diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/51685-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/51685-0.txt | 13669 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 13669 deletions
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. They have been left as -found in the original text. - - - - - - -End of 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 - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HUMANISTIC STUDIES *** - -***** This file should be named 51685-0.txt or 51685-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/6/8/51685/ - -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.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at -http://gutenberg.org/license). - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -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 - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at -http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at -809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email -business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact -information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official -page at http://pglaf.org - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit http://pglaf.org - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - http://www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |