georg. 3, -544; cum etiam <em>ferae</em> latibulis se tegant, Rab. Post. 15, 42; -Maenala transieram latebris horrenda <em>ferarum</em>, Ov. M. 1, 216. -Latibulum is an example of a word that could not be used in verse -on account of the quantity of its syllables.</p> - -<p>Common elements in the context show identity of meaning in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">314</a></span> -sedile and sessibulum: cum pater <em>assedisset</em> appositumque esset -aliud filio quoque eius <em>sedile</em>, Gell. 2, 2, 8; <em>asside</em> istic, nam prae -metu latronum nulla sessibula parare nobis licet, App. Met. 1. -Varro (L. L. 8, 54) says that a form sediculum is also correctly -made, but not in use.</p> - -<p>Stabulatio, another apparent verbal noun, must mean the -same as stabulum in the following examples, both on account of -the adjective and the general significance of the passages: -<em>hibernae</em> stabulationi eorum (cattle) praeparanda sunt stramenta, -Col. 6, 3, 1; iubeo stabula a ventis <em>hiberno</em> opponere soli, Georg. -3, 302.</p> - -<p>Besides a few examples in Arnobius, only one instance of vocamen -is found, in Lucretius, but that it means the same as vocabulum -can be seen from the parallel passages: si quis Bacchi <em>nomine</em> -abuti Mavult quam <em>laticis proprium</em> proferre vocamen, Lucr. 2, -657; si res suum <em>nomen</em> et vocabulum proprium non habet, De Or. -III, 159.</p> - -<h5 class="semantics"><a name="semantics_50" id="semantics_50"></a>C. <span class="smcap">Parallels of -culum and Accessory Suffixes</span></h5> - -<p>Among <i>-culum</i> words, we find cenaculum having an accessory -form cenatio that has, not the verbal idea, but the genuine -meaning of place for eating, while cenaculum has lost its literal -meaning and taken a more general signification: vel <em>cubiculum</em> -grande vel <em>modica</em> cenatio [sit] quae plurimo sole lucet, Plin. Ep. -2, 17, 10; nos ampliores triginta vidimus in cenatione <em>quam</em> -Callistus <em>exaedificaverat</em>, Plin. 36, 7, 12; ubi cubabant, cubiculum, ubi -cenabant, cenaculum vocitabant; posteaquam in superiore parte -cenitare coeperunt superioris domus universa cenacula dicta, -Varro, L. L. 5, 162.</p> - -<p>On the stem curro there are three nouns, all signifying “a -running”: <em>exercent</em> sese <em>ad</em> cursuram, Most. 861; ibi <em>cursu</em>, -luctando sese <em>exercebant</em>, Bacc. 428; unum curriculum <em>face</em>, Trin. -1103. A use of curriculum with exerceo would parallel the first -two examples, but in such a case it takes on the meaning of place -(running course): cum athletae se <em>exercentes in</em> curriculo videret, -C. 27.</p> - -<p>In the same paragraph deversorium and deverticulum are -used of the same place: ut <em>in</em> deversorium eius vim magnam -gladiorum <em>inferri</em> clam sineret, Liv. 1, 51; cum gladii abditi <em>ex</em> -omnibus locis deverticuli <em>protraherentur</em>, Liv. 1, 51.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">315</a></span> -Feretrum and ferculum both are used depending on suspensa -in the two following examples, but mean different kinds of “instruments -for carrying”: quis opima volenti <em>dona</em> Iovis portet feretro -<em>suspensa</em> cruento, Sil. 5, 168; <em>spolia</em> ducis hostium caesi <em>suspensa</em> -fabricato ad id apte ferculo gerens in Capitolium ascendit, Liv. -1, 10, 5.</p> - -<p>The stem cerno (sift) forms two nouns which both mean a -sieve, although the use of them side by side indicates that there -must be some difference; as there are no other examples of -incerniculum, this difference cannot be discovered: in torcularium -quod opus est cribrum unum, incerniculum unum, Cato, R. R. I, -13, 3; caseum <em>per</em> cribrum facito <em>transeat</em> in mortarium, Cato, -R. R. 76, 3.</p> - -<p>In the following examples, spiramen and spiracula are both -used to mean “breathing holes” in the earth or universe, while -spiramenta is applied to the cells in a beehive:</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">sunt qui spiramina <em>terris</em></div> - <div class="verse">esse putent magnosque cavae compages hiatus,</div> - <div class="verse">Lucan, 10, 247;</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">quasi per magni circum spiracula <em>mundi</em></div> - <div class="verse">exitus introitusque elementis redditus exstat, Lucr. 6, 493;</div> - </div> - - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse"><em>apes</em> in tectis certatim tenuia <em>cera</em></div> - <div class="verse">spiramenta <em>linunt</em>, Georg. 4, 39.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p>No difference can be seen in spectamen and spectaculum in -these examples: <em>miserum</em> funestumque spectamen <em>aspexi</em>, App. M. -4, 151; potius quam hoc spectaculum <em>viderem</em>, Mil. 38, 103; -constitutur in foro Laodiceae spectaculum acerbum et <em>miserum</em>, -Verr. I, 76.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3 class="nobreak"><a name="CHAPTER_V_semantics" id="CHAPTER_V_semantics"></a>CHAPTER V</h3><span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">316</a></span> -</div> - -<p class="chapdes"><a name="semantics_52" id="semantics_52"></a>Suffixes and the Theory of Adaptation</p> - -<p>As stated in the introductory chapter, it has been the primary -object of this paper to examine certain word-building suffixes -for the purpose of finding out, if possible, what the force of the -suffixes themselves is, and how the nouns formed with them get -their meaning. The material presented has, it is hoped, shown -that these nouns are capable of wide semantic variation, the -influencing elements being the verb stem and context (the former -exerting greater influence than the latter); also that these suffixes -overlap with other suffixes in forming words of identical semantic -content to such an extent that they cannot be said to have any -sort of fundamental meaning whatever. This is the significance -of our investigation in so far as semantics is concerned.</p> - -<p>But it is possible also to connect our results with another -question, the entire solution of which will doubtless never be -possible, at least not soon; <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">viz.</i>, the theory of the origin of -inflection. Nothing but mere suggestion can be made in this -direction from the conclusions of this study; the field will need -much wider working-over before any thing definite can be asserted.</p> - -<p>Of the two chief explanations of the origin of inflection, one, -the theory of adaptation, as held at the present time, answers -the question by saying that “inflectional endings are not essentially -different from word-building suffixes, but are rather to be regarded -as word-building suffixes in a new rôle and partially systematized -into paradigms. Inflection comes at the point—wherever in the -long course of development that point may be—where the endings -of two or more different forms of a word begin to be felt to be the -carriers of relations of case, or of mode and tense, to a certain -extent independently of stem and context. It is therefore not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">317</a></span> -properly a matter of forms, but of meanings, and that theory which -accounts for the meanings and for their association with forms -explains inflection, whether it accounts for the forms or not.”<a name="FNanchor_188" id="FNanchor_188" href="#Footnote_188" class="fnanchor">188</a></p> - -<p>In other words, inflectional forms got their meanings in a manner -similar to that we have illustrated in the case of our nouns.</p> - -<p>(1.) The apparent definiteness that case-endings have does -depend largely on their stem-meaning. Many of the functional -distinctions of case can be made only by the meaning of the nouns, -<i>e. g.</i>, in “gladiis pugnatum est”, Caes. B. G. 1, 52; “uno tempore -omnibus locis pugnatur,” B. G. 7, 84; “pugnatum continenter -horis quinque vario certamine,” B. C. 1, 46, we have five ablatives, -expressing instrument, time when, duration of time, manner, and -place, only because the words in the ablative are capable of these -meanings. Just so, we saw that our nouns got their general -meaning of instrument, place, result of action, etc., because their -verb stems were such as to admit of such meaning.</p> - -<p>(2.) While our nouns naturally get an important part of their -meaning from the verb stem, yet they derive great specialization -of meaning from some element in the context. It is very probable, -too, that originally our so-called inflectional system was in reality -only a large number of undifferentiated forms which, by a process -of centralization and adaptation, and influenced by the associations -in which they were used, acquired their present meaning.</p> - -<p>(3.) The variety and overlapping of suffixes may also be paralleled -by case-endings; for example, in both the first and second declensions -the same form serves for the dative and ablative plural, -while there is another form for the other declensions. The -genitive singular, and nominative and accusative plural of -the fourth declension are alike in form. In the historical language, -the genitive singular, dative singular, and nominative plural of -the first declension have become identical in form. Other similar -comparisons might be drawn to illustrate the similarity in meaning -of forms with different endings, and from the verb as well as the -noun. The very fact that we have five declensions and four conjugations, -with many variations inside the system and irregularities -outside, goes to show that it is not real system that we have here, -but the survival of an original mass of undifferentiated forms, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">318</a></span> -through a long period of development have acquired their present -inflectional meaning.</p> - -<p>The parallel suggested here is put forth merely as a suggestion; -all we can say is, that it is possible that inflectional forms did -get their meaning in some such way as the nouns treated in this -paper got theirs. More evidence will be necessary for establishing -this theory, if it can be established at all.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3><a name="semantics_55" id="semantics_55"></a>INDEX OF WORDS</h3><span class="pagenum smaller"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">319</a></span> -</div> - -<div class="p4 index"> -<ul> -<li class="let">acetabulum, <a href="#Page_290">26</a></li> -<li>additamentum, <a href="#Page_282">18</a>, <a href="#Page_296">32</a></li> -<li>adiumentum, <a href="#Page_282">18</a>, <a href="#Page_309">45</a></li> -<li>adminiculum, <a href="#Page_291">27</a></li> -<li>alimentum, <a href="#Page_277">13</a>, <a href="#Page_311">47</a></li> -<li>allevamentum, <a href="#Page_284">20</a>, <a href="#Page_311">47</a></li> -<li>ammentum, <a href="#Page_277">13</a></li> -<li>antepagmentum, <a href="#Page_280">16</a></li> -<li>argumentum, <a href="#Page_284">20</a>, <a href="#Page_300">36</a></li> -<li>armamentum, <a href="#Page_277">13</a></li> -<li>armentum, <a href="#Page_278">14</a>, <a href="#Page_313">49</a></li> -<li>atramentum, <a href="#Page_282">18</a></li> -<li>auctoramentum, <a href="#Page_284">20</a></li> - -<li class="let">baculum, <a href="#Page_291">27</a></li> -<li>blandimentum, <a href="#Page_285">21</a>, <a href="#Page_309">45</a></li> - -<li class="let">caementum, <a href="#Page_275">11</a>, <a href="#Page_313">49</a></li> -<li>calceamentum, <a href="#Page_278">14</a>, <a href="#Page_311">47</a></li> -<li>cenaculum, <a href="#Page_293">29</a>, <a href="#Page_314">50</a></li> -<li>coagmentum, <a href="#Page_280">16</a></li> -<li>cognomentum, <a href="#Page_287">23</a></li> -<li>complementum, <a href="#Page_285">21</a></li> -<li>conciliabulum, <a href="#Page_289">25</a>, <a href="#Page_303">39</a></li> -<li>condimentum, <a href="#Page_280">16</a></li> -<li>conventiculum, <a href="#Page_293">29</a>, <a href="#Page_304">40</a></li> -<li>cruciamentum, <a href="#Page_282">18</a>, <a href="#Page_311">47</a></li> -<li>cubiculum, <a href="#Page_293">29</a></li> -<li>cunabulum, <a href="#Page_290">26</a></li> -<li>curriculum, <a href="#Page_294">30</a>, <a href="#Page_314">50</a></li> - -<li class="let">dehonestamentum, <a href="#Page_283">19</a>, <a href="#Page_297">33</a></li> -<li>delectamentum, <a href="#Page_275">11</a>, <a href="#Page_297">33</a></li> -<li>delenimentum, <a href="#Page_282">18</a></li> -<li>deliramentum, <a href="#Page_283">19</a></li> -<li>dentifrangibulum, <a href="#Page_289">25</a></li> -<li>deridiculum, <a href="#Page_294">30</a>, <a href="#Page_297">33</a></li> -<li>desidiabulum, <a href="#Page_290">26</a></li> -<li>detrimentum, <a href="#Page_283">19</a></li> -<li>deverticulum, <a href="#Page_293">29</a>, <a href="#Page_314">50</a></li> -<li>documentum, <a href="#Page_285">21</a>, <a href="#Page_297">33</a>, <a href="#Page_300">36</a>, <a href="#Page_310">46</a></li> - -<li class="let">emolumentum, <a href="#Page_283">19</a></li> -<li>everriculum, <a href="#Page_291">27</a>, <a href="#Page_297">33</a></li> -<li>exorabulum, <a href="#Page_289">25</a></li> -<li>experimentum, <a href="#Page_287">23</a>, <a href="#Page_300">36</a>, <a href="#Page_309">45</a></li> -<li>explementum, <a href="#Page_285">21</a></li> - -<li class="let">ferculum, <a href="#Page_291">27</a>, <a href="#Page_315">51</a></li> -<li>ferramentum, <a href="#Page_281">17</a></li> -<li>firmamentum, <a href="#Page_286">22</a>, <a href="#Page_300">36</a>, <a href="#Page_310">46</a></li> -<li>formamentum, <a href="#Page_284">20</a>, <a href="#Page_310">46</a></li> -<li>fragmentum, <a href="#Page_275">11</a>, <a href="#Page_297">33</a></li> -<li>frumentum, <a href="#Page_279">15</a></li> -<li>fundamentum, <a href="#Page_280">16</a>, <a href="#Page_297">33</a>, <a href="#Page_310">46</a></li> - -<li class="let">gubernaculum, <a href="#Page_291">27</a></li> - -<li class="let">hibernaculum, <a href="#Page_293">29</a></li> -<li>hortamentum, <a href="#Page_286">22</a>, <a href="#Page_297">33</a>, <a href="#Page_311">47</a></li> -<li>hostimentum, <a href="#Page_285">21</a></li> - -<li class="let">ientaculum, <a href="#Page_294">30</a></li> -<li>impedimentum, <a href="#Page_280">16</a></li> -<li>inanimentum, <a href="#Page_283">19</a></li> -<li>incerniculum, <a href="#Page_291">27</a>, <a href="#Page_315">51</a></li> -<li>incitamentum, <a href="#Page_285">21</a>, <a href="#Page_297">33</a>, <a href="#Page_298">34</a></li> -<li>incunabulum, <a href="#Page_290">26</a></li> -<li>infundibulum, <a href="#Page_288">24</a></li> -<li>instrumentum, <a href="#Page_278">14</a>, <a href="#Page_301">37</a></li> -<li>integumentum, <a href="#Page_278">14</a>, <a href="#Page_297">33</a>, <a href="#Page_299">35</a></li> -<li>intertrimentum, <a href="#Page_283">19</a></li> -<li>invitamentum, <a href="#Page_285">21</a>, <a href="#Page_298">34</a>, <a href="#Page_311">47</a></li> -<li>irritamentum, <a href="#Page_285">21</a>, <a href="#Page_298">34</a>, <a href="#Page_308">44</a></li> -<li>iugumentum, <a href="#Page_279">15</a></li> -<li>iumentum, <a href="#Page_279">15</a></li> - -<li class="let">latibulum, <a href="#Page_289">25</a>, <a href="#Page_303">39</a>, <a href="#Page_313">49</a></li> -<li>laxamentum, <a href="#Page_283">19</a></li> -<li>levamentum, <a href="#Page_286">22</a>, <a href="#Page_309">45</a></li> -<li>libamentum, <a href="#Page_279">15</a></li> -<li>libramentum, <a href="#Page_286">22</a></li> -<li>lineamentum, <a href="#Page_287">23</a></li> -<li>lomentum, <a href="#Page_279">15</a></li> -<li>lutamentum, <a href="#Page_276">12</a></li> - -<li class="let">medicamentum, <a href="#Page_277">13</a>, <a href="#Page_309">45</a></li> -<li>mendicabulum, <a href="#Page_290">26</a></li> -<li>miraculum, <a href="#Page_294">30</a></li> -<li>molimentum, <a href="#Page_287">23</a>, <a href="#Page_309">45</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">320</a></span><br /></li> -<li>momentum, <a href="#Page_284">20</a>, <a href="#Page_309">45</a></li> -<li>monumentum, <a href="#Page_278">14</a>, <a href="#Page_299">35</a></li> -<li>munimentum,<a href="#Page_312">48</a></li> - -<li class="let">nidamentum, <a href="#Page_281">17</a></li> -<li>nucifrangibulum, <a href="#Page_289">25</a></li> -<li>nutrimentum, <a href="#Page_280">16</a>, <a href="#Page_312">48</a></li> - -<li class="let">oblectamentum, <a href="#Page_286">22</a>, <a href="#Page_312">48</a></li> -<li>omentum, <a href="#Page_280">16</a></li> -<li>operculum, <a href="#Page_292">28</a></li> -<li>operimentum, <a href="#Page_277">13</a>, <a href="#Page_312">48</a></li> -<li>opprobramentum, <a href="#Page_286">22</a></li> -<li>oraculum, <a href="#Page_295">31</a>, <a href="#Page_304">40</a></li> -<li>oramentum, <a href="#Page_287">23</a></li> -<li>ornamentum, <a href="#Page_278">14</a>, <a href="#Page_297">33</a>, <a href="#Page_301">37</a>, <a href="#Page_312">48</a></li> - -<li class="let">pabulum, <a href="#Page_289">25</a>, <a href="#Page_303">39</a></li> -<li>patibulum, <a href="#Page_288">24</a></li> -<li>pavimentum, <a href="#Page_276">12</a></li> -<li>periculum, <a href="#Page_294">30</a>, <a href="#Page_305">41</a></li> -<li>perpendiculum, <a href="#Page_292">28</a></li> -<li>piaculum, <a href="#Page_292">28</a>, <a href="#Page_305">41</a></li> -<li>pigmentum, <a href="#Page_280">16</a></li> -<li>poculum, <a href="#Page_292">28</a></li> -<li>praepedimentum, <a href="#Page_286">22</a></li> -<li>propugnaculum, <a href="#Page_293">29</a>, <a href="#Page_297">33</a></li> -<li>prostibulum, <a href="#Page_290">26</a></li> -<li>pulpamentum, <a href="#Page_281">17</a></li> - -<li class="let">ramentum, <a href="#Page_275">11</a></li> -<li>receptaculum, <a href="#Page_293">29</a></li> -<li>redimiculum, <a href="#Page_292">28</a></li> -<li>retinaculum, <a href="#Page_292">28</a></li> -<li>rutabulum, <a href="#Page_288">24</a></li> - -<li class="let">saeculum, <a href="#Page_294">30</a></li> -<li>saepimentum, <a href="#Page_278">14</a></li> -<li>salsamentum, <a href="#Page_281">17</a></li> -<li>sarculum, <a href="#Page_292">28</a></li> -<li>sarmentum, <a href="#Page_276">12</a>, <a href="#Page_313">49</a></li> -<li>scitamentum, <a href="#Page_282">18</a></li> -<li>sessibulum, <a href="#Page_289">25</a>, <a href="#Page_314">50</a></li> -<li>sicilimentum, <a href="#Page_276">12</a></li> -<li>sincipitamentum, <a href="#Page_282">18</a></li> -<li>spectaculum, <a href="#Page_294">30</a>, <a href="#Page_305">41</a>, <a href="#Page_315">51</a></li> -<li>spiraculum, <a href="#Page_292">28</a>, <a href="#Page_315">51</a></li> -<li>stabilimentum, <a href="#Page_278">14</a></li> -<li>stabulum, <a href="#Page_289">25</a>, <a href="#Page_297">33</a>, <a href="#Page_304">40</a>, <a href="#Page_314">50</a></li> -<li>sternumentum, <a href="#Page_287">23</a></li> -<li>stramentum, <a href="#Page_275">11</a>, <a href="#Page_302">38</a>, <a href="#Page_308">44</a></li> -<li>subligaculum, <a href="#Page_292">28</a></li> -<li>suffimentum, <a href="#Page_277">13</a></li> -<li>supplementum, <a href="#Page_279">15</a></li> - -<li class="let">tabernaculum, <a href="#Page_293">29</a></li> -<li>tegumentum, <a href="#Page_277">13</a>, <a href="#Page_299">35</a>, <a href="#Page_313">49</a></li> -<li>temperamentum, <a href="#Page_284">20</a></li> -<li>termentum, <a href="#Page_284">20</a></li> -<li>testamentum, <a href="#Page_276">12</a></li> -<li>tinnimentum, <a href="#Page_287">23</a>, <a href="#Page_313">49</a></li> -<li>tintinnabulum, <a href="#Page_288">24</a></li> -<li>tormentum, <a href="#Page_279">15</a>, <a href="#Page_302">38</a></li> -<li>turbamentum, <a href="#Page_286">22</a></li> -<li>turibulum, <a href="#Page_290">26</a></li> - -<li class="let">umbraculum, <a href="#Page_294">30</a>, <a href="#Page_305">41</a></li> - -<li class="let">vehiculum, <a href="#Page_293">29</a>, <a href="#Page_306">42</a></li> -<li>venabulum, <a href="#Page_289">25</a></li> -<li>vestibulum, <a href="#Page_289">25</a></li> -<li>vestimentum, <a href="#Page_279">15</a>, <a href="#Page_303">39</a>, <a href="#Page_313">49</a></li> -<li>vocabulum, <a href="#Page_289">25</a>, <a href="#Page_304">40</a>, <a href="#Page_314">50</a></li> - - </ul> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3 class="foot">FOOTNOTES:</h3> -</div> - -<div class="footnotes"> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_181" id="Footnote_181" href="#FNanchor_181" class="fnanchor">181</a> Cf. - Morris, <cite>Principles and Methods in Latin Syntax</cite>, p. 65. It must be noted, - however, that this is only one direction in which semantic development takes - place. The opposite (decrease of connotation) is also observable as a definite line of - semantic development.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_182" id="Footnote_182" href="#FNanchor_182" class="fnanchor">182</a> This - is one of four <i>-mentum</i> words which occur first in Sallust. The others are - hortamentum, irritamentum, turbamentum. Norden mentions the use of <i>-mentum</i> - words as a peculiarity of Sallust’s style (Gercke und Norden. <cite>Einleitung in die - Alt. Wiss.</cite> I. 578), but with the exception of these four words, which occur, moreover, - only once each in this author, the examples scarcely justify the statement.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_183" id="Footnote_183" href="#FNanchor_183" class="fnanchor">183</a> Cf. - Festus, p. 38: conciliabulum dicitur locus, ubi in concilium venitur.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_184" id="Footnote_184" href="#FNanchor_184" class="fnanchor">184</a> Cf. - Walde, who gives as the etymology of this word, ver(o)-stabulum, in which - *uer = “door”.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_185" id="Footnote_185" href="#FNanchor_185" class="fnanchor">185</a> See - Mommsen, <cite>Röm. Gesch.</cite> Bk. I, Ch. XV.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_186" id="Footnote_186" href="#FNanchor_186" class="fnanchor">186</a> Only - those <i>-culum</i> words were examined which were not diminutives. Some - of the words formed with this suffix do have diminutive meaning, but for a - diminutive to be formed on a verb stem is impossible.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_187" id="Footnote_187" href="#FNanchor_187" class="fnanchor">187</a> Cf. - Varro, <cite>Lingua Latina</cite>, 5, Art. 162.</p> - </div> - <div class="footnote"> - <p class="fn3"><a name="Footnote_188" id="Footnote_188" href="#FNanchor_188" class="fnanchor">188</a> See - the article by Professors Oertel and Morris on <cite>The Nature and Origin of - Indo-European Inflection</cite>, Harvard Class. Stud., Vol. XVI, p. 89.</p> - </div> -</div> - -<p class="smcap center in0 smaller p2">End of Volume One</p> -<p class="smcap center in0 smaller p1">University of Kansas Humanistic Studies</p> - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<div class="transnote"> -<p class="center in0 larger"><a name="TRANSCRIBERS_NOTES" id="TRANSCRIBERS_NOTES">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:</a></p> - -<p>This text contains Greek phrases in several places and numerous words -and phrases in Latin. Greek and Latin passages have been rendered as -they appear in the original publication. No attempt has been made to -make corrections.</p> - -<p>Obvious punctuation errors have been repaired. Occasional missing commas -have been left unchanged. Identifyable inconsistencies in punctuation in -headings, footnotes, index, and bibliography have been repaired.</p> - -<p>Variations in hyphenation and spelling, particularly in the use of -accent marks, have, for the most part, been left unchanged. If it was -clear from the predominance of occurrences that the difference was due -to a typo and not the intent of the author, the correction was made. -However, the variations were frequently the result of references or -quotes from different sources and therefor the variations were left as -found. For instance, the reader will find the following variations left -as found in the original: Bocca-dell’-Verità also appears as -Bocca-dell’-Verita; Marriage à la Mode sometimes appears as Marriage a -la Mode; both Lévy-Bruhl and Levy-Bruhl are used; De Vulgari Eloquio is -also spelled De Vulgario Eloquio; The Rival Queans is also given as The -Rival Queens.</p> - -<p>Spelling of non-dialect wording in the text was made consistent when a -predominant preference was found in this book; if no predominant -preference was found, or if there is only one occurrence of the word, -spelling was not changed.</p> - -<p>Simple typographical errors were corrected; occasional unbalanced -quotation marks repaired.</p> - -<p>The original text has duplicate words in several places. For example, -Page 308 ... “is only the the extension, on Latin soil”; Page 146 ... -“matter to each each other”. These have been rendered as found -without correction.</p> - -<p>Because of the propensity in this text for quotations starting and -ending in the middle of a sentence, ellipsis have been rendered as -found in the text with no assumptions made as to the ending of sentences -within quotations. Ellipsis that are obviously errors have been -standardized to common usage. In several places within the English text -and in the Latin phrases, periods have apparently been used to -represent missing letters in a word or name. These have been rendered -as found in the original.</p> - -<p>There are several typographical errors in sequential numbering in the -Appendix for section 3, the paper on Browning and Italian Arts and -Artists. On page 253, the section shown in the original as “IV. Pippa -Passes.” should be numbered “III.” if properly sequenced. On page 258, -the section shown in the original as “XX. Pacchiarotto and How He Worked -in Distemper.” should be numbered “XXIV.” if properly sequenced. On page -257, under “XX. The Ring and the Book”, the numbering skips for “8” to -“10”, leaving out “9”. All these have been repaired.</p> - -<p>In the Appendix for section 3, the paper on Browning and Italian Arts -and Artists, some of the Roman Numerals are in parenthesis. About a -third of them have the period inside the parenthesis [i.e. (III.)] and -about 2/3 have the period outside the parenthesis [i.e. (III).]. No -attempt has been made to standardize these. 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